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un-lawliet · 1 year ago

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hii abby! (cigarettes after sex anon here) i would love to request a Dazai fic if you would entertain my idea :')

Dazai and reader having met in the port mafia back when they were wild teenagers, reader and him both worked together and over the years developed as close of a bond as one can with PM Dazai (reader ofc being in love with him) and when Dazai left the mafia for the ADA, left without telling the reader a single word. years later, they run into eachother and reader just mostly wants to know why they left them and a whole lotta confessing and hurt blahhhhh i'm sure you can execute the actual prompt so much better than i'm describing but i just think you would write this SO WELL ahhhh thank you for everything that u do <3333 have a BEAUTIFUL DAY AND STAY WELL

hi my lovely !!!!!! I WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU <33 thank you so much for your request AND FOR YOUR LOVELY KIND WORDS I ADORE YOU ALWAYS- i hope this is ok i adored writing it <3

Animosity

— in which Dazai, despite everything, still cares.

“An anonymous informant has agreed to meet with the Port Mafia regarding the weretiger, under the circumstance that it’s you they meet with and that you go alone.”

Your throat burns with the remnants of your cigarette, the tips of your fingers tinted yellow in the afterglow.

You flick the bunt to the ground and catch the back of your coat in the closing of your car door.

Bitter hissed curses escape the confines of your lips, and you wretch the door open and tug the crinkled cloth back towards yourself.

It rips at the seams as you do so, little black threads sporadically bursting out of their tidy rows of careful sewing, it reminds you of a gash, and you slam the door shut again.

Glancing backwards, you assess your darkened surroundings, counting the number of people outside the pathetic looking bar.

Red tiles decorated a crooked roof, a roof that appears to slant slightly, drooping towards the concrete below, the windows yellow from neglect and age combined.

You can hear music from the inside, it contrasts the laughter and boisterous voices of the drunken crowd surrounding the outdoors. A melancholic folk song from years past acting as a backing track to their disjointed joy.

You sigh, your hand reaching down to tap the gun hidden away under your jacket. You tap it thrice before beginning to move towards the burly door, eyes restless, moving from face to face.

The fate of the Port Mafia’s plan to capture the weretiger rested on this evening, and on the guarantee that the anonymous intel you were meeting tonight would make an appearance.

They had asked for you.

You, who had been practically raised within the mafia but had never progressed further from the status of a measly assassin, following the lead from your boss and executives alike.

Kicking a stray pebble, you watch as it hits of the back of a woman’s heel, she wobbles slightly and laughs, blaming her lack of composure on her drunkenness.

The door creaks open, as if protesting your entrance, revealing the bright confines of the bars interior. The smell of spilled alcohol causing you to crinkle your nose, eyes squinting.

For a bar so unattractive both inside and out, it sure was crowded tonight.

People were dancing to the slow beat of the live singers guitar, swaying in an uneven chorus, hands floating beside inebriated bodies, two teenagers cheering as they threw their heads back engulfing their bitter shots, and across from you, a tired old man had his head in his hands, moping over a half empty pint of beer, lamenting about the impossible.

Sickly pink patterned wallpaper decorated the walls, peeling at the corners where roof meets the wall, revealing a blank white surface beneath, it reminds you of the fabric of Elise’s dress and you shudder, anxiously picking the skin off of the top of your thumb.

You take a step, then another, your head swivelling back and forth, trying to discern your anonymous source from amongst the kaleidoscope of strangers.

With years of experience in the Port Mafia, you prided yourself in your ability to figure out the suspicious from the unknowing.

So with a slight click of your tongue, you conclude that you cannot see them, at least, not now. Leaving you alone in your meanderings, arms swaying awkwardly at your black clad sides.

A man brushes past you, his shoulder collides with your own and you glare at the back of his head as he continues on his way.

“Bastard.” You mumble, your voice whispered under poorly restrained frustration.

Unable to stand the constant shoving and accidental bumping with strangers, you made your way towards the back of the bar, trying to pinpoint a blind spot in which you could see the door, but those entering would not see you.

The bar is dimmer near the back, you blend in with the swarming of shadows, slinking around pulled out chairs your hands in your pockets.

You move past a slight corner and freeze, your mouth parting and an airy breath escaping, you choke on it, a ragged cough clawing it’s way from your throat.

“Y/N! Long time no see.”

Osamu Dazai was smiling at you, his face held up by his hand, head tilted, his eyes slits.

Osamu Dazai previously an executive of the Port Mafia..

Your face burns raw and you take a step back, your heart racing within your chest.

“W-What?” You gape, your eyes wide, you’re sure you look like a blubbering fool, hands shaking.

You see his grin, see how it crinkles his face, marking out the slight aging from the last four years since you’d seen him.

He looks different. A beige coat replacing the black one he use to wear. He’s not as thin, his skin flushed with attempting care.

And yet, his eyes, honeyed over with concealed lies, stare at you with the same prolonged look you had known years ago.

“Come!” Dazai smiles, his voice light with drama, “Sit with me.” He gestures towards the chair in front of him, narrowly missing his glass.

You ignore him, ignore his offer.

“You’re..you’re in the ADA?” Your voice is wispy, whispered under accusation.

He laughs, it’s boisterous and familiar, you hold back the urge to cover your ears and run.

“It seems as such.” He mocks, “And you’re after our weretiger no?”

You look at him, unable to form coherency in your mind.

Rage burns your lips, flames caressing your tongue.

“C’mon, Sit.” He reminds, his eyebrows raising, eventuating his false clamour.

“Damn traitor.” You hiss, hand moving to your gun, “I should shoot you dead.”

“And loose the chance of intel?” Dazai doesn’t move, unperturbed by your anger, “I can’t imagine your Boss would be pleased.”

At the mention of your mission, you falter, the hardness in your expression melting.

Dazai’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Walking out of a mission, now there’s a consequence I wouldn’t have liked to face.” He whistles and your mouth parts, realisation holding you in motion.

The intel had asked specifically for you, and only you.

He’d tricked you, trapped you, you had no choice but to stay.

He observes you, an eyebrow raising as you come to your own bitter conclusion of events, before he speaks again;

“And besides, you wouldn’t shoot me.”

Your chest heaves with a raspy breath, “Don’t act like you know me.”

“Oh but I did know you.”

“I’m not known by traitors.” You hiss back.

“OoOoh well haven’t you grown up.” Dazai chuckles, leaning back in his seat to fully take you in, eyes narrowing in on your truly exhausted composure, yet you don’t notice his change in attitude, too focused on cursing yourself out for being so stupid as to fall for his trap.

You had seen it before, his ability to twist any situation into one that benefited himself, you had laughed at the sheer idiocy of your past shared enemies with him.

And now he laughs at you, alone, and your face burns with shame.

Your feet stay stuck to the dusty floorboards below, you do not move, and Dazai sighs.

“Don’t be stubborn now, not when I’ve came so far just to see you.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, taking a sip of his drink.

Your hands shake, you stuff them into your pockets to conceal your bodies mutiny against your composure, he see’s your nerves anyway but chooses to stay silent.

Dazai’s complicity is unusual, it crawls up your spine and makes you shiver, you don’t know him, you never did, but you had never truly feared him like this before.

Your heart is entangled in a war with your head, forcing you into a tandem of hate and-

“Y/N?”

“Shut up.” You reply, closing your eyes, collecting yourself, “Just shut up Dazai.”

He tuts and it stings, and although you’re the one armed, you feel like the prey observed by a hunter pointing a rusty rifle in your face.

He raises his hands, they stay in line with his ears, as he shakes his head. “I’m only here to talk to you.”

Dazai talks to you as one would talk to a child, as if you were throwing a tantrum in the middle of the bar, it’s soft, an offering, spoken as if a gentle prayer.

But your not God, you can’t find forgiveness within your soul, and so instead of embracing his offering of peace you glare, arms crossing in-front of your chest.

