#the hugs the multiple kisses the smiles the joy the relief the togetherness

[iamacolor]

It's me, Ki-ho. The prosecutor's office sent us a notice.

CASTAWAY DIVA - EPISODE 11

[taegularities]

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

[changbunnies]

White Lines and Red Lights (18+)

♡ Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!Reader 

♡ Genre: college au, idiots in love (they are so oblivious), best friends to lovers, mutual pining, basically pure fluff, a smidge of angst? (it's barely there, mostly due to perceived one-sided pining that is in reality not at all one-sided lmao)

♡ Word Count: 13.4k (i may have gotten carried away)

♡ Summary: The spring semester is over, and summer break is sure to be full of fun and good memories for Y/N and her best friend, Jisung. The only problem being, they are both hopelessly in love with each other, and completely oblivious to how the other one feels.

♡ Warnings: reader's major isn't specified but is implied to be creative, jisung's major is also not specified but is in music, alcohol consumption, mentions of food and eating, many uses of the word "fuck" lol, lmk if i missed anything you think should be listed here !

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): slightly inexperienced sex (neither reader or jisung are virgins, but they don't have tons of experience either), lighthearted but also romantic sex?, petnames (baby), a lot of kissing. like so much kissing, nipple play, handjob, oral (m rec), fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected piv, creampie (reader is on birth control)

♡ Notes: this was written for the @skzwritingcafe prompt "summertime confessions" ! i hope you like it and as usual, if you’re interested you can check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Hell is finally over! That’s what you’ve been happily telling yourself since 2:30 p.m, when the last of your final exams were complete and all assignment deadlines were met.

Did you reach the end of all your trials and tribulations with a passing grade? That you weren’t entirely sure of, but the instant relief when the clock met the fated hour expelled any worries instantly from your mind. It’s a problem for future you, your brain decided, because now there was room for one thing and one thing only: fun!

You were beyond ready to turn your brain off, to indulge in some much needed fun to clear the fog in your head, and to then settle into comfort and relaxation. You hadn’t had a moment of joy or peace in weeks, and you were most definitely due for it; the thin line that was your sanity could only handle so much more stress before it snapped. 

And that’s what you’ve spent the last hour getting ready for– an end of semester celebration with friends, a small reward after the grueling study efforts intended to revitalize those that turned into zombies over the course of finals week.

Parties aren’t typically your thing, being much too loud and chaotic for your tastes, but how could you say no when said party was being held by your best friend and his 2 roommates? And after the literal hell you endured during the last semester, and especially during this last week, you needed a night with your friends more than you needed oxygen. 

“You’re here!” Chan greets you with a smile after he opens the door, happy to see you after weeks of being stuck in the confines of your bedroom, having turned into an effective study machine.

“Hi Channie,” you return his smile as you step fully inside, giving him a quick hug after the door shuts behind you. “Where’s Jisung?” you waste no time in asking, eager to see the person you cared about most (no offense intended to your other friends.)

It felt awful not having time to see him the last few weeks; the only thing that gave you comfort during that time was knowing that he was equally as busy meeting assignment deadlines and studying for his finals as you were.

You wished you could’ve studied together, like you did when you were kids, but different majors meant there wasn’t as much crossover in what you were learning as there once was. But still, you took solace in knowing you weren’t alone during the struggle; at least, metaphorically you weren’t. 

Chan points you to the kitchen, and you thank him before you make the short walk there, a bounce in your step as happiness settles over you for the first time in what feels like ages. It doesn’t take you long to spot him, standing near the counter with his other roommate Changbin, as well as with a handful of other friends he’s made in his major.

“Sungie, I missed you!” you call as you jump him for a hug, which very nearly knocks him over. He yells out in surprise, just barely managing to keep his hand steady to save his drink as he shifts his weight to maintain his balance, stabilizing himself on his heel.

“Y/N!” Jisung yelps when your arms squeeze him tightly, and he lets Changbin take his drink from his hand to safely secure it elsewhere. He returns your hug as soon as he’s able, and you close your eyes before you smile at him, already feeling your drained battery recharging.

“Jeez, I know you missed me, but warn me next time! You almost gave me a heart attack,” Jisung mumbles his complaint in your ear, but you can tell by the smile he has on his face and squeeze in his arms that he’s missed you just as much, this hug being as healing for him as it is for you. 

However, he meant it when he said you almost gave him a heart attack, though it’s not for the reasons you might think. First: it’s true he was totally unprepared for you to launch at him with the intent to squeeze him into a hug, but that wasn’t the problem.

The real problem was that you looked so pretty, and after weeks without seeing your face, his heart was left with no defense against your charms. He’d been reset to zero, it seemed– his built up resistance and tolerance reduced to nothing.

And that went hand in hand with the second problem: his heart was beating out of control! You’re holding him so tightly, smiling at him so brightly, eyes sparkling under the fluorescence of the mundane kitchen light. He didn’t understand how something as small and trivial as the lighting in the room seemed to add to your appeal, but it did. 

Jisung steals a glance at his roommates, who are looking with a knowing smile that makes him want to sink into himself and hide. Why is this so embarrassing? You however seem as oblivious to how he feels about you as ever, much to his relief. His impossibly large crush on you will assuredly be getting in the way tonight, but he can definitely play it off, right? …right? 

Jisung ended up not drinking for the rest of the night, much too afraid of how flippant his mouth would become if he had too much alcohol in his system– the last thing he needed was to do something as cliche and embarrassing as drunkenly confessing all his feelings to his best friend. Though, even without the drink in his system, this night was killing him.

Why did you have to smile at him so prettily while pulling him to dance with you? Why did you have to giggle at him so sweetly when he made a joke? And why did you have to lean so close every time you spoke to him?

He cursed his past self for deciding to play the music so loudly, because the close proximity and feeling your breath against his ear every time you wanted to tell him something was making his heart feel like it was going to explode. 

You were wearing the perfume that he once accidentally let slip was his favorite of yours. He couldn’t remember the exact name of it, but the sweet, citrusy smell filled his nostrils and reminded him of all the times in the past he was close enough to you to inhale it.

Tight hugs, cuddling on his sofa on the weekends, laying in your bed watching anime until it was time for him to go home– all memories he cherished, because they were spent with you. And the moment he unintentionally admitted how much he loved the smell of your perfume, it seemed like you were always wearing it, and it drove him crazy.

It lingered on everything– or maybe he just found it easy to recognize given how attuned to you he was; and now with the distance you’d had, and how much he’d missed you the last few weeks, it was like your perfume was taking over his senses.

Jisung almost couldn’t think straight– it was like he was drunk, but on something entirely different from everyone else inside his apartment. To calm himself down, and reset his senses, he stepped out on the balcony for some time, willing his heart to calm by using the fresh air as a conduit. 

By the time Jisung enters the apartment again following his latest balcony outing, most of his friends have gone home with their respective designated drivers, with Chan offering to call the stragglers an uber or a spot to crash somewhere in the apartment. Chan was always like that during parties– the self appointed dad of sorts, always making sure everyone was well taken care of.

He looks past his friends to see you alone on the sofa, chugging a water bottle that he assumes Chan gave to you. “Trying to sober up?” Jisung asks as he takes a seat next to you, and you nod, making an affirming noise as you continue to take large sips from the bottle.

“Gotta stay hydrated too if I don’t want to feel all this tomorrow,” you finally respond when you’ve swallowed down the last of the water, though you're sure you didn’t drink enough alcohol to get a hangover. Your legs will likely be killing you more than anything, given all the dancing and jumping around you did. 

“Right, wouldn’t want you to end up like Changbin,” Jisung replies and you laugh as you recall the memory of a very intoxicated Changbin, who had way too much to drink in a short span of time but insisted he wasn't drunk.

He was incredibly affectionate, coming up to everyone to squeeze them into hugs and tell them he loves them, and dancing to girl group songs with so much passion that you’d think he was in some sort of idol audition. 

Changbin passed out first, to no one's surprise, and he had to be carried to his bed by an exasperated Chan while you and Jisung giggled to yourselves at the display, deciding you would both definitely be teasing him about it tomorrow.

“I’ve never seen him like that– he was still himself but like. Times a million,” you laugh, thinking about when a newjeans song came on and it made him effectively lose his mind. “Oh it’s late,” you say absentmindedly after some time spent talking passes, checking your phone for the first time all night.

Jisung peeks over, eyes widening when he sees the “02:37” displayed brightly on your screen. It was the latest he’d (voluntarily) stayed up in months; where did the time even go? “Guess we should sleep, huh? I can give you my bed, I’ll sleep here so–” 

“No way, we’ve talked about this before! I don’t wanna kick you out of your own room– just share your bed with me,” you said, almost sternly. It was true– you both had countless sleepovers over the course of your friendship, both planned and accidental, and every time he offered to sleep on the sofa, you vehemently refused.

However, those times you weren’t inebriated, and this time you definitely were (even if it was only mildly.) And besides that, with how weak he’s been over you all night, he’s not sure if his heart will even let him fall asleep if you’re next to him. 

“I-I mean– are you sure? You’ve been drinking so.. I dunno, I just like– didn't want it to be weird, I guess?” Jisung stumbles over his words way more than he wishes, and the way you giggle at him makes him want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Way to play it cool, Jisung! If you weren’t being obvious about your feelings before, you definitely are now, idiot!

“C’mon Ji, you know I trust you with like, my entire life. It won’t be weird,” you answer with a smile meant to assure him, but all it does is make his heart pound even harder. It’s unfair how effortlessly flustered you make him.

“As long as you’re sure then– yeah, let’s go to bed,” he says as he helps you to your feet, and while you definitely didn’t drink enough for your legs to be unstable, you appreciate the sweet gesture. 

The minute you’re in his room, you flop right in the middle of his bed, a large sigh leaving you– you didn’t realize how actually exhausted you are until now. “Don’t fall asleep like that please, I don’t wanna sleep on the couch now that you’ve promised I can have my bed,” Jisung says as he walks over to his dresser, and you laugh in response.

“I won’t, promise!” You sit up quickly, wrapping yourself up in his comforter as you do– you won’t fall asleep, but you can at least still be cozy.

“You really should’ve brought a change of clothes if you were going to crash here,” Jisung jokingly complains you as he scrounges through his drawers for something that will fit you comfortably (and that he won’t mind parting with, because he knows he won’t be getting back whatever he gives you; which would be fine if it didn’t fill his head with thoughts about you being his girlfriend.) 

“Not my fault! It’s yours for creating the atmosphere,” you argue, arms folding over your chest in a rather mild display of opposition. “What atmosphere?” he laughs as he finally settles on one of his oversized shirts and tosses it over to you.

Comfortable. Secure. Safe. Happy. Loved. Cared for. You could only let loose so much because you were with him, could only have such a good time because he was there doing it with you. “..Fun,” you finally answer, clutching the shirt he gave you in your hands, deciding not to say anything further than that.

Better to avoid that line of thought while you’re recovering from being tipsy, you think– it’d be bad if you suddenly made an admission you weren’t ready to. An accidental confession at this point would risk ruining an otherwise perfect night with your friends.

It doesn’t take long for Jisung to find what he wants to wear to bed, and he leaves the room to allow the two of you to change separately. You put your prior outfit on top of his dresser before returning to his bed, settling underneath the blankets as you wait for him to come back.

You’re lying there for only a few minutes when he returns, turning off the light and carefully crawling in next to you, and finally settling in with his back pressed against yours. You both whisper quiet “good nights” to each other, willing your equally fast hearts to calm enough to sleep.

This isn’t the first time you’ve shared a bed with Jisung, and during the early years of your childhood friendship it never made your heart race the way it does now. You’d usually say something along the lines of “what’s wrong with best friends sharing a bed?”, the act always completely innocent.

You needed to sleep, and you didn’t want Jisung to sacrifice his bed when you could easily share it– it was always as simple as that. But in recent months, you’ve noticed that it stopped being simple; with your back pressed to his, the sound of his gentle breathing behind you, you realized it had started to make your heart race unbelievably fast.

You had begun to notice that same sensation in other moments too– like when he smiled at you after you helped him decide on a concept for one of his assignments, or when he’d call you after a hard day just to hear your voice, with his reason being that “talking to you makes me feel better!” 

It was the same for you, of course. Talking to him always made you feel better, a single smile enough to lift the heavy weight off your heart. He always listened, he always cared, and he was always there for you. That’s another reason these last few weeks were so hard for you; you didn’t have Jisung’s support, and not because of any fault of either of you, but because adult life and responsibilities got in the way. 

You wanted to make time for him, and you knew he wanted to as well; you still texted each other often, facetimed during the moments you allowed yourselves to rest, and it helped immensely, but also resolidified something you’d thought once before; that without Jisung, your life is impossibly dark. And that without his support, you weren’t sure how you’d get through the difficulty that life brings you. 

You sigh and roll over, looking straight at Jisung’s back. You came today to escape grim thoughts, stress, and self doubt, hoping that fun with your friends would shove them all away, but it seems they’ve found their way back to you regardless. It was bound to happen, you suppose, but you hoped they wouldn’t be back for a while at least. But, if there’s any solace to be had, you have Jisung next to you, and he always comforts you even with just his presence alone. 

You roll over a lot in your sleep, so when you first do it, Jisung doesn’t react. He figures you’ve just fallen asleep quickly after all the drinking and dancing, and now he can finally truly relax and begin to fall asleep himself.

He’s always tense at first, the close proximity making him nervous and unable to sleep, even if you aren’t face to face– because even though you’re his best friend, it’s an undeniable fact that you’re also a girl. A pretty girl at that, one that he’s silently been crushing on for years.

So when he hears your voice call to him, it’s unexpected, and it makes his heart pick back up in speed as his body tenses once again. “Ji, can you turn around?” you ask, and he freezes a moment, wondering if the remnants of alcohol in your system is what is causing you to ask something so bold. 

But no, you’re nowhere near drunk, and he’s probably the only one on earth who thinks the prospect of turning around to face his best friend during a sleepover is “bold.” This is an ordinary request, and it’s not your fault that he finds the action so nerve wracking.

He really needs to get over it so he can go back to being normal around you. “S-Sure,” you hear him stutter quietly, carefully turning to face you. Even in the relative darkness, he can see your features clearly enough to make his breath uneven.

Your pretty eyes, your cute nose, your lips that look so soft and kissable and– “Fuck, stop thinking about it. Get it together, Han Jisung,” he internally scolds himself. He hopes that you can’t hear the sound of his heart beating, or see the blush forming on his cheeks as he stares at you. 

“Can I ask you something?” your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. He can tell you’re serious, and he has no idea what you intend to ask, but the possibilities are sending him reeling. Did he stare at you too much today? Did you notice the way his face reddened every time you smiled at him? You were just so pretty that he couldn’t help it and– 

Were you going to ask him if he had feelings for you? Were you? Should he be honest if you do? Admit that he’s thought you were pretty for the longest time, has wanted you to look at him romantically for years, had wondered what your lips would feel like on his? God, he really needs his heart and mind to calm down, or he’ll never survive the rest of the night. 

“Do you ever wonder.. If you’re doing the right thing?” your question finally breaks him from his whirring thoughts, your voice still quiet and with an unsure hesitance to it.

Jisung’s expression immediately changes to one of care and concern, a bit taken aback by your question but entirely ready to listen to you talk about whatever is on your mind now that he can think clearly. “What do you mean?” 

“Like.. with college, I guess. Do you ever think maybe you should be doing something different?” You look him directly in the eyes as you ask, clearly searching for some sort of comfort, an answer that will help you come to terms with whatever complicated emotion you’re dealing with.

“Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I love music, but I’m not guaranteed to go far with it even if I’m good at it. I know that sometimes passion and talent aren’t enough. The people who succeed are usually lucky,” he answers honestly; he’s not sure if that’s what you want to hear, but he knows you value his insight and opinions, even when they differ from yours.

“What makes you keep going then?” You had such a hard time this last semester, and there were more than a few times where you reached a low point and wanted to quit. You were lonely, exhausted, broke, creativity entirely spent.. You questioned whether all that hardship was worth it, and if you’d be better off pursuing something more practical and mundane.

“Well.. It makes me happy. And I know that even if things don’t turn out how I wished, I think it would be more regrettable if I didn’t try, you know? Even when it’s really hard it’s also rewarding, and every day I learn so many things I would’ve never learned alone in my room, or at least, it would’ve taken me forever to get there by myself. I made a lot of new friends too, I have you and other good people to support me, and–”

You nod along to his words, taking them in and humming every once in a while to let him know you're still listening. He’s talking a lot, but you don’t mind that. You’re happy to know what he thinks and feels, his voice is soothing, and you feel less alone knowing he understands you to at least some degree, and is willing to help you through your hardships. That’s all you really needed; for Jisung to hear you, and reply in the thoughtful way he always does.

“And you know I’ll always be there for you, right? If you ever feel like this again, just tell me. I’ll be right there, the minute you call I’ll–” Oh, wait. Your eyes are closed, breath slow and gentle, now completely unresponsive to his words.

You fell asleep while he was talking? How long was he going before he even realized you were no longer listening? His other friends are right- he really does talk way too much sometimes.

He observes you quietly for a moment, giggling to himself when he hears the soft snores leaving you as he takes in your serene expression. He also realizes that the sky has gotten brighter, the sound of birds chirping becoming more prominent with each passing moment. How had the night come and gone so quickly? 

That’s what always happens when he’s with you, though– time seems to accelerate, while at the same time feeling like it’s at a stand still. The happy moments pass in the blink of an eye, but simultaneously seems to freeze whenever he stares at you. When you smile and laugh with him, it makes his heart burst, your shining eyes always taking his breath away. 

Reaching his hand up carefully, he tucks the hair that has fallen over your face behind your ear, smiling to himself when you unconsciously lean into his light touch. It’s so cute, how even in your sleep you seem to recognize it’s him, indulging in the comfort he offers you. At least, that’s what you’ve told him once before– that one of the reasons you like having sleepovers with him is because his presence makes you feel safe and relaxed. 

He's not sure if you even remember saying it, but he was so happy when you told him, and even now it’s something on his mind every time you two share a bed. He just wishes he wasn’t always so tense and nervous whenever you laid next to him, and he wishes he had more courage to always lay face to face and talk like you did tonight. Maybe one day he can hold you closer, wrap his arms around you and let his head rest atop yours.

Maybe he’ll kiss you, too– your lips, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere you’ll let him. He can picture the way you’ll giggle at him, how you’ll playfully push him away while complaining that it tickles, and how he’ll wrap his arms around you tighter to keep you trapped in his affection. And when it’s all over he’ll tell you he loves you and–

Wait. 

He loves you? 

Well, of course he does. You’re his best friend, so of course he loves you! Totally platonically, of course. The fact that he’s had a major crush on you for the past few years doesn’t matter. Nope. Not at all. Surely he’s not literally in love with you, right? Because you’re his best friend and falling in love with your best friend is not only the most cliche thing ever, but definitely a recipe for heartbreak. 

So he’s not in love with you– he can’t be. It’s just a simple crush! It doesn’t matter that he constantly thinks about kissing you, or holding your hand while walking together, or how it’d feel for you to lay your head against him while he holds you during movie night. It doesn’t matter that he envisions what going on dates with you would be like, or what life would be like if you moved in together, or what your body would look like bare underneath his, or–

Fuck, he’s so in denial. He’s definitely in love with you, hopelessly so. His cute, endearing best friend, who he can’t seem to ever get out of his head. Do you ever think about him the way he thinks about you? Are you always on his mind, lingering in every thought the way you are for him? He desperately wants to know, but there’s a part of him that is afraid to find out, because what will he do if you don’t feel the same way? 

He forces himself to roll back over and close his eyes, because if he doesn’t stop looking at you, he’s never going to be able to stop thinking about it long enough to get some sleep. But even with his back now turned to you, hearing your soft breathing and feeling the dip in his bed from your presence is enough to plague his thoughts and keep the sleep he desperately needs out of reach for what little remains of the night. 

It’s been a few weeks since the night that Jisung finally admitted to himself that he’s in love with you, and whoever said being honest with yourself makes things better has definitely never been in love with their best friend, because actually what the fuck. This is the closest to hell he’s ever been, he thinks. Because he can’t seem to go a single moment without thinking about wanting to be romantic with you, and it’s driving him crazy. 

Holding your hand and cuddling during movie night, staying up all night on the phone talking about anything and everything, giving you sweet kisses after he tells you how much he loves you– he’s begging his brain to let him think about literally anything else, but it simply refuses. And now, sitting in his car together at a red light, is another such time where wanting to kiss you encompasses all his thoughts. 

You had spent time together almost every day since the night of the party now that your schedules were free, but all those times included the additions of your roommates or his. It’s only now, after a day spent at the beach, that the two of you are alone together again (thanks to the combined, scheming efforts of your mutual friends.) 

Chan loves the beach, and he goes whenever he can, but today he didn’t want to hangout there alone. He invited you, as well as his roomies and other friends, to come meet him there. And of course, you said yes, and of course, you had the most breathtaking swimsuit on underneath your clothes.

It was almost embarrassing, the way it stole Jisung’s breath away and made his cheeks burn red. He prayed he could blame it on the harsh sun, but there’d be no fooling Changbin, who was snickering behind him. 

“When are you going to finally confess?” Changbin asked when you were out of ear shot, and Jisung pouted, both because he was being called out about his feelings, and because he had no fucking idea when, if ever, he’d tell you how he feels.

“I.. don’t know,” he ended up answering honestly, continuing to look in your direction even as he spoke. You were splashing in the water with your mutual friends, your laugh ringing loud in his ears even with the distance between you.

“C’mon, Ji. Summer breaks are practically built for romance. You gotta make a move,” he’d said, and Jisung once again pouted. “Easier said than done,” he mumbled in response, something akin to dread settling in him whenever he thought about the possibility of you rejecting him.

“Jisung,” Changbin started, all sense of joking or teasing having left him, “I’ve been watching you pine over her since the day I met the two of you. You need to tell her, because I don’t know how much more of those looks of yours I can handle.”

“What look?” Jisung asks with a frown, turning his gaze away from where you are. “Like a lost puppy begging for attention,” Changbin answers nonchalantly, and the appalled reaction he gets from Jisung makes him laugh. “But seriously. I’ll ride home with Chan, so why don’t you take her home later? Get some alone time before you drop her off or something?” 

“But she came with her roommates. Why wouldn’t she leave with them?” Jisung asked, and Changbin laughed as he shook his head. “You’re so clueless, dude.” It’s common knowledge to everyone who came today that the two of you are so hopelessly in love with each other, but seemingly too oblivious to notice how the other one feels. And if Jisung asked you to spend some alone time with him, you’d say yes in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

Maybe what the two of you needed was a little push– a reason to be alone together, a romantic setting to set the tone and finally get the two of you to move beyond the bounds of friendship. And if Jisung won’t act on his own, Changbin will take it into his own hands; mission “get these two pining idiots together” starts today. 

Changbin told Chan, who then told one of your roommates, who then told another. By the time the sun is setting, everyone knows the plan. You would be left alone with Jisung, by any excuse necessary. Thankfully, Chan came in his own car due to his tendency to hit the beach before anyone else, so he and Changbin wouldn’t be leaving Jisung stranded by leaving early.

The two of them left first, with the excuse that they’d be ending their day by hitting the gym– they’d actually just be relaxing on the sofa the rest of the day, but you and Jisung didn’t need to know that. Your roommates took that as their cue to prepare to leave as well, and the group of you helped one another towel dry enough to throw your clothes back on over your swimsuits. 

Jisung approached you as soon as he was done himself, waiting for you to finish packing your things in your tote bag before saying anything. “Hey, d-do you want to go get some ice cream?” he asked, mentally cursing himself for stuttering. Since when did asking your best friend if they want to get ice cream become so nerve wracking? 

“Of course!” you smiled, turning to your roommates next to see if they wanted to join. They all said no, of course, citing being tired or wanting to shower asap as their reasons, but urged you to enjoy your time with Jisung. You don’t find it weird at all, much too excited about eating ice cream to even begin to realize this was a planned set up. 

The sun was just beginning to sink when you arrived at your favorite parlor, excitedly bouncing up to the counter as Jisung trailed behind you with a smile. You decided to be adventurous, picking out a new flavor suited for the summer, while Jisung went with a classic choice of cookie dough. 

“Can I have a bite of yours?” it didn’t take long for you to inevitably ask him, and Jisung gave you an overdramatic sigh as he passed it over to you. Trading bites somehow always ended with you eating more of Jisung’s ice cream than he did, but that was okay with him.

He always ordered your favorite flavor, knowing that you can’t resist the temptation of trying the new one, but would end up wanting cookie dough more than whatever new flavor initially enticed you. 

It’s a bit of a ritual for him at this point; ordering your favorite while pretending it’s his favorite as well, acting like he's annoyed when you beg him for a bite and eventually end up taking half the bowl while offering him whatever flavor you ordered instead as compensation for his loss.

Do you notice the way he smiles after you take his ice cream from him? The adoration that lingers in his eyes as he watches you happily devour the sweet treat?

You skipped to the car when you were finished, evidently very pleased with your ice cream endeavors and not at all apologetic for stealing all of the cookie dough for yourself, once again oblivious to the way he does it all for you.

That would probably never change, and for the first time, Jisung wondered if that was okay. Did he want it to change? Did he want you to notice? He wasn’t sure what was best anymore.

And now here you both were, sitting at a red light while the sun sinks ever lower in the horizon, blue beginning to spread over the sky and little specks of stars finally becoming visible. Instead of looking at the street as he waits for the light to turn, he looks at you. You just looked so pretty, and all he could think of once again was how badly he wanted to kiss you. 

Jisung wished he had words to put what he thought of you other than a simple “pretty” but that’s all that ever came to mind. So, so pretty, impossibly so. Pretty in a way that sunsets and oceans couldn’t ever compare, at least not in his mind– he would always find you better, no comparison ever being good enough to describe what he thought of you. 

You’re in your own little world, humming along to the song playing through the speakers and tapping your fingers to the beat. However, it doesn’t take long for you to feel his eyes on you, your body alerting you to his lingering gaze and instructing you to look back at him.

The sight you're met with when you turn your head makes your face immediately burn; Jisung isn’t simply glancing over at you, or trying to check in with you after a tiring day out. He’s blatantly staring at you. “..Ji..?” his name barely leaves you, an unspoken question lingering in the air between you.

Why is he looking at you like that? What was going through his head right now? Your face heats up exponentially, watching as his eyes travel over your features, seeming to take them in deeply. You instinctively hold in a breath when his eyes reach your lips, staring at them with an overt yearning. 

Your surroundings fade, music no longer audible, the light of the sinking sun illuminating him beautifully and drawing you even further into his gaze. All there was in this moment was Jisung; he was all you could see, all you could focus on, and it was the same for him with you.

You were always his first thought, always there at the forefront of his mind, but he always tried to push the deeper feelings away, because you’re his best friend and he shouldn’t think of you as anything more than that. But right now, he can’t help it.

His urge to kiss you is so strong, and he knows he can’t resist it the way he usually can. Your eyes that hold the entire world– no, the entire galaxy, his galaxy, in them makes his self control shatter.

Maybe Changbin had a point when he said that summer was perfect for romance. Because the way you look at him, with eyes shining under the twinkling lights that blink on one by one with the fading sun– he loves you, he wants to be with you, and that desire is consuming him. 

Your heart races as he leans closer to you, inch by inch. You lose all concept of time passing, a moment that in reality lasts mere seconds instead feeling like an eternity. You close your eyes, waiting; waiting for the moment you’ve craved for ages, for his lips to touch yours for the first time. How long had you pined for him? 

It’s hard to say exactly; In high school, when he got his first love confession and accepted it, it broke your heart. But at the time, you thought it was just because it meant he would have less time for you.

With time you moved on, deciding it was important to be happy for your best friend even if it crushed you for reasons you didn’t entirely understand. And eventually you entered your first relationship as well, and for a time you could forget about how lonely you felt from not having Jisung always near you. 

Neither of your respective first relationships lasted all that long; high school romances tend to dwindle as college draws near, after all. Life has a tendency to take people to different places, and some realize their ambitions faster than others.

It saddened you at the time, but you weren’t going to alter your life for someone else and you didn’t expect anyone to do that for you either. After all, 20 is awfully early to decide not to follow your dreams for the sake of someone else. 

But you and Jisung were still on the same path, and that had to mean something, right? It was like the days where you were distant never even occurred, the both of you picking up where you left off like no time had ever passed.

You were as close as you’d ever been, still seeing each other at every opportunity, even when you were drowning in assignment deadlines and exhaustive study efforts. He made time for you, and you made time for him, even when it was hard. Didn’t that mean something? 