“It’s been four years, and now you want to talk?” You’re sly with your sharp words, you hope they pierce his skull, you want to see him tremble in guilt, want to see him slump over and beg for you to hear him out.

Instead he smiles, like he expected your outburst, and your nails dig into the flesh of your palm, fists clenched tight enough to spill blood onto your fingers.

“You think this is funny?” Your voice raises, throat raw with the temptation to cry as you stare at his fraudulent face.

He gasps and shakes his head, smile widening, “You mistake me… I just find it hard not to smile when beautiful women yell at me.”

You seethe.

Your anger is ugly, it cuts lines onto your forehead and breathes a sickly, wet breath across your face, you’re disgusting and sweaty, the sheen on your neck catching the light from the lamp on Dazai’s table.

“You’re a liar Dazai.” You mutter, deciding the mission wasn’t worth it, that you were leaving damn the consequences.

You turn on your heel, refusing to look at him anymore.

You hear him shift in his seat, and Dazai opens his mouth once more, the smile falling off of his mendacious face.

“-Then I’ll tell you a truth.” His voice was serious, devoid of any preverbal joy, you count the moments between each of his words, biting your tongue as he continues,“I don’t regret leaving the mafia.”

There are nettles in your eyes, they sting and redden the whites surrounding your pupils, embedded in watery, sucken, sockets. Poisoning you with the taste of sick humiliation.

And you turn back around.

“You regret nothing?” Your voice shakes, cracks and shatters as you impose your final prompt, “Not even-” (leaving me?)

Exhaustion chokes you as if an omnipresent, greying hand was pushing down on your throat, watching you writhe and laughing as you fail to breathe.

“Calm down.” He’s still sitting, his figure slumped over slightly, reflecting the bored inflation you sought in his voice.

Your reaction is predictable and he’s bored. He’s no longer a demon thriving in juvenile rebellion, he’s moved on and you’re still stuck wiping the dust of old memories, trying to relight a fire with sticks already ruined by rain.

“So where do we go from here?” Anger pulls you out of your own head and pushes you to react, the nettles in your eyes are on fire, you clench your fists in the smoke. “Why seek me out if you’re only here to gloat about how much you’ve moved on?”

Dazai pauses, the finger circling the rim of his chipped glass nestled comfortably in his hand, stills.

He doesn’t know, failing to comprehend the intricacies of his own mind for a second as he thinks and you watch.

The silence unsettles you and your hand falls absentmindedly to fidget with the handle of the gun tucked snug at your side, Dazai’s eyes follow your delicate movements, his stare filtered with bitter nostalgia as he watches your unchanged habits.

You’re still doing the same old habits as you did when he left you, and selfishly this leaves him with a smudge of comfort. A comfort that blurs the lenses of his new life.

…“Asushi would be scared of you, but then again he’s scared of everything right now.”

“The weretiger?” You question, confusion melting the ice from your tome.

“He’s an orphan you know?”

“I don’t really care.”

“I expected as much.”

If you were to squint and concentrate on the calculated movement of Dazai’s features, you would see how disappointment coated the the gleam of his sharp eyes.

He shouldn’t feel this opposed to your lack of empathy. He should be use to how you work now.

The small scars on your hand retelling your history with the mafia, your history of working beside him as a boy, boastfully playing a part in the play of the mafia, chorused by choirs of deceit as conducted by Mori.

Perhaps, he did not know as much as he assumed he did, or perhaps, two years alone, working under the devil had truly changed you.

Or maybe he’s still that wicked boy hiding under the title of a “good man”.

“Are both sides no longer the same to you?” You probe, words flying out of your mouth as you lean forward slightly on your feet, “Good and evil?”

You see it then, the kaleidoscope of memories retold through the fluttering of his wispy eyelashes that he can’t conceal. He blinks and it’s gone.

His mouth parts, pausing, thinking.

“Does it matter?” The words are bitter, he spits them out as if they sting his mouth, defensive and unrelenting.

You hear a glass smash from behind the bar, the obnoxious people gathered around holler at the sound of broken glass. You glance over and take in the sight of a red, humiliated woman frantically apologising to her boss.

Dazai clears his throat and you look back, taking in the way he leans back on his chair, encased in the glow from the small, flickering lamp beside him, his drink abandoned on the chipped wood of his table.

“It use to matter.” You breathe, staring down at him.

He thinks you look plain, decorated in shadows, and he wonders if, right now, he looked the same to you.

“People can change.” Dazai smirks, gesturing to you, his voice light.

Not as much as you have you think, smoothing your knuckles against your shirt, avoiding his eyes.

“I haven’t changed.” You remark, your voice wavers, trying selfishly to convey your rage, hatred and misery to the man before you.

He laughs, and you cringe at the eccentricity of his own misery and he looks away for a moment, bandaged hands clutching his stomach.

“Of course you have.” He replies, and you hear it, the bitter inflation of his tone, a tiny flicker of regret drooling from his mouth.

“You no longer look at me with that sweet affection I use to adore.”

Your hands tremble, your body swayed with trepidation, the background of the bar evaporates into mist and you can’t breathe.

“What?”

He says nothing, instead choosing to simply look at you, solidifying his point.

The light encasing him appears to dull, the light in his eye fading into oblivion.

Years of un-relinquished feelings swarm in your stomach, bubbling up and making you feel nauseous, and you hate yourself.

You want to throw up, and he doesn’t move.

A moment passes and Dazai gestures again.

“Sit.” he repeats, the command echos like a cracked record skipping over and over, stuck in the the point of the needle.

And then quietly, spoken softly, as if trying to remain unheard, “..Please.”

This time, you do as you’re asked, shuffling over to the chair opposite him, your eyes hidden in your exposed shame.

The chair creaks as your tired body slumps against it. Your hands resting awkwardly in your lap as you refuse to humour him with a look.

“You left.” You say lamely, and Dazai loses himself in resentment.

Your voice sounds as empty as his own. Devoid of hope as you stare at the scuffs on your shoes.

“I had to.” He replies, stoic although his head is crowded with the effects of his whiskey.

You bite your lip, letting your tongue trace the roof of your mouth as if conjuring expression.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to leave?” You whisper.

“You would have begged me to stay.” He mutters, a simple, vile confession that makes you cringe.

“I wouldn’t have-”

“You would.”

The silence is concocted with truth, and you both know it. Dazai leans forward in his seat, you don’t think he realises his own movement.

“If you needed to leave, I would have understood, I’m not weak.” You argue.

“You were weak enough to fall for me no?”

Dazai watches you carefully as your eyes finally move to his own, and he loathes the lack of hatred in your fixated stare.

“Is this a rejection?” You muse, a pathetic smile dancing across you face, “You’re four years late for that don’t you think?”

And Dazai smirks, mirroring your cynicism despite the rotting honesty in his pupils.

“I suppose it’s an acknowledgment.” He nods, and you shake your head.

“You’re cruel.”

And you could mistake the widening of Dazai’s smile as genuine if you were to ever be foolish enough to believe you could read his expressions.

You reach across to grab the half empty glass of liquor resting in-front of Dazai, he watches as you tip your head back and down it all, your face flushed with rusty determination.

You wipe your mouth when you finish.

“I thought you were cruel back then too y’know?” You mumble, looking down into the empty glass. Wincing as the after taste burns your throat.

“I thought you were beautiful.” Dazai muses, hand resting under his chin again.

And you shake your head, refusing to fall into the depths of his pretty words.

“You thought I was stupid.”

He smirks, “Think you’ve figured me out?”

His eyes are guarded despite his efforts of non-chalice, he’s cautious.

“I don’t think even you can do that.” Your words are hushed, eyes narrowing as you process the meaning behind your accusation.

He leans back, creating distance, you move your head to glance at him.

Resolution flickers across his face, he’s quick to conceal it, but you’ve already seen it.

“You’re making me sound quite complicated.” Dazai chuckles, it’s uncomfortable, and he glances at the bar briefly.

You nod but say nothing in return.

Moments pass, the silence stretching out for miles, an endless road. Your body aches as if you were the one walking it.

“The weretiger,” You begin, sighing, “You’re his..guardian?”

“I hate that word.” He mutters, and you’re shocked at the honesty of his tone, “Makes me appear selfless.”

“You have something to gain for looking after him?”

“I always have something to gain.”

Defeat quells the disappointment that thrives in your chest at his confession, wishing he would go back to blurring his truths.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, your foot nudges his own, neither of you move.

“I think I prefer it when you lie Dazai.”

He looks back at you, a pathetic smile dancing in his eyes.

“As do I.”

He reaches over, and takes your hand, it’s cold in his grasp.

You stare as he brings it towards himself, and kisses your knuckle delicately, his lips like wings of a moth across your bare skin.

Letting it fall, your hand drops to the cold surface of the table, he stands his face concealed as he turns, pushing in his chair.

You feel empty as he shakes his head, dropping his shoulders.

He doesn’t leave, he just stands looking at the strangers clamoured in the bar evasive to his turmoil. Your eyes stay fixated on him, and the slight curve of his back.

“Going after the Weretiger is futile.” Dazai remarks, “The Agency is too powerful.”

Wounded pride takes over and you tut, “The mafia far outranks every organisation in Yoko-”

“I wouldn’t lie about this Y/N.” His words halt your patriotism, your mouth closing abruptly. “For your own safety, avoid the ADA.”

His hair is messy, you think, still looking at the back of his head.

“You including me in this, by asking for only me, has made me important in the mafia for the first time since you left Dazai.” Your voice indignant, he turns to face you again, an eyebrow raised.

“Your need to feel important out trumps your need for safety?” He queries, and you fall silent, exposure crippling your farce of confidence.

Your face burns with the presentation of your pathetic motivations, you hate yourself once more, your chest rising and falling in loathing.

“It felt nice to be cared about.” You admit weakly, your arm sneaking around your own waist, clutching as your coat.

And Dazai watches your close in on yourself, a empty husk of a person before him.

He blinks, and considers his words carefully, gently regarding you with a look you couldn’t discern.

“I care far more than you think.” He replies and you nearly miss it, the movement of his body almost drowning out his confession as he begins to walk away, leaving you lost still sat on your chair.

A waitress approaches, gesturing at your empty glass, her voice is sweet as she asks if you want the bill.

“Sorry?” You question, forcing yourself out of your daze to look at her pretty face.

“The bill ma’am, for your drink?”

“It isn’t paid for already?” Confusion peaks out from your voice, and the waitress cocks her head.

“The gentleman who ordered it said you would pay for it…Um what was it he said?” She pauses, a finger going into her mouth as she tries to recall Dazai’s words.

“Oh yes! Said you would pay for it, like “old times”.”

You tilt your head back, and laugh, the waitress jumping at the sound of your preserved drunken humour.

“Damn bastard.” You say between breaths, shaking an apologetic hand towards her.

Nothing is right, everything is wrong, and yet, nostalgia forces your hand, and you reach in your pocket for coins.

They click together as you grasp them and the bar door closes as you hand her your change.

(A/N: THANK U FOR YHE REQUEST CAS ANON IM SO SO SO SORRY IT TOOK ME LIKE A MONTH TO WRITE THIS- i love you and i hope i did ok !!!! i listened to cas the entire time <3333)

it’s 1am and i’m taking an allergic reaction, my throat is really tight but I HAD TO FINISH THIS !!!!!!! so here we are- i love you all and pls stay safe and sleep <3 -kisses abby

#dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs dazai #dazai smut #osamu x reader #bsd dazai #bsd manga #bsd #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs manga #bsd spoilers #bungo stray dogs x reader

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payservewomen · 1 year ago

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It had been quite a while since I’d met and/or paid Goddess Aurora….”I’d written your bitch ass off…If you want the honor of paying me in person, u need to earn it. Ur only allowed to send me $$, until I say otherwise” Is essentially what she said…along with “I’m mad about it too; I like fuckin ur bitch ass up”

She’s so good at manipulating me….she’s always several steps ahead….it’s a unique feeling, as tbh, I do feel like I’m much smarter than most ppl i’m around….I know she couldn’t possible read all that I say to her…not surprising considering, when I do go to meet her, I’ll generally take a lil extra adderall(Usually take less than prescribed dose; but that night, i took full dose, plus 2 more) so I was reallllly talkative….Sometimes I’ve felt like she’d enjoy seeing how obsessed I am etc, but it is a lot, and she made it clear that I need to stfu and serve…

How’d she do that?

Well…I was on twitter chatting with ppl etc. I heard her voice, laughing n chatting with her friend(A statuesque beauty, didn’t get a great look at her during my beating) As I’m sitting on the concrete lil wall outside her old building, I look up to see both of them. I had to be told to drop to my knees, as I was a bit taken aback by another gorgeous woman standing there, watching how pathetic I am. She didn’t seem especially scornful at first…i got to my knees, and she screamed at me to hurry tf up, and count out her money…,I’d remembered in the past, how she demanded all bills face the same way….I began to fix it and face them all the same way…it seemed she didn’t care about that, but did tell me to count it out for her, which she hadn’t done in the past….her demeanor n attitude made it seem like I should’ve known to count it out and have it ready to begin with….Im pretty sure that, in reality, no matter what i did or how i did it, it would’ve resulted in her yelling at, and ofc slapping tf outta me, HARD!

“Hurry tf up chicken skin, stupid ugly ass bitch boy”

I’d barely get 1-2 $20 bills in her beautifully manicured hand before my entire world felt like it’d been hit by an earthquake, as she’d land blow after blow to my head…Each slap felt like a punch….she must’ve put all her strength into it!

I wonder if they sounded like slaps or what they sounded like….I became dizzy after a few, making it harder to count her cash.

After counting the $240(id told her i had $200 for her) She order me to lower my pants….I did with great hesitation, as underneath, I had a black thong on…The thong was made with sheer fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination, and omg i was terrified pulling my pants down….she used top of my head to balance herself, and proceeded to kick my cock n balls fairly hard…did make me double over, but wasn’t too bad….then, she ordered me to spread my legs open further, and to do so I had to pull my shorts down past my knees….which was kinda nice because they acted like knee pads for my hurting knees…i spread my legs open wide, far as they could go…..she held onto my head again, taking a moment…maybe savoring the complete and total control, the power she knows she has over me….maybe enjoying seeing the absolute fear, terror in my eyes…Then she landed by far, the most painful blow to my balls Ive ever felt. Sometimes taking any shot to the balls makes a man double over in pain almost automatically, but if ya focus or try, ya usually don’t have to…but this time? Omg, makes me wonder how on earth slaves, when tied up can withstand kick after kick to their balls….because this one? I had no choices…I was doubled over in extreme pain, gasping for air…and as I’m on the ground….

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xlovely-daydreamsx · 2 years ago

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Ace Of Hearts (Yandere!Zhongli x Reader x Yandere!Childe) Ch. 1

Summary: You’re an Omega working for an upscale catering company, until one of your customers takes a liking to you.

Warnings: kidnapping, yandere themes, violence/threats, dehumanization, a/b/o

Note: This came to me in a dream and I couldn’t stop thinking about it... slightly inspired by my favorite otome game as a kid (if you can guess it, i’ll give u a kiss)

Your lungs hurt. Maybe it was because you were sorely out of shape, but you'd blame it on the cold breeze for the sake of your ego.

The streetlights are blinding and your cheap flats smack against the concrete- you were late for work, somehow, and you were trying your damndest to be there despite the bad start.

Thankfully, the location for your work tonight was only a few blocks away. You had been working for a catering company since you moved to the city and subsequently dropped out of University. School isn't for everyone, yknow? But you had bills to pay and a family to disappoint, so you happily work your minimum wage job. And hey- maybe someday you'll meet a rich man at one of these events who will sweep you off your feet and you'll never have to work again!