Yes, it meant everything– at least it did to you. And so did he; Jisung meant everything to you. He always had, and you think he always will. You can feel his breath on you now, the warmth tickling your skin and your heart feeling like it’s going to burst from out of your chest as the gap between you closes. He’s so close to you, the closest he’s ever been. His lips drawn to yours, closer, closer, and then–

The shrill honk of a car from behind snaps you both from the moment. Jisung opens his eyes quickly, blinking for just a moment as reality settles back over him and he processes what was just about to happen. You do the same, turning your attention back towards the front and seeing that the traffic light had turned green while the two of you were lost in the moment you were sharing. 

He swallows, mentally offering an apology to the cars behind him as he continues to drive you home. Fuck, he really got carried away. Was he really about to risk everything you had together by kissing you? What would happen to your friendship?

He’s not supposed to like you, and you definitely don’t like him– at least, not romantically. He’s at least 60% sure of that; maybe even 70%. Get it through your head Jisung– you're just friends. Just. Friends.

You meanwhile are stuck in thought as well, though not in the same way. You feel light, almost? Buzzing with what could only be described as pure excitement, unfiltered joy seeping out of every pore.

He was going to kiss you!! He was really going to! That meant he liked you, didn’t it? Or maybe he even loved you? Loved you in the same you loved him, wanted to be with you in the same way you wanted to be with him? 

You take a peek in his direction, noticing his stiff hold on the steering wheel and the rigid way his body sits. He keeps his gaze straight forward, not daring to look at you, afraid of what expression he’ll be met with. He’d never forgive himself if he looked over to see you were upset with him, forever feeling like an idiot if it was his fault your friendship came to an end.

Maybe he’s just nervous, you think. That would make sense! He gathered his courage for a moment, and now he needed time to gather it again– it's not easy to overcome hesitation and let someone know how you feel about them, but this minor setback won't be the end of it. He’d definitely kiss you before the night was over! You’re sure of it! 

Okay, maybe you weren’t entirely sure of it. Because he’s still stiff and nervous when he drops you off at your apartment building, offering a strained goodbye and eyes not quite meeting yours. That’s still okay! Jisung is just shy– that has to be it! It won’t be long before he kisses you, you’re sure of it– for real this time! …right? right!

Maybe you should stop saying you’re sure of things, because you’re never right. It’s been a week since Jisung almost kissed you, and he’s been avoiding you the entire time. You didn’t understand– surely he was over his shyness by now, right? How much longer was he going to make you wait? It was agony. 

“Ji. Movie night at my place tonight. And I swear if you cancel again I’ll never forgive you !!!” you texted him dramatically, spamming various angry emojis for added effect. To your relief, Jisung agrees to come over and bring snacks as an apology for being busy. You don’t believe he was actually busy of course, but you’ll let him off the hook on that for now.

It's mid afternoon when he finally arrives, multiple bags full of snacks and sweet treats in hand. You smile and hug him tightly, noting that he’s still stiff but deciding not to dwell on that just yet– he’s finally here, after all! And if this plethora of snacks told you anything, it was that he genuinely was sorry for avoiding you. 

He tosses the bags on the coffee table, and you throw on a random movie you’ve already seen before, because the movie ultimately doesn’t matter– it’s just an excuse to see Jisung again. Unlike his usual self, he sits on the complete opposite end of the sofa from you, putting an invisible wall between you. Well, that’s fine! You’ll just move closer! 

You hear his breath hitch when you sit right next to him, glancing over just long enough to see you smiling at him. He’s so fucked– his feelings definitely aren’t under control enough for this; you're positively torturing him. How is he supposed to get over his feelings for you if you’re looking at him like that while sitting so close to him?

You purposely leave your hand close to his, waiting to see if he’ll hold it, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes straight ahead at the tv, evidently still scared to meet your gaze or be too close to you. Why? Why does he keep avoiding your eyes when you look at him? Why won’t he bring himself closer to you? Is he trying to forget it happened?

Does he not realize how badly you wanted him to kiss you? Maybe.. Maybe he’s scared to bring it up. Maybe he’s afraid of rejection, or of your friendship deteriorating from his outward admission. Maybe he’d rather bottle it back up, pretend he was never on the brink of kissing you, because losing you would be the worst thing that would ever happen to him.

Is he scared that you don’t have feelings for him? Is that why even now, when his feelings have all but been laid out, he’s avoiding the confrontation? But he doesn’t have to be afraid of that– you love him. If he’s unsure, then you need him to know, and you’ll tell him yourself. 

"Jisung, look at me," you suddenly call to him, tone so serious that he can’t possibly ignore it. He swallows, forcing himself to finally meet your gaze head on, palms sweating as he anticipates what he’s most afraid of. "The other day, in your car… were you going to kiss me?" Fuck. He knew you were going to ask. 

You watch his expression change as his face heats up, a not at all subtle red encroaching over his features. "O-Oh, I–" he starts to speak, but immediately stops, words dying in his throat. Fuck. God Dammit. Even though he knew this would happen, none of the scenarios he crafted in his head seemed to be of any assistance. 

The excuses he conjured, the apologies that he knew he should utter, the words he thought he should say that were practiced over and over again.. All of that preparation failed him now, a sort of panic settling over him as his body tensed and hands clammed up further. 

Honestly, watching him flounder for an excuse or explanation that would allow him to pretend he doesn’t have feelings for you is kind of funny, (and oddly cute), but now really isn’t the time to let it continue. Now, after years and years of secret pining, it’s time for both of you to lay out your feelings clearly, verbally. 

"It would've been fine.. I wanted you to do it," you say with complete honesty, pushing away your own nerves and hesitation as far as you could. You couldn’t let your anxieties get the better of you now; you needed to say what you feel, and encourage Jisung to do the same, otherwise the two of you will always be stuck in the boundaries of friendship. You both need to swallow down the part of you that is scared and shy, or you’ll never move beyond what you are. 

His eyes widened, mouth falling slightly agape in shock. What? Huh? You wanted him to kiss you? But that would mean even if you don’t love him like he loves you, you at the very least like him, and surely you didn’t. There is no way you like him like that, because that would mean his friends are right, and he’s a clueless idiot. 

Fuck. Is he a clueless idiot? 

"I'm in love with you, Ji," you finally admit for the first time out loud, and while it’s nerve wracking to say the least, it’s also a relief. Your feelings have been a secret for so long (at least to Jisung they were, cause lord knows you’re an open book otherwise), and it felt good to say it, to tell him right to his face that you love him.

Even if you read into the situation completely wrong somehow, and he wasn’t trying to kiss you that day and didn’t like you, at least you no longer had to hide how you feel. "Since.. since when?" he asks, still a bit stunned and entirely in disbelief.

He can’t believe this is even happening, and there’s part of him that thinks this must be some elaborate dream; he must’ve fallen asleep during the movie, or maybe he never woke up this morning and this entire day has been part of a long dream. But no, he knows it isn’t a dream; because you are much too tangible, and no dream, no matter how vivid, compares to the reality of you. 

"I-I don't know, since.. always?" you answer, a slight blush of your own crawling over your skin. You don’t remember the exact moment you realized you liked him as more than a friend anymore, as you were still just a kid then. But you know that by the time high school came, your seemingly small crush had developed into much more, and in recent months, you finally realized the true depth of that feeling. 

Even when you were too young to understand what love is and what it felt like, even when you convinced yourself that everything you felt for him was purely platonic in nature, your feelings for Jisung were there. So.. since always. You’ve always wanted him close to you, always wanted your life to be spent with him by your side, always, always loved him above anyone else.

He groans loudly, throwing his arms up and covering his face in a display of anguish. "You're telling me you could've been my girlfriend this whole time?" You can’t help but giggle at his reaction, finding him impossibly cute and funny.

“It’s not too late for me to be your girlfriend now,” you say, and he immediately peels his arms away from his face, looking at you as if you’ve said something that he only could’ve imagined in his wildest dreams.

“Do you mean that?” he asks, hope palpable in his tone, eyes pleading for this to not be something you’re saying just to tease him. “Of course I mean that, silly,” you giggle a little, reaching out for his hands and squeezing them in yours, “I meant everything I said.”

“Oh my god, thank god– I mean, you’re really going to be my girlfriend? You’re not just saying it, right? I don’t have to like. Pretend I don’t have feelings for you anymore? Because it’s been driving me insane, and I don't think I can do it anymore, you're way too pretty and–”

“Jisung–! Shut up and kiss me already,” you interrupt his rambling, and he blinks once, twice, obliging your request as soon as the reality of your words settles over him. 

When your lips finally touch his, it feels so right– like everything you’ve ever felt or experienced in your entire life was all to lead to this very moment. It’s sweet, addictive, intoxicating– everything you have ever wanted, ever hoped for, and more.

His hands are hesitant, unsure of where they should rest and if it’s okay to touch you, but when you reach out to him and pull yourself closer, it’s all the permission he needs to let his hands wander. 

Years worth of suppressed emotions bubble to the surface all at once, both of you caught in the tidal wave of repressed feelings and urges. Soft, slow timid kisses eventually turn into full ones, deep and impassioned, with all the weight of your feelings pressed into them. Your hands rest on his chest while his move down your waist, fingers lingering on your hips for just a moment before bringing them back up. 

His tongue licks against your lip, tentative and almost shy, a silent hope lingering, an unspoken beg for your permission. You open your mouth, granting him what he desires with no restraint, your own tongue meeting his eagerly, coming together in a salacious dance. One of his hands reaches for the nape of your neck to keep you close, and you can feel him smile against your lips when it causes a noise of approval to involuntarily escape from your throat.

Both of your lips become red and swollen from their constant use, any sense of rhythm having completely degraded now that your open mouth kisses have turned into sloppy messes of tongue. It’s embarrassing how worked up he’s getting just from kissing you, and he desperately hopes you haven’t noticed how hard he’s gotten from it. But of course, you have noticed, and you definitely intend on doing something about it. 

“Ji.. do you want to touch me?” you pull away from him to ask, and the reaction you get from him is immediate. “God, yes, can I?” The eagerness in his voice makes you giggle as you nod. “Just, uhm.. Get comfortable?” you suggest, shifting your position so that you’re on your heels, hands just slightly in front of you, making your intent clear to him– you want to be in his lap, and obviously he’s going to let you. 

Jisung leans back on the sofa, watching you crawl in his lap with bated breath before you pull your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor beside you. You reach for one of his hands, guiding it to your chest, and he swallows thickly, the sight before him making him throb in his shorts. The fact that he gets to kiss you now, gets to touch you– it’s a dream come true. Though, the reality is much better than any of his many, many dreams of being with you. 

He lifts his other hand to you as well, completely forgetting he's using it to support himself, making him fall completely back against the sofa, head thunking on the arm rest. You laugh as he lets out a small “ow!”, his clumsy nature always endearing to you, and especially so during this moment; it’s the sweet, goofy side of Jisung that made you fall in love with him, after all. 

Jisung laughs with you once the sting fades, fully indulging in the sound of your laugh and the cute way your face scrunches, even if it is at his expense. You reach your hand to his head, rubbing it in soft, soothing gesture as you lean down, kissing him once more as he cups your breasts in his hands. The mewl you let out against his lips when he squeezes is enough to send him straight to heaven.

No, he already is in heaven, because nothing could be better than this; you on him, against him, kissing him, letting him touch and squeeze you to his heart's content. He lets out a hiss when you settle your full weight into his lap, his erection pressing directly against you. He gasps when you grind against him, and you use that as an opportunity to let your tongue back into his mouth. 

You stay like that for some time, making out with each other while your fingers are tangled in his hair and his hands squeeze at your flesh, but you’re beginning to desire more, and you can tell Jisung is too, from the way his body reacts with every subtle move you make. You separate from him, sitting up and bringing your hands behind your back to unhook your bra and finally remove it.

“W-Wait, your roommates–” Jisung’s voice comes out urgently, abruptly propping himself up on his elbows as a realization hits him, “what if they come home? While you’re.. we’re..?” Oh. You were still in the living room, huh? That fact entirely left your mind, much too absorbed in the man underneath you to think about who could end up seeing the both of you like this.

Well, they knew you were inviting him over today, and knowing them, they’d likely stay out for a while to allow you to have alone time.. But still, it’d be better to not risk having them walk in on the sight of you half naked in your boyfriend’s lap. “My room, then?” you ask, carefully removing yourself from atop him, and Jisung nods eagerly, quickly rising to his feet the moment he is able.

You grab your shirt from the floor, ensuring you leave no evidence of your actions behind before leading Jisung to your room with quick, eager steps. He’s been in your room a million times, but it feels so different now, given the context of everything that happened moments before. You both stand there a moment, not hesitant, but rather shy, deciding how best you should proceed from here.

You eventually decide to sit on your bed first, shooting Jisung a soft smile afterwards that lets him know he’s welcome to come join you. So he does; he carefully sits next to you, the newfound shyness fully settling over the two of you. You were acting in the heat of the moment earlier, your bodies reacting before your minds could catch up, but now that you’ve both had a moment to process your actions, it fills you with butterflies. 

There’s a moment where you stay like that, subtle blushes on your faces as you look at each other, before you speak up again, “Do you want to keep going..?” “Yes!” Jisung answers without even thinking, immediately clearing his throat after and trying to play off how eager he just sounded, “I mean, uhm– yes. Do you want to?”

The blush on his face flares when you giggle at him; he knows you aren’t laughing at him necessarily, but he can’t help the tinge of embarrassment that crawls up his spine. “Yes, I do,” you smile at him, and it’s so pretty and bright that he can’t even be flustered anymore; because more importantly than that, you want to keep going too– you want more, just like he does. 

So he smiles too, reaching out to you and pulling you into a kiss, both of you giggling into it softly. The giggles fade out as the kiss becomes more heated, you gently pushing him back and crawling back on top of him when his head hits your pillows, returning to the position you were in previously. 

Jisung’s hands are the ones that reach behind you this time, fumbling with the hooks of your bra while you kiss him with his face in your hands. Thankfully, he gets it undone on the third try, and you sit back up, letting it fall down your arms and subsequently tossing it aside. “..so beautiful,” he mumbles mostly to himself, but you still hear it, and it makes the blush on your face flare.

You grab at the hem of his shirt, wanting to see his body as well. He lifts himself off his back, helping you pull his shirt off, neither of you paying any mind to where it lands once it’s discarded. You trace your hands over him when he lays back again, from his broad chest to his slim waist, eyes drinking him in while your hands familiarize themselves with the feeling of his bare skin. 

You’ve seen him shirtless countless times in recent years, so you’re no stranger to how attractive he is, but it’s different now; different because now you can openly admire him, and don't have to pretend to not notice that he’s built like a greek god. Even Adonis himself doesn’t hold a candle to the beauty of Han Jisung. 

“You’re so pretty, Ji,” you tell him sincerely. The compliment makes the blush on his face darken, but he returns your smile, reaching his hands back up to you. “I should be saying that to you,” he responds, one of his hands resting on your waist, “you’re the prettiest thing in the world.” He brings his other hand to the nape of your neck just as before, gently pulling you back to him before you can reply, his tongue grazing your lips when they touch again.

He brings your hands to breasts now, cupping them in his hands as he did before. He can feel your breath shudder when his thumbs brush over your nipples, a soft mewl pouring into his mouth when he rubs them between his fingers. The stimulation makes your entire body shiver, your hips grind down in search of some sort of relief, soft groans leaving Jisung every time you press your body down on his cock.

You separate from the kiss, one your hands reaching between your bodies, settling on the waistband of his shorts. “Is this okay?” you ask, watching him for any sign of hesitation or apprehension, but there’s none to be found. Instead, you’re met with eager, twinkling eyes, anticipation written all over him as he nods, a soft “yes, please,” leaving him in a quick breath.

You shove his waistband down just enough to free his cock from its confines, a hiss escaping him when your fingers begin to trace him up and down. Your fingers gather the pre-cum leaking from his tip, spreading it over his length easily, and turning him into a wet, sticky mess. He watches in breathless awe when your hand wraps around him, entranced by the visual before him.

You, so beautiful and lovely, with your pretty hands on and around him, watching him and the way his body reacts to you with sweet salacity. He lets out a breathy groan when you begin to pump him earnestly, his eyes closing despite how badly he wants to keep watching. Your hand just feels so much better than his, so much softer and perfectly warm. 

You watch his face, committing to memory the way it contorts, the way his brows furrow and teeth sink into his bottom lip. You memorize the way his chest rises and falls with each quick breath, the way his thighs tremble, the way his stomach contracts as you drive him closer and closer to release. 

“Sungie,” you call to him, slowing your pace down just enough for him to be able to easily open his eyes and look at you, “want you in my mouth– is that okay? Can I?”

“Oh my god, yes, please, you don’t even have to ask,” he says between shallow breaths, far too excited to have your mouth on him to be embarrassed by the desperate display he’s putting on.

He props himself on his elbows, watching you scoot yourself down his legs and bringing your face right up to his cock. Your tongue comes out first, collecting the pre-cum with long, drawn out licks, and fuck, the sight alone is enough to have his eyes rolling back. You kiss the tip before you wrap your lips around him, his head falling back and curses leaving his lips as you sink your head down on him.

His hands grip at your sheets, desperately trying to hold himself back from bucking his hips up and choking you, because the last thing he wants is to accidentally hurt you. But fuck, your mouth feels so amazing, he almost can’t breathe. “God, fuck-” he gasps when his cock touches the back of your throat, your tongue rubbing the underside so perfectly.

He’s trying to hold it back, desperate to feel your tongue on him longer, to have your lips wrapped around him for just another moment, but he can’t. He releases with a strained cry, his cum filling your mouth in quick spurts. The unfamiliar feeling causes you to gag at first, but you recover quickly, swallowing all he has to give you happily. 

You release him from your mouth when you feel him begin to soften, laying next to him with a soft, satisfied smile on your face. “Was it good?” you ask him and he lets out a breathless laugh before he answers.

“So good, seriously, you’re amazing,” he says, turning his head to look at you with a small smile of his own to match yours, “but you already knew that, didn’t you? You just wanted me to say it.” 

“Maybe,” you giggle, and Jisung does as well, shifting to his side and pulling your body closer to his. He kisses you once more, tasting himself on your lips, but not at all minding it– in fact, he finds that he actually really likes it. It’s fucking hot, if he’s being honest. But there’s one thing that would make it even hotter– if your taste was on his tongue too.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he says, fingers resting on your hips, just above your own waistband, “is that okay with you? Can I?” The question makes your stomach flip, thighs pressing together at the idea of Jisung between your legs– you really want it. “Yes, I– I want you to.” 

With your affirmation, he lifts himself off the bed and lets you lay back, deciding to remove the last of his clothing before settling between your legs once you’re comfortable. His fingers hook in your waistband now, ready to take your shorts and underwear off together in one motion. He looks at you before he does, taking in your expression that is filled with shy anticipation, eyes traveling down your body next, stopping where his hands rest on your hips.

God, he feels like a virgin again with the way his hands tremble, the thought of you seeing you bare leaving him as nervous as it does excited. Why does his heart feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest? He’s eager, he knows that, and shyness still lingers, but there’s something else there that’s making his heart race out of control. 

It’s because he loves you, if he had to guess. You turn him to putty, one look from you enough to reduce him to a mere puddle. He doubts you know the effect you have on him, as he’s spent so much time trying to hide it, but he doesn’t have to anymore. Jisung can love you fully now– no need to hold back, to push it aside, to try and disguise it as the platonic love between friends. 

He can hold you in his arms, can feel your lips on his, can touch your bare skin, can put his all into making you as happy as you make him. He looks back at your face again, your expression is similar to his own. Eager trepidation written in your eyes, love and adoration lingering underneath. 

Your eyes meet his once more, shy but certain, and you smile at him, the way you always have. A smile that makes his brain go fuzzy, that fills him with a sweet desire, that makes him whole. You, the brightest star in his galaxy, so beautiful and perfect, whom he once thought was out of reach but now sits in hands, radiating love and warmth. 

If he is your Adonis, then you’re his Aphrodite; when you are together, the sun shines brighter, the world more vibrant, more beautiful, all because you’re there with him. He’ll love you until his last breath, and he knows you’ll do the same, a promise unspoken for now, but will one day leave him earnestly, down on one knee with a ring in hand. 

“I love you,” he tells you as he leans down, kissing you before you can utter a reply, slowly pulling your clothing down your legs as he does. Jisung’s earnest admission, paired with his actions, makes the heat on your face flare and body tremble, hands coming up to cover your face once the kiss is over as an even more intense shyness settles over you.

“Love you too,” you mutter, face feeling impossibly hot. Sure, you already admitted it earlier, but it’s your first time hearing it from Jisung, and the fact that he’s saying it during an intimate moment while looking at you like that? Your heart simply can’t handle it. Peeking through your fingers, you can see him smiling as he carefully pushes your legs apart and it makes a whine unconsciously leave you.

“Baby,” his voice calls to you, and the use of the petname from him definitely does your heart no favors, “why are you covering your face? It’s just me.”

“That’s the problem– it’s you,” you mumble, just barely managing to peel your hands away from your face to give him a pout. Doesn’t he know that the way you’re acting now is entirely his fault? It was much easier to push past your shyness when the focus was on him instead of you. 

Jisung isn’t used to seeing this bashful side of you and God, it’s so cute that he might have fallen for you even harder than before (if that’s even possible.) He smiles again, and you swear this surge of confidence from him has to be illegal– because the effect it has on you is positively lethal. Han Jisung is going to be the death of you. 

“You’re so wet,” he speaks softly in your ear, fingers rubbing through your folds and coating them in the proof of your excitement. “Jisung–” you whine once more, but before you can cover your face again, his other hand comes up to stop you. “Please let me see you. I need to know how you feel when I’m touching you. Okay, baby? Please.” 

Fuck. How can you say no after hearing that? You concede with a nod, lowering your hands in a silent promise to do your best to look at him, to let him see you no matter how shy or overwhelmed you may get; because if it’s what Jisung wants, you’ll do your best to ensure he has it. 

“Thank you,” he smiles as he gives you a quick peck on the lips, “in return I’ll make sure you feel so good. Are you ready?” You nod again, but quickly realize he wants you to actually say it, so you swallow down your nerves the best you can to allow yourself to speak. “Yes, I– I’m ready. Make me feel good, please.” 

His two middle fingers press against your hole, using the tips of his fingers to check for any resistance before carefully pushing fully inside. His first motions are slow, making sure you’re well adjusted to the feeling of his fingers and observing you for any changes in expression. Your body jolts when he finds the spot inside you that makes you see stars, head falling back as an unintentionally loud moan escapes you. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut, whimpers and moans unable to be held back with the way his fingers repeatedly prod at your spot. “Does it feel good? You like how my fingers feel inside you?” He asks, and even though you can’t see the smile anymore, you can hear it. You nod repeatedly, mouth opening to try to tell him, though all that escapes you are embarrassingly loud sounds of pleasure. 

“Can’t say it? That’s okay, your pussy is telling me everything I need to know. You’re squeezing my fingers so tight,” he says in your ear, pressing a kiss to your skin after. Oh, you liked that a lot– he can tell by the way you clench around his fingers, legs trembling and hands twisting the sheets beneath you. Maybe the fact that he talks a lot will be a good thing for once.

“You gonna cum soon? Want to cum all over my fingers? Go ahead baby, I want to see it, show me how good you feel.” “Oh my god, Ji-” you gasp; you’re so, so close– you just need one thing to finally push you over the edge. “K-Kiss, please, need a kiss,” you practically beg, looking at him with watery eyes and pouty lips. 

Holy fuck, does that make him crumble. How could anything be simultaneously so cute and fucking hot? He leans down to meet your request, free hand moving to cup your face while his fingers continue their ministrations, and that’s all you need to finally come undone.

Your entire body shakes, eyes rolling back as your release soaks his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as you come down from your high, letting you pull back for air as you please but always capturing your lips again as soon as he is able. 

You whine when he finally slips his fingers out of you, watching shyly as he brings them to his mouth to lick clean. His eyes stay on yours the entire time, and it makes the heat on your face intensify beyond what you thought was possible. He kisses you once more when he’s finished, tongue coaxing you to open your mouth, both your tastes melding together on your tongues, just as he wanted.

He’s hard again too– you can feel his cock pressing against you, begging for more stimulation that you’re more than happy to give. “Ji–” you pull away from his lips to long enough to speak, “please fuck me.”

He groans at your words, opening his eyes to look at you before he continues, “I will, I promise I’ll make you feel so good. But, I– I, uhm, I don’t have anything, I didn’t expect anything to happen, so..” 

“That’s okay. I trust you Ji,” you reply, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as you reach your hand to his face, “love you so much, just want you inside me.” He groans again, kissing you sweetly as he aligns himself with your entrance.

“You’re sure?” he pulls away to ask first, “It’s okay to change your mind, I can run out and grab condoms and–” You smile, shutting him up with a kiss before he can continue to ramble. You appreciate the offer, and the sweet consideration he has for you, but.. “I’m so sure, I promise. I want this.”

He returns your smile when you pull away, reaching one of his hands to grab yours, squeezing it before intertwining your fingers together. “As long as you’re sure, I’ll give you everything you want,” he says, a promise that extends beyond just this moment– anything and everything he has to give, it’s yours for as long as you want it. 

Jisung can’t help but let out a moan as he sinks inside you, eyes closing and head falling forward at the immediate overwhelming pleasure your body brings him. You squeeze his hand, your other one coming up to hold his face; you can feel the heat radiating off his cheek, can see the sweat that lingers on his brow and makes his hair stick to his forehead. 

When he opens his eyes to look at you again, his stomach erupts in butterflies, heart squeezing in his chest. You’re just as sweaty as him, face flushed and hair disheveled, and yet it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever been– and you’re smiling; the pretty smile that always turns his brain to mush and snatches his breath away. 

God, he can’t take it– he needs to calm down before the sight of you, paired with the mind-numbing pleasure that’s encompassing him, gives him a heart attack. "Sungie, are you okay?" you ask after a moment passes, concern growing on your face as you continue to hold his face in your hand.

"Fuck, y-yeah, I'm fine, I– I just.. this is so embarrassing, but I just like– I need a minute," he admits almost breathlessly, as if even the act speaking to you is a struggle– and in a way it is, because all his concentration is being poured into not cumming just from seeing your pretty face, or your beautiful body underneath him while being squeezed by your walls.

"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere," you tell him sincerely, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you lean up to kiss him. You understand why he’s embarrassed, but you hope he knows that when he’s with you, he doesn’t have to be; you love him no matter what.

Besides, you have to admit you like that you have such a profound effect on him. And while the kiss doesn’t help calm his heart by any means, he appreciates your sweetness endlessly, meeting your lips eagerly despite himself. 

When his hips finally move, the sweet sound that pours from your lips sends a shiver through his entire body. He wants, needs, to hear it again, more and more, until his name is the only thing lingering on your tongue, the only thing you are capable of uttering between your pleasured moans.

“So pretty, everything about you, your body, the sounds you make, so pretty,” he tells you, though his lips barely leave yours long enough to say it. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a whine from him, and he knows he’s done for.

Every sound, every touch, every glance, no matter how soft or how subtle drives him further into overwhelming bliss. He’s drowning in you, in the love and relief you offer him, lost in the abyss that is your care. He brings his hands to your legs, lifting them up and effectively folding you in half, aiming to find the spot that’ll have you crying out for him.

It only takes a few experimental thrusts to find it, and the way clench around him, voice ringing loudly in his ears as your legs tremble in his hold, it’s enough to make him want to cum right then and there. His pace quickens, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches your body react to him, desperate to hold back his need to cum for as long as he can manage, just so he can have this view of you for a while longer. 

But when you start to whine his name, when you breathlessly tell him you can feel him twitching inside you, can feel him so deep and how you feel so good– his restraint crumbles in an instant, falling apart for you far too easily. His hips stutter as he drills into you, thrusts becoming sloppy as he chases his high. You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles, wanting nothing more than to cum with the person you’ve loved your entire life.

"Oh my fucking god, feels so good, you feel so good, I– f-fuck, I can't–" he babbles against your skin, his high so dangerously close, but doing his best to hold it back just for you, so that you can cum together. “Baby, ‘m so close, gonna cum, want you to cum with me, please, please cum with me,” he begs, voice easily the most whiny and desperate you’ve ever heard it, and your body reacts almost instantly, as if his word was the command you needed to finally let go.

You use your free hand to pull him into a messy, open mouthed kiss, eyes rolling back as you finally cum on his cock and let him swallow every noise you make. Your entire body tenses and shudders, his cock twitching as you squeeze him tighter, pleasured whines and curses tumbling from his lips as cum shoots into you, fucking you through your shared highs. He continues to fuck you until overstimulation and sensitivity takes hold, his body trembling as he pulls out of you.

He promptly lies next to you, arms wasting no time in wrapping around you, hugging you closely to himself as the two of you collect your breath. You can’t help but smile as you look at him, and he does the same, his unwavering love and joy meeting your own. You recognize that you should probably get up, should clean up and get dressed now before your roommates get home, but you simply don’t want to. 