A girl can dream, at least...

You show up at 7 on the dot- right on time, and your boss gives you your position with a small sigh and an eye roll, but no real punishment.

Your job is easy enough, so you like it; and you especially like shmoozing at the fancy events like tonight- business tycoons eating horderves and drinking martinis, getting richer by the minute.

You grab a tray of assorted drinks and make your way out into the ballroom, straightening your apron as you go.

The venue is absolutely gorgeous. Bright lights, glistening shandeliers and floors you could see your reflection in. Spotless white tablecloths adorn every table, and the walls are covered in grecian-style details lined with gold. A beautiful place that you'd never have the pleasure of seeing without this job.

The night went by as slowly as ever, the monotony of it all making the hours move by like molasses, but at least the crowd was interesting. Sometimes you liked to watch the women chat and drink, trying your best to pick up their mannerisms- one day, you swore to yourself, you were gonna be filthy rich just like them; you were gonna live a life full of luxury and lavish. Although, you're almost certain that none of those women are Omegas.

"Hey, waitress!" You turn your head swiftly, your eyes landing on a table of three attractive young men. You put on your best pair of doe eyes and regret not having enough time to put on makeup before work.

"Yes sir, how can I help you?" Your lips upturn into a small smile, aoft and sweet and oh-so innocent. God, what a great day to be running late, yeah? Three of the hottest guys you've ever seen in your life sit in front of you, making your stomach fill with butterflies. The one who had called you over, a dark haired man with fiery eyes- much smaller than the other two but just as beautiful, starts speaking and you're forced to stop oogling the trio.

"A martini, a mojito, and...." the smallest one says, and another man speaks up. His hair is longer than you usually see in these types of groups, darkly colored along with his skin and icey eyes that practically glowed.

"A chardonnay if you can, darling." You imagine him ending that line with a wink if he could, but a black eyepatch covers half of his gaze, making it impossible.

"Of course! One moment," you give a small bow and scurry off towards the bar, picking up an empty tray on the way.

You and the bartender know each other rather well from the few years you'd been working together, so he makes quick work of the drinks you request and your back on your way to the table in minutes.

"You're the quickest service we've had all night," the last of the group speaks up when you approach them once more. He's a lithe young man with ginger hair and eyes as blue as you've ever seen. His head rests in his palm as he looks you up and down, and you realize with a slight twinge of your nose that he's very much an Alpha, and that you very much forgot to put on a scent blocker tonight.

"and certainly the best looking." His smile is best in show, Alpha pheremones dripping off of him and driving the point home.

"You're too sweet," you start the game of tiptoe-ing around the idea he's got in his mind; Omegas are getting scarcer and scarcer every year, "thank you, though- really."

"Do you have time to take a little break, dear? Have a seat, maybe a drink..." The darker man speaks up, and you have to supress the shiver that runs through you as his hand lightly caresses the small of your back, ushering you toward the chair next to him.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to get back to work..." His smile stays, but his eyes are cold as he removes his hand with a sigh.

"Fine, fine... Scurry off then, Omega." As pretty as he is, you wish you could tell him to fuck off for that. But instead, with every ounce of professionalism you can muster, you nod and head on your way without a second glance. Not everyone can afford to sit and do nothing on a Friday evening.

You can feel eyes on you all night, but you get through it with only a little stress (and a secret shot from the bartender).

Your company helps with all of the cleanup, and you volunteer to take out the trash for a second of quiet.

You drag the bags behind you, opening the backdoor to cool night air, taking a deep breath before throwing the black bags into the dumpster with a clang.

"Hey there, pretty thing," you jump at the sound, turning on your heel to face the stranger. However, you're met with the smiling face of the ginger before, surprisingly close to you; you wonder for a moment how he showed up so silently.

"You scared me!" Your hand rests against your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow.

"Sorry, sorry- I was just out for a smoke," he holds up an odd looking cigarette. "And I couldn't pass up the opportunity to talk to you again." He's so... charming. Maybe it's the pheremones, or maybe it's just been way too long since your last fling, but every part of you is screaming to jump on his bones as soon as possible.

"You're really good at flattery, you know that?" He laughs at that, gentle and sweet in a way that makes your tummy churn.

"What can I say? You're just too cute not to compliment." You blush, and he flicks his cigarette on the ground. His arms wraps around your neck and he leans down, pulling you close- he smells like sea salt and rain and a little bit of alcohol.

You feel hot.

"Me and my friends are heading to an after party right about now... how about you join us?"

"Oh, uhm- I don't know... I only have my uniform with me..." You tug at the hem of your little apron, sat atop black dress pants.

"I know at least three girls who keep extra cocktail dresses in their cars- I could get one of those for you. Or better yet- We'll stop somewhere and get you something nice, yeah?"

"I couldn't ask you to do that for me..." you shrink into yourself a bit, but his grip on your shoulder is firm.

"Please- I'm asking you, so don't worry about the niceties. Let's have a fun night together."

You pause.

Ever since you left home, you've worked every long shift, every weekend and evening and early morning- you've spent all your time doing for others, but what have you done for yourself? Don't you deserve a bit of fun? You'll never have a chance like this again! And imagine if he really ends up liking you- he's obviously well off, so you'd be set for life!

"Yeah... yeah, you're right! Let's go have some fun."

He lets go of you, backing up just enough for him to clap his hands together.

"Amazing! You won't regret this," he grabs your hand, tiny in comparison to his, and practically drags you along, "I'm sorry though- I didn't catch your name."

"It's (Y/N)," he smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Nice to meet you, (Y/N)- you can call me Childe."

You chuckle to yourself as he leads you towards a limo parked down the street, the overhead lights illuminating your odd pairing.

You remember how exciting it all was, stepping into a limousine with three gorgeous men, set out for a good time. You savor that feeling, the memory of it, because it's the last thing you can remember before everything goes dark.

"You know I hate these kinds of events," Zhongli straightened his tie in the mirror, moving to adjust his cufflinks as well.

"You have to make an appearance for business's sake, at the very least. It's not like we're asking you to buy something." Baal fixes her lipstick in the mirror next to his, smacking them together. It's a dark shade of purple, clashing with her lavender dress.

"I know that. It's just... barbaric."

"All those people signed contracts one way or another- it's their fault if they didn't read it through. You of all people should know the power of such a document." She hikes up the hem of her dress and heads toward the door, shooting him one last glance over her shoulder.

"You'll be alright."

The ride to the venue was unexciting, Baal and Yae bantering most of the way.

"Would it kill you to lighten up, Morax?"

Yes, it would.

The group finds seats toward the front row of the auction hall, comfy, ornate chairs that probably cost a pretty penny on their own.

Soon enough, the lights dimmed down, and the auctioneer began to speak, spotlight on him atop the wooden stage- just like the opera.

The next time you open your eyes, it's to pitch blackness. Not a single light illuminates the room, and when you try to stumble and find your bearings, all you find is concrete floors and walls.

Okay, take a deep breath... where could you be, and how could you have possibly ended up here? You think as hard as you can, but your memories are foggy and your head is throbbing.

You kick and scream and cry... but nothing happens. So you sit in silence and darkness and try your best not to go crazy. Just keep it together- that can't be that hard, right?

It feels like hours before something changes. A door opens somewhere in the room, and a heavenly ray of golden light lands on you, silhouetting the man who opened the door.

You know him, you realize slowly- dark haired ponytail, black eyepatch, and a cunning smile.

"Hey there, little Omega. You holding up alright in here?" He walks in a bit more and crouches next to where you find yourself balled in the corner.

"Where am I? I'm... confused." He smiles lightheartedly, like you're a little kid asking something stupid.

"The drugs are probably still messing with your head, darling- just try to calm down." He runs a hand through your hair, and you flinch away harshley.

He frowns at that, but retracts the hand.

"What... drugs? What did you do to me?" He sighs.

"You're gonna meet a nice Alpha tonight," he stands, "although I really wish I could've taken you home myself... You have bad taste in men," it's your turn to frown now, "the readhead over me? Really?"

"Are you fucking with me? Take me home." You move to stand up as well, but your legs shake like a newborn deer.

"You'll be alright... just come with me and I'll take care of it, okay?" He holds you up by your elbow, and you feel as if you have no choice but to let him pull you out of the room and down an ornate hallway.

The lights are blinding, making your headache ever more painful, but you still follow obediently.

He ushers you into a room at the end of the hall, full of mirrors and desks and a few women standing around chatting.

"Good evening, ladies," the man greets them all, and you can practically see them swooning, "can you help fix up my girl here?"

"You're late for call, Kaeya!" One of the women, an older and bustier blonde lady, clicks her tongue at him, and he holds his hands up apologetically.

"I know, I'm sorry- but our special guest needed a bit of... adjustment time. She just needs a touch up and an outfit," he smiles at the woman, "and don't forget the dress rental contract."

She winks, and all you're seeing is red flags when it comes to this man.

"No, I'm not playing dress up- I'm going home! Either help me out or I'm calling the police," you threaten, but when you pat your pocket, you find nothing but empty space.

The pit in your stomach grows bigger by the minute, and the women giggle to themselves.

The man, who you've deduced is named Kaeya, wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in close; the gesture makes your feel queasy.

"This might be your best bet, dear- and it's much easier if you just go along with it. All you have to do is play 'Pretty Omega Dress-Up' for an hour or so, and then all this will be done and over with." You feel a little outnumbered at the moment, so you just nod along. The older woman takes your hand now and sets you down as Kaeya waves you a goodbye and sets out the way he came.

"Don't worry, honey- you'll look stunning when I'm done with you." She sets you down in a barber chair and slides a packet of papers in front of you- a pen placed on top.

"For the dress," you send her a side eye, "if you break or stain it, you pay for it. Just be careful and you'll be alright."

You flip through the pages a bit, but the font is so small and your head is so groggy you can barely think straight, so you sign it without a second thought.

She smiles, pats you on the head, and gets to work.

And really, she wasn't lying- you look amazing. A small, pink ballet style dress sticks to your frame, curled hair outlining your face and makeup bringing out your features better than you've ever been able to do at home.

Right on queue, Kaeya comes back in the room.

"Amazing work once again, Lisa. You're a true artist." He bows and blows her a kiss.

"And you, my dear..." he grabs your waist with one hand and your chin with another, "I really wish I could take you home- you look delicious." The flattery might've worked on you an hour ago, but you're confused and tired and just generally fed up, so you simply give him a scowl.

He doesn't seem too deterred by it, just shrugs and takes you back down the hallway.

"Now, I'm going to take you on stage, and I just need you to do a little spin or something... just be cute, okay? Although I know that's not hard for you."

"Stage?" Your head is starting to clear now, and your critical thinking skills are slowing returning as well, making the alarms that should be going off in your head let out metaphorical dings, telling you that something is off, but you can't really tell what.

"You're performing, darling." You scrunch your brow, "Oh, don't worry- you'll be great. I'll be right up there with you, alright?"

You don't know what else you can do but nod and follow along.

After almost two hours of this drawl, Zhongli has had enough. It's late, he's tired, and he has absolutely zero interest in anything the two girls to his left are chatting about.

"I'm leaving," he says inbetween auction items, readying his hands on his knees to push his way up and out of these stupid chairs.

"You're such a party pooper, Morax," Yae whines, sipping a wine he can't remember her ordering, "they're about to do the last item, and Scaramouche said your little buddy picked something special." Little buddy.... he deduced that they must mean Childe, a man he's worked with on a few occasions, more or less begrudgingly.

"We're business acquaintances," Zhongli clarifies, but sits back down- he can handle 10 more minutes.

When the curtains open this time, the auctioneer is joined by another aquaintance of his- Kaeya- and an Omega.

He'd seen far too many Omegas this evening, seeing as that was the prime sale option for the night, but something about this girl caught his eye.

Most Omegas who find themselves on this stage are much more... elegant. Long, flowing gowns and heaps of makeup, and they certainly looked more enthused.

But her small dress and starry-eyed look drew his attention for the first time all night.

"This here folks is a Prime Omega!" She jumps at the sound of the announcer's voice, and he can see that Kaeya holds onto her tightly.

"Prime Omegas have much stronger pheremones and omegal instincts than others in their breed," Kaeya helps her do a small spin, her skirt lifting up just enough to reveal the spandex underneath, "they are often much more submissive, make better mothers, and respond to commands well."

The girl appears to be speaking to Kaeya, and he watches closely as she seemingly tries to pull her arm from his grasp.

He stands firm.

"While this Omega may be untrained, it will be easy to correct mistakes because of it's submissive nature."

She looks frantic now, and a chatter makes its way through the crowd when she drops to the ground, pulling at her companion's arm.

The announcer seems slightly frazzled, but continues on.

"A few behavioral issues, as you can see, but anything can be fixed with a few good training sessions."

Kaeya gets her back on her feet but she doesn't seem to want to give in. She screams, loud and clear and echoing. Kaeya's hand smacks over her mouth but it quickly retreats, blood dripping- she bit him.

You're fighting for your life.

Maybe they didn't give you enough drugs, or maybe they just thought you'd be a lot stupider than you are, but as your mind clears, your reality sets in and you feel nothing but adrenaline.

You kick and you scream and you're only slightly aware of the taste of blood in your mouth as Kaeya tries to calm you down, but there's no way in hell you're going to stop.

You both fall against the wooden stage when you land a well-aimed kick to his shin, and you probably look ridiculous wresting with some guy on the floor, but you can't bring yourself to care at all. A room full of people, a sea of fancy dresses and shining jewelry and nobody makes a move to stop what's happening to you; In fact, they don't seem phased in the slightest.

"A little help here, asshole?" Kaeya whisper shouts to someone else behind the curtain, and the ginger from your work walks out. Childe, you remember his name being, and you notice with a start that he's holding a syringe.

"Now don't worry, ladies and gentlemen; our highly trained handlers are going to give this little Omega a shot to help calm her nerves- big crowds can cause quite a stir for some Omegas! Especially those with such... sensitive senses."

"It's okay (Y/N), just calm down and let me-" Childe can't say much more, because you're foot collides effortlessly with his jaw and the syringe clangs against the floor.

The room gasps.

Childe was well known in the community as a charming, successful man. Zhongli had seen firsthand how women fawn over the younger man, trying their best to say and do anything that might make him pick them. However, he'd stayed solemnly single throughout the many years he'd known him, stating that the women in their social standing are simply "no fun."

Childe spits, blood splattering against the stage as the curtains close.

The room is full of noise, chatter and outrage and Yae laughs delightfully at the chaos.

"Aren't you glad you stayed?"

He can't help but chuckle at that. Perfect Childe getting his face kicked it? He can't say it wasn't at least a bit amusing.

"Are you kidding me?" Childe spits, blood dripping down his chin, and for a moment you almost think that you should be scared of him.

In a moment he's on top of you, your shoulders slamming harshley into the hardwood as he bears his fangs.

"Sit still," he growls, and you hate the way your body reacts to the tone, the smell, everything. Against your best judgement, your body relaxes.

The pair wastes no time pinning you down and reaching for the needle.

"Please, please," tears drip down your face, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say Childe looks... apologetic, "please don't, I promise I won't fight anymore."

Kaeya's warm hand makes its way through your hair again, oddly comforting depsite the situation.

"Just close your eyes, darling; you'll be alright."

"You're lucky this is all you're getting after that stunt." Childe's smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"The only reason you're on this stage instead of chained up in my basement is because you're worth such a pretty penny, do you know that?" All you can do is shake your head and beg him to forgive you.