You wiggle closer, pressing yourself against him, letting out a content sigh when his arms squeeze you tighter. You close your eyes for a moment, indulging in the security Jisung brings you, the love, the support, the safety of his touch, of his presence. He kisses the top of your head, meeting your cute, gentle smile with one of his own. 

When he looks at you, and sees the pure, obvious love written in your eyes, he's not sure how he always missed it. You look at him the way he looks at you– like he holds your entire world in his hands, the sincerest form of love shining in every glance, bleeding into every touch.

Your smile, sweet and content, eyes soft and full of adoration; they tell him everything. Even without words, he knows– you love him, now and always. A promise, unspoken but understood, that you'll always be together, that you'll always have each other. 

Jisung takes his time now, to do all the things he imagined he would do if he was ever granted this moment; he holds you close, he plants kisses all over you, he tells you how pretty you are, how perfect and beautiful, until you're giggling, a cute pink blush spreading on your cheeks as you playfully tell him to stop. And when he does, and you look at him with your gleaming eyes and adorable smile, he tells you he loves you, just as he's always wanted to.  

[quietmyfearswith]

obssessed ; preferences

warnings — stalking, nonconsensual location/location tracking, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, knife, mentions of killing someone (no actual murder)

characters — dark!andy barber, dark!steve rogers, dark!ransom drysdale, dark!bucky barnes, dark!clark kent, dark!syverson, dark!august walker

a/n — THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH DARK THEMES,, dni if youre not 18+,, just a thought that played around in my mind so yeah. lmk what you think!

their love language | with their little | when you’re insecure | slipping into little space | fussy | happy hoelidays | cartoons

masterlist

To celebrate the case they won they held a little party at the office; though Andy wasn’t in a celebratory mood. With his hand clasped together against his lips, his eyes were watching closely his phone screen as he was awaiting a text from his beloved girlfriend who promised to be here. “Hey Andy, we’re popping the champagne already; are you joining us?” Tearing his attention away from the device, he smiled a bit as he told them, “I will once Y/N comes over.”  Tess, the assistant who invited him, chuckled a bit before leaving him alone in his office, “Staring at the phone won’t make her come over any quicker you know?” It was something they never really confronted Andy about — almost everyone at the office noticed how he had a firm grip around the girl, but no one dared to question or comment about it because they know how the skilled lawyer would come after them once they do — but silently they understood that if you spoke, let alone looked at her, badly it wouldn’t end well for everyone.

As the door shut once Tess walked away, his intense gaze returned once again to the mobile phone as he awaits a response from his girl. “Baby! I’m here now,” Snapping his head to the source of the sound, he immediately stood up and hugged Y/N as he let out a relieved sigh. “Where were you? And most importantly why didn’t you answer my text or return my calls hm?” Rolling her eyes with how her boyfriend was grilling her as if she was one of the witnesses he had on his case she apologized, “I’m sorry, baby. I got held up at the salon because my mani took longer than expected,” Her manicured nails then raised her phone to show how even as she pressed the button it wouldn’t turn on, “And my phone ran out of battery.” Wrapping an arm around her, he removed her bag and left it by the coat hanger and guided them to where the party was. “I’m gonna buy you a portable charger, baby; that way you won’t ever run out.” Innocently, she smiled and thanked him with a kiss on the lips before saying hello to his colleagues whom she got along well. That way the tracker I put on your phone will always be turned on, he deviously thought to himself as he sipped some of his champagne.

“Another long day huh?” August asked as he peeked his head around Y/N’s cubicle. It was quite odd to say the least — a field agent of his caliber not having his own office instead opting for a cubicle beside one of CIA’s lanky desk jockey? It was one of the questions she asked the infamous Hammer as he settled on the office cubicle beside hers, “Why settle for a tiny office station?” She asked to which he chuckled at as he explained, “Half the year I’m somewhere around the world; so what’s the point of having a big office if I don’t enjoy it all year round?” It was a good, solid point — one she so easily believed without a second thought — but unfortunately it was all a lie. Ever since Walker saw her once at a meeting Sloane held, he was hooked. Initially it was just her beauty and energy, but as he got to know her more he fell for who and what she was. “Yeah, I might need to stay a bit longer than usual,” She replied as she lifted the files she held, pinning the blame on the current target that needed to be researched on. “How ‘bout some coffee then?” Ears ringing with joy at his offer, she looked at him with an appreciative look as she nodded. Chuckling at her reaction, he stood up and trodden over the pantry. Installing surveillance devices on her work computer and cameras around her desk paid off since it allowed him to know everything there is to discover about her — her favorite artists, pet peeves, how she liked her coffee, home address, mobile phone number, even her social security number!

“How’d you know how I like my coffee?” She asked after taking a sip of the hot beverage; with a smile he shrugs as he pretends to get back to the work on his computer, “Well it was just a wild guess.” In her mind however, she did find her tastes to be quite basic and didn’t doubt August which was a relief to the field agent. “I think I’ll be going home now,” She announced as she shut off her computer and began to clean up her desk. “Need a ride home?” He knew she did, since he overheard her talking to a mechanic earlier that day about a defect her car suddenly had, “Yeah I do actually, but I wouldn't want to hassle you.” Quickly putting on his brown coat, he was standing up as he fished his keys out, “Nonsense! I don’t mind helping a colleague out.” Conceding, she took up his generous offer with a smile. As they were making an easy-going conversation, Y/N gave her address; but what she didn’t know is that not only did August know by heart where she lived, but he had also paid her house a visit multiple times in the past.

With an arm draped around her shoulder, Bucky and Y/N walked around the farmer’s market; the latter whined endlessly to her boyfriend how she wanted to buy some products. And though the thought of going out in the crowds wasn’t at all appealing to him, the need to make her smile made him go anyway. Leading him up to the different stalls, the former Winter Soldier couldn’t help but chuckle at how she would coo and be all excited for the different groceries, clothes, and figurines. “Slow down, doll. The market’s not going anywhere,” Bucky told her as he tailed behind her as he carried over 10 different bags filled with her purchases. It wouldn’t normally be a problem for him to look after her, but as the path became filled with people and him being preoccupied with the bags he held made him unable to keep a grip on her. With worried, drifting eyes, he was searching for his girlfriend who seemed to have blended right up with the bustling crowds, “Y/N? Doll? Where are you?” 

Setting the bags down on a vacant table, he then spotted her standing by a stall that sold her favorite food. His relieved smile was soon being replaced with a scowl as she was talking and laughing with another man. Whipping out the knife he kept on the pocket of his jeans, he was ready to torture the man. But as Y/N turned to him with a wide smile, it had him hiding the knife out of her sight, “Bucky! Look it’s Sam, my cousin!” Upon her introducing who the man was, the knife that was hidden was being kept back into its original hiding spot before he shook hands with the man, “Oh! Nice meeting you same, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.” As they shook hands Sam had given them both a look as he sassed, “I know who you are! This one,” He referred to Y/N by pinching her side as she smacked his hand and giggled, “Won’t stop gushing about you every time we talk.” Seeing how she was clinging to his metal arm as she nuzzled her cheek to his side was all the confirmation Bucky needed; Sam then excused himself, “Well you got to swing by one of our family gatherings, yeah Bucky?” Nodding, they all exchanged farewells before the couple headed to the table where their bags still were — thankfully not stolen. “You shouldn’t have run off like that, doll. Got me real worried for a second,” He gently scolded her with a stern look. Pouting, she defended herself, “I’m sorry, Bucky! I just saw these cute little mason jars, but they were too expensive so I walked away. Then I smelt something delicious so I followed it and it turned out it was my favorite food; but Sam was there so I chatted with him instead.” Ending her enthusiastic breakdown of events with a sweet peck on the lips, he told her, “Doll you know that I would have bought you anything your sweet heart wanted. Just don’t go anywhere without me okay?”

The soft ping on his phone made Jensen pause his movements as he was selecting  a movie that you both would watch; eyebrow raising when he noticed that a certain “Steve” was texting you. Opening the text through the software he installed on both your phones allowed him to see every activity you do on your phone — but it wasn’t the only feature it had for it also allowed him to change the texts, emails, and other settings on her phone. A frown graced his handsome features as he read the text, “ Hey Y/N I can squeeze you in on Thursday, at 3pm. Are you free by then?” Displeased, he then sent a text to the guy saying how his assistance wouldn’t be needed any more. And he edited the text Steve sent her to make it seem that it was Steve that texted how he could no longer accommodate her. “Got some chips and chocolates!”

Her excited voice brought his attention from his phone screen to her excited face as she plopped herself beside him. “Thanks, babe,” Kissing her forehead, he sneakily looked over to where she was unlocking her phone and reading the text; noticing how she pouted he inquired, “What's wrong, babe?” Snuggling up to his side after sending a reply, she explained, “Steve said he can’t meet up with me anymore.” As he was rubbing her back, he faked the symphony, “Aw that’s too bad; why did you even need to meet up with Steve anyway?” She did not pick up on the faint hints of darkness on his tone, “He was my dentist! He was going to determine whether I need to have surgery for my tooth, remember?” At the revelation of who Steve really was, the  communications and technology expert felt slightly guilty but he was quick to reassure her, “Don’t worry baby I know a dentist who can help you.” Feeling her hum appreciatively against him, she planted a kiss on his cheek as they both focused on the movie; and as her eyes were trained on the screen, he whispered lowly, “You're only gonna be around people I trust, babe.”

There was a reason Sy had chosen a house that was nearly thirty minutes away from downtown — it was so their friends and families would feel lazy or discouraged to visit them due to the distance and time it took to get there. “Where on earth do you need to be today, petal?” Sy’s morning voice huskily rasped out in her ear; they both had just woken up and as Y/N was moving to stand up from the bed, she was being trapped in his muscular arms for a hug. Giggling at how he was being, she rolled around so they would be facing each other, “‘M going out with my friends today — Sophia and Rose have been bugging me about how we don’t hang out as often anymore.” At the mention of her going out and leaving him, Sy’s mood deflated and his eyes went wide; this wasn’t how he pictured this day going. “But petal, you’re gonna leave me all alone in this big house? ‘M gonna miss you so much,” The former army captain whined as she got out of his grasp and heading to wash up in their ensuite bathroom — not before bopping his nose as she reminded him, “Well you chose this house, bear. Plus, it’s only just for a while.”

Sitting up on their bed the man could only cross his arms and grumble, which was interrupted with her phone ringing. After seeing that it was her friend, Sophia, who was calling he then answered it for her, “Hey Y/N! Can’t wait to see you; we’ll pick you up in 20 minutes okay?” Taking the opportunity, Sy then decided to fabricate a lie, “Oh hey Sophia, it’s Sy,” He paused before saying the next parts in a hushed tone, “Y/N won’t be able to make it since she hurt her foot two days ago when going down the stairs. I know she was so looking forward to seeing you. Will do, bye.” With a smirk, the man set her phone back down on the nightstand, just in time since Y/N exited the bathroom, “Who was that, bear?” Making his way over to her, he hugged her as he kissed her forehead, “Sophia, calling to say she’s gonna have to cancel because she’s sick. And Rose was called in to work.” It was clear on her face that she was disappointed because she was looking forward to catching up with her friends, but her boyfriend tried to mirror her expression when in reality he was overjoyed with getting her all to himself. “Guess that leaves just the two of us, petal. Don’t worry, we’re gonna have fun today.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ransom cursed as he was speeding to go to where your tracker said you were. He had gifted you a necklace six months into the relationship, and it was costly not just because of the intricate design it has but also because he had put a tracker on it to keep tabs of your whereabouts — not that you knew about it. You both had a fight the night before, and it didn’t end well since it led to the two of you sleeping in separate rooms and Ransom drinking away his misery. So imagine his surprise when he woke up and found how you weren’t in the house and he noticed as well how a duffel bag that was in your shared walk-in closet was gone; the writer thought of the worst possibilities. And his anger went through the roof when he saw how you were at his grandfather’s house; it was one thing that you guys fought, but to involve his family in this? That was bound to be a fucking mess. As he parked the car by the driveway, he stepped out in rushed steps that were slowed down by the two dogs barking and crowding him, “Shoo, get away, mutts!” He scared them away and entered the house, “Alright where is she?” His yell echoed through the walls as Marta who was walking from the kitchen and into the foyer was startled, “Hugh, what brings you here?” 

“Where’s Y/N?” Knowing Y/N’s secret, the nurse swallowed nervously as she reluctantly told the truth, “She’s with Harlan at the gathering area.” On his way there he noticed how there were some party decorations — some colorful streamers and balloons — on the walls before he saw his girlfriend who was looking through something on her iPad, “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice caused her to gasp out loud as she looked like a deer caught off guard by headlights; standing up she walked towards him, her hands gripping onto his forearms, “We fight and you end up here to my grandfather to what? Complain and seek refuge?” Though his words stung she chose not to feed onto his anger, “Can you promise to listen out to me first?” Seeing how she was calm and not as mad as the night before, he gulped down and nodded. “When you accused me of cheating on you, it hurt because I knew that that wasn’t the truth,” She paused briefly to monitor his reactions, and she knew that he would then ask what was up with her behavior so she addressed it before being prompted to, “And the reason why I seem to be distant or busy these past few days is because I was planning on throwing a surprise party for you — for the success of your book.” At her explanation he could feel his entire body relax at the relief of him not having to kill anyone; also it made sense to him why his grandfather’s house had some ornaments hanging. Pulling her close to him, he hugged her tight as he kissed the top of her head, “Princess, I was so close to killing someone, you have no idea.” Swatting his back, she laughed at him, “I think you owe me an apology, mister. Not only did you ruin the surprise but you also accused me of cheating on you.” Smirking at her he replied, “I’ll make it up to you for the rest of our lives, princess, don’t you worry about it.” And he meant every single word of that promise; for he knew he wanted no one else but her.

The mission went well since the new agents did their jobs well — even exceeding Steve’s expectations of how they would handle the pressure and what decisions they would make in order for the mission to be a success. As the quinjet landed and they were given the clearance to exit the aircraft, the super soldier frowned when he took note how his girlfriend wasn’t anywhere near the landing pad. She always welcomes me back, he thought. The weight of his duffle bag on his arm didn’t matter to him as the feeling of worry and anxiety about his girl was way heavier. Immediately, he headed to their shared living quarters where he hoped she would be, “Kitten? I’m home,” His voice bounced off the walls as he dropped his bag on the floor and looked through every nook of the room. Now his anger and confusion was through the roof and he then decided to consult, “Friday, where’s Y/N?”

“She’s at the common area with Sam and Pietro, Captain,” As soon as AI mentioned where she was he found himself striding briskly towards her location. If she was with Bucky, it wouldn’t have alarmed him as much. But the Captain had a hunch that Sam secretly liked his girl and had plans of stealing him away from him; while Pietro was a natural flirt and joker. Even just by standing at the doorway he heard his beloved’s giggles as Sam recalled an exaggerated story. “There you are, kitten,” He let out, relieved upon seeing his girl alive in one piece. Turning her head, she smiled widely upon seeing her boyfriend and abandoned her conversation with the two Avengers to run to Steve with open arms. “Steve! I missed you so much,” She squealed as the super soldier caught her effortlessly and wrapped his thick arms tightly around her figure. “What are you doing with these troublemakers, kitten?” He wondered out loud, completely ignoring two offended looks from the said men. “I was bored of waiting for you in our room so I went here,” She was cut off from her explanations when Sam added, “That, and we missed hanging out with Y/N!” Even though Y/N giggled, Steve was trying his best to control his rage; but Pietro wanted to push him further to his limits by saying, “You hog her all the damn time we forget how great her company is!” the only girl in the room squealed as she was being carried off by Steve, “Well I don’t want you around her that’s why I hog my girl around.” Everyone around the super soldier still thought that he was joking and decided to laugh it off; Sam’s voice called out to them once more to tell a joke before they both had fully exited the room, “Yeah? Well why don’t you just lock her up in a secluded house then?” That’s exactly my plan, Sam, Steve smirked to himself quietly.

Clark needed an escape that night; for someone who has inhumane powers the stress of his job at the Daily Planet can definitely take a toll on one person — so he decided to go flying around at night, just to take his mind off things. As he was flying, he sensed trouble and decided to check out what was happening. It was a woman who was being bothered by her ex who was clearly under the influence, “Goddamn it, Alex! I told you I don’t want to talk to you!” Y/N was trying her best to push him away, but even in his drunken state he had a  tight grip on her forearms. “Just wanna talk to you, baby,” He sing-songed as he tried to push his body closer to hers. “I think she made it clear that she doesn’t want to,” A booming voice spoke up, causing Y/N to gasp out loud when she saw Superman himself; Alex however grunted at the searing pain on his shoulder caused by the mysterious man, the pain weakening his hold on the girl to the point where he tore his hands away from Y/N to push away the weight on his shoulder. In his drunken state, he failed to piece together how it was the infamous hero in front of him — instead all he saw was a tall, muscular man and decided he didn’t want to have his face beaten up so he just walked away with his arms up in surrender. “Are you alright, miss?” Clark gently asked the woman who felt relieved she was no longer being bothered by her ass of an ex. “I am, thank you.” She nodded and before she could ask how’d she find him he offered, “Would you need help getting home? Just to make sure he won’t follow you again.” He was quick to clarify, in hopes she won’t find him creepy. “I know you have good intentions, but it’s fine. I don’t think he has the balls, let alone the energy, to bother me. At least for tonight.” With that she waved at the hero goodnight before getting into her car and driving into her apartment — but she didn’t know how up in the sky above, a certain pair of blue eyes followed her journey home.

“Hi! You must be the one who moved next door?” Y/N politely greeted the man as she was leaned by her front door. Clark smiled as he adjusted his glasses — suddenly feeling nervous upon seeing her beautiful face once more, “That is me! Though the one who moved next door is quite a mouthful; you can just call me Clark.” As she laughed at his lame joke she told her name, “And feel free to knock if you need anything, okay?” Taking his nod of agreement as a cue that their conversation ended, she entered her apartment. The son of Jor-El II went inside his own apartment that was directly next to hers  — he did so because days and nights of following her didn’t satiate his hunger for her, so he decided that perhaps this would be a clean way of easing her into a relationship — and busied himself with organizing his belongings in his apartment. Hearing Y/N’s increased heart rate and her voice raised, he opened his door to check out what was going on; and the sight of her ex bothering her once again. “Come on, Y/N! You need to take me back!” Displeased with how the imbecile failed to grasp that Alex should not reach out to his girl anymore. Letting his rage get the best of him, he walked over and pushed Alex off hard enough he landed on his bum, “When a woman says she doesn’t want to see or talk to you, then you better comply with her request.” Gulping down, he recognized the strength as the same one who grabbed onto his shoulder — and now as he was sober Alex decided to respect her wishes and hastily stood up to leave the apartment building. “Are you alright?” Seeing how Clark stood up for her, it made her reminisce about how she was reduced two weeks ago by Superman, “I’m fine, Clark,” She nodded as she grounded herself back to reality and stared into his concerned, blue eyes, “Thank you, by the way.” As he smiled at her she offered him for some snacks in her flat, which he gracefully accepted. “You know, you’re the second person who helped me get rid of Alex,” She mentioned as she handed him a snack; feigning innocence he tilted his head up as he inquired, “Oh? Who’s the other one?” Taking a small bite of the snack, she wiped her mouth free from the crumbs before  replying, “You probably won’t believe it, but it was Superman,” She laughed along with her new neighbor who didn’t find it unbelievable and instead played along as he spoke, “Who’s to say I’m not your personal superhero, beautiful?”

[keanureevesisbae]

sugar sugar - the proposal

Summary: For their second year anniversary, Henry and Becky are going to Rome, Italy to celebrate. 

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Slight Daddy kink

Wordcount: 2.5k

A/N: GUESS WHO’S GETTING MARRIED??? OUR FAVORITE COUPLE

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Sugar Sugar the wedding Masterlist // 

September 23rd 8 p.m.

The sun in shining, the birds are chirping and the soft breeze brushes through my hair. This is Rome in September and I know that if I said to Henry I would want to go here every September, he’d arrange it for us.

Just like he did now, Henry would arrange the most beautiful presidential suite with a balcony, a jacuzzi and the softest bed you’ve ever slept on. Sometimes I’m afraid I’m getting too spoiled, but when I express my fears to him, he simply leans down, gives me a kiss and tells me I deserve it and should enjoy it.

To spend our second year anniversary in a city like Rome, is something I never imagined. I actually never imagined that I would ever spend an anniversary with someone. Not because I don’t have any faith in Henry and me, but more because I never thought I’d be in a loving relationship, long enough to spend these types of anniversaries together.

The two of us decided that the day we met, would be our anniversary date.

September 23rd. Two years ago we met. Two years ago he changed my life forever and I changed his.

Henry holds my hand tightly in his. ‘I love you,’ he says, kissing the back of my hand.

I chuckle. ‘I love you too, honey. It’s been two years since we’ve met.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘time flew by.’

‘It sure did,’ I say to him.

‘Not only have I gained the best archivist Midnight ever had, but I also got a beautiful girlfriend and I can now say that I’m the boyfriend of a New York Times Bestselling Author with an extra book deal.’

Even after we spend so much time together and we know each other so well, I still blush around him when he hands out compliments like that. ‘That’s so sweet,’ I say. ‘Where are we going?’

‘A nice place I rented. It’s I think a few minutes from here.’

‘You rented an entire place?’ I ask him.

‘Just one floor,’ he says with a shit eating grin on his face, the one he has recently discovered when he shamelessly flaunts his wealth in my face. I want to roll my eyes, but seeing Henry this confident and cocky and happy, makes me laugh as well.

After our first anniversary, a lot changed for the two of us. I still work in the archives, but mostly because I liked it there and it gave me plenty of time to not only work on my first book, but also on my second one. The following February, two weeks before my birthday, my book got released and not long after that, I reached the number three on the New York Times Bestselling list. My book reached number three! My debut novel. It’s unbelievable. It’s all thanks to the magnificent job Roger and his team has been doing to advertise my book to the public. I was never on Instagram, because I didn’t have a phone that would allow it and when I met Henry, I didn’t really think about it anymore. But now, I’m officially on Instagram and while it’s a bit weird, I still really enjoy to see the beautiful fan art and the stories of the readers about what my book did to them personally.

I moved out of my first apartment, since I was hanging around Henry’s place most of the time anyway. I mean, his place has the private gym and we added a sauna to it, because he didn’t forget my joke from a while ago. My pink and pastel influences are shattered around his place now and in his home office, we placed another desk, so we could work together.

Yes, we are that type of couple.

Despite our age gap, I barely notice it in our day to day life. He is in such good shape for someone who is only two years away from hitting fifty and he is really up to date with trends and technology. I mean, call me digital illiterate, because he had to show me how Instagram worked. I don’t want to say he’s old (because it’s obvious he is older than me), but I thought that eventually I would notice the difference in age.

I don’t.

It’s just that sometimes he says something about his grayish hairs, how he isn’t in the best shape anymore and how he needs to watch his food, after a check up. Honestly, I don’t see his “bad” shape. I only fall more and more in love with him. Besides, the second he becomes a complete silver fox, is also the second I will jump him every chance I get.

‘Thank you for taking me to Rome,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait to travel to even more countries with you. I’m such a lucky woman. All those beautiful places in the world, right at my finger tips. Isn’t that amazing?’

‘It sure is.’

‘Is there a place in the world you want to see?’

‘Well, as long as you are there with me, I’d love any place. Besides, I did my fair share of traveling, I’ve seen a lot. It doesn’t matter to me.’

‘You don’t mind that I’m awfully inexperienced with traveling?’

He scoffs. ‘No, of course not. It makes the experience even better. That way I can show you all the beautiful places in the world and see your surprised face.’

We walk into a restaurant and the waiter escorts us to the elevator. We go up and we actually get out on the roof. My mouth falls open, before I squeal. ‘Honey, this is fantastic.’ I give him a kiss and the two of us walk towards the table. He helps me in my seat, before he sits across from me. He pours in some wine for me.

‘You like it?’ he asks.

‘Of course. Everything you arrange for me I love.’ I look over my shoulder, to see the waiter has left. ‘I love what you do for me, daddy.’

He bites his lip. ‘I’m going to sound like a broken record, baby girl, but I love it when you call me like that.’

‘I know.’ I look around, admiring the view and say: ‘Thank you for arranging this for us.’

‘I want the best for my baby girl,’ he says with a smile. ‘Only the best.’ He holds out his hand and I place mine in it. ‘You know, I sometimes can’t believe I actually met you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, when I signed up, I only did it because I didn’t want to be alone anymore. Never in a million years I expected myself falling head over heels with you, when the two of us were only supposed to have a sugar daddy/baby thing. But you were just amazing, kind and caring. Beautiful, considerate and funny. I remember when I first laid my eyes on you. I thought to myself: this could actually be it. This could be the woman I’ll fall for and for me to love endlessly.’

That… Is so sweet.

‘I kept thinking about every pro and con. While our personalities matched, you were a lot younger than I were. While I finally had someone who I can give the life she deserves, there is a possibility she’ll never see me as more than just a sugar daddy. It was difficult, because you were more than a sugar baby to me, though I tried to deny that multiple times. The relief I felt when you and I… That we have what we have. That you stayed when I needed you and vice versa.’

I smile. ‘Of course I did, silly. I have never felt this about someone ever before nor will I ever feel about this about anyone.’

Henry nods. ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you,’ he says. ‘I want us to build a future together. I want to buy a house with you, have a dog and tons of kids with you, though it has to be an even number. But before we do that, there is just one thing I need to ask you.’

Henry gets up from the chair, searches his pocket and I see he has a blush pink velvet box in his hand.

Is this what I think it is?

‘My sweet Becky,’ he says, sitting down on one knee, ‘it’d be such an honor if you would become my wife, that you are gonna be mrs. Cavill. Baby girl, will you marry me?’

He reveals such a delicate and beautiful ring to me.

Maybe, maybe, I’m experiencing some shock. I knew that Henry would propose to me one day, he literally told me so many times that he’d propose, but now that it’s happening, I just can’t believe it.

‘Really?’

He smiles. ‘Really, my love. There is no one else in the world I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. You are the only one. My only one.’

I place my shaking hand in front of my lips. ‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes. I want to marry you, Henry.’

He takes the ring from the little box, before gently sliding it on my finger. I look at it for a few seconds, before I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

‘We’re engaged?’ I ask him.

‘Yes, baby, we’re engaged.’

I press my lips on his, as tears of joy and happiness drip down my face. I’m gonna get married.

‘Oh yeah, our Becky is engaged!’ I look over my shoulder to see Genevieve, Viola, Noah and Greg rushing up to me and is that Gino I see, with Peter from the boutique?

‘Show me the ring,’ Viola says and I hold out my hand.

Noah lets out a whistle. ‘Damn, mister Cavill.’

Gino gives me a big hug and two kisses on my cheeks. ‘Congratulations, darling.’

I can’t believe Henry flew out our friends to Italy, but it totally seems like something he would do. I bet he arranged a private jet for them and the best hotel.

‘We’re getting married,’ Genevieve shouts.

‘Technically, sweetheart,’ Greg says, ‘it’s Becky that is getting married.’

Genevieve rolls her eyes. ‘Well, Viola and I are gonna be bridesmaids and we’re going to plan a wedding. The ring is absolutely beautiful. Really, Henry, you need to help out Greg when he wants to propose to me.’

Henry chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. ‘I’ll help him out when the time is right, Gen.’ He kisses my temple and says: ‘How about we celebrate?’

✤ ✤ ✤

I keep staring at my ring, mainly because it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and it’s mine. While Henry’s checking the locks, I’m already in bed. This ring still takes my breath away. It’s gorgeous and I bet it was expensive.

‘There she is,’ Henry says, as he walks in the bedroom in just his boxers. ‘My beautiful fiancée.’

‘I am sure it’ll take awhile before I get used to that,’ I say.

Henry steps underneath the covers and ushers me over. ‘But you’ll always be my baby girl,’ he says. ‘Even when you become my wife.’

I hum in content, as I nestle myself against him, in his strong embrace. ‘Just like you’ll always be my daddy,’ I whisper. I place my head on his thick arm, so I can look up at him and still stare at his handsome face. ‘We need to start planning a wedding. When do you want to get married?’

‘I don’t mind,’ he says. ‘We could even elope.’

‘We’re never going to elope,’ I say. ‘Don’t you ever say that again. I deserve a wedding. Back in juvie, both times, I’d envision myself getting married, buying a house, having a family and growing older with someone. I owe it to teen Becky to have a fantastic wedding.’

He chuckles. ‘Okay, we will not elope. What did you think about back then?’

‘A spring wedding outside,’ I say, ‘with pink blossom trees around us. A tent or a large cabin or something where we’ll get married and afterwards, people can dance, eat and talk to each other. A Photo Booth for people to make pictures on. Disposable camera’s on the tables and a photographer. My friends and their family are there, your friends. I want it to be intimate, but not too small, like maybe fifty to seventy people. I want a wedding dress on the tighter side, but I have never tried on wedding dresses, so I might be surprised. But I want to dress to have little illusion sleeves, a veil and a hairband with diamonds.’