"And you're worth significantly less because of what you just did. So I'm starting to reconsider my original plan. Wouldn't that be fun, Kaeya? A new little plaything..." Kaeya frowns.

"Take it easy on her- any animal would react that way when they're put in a corner." He continues to pet you.

"Yeah, a fucking animal. Look at my face! I'm surprised I didn't lose a tooth."

Kaeya snickers at that, but you don't get the chance to listen to their banter much longer, because the needle digs into your thigh and your lights go out.

The curtain opens back up a few minutes later, the stage blood-free, and in the middle of it, the Omega sits patiently in a wooden chair similar to Zhongli's own.

Behind her stands Kaeya, holding her shoulders gently.

"Our cincerest apologies for the delay, everyone. Now that our Omega is calmed down, let's start the bidding at $500,000. Anyone for $500,000?" The bidding resumes as usual, and Zhongli find himself compelled to join. Maybe it was the look of you, maybe it was the lonely halls of his home getting to him, or maybe, just maybe, it was the fantastic kick into Childe's face that made him so interested in you.

He grabs Yae's little bidding paddle, and raises it high as the auctioneer searches for an $800,000 bid.

"Are you joking?" Baal leans forward in her seat to face her friend, stunned beyond belief.

"Do you have a thing for... delinquents, Morax?"

"I have a 'thing' for anyone willing to do that to Childe."

"You've gotta be joking," Zhongi raises his paddle for a $1,000,000 bid, "you're not joking."

At this point, it seems to be him and one other person in what Yae would describe as a bidding war, raising their paddles back and forth for whatever number the announcer calls, climbing higher and higher.

"Do we have $5,000,000?" The auctioneer calls, and Zhongli raises his hand without a second thought.

Going once, going twice, and sold to the one and only.

"You're going to be the talk of the town," Yae laughs, "well, you and your bidding rival." She gestures through the crowd at another very well known bachelor- Diluc Ragnvindr.

#yandere #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere childe #yandere kaeya #yandere fic #x reader #yandere x reader #genshin impact #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin

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inkykeiji · 3 years ago

Text

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs. A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #waaaAAAAAAAAH #ever so slightly nerve-wracking hahaha #this is EXTREMELY sentimental you have been WARNED #it's also supposed to feel almost suffocating or overwhelming #bcoz ur reader yk #okay ANYWAY ENJOY #tw drugs #tw toxic relationship #tw daddy kink

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drewstcrkey · 3 years ago

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You're A Liar : Rafe Cameron

Part Two .

Request : Could u write a fic where reader and rafe are broken up but when she goes to tanneyhill to get her stuff he sees a hickey on her and freaks out (it’s actually a curling iron burn but she doesn’t tell him) Pairing : Rafe Cameron x Reader Word Count : 1.6k Warnings : Rafe being possessive, swearing, hints of domestic abuse Authors Note : I hope yall like this one shot xx

Your mom always raved about how love was a beautiful adventure. She never spoke of how the stops along the way throughout said adventure could be spirit crushing. How they could break you as a person and suck out all the happiness, you once knew. Perhaps she never spoke of it because that's not the sort of adventure many who fall in love go on. That was your experience though.

It had been less than a week since the big blow up between you and Rafe that took place at Kelce's party. Rafe played at his usual jealous boyfriend games and the mix of alcohol and drugs only make things worse. Every time you close your eyes all you see is the events of that night unfolding.

Flashback

You see Rafe make his way to the front door. The crowd of party goers huddled around after the embarrassing engagement between Figure 8's 'it couple'. Everyone's eyes burning holes into your soul.

"Come on," he hisses at you, as if the public argument hadn't been enough, now he just expected you to tuck your chin and follow him out.

You stand planted where you are. Sarah standing behind you, with arms crossed, "you don't have to go with him," she whispers to you, but he hears her.

"Sarah, shut the fuck up!" He shouts, making you jump.

"Let's go dammit!" He now shouts toward you, your eyes tearing up as you look at the wolf in sheeps clothing that has fooled you one too many times. Biting down on your bottom lip, you shake your head to his words. He looks at you in disbelief. Glancing around with a slight smirk on his face.

"No?" He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to get some sort of grasp on what was going on here.

"Y/N, if you don't come with me right now..." he trails off, sucking the tip of his thumb as his eyes fall to the floor for a moment, "we're done."

A tears burns it's way down your cheek. Gulping down the fear of losing someone you've been with for over two years. Losing your best friend.

"Then we're done," you mutter, before turning away and walking to the backyard with Sarah.

Present day

The break up replayed in your head over and over again. You retreated to yourself entirely because of it. You didn't answer you friends calls or texts, sat in silence at family dinner. Things were bad.

Your phone goes off as you lay in your bed, like you have the last few days, just staring at the picture frame with you and Rafe in it. A new text message pops up, from none other than Rafe himself, following a slew of other unanswered texts from the last few days.

Why didn't you just come with me? Y/n? Please just talk to me. When do you think you can come grab your shit? Are you just going to ignore me forever? If you have time come buy to grab your stuff i'll be around for a while...

You did want to grab your things from the house. That made everything too concrete. The last thing you wanted was to come to terms with the fact that you and Rafe were no longer together. It was just too much...but you did want to see him. You missed his beautiful blue eyes, the way the corners of his lips upticked when you made a bad joke, the way his hair perfectly framed his face. You missed him and this was at the moment the only way you could see him. So you texted him back.

I can head over in like 15.

You find the strength to get up from the hollow comfort of your bed. There was no way you could head over there in the state you were in now. As you looked in the mirror all you saw was a broken girl, who looked an absolute mess.

You started running the shower. After some time you turn the water off, wrapping a towel around you as you start getting ready.

"Shit!" You yelp, dropping the straightener on the counter. A burn now present on your neck, makes you give up on the efforts to straighten you hair and decide to simply pull your hair up in a ponytail. It's not like it mattered what you looked like, you were simply just picking up your things from Tanneyhill, right?

"I'll be home in a bit," you call out to your parents as you walk out to your car. Once you get inside it takes you a second to drive away, the fear of this being the last time you see Rafe starting to finally set in.

You blast Olivia Rodrigo as you make you way down to the Cameron house. Holding tears in the entire time because the last thing you wanted was for Rafe to see that you were upset.

I'm outside.

You send him. Consciously not getting out of your car until he opened the front door for you. The second you noticed the door crack open, you let out a deep sigh, trying to convince yourself this was going to go well.

"Hey," you give him a small smile as you walk past him and into his house.

"Hey."

The two of you make it up to his room and your eyes land on the box full of your things. Your eyes look up at Rafe, his eyes blankly staring at the same box. With a little shake of your head you make your way over to it, picking it up and it felt like the weight of your entire relationship laid in your hands.

"Rafe..." You start, but he cuts you off before you can get anything else out.

"I don't want to lose you," he blurts out. His words making you stop in your tracks, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You close your eyes trying to get a grasp on the moment.

"I don't want to lose you either," you admit, dropping the box in your hands down to the side, freeing your hands to wrap them around Rafe in a big hug. Feeling his arms snake around your waist was something you'd longed for, for days now.

"I missed you so much, Rafe," you pull away a little, just to get a good look at him. The smile on his face dropping slightly as his eyes glaze over.

"Did you?" his words like two daggers that shot straight into your heart. He drops his hands from your waist, taking a few steps away, to revert back to the former space between the two of you.

"Yes..." you mumble, an obvious look of confusion washing over your face as you watch him begin to stalk around, a almost unnoticeable shake to his head as he does so.

"THEN WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!" He screams , hand pointing at your neck. You jump from his sudden outburst, wrapping your arms around yourself to try an give yourself some sort of comfort.

"What'd you do? Go run off with the fucking pogue from the party!" He accused you, a look of absolute disgust in his face as he looked at the girl he loved.