Henry nods in approval. ‘Sounds lovely and that can all be arranged. What do you want me to wear?’

‘Champagne colored suit,’ I say. ‘The bridesmaids dresses could be in a pastel color. Okay, who am I kidding? I want those dresses to be pink.’

‘Of course.’ He lets out a content sigh. ‘We can arrange all sorts of things. Whatever you want for the wedding, it’s yours.’

‘And I want the date and each other’s names engraved in the inside of the ring.’

‘I love that.’ Henry gives me a kiss on my forehead. ‘A lot to plan, but also a lot to look forward to. I cannot wait to call you my wife.’

‘Oh, me neither. And then after that, we can start our life together as a married couple.’

‘At least four kids, right?’ Henry jokes.

‘At least,’ I say in all seriousness.

‘Why don’t you want an uneven number?’

I scrunch up my nose. ‘Because I come from a family of uneven number. I don’t want that. I know, it’s stupid, but…’

‘It’s not stupid, it’s understandable,’ he says. ‘So, for imaginary sake, let’s say you and I have five kids.’

‘Damn.’

‘Imaginary sake, baby girl, remember that,’ he snickers. ‘And then we have twins, making it seven.’

‘We’ll go for the eighth,’ I say to him. ‘Really, Henry.’

He laughs. ‘Wow, you’re quite something.’

‘You’re up for it?’

‘With you? Of course. I can’t wait to have multiple mini you’s and me’s running around to place.’ He pulls me closer and says: ‘You’ll be an amazing mother, I just know it.’

‘And you’ll be an amazing dad.’ I circle my finger around his chest. ‘Would you mind if I stopped working as your archivist and become a stay at home mom, who also writes?’

He shakes his head. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Whatever you want, I support you.’

‘You don’t think it’s weird?’

He frowns. ‘Why would I think it’s weird? Honestly, baby girl, if you wanted to become a career woman, I’d support it. If you want to become a stay at home mom, I also support it. No matter what you do, I’m your biggest supporter and fan.’ He gives me a sweet peck on my lips. ‘Don’t you worry about those things, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I whisper, already a bit more at ease. ‘You know, it has always been my dream to become a mother.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It’s just that I figured I’d never meet someone who I wanted kids with. With the dysfunctional family I’m from, I wanted a partner who I could trust and rely on. And that partner is you, Henry. My future husband.’

✤ ✤ ✤

[thebadboyfanclub]

The Dream Pt. 2 (Geralt x Reader)

So since a lot of you liked this so much I have decided to listen to the people and give y'all a part two. I hope I did it justice and please leave a note to tell me if you like it. Enjoy!

P.s I suggest you read this while listening "like real people do" by hozier

Part 1

-

It had been years since he last saw her, since he had felt her touch, since he heard her tantalizing laugh and gazed upon her glistering skin as she swam with her sisters. He had spend a week with her, sleeping next to her was the most peaceful slumber he ever had, waking up had never been easier when she was next to him, he would scoop her and cradle her in his arms knowing she was awake but allowing her to play the sleepy part cause it made it even better.

The worst part was when he had to leave her, she had slipped away in the middle of the night, when the sun came up she was hidden away from him with her sisters, he had called her name multiple times but she remained unseen. She had heard him, she could see him standing there waiting patiently for her to come out but chose not to, what good could that do? She would only hurt even more if she got to hug him goodbye, no it was better this way.

Jaskier had written and performed many songs about her as him and geralt travelled, as much as Geralt was hurting to listen and be reminded of those times he was also thankful of them, time has passed but the dreams and memories were still vivid. While Jaskier slept Geralt would hold the crystal she had given him, remembering how happy she was that he liked it, he kept it tucked away in his armor to bring him luck

-

"I think it will be best if we stopped at the next village"

"We have to go at the castle in two days, suck it up"

Geralt responded as Jaskier huffed. He had been extra irritated today, something was not quite right, he woke up heavy hearted which was a rare occasion for Geralt yet he chose to keep it a secret, he didn't need Jaskiers blabbering about Geralt being sensitive or whatever the barb had to say.

"Does this forest look familiar?"

"You're stalling"

"I'm being serious, are we making circles?"

Then he heard it, the laugh, her laugh. Geralt immediately made Roach stop as he froze, his eyes shot wide open. How could he have missed it? It's her forest, her lake, he was so in his head that he didn't realize he had to pass by her river.

"Ohhh this is marvelous! Come on Geralt let's go see your nymph."

Jaskier didn't even turn to look at Geralt who was ready to protest, he was already running towards the river.

(Y/n) was about to hide as she caught a glimpse of the eager visitor. She smiled brightly as she swam in a fast pace to reach him.

"JASKIER! WHAT A SURPRISE!"

she got out of the river and wrapped Jaskier in a tight hug. She squealed as Jaskier lifted of the ground for a split second, as she was let go of his welcoming embrace Jaskier span her around to take a look at her.

"My goodness you look exactly the same dear"

"Perk of being a magical creature, you however look so much better, you look like a man"

She was genuinely happy to see him. Over the span of that week Jaskier and (y/n) had developed a sibling type of love, his childlike outlook on life was so colorful and hopeful that you just wanted to be around him.

"Thank you, I'll take it as a compliment"

"Where is he?"

She asked him. Jaskier smile became a bit more mischievous, of course he understood her but it was so beautiful to observe their love. Jaskier could swear that his brood friend became a different person when she was around.

"Up the hill, you should go find him, he was extra grumpy today"

"Sisters! Jaskier is back!"

Jaskier wasted no time and left his belongings on the ground as he ran towards the water. She was perplexed over the fact of why didn't he follow Jaskier, why was he still over the hill. Still, her legs acted on their own as she walked away from the river and closer to him. As she got closer her heart beat grew stronger and it was almost painful, she could hear Roach step and his armor clicking. Finally there he was, his back facing her as he tied his horse to the tree.

"Geralt"

Her voice was barely audible, but of course he heard it. He had heard the encounter between his friend and (y/n) and her light steps as she came to him. For some unknown reason he was scared to face her, even shameful if you will.

He slowly turned to look at her, her cloth that was barely covering anything stuck to her, her hair was wet and her skin under the sun made the drops of water look like diamonds sliding of her silk like skin. He felt a wave of happiness as his eyes met hers, her surprising enchanting gaze put him under her spell that he never wanted to break out of.

They remained like this for a few moments, Geralt instinctively ran to her and lifted her off the ground as he hugged her, his face went to her neck as he took in a deep breath and her smell took over his senses.

"I missed you so much"

She said as tears of joy ran down her face, she closed her eyes as she enjoyed the feel of his armor against her after all this time. Geralt kept her in his arms for a bit after he lightly let her down, her hands went to his cheeks almost immediately, tears still running down hers as she tried to take in his features. Geralts hands remained on her face as they both tried to find the right words to say.

"You-you… I"

"I know. I'm sorry"

She didn't even have to finish her sentence. He understood exactly why she remained hidden back then, he also knew how much pain his departure had caused her. He took her hand in his as she kissed her palm again and again as she smiled and laughed while still crying.

"Don't cry, I'm here"

He whispered to her in such a soft way that you would think Geralt was possessed. He wiped away her tears as they both laughed together, it was a laugh of relief, their hearts finally felt that weight of being apart being lifted and they could breathe freely once again. She was the one to reach out and kiss him in the lips, the kiss showed intimacy, love, eagerness, true passion as the one craved the other so much. Geralt lifted her once again as she laughed in the kiss, to him she was as light as a feather.

"You look beautiful"

"I missed those eyes"

She replied back. So many nights she had jumped out of slumber because she would dream of his eyes, the dreams felt so real that once she was awake she would start crying over the fact that it wasn't real, that those eyes were only in her memory. Now here he was, Geralt in the flesh as she hugged and kissed her all over the face while her melodic laugh filled his ears. To him her laugh was better than any ballad Jaskier or any other barb had sang.

"My dream"

He said as they both took a breath after their kiss, their foreheads touching while she was still hovering over the earth. They were a sight for sore eyes, as they both got lost in each other's eyes and nothing else mattered to them. It was exactly what the poets and writers tried to put to words, yet no one did it justice.

"I want to come with you"

"I want to stay with you"

They said ok unison. Once again laughter was heard as they understood how much alike yet different they were, yet they wanted to sacrifice their life, to leave behind all they knew for the sake of love, they were ready to surrender themselves into this strong feeling and just live together for as long as this world aloud them.

"I shouldn't have left"

"I shouldn't have allowed you to"

She replied. Geralt gave her a kiss on her forehead and let her down once again, still taking in her presence. She smiled at him while she intertwined her fingers with his, silence took over but their eyes said everything, they had reach euphoria in the arms of the other. Their missing half was finally home.

[twices-pup]

Hiraeth

title : hiraeth ( minatozaki sana x fem reader )

word count : 1,592 words

genre : angst

warnings : single mention of alcohol

synopsis : hiraeth (n) - a homesickness for a home you can’t return to, or that never was. ( non-idol au )

side note : i didn’t expect myself to post another fic so soon, but the idea for this came to me at like, almost 1 in the morning and i was able to finish it soon after i woke up, so i thought, “hey, why not post this?” things have been a little rough in my personal life lately, so i guess you can say this is sort of a vent fic? so it might be a little messy, and it got longer than i intended it to be, but i hope y’all enjoy my 1 am emo thoughts :)

You hated this city.

You hated that every time you left your house, you're bound to see something that would remind you of her. You hated that the people around you still asked you about her. You hated that she was only a five minute-drive away from you, yet you weren't able to go see her, no matter how much your heart ached for you to.

You hated this city, but this city was where you were born and grew up in, where your family and friends were, where you had met her. This city—with its roads full of traffic, its bustling streets, and its busy people—was all that you ever knew, so you couldn't just up and leave. Even if every street and corner held painful memories of her.

You used to think that this city was your home, but that was until you had met her, during your freshman year of high school. She was charming in her own way, and had a smile so dazzling you nearly mistook it for a ray of sunshine. When she turned to you, and your eyes met for the first time, you knew right then that your life was never going to be the same again. All because of her.

You had remembered reading somewhere that home wasn't necessarily a place; it could also be a person, a pair of arms that you knew you belonged in.

The closer you got with her, the more it felt like you and her were like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together perfectly. Anything and everything she said or did, even something as trivial as putting a hand on your shoulder, was able to fill you with a sense of warmth and comfort. Soon she became all that you thought about, all that you sought for when you felt lost.

Soon she became your home.

Or at least, that was what you thought.

It wasn't long before you two were practically attached by the hip, and everyone who knew either one of you would know that. Where one of you were, the other wouldn't be far behind, and the fact that she lived just a neighborhood away from you helped. It was really easy for the two of you see to each other; at first you thought of it as a convenience, but time threatened to prove you otherwise.

You didn't know what came over you when you had let the words slip past your lips. You weren't drunk, you swore you never had anything to drink prior to the incident that night. So perhaps it was the heat of the moment, just the two of you sitting on top of a hill overlooking the city, and you ended up getting intoxicated by her instead of alcohol. The light pollution was so bad, there was barely a single star visible in the night sky. The view of the city after dark, however, was almost enough to make up for the lack of starlight. It was beautiful.

She was beautiful.

Hair messy, eyes soft, lips slightly chapped, your jacket draped over her shoulders. No matter how she looked, no matter what she wore, she was never anything less than beautiful in your eyes. Added with the romantic atmosphere, had you lacked self control you would've kissed her then and there.

Thankfully though, you were still able to control your actions. But as your heart raced while you stared at her, it was a lot less easier to control your words.

"I love you."

She diverted her attention from the view to look at you, eyes wide with surprise. A silence enveloped you two once more, one that felt heavier and far less comfortable than the silence before you had uttered those three words. You watched her shift awkwardly, and suddenly you became much more aware of the cold night air biting at the bare skin of your arms and neck. Where had the warmth and comfort gone?

"I love you too, y/n," Sana said carefully. You perked up at her response, feeling a wave of relief and even joy wash over you, but it was short-lived as she continued speaking before you had the chance to interrupt her. "You're my best friend, after all."

You felt your heart sink. Had she really not understood what you meant? Or was she pretending to?

"N-No, Sana," you began, frowning. "That...That's not what I meant. Not just in that way."

To this day, you regretted ever correcting her.

Another silence ensued, this one more agonizing than the last. Your heart was racing, but not in a good way, not in the way she normally made your heart palpitate. Your eyes trained on her every movement, as she avoided your eyes and brought up a hand to rub the back of her neck.

"We...We should head back."

You didn't know what else to say or do, other than agree and walk her back to her house. The walk was, as expected, terribly awkward, neither of you saying anything throughout, and you realized that that was the first time there was any awkwardness between the two of you. You hated the feeling.

Once you reached the front of her house, she turned to you, took your jacket off, and put it on you instead. However, she still refused to meet your eyes that were practically boring holes into her. As she adjusted your jacket, she spoke, ever so softly, "You're my best friend, y/n, you really are. And...And that's all you are to me. Nothing less, nothing more."

Her words were like an arrow through your heart. Not Cupid's arrow, the one that made you feel all lovestruck and giddy, but an actual piercing arrow aimed to kill you. You stared at her blankly, searching her expression for any kind of solace.

She did offer you one, a soft smile, meant to be reassuring and comforting, but you felt neither. "I'm sorry," she continued. "You're an amazing girl y/n, I know you'll be able to find someone else. So I hope this won't change anything between us." She pulled you into a hug, and you wanted to return it had your arms not felt glued to your side, before she pulled away and walked up to her front door. Before she disappeared behind it, she shot you another smile.

Her smile was definitely not telling you that things weren't going to change.

You didn't cry then. You didn't cry on your walk back to your own place. But the second your bedroom door shut behind you, and you were met with your dark, cold bedroom, the world came collapsing down on you. You sank to your floor, and you finally let your tears out.

You didn't see her for the next couple of weeks. You avoided her at school, and refused to hang out with her after school hours. You told yourself that it was what was best for you, some time alone to grieve. But weeks turned into months, yet neither of you dared to talk to one another.

Once you did decide to make the first move, she ignored you as if you weren't right there in front of her, as if you were invisible, as if you didn't exist. She simply brushed past you while talking to a couple of other girls, and she looked...happy. After what had happened between the two of you, she was able to be happy. You could do nothing but watch as she walked further and further away from you.

When you reached your house that day, you received a text on your phone.

"Let's not waste our time fixing something that's already broken"

You felt your heart break for the millionth time since the night of your confession. She had given up on you, on your once seemingly unbreakable friendship. You couldn't blame her, though; she didn't feel the same way you did and there was nothing she could do to force herself to love you back, but even with this knowledge you ghosted her for months, as if she had conducted the biggest sin the world had ever seen. If you were in her shoes, you knew that you'd be exhausted too.

She had given up on you, and you put the blame entirely on yourself.

As you flopped down onto your bed and let your tears flow, you recalled coming across a list of beautiful words from multiple different languages once, beautiful words with even more beautiful meanings. One of them was hiraeth.

Hiraeth.

You finally understood what it meant, how it felt.

She was your home, a home you could never return to, a home that never was.

+ + +

As you drove past her neighborhood on your way to get groceries, you looked out your car window, and saw her. Your houses weren't that far, and the city wasn't that big, so it wasn't your first time coming across her by chance over the years.

But this time she walked down the street, a wide smile plastered on her face and her hand in that of another woman. The other woman was saying something, and it made her laugh. That was the happiest you had ever seen her look.

You took in a deep breath as you turned your head back to keep your eyes on the road ahead, your grip on the steering wheel tightening.

You hated this city, but it was your home. The only one you've ever known, and will ever know.

. . .

please do not repost my work, whether on tumblr or on any other site.

[forcebewitht]

Hearts And Spades And Friendship With Games (Disneyland: Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade x MC!Reader) 

The time had finally arrived. You had been waiting for this day for a long time. After a good bit of convincing on both Ace and Deuce's ends for the upcoming spring season, you had convinced the pair to travel with yourself and Grim over to a very magical place- Disneyland. You had been gushing about wishing to go ever since you had heard mentions of the place- after all, there was nothing like that back where you were from. So, here you were. You were now sitting upon a bus and happily chirping away to both Grim and Deuce. Grim was beside you in your seat while Deuce and Ace were directly across from you. Ace snorted after a while, shaking his head and glancing over at you. "I can't believe you're this choked up about a kid's park. Pffft- how childish! Haha!" Deuce sighed and shook his head, sending his fellow friend a glare. "And yet, you agreed to come with us. So, maybe it isn't as childish as you claim." The boys were already beginning to bicker back and forth. Grim shifted over to rest within your lap, gazing up at you happily. "Nyaaaahhaaaa! This is gonna be fun, y'know! Think of all the food! La la la~" You couldn't help but to release a giggle at the monster beneath you, now lightly petting him upon the head. "I am really excited about this, Grim! It seemed so...magical when everyone started talking about it! Hehe." Deuce soon looked over at you with a wide smile, his eyes lighting up and practically dazzling in the sunlight from the outside of the bus. "We're gonna get lots of pictures and souvenirs, okay? I'm going to find something extra special for my mom while we are there." Ace shook his head and snickered, glancing on over at his friend again. "Pleeaaassseeeee. I'll just be on the lookout for some princess material ladies. Hehe." After an eyebrow arch from you, Ace rose his hands in defense and laughed. "I'm kidddddiinngggg, [Y/n]. You're more close to queen material, anyways. Haha!" 

Right as you were about to retort, the bus screeched to a stop. The doors slowly opened, multiple other park-goers now making their way out into the land. Your little ragtag group was the last to get off. You allowed your eyes to widen in wonder and curiosity at the sight of the grand park. Deuce seemed to smile as he gazed up at the grand castle, as though a memory was playing through his head. Grim leapt out and jumped onto your shoulder to get a better view, already singing out his joy. Ace was the last to get off. He seemed to be a bit more passive about it, but you would be lying if you said you didn't see a sparkle in his eyes as well. The four of you now began to walk over to the main entrance with the rest of the crowd. Multiple occurrences began to hit your senses all at once. Children laughing joyfully filled your ears, the sizzling sensations of nearby food trucks wafted out into the air and graced your nostrils with its presence, and the bright and cheerful colors of the park all melded together into one gregarious scene. A warm smile tugged at your lips at the sights. A costumed man suddenly stepped up behind the four of you. The four of you turn around to face him and begin to chat. The fellow waves his hand, sparkles raining down from his fingertips. Four little headbands of sorts appeared upon the head of yourself and that of your friends. A cute little headband with mouse ears and a red polka dot bow popped itself onto Ace's head. For Deuce, another little headband with mouse ears- except with a. starry, deep blue, mini wizard's hat. For Grim, a cute little headband with a sailor's cap had popped onto his head. And finally, for yourself, a pair of white gloved hands that stuck out on either side of your head like ears upon a black headband was conjured onto your head.

Ace began to whine about his headband having a bow on it, to which the staff member laughed. He explained that the headbands were complementary and strode off. You gently poked at one of the hands upon your own headband and giggled. Grim leapt around with his sailor's hat on for joy, already making a beeline for a food stand. Given prompting from yourself, Ace and Deuce soon followed you as you chased after Grim. The monster had grabbed a little ice cream bar in the shape of a mouse's head and was now eating it happily. The rest of you soon followed suit, already snapping a few pictures away and settling down onto a bench. Once the bars were done, the four of you arose and began to travel around to different stands. A roller coaster with water included by the name of Splash Mountain was soon selected, the four of you joyously laughing or groaning out after being soaked so much. After that, a frightening stroll through the Haunted Mansion was taken. The effect of the walk-in "ride" of sorts seemed to have greatly improved over the years- for Ace had leapt into Deuce's arms a couple of times in his own fright. You had to hold Deuce back from punching a few of the more particularly scary creatures in the face while Grim nearly lit the entire mansion on fire. More rides were traveled on, such as Big Thunder Mountain Railroad (Deuce screamed something about his magic bike during that one), some Pirates Of The Caribbean ride (Ace imitated a pirate the entire time and laughed about Jack's Halloween idea from before), Finding Nemo Submarine Voyage (Grim kept saying something about finding a live tuna and eating it), and many more. But nothing seemed to excite the pair of boys more than when your group finally made their way over to the Wonderland themed area. Ace and Deuce were both beside themselves in their joy. Ace madly tapped both you and Deuce on the shoulder, pointing at a nearby costumed park worker. "Look at that card suit guy! I wonder how they get those costumes so exact?!" Deuce followed his gaze, already pulling out his phone and turning to the both of you with a wide smile. "Let's go get a picture!" A giggle from yourself and a shake of your head is all that's given. You soon follow the pair over, Grim slowly making his way over behind you (he had to make sure people didn't step on him a lot). Ace soon grinned wildly and turned to you, eyeballing your form. "Ohhhhhh yeah. That'll be awesome." You couldn't help but to feel worried at the look on Ace's face. The Card Soldier slammed his staff down upon the ground, a dazzling ruby light now surrounding your form. Once the light cleared, you found yourself in an almost identical Card Soldier suit- but yours was red while the worker's was black. The worker gave a nod with another pair of slams of his staff in a farewell, now walking over to greet more park goers. Deuce pumped his fist into the air at the sight of you. "Aaaahhhh- you look so awesome, Prefect! This'll be perfect!" You couldn't help but to grin at the sight of yourself now in the suit, slamming your own makeshift staff upon the ground to accompany the look. Grim laughed and took Deuce's phone, now leaping up onto a high enough ledge to take a picture. He grinned brightly, making motions for all of you to make a pose. "Alright! Nyaha! Everybody say- hearts and spades!" All three of you copied what Grim had said and posed. Once a few pictures were snapped, you found the costume upon you began to slowly melt off of your form. A singular red rose was now upon your top with a miniature card with a heart upon it now clipped onto it in the costume’s place. 

By now, the sun was beginning to set. Grim stayed down below and got a few more bites to eat while the three of you went onto a ferris wheel. The sun was now slowly beginning to set, painting the sky a vibrant array of warm colors. You sighed out in bliss, allowing your chin to cradle within your hand. Ace and Deuce both glanced at each other for a moment and then looked on over at you. Almost immediately, both of their expressions seemed to soften. Ace was the first one to speak up, confident and boisterous as ever. "Hey, Prefect- I have something I want to tell you." Deuce choked a bit on the air and blushed, now gazing at you as well within your seat. "S-so do I! Ahem." You couldn't help but to arch a brow again, peering on over at the two boys. Your gaze flickered between the two of them, their skin seeming to glow and sparkle in the cascading sunlight behind you. At the exact same time, the pair looked up at you and spoke, "I love you, [Y/n]." Ace's expression was rather warm yet still held a flicker of his normal mischief within them. Deuce's expression was all around warm and rather soft in comparison to his normal outbursts of anger from time to time. They both soon began to blush and allowed their eyes to widen at their realization of their exact same statements. Ace and Deuce met gazes for a moment. They glared playfully at each other for a moment and then brought their intense gazes back to you. Your eyes slightly watered as you sniffed and wiped a free tear away, your smile now extending from ear to ear. You brought them both into an embrace, grinning sweetly in the sunset. "...Don't worry. I love you too, boys." Both boys seemed to exhale in relief. Ace raised an eyebrow at Deuce to which Deuce nodded. They both leaned in at the same time, kissing you on the cheek. As you froze and a blush began to spread across your cheeks, they both took their own moments to sweetly kiss you upon your lips in kind. Ace's kiss was fierce- all around passionate and a bit salty to the taste. Deuce's, on the other hand, combated Ace's kiss on the opposing spectrum. A sensation of overwhelming sweetness and a gentle touch was the kiss Deuce gave to you, truly displaying how much the male had changed at heart. You brought both of the boy's into a hug, the pair now settling within your arms. As the sun began to fully disappear beyond the reaches of the park, there was one thing you had to admit. This day had been filled with sugar, a bit of spice...but was all around nice. And the magic was just beginning. 💫

((Hey hey, lovely Readers! I've got something a little different for y'all today! Thought I'd switch things up a bit and give you guys some extreme fluff with a cute little Disneyland writing! Props to @leviskokoro-main for the "idea". Enjoy~💖

[brywrites]

Focus II

[Part I] If you’re looking for something to distract you from the looming anxiety of election results, here’s something else to focus on for a few minutes. ;) This was definitely longer than I thought it would be! CW for mentions of triggers/flashbacks, mild smut!

Summary: Reid faces unexpected challenges returning to the field after his reinstatement, but the Reader remains the one person who can help ease his mind when it all gets to be too much.

----------

For once, the world has chosen to be gentle with them. Following Scratch’s demise, the Bureau mandates that the BAU takes six weeks of leave. It comes as a relief to all of them after living in a constant state of anxiety for the last year. Rossi disappears on a vacation that includes visiting Ringo Starr, who he reminds everyone is “a close personal friend.” JJ stays at home with her boys, happy to be nothing but “mom” for a little while. Tara fits in research, Luke goes camping with Lisa and Roxy, and Garcia divides her time between MMORPGs, her grief group, and babysitting Hank Morgan.

Y/N spends a good amount of the time on Emily’s couch, watching old seasons The Bachelorette and whatever 2000s rom-coms they can find. But when she’s not at her best friend’s apartment and she isn’t at home attempting complicated recipes in her kitchen, she’s with him.

Spencer is spending a large portion of his break attending mandatory therapy sessions and redoing fitness courses in Hogan’s Alley in order to meet his reinstatement requirements. But whenever he gets the chance, he’s by her side. They get coffee and wander through museums and parks, they go for long drives and make out on his couch. They talk about everything and nothing and all at once it’s wonderful. There is a strange giddy feeling that takes her over every time his hand finds her in a crowded place or he goes out of his way to do something nice for her or he can’t help but smile while kissing her. He’s so gentle with her, leaving sweet notes around her apartment and burying his face in the crook of her neck as he holds her close.

There are no cases. There are no monsters. There are no press conferences. There are only warm days and wine and the sound of Spencer’s laugh echoing in her living room.

With two weeks to go, she realizes the world might not be quite so gentle. She swings by the BAU to help Matt move case files out of her office, and as she’s on her way out she spots Spencer at the end of the corridor, rubbing at his eyes the way she’s only seen him do the night Scratch stole Emily.

He doesn’t even seem to register her approach until she says his name. And when he turns to her, he’s miles away. “What is it?” she asks. “Spencer, what’s wrong?”

“The scenario I was running in the Alley… there were multiple unsubs in the laundromat and it was just – it was too much like – it was…” He presses his palm into his eye.

Too much like Luis. He’s told her that story already. “What do you need?” she asks. She reaches out to grab his hand, lacing her fingers through hers.

She feels him tense for just a second before, squeezing her hand tighter, he starts down the hall with her. The door to Garcia’s office is open and he pulls her inside, shutting it behind him. Before she can ask what he’s doing, her back is against the door and his mouth is on hers.

He kisses her fiercely and when he slips his tongue past her lips, she wraps a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer to her. He’s still holding her hand, his grip tight as he rolls his hips against her and though it’s caught her completely off-guard, the feeling of his body against her is exquisite.

She winds her fingers in his curly hair, eliciting a moan from him that rumbles through his chest. His free hand slips down the curve of her back until he can cup her ass. He catches her bottom lip between his teeth. Every action is hungry, desperate. Her skin feels hot everywhere he touches her.

He stops suddenly and wraps her in a hug. His sweater is soft against her cheek and he smells like ivory soap and coffee and his embrace is so secure. This is a different kind of passion – less frantic, but just as strong, as he rests his head on her shoulder and attempts to steady his breathing.

“It still works,” he sighs.

“Hmm?”

Spencer releases her from his arms. “When it gets bad, and my mind goes… there, your touch helps keep me here. Everything else just disappears. I can’t explain it, but it still works.”

“So… kissing me is a like a grounding technique?” she asks, trying to surprise a giggle.

He chuckles in spite of himself, and the distance in his eyes is gone. He is himself once more. “Something like that, yeah. It’s pretty amazing actually. Even just holding your hand helps. But um, kissing you is…” He clears his throat. “A little more effective, it seems.”

“Well,” she says, “I’m certainly happy to be of assistance.” She gives him a quick peck.

“What am I supposed to do in the field?” he asks. “I’m still having flashbacks and even a basic training exercise triggered a trauma response today.”

“Love, you’re a genius. You know that PTSS is like an injury. And that means it’s gonna take time to heal. But you’ll find a way to cope and stay grounded while you heal.” She caresses his cheek, the stubble he’s continued to grow rough against her hand when he leans into her touch. “Even if that means sneaking off to a back room with me,” she teases.

Their time of rest is coming to a close, the hours ticking by until the day they’ll return to work and Spencer will face his reinstatement evaluation. She savors the quiet while she can, the ability to go to bed early and sleep in, the simple joy of waking up in her own bed, or sometimes in his. She can tell he’s anxious though – scared that he’ll be denied reinstatement and scared that the trauma will continue to hang heavy over him.