"W-what are you talking about?" You voice much lower than his, the dynamic of your relationship for the last few years painted perfectly in the scene taking place in the room.

"YOUR NECK! You're fucking neck, Y/N..." he shouts, now closing the gap between the two of you, to tap his index finger along your neck, "do you think i'm stupid?" His voice cracking, but the anger in his face was still very much so present. You shake your head in response to him, feeling yourself grow smaller as he hovers over you.

"I-i don't..." your voice trails off as you turn to look in the mirror in his room, your eyes landing on the burn mark.

"Yeah," he chuckles to himself, more in disgust than anything. He steps up behind you and you feel a strong hand grab at your chin, your immediate instinct is to close your eyes as you let out a quite whimper.

"You didn't even try to cover that shit," he gritted his teeth.

"Rafe, i didn't do anything!" You cry out, pushing him off of you. His anger boiling up, as your rolls his head back.

"Stop fucking lying to me," he says out of gritted teeth, it doesn't take him long to close the gap between the two of you. You try to regain that space between you two, but you find yourself pushed up against the desk in his room.

"Stop the bullshit!" He yells in your face. You bite down on your bottom lip, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. You're afraid. Both of what he's going to do as you watch him get angrier and angrier and of the possibility of really losing him.

"I love you," you mutter, not able to fully project your voice. "I would neve-" he interrupts you before you can get another word out though.

"STOP!" He pushes the limits of how high his voice can go, hands now pressed against his temples. "You're a liar!" He tells you, eyes looking directly into yours. The tears that were once caged behind your eyes now break the barrier and start overflowing, leaving streams of wet on your cheeks.

"Just fucking leave," he grumbles, turning away from you. You look down at the floor, then glance back up at Rafe in hopes he'd turned back to you but he hasn't.

"I do love you Rafe..." you whisper, picking up the box of your belongings, "i always will." You say before walking out of his bedroom, the tears still streaming down your cheeks. As you make your way down the stairs, you hear the loudest, most heartbreaking scream echo throughout Tanneyhill, followed by the sound of things shattering on the floor.

You close your eyes, fighting the urge to run back into Rafe's room, instead running straight to the front door and out of the house.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits / @chillingtae for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.”

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.”

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband.

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend.

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes.

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?”

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers.

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.”

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds.

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy. It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons.

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?”

“As if you care.”

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.”

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan.

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.”

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night.

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.”

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.”

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid.

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.”

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.”

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.”

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?”

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.”

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop.

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?”

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.”

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.”

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.”

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says.

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.”

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.”

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table.

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!”

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.”

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?”

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders.

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility.

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow.

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted.

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon?

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through.

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date.

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist.

“How was the walk over?”

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.”

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours.

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is.

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill.

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?”

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat.

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?”

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.”

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?”

“It… was mildly cute.”

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.”

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning.

“Is that why you never hung out with us?”

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.”

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.”

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.”

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?”

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon.

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth.

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.”

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.”

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass.

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.”

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple.

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place.

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?”

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says.

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.”

“I do like Valorant.”

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.”

“He’s ripped as hell.”

“I am ripped as hell.”

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.”

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry."

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.”

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.”

“Okay yes one bad example—”

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.”

“See? It’s a mutual decision.”

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!"

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now."

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.”

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair.

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.”

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace.

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish.

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!”

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.”

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!”

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.”

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?”

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.”

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.”

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.”

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin.

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her.

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.”

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.”

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something.

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?”

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head.

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—”

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.”

“Right,” you answer reluctantly.

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.”

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.”

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.”

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.”

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks.

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?”

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store.

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.”

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?”

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.”

“But, Namjoon got us a table—”

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.”

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.”

“Sounds good.”

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.”

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.”

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes.

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard.

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork.

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips.

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.”

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket.

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream.

“Pray tell.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.”

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.”

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.”

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.”

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?”

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—”

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that?

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it.

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon.

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words, “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.”

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside.

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.”

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist.

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place.

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly.

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.”

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around.

“We’re in Vegas, baby!”

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!”

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it.

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?”

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger.

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.”

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.”

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same.

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent.

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you.

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton.

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.”

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.”

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then?

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?”

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.”

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks.

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?”

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick.

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.”

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.”

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.”

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.”

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.”

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.”

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.”

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini.

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area.

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place.

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.”

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side.

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.”

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.”

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.”

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on.

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one.

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy.

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.”

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for.

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.”

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified.

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?”

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating.

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week.

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes.

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double.

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?”

“But this is different!”

“But Doyeon’s family!”

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party.

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.”

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.”

“Deal.”

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body.

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.”

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.”

“Excuse me—”

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.”

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?”

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.”

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.”

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive?

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.”

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features.

“Is it something urgent?”

“Well, no but—”

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.”

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline.

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest.

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.”

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting.

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food.

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?”

He shrugs, “Looked around.”

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this.

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time.

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products.

“I wanna come!”

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.”

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?”

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.”

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.”

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom.

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design.

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too.

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height.

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel.

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean.

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.”

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in.

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.”

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.”

“Then more kisses?”

“Then more kisses.”

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?”

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!”

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college…

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two.

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button.

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.”

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u

You: lool, why do u look constipated

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest.

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge.

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.”

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind.

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin.

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.”

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator.

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet.

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.”

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?”

“Because it’s tradition!”

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?”

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.”

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down.

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite.

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure.

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down.

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better.

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!”

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship?

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you.

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?”

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family.

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different.

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together.

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room.

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes.

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?”

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!”

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?”

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods.

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor.

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down.

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?”

“Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy.

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process.

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!”

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons.

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice.

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.”

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you.

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.”

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words.

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.”

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double.

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon.

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you?

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist.

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.”

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.”

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?”

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook.

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.”

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips.

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.”

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.”

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.”

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face.

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands, “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.”

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you.

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.”

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs.

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.”

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt, a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash.

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—”

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?”

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back!

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you.

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment.

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer.

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.”

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.”

“Thanks, Jungkookie.”

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible.

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket.

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown.

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her.

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.”

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?”

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?”

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her.

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.”

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something.

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago.

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this.

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful.

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning.

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone.

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week.

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged.

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine.

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready.

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?”

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?”

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.”

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings.

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain.

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.”

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—”

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?”

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding.

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.”

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.”

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!”

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?”

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.”

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.”

“You’ll have to get through me, first.”

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress.

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.”

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin.

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.”

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.”

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground.

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision.

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel.

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.”

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.”

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t. Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle.

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?”

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.”

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations.

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie.

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon.

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family.

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online.

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend.

Or?

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs?

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter.

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.”

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.”

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric.

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon.

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself.

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…”

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.”

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.”

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.”

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.”

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips.

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline.

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair.

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?”

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs.

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.”

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now.

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.”

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.”

#jungkook x reader #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst

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1kook · 4 years ago

Text

commercial break: twelve

this is part of my netflix & chill series a prelude to part 10 <3

SUMMARY Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee. WARNING none !! we r safe MISC jk and doyeon mortal enemies, nearly everyone is mentioned, thank u namjoon, jk loves oc, the end <3 jimin makes his first appearance O_O WC 1.4k

NOTES we just having fun with it!!! jk’s friendship with everyone else <3

Doyeon says you have fat fingers, and Jungkook takes great offense at that. “Who cares about the size— __ has pretty hands, idiot,” he mutters, and almost wants to feel bad about being so childish in the middle of this jewelry store. But Kim Doyeon is a pest— a fly who just won’t stop buzzing by his ear with each ring they look at, and she has the audacity to look disgusted with him now. Jungkook very much regrets inviting her along. She exudes very similar energy to the popular girls he used to go to high school, the ones that would only talk to him because he was friends with Namjoon and wanted Jungkook to help them into his pants. Lo and behold, Kim Doyeon is very acquainted with whatever’s inside Namjoon’s pants. She hits the mark perfectly.