When it gets bad and his mind steals him somewhere far away, he reaches for her and she always welcomes him. She’s grateful for any reason to be close to him, and if it helps to keep him here in the moment, that’s even better. She can always tell when he needs her to clear his mind by the way he kisses her. When he’s not himself, he pins her against the wall, gropes at her ass, holds her face still as he bites her lip. He’s impulsive and needy. But when his firm grasp fades to soft caresses, when he places kisses on her cheek, her forehead, when it becomes a sweeter sort of passion, she knows he’s come back to her.

So when Emily announces his reinstatement to the team and she kisses him quickly and his hand squeezes hers just a little tighter than she expects, she knows there’s something bothering him. They grab their go-bags from the bullpen and she asks him about it, but he just kisses her forehead and promises that they’ll talk later.

Emily goes over the case on the plane, women in caregiving roles stuffed into suitcases. The team goes over victimology and she tries to take notes, already thinking of questions to ask the families and directions to take with local media. It’s easy to get lost in the work when it demands her full attention.

.

Upon landing, there is already a couple waiting for her in the interview room. Laura Westin is their latest victim, and her parents are devastated. They paint a picture for her with their words of their daughter – a bright, beautiful, generous woman who was mourning the death of her own friend. The grief has traveled in waves.

“Who would do this to her?” Mrs. Westin sobs. Her husband places a hand on her shoulder. “She’s such a good girl, she is – she was… Oh, god!”

“She was,” Y/N repeats. “And she is always going to be your daughter. And the people who love her will remember all of the good she did.” They cry and she listens and she assures them that they’re doing everything right and while she knows not to make promises she can’t keep, she does promise that they’ll do their best.

When they’ve shared everything they know and settled back into a state of relative calm, she walks the Westins to the door of the station and returns to conference room, where the team is working on the profile.

“Welcome back,” Rossi says. She sits down next Spencer. It’s clear to her that he’s lost in his own thoughts. Out of the corner of her eye she sees his fingers form a fist and he begins to bounce his leg under the table. Their chairs are close together already, making it incredibly difficult for anyone else to notice that she reaches across beneath the table to rest her hand on his thigh. The moment she does, he stills. He inhales sharply and clenches his fist a little bit tighter for just a moment – but then relaxes. She strokes steady circles with her thumb while she tells the team about Laura Westin.

They team files out of the room for a quick break and she stays behind with Reid. He’s relaxed enough to give her a smile. “How was interviewing the family?” he asks, lacing his fingers through her own.

She sighs. “It never gets any easier. But I know it’s important for them to get a chance to talk to someone about her. Someone who won’t tell them it all happened for a reason and she’s in a better place now.”

“You’re so good at that,” he says. “You always make the people around you feel better.”

“What about you? What’s going on in your head?”

He stares down at his coffee cup. “There was a… condition for my reinstatement. For every one hundred days I’m in the field, I have to take thirty days off.”

“Like a sabbatical? Does Emily know?”

“Yeah. She thinks it’s a good idea.” He aimlessly strokes patterns on the back of her hand.

“I know I’m not an expert, but I think she might be right,” she says. “Spencer, what you went through – you’re going to struggle. And you’re going to need to rest.”

“I know,” he says. “But Y/N, I’m worried that–”

“Y/L/N!” Alvez’s entrance startles them both. “There’s a reporter for the Daily News out here. Sorry,” he adds, noticing Spencer’s hand still holding hers. “He’s, uh, trying to call this guy ‘The Baggage Claim Killer.’”

“Of course he is,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, Luke. I’ll go talk him down. And we’ll talk later, okay?” she tells Spencer. Though the man in the lobby is annoying, wrangling a reporter is far easier than talking to a grieving family. It doesn’t hurt her heart to lay into someone trying to profit from another person’s pain, and she’s always been good at using her kindness to guilt trip them.

.

That evening at the hotel, there’s a knock at her door. She knows who it is even before answering it and his face is a welcome sight.

“I missed you today,” Spencer says, closing the door behind him.

“I missed you, too. I like you much better than those reporters,” she says. She takes a seat on her bed, patting the spot beside her. “But we didn’t get to finish talking earlier. What’s got you worried?”

Spencer plops onto the mattress, heaving a sigh. “I’m worried that maybe I’m not ready to be back in the field.”

“Do you not want to be?”

“I do! I do, I just…” He runs his hands through his hair. “I wanted to kill Scratch. You know that. And I would have if Emily hadn’t stopped me. Just like I would have killed Cat and just like I almost killed the guys at Milburn…” His hands are shaking so she reaches out to hold them. “What if this is who I am now? What if the next time I’m face to face with an unsub I just…”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know what I did in there… what I had to do…”

He screws his eyes shut and she knows she’s losing him. She kisses his cheek, because she wants him here and she wants to be close to him and she hasn’t been able to hold him all day. It’s a mutually beneficial situation, she figures, when his mouth finds hers, and he kisses her so deep she thinks she might drown in the feeling. His hands slip under the hem of her sweater and his fingers are so warm against her skin. She tangles her hands in his deliciously unruly hair and tugs, needing him closer, wanting to keep him grounded.

“You’re here,” she murmurs. “You’re right here.” His hand is on her breast and his lips are on her neck and she tries so hard not to moan. The last thing she needs is for a team member to walk past her room and overhear them. He sucks hard enough at the skin of her collarbone that she knows it’ll leave a mark. She captures his mouth once more, and he pulls her down onto the bed so she’s lying on top of him. When she’s kissing him, she can forget too. She can erase, for a brief moment, the fear that she’ll let those parents down. That she’ll say the wrong thing or overlook a rogue reporter. She can stop worrying that she’s not doing enough to get justice for those women for just a minute, because when he holds her she doesn’t have to be a perfect liaison or have all the right words. All she has to be is in this moment with the man that she loves. It’s all he needs from her and he is everything she needs right now.

She swipes her tongue over his lower lip before pressing kisses down his jaw. Her hands work away at the buttons of his shirt as she goes, carving a path with her lips down his chest, the soft skin of his belly. He bites back a groan but she can feel how tense he is still, his breathing shallow. It occurs to her that being back in the field might be making things worse than usual. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take things a step further. He needs her, and god does she want him.

She shrugs out of her sweater before flicking open his belt buckle and undoing the zipper of his pants, pulling them down his legs. His cock is already straining against the fabric of his boxers, and when she drags a finger over the length of him he presses his hips into her hands. They haven’t gone this far before. Her heart beats out a staccato rhythm of anticipation as she reaches for the waistband of boxers.

But this his hand grabs hers, his grip soft but firm.

“Y/N.” He’s not looking past her anymore. Spencer’s hazel eyes are completely focused on her, shining in the dim hotel lamplight. “I don’t want my first time with you to be like this.”

“I don’t mind,” she assures him.

“But I do,” he says. He sits up on the bed, holding her in his lap. He brushes her hair back from her face, letting his touch trail down the side her face to caress her cheek. “I want this, but I – I don’t want you to think for a second that I’m using you. I want to do it right. You’re not just another pretty girl or a way for me to clear my mind or a distraction. You’re my favorite person. You’re the one I love. And Y/N, I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You do,” she says. How can he possibly think he doesn’t when he sends her pictures of things he finds that will make or smile or reads her favorite books just to memorize the words she loves or holds her as though nothing so precious has ever been within his grasp before?

“I need to prove it to myself though.” And though she doesn’t quite understand, she relents. But when she asks if he wants to be alone, he says, “Can I just stay here? With you?”

“Of course.” She trades her slacks for a pair of pajama shorts and asks, “So you do think I’m a pretty girl though?”

He laughs. “The prettiest. But you know that already.” She curls up under the covers with him and watches him fall asleep with his arms around her. His breathing steadies and in sleep he looks more peaceful than he has his days. His body relaxes. A small smile graces his face. Like this, she can almost pretend that Mexico never happened and nothing ever hurt him. She loves him in all ways and all parts, even when he’s hurting, but she wishes she could take that pain away from him.

.

By the time she arrives at the unsub’s house with Rossi, Luke is leading William Lynch away in handcuffs and Spencer is walking the survivor to the meet the medics. Once she’s in the ambulance, Y/N meets him on the sidewalk.

“I didn’t hurt him,” he says.

“I knew you wouldn’t.” He pulls her into a hug, and to her surprise, there is no tension in his touch. He’s not far away. He doesn’t need her to keep him in this moment. He just wants to hold her. She rests her head against his chest, relishing that simple fact.

That week, she can see a lightness in his step at work. His smile comes easier and stays a little longer. He seems to be finding his footing in the office and with the team once again, and he’s even excited about the prospect of the seminars he’ll be teaching. The weekend is welcomed with a Friday night dinner at Rossi’s, after which Spencer drives the both of them back to his apartment. When she steps inside, she finds the living room lit up with string lights and her favorite flowers sitting on the kitchen table.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“For you, Pretty Girl,” he says. “I told you I wanted to do this right. Flowers have been a symbol of romantic love for centuries, particularly when given as a gift, so that was obvious. And dimmed lights are typically used as a way to set a romantic mood, although also have a skill for lighting up the life of everyone you meet, so there’s that too. Maybe that doesn’t make much sense,” he says, laughing at himself. “But I wanted to make it clear that I was thinking of you and I wanted to make tonight special. Not that anything has to happen tonight, of course, but if you still wanted to I just thought that maybe, well–”

“It’s perfect,” she assures him. “More than perfect. I love it. I love you. And this is exactly what I want.” She stands on her toes to kiss him before he can start rambling once more. Spencer leads her to the bedroom and unlike the rush of movement and need in Florida, he knows exactly he wants. Every kiss is languid and longing, every touch so precise and electric. He helps her out of her dress and places kisses between the valley of her breasts, the curves of her hips. He lets her guide him to where she wants him most and responds to every cue she gives him. Every inch of her body is given careful attention. As if he needs nothing from her at all but to love her.

It’s so much more than sex. As much as she hates the term making love she doesn’t know what else to call it. Because in every gesture, every kiss, he tells her without words that he loves her. And with every touch she tries to tell him the same. He devotes himself to ensuring she comes first, and makes good on that promise with ease, but when he finally reaches his release the sound of him crying her name is the holiest benediction she’s ever heard.

It takes him several minutes after to regain the ability to form words, during which she lies there in contended bliss, stroking his hair. “I love you,” is the first thing he says. “I love you, Pretty Girl.”

She smiles to herself, delighted to be not just a pretty girl who steals his train of thought, but his pretty girl. The one who gets to stay by his side and take his breath away and push the nightmares back. “I love you, too.”

“I’m so glad you kissed me that day.”

“I’m glad Emily gave me such an outrageous idea,” she giggles.

“Thank you for being patient with me all this time. I know I say that you help me forget, but it’s more than that. You’re the one who helps me remember who I am and what matters. But I love you for so many more reasons than that. I’ve asked a lot of you lately and I want to make sure I make you feel as loved as you make me feel.”

“Spencer, you asked me to kiss you. That’s hardly a burden. And I like listening to you. I like being with you – because you make me feel so loved, all the time.” She snuggles closer to him. “I like you like this, when you’re sweet and gentle and you. But it’s, um, it’s not a bad thing when you lose control a little bit. It’s sort of hot – to feel like you just can’t help yourself.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well, I will absolutely need to remember that. You know, it scares me sometimes, how much I want you. How much I love you. But I’d much rather be scared by that than by the person I am without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. Because they’re both better when they’re together.

He makes her brave. She gives him strength. They change each other for the better, and as the days pass, the world feels a little lighter again. The sabbatical proves to be a good idea. With rest, with time, with therapy, she watches him heal. He doesn’t need to run off to kiss her hard against a wall to keep himself grounded (though when she’s in a certain mood, he’s more than happy to). He can focus in the field without her by his side. But when he’s having a hard time, his hand will still find hers. He’ll stand a little closer to her, and look at her, letting the rest of the world fade away, and feel better, every time. And there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

[kanene-yaaay]

Happy Birthday ~

Kanene’s note: DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IS TODAY? WEEEELLL, I sure hope so because I completely forgot ;-;. BUUUUUUT I REMEMBER VERY WELL THAT 4TH OF THIS SAME MONTH WAS @oliviaischillin1204 BIRTHDAY SOOOOO YAAAAAAY!!! Thank you so much for being such a lovely, wonderful, cool, amazing, sweet, crazy, fabulous person that I really look up to, Ollie! <33

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* This is Ler!Patton and Lee!Logan with Lee!Logan. Around 4.000 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Como é um presente, essa fanfic não será traduzida! Sleep a bit more today, drink water, give something nice to yourself and I hope you’re having a really nice day (Especially you, Olivia!!) <33

[~*~]

Logan opened his eyes, quickly turning off his alarm before it had the chance to wake Patton up. He held his breath as he turned to the other, observing his chest go up and down peacefully on his sleeping. The most serious one sighed in relief, feeling the butterflies flying in his tum- no, none of that silly nickname – stomach as he remembered which day was today.

Today was his birthday, an annual event which he usually wouldn’t give more attention to than to thank everyone’s well wishes, give himself a whole jar of crofter’s jam and take the day off from his non-essential tasks. 

At least… things used to be like that before he met Patton. 

A persistent wobbly smile found its way to his lips, thinking about the tradition the cat lover began after a few years of friendship. 

He firmly shook his head out of the memories, putting his glasses on and looking at the clock to confirm his thoughts. Yes, it was six AM. Perfect. This year Logan decided he was going to be resilient and in any circumstance he would fall into Patton’s attics. It didn’t matter what it was. He was a serious, determined, smart and strong adult. He could endure some silly, untrue teases.

Logan sat on the mattress, careful to not bother his partner, firmly ignoring the buzzing feeling on his nerves taking over his entire body. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, every and any distractions being very welcomed from the recordations beginning to swirl in his brain.

Then, in a flash, a shock hit him in the moment his eyes locked themselves in the picture being used as his new phone’s background. A picture that was not there the night before. A picture of him. Of his completely red face, his lips parted in a gigantic smile, eyes firmly closed, hair falling on his expression as his hands gripped there, doing their best to not stop the hand which wormed its way to his unbuttoned shirt. 

Real Logan pressed his hand over his mouth, suppressing a surprised yelp that for very little didn’t echo on the room. Only then he noticed the bright notification on his screen.

The one wearing glasses needed a whole minute to tear his gaze apart from the background, feeling the butterflies to get more and more restless as he read the name of who sent him a message the day before, at exactly 11:56.

[Patt-on/Patt-off: Happy birthday, Lo-lo! Prepared for your b-day surprise?~ :3c]

Suddenly two arms involved his waist, leading him to jump and to the touch get a bit firmer, -yet so gentle, - pulling his back to rest on a warm chest, a head resting on his shoulder and tickly, whispered sentences being spoken absurdly next to his so ticklish ear.

“I gotcha. ~” A series of goosebumps ran  across his spine and Logan attempted to squirm to his freedom from the nuzzling and muffled words seeming to buzz and spread in every inch of his neck, sensation being not even a bit helped by the quick pokes and pinches on his sides, “I gotcha, gotcha, gotcha ya, my tickly ticklish little squeaky toy!! Oh, no, what he is going to do? Hm? What is he going to do to escape from the Tickle Monster?”

“P-pa-Patton!” His hands flew to hold the wrists of the one called, who just rested his lips in the spot that connected his neck with his shoulders and chuckled before humming innocently. “Please, please! I ask for you to reconsider! We’re both intelligent, rational adults and I am sure that there is an answer which will satisfy both of us!” Small, fast raspberries were placed in that same spot and Logan, living up to his nickname, squeaked at each one, shrugging his neck. “N-no! No, no, no! Patton!! Don’t!!”

“Do you want me to reconsider?”

“Yes, yes!”

 “You want me to reconsider giving you your so craved birthday little tickle, tickle tickles?”

“Falsehood!!! I do not- I can’t- I didn’t-” Logan sputtered, the blush on his cheeks gradually increasing. “I do not crave them!! Ti-tickles are silly and don’t like them!”

He sensed Patton’s smile more than he saw it. Instantly things felt like he didn’t make a so clever choice with his wording. “Oh, you don’t? ~”

Logan denied, the wobbly smile yet plastered on his face.

“Okie! I will not tickle you then, Logie Bear, okay?” The one wearing a star themed pajama yelped when the wrists on his hold twisted their way to gently intertwine their fingers, pulling their hands the way up to behind Patton’s neck, keeping them there until Logan locked his own fingers together. This left his torso, - owner of multiple of his ticklish spots, - open, a tingling already starting to wander across them. He wiggled. “Oh, no, no. Don’t worry, dear!” Patton combed his hair, leading the other to instantly melt into the touch. “We’re going to just talk. A chat between friends! No tickling!” He rested, then, his hands on the other’s ribs, his tune filled with joy. 

“But the moment your hands go down you better be prepared because I’m going to tickle tickle tickle you silly-silly for hours and hours and hours until we’re both satisfied, okay my precious Squeaky Toy?!”

Logan’s smile only grew wider, for a second his hands trembled behind the other’s neck. 

“Okay?” Patton questioned playfully, yet drops of seriousness painting his ask.

The one with blushing crawling down his neck bit lightly his lower lip, his mumble barely audible. “Light tickles during the talk?”

Patton felt his heart melt with all the cuteness, losing his façade as the tips of his fingers ran softly up and down Logan’s ribs, resulting in the aforementioned to let go of silent snorts and titters, which led the cat lover to squeal, hugging him. “Of course, precious Giggle Bug! You’re just so, so adorable and cute making such a sweet wish like this!”

“I despise you and your falsehoods. I am not cute.”

“Now, now, now, Logie bear! It’s very rude of you to try to lie for the Tickle Monster because he might will have to try to convince you to say the whoooole truth!” He sing-sang, wiggling his fingers teasingly in front of Logan. “A truth that maybe sounds like ‘I, the smart Logan Sanders, am an adorable, incredibly, horribly tickly ticklish Squeaky Toy and I just looove receiving tickle, tickle, tickles from the Tickle Monster!”

“FALSHEHOOD! I am no-nothing of this!”

“Okay!” Patton exclaimed happily, his index fingers traveling to scratch the skin behind his ears, circling and drawing shapes on the shell before slowly making his way to Logan’s red neck, quickly going back to the first spot when the other futilely attempted to protect his target. 

“Soooo,” Patton made his voice the most low and possible tickly way, one more time, “are you telling me that you’re not cute? Not at all? That all that lovely blushy-blush spreading and running on your neck and these little ticklish- ops! I mean sensitive ears here are not even a bit cute?” The stars lover shook his head, attempting to hide his face on his elbow but giving up in the moment Patton took the opportunity to place a trail of butterfly kisses on his unprotected neck, receiving a squeal as prize.

“Aww, cutiepants, was that a squeal? So adorable!” Logan denied again, controlling his urge to low his arms when the other rested the tip of his nails on the spot inside his elbows, softly wriggling, teasing the nerves there. “But I do wonder why, I mean, we’re just having a good talk here, aren’t we?” He dragged his scribbles and traced down to his biceps, “just having some fun time with your cool friend Patton! No reason at all for you to be sweetly squealing or blushing or squirming like a wiggly wiggley worm! Unless…” 

“This tickle tickle tickle your funny bone!” Patton gasped, delivering a poke right on the center of Logan’s armpits and making his arms to shot half of the way down before their owner could stop himself, giggling non stop. “Arms up, my helpless ticklish grumpy baby!! You’re already doing so well. I know you can endure it just a bit more!”

Logan scoffed, taking some giggly filled seconds of silence before re-adjusting his arms where they were. “Of course, I can. As I previously pointed, I am not such a childish thing as ti-ticklish.” Patton tried to stop himself from laughing, ending up snorting. “Stop laughing, you heathen. It’s the truth.” Logan gave a squeeze on the cat lover's stomach. A rare and small playful smile playing on his lips as the other yelped holding his hands away.

“Sure, sure.” Patton booped his nose before guiding his hands to the other’s armpit, waiting patiently for his friend to lock his fingers behind his neck again. An idea popped on his mind, resulting in his smile to get wider. “Hey, lo-lo! What if we sing a song?” He bounced as the other whined a protest, wiggling around. 

“No, no, don’t worry! I am sure you already know the lyrics! Look, Wiggley Worm, I will start and then you follow me, okay?” Patton then positioned two fingers on the tickle spot, hearing Logan’s breath hitch as he began to circle his pits, the squirming increasing.

“Round and round the tickly pit

Goes the Logie Bear-”

“That is not how the nursery rhymes goes!”

“No? Oh, dang! I was almost certain that I was right! If only someone clever, cool and with an amazing voice who knew how to sing it correctly would help me…” Loud sigh, feigned sad head shake, “guess I will have to repeat it again and again and again and again until I recall the correct lyrics…”

The cat lover paused, for a piece of minute only hysteric titters and warm smiles filling the air.

“Round, round the helpless pit,

Goes the Blushy Bear-”

“No!” Logan yelped, slightly jumping in the same place as he felt the fingers walking, scratching their way to the center of the spot. “I can-” the rest of his words came muffled as he one more time attempted to hide his burning face on his shoulder. Guffaws escaping as Patton took, again, the opportunity to nuzzle and kiss his bare neck, “Wait, wait! I will sing.”

The attacker’s face brightened right away, stopping his tickling. “Are you serious?! Would you do that for your old Tickle Monster?”

“Y-ye-yes.” He cleaned his throat, uselessly trying to get rid of the chortles already accumulating on his chest, the figurative butterflies flying everywhere on his belly. “Yes, Ihihi can.”

“Okay, then! Whenever you’re ready!”

Logan tried to take a deep breath, however his concentration was immediately broken when the tingling sensation spread like lights across his torso. “Stohohop wiggling them! I cahahan’t sing whehen you doho that!”

“Okay, okay, blushy bear. Gotcha!”

 He closed his eyes, taking another wobbly breath and failing spectacularly as the feeling of the fingers resting peacefully, so oblivious on his so exposed tickle spot felt almost unbearable. “No, nohoho! Stop!”

“Logie Bear,” Patton grinned bigger, sensing his heart to expand even further as the one with stars painted on his pajamas squealed on his hold, “This time I’m really doing nothing.” Logan growled, refusing to answer.

“Round, round the gard-EN,

Li-hihihike a teddy bear…”

Logan began to kick lightly, his sentence being more and more subdued by the high pitched laughter with drops of snorts.

“One step,” One squeak.

“Two steps,” Two squeaks.

“Aaaaand?” The attacker asked, his fingers hovering, barely grazing the skin.

“Ahahahand,” the laugh cut his phrase, his kicking increasing its speed, “ahahahand,” Logan shook his head, his arms about to give up and clue on his sides. Face burning, squirming becoming more frequent.

“Tickleoverhere!!”

Patton attacked. His arms went immediately down, his head hitting Patton’s shoulder with the force of his full laughter.

“Yes, yes! There is! There is that beautiful, wonderful, amazing laughter of yours! And and and these little snorts!!” His caring, evil friend beamed, his voice full of excitement. “It’s just the adorablest and cutest and lovely-est thing!!”

“NAHAHAHAHAHA!”

A few minutes full of scribbling, poking and scratching passed before the cat lover ceased the tickling, giving him a break effectively used to take sips of oxygen. Logan’s muscles relaxing as Patton again combed calmly his hair strands, snuggling him close.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes,” a breathless giggled response, but a response nevertheless. He suspended his arms again. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re so cute, Giggle Bug! Now, now,” Patton hugged Logan, his arms crossed on the other’s chest, leaving almost no room for squirming while his hands tapped his fingers on the soft skin of his pudgy sides, “I heard someone here has very, veeery ticklish sides that the Tickle Monster would just love to tickle, tickle, tickle! But, I don’t see to find where that ticklish baby is…” He began to dig on the spot, properly ignoring the loud snort and frantic wiggling from the star lover. 

“I mean, it can’t be you, right, Logie Bear? Because you” Patton made sure to focus his tweaking on a rather… susceptible tendon which connected his sides with his back, holding his smile as the crackles exploded from the one attacked, who immediately started bouncing in the same place, “just told me you aren’t sensitive! Not even an itsy bitsy wiggly wiggley cutesy ticklish at all, right?”

“P-pahahha-PAHAHATTON!”

“What is it, baby Squeaky Toy?”

“Ple-please!!”

“Please what? I don’t think I understand what you mean, Lo-lo. There is a crazy, cutie patootie being tickled somewhere near and it’s hard to hear you with all that beautiful laughter!”

“It TICKLES!! IT TIHIHIHICKLES!”

Gasp. “It does??” But that statement only served for the other to knead further on his sides, skillfully squeezing and digging on every weak spot on it. In an explosion of energy Logan broke free from the grip, losing his balance and half falling from the bed, his hands instinctively stopping himself before he could hit the floor while his legs and waist continued laid on the mattress.

“Oh, my gosh! Logan, are you okay??” His only answer was the reminiscent laughter growing in breathless giggles. “Logan?” 

When the other nodded Patton finally let his façade crumble and drop, wheezing laughter taking over his senses as his mind replayed the fall, “Oh my God! Your face, Lo! Your face was just-” and his next sentences came out silenced when he pressed his face on Logan’s arched back, snickering.

On Logan’s lower back.

The one who had just stopped his giggles did his best to hide a squeak. The sensation of Patton laughing directly on his skin together with his hitching warm breath sending electric, tickly goose bumps through all his torso. The urge to squirm and escape growing louder as his friend didn’t stayed still, lifting his head from there only to stare Logan again and immediately fall in another wave of laughter, once more shoving his face on that spot next to his side or on his spine or way too much close of his hip. The idea that this time Patton wasn’t even really trying to tickle him making the heat on his face and the urge to laugh somewhat worse.

“Ah!! Patton, stop!”

“Sorry, sorry!! I can’t, I can’t! You just screamed and fell and I-” Patton snorted and the poor ticklish Squeaky Toy tried to move his arms in an angle where he would be able to push his friend’s face away, only to realize he couldn’t do much more than mindlessly swing his upper limbs. Fuck.

It took about two long, slow minutes of quiet huffing before for the one wearing cat onesie to calm himself, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes and bringing his focus to his friend, looking at least a bit apologetically, even if the other wasn’t able to properly see it due his position. 

“Sorrey, bear. I forgot how ticklish you are on your sides.” His eyes then noticed Logan’s face, furrowing his brow, “are sure you’re okay? Your face is a bit red there, kiddo.”

“Ihi assure yohou I aham. Please help mehe to get up.” Patton quickly nodded, an adoring gaze sprouting on his expression as he heard the other’s giggles, but decided to not point out, instead choosing to pat his back lightly in a reassuring touch and immediately pulling his hand when Logan jumped at his touch.

“Get away from my back!” The moment his words escaped in an impulsive act, Logan instantly clapped his hand over his mouth, trying to think in a way out of what he just brought to himself. A part of him – very small, pretty much overdued by the excited energy building again on his body, - wishing Patton didn’t get the meaning behind that phrase.

“Your back?” His tune sounded much like what Roman likes to call ‘Lost puppy’ and Logan signed in a mix of relief and disappointment. 

Then Patton gasped, suddenly full of joy. “Oooooh!!! Your!!! Back!!”

“Nonono, no, no! Patton, be reasonAAH!” A shriek cut all his protests and rational thoughts when Patton lowered his head and gave a soundly, big raspberry right on the right side of his lower back, making all his way to the other side with more careful, well placed raspberries. “I can’t, I can’t! Plea-ase!”

“I’m not listening a ‘stop’!~” He rested a kiss on his spine. “And, awww, kiddo! Why did you never tell me you had such a tasty back before?” The cat lover ran his index finger on his spine, leading electric shivers to shoot all across his nerves. “Now you made the Tickle Monster really, reeeally hungry! Good thing that now he has a very yummy yummy snack-y back-y right here!!”

Logan tried, - believe me, - he really, really tried to form some sort of coherent sentence, however, the moment Patton’s lips collided with the back of his ribs, softly nibbling and making ‘oh nom nom’ noises as his free hands occupied themselves at unmercifully squeezing his hips, his thumbs clued on the little divot localized there, Logan’s belly laughter ran freely. It swirling around them both, the melody mixed with the sound of his hands bagging on the floor, legs kicking in a fruitless struggle.

Patton gave the other side the same treatment (‘They deserve that attention too, Lo-lo! The Tickle Monster needs to be fair and good so Giggles bugs like you will be all happy and cute and giggly forever and ever!’) before giving the astronomy lover a break, finally helping him back (ha-) to lay on the bed, on his stomach.

Logan closed his eyes, a smile resting on his expression as his snorts and chortles started to become more sporadic, the tingling still running on his tickle spot. His eyelashes opened only to find Patton’s face adorned with a smirk. 

“Hello-lo-lo, my precious, adorable, sweetest Squeaky Toy! Enjoying your birthday tickles?”

“I hate you.”

“Boop!”

Logan whined, the tip of his ears blushing as he hid his face on his mattress. “You’re insufferable.” 

“Nope, silly, I’m the Tickle Monster!” Patton snickered, ignoring Logan’s grumpy growl. “And I was thinking, what about if we played a game, Blushy bear?”

…

Silence.

...

“What game?”

“Weeeell…” Patton’s face disappeared not taking long for Logan to feel the part next to his side sink as his attacker adjusted himself there. A cold breeze touched his back as the hem of his shirt was pushed up until it touched his neck, Patton’s fingers quickly sliding and lightly scribbling the length of his back, leading him to squirm occasionally. “I was thinking about that very tiiiicklish tickle spot of yours and I realized… Do you know how much vertebras a human has, Lo-lo?”

“Yes, of course. Counting with the sacral and the coccyx we have about thirty-four vertebras, although, since they’re fused on the coccyx it can variate and result as thirty-three as well.”

“Ohhh,” Patton’s tune was solemn and, if it wasn’t for the feeling of his fingers still drumming on his skin, Logan could almost forget the imminent danger that question represented, “well, I have no idea of how much there are!”

“But I just told you-”

“So I think you will have to help me to discover it and lay veryyyy still so I can count them! You’re such a strong, lovely squeaky toy and I’m sure you can do this!” He placed an only one finger on the base of his waist, teasing the spot before going full on scratching, being so careful and, oh, so mindful to circle every single vertebra, prodding and poking each inch of sensitive skin there. His torso arched for a piece of time before hitting the mattress with force. “Oneeee, twoooo, threeeee…”

A jolt bolted from the spot and spread across his senses, resulting in Logan beginning to sputter halfhearted protests, his words interleaving with high pitched wheezy giggles, growing more and more louder as his friend got dangerously close to his shoulder blades. He squirmed and struggled and wiggled, hands firmly gripping the fabric under his fingers, his mind losing the count as Patton decided to re-start it over and over and over again, since-

“Now, now, Logie Bear. I know you just love to be such a lovely, absurdly ticklish squirmy little bear, but The Tickle Monster reaaaally needs you to stay still so I can tickle, ops! I mean, count all those tickly spots, oooops, I mean, vertebras of yours!”

Logan lost the track of time by the moment Patton ceased the attack, carefully massaging his shoulders to help him to relax and stop his giggles.

“Logan…” he asked when noticed that the other calmed himself, the blush getting weaker on his cheeks.

“Yes, Tickle Monster?”

Logan had to wait more three minutes so Patton would stop squealing, absolutely overwhelmed with joy.

“When I say you’re the most precious Squeaky Toy and that I could just hold you and softly graze my fingertips on your sides as I place raspberries and nuzzles and whispered teases about how much absolutely CUTE and ADORABLE you and you amazing laughter are and just hold your hands up so you can’t stop me when I tickly tickle your ticklish thighs but my grip will be loose enough so if you really want you could pry away but you won’t because you just love so much being tickle tickled silly and-”

“Patton! The question.” 

“Oh, right! Er… uhh… How many vertebras there are…?”

“About thirty four or thirty three.”

There was a piece of silence before the words exploded in frantic sentences from his friend’s mouth. 

“Oh my gosh, Logan! Logan, I just managed to count twenty! Logan, oh my gosh, where are your other ones? Are you in pain? We need to go to the hospital! I can’t believe you never told me you don’t have all of them kiddo! I’m going to-” The rest of his panic was muffled by Logan’s wheezing, uncontrollable laughter, which was doubled when the most professional one turned slightly around only to find Patton giving him that confused frown.

“Y-you,” he fought to take a breath, failing “You can’t actively count them just by touching-” and Logan didn’t know if it was the occasion, or the silliness engulfing them or even the so pure and clear confusion on the other’s tune, but he found it difficult to stop his laughing.

…

“So, your spine is okay?”

“Yehehes!”

“Oh, that is good, kiddo! Because now I’m going to give you something to laugh about, mister!!”

Then Patton bounced, attacking that horrible, forbidden spot between his shoulder blades, leading a loud shriek and even more wild laughter to escape from him due the new maddening – awesome, - sensation. 

“Coothie coothie coo, Blushy bear!!”

“Listen to all that wonderful laughter! That's such a big, sweet smile!! Those cute little yelps, squeaks, and ah! Was that a snort?”

“Awwww, someone here is a tickly ticklish baby? Huh? Yes, you are! Yes, you are, my incredible adorable Squeaky Toy! Coothie coothie coo, bear!”

“You're so precious and so amazingly smart, wonderful, strong, cool and sweet! You deserve all the tickles tickles tickles from the Tickle Monster!!”

Tears of mirth began to accumulate on the corner of his eyes, and that was the cue for the other to begin to lessen the tickles, resuming his attack to sporadic butterfly kisses on Logan’s back.

“Stohohohop! I wihihill tell!”

“Aww, will you?”

“Yehehes, I will! Juhuhust cease!”

“Okay!” Patton gave a last nuzzle on his bare neck before his hand came down to comb his hair, giggling at Logan’s state. “Remember, it’s: ‘I, the smart Logan Sanders, am an adorable, incredibly, horribly tickly ticklish Squeaky Toy and I just looove receiving tickle, tickle, tickles from the Tickle Monster!’. Don’t forget to say every single word, Giggly Bear, or we will have to start it all over again!”

Logan whined, turning around so he wouldn’t be able to visualize Patton’s bright smirk. “Shuhuhut up. Urg. Ihihi- I, the incredible and smart Logan Sanders, am an a-ahahadorable, incredibly, horribly ti-ti-tichihihckly, ticklihihish S-squeaky… Toy… and…”

“Aaaand?”

“Dehehear Newton I despise your existence on this planet- and I just… loOove receiving tickletickleticklesfromtheTickleMonster. Thehehere! It’s said, leave mehehe alone!”

“It is, indeed!” Patton beamed, lowering himself to plant a soft kiss on the birthday boy’s temple, “Thank you for being such an adorable and great lee, Lo. Do you want some cool water? A snack? I can make it while you rest a little, okay? We could marathon Doctor Who again!”

“Yes. I think that would… suffice.” Logan smiled. A small, warm smile that made Patton feel like he could just melt for knowing it was being directed to him. “And… I also express my gratitude for your… birthday tickles, as you call it. It was quite…” he frowned, as if he was trying to recall something, “a-okay, I believe.”

“Aww! Thank you, kiddo!” And, if Patton lightly blushed with the compliment and both cuddled during the whole marathon, sometimes whispering soft, gentle compliments to each other? Well, shhhh, that is their secret to share, okay?

[birdsaesthetic]

First impression

Summary: Post-series, Jeller and parenthood—not something perfect or shiny or promising. It’s troublesome, but it’s so realistic. 

A/N: This idea is inspired from a similar experience I had with my nephew whom I had to take care of the majority of my time back in the days—worst memories. So I know how that exactly feels like; only the brave ones can get through it... I hope this makes you feel something, whatever that feeling might be. On fanfiction

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As she kept pushing, Jane thought that nothing could be any more painful than this, not whips or chains, not even gunshots, all of which she'd been put through before.

Moments later, newborn cries filled the labor room, and Kurt bursted into tears of relief and joy. He immediately turned his glossy eyes to his wife who was still catching her breath, and in a voice that was almost broken and shaking he told her that they had the most beautiful baby boy ever. Through her exhaustion Jane grinned at him, then she let her eyes leave his to take in her baby that was being carefully put on her bare skin. In that very moment, she couldn't help but cry the sweetest tears she'd never known, all the pain of moments before melting away. He might be only minutes old by now, their baby, but as his tiny mouth widened, he continued crying along with his mother, though his cries were much louder despite his tiny body in comparison to his mother.

All their friends visited later that day, brought gifts, and offered help when needed. And Bethany, with her mother, flew the hundred miles to New York only to see her brother and give him the softest of kisses.

The first two weeks for Jane after having given birth to Peter went so quiet. Peaceful. She spent most days either sleeping, snuggled in bed with her newborn baby pressed so close to her chest she could feel his soft, wet breath, or laying down in a rest position with her newborn baby being still close within her hand reach to anticipate his every need—though he didn't need a lot. Breastfeeding and changing. That was all.

As for Kurt, during those first two weeks, he took a vacation from his regular work to be willingly spending all his time and effort on nursing both Jane and his newborn baby.

"That's the least I could do," he told Jane one morning, as he brought her a fresh meal all the way to bed, to which she smiled before dotting kisses on his hand, that was big, almost the size of his newborn baby.

Peter seemed so quiet, often asleep and would flutter his eyes open maybe twice a day. And during these rare times his parents would circle up around him and gaze down with all smiles, making comments regarding his looks. "He's got your eyes!" Jane chuckled, and Kurt smiled then said, "It's such an honor to acknowledge that."

"For me, it's such a pleasure to acknowledge that I'll have another set of beautiful eyes resembling yours to look at daily," she said with a smirk, and Kurt blushed for a fraction of a second, then kissed his wife, then his son. Alternatively, the two planted soft kisses on the tender skin of their newborn baby, and slid their pinky fingers into his open hands and watched as he responded and curled his little hands around them.

They were the happiest little family, until those first two weeks passed, then they saw hell on earth...

Though healthy, good taken care of, and clean, Peter decided to erupt in prolonged, ear-shattering cries, completed with clenched fists, and flailing legs and an unhappy red face.

They checked his diapers and temperature every hour. They tried direct breastfeeding and got out the thermometer. They cuddled and cooed. They did everything that came to their minds that any newborn baby would need—except if their baby wasn't a normal one and had a supernatural power therefore had special needs or something!

Babies his age cry and fuss sometimes, it's known and normal. But the way their baby did it, never seemed to be anything near normal. It was as if he wanted to suffocate himself and die—for hours he'd cry and resist every effort they make to soothe his tears until his little face was red with his mouth stretching wide and the cries became unbearably louder.

It was stressful, overwhelming, and tiring daily, for Jane and Kurt. They—both of them, adults—couldn't even do anything that seemed to please him. Jane, already having afterbirth pains, had multiple breakdowns a day because of it, and sometimes she covered her ears with a pillow or cried along with him, out of hopelessness. There was a sense of shame and sadness and just those deep emotions that she was very not familiar with when her baby cried like this, nonstop. It was as though he was telling her that he needed help, that he was hurting, but she wouldn't even know how or what to begin with...

And Kurt, every time he tried to hold his crying baby close, bobbing and swaying to unheard music, humming a lullaby, quite composed, quite serene, he could swear his baby's cries got louder at all these attempts. He then would lay him down and make funny faces to get him to laugh, to simply make him feel something different, but still...

God, how could a four-kilo creature make such loud noises? It sounded like the screeching of an angry cat, only growing harsher and louder as Kurt tried his best to subside him.

Just recently, while Kurt alone stayed up the night to accompany Peter as he cried, the bell rang, to which Kurt cursed under his breath, having some ideas of who might be at the door this late hour. This time around, it was again their neighbor, a college student in his twenties who seemed impatient and annoyed as he complained about their baby's loud cries and how it was like listening to nails on a chalkboard.

"I have responsibilities and shit to do and classes to prepare for! I need to get some sleep. I need peace!" He rumbled and rumbled, because it was his right as a neighbor to be given that. Peace.

"Sorry. I know, sorry. He's just...a little sick," Kurt tried to explain himself, and his baby boy, fumbling in his words. Huffing in the other side of the doorway, their neighbor walked away then, and before Kurt closed the door, the urgency he felt was tremendously overwhelming. He wanted to sprint, speed, and hop into the car to zoom with his baby in his arms to the nearest pharmacy and find just the right medicine to cure the problem within him. What the cure was called and how much it'd cost mattered the least to Kurt.

Christ, he had to do something. There must be something serious with him, or else what would trigger this sort of crying? The noise the little one made included a falsetto trilling that did something to him. It seemed to reach into the skull through his ears, to grasp his brain stem, to shake the inner core of their being. Kurt looked down at his son, and although he seemed apoplectic as he cried and screamed, Kurt hugged him tight and promised that he'd do everything to help him as soon as possible.

This Monday evening, after having settled Peter down in his bed and gazed into his angelic, relaxed face as he finally slept, Jane sighed in relief. It was so quiet now, save for his breathing that was merely audible, which sounded nice, knowing he was breathing. Alive. She felt tempted to bend down and kiss each cheek, but she feared it'd make him fuss. Then, as she made her way to the living room, she got a call from Tasha, who'd been calling her every now and then these days, chatting and sharing motherhood tips and tricks.

"Hey! How is it going?" Tasha shouted in enthusiasm. And from the end of the line, Jane's voice came as a sigh, low and sad. "Not good."

"Is everything okay? Is Peter okay?" Tasha worried.

"No, he's...not okay. And we don't even know what's wrong with him. But we've already booked an appointment for him tomorrow's morning to see his doctor."

"What's it with him?"

"We don't even know! He cries a lot. All the time." Jane was at the edge of crying at this very moment, before Tasha rushed to say, "Ohh, your baby is probably colic, Jane."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your baby cries a lot as you just said!"

"But that still doesn't explain why!"

"For no reason, really! He just wants to cry, right?"

"Yeah, exactly! That's all it seems. But how do you know that? Is Scott—or was Scott like that?"

"No, I wouldn't say he was, but I know some parents struggle with that."

"Do you know what they would do to ease their babies? Kurt and I would literally do anything and everything only to..."

"Oh, Jane, listen. Every baby seems to be different. Don't worry about it! He won't stay forever like that! But you should still get him to the doctor to make sure he's actually and physically all fine, and if he was, you may feel relieved, because thankfully he'd only be colic."

"Thankfully?"

"I mean...that sucks, still. But you know that's better than something else. Sometimes serious!"

Jane was silent for a long moment, her mind working fast, and her body started sweating at the thought of Peter seriously sick, and his crying had been indicating something permanent.

"Hey? Are you still there?"

"Hey... yeah,"

"You okay? Or need company? I just snuck out of my place after Scott slept only to get some groceries, but if you need company, I'll be heading to you instead!"

"No, no. Thank you, Tasha. Kurt is actually coming within minutes. And honestly, we haven't had some quiet time together for—I don't even remember for how long! But judging from that, it must have been for a while... Anyway. Sorry, I forgot to ask you about Scott! How is he doing?"

"Ugh, he's fine. He's just addicted to sugar, loves chocolate and candy so much! That's why I don't bring him with me grocery shopping anymore—he knows where to find the chocolate there by now!"

Jane smiled. "At least it makes him happy."

"It actually makes him energetic and annoying at nights. But anyway, I should let you rest. Bye for now, and good night. Also, don't worry much!"

"Okay. Good night."

After some time, the door was opened and there was Kurt emerging through it with many bags of groceries hanging in both hands. "Hey," he greeted, stumbling on his way to the kitchen so he could put the groceries away. Jane watched him do so as she greeted him back with a low voice that he didn't probably hear.

Then, panting, Kurt approached her with easy footsteps. "It's quiet, rarely!" he commented, after having seated next to her on the couch.

"He's asleep."

"Good." Sighing, he shifted here and there until he was lying down, using Jane's lap as a pillow. She looked down at him with a frown as he closed his eyes. "Are you sleeping?"

"I had a rough day..." he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"Get up, and tell me about it. I'm sure it's much more interesting than mine that I spent it literally just listening to your kid cry."

"When he cries, he's only my kid, huh? Also, don't forget that his appointment is tomorrow morning!"

"I didn't. And, um, I might know what's wrong with him,"

"What's it?" Kurt opened his eyes to the fullest now to look up at Jane. "Um, I was just talking with Tasha before you came, and when I told her, I almost thought she wouldn't believe me, but then she said that Peter might be colic."

"What does that even mean?"

"Meaning that he cries, a lot!"

"Why?"

"I don't know. For no reason? Or maybe it's something phenotypic?"

Kurt winced. "His doctor will know better."

They slept feeling hopeful that night. Ever since they booked that appointment, they had this promising sensation of hope, that they'd know, for sure, what was the problem, therefore fix it—well, or so they thought.

The hope continued to the next day while the doctor looked over their son and examined him carefully. Peter was awake and strangely calm at the time. He didn't have a fever nor had any other sign of illness, the doctor said.

"Just colic," The doctor then added.

Ha! Oh, colic. Great.

The doctor's casual dismissal contrasted with the parents' urgency. "So how do you cure it?" Jane asked impatiently, and she had to cover her mouth and grip then regrip Kurt's hand after the doctor said a cure might not exist, and they'd have to get through it.

The doctor further explained that, statistically, this happens to about one in every five babies in the world, most often in the evenings and nights than mornings in babies aged three weeks to three months. It happens more in countries that are developed than those that aren't, and no one really knows as to why—though at this point they were hardly listening, their inner voice screaming overpowered anything else around them.

They took their baby, went home, and spent the rest of the day listening to Peter wail while the earth spun and the sun set and rose on the other side of the world and wars were won and lost and revolutions happened.

The reality was tough to adapt to, however they were patient, put the maximum effort to give more and have less, of course. Though every time they looked down at him, hushing, his face was unrelaxed, his fists were clenched tight and his abdomen was tense from the discomfort he was undergoing all alone, a four-kilo infant. He really seemed like a very sad baby; there was no light in his eyes, only tears, which reflected on Jane and Kurt's souls, and made them sad parents, too.

They went to ask more pediatricians and friends for help, knowledge. They read more about Baby Colic, seeking any useful tips and tricks. They tried alternative treatments—Kurt swaying all around the apartment to unheard music while holding little Peter to his chest as he wailed, Jane messaging over his back with care and holding him with his bare skin against her own so close to allow him to feel contained, loved. Safe. And yet, it didn't stop. He didn't stop crying, deploying this tool of weaponized sound that was truly like listening to an alarm going off that could drive someone sane and resilient like Jane and Kurt crazy.

In the peak of it it affected their lives: Jane stopped her working-life completely, though she'd, in fact, intended to do so for the first few months of Peter's life only to be spending such a pleasant, lovely time with him in these early stages, and to witness every little change that'd happen to him—but she never had ever thought this would feel like a burden, and the most stressful thing imaginable. After all, she was the one to have mentioned wanting a baby first, not Kurt. What felt like years ago, she'd told him that she wanted a baby with him, that it was the perfect time to do it now, and Kurt didn't really say much in response. Instead, he exchanged loving gazes with her, brought her closer to him, kissed her so deeply she could still feel the staying power of it till this day, and then he made love to her right away. No protection for the first time. It'd been only her and him and pure desire but nothing else. And they'd kept doing the same thing until one day they got what they wanted.

It affected their daily routine: One slept at nights while the other watched after him in another room. They took turns and shifts, not even once they had the slightest sympathy toward each other when they interrupted each other's sleep in the middle of the night to begin handling Peter.

It affected their relationship: They needed each other right at that hard time, Jane and Kurt. But when Kurt came home from work and Jane was wrung out from listening to it for hours, needing hugs and back rubs and words of encouragement, support, instead, they fought. They fought because something horrible was happening to their son and they lacked the power to stop it. They fought because they were frustrated and exhausted. They fought because they were frightened and tense all the time.

More than once Kurt hated the idea of returning back home after work, which went against his every instinct as a parent. As a husband, too. But sometimes—such as this time on Thursday—he felt like, if he went home after this long, unbearable day at work, he might lose his mind. He seriously might. So he called home and explained to Jane that he had some extra pepper work to do and so he might come a bit late. Jane wanted to argue. She wanted to disapprove—because she needed him at home and needed his help immediately. But she wasn't in a position to do so, since Peter's crying voice overpowered hers though she was shouting on the phone as if she were calling from an outdated device from decades ago where the connection was primeval only so that Kurt could hear her...

She just snapped then, after a full minute of trying, hung up and let go of it. It was no use; she'd scream and Peter would scream even louder and Kurt would also scream that he couldn't hear anything of what Jane was saying and it would look as though they were all in a contest...

And then, Kurt, feeling like an asshole driving the car, went to a quiet place and had a few drinks on that Thursday evening, one after another until he felt light-headed, carefree. Of all places nearby he'd chosen a place that was so far away from home, as if trying to get away from his little son's screams, or maybe he was afraid of getting busted by Jane at any given moment.

When he eventually drove home, several hours later, and as he approached the front door, he could hear his own son's howls from outside. His own heart clenched to that, and he wanted to run away already, or close his ears, or simply just sit there at the doorstep and not have to face it.

He unlocked the door and, almost running, he followed the cries to his bedroom. He was stunned for a moment to see both of them crying, Peter hysterically, Jane quietly. What he did next, and without asking what was going on, was take them both in his arms and cry along with them, repeatedly whispering his sorrow in Jane's ear, that he was gone enjoying himself out there while she lived in this chaos all alone.

When Peter ultimately calmed down under his father's repetitive and soothing strokes, both Jane and Kurt had already calmed down. But they didn't say a word afterward. They didn't look at each other, either—she didn't want to see his face and he couldn't look at hers. Instead, they just stared down at him, their little baby, sleeping now. Snoring, even. After all that hysterical crying he let out, now he seemed somehow in ease, his cheeks rosy, his forehead unclenched, his fists open, and his chest rising and falling in a way that was so reassuring.

They kept admiring the rare, beautiful sight of him like that for a while, having almost forgotten about what just happened mere minutes ago, that they, the parents, were both crying along with their baby, that they were completely hopeless. And then, slowly but surely, Peter smiled the tiniest of smiles in his sleep. It was an unconscious smile, they knew, but it put a similar smile on their faces, to have captured that exact moment in the middle of the madness. It spread hope in the air between them, that genuine, small smile of his.

Still silent, still staring down at sleeping Peter, they await another smile to appear on Peter's tiny lips; it'd been something unmatched. But then he didn't. Jane ran a feather-like hand over his head and brushed his soft hair to fix its pattern to one side instead of being flipped in every direction. Kurt, then, reached out for the same hand of hers and took it to him, which made her look up at him, finally, dark circles under her eyes from the same exhaustion daily. It was an unwilling or rather angry look she gave him. But she had to flutter her eyes before shutting them close as he started kissing her on that hand, and inhaling it, and scraping his own growing beard against it.

As much as Jane wanted to withdraw from his touch, and as much as she was truly upset with him now, she tried to find some comfort in this approach. She couldn't remember the last time they had a quiet, intimate moment like this together, and doubted if Kurt could remember. They'd been giving more and having less. They'd been fighting each other and discouraged. They'd been waking up in the mornings to the sound of Peter's cries, and at nights sleeping to the same sound, Peter's cries, and in the hours in between barely catching their breaths. That'd been going on for months now.

She pulled her hand away, after a moment, not aggressively, just about reluctantly. And then she lifted Peter and gingerly forced him into his father's arms. "Go settle him down in his bed, and spend whatever remains of the night there with him," she ordered, her voice low yet demanding. Here, she'd absolutely meant to sting him and trouble him and bother him. Also, she thought, if he was about to say one word of protest, or simply just groan, or if his face twisted the slightest in displeasure, she would take a deep breath, gather her strength, and smack him hard enough on the face to leave a permanent damage there so when Peter would grow up one day and ask why did his father have this injury mark, Jane would dryly say, "Because once, when you've needed your father the most, he failed you, honey—and me."

But then he was calm, as he looked at her and simply nodded. "I will."

He departed then, and did, indeed, spend the remaining of the night with his little baby, the one he'd just failed, the one he'd also just promised that he would never fail again even if it'd bring his life to an end.

What really was so cruel about their baby being colic was that it was part of the first impression, and just from that they were tempted to infer that the rest of it, being a parent, was going to be even harder—that this was how difficult it is to be a parent!

But with a combination of patience, time and effort, the unexplainable, unceasing crying went away—it stopped. It was hell on earth—oh, God only knows—and then it was over. One night as winter approached, when Peter was four months old, he fell asleep and they got to talking and realized that he hadn't cried! Not tonight, nor the night before. A week went by, then two. It was a month before they really believed things changed. Just like that, it was over. That would've been great to be reminded of when they were in the middle of it—the fact that colic was temporary!

Now, Peter, five months old, smiled and giggled and only fussed when he actually needed something. He was responsive, too, when his parents brought him toys, or sang for him, or made funny faces to him as they fed him. Everything went back to normal, their lives, their routine, and most importantly their relationship. And with Peter in a perfect condition now, he bounded them together even stronger.

A/N: If you made it this far, please let me know what you think of it!

[forbidding-souda]

hello!! i dont know if you’re still doing them but could i request number 31 from the prompt list for shuichi and hajime (preferably with either gender neutral or male pronouns) ty!!

31: “Hey, I’m having fun” Shuichi Saihara & Hajime Hinata (masc S/O)

I luv Hajime with my whole heart so I got you!! And yeah I’m still doing them <3!! 

Me and my godbrother were taking turns playing Mario and whoever wasn’t holding the one remote had to add sentences to this, so yeah here’s the result of that by the way, it’s towards the end of the Hajime one and the beginning of the Saihara one :D

-Mod Souda

Hajime Hinata

You had a lot of friends in your class, as a part of the main course with the ultimates, and so you hung around them a lot.

And often, in an almost noblesse oblige, you’d bring along Hajime.

Chiaki runs the group hangouts, along with Ibuki, and they both seem to get along with him most.

But you still get anxious, because you know how much he admires the ultimates, and you wonder if getting him to hang out with them is making him jealous.

You don’t care that he’s not an ultimate, he’s still the one you love. But sometimes you get worried that you’re forcing him to come along with you. Does he not want to hang out with your friends? He’s not very vocal about his concerns, he usually goes along with what everyone is doing.

Every time you both go out with them he clings to your side, not saying much and laughing awkwardly.

The things your friends can do blows his mind.

Akane eats a whole chicken wing in one bite? His mind just ???

So when another party comes up in the talk, you already try to plan it in your head. What can you do to make Hajime more comfortable?

Chiaki, in her calm voice, introduces the idea.

“How about... us all in a big room with balloons and flashing lights?”

Ibuki is already excited. “Flashing lights? Like a concert.”

Chiaki gets a small smile. “Sure, how about you perform for us, Ibuki.”

“Maan, I want to perform too!” Saionji calls out, her head on her desk.

“Then that settles it,” Chiaki puts her hands together, “I suppose we all start to plan it now!”

A concert seems like the perfect place for Hajime to fit in.

He doesn’t need to talk to others, and it’s a place where you both are free to dance together!

The thought of being that close to him makes your cheeks heat up.

Would he enjoy that too?

Later, when the school day ends, you stand outside the reserve course’s main building, pulling your jacket closer to you as the winds begin to increase.

It’s always cloudy outside of the school, and it’s not something you’re too fond of whenever you wear the school uniform. Especially when it’s warm and moist.

“Hey,” Hajime knocks you out of your half-conscious state, “how has your day been?”

His eyes, his smile, the content look on his face.

Everything about it you love!

With a big smile you respond, “but I want to hear about you!”

And so you hear about how boring his day was as you both walk down the street.

The sun shines down on his face, peeking through the clouds, and highlighting everything you like about him.

Your face lights up for a second as you remember the party Chiaki was planning.

“Oh, Hajime, you wouldn’t believe the party we have planned out!”

“Does it take place in the school?”

“Yep, in the gym! Yukizome totally got permission for it and everything, Ibuki Mioda is even throwing a concert for just us!”

He stops walking, glancing down at you with a small smile.

“And when is this?”

You can’t tell if his interest is faked or not.

“This weekend! Some ways to go, right?”

He starts walking again before he responds. “I can’t wait.”

You both walk until you reach your room, and then he gives your forehead a small kiss before leaving.

And the rest of the week you both spent the majority of your time together after school walking around until you both end up somewhere recognizable.

Though, without telling him, your mind was occupied on what to wear.

How fancy do you want to be with him?

A tuxedo would impress nobody but Sonia, for sure.

Maybe something charming, like a button-up?

Standing in front of the mirror thirty minutes before the event, you confirm the idea of a button-up. 

And maybe a tie?

No, a tie makes it too official.

While you were decided what accessories to put on there is a knock at the door.

And there stands Hajime, wearing a white button-up and a tie.

“Hajime, you didn’t have to walk over here, I could have walked to your place!”

He puts his hands out in front of him defensively, trying to wave you off.

“I just couldn’t wait to see you!”

Flattered, you put your hands to your cheeks.

“Well, I’m almost done, but we can go now.”

He holds your hand throughout the walk.

The sky is an orange hue, and the sun is almost touching the horizon. Wisps of yellow and pink mix in the sky like paint.

His feet halt before he passes the gates that lead into Hope’s Peak Academy.

He’s passed them before, countless times with you.

But no matter how familiar he gets, the school is still a distant dream to him.

“Come on, let’s go!” You cheer, dragging him passed his mental block.

Past the doors of the school, Chiaki stands against a wall, her game system in hand as she consciously taps away on it.

“Good evening, Chiaki!”

She peers up for only a moment to wave before returning to her game. Maybe she’s a door mouse.

The gym, decorated by everyone in your class, had lights of blue and purple shooting from the stage.

Balloons of pink float, taped to the snack table and the edges of the stage, some of them bare and bouncing around on the floor.

Not all of your classmates are here, just a few you would expect to be early.

“Welcome back Hajime,” Sonia greets him, waving when she notices both of you. “How exciting is this! A concert inside of our school, wow!”

Breathing out, he adds, “Hope’s Peak Academy is truly amazing.”

Most of your classmates know him by name at this point, and they all know to be nice to him. None of them look down on him because of his status. None of them care that much to remember it.

Your mind almost immediately jumps to wondering where Ibuki is, as this is her magical moment. Perhaps she is hiding behind the curtains of the stage.

Your friends start coming, one by one until all 15 students stand inside of the gym.

And as the curtains pull back, you realize you were right. There, with her guitar, shooting fire out of its neck, she rings out chords and sings her heart out with Saionji dances in the front.

Not the best combo, but you enjoy it nonetheless.

And, no matter how chaotic her music is, you love it with all of your heart.

“That’s unique,” Hajime whispers to himself.

“She left her band because of creative differences,” you explain, smiling to yourself.

“Thank you so much for listening to my first song!” Ibuki cheers out, throwing her thumbs up, “and now - here are some of the oldies!”

And as soon as she finished, you grab Hajime’s hand, spinning him in place. His feet stumble as he was caught in surprise at the moment.

You both laugh against each other, vibrating with happiness as he returns the favor, spinning you around and pulling you close to his chest.

“Such romantic music.” He coos.

The others around you fall into the same, sugary light-hearted mood you and Hajime set. They dance, some better than others, but all in sync with the beat.

Even the slight swaying of the SHSL Imposter is enough to let everyone know the party has started.

The lights shine on everyone, showing your bodies as cold hues.

You can even feel his heart against yours one you grab him, pulling him into a kiss, which he happily returns.

Until someone interrupts.

“S/O-kun....” Chiaki puts her hand on your back. “Can you escort me to the bathroom, I don’t want to get lost.”

Chiaki we go to the same school.

You are almost unsure to leave Hajime. There’s such a high chance that’ll he will just hang against the wall and await for your return.

You smile, hands slipping away from Hajime and towards your friend, “Oh, of course, I can!”

And you walk with her, out of the gym and into the hallway, she suddenly stops walking and takes your hand into hers, pulling you to meet her height.

“I pulled you out because I got you and Hajime a gift!”

Your face heats up, and you watch as she takes something out of her pocket. It’s a card, multiple actually.

“They are free passes to the arcade.”

“Where we met...” You find yourself whispering under your breath as you take the cards out of her hand. There are four of them, all shiny and brand new.

“I just wanted to thank you both for... helping me get fifteen new friends. And being so helpful!” She takes a breathe, pulling that and toying with the strings of her hoodie, “I’m so grateful that I know the both you.”

Tucking the cards in your pocket, you give her a big hug.

She hugs back, breathing out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for the cards! I’ll go give them to him now!”

She follows behind you as you turn, returning back to the party.

There was no way you would be able to stop smiling.

And once the door closes behind you, you know that your happiness is going to last forever.

Hajime holds his place in the crowd, bouncing around with all of your friends. His eyes, bright with excitement, bring light to his toothy smile. 

He feels comfortable with your friends! Oh, that is the best thing you could ever see!

He almost explodes with joy when he sees you. He finds himself pushing out of the crowd, too impatient to wait for you to reach him.

Immediately, he grabs your hand, pulling you close.

You look him up and down in worry, “Hajime, I’m back and I won’t leave again, I promise, were you okay when I left?” [ ;) ]

He looks stunned for a second before a cheerful smile alights his face. “It’s okay, S/O, I feel happy, this is really helping me!”

His lips fall open to add something, but he stops, rubbing your arms up and down. He adds, to end your concerns, “Hey, I’m having fun.”

“That’s all I wanted, Hajime.”

Chiaki passes you, going into the crowd, and you remember the point of your trip. 

A look of recognition dawns on your face as he sends you a warm inquisitive gaze.

A grand smile greets his gaze as you gleefully pull out the tickets. “I thought we could go together.”

His hands glaze over them, as realization settles in and sheer joy replaces his brief confusion. “The arcade! Where did you get these?”

Your lips purse into a grin. “It was a gift... from our friends.”

“Well, let’s go back to the party,” his intertwines your fingers, kissing your knuckles before dragging you back to the lights.

Shuichi Saihara

You sharpen your tie, trying to tighten it.

“If you keep messing with it it’s going to become uneven,” Maki scolds you, pushing your hands away from your own clothes.

“And then that will be my problem, but for now, let me fidget all I want.”

Maki scoffs, crossing her arms with her usual puffy face.

A couple of minutes ago, you knocked on her room’s door in a panic with the impossible situation of tying a tie.

You did not know, and Maki was the only person who would even think to know how to.

At first, she almost shut the door in your face, but you asked her for only one thing, she let you come in.

“What’s this even for.” She asks now, still agitated that you even bothered her.

“Oh... I asked Shuichi to play tennis with me!” You cheerfully reply, folding your hands together. “Me and Ryoma used to practice together.”

Maki responds with a dark look her voice dripping with cynicism. “He’ll think it’s a trap. You don’t really think this will end well, right?”

Defiantly, you respond, “I do think so! Plus, he trusts me."

There’s a slight break in her steely glare as she sighs. Under her breath, she mutters, “Just don’t get either of you killed.”

“Hm?”

“I said you’re an idiot, now leave.” Her fingers fidget with her bow, puffing it up anxiously.

Even though the SHSL Assassin’s tone reflects her irritation, her face shows an almost soft concern.

But she’s Shuichi’s friend.

She has to like you... right?

Right.

...Right?

The clock reads noon but the hallway is as dark as ever.

Ever since the last case, everyone’s mood has been down, and everyone has removed themselves from the dining room to reside in their dorms.

You go to open your door, but quickly, a hand covers yours. You gasp.

“Eh... S/O!” Shuichi exclaims.

“Shuichi, you scared me!”

“Aah... sorry, sorry.”

You lean up, your face close to his, so you naturally take a step back. “So, let’s get on our way then!”

Two pairs of feet stride around the school, knowing exactly their destination and everything involved.

And two pairs of eyes anxiously glance at each other, not knowing the boundaries each one possesses.

Once your hand lands on the doorknob to your friends’ lab, the sound of your own heartbeat becomes too prominent for your comfort.

It’s just a game of tennis.

That you are definitely going to win.

“Have you ever played tennis before, Shuichi?”

He walks through the door, knowing this place a little too well.

“Uhm... no.”

With a smile, you pick two rackets up and a ball, eyeing them and examining their physique. 

“That’s great, so it means I will win.”

A small smile forms on his lips, his eyes squinting at the comment.

“Well... let’s see. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it.” He politely takes a racket from your hand, swinging it to test the grip while you cross the court to get on your own side.

“I mean, Shuichi, you know the logistics, right?” You call.

“Uhm, swing the bat and hit the ball? No double bouncing, too.”

“First of all, it’s a racket and not a bat,” you correct with a smile, getting into your stance, “and second of all - take THIS!”

Before he can even blink a ball hits the wall behind him with a loud bang.

He jumps, taking huge steps away. “Woah!”

You tease, “What? You think you could win against me? I trained with the Super High School frickin’ Level Tennis Player!”

His eyes widen and he takes a second to process what just happened. The ball curves to his feet, allowing him to pick it up.

“Does... Does this mean that I serve now?”

You shrug with a cunning smile. “I don’t know. I’m not a tennis player.”

The response given to him tingles his bones, running through his joints just to provoke him. He throws the ball in the air, swinging the racket and sending it your way.

You hit back to him, and the game begins.

With a grunt, you guide the ball his way with an aggressive hit, once again making him move out of the way.

“That’s unfair,” he calls out, “there’s no way I can return that.”

“Thirty-love.”

Huffing, he picks up the ball again, wondering if he will ever catch a break within this building.

He serves the ball, to which you easily return to him, and with all his might, he hits the ball. 

It doesn’t even bounce to the ground.

“Aah!” You hop out of the way, brain sending alarms throughout your entire body. “Not fair.”

“Hey, I’m having fun!” He responds, trying to hide the smile on his face.

“I’ll count that as a point, so you have fifteen now, I suppose.”

He watches as you pick up the ball, tossing it in your hand. He couldn’t help but keep a loose grin on his face.

The game comes out fair, with you having forty-five and him still having fifteen.

Honestly, you feel like if you lose you’ll let Ryoma down somehow.

You make it like your life’s purpose to win!

He serves, hitting it aggressively, in which you use all of your strength to return. He’s been catching on by watching you swing. Just like the SHSL Detective should, supposably.

You swing the bat again, your arms feeling like they just came out of their socket.

He goes to return it but ends up having the ball bounce off of his racket, rolling on the floor. He didn’t even try to hit it.

Amazement fills your eyes. You won!

You jump up and down, clenching the racket to your chest.

“Aah... Good work, S/O!” He chimes in, turning to return his racket and the ball back where you took it. 

You skip happily over to him, returning yours as well. “You’re the only person I’ve played with other than Ryoma.”

Shuichi looks at you, satisfaction replacing the seemingly constant angst laced in his eyes.

“We should play together again sometime.”

A warm feeling covers your chest. “Yeah... that would be nice! Let’s see if you can win!”

He heads towards the door. You follow, still on a high because of your win.

When he opens it, however, he jumps in place. 

“Who ended up winning?” Maki asks.

Shuichi moves past her and out into the hallway, turning away from you. 

“I may have let him win.”

Huffing, you cross your arms in embarrassment. “I was still three points ahead.”

[whitestaghere]

I'm here - Edmund Pevensie x reader (Chapter 7)

Hiii!! And I'm back once again! So I thought I'd end this book by chapter 10. Don't want to keep it too long too. I hope you guys enjoy reading this chapter ❤️ thank you for all the support! Appreciate it a lot <3

Y/n's Pov

Waking up in the morning, I felt my heart leap with joy. I'm finally going home! It's going to be a while to actually find my way back, but I'm sure I'll find it.

Though... there was that one thing that came shooting back into my head.

The previous night I went to bed rather confused. Edmund and I hadn't exchanged our usual good nights. Instead, he left the room as soon as he was done with dinner.

Maybe he hates me.

Oh how I hope that's not what it is.

Just thinking of it pained me.. for the first time, I was genuinely happy meeting good friends. I forgot all about my bullies and the tough times I had at school. And Edmund.. I felt like I could finally be myself, and that was all because of him.

Truth is.. I fell for him.

I wish I could tell him that, but either way I'm afraid. I don't want to ruin what we have right now. But a part of me wants him to know how I truly feel.

Suddenly I remembered the little smile he gave me before he sat down for dinner.

Flashback to the night before

"What's taking them so long?" Lucy furrowed her eyes curiously.

Susan shrugged.

All that was running in my head was if Edmund was okay. I left him hanging there. Without even asking if he wanted to talk about it. I ran a hand through my hair letting out a sigh of frustration.

Lucy looked at me worriedly, "y/n? Is everything alright?"

Smiling at her reassuringly I replied, "yeah, yeah Lucy.. I'm okay.."

Suddenly Peter came running in laughing.

"PETER!" I heard Edmund shout, coming in right after him. The two letting out strings of laughter.

Lucy and Susan exchanged confused glances, "what took you two so long?" Susan glanced back and forth between them.

"Oh nothing..." Peter sent a wink in Edmund's direction to which Edmund returned a rather disgusted look.

Taking their seats, Edmund gave me a soft smile and sat right in front of me.

I guess he's okay?...

And we proceeded on with dinner.

End of flashback.

Just picturing his smile gave me butterflies, even though I wasn't sure what he hid behind it.

I really hope he'd visit me when I go back. I'll miss being under the same roof with him of course. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door.

I got up. Adjusting my clothes, I went up to the door. Opening it to reveal Susan, "Good morning y/n!"

"Good morning Su!"

"Big day huh?" she grinned at me, to which I returned a shy nod. She let out a hearty laugh in response, "well, go wash up.. breakfast will be ready in a bit."

I smiled at her, "okay Su.." I watched her close the door behind her, only soon after to hear someone knock once again.

Opening the door I was greeted by.. oh here comes the butterflies.

Edmund.

For a second I felt like time stopped. Ahhh. What is he doing to me?

My cheeks began to heat up. This was not anything new of course. He always had this way.. to make me blush by just the littlest things he did.

I began to observe every little detail. His dark brown hair, wet and slightly tousled. He was wearing a striped blue and white shirt, clad in blue jeans. His lips soft and a peachy pink. A soft smile delivered from them.

Getting captivated by his chocolate brown eyes, I smiled unknowingly.

Edmund broke the silence clearing his throat, "y/n?"

"Hmm? Yeah?" I replied, still stuck admiring him, in my own little world.

"Like what you see?" he smirked.

I snapped out of my thoughts. Did I hear that right? He was smirking, and that was not making things any better honestly. I let out a nervous laugh, averting my eyes, "umm y-yeah I mean no! I mean no, yes ah... you I.."

God why was I stammering so much?! There was nothing I wanted at that moment, more than to just go back to admiring him. I felt the blood rush upto my cheeks.

He chuckled, "good morning y/n."

I stood there for a second processing what he said, "oh yeah, g-good morning Ed.." he laughed. My smile dropped a little. Why was he acting like this?

This didn't go unnoticed by Edmund, "is something the matter?"

This is your chance, ask him y/n.

"Hmm? Y/n?"

"I-I thought you were mad at me.." I whispered but it was enough for him to hear.

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Umm.."

"Well?" he raised an eyebrow.

I took a breath and began to ramble, "I just... Iwantedtotalktoyoulastnightbutyouleftsoonwithoutsayi-

He took my hands in his chuckling, "slow down love."

Looking at our latched hands, I couldn't stop the little smile forming on my face, "I'm sorry.. should-should I repeat that?"

He shook his head, "I know.. I'm sorry for leaving abruptly like that. I just, I had a lot in my head at that moment." Letting go of one of my hands he placed a hand on my cheek ever so gently, "I wasn't mad at you love.."

A sense of relief washed over me. Suddenly I felt a stinging pain on my cheek.

"Ouch! ED!!" I whined, he squeezed my cheek. He burst out laughing and I could only pout at him in response.

Soon enough his laughter was replaced by a smile. The smile that I absolutely adored. He stood there, staring at me.

"What is it Ed?" I stiffled a laugh.

No response. He just stood there, with a smile still plastered on his face. For a second I forgot that he had a hand on my cheek until I felt the other come up in result, cupping my face.

"Umm Ed? A-a-are you?" my throat began to feel awfully dry. Clearing my throat I tried again, "are you okay?"

He came a little closer to me.

I wanted to back away, but my body kept refusing to move. So I stood there, literally stuck in that position.

"Y/n I..." he gently bit his lip, eyes fluttering down to my lips for a millisecond and back to my eyes. He leaned in a little closer.

I felt like I could melt at the close proximity. Wanting to close the space between us, I leaned in too. Our lips just inches apart.

My eyes fluttered close.

That was it.

In just a matter of seconds, his lips were brushing against mine. I felt like a million fireworks just got lit up inside of me. Sparks of electricity, I felt like I was on cloud 9. It was like a dream come true.

His hand moving behind my head to push me closer, deepening the kiss.

"Ed, Peter's calli-" I heard a familiar voice, her words stopping halfway only to let out a squeal right after.

We pulled apart at once, looking everywhere but at eachother. I looked at him from the corner of my eyes and he looked so flustered. Me being on the same page as him.

Lucy stood there wide eyed with a huge grin on her face.

"What was that Lucy? Peter called? Oh yeah okay!!" Edmund ran out of the room in just the blink of an eye.

I was blushing furiously. My fingers touching my lips unconsciously. I missed the feeling already. Lucy ran upto me squealing, pulling me into a hug, "oh my gosh y/n!!! I KNEW IT! YOU BOTH LIKE EACHOTHER!"

Laughing I hugged her back. Her enthusiasm was just so adorable.

"I'm soo happy for you both!!" she pulled away from me, eyes literally sparkling with joy. "Are you both like.. a thing now?"

"Umm well honestly, I-I'm not sure Lu.."

Her smiled faltered, "what do you mean you don't know?"

"Well everything just happened so fast."

"You didn't confess your feelings?"

I stood there in silence for a while, "no.."

She intertwined our hands together, "well, he'll have to after that." she widened her eyes kind of in a look of realisation. "Oh no! It's probably my fault.. I'm sorry for walking in like that.."

"No, no Lu! Of course it's not because of you," I gave her a reassuring smile which she glady returned.

"Well, I must say you're lucky.." I tilted my head at her in confusion. "Ed doesn't really express his feelings like that at once. The fact that he's more positive when he's around you is just.. it's amazing. I can tell he likes you a lot."

"R-really? You think so?"

"I know so! And you should be knowing that by now too. Especially after what happened just now," she giggled.

I turned away blushing.

"Come on, let's go get breakfast!"

Edmund's Pov

"I kissed her."

"YOU WHAT?!" Peter looked at me with a mixture of shock and amusement.

"I-I-ah she must be hating me now!" I ruffled my hair furiously.

"Of course not Ed..." Susan said rather calmly. She was surprised at first but claimed that she 'saw it coming'. Except not me kissing her like that. "If it's anything, I sure she's just as happy as you right now.."

"I don't know what came over me.. I couldn't hold back. I just.."

She was there.. she looked so adorable all flustered. Her lips looked so plushy I just couldn't resist. I really wanted her to know how I felt, being too shy to actually tell her how I feel.

As if reading my thoughts Peter spoke up, "you wanted to show her how you feel.."

I glanced at him immediately. He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "You love her," he said rather cheekily.

Trying to give him a nasty look, I failed. I just couldn't stop smiling at the thought of hearing her say she feels the same.

"Well, now that she knows something about how you feel.. you should confess to her before we take her home.." Susan said looking up from her book.

"You think she'll say yes?" my thoughts flooding with multiple possibilities.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"She didn't pull away did she?" Peter laughed. I just groaned shaking my head, covering my face in embarrassment.

"Well, if she didn't.. that's a good sign." I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking up to see Peter smiling at me, "trust me, she likes you.. I'm pretty sure everyone in this house knows that by now." Well that was.. reassuring.

Though obviously Lucy saw it with her own eyes.

"Bold of you to make that move though."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I frowned at him. Susan stiffled a laugh while Peter shrugged giving me a goofy grin.

"Ughhh..." I looked away. Smiling to myself, I touched my lips. That was amazing.

Oh my gosh. Is this getting cheesier each chapter or is it just me? 😂

Edmund :- yes I agree, you are making me look cheesier than I seem.

Author nim :- oh you.. shush!

Edmund :- getting mad now are we?

Author nim :- *ignores*

Edmund :- you can't ignore me!

Well I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! How do you think Ed would confess to y/n? Stay tuned to find out! Love you all and stay safe ❤️

To be continued... <3

[forever--darling]

not too far away - s.m. (part ten)

a/n: where the truth comes out 

warnings: 6k words of emotional conversations and secrets being revealed

X. cat’s out of the bag

her

Your dad stood tall as everyone stared at him. He looked nervous, you could tell by the way he kept wiping his sweaty palms on the back of his jeans. A soft smile pulled at his lips as he adjusted his button up on his chest. He sent you a look and even though you had a feeling that he was about to ruin everything you sent him an encouraging smile. He was going to get it all off his shoulders right now and let the truth surface during your once happy day. Everything you were scared to do was about to happen and instead of it being done by your hands it was going to be by your father’s. Clearly even at twenty years old, he wasn’t done taking care of you. 

“I just wanted to thank you all for coming to celebrate our little bug’s birthday, who clearly isn’t so little anymore,” he paused chuckling to himself, “In fact, she’s not. My girl is twenty today and what a lot of you probably don’t know is that we never thought we would see this day. Around four years ago, when Y/N was just sixteen, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She was going through surgeries and chemo and upon her request, we decided as a family to keep it from almost everyone we knew. Which means keeping it from all of you.” 

He was getting choked up and at this point, tears were gathering in your eyes and if anyone knew your dad he didn’t cry. He was a strong man who hated crying because he thought it made him weak. You had never seen your dad cry until you were diagnosed with cancer. After that, he became a machine that produced tears every few days. After you were cancer free and discharged though, that soft side and that crying Bradley Y/L/N went back to where it belonged. Inside of him. Now here he was resurfacing, except this time, he was being shown to not only your family but all of your closest friends. 

“I know this is probably hard to hear, trust me I understand. Hearing that your kid has cancer is probably the worst news any parent can hear and I’m sorry that we kept this from you. You are our closest friends and it was hard what we had to go through without any of your support. Some days seemed impossible but we managed and here we are almost a year after hospital visits and casual chemo appointments, Y/N is healthy again and back to being that bubbly ball of joy we all love. Since we are in the clear, I thought there was no point to keep this from all of you anymore. Today, I am standing here thankful for all of you and all the things you have done for my daughter and I am beyond thankful that I still have my beautiful little girl.” 

It was silent. It seemed no one knew what to say and you didn’t blame them. Besides your extended family who obviously knew about the condition you went through, all of your parents family friends and neighbors had not a clue. Even their very best friends Karen and Manny didn’t know. It was a knock to anyone’s chest who probably just found out that for four straight years you were sick and battling for your life and honestly thought that you had just been too busy for any of their time. It was a shock and you had a feeling the rest of the night would be spent with people coming up to you to talk about your bravery and strength. 

Your dad may have just ruined the rest of the night for everyone else because it all of a sudden had gone from being a lighthearted and fun birthday celebration to a confession about how you almost died. A part of you didn’t care though because your dad just put himself out there for you. He spoke from his heart and you loved him for it. 

Finally finding it in yourself to move, you walked over towards your dad and brought him into a tight hug. “I love you,” you said earnestly. 

“I love you so much,” he replied placing a kiss on your forehead. 

You smiled weakly as you pulled away turning to see all eyes on you. To some people, it was like they barely could look at you while others were desperate to hug and hold you. You sent a small look towards your mom and James before you walked away from your father towards the family that looked the most devastated. 

A sad smile graced Karen’s lips as she pulled you against her, “Oh honey, I am so sorry you had to go through that.” 

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you instead of ignoring you guys all together. It’s just I knew you already had so much going on with Shawn leaving Pickering for the first time I didn’t think I should put any more stress on you,” you explained pulling back to look at her. 

“We understand, completely. It was your business and keeping it personal was your decision,” Karen said giving your hand a squeeze as her husband took your attention. 

Manny placed a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, you’re such a strong girl and we are so relieved that you are okay.” 

Your shoulders dropped in relief and you offered them a large smile, “Thank you so much, for being so understanding.” 

They both nodded as you looked to their right, eyes falling onto the younger Mendes sibling. Aaliyah stood, eyes downcast on the ground, fingers fiddling against her stomach. A frown was etched across her face. Your hand reached out to grab her arm gently. 

“Aaliyah,” you sighed, “I’m sorry. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you and it killed me every day, that I couldn’t see you.” 

Before you could say any more, Aaliyah leaped forward pulling you into a tight hug. Her head found a place in your neck and you could feel her tears against your skin. “Thank you for not dying,” she cried. 

“Well I couldn’t leave you now, could I?” you replied, rubbing your hand up and down her back. 

Releasing her from the hug, with both your thumbs you wiped the tears from under her eyes. She smiled at you and instantly you felt a small amount of guilt. Your father had just admitted that you had beat cancer and that you were now fine but that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t beat cancer and all these people were relieved that you were alive and that you were okay but there was a chance that in a few days you might not be either of those things. 

You were a liar, you knew that because though your father may have told the truth he didn’t know the full truth. Your parents had no idea that you had gone to the doctor and no idea that you weren’t cancer free anymore. Though a little of the weight had been lifted from your shoulders there were still lies that were present around you. You still had more truth begging to be spewed from your mouth. 

After one more hug, Aaliyah moved away to be engulfed in the comfort of her mother’s arms. You sighed and ran your hands through your short hair as you shared a look with Demi who had her arms around James. A part of you wanted to question her about it and what her relationship was with your brother but you knew that wasn’t what was important at the moment and she knew it too. Demi was the only person who knew about your surgery and about the reality that you were no longer healthy. She could see your guilt and you could tell by the way she was looking at you that she thought that you needed to bring your reality onto everyone else. Most importantly your parents and probably to Shawn, if you wanted to start a relationship, he needed to know everything. 

Shawn. Your head instantly snapped in the direction of the small stage to find that he was gone and the only thing that sat in his place was his guitar. You had forgotten about him as soon as your dad started to talk and now to see that he had left made your stomach drop. God, you couldn’t even think about what his reaction might have looked like to hear all the reasons why you had ignored him for years and why your friendship had been on pause. He had just learned the truth that had been hiding from him, worst of all though he didn’t hear it from you. 

Instantly, without another second to think, you bolted up the hill towards the porch steps. You sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time, still barefoot. You pulled open the glass door and shoved yourself inside. The kitchen was empty and frantically you moved to the living room. “Shawn?” you called out gaining no response. 

You began to check every room in the house, from the bathroom to the storage closet. With no such luck, you moved upstairs and made your way towards your bedroom. Storming in through the doorway, you froze near the door as your eyes landed on Shawn’s back. 

“Shawn,” his name fell from your lips sounding breathless. 

He was stood by your bed, staring at the nightstand where a bunch of framed pictures were. Multiple ones being of you and him. You could see how his shoulders were tense and he remained motionless with his arms limply at his sides.

“Shawn,” you repeated taking a step forward noticing his head turn to the side and drop towards the floor. 

You couldn’t pinpoint how he was feeling. He could be mad, upset, or maybe just frustrated. You had lied to him and kept things from him you never did before. You had caused him such pain to hide how the sickness you were dealing with. For minutes, it was silent. You stood waiting for him to say anything and finally as if in slow motion he turned around and you felt your heart break at the sight before you. 

His hair was messed up and his shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were rimmed with tears and they were red and puffy. His cheeks were flushed and his bottom lip was swollen from him chewing on it so much. “You were sick,” his voice was raspy and sounded completely broken. 

And just like that. The cat was out of the bag. 

You nodded ashamedly that he had found out this way and knew by the end of this conversation you would probably look just as disheveled and upset as he was. If you knew Shawn like you thought you did, he wasn’t going to take this well at all. 

“How did this happen?” he asked tugging at his curls. 

You let out a small shaky breath as you felt your chest tighten, “It was months after you left-” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” he questioned starting to raise his voice, “How could you not tell me?!”

He was starting to react exactly as you thought and you knew if you didn’t stay calm this would end with you yelling at each other loud for the rest of the party guests to hear, “I knew that if I told you, you would have came home to be with me.” 

“For fuck's sake,” he shouted hand raising and falling back to his side letting out a loud slap, “Of course I would have. What’s wrong with that?” 

“If you would have came home you wouldn’t be where you are now. You would have missed so many opportunities just to sit next to my bed all day,” you explained taking a step closer to Shawn. 

“I don’t fucking care!” he yelled.

“You don’t mean that, Shawn,” you said softly, eyes beginning to fill with tears, “You love your job. You love singing and performing.” 

He ran his fingers through his hair again, tugging at the ends, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he stared down at you. A look of anger across his beautiful face, “Yeah, but I love you more!” 

Just like that, you felt the air had been knocked from your lungs and you had lost this small argument. In all of the years you had known Shawn, you had never seen him look so sad and so in pain until now. His lip was curling as more tears streaming down his face. Snot was gathering at the edge of his nose and he kept making noises as he sucked it back up. You had caused this. You had hurt him so deeply and in a way, you had no idea how to fix it. This was all your fault. 

He shook his head, not bothering to wipe away his tears from you. “All this time, I thought there was something wrong with me to cause my best friend to disappear from my life. I thought I did something to drive you away but now to find out that while I was having the time of my life creating a name out of myself, you were stuck in a bed sick and dying. And if you had been taken from all of us, I wouldn’t have even known. Probably would’ve found out by a sad voicemail sent from your parents. It’s a good thing that your ass pulled through because I would have not been able to deal with that. You should’ve told me, and you know that. Fuck my career and fuck whatever opportunities I was being given at the time because I should’ve been there. Y/N, I needed to be there.” 

You could feel the tears that were falling down your face like a waterfall at this point as small whimpers fell from your lips. Your hands were balled into fists and you could feel your nails digging into your palms. You could feel them cutting through your skin but you didn’t care because the pain distracted you from the one coming from your chest.

The pain that was only there because of the destruction you had caused. Shawn’s lips were trembling and his hands were shaking and you knew he was out of words and wouldn’t be able to get any more out even if he had. They wouldn’t be able to pass by the sobs that were being wrenched from his chapped mouth. 

It was over, finally, your walls were broken and now you were exposed. He now could see you for everything you had been trying to hide from him for the past four years. Your high and mighty walls had failed to keep him out because somehow he had wiggled his way into your heart. He had found a way inside and just like a storm turned to a monsoon that crack in the stone widened causing the whole damn wall to crumble. 

And though a part of you, a large part of you, begged to stay where you were. Pleaded for you to stay away from Shawn as he stood fuming, chest raising, with fresh tears falling from his eyes. That part of you, that small tiny part, told you to turn and run out of the room, away from him and away from dealing with this once and for all. It told you that he was angry and not calm enough for you to get closer, but somehow you ignored that small voice in your head because you found yourself crossing the room to fall into his strong arms. 

Your body connected with his, and in an instant, it felt like all tension in the air drifted vanishing from the both of you. His arms encased you providing a place of warmth and safety. It was familiar, and in a lot of ways, it was home. You hugged him back just as tightly as he hugged you hoping you could give him that same sense of protection he was giving you. Your tears continued to fall as his voice filled your ears. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he whispered repeating that statement over and over again, his cries dying out with each time he said it. 

It was a relief to hear. To know that after it all, his feelings towards you had not changed and that he still wanted you as much as you wanted him. This man brought something out of you, you had never felt before. He was a drug in so many ways. All you could see, feel, and smell was Shawn and it was making your head dizzy. And all you could think about was how your heart screamed for him, and how you were too choked up to return those three little words. 

+

It was around eleven o’clock and you stood near your bedroom window, in your parents' house, admiring the stars in the night sky. Your short curls had faded, and you had tied the top pieces back into a small bun to keep them out of your face. Your makeup has been washed away and your skin was moisturized and ready for bed. You were wearing an oversized baby blue tee and white pajama pants, the same thing you had been wearing the morning Shawn showed up at the house with tickets to the Maple Leaf game. The day had felt like forever ago, though it had only been no more than a few weeks. So much had changed in such little time and you weren’t sure if you were ready for any of it. 

The party had ended an hour or so ago but the Mendes’ had only just left about fifteen minutes prior to the time now. Shawn and Demi were the only other two people who were still at the house besides your family. He was helping your dad put away the tables in the yard and Demi was in the living room talking to James, and about what, you didn’t have a clue. Honestly, you didn’t want to know. If she was going to try and engage in a relationship with your brother, you weren’t going to stop her, but you also weren’t going to be around to hear about it either. The whole day had been a whirlwind and you could feel the exhaustion creeping in on you. 

After what happened with Shawn, you hadn’t talked much for the rest of the party. You had spent a good ten minutes calming down and cleaning yourselves up before you returned back in the yard. No one seemed to notice the change between you two or maybe they did and just decided to not acknowledge it. Either way, you were grateful. As the evening went on, you made your way around to everyone listening to what they had to say and answering whatever questions they had about your treatment and your cancer. 

You also were roped into very long hugs, the longest by far being from Loretta, but you didn’t mind at all. The end of the party had in no way been like the beginning or the afternoon. It wasn’t filled with laughter and fun but rather an emotional revelation that made everyone appreciate the life they had. In your opinion, it still ended on a good note with every single person going home with a smile on their face and at the end of the day, that’s all you could have ever asked for. 

As you gave the black sky one more glance, your hand reached up to fiddle with the necklace, Shawn’s necklace he gave to you, like you had been doing all day. You turned around on your heels and jumped as you noticed Shawn leaning against the doorway, curls disheveled and shirt loose around his torso, top button undone. 

You didn’t know how long he had been standing there and it had startled you a little bit. Your hand laid flat across your chest as a small laugh passed your lips, “Shit, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he replied, voice low as his eyes fell to the floor, “Uh I finished up helping your dad.” 

Nodding, you moved closer to him noticing the way his feet were shuffling against the carpeted floor. “Are you going back to your parent’s then?” you asked his eyes instantly moving back up towards you at the question. 

“Well, I was hoping you’d let me stay,” he mumbled, fully stepping into the room. 

Almost if on cue, you could feel your heart speeding up in your chest. Sometimes it felt like you had a string attached to your heart and on the other end, Shawn stood pulling on it to get it to beat for him at all the right moments. But you knew, that sounded ridiculous because he didn’t need a string to do that - with just a simple look or a few words he was able to make your heart move a little faster and beat a little louder. 

“I’ll go get some clothes that you can borrow from James for the night,” you replied, hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze as you passed him. Without a response, you were out in the hallway making your way towards your brother’s room. 

It was on the other end of the floor you were on which wasn’t such a bad thing except that you had to pass the stairs that lead down to the living room. You moved as fast as you could past the stairs but as you did, the loud laughter from your best friend was clear in your ears. Rolling your eyes, you ignored it and continued down the hall. You pushed open James’s door to be met with an unmade bed and a floor that was littered with a few pieces of clothing. 

Typical, you thought, not clean. It was funny whenever you told people that you had your own apartment and James didn’t and he was the older one out of the two. They would always have the funniest reactions about him living with your parents but then you would go on to explain that he had been in Venice the last year and had just gotten home. “He’s searching for a place, don’t worry,” you would always tell the person reassuring them that your twenty-five year old brother wasn’t going to be living with your parents the rest of his life. Who knows maybe at this rate he could move in with Demi. You rolled your eyes at the idea. 

With a huff passing by your lips, you moved towards James’s dresser and pulled out a pair of black basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt. As soon as you had the clothes in your hands, you basically sprinted back to your room, gagging as the laughter only seemed to be louder than the first time you heard it as you passed the stairs. Walking back into the room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against the doorway a sigh escaping you. 

Shawn turned around from where he stood by your bed, more buttons undone on his white polo. He looked towards you with confusion as you generally looked disgusted. “I don’t know how you think it’s okay that Demi and James are downstairs flirting heavily on the couch.” 

Though things were far from perfect, Shawn still laughed, “I think they’re cute.” 

You practically gasped at the sentence as your finger came up and pointed in his direction. “Don’t do that. Nope, not going to happen, mister. My brother, Demi, and cute are not all allowed in the same sentence.” 

He laughed again causing your chest to warm at the sound as you lifted yourself off the door and approached him. “Here,” you said smiling up at him as you handed him the shorts and shirt. 

“Thanks,” he smiled taking them, hand brushing against yours in the process. 

You stared at each other for a few seconds, before you brushed by him and over to your side of the bed. Sitting down on the edge, you looked back towards your window, away from him so he could change without your eyes staring at him. It was funny how you two were acting like earlier hadn’t happened. It was like he was denying that he had found out you had been sick and you were ignoring that he said he loved you. In your mind, it seemed like if you just passed by it without acknowledging it, it would all go away, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to let it or not. 

“Should I take the guest bedroom?” his voice broke through your thoughts and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found him dressed and hand gripping the doorknob to your door. 

You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips, “Shawn, don’t be ridiculous. You can sleep here with me. It wouldn’t be the first time we slept in the same bed.” 

It was funny to you, how he couldn’t be away from you at the moment but offered to sleep in the guest room. 

“I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to or not,” he mumbled hands gripping the jeans and shirt he had been wearing all day. 

“Shawn?” 

“Yeah?” he replied. 

“Just shut up and get over here,” you chuckled pulling the covers back on your bed and crawling in. 

Dropping his clothes to the floor, near your nightstand, he slipped into the other side of the bed and without him even touching you, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He laid on his back, hands clasped across his stomach, and eyes staring at the ceiling. You were on your side, hand propped under your head, as you looked at him. Turning his head, his gaze met yours, and a pleading smile formed on your face hoping he would finally stop acting like earlier hadn’t happened. 

You wished that he would start asking you questions about what it was like the hospital or even better, kiss you and hold you for the rest of the night. But he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, his hand moved towards your nightstand where he turned your lamp off engulfing the room in darkness. 

You sighed, disappointingly, falling onto your back on the mattress. Your head sunk into the pillow, and your eyes locked onto the dark ceiling with one thought on your mind as silence filled the room. Maybe this was the end. Maybe you and Shawn were a mistake and it was best to stay just friends. You hoped that wasn’t the case but as of the moment that’s what it was looking like was going to happen because he wasn’t acting like the man who claimed that he loved you. No, he was acting like the best friend who was sleeping in your bed and was too scared to move in case he would end up accidentally grazing your thigh giving you the wrong idea. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Was it an hour? Two? Or had it only been thirty minutes? You weren’t sure but what you were sure about was that Shawn was still awake too. His breathing wasn’t light and steady like it would be if he was sleeping and every couple minutes you would hear him sigh which gave it away that he wasn’t asleep. 

Not able to take it anymore, you leaned over his body and turned your lamp back on. You sat up in the bed, knees to your chest, to meet his tired eyes that were very much open. His eyes locked with yours and within seconds he was sitting up too, covers falling down his chest and into his lap. He looked at you worriedly, that single ‘s’ shaped curl hanging across his forehead. 

“I can’t sleep,” you mumbled simply. 

“Why? What’s the matter?” Shawn asked either acting clueless or in reality, happened to be so dumb that he was that clueless. 

“What’s the matter,” you retorted sending his words back at him, “What’s the matter is that we’re lying here and you can barely say more than four words to me. A few hours ago you say that you love me but now it’s like you’re scared to even touch me.” 

Your hands found their way to your face, covering your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at Shawn. It falls silent for a good thirty seconds before you hear a deep breath from Shawn and then feel his warm palm land on your knee. He scooted closer to you too and you could feel how warm he was as his skin touched yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized chin falling onto your shoulder, “It’s just I can’t stop thinking. Can’t stop picturing you in that hospital bed without me there by your side. You told me and that should be enough but I guess it’s not if that’s all I can think about.” 

Hands falling from your face, you heard turned to him. His face was only inches away from yours. His eyes were wide and no longer looking droopy and tired and his lips were puffed out almost asking for you to lean over and kiss them.

“Please just tell me something,” he begged to give your knee a light squeeze, “I know it’s probably hard to talk about but I need to know something. Anything about what it was like in that hospital.” 

You nodded, forehead bumping his lightly, as you reached forward to brush the curl back and out of his eyes. Sitting back against the headboard, your hands fiddled with the comforter in your lap. He laid on his side, hand running up and down your thigh for comfort as his amber eyes were zoned on you. 

“I don’t really know where to start except that it was hard,” you sighed, head falling back against the wood frame, “The chemo was probably the worst part. It does a lot to a person. You’re constantly dizzy, you don’t ever feel like eating, and always think you’re going to vomit. Honestly the only thing, I can think about that wasn’t completely horrible about it all is that during chemo they would give us these cancer popsicles that tasted like oranges. That wasn’t so bad I guess. Oh, and in the spring, sometime after I had been given a room when the cancer started to get bad, Patty, the sweetest nurse at that hospital, would sneak me outside in a wheelchair so I could enjoy the fresh air. I would just sit there soaking up as much sunlight as I could as the breeze danced across my dry skin. Those were the best days, I think.”

You smiled softly at the memories, of Patty and how she had always managed to balance out those bad days with some good ones. She was a light of sunshine who cared about every single one of her patients and at the top of her list, a spot had been created for your name. 

Eyes looking back towards Shawn who laid silently watching you, you knew there was more you should say. So reaching down, you lifted your shirt revealing your stomach. his orbs followed the movement and widened as they locked onto the three pink scars. Two of them were small and on your waist, either side of your belly button while the third was large and extended below that horizontally, a few inches long. 

“The worst day, I would probably have to say is when they told me I would have to get a hysterectomy if I wanted to survive,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes, “They took my ovaries, uterus, and my fallopian tubes and I remember after it happened, I remember the only thing I could think about when I woke up was that I was never going to be able to have any babies. This plan that I thought I had for my life had changed and I realized that I would never be able to do the one thing that a woman’s body was made to do. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to give, the man that I would someday spend the rest of my life with, a child and that alone is so unfair.” 

At this point, tears were slowly falling down your cheeks, as you stared at Shawn. His eyebrows were furrowed and a frown played on his lips as he looked at your sad state. Slowly without a word, he leaned forward, and his lips found a safe place along your stomach. He kissed softly at the left scar on your waist, and after a few seconds switched to the other. 

A sad sigh fell from you, hand moving up to knot in his curls as his warm plump lips moved lower towards the largest scar, the one you despised the most. “I really wanted to have a baby someday,” you cried as he kissed at the sensitive skin gently. 

After another minute he sat up and you let your shirt drop, recovering your stomach. Both of his hands cupped your face where his thumbs went to work wiping underneath your eyes until there were no more tears staining your skin. Then he wrapped his left hand around the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him. Your face sat along the dip of where his neck and shoulder met as your arms wrapped around his strong torso. Shawn’s nose nestled into your hair and for the next few moments, you both sat there enjoying the comfort that was brought to the both of you.

“I knew that I was right,” his voice rang through your ears causing you to sit back so you could look at his face as he talked, “I wish I hadn’t been but I knew that I was right.” 

You were confused, “About what?”

“The hair,” he answered simply and you gave him a small look that said you were thankful he changed the subject, “I knew that you were too crazy to ever cut it.” 

“You’re right about that. Too bad it wasn’t my choice,” you admitted hand slipping under his, James’s, t-shirt. Your cold hand splayed across his lower back, the warmth instantly spreading across your palm. 

“Eh, I like the short hair,” Shawn admitted reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

A soft smile rose to your lips, as your other hand found a place near the collar of the white shirt, where your thumb began to swipe across the skin on his neck, “At least you didn’t have to see me bald.” 

“I bet you were beautiful,” he responded, gaze falling down to your lips. 

You could feel your cheeks heating up at his words. Your breathing was getting heavier and at first, you didn’t know what to say in response. It was silent as Shawn sat, hand cupping your cheek while the other moved to your waist. His eyes were locked onto your lips and the only thing you wanted at that very moment was for him to kiss you. It was killing you the longer you waited and you were practically squirming under his touch. You could smell the remains of his cologne and the cinnamon that always clung to his skin. He leaned in closer the smell invading your senses as his forehead leaned against yours.  

“Shawn, please kiss me,” you whispered and without a second to waste he obliged. 

You sighed happily, eyes fluttering to a close as you fell back into the mattress, Shawn falling on top of you. Your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him in closer towards your body as his lips molded with yours. Your body reacted instantly, melting against his. His thumb stroked your cheek lovingly and all you could think about was how soft and warm his lips were against yours. It made you realize how in many ways it was like the first kiss you ever shared. Sweet. Soft. And all around life changing.

next part

[crazymangaluv]

That Smile (Bakugou x reader)

Warning: (some angst, some fluff, mentions of steaminess)

Description: You appeared in his life so suddenly, catching him completely off guard. That smile of yours was what initially drew him in...soon you charmed your way into his heart and you made him want to stay by your side. But just as suddenly as you appeared in his life, you disappear without a word. 2 years later and you’re back. AND you have the audacity to act like you never knew him? He cared about you and as much as he refuses to admit it, he’s hurt. What happened? 

That smile of yours…so radiant...so beautiful, it draws him in like a moth to a light. The first time he met you was in middle school. You greeted him with that toothy grin of yours and he was immediately caught under your spell. He was in denial of course, how could an extra like you make him feel like this? To fluster him up like this. 

The two of you walked the same route to school, and although he tried to avoid you at first, he found he couldn’t keep away. He made it a point to always bring breakfast for you after he discovered you tended to forget to eat in the mornings. He surprised you every morning by nonchalantly shoving whatever breakfast he made for you that day into your hands. A smile would tug at his lips when he saw the way your face would light up. The two of you would walk back home together after school as well. He would wait for you or you for him. Each time you would toss him a different kind of snack you saved just for him. Side by side, both of you walked together enjoying your snacks, most days in silence just enjoying each other’s company, and other days with some conversation mostly led by you. 

Regardless of the weather, be it the rain, snow, heat, etc., this routine the two of you had continued daily for about 2 years before one day you stopped appearing. One day became 2, then 3, then a week had passed with no sign of you. He came to learn from the talks around school that you were sent to the U.S. The reasons for leaving were unknown, filled with nothing but speculations and rumors. He wouldn’t admit it but he was hurt. Why did you disappear without telling him? Why did he have to hear it from these extras? 

~Fast forward~

He never thought he’d see you again, much less here in U.A. as the new transfer student. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. 2 long years have passed since you’ve disappeared without a word. You introduced yourself to the class with a smile, however, it failed to reach your eyes. Your eyes, once so full of joy and light seemed to have dimmed. Unlike the rest of the dumb class, only he noticed. You were seated next to him but you made no indication you knew him. He scowled into his hand, irked at your behavior. During break the extras swarmed around you with introductions and relentless questioning. You made sure to greet everyone and at last you greeted him. His scowl deepened by the way you greeted him, like you didn’t know who he was. He was fuming, not caring about the way you stumbled a bit when he collided with your shoulder as he stomped off, leaving you in your confusion. 

There was something familiar about Bakugou that you couldn’t quite place. He was an unpleasant fellow, cocky, rude, and quick to anger. He was even more intolerant of you, for unknown reasons. You shouldn’t care but for some reason, the way he acted towards you bothered you and even hurt your feelings. It was like he was actively trying to push you away. Although he tended to treat you harshly you couldn’t help feel a sense of comfort whenever he was near. It wasn’t until one day you were able to finally be alone with him. You took this chance to confront him. You hadn’t seen him this angry before but you steeled yourself and pushed forward.

The pair of balls you had was astounding. Here you were confronting him about his behavior when it was your fault, acting like you never knew him. He lashed out at you, unable to contain his feelings. He instantly felt guilty when he noticed the way your widened eyes glistened from unshed tears and your lips shook. Your voice was heavy with emotion as you apologized to him and explained to him of the accident you had 2 years ago from villains who sought revenge against your underground hero parents. This incident led you to not only lose a brother but also lose some of your memories. Since then you’ve struggled with a broken family, shattered memories, and recurring flashbacks of that trauma which haunted you every night. 

Your tears cascade down your cheeks, a sob escaping from your lips. Your pained expression stabs him in the heart, riddling him with anger, guilt, and shame. The solid walls he rebuilt since you left crumbled away. He enveloped you in his arms, pulling you flush to his body. You clutched onto him and he tightened his grip. His whispers of sorry were barely audible over your cries of anguish. 

Since then the two of you grew closer, shocking your classmates at the total 180. The more time you spent together, the more he noticed the spark in your eyes slowly returning and how your smiles increased when he was around. Slowly your memories of the tragic incident no longer haunted you every night. They were becoming overwritten by new precious memories with your friends, and most of all, with him. His feelings for you grew even more, as your feelings did for him. The two of you were inseparable, dancing around your feelings for one another. He was determined to become the pro hero you’d be proud enough of before he confessed. He wanted to be someone worthy of you. 

~Present~

Your relationship continued to stay strong as you both became pro heroes. You could no longer contain your feelings for him, it’s been too long and your heart yearned for more. Tomorrow marks your 4 year friendaversary and you’re determined to confess, even if it might hurt your relationship with him. You’re supposed to meet him after work for dinner, unfortunately, life doesn’t always go the way you plan. 

He rushes like mad, propelling himself aggressively through the air. He bursts into the room. He sees your bruised form, head wrapped in bandages along with your arms and legs. His face contorts with rage. Who did this??! An unfortunate member of the staff is given the privilege of explaining to him how you were ambushed by a team of villains who desired to carry out their revenge against you, the very pro hero who brought down their boss. You managed to defeat every last one whilst protecting the surrounding innocent civilians, however, not unscathed. They proceed to explain how you’ve suffered from a head laceration, multiple abrasions on arms and legs, and bruising of the body and face. You were given stitches and pain medications, and have been unconscious since the moment you were found. He’s torn between wanting to kill whatever scum did this and to hold you in his arms. The staff is smart enough to flee from the room, escaping from his wrath. 

His hand wavers as it gently grasps your bandaged one. His head falls, jaw clenching as he wills his tears away. Damn it…

The clock ticks in the background. He’s unaware of how much time has passed. Suddenly, your other hand twitches, and you begin to stir. “You know, out of all the things you used to bring me for breakfast, those pork katsu sandwiches you made were my favorite.”

His head snaps up. 

Your eyes open, meeting his red ones, and the corners of your lips quirk up to reveal a beaming smile. “I finally remember everything, Katsu-kun.” The look on his face is priceless, a mixture of shock, worry, relief, and irritation; like it was struggling to choose which emotion to predominantly display. You laugh. The movement causes twinges of pain but you couldn’t help it. You sit up with a slight grimace and ruffle his hair. “Katsu-kun.”

You used to call him that back in middle school when you would poke fun of him. Katsu…you started calling him that after he brought you a delicious pork katsu sandwich he made for you. You always did like his food. His brows knit together and his lips tremble. He reaches a hand out to you, and you immediately shut your eyes, flinching reflexively at the incoming flick to the forehead. Instead, he circles his arms around you, hugging you close, and burrows his face into your shoulder. “You’re an idiot…” he mutters. 

You feign a pout. “How mean…Katsu-kun.” you hum out as you squeeze him back. 

You wish the two of you could stay like this longer but he pulls away. “Tch. About time you remembered...idiot…” His downturned lips break into a relieved smile.  

Your smile falters, a tear running down your cheek. “I’m sorry it took so long Katsu-kun.” 

He wipes the tear away and shakes his head. “Quit it already. It’s Katsuki, you dummy.” He encloses his hand over yours, interlacing his fingers with your fingers. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Your cheeks heat up at how large and warm his hand feels. You almost didn’t catch his words. Your eyes snap up, confusion written across your face, however you immediately freeze in place. You suddenly realize how close he is from you, how his face is merely centimeters away from yours. His expression is unreadable as he lightly strokes your bruised cheek with the back of his fingers. Your lips quiver and you gulp nervously, “K-kats-- mmm.”

Mindful of your injuries, he carefully slips his hand behind your head and brings you in, closing the distance. His mouth covers yours, his surprisingly soft lips moving desperately against your lips. You kiss him back with fervor, your hands clutching his shirt tightly. His other hand gently cups your face...you can feel it trembling. He tilts your heads to deepen the kiss. His tongue enters your mouth and slides against your own tongue. You forget your pain, all your senses are being consumed by him. You melt into his arms. You release a moan, causing him to suck in a breath and somehow deepen the kiss further with a husky groan. You both eventually part for air, panting heavily. His crimson eyes, burning with raw emotion, gaze into yours unwavering. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.” 

You suck in a breath at his statement, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Little did you know, his own heart was beating just as crazy. Does this mean.... He cuts your line of thinking. His lips overlap yours again in a tender kiss. His lips linger on yours before withdrawing slightly, noses touching. His thumb gently strokes your discolored cheek. 

“So...does this mean…” You breath ghosts over his lips, and you could see his lip quiver ever so slightly. “You’re mine…” You brush your lips against his. “And I’m yours? Hmm?” You look at him through your half lidded eyes. “Katsuki.”

The corner of your lip quirks up as you take notice of the tinge of redness adorning his cheeks at the sound of his name from your lips. His bottom lip juts out and he clears his throat. “Got a problem with that?” 

You squeeze his hand in response. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

The warmth in his chest spreads like wildfire throughout the rest of his body. There it is...that smile of yours, the one that had always managed to take his breath away. The one that made him want to hold you close and never let you go. He leans forward and gently kisses your bandaged forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

[gastricpierrot]

Lio can’t say he’s that much surprised to hear pebbles hitting against his window. 

He sits up, slipping away from his warm cocoon of sheets, shivering slightly when his bare feet meet the cobbled floor. It's dark; the candles have just been extinguished not long ago. But the moon is full tonight, and he sees his way around just fine. 

He stops before the glass plane, waiting for the consistent clatter of pebbles to stop before pushing it open and breathing in the dewy night air. He leans out, and at first glance sees no one on the lawn below him. He squints and pays just a little more attention to the shadows, the artfully trimmed bushes. 

And sure enough, he spots it, the tell-tale lock of spiked blue hair that always gives Galo’s location away. Lio smiles, nonetheless endeared by how hard he still tries. 

“Galo, what are you doing?” he calls out, and for a moment receives no response. So he adds, “if it’s nothing important then I’ll be going back inside.”

Galo finally sticks his head out from behind the bush. “No, wait!” 

Lio, having no intention to follow through with his words to begin with, rests his elbows on the windowsill, balances his chin on his palm, and makes himself comfortable. “I am waiting, love.”

“Just give me a sec!” Galo says, then proceeds to disappear again. Lio really doesn’t mind waiting one bit despite what comes out of his mouth, doesn’t mind having this chance to simply bask in this rare moment of undisturbed peace. Right here and now, only the moon watches. 

Galo soon reappears, this time fully stepping out of the bushes and striding his way towards Lio. He holds a bundle of flowers in one hand, the more delicate ones already bending a little haphazardly over his fingers. 

“Really,” Lio leans lower out when he’s close enough, tucking his hair behind his ear so it wouldn’t get in the way of looking at him properly. “What are you doing, Galo?”

“Isn’t it obvious enough?” Galo grins as he holds up his fistful of flowers. “I’m trying to court you!”

Lio studies the makeshift bouquet, notices there seems to be a running theme of yellow and blue. Some, he very well knows couldn’t have been from the palace gardens. Did this idiot really go out of his way to bring them in from somewhere else and hide them until it’s time? Judging by how they look, he probably did. 

“Hmm. And?” 

Lio can never get used to it, this resurgence of a playfulness he’s long buried that only happens to the pleasant comfort he gains from Galo’s companionship. It warms his chest, brings a special sort of joy he’s rarely ever felt before. 

“Would you care to let me court you?” Under the soft moonlight, Galo’s eyes glimmers with the same sense of familiar mischief. 

“With just a handful of wilted flowers?” Lio feels himself smile a little wider. “Is another prince really worth only that much to you, Galo Thymos?” 

“Oh, Lio, Lio,” Galo tuts and waggles a finger at him. “Don’t you realize this is all but bait to lure you out of your chambers?” 

“And you think that’d work just because I like flowers?” Lio quietly gauges the distance to the ground below. 

“You like hugs too so I’ll give you a big one if you come down?” Galo offers, and immediately yelps when Lio leaps out of his window following nothing but a sudden, curt warning. Fortunately, he backs away enough space for Lio to cushion his fall with a roll. 

Lio then casually gets on his feet, brushing off dirt from his clothes as if he didn’t just clear a two-story drop without even a bruise. He turns to see Galo gaping at him still in a bit of shock, and tilts his head slightly to the side. 

“You sold me with the hug,” is all he says. 

“Liooo!!!!” Galo’s whine is entirely too loud in the silence, and Lio quickly shushes him with a laugh. Galo doesn’t need to be prompted twice, tugging Lio into his arms to pour out a torrent of words of relief the moment he’s within reach. 

And through it all, Lio’s heart does multiple little flips in his chest. 

“It’s all fine, Galo, calm down,” he soothes, though already half expecting some guards on patrol to have already heard the commotion and are now rushing over. While Lio’s relationship with Galo isn’t exactly a secret within the castle walls, it’d still be annoying to have to listen to potential lectures about sneaking out undetected at night. Lio is definitely not in the mood to be told what to do at the moment.

“What if you hurt yourself doing that!!!” Galo insists, and Lio knows there’s really nothing else he can say to calm him at this point. He switches his approach. 

“I didn’t, Galo, don’t worry,” he assures as he gently pushes away, reaching for Galo’s hand with the flowers behind him. “But enough of that, didn’t you want to show these to me?” 

The distraction works. Galo perks up, reminded that he does indeed want to show them to him. He shifts, giving Lio a better look at the flowers he’d personally picked. Lio could tell from this up close that they’ve been picked without the careful, trained skills of a gardener, and they definitely have not been arranged by someone experienced. But he does feel Galo’s sincerity from it, can practically imagine the adorable pout on his face as he pondered over which flower Lio would like most. 

Lio plucks out a vibrant little daisy from the bunch, and slips it above Galo’s ear. “Cute.”

He laughs again when Galo splutters at that. Lio will always be awed by how joy always comes so easily when they’re together. 

“Come on, let’s go somewhere with a little more privacy,” Lio urges next with a small tug on Galo’s wrist. Galo doesn’t argue, letting Lio drag him along to navigate the shadows over the castle paths. They slip through walkways, even manage to cross the courtyard undetected by a badly timed night patrol of castle guards. 

They arrive at the rose garden slightly out of breath, Lio’s heart pounding from both excitement and their sprint through the open courtyard. He notices, with unadulterated delight, that the daisy is still tucked into Galo’s hair when he turns to him to exchange a triumphant grin. It's something so silly, so insignificant—and yet. 

Being here at night, sitting on the grass in their night clothes and surrounded by rose bushes at full bloom—it's a vision of a romance Lio could’ve never imagined to have. There’s something magical about it, something exhilarating about being somewhere they’re not supposed to be at a time they’re not supposed to meet. The air is sweet with the light fragrance of roses. Their hands, with their fingers intertwined, are warm and comfortable. 

Their kiss is unavoidable; the anticipation for it has been hovering over them like a cloud from the very start. Lio can never get used to the pleasant buzz that spreads through his being the moment their lips meet, the sheer giddiness from that sends his head spinning and takes his breath away. 

It’s all still so new to him, being in love like this.