“Oh, definitely get her a rock. Like, one of those obnoxiously bing and shiny rings, maybe?” And she never stops talking.

Jungkook hasn’t had to spend this much time with her in months, the last time being Namjoon’s birthday when you had tasked the two of them to go pick up the cake together. Not only was Doyeon adamant on passenger-seat driving — “Turn here,” she says a moment too late, “no wait, here — but she had been an absolute heathen outside in the bakery parking lot.

(“Okay, now take a picture of me by this wall,” she says, artfully holding up the box of cake in two hands, dark hair flipped over her shoulder. Jungkook doesn’t know how to tell her that there is no significant difference between this brick wall and the brick wall they just took a picture by two minutes before.)

Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee. It would be him and Namjoon, and maybe Namjoon’s blunt roommate Jimin if he was feeling down for it, but that was pretty much it. Even Taehyung, a very close and dearly cherished friend, had not made the cut. He was too lazy, didn’t offer much concrete advice other than the occasional, “that one looks cool” comment.

The great thing about Namjoon is that he’s highly educated on just about every aspect of life; he knows the best hairstylists — “You can always ask Hobi,” Namjoon offers, “he’s married.” — and the best lawyers — “Oh, and Yoongi can help with your prenup.” — for no reason other than the fact he is Namjoon.

The bad thing about Namjoon is that he’s dead set on including Doyeon. “Doyeon is ___’s best friend,” he says calmly one night after dinner. You’re at your friend’s house this weekend, something about a midnight revenge plot against a shitty ex-boyfriend. He isn’t too clear on the details. “You have to let her in on it.” It’s been decades since Jungkook last stomped his foot in annoyance, but the urge wells up strongly in him now.

Jimin is on the couch. “Oooh, you don’t like her?” he asks, flipping his platinum hair away from his eyes. Jungkook doesn’t answer, only because it would be rude to confirm it in front of Namjoon. Jimin presses on. “Is she, like, an evil best friend?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says at the same time Namjoon says, “no.” Jimin’s got this highly intrigued smirk on his face, and Jungkook hates how similar it is to your own mischievous grins. He’s glad you haven’t met Jimin, mostly because he knows you have your mean moments and meeting Park Jimin would only exacerbate them. Namjoon frowns anyway.

Jimin says, “oh, you guys should duel. Like, whoever knows __ the best gets to keep her.”

Namjoon jumps to stop that thought. “No— they’re not gonna duel, Jimin. ___ isn’t an object to win,” he scolds, and Jungkook nods along agreeingly, pretends he hadn’t seriously considered Jimin’s idea for a solid ten seconds.

Long story short, Doyeon has tagged along to this jeweler and the past two jewelers to make sure Jungkook doesn’t give you “an ugly ring,” as she claims.

“Wait, what if you get her this one,” she says, on the other side of the store. Jungkook sighs, but hurries over anyway. Hey, he’s here to see some rings, okay?

Doyeon is looking at the most ugly ring Jungkook has ever seen, a mix of a braid and a snake, that is just too… not you. “This is hideous,” he says, disregarding all and any notions of being polite because at this point, she had to be pulling his leg. “___ would hate this.”

At his side, Doyeon huffs. “Oh, ‘cause you know ___ sooo well, don’t you?” she snarks.

Jungkook levels her with a glare. “I do, actually,” he says, “that’s literally what made me want to marry her.” And because Kim Doyeon sparks a very immature flame within him, he feels the need to add, “I probably know ___ better than you,” to top it off.

Doyeon scoffs. “No, you don’t— you will never know her like I do, you overgrown fungus,” she spits. “Me and ___ have exceeded any level of trust you could ever hope to have, a friendship forged on the grounds of love and equal values. A nerd like you can’t even begin to fathom the absolutely crazy shit we’ve shared with each other.”

If he was eight years younger, Jungkook is certain he would have gone home and cried. Mid-twenties Jungkook, on the other hand, has had one too many rodeos with mean girls — he’s dating a retired high school cheerleader, for goodness sake, an apex predator if he’s ever seen one — and will not stand for it. Besides, Jungkook has received your blessing to check Doyeon into place if ever she crosses the line.

(“Sometimes you just gotta knock her down, maybe call her a dumbass if necessary,” you had said one night after Doyeon had unceremoniously barged into your apartment to monopolize your evening plans with Jungkook. Now it’s nearing midnight and as much as Jungkook wants to spend time with you, he’s deathly tired. “Just tell her off.”

Jungkook frowns, snuggles closer until he’s so tightly pressed against your body that he can’t tell whose heartbeat is whose. He likes it like that.

There’s just something about your annoying best friend that activates this feeling in Jungkook’s chest. If anything, Jungkook imagines it is similar to that of having a bratty little sister. But Doyeon as his sister? He rolls his eyes so far back he swears he sees his own brain.

It’s childish and petty and unlike Jungkook — or at least, unlike the Jungkook he knows you think he is. Which is flattering, to be thought of so highly, but sometimes Jungkook wonders where on earth you got that idea from. Because whenever he’s around you, Jungkook becomes increasingly immature, grows so greedy and needy, desperate for anything you have to give him.

And because he’s so immature, he settles on tattling to you instead, “she called me a sweaty meat bag,” to which you snort in amusement.)

For now, he calls on the spirit of the most mature person he knows (Namjoon). Jungkook takes one last look at his millionth silver band of the day before turning to address the Wicked Witch of the West. “I might not know ___ like you do, but that’s fine,” he says calmly. “We’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together anyway.”

In front of him, Doyeon’s eye twitches and Jungkook senses he has won. For now. See, the thing is, Jungkook knows that using Namjoon-level logic against her is foolproof. For one, Namjoon’s logic is always solid. But also, as much as Jungkook despises Kim Doyeon with nearly every fiber in his being… ultimately, they share a common interest: cherishing you.

Had it not been for your existence in their lives, Jungkook doubts he would have ever spent his Saturday morning at a jeweler with the likes of Kim Doyeon, especially not after she had spent ten minutes in the Starbucks drive-thru ordering the most bizarrely complicated drink. But deep in his heart Jungkook knows that she loves you, though not as much as him, and he respects the fact she is willing to accompany him in the name of buying you a beautiful engagement ring. It’s a friendship solidarity he admires, and for that he stomps down his childish pride to answer in a way that would impress, well, you.

(Even when you’re not here, Jungkook always wants to impress you.)

At his side, Doyeon huffs. “I should’ve never taken ___ to that party.”

#networkbangtan #jungkook #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook fic #jjk fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fic #bts x reader #mine

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uwua3 · 4 years ago

Note

if it's ok 😳👉👈 i really love your writing and i've had this idea in my head for awhile but i can't get myself to write it on my own 🤔 i wanted to see how your spin would be on it- so can i request a prompt where reader gets jealous of tenma's co-actress in a romance and tries to mimic what she does to him in a show they're in?? ty!!! 💕💕💕 i look forward to your interpretation

thank you so much for requesting~ ♡ i love you sososo much; i hope this lives up to everything you’ve dreamed of! ♡ ～('▽^人) i LOVE YOU!!! <333

summary: when tenma lands a role in your favorite drama, he had one goal: to become your favorite actor

warnings: envy/jealousy, food mentions, rivalry (all covered briefly!)

author’s note: after learning everything there is to know about the k-drama, true beauty, on tik tok, i’ve decided to write this! for context, the only thing i recommend watching before reading this is watching the “roar” scene!

this is also the first time i’ve introduced made-up characters with names! please enjoy jun, the first character who isn’t canon to the a3!verse :D

word count: 3,768

music: like a movie – b1a4

pretty u!

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

what the heck was love, and why did he have to be in it?

sumeragi tenma, future “world’s best actor”, was suddenly... seeing why he hadn’t won that award yet. with a script in his hand and confusion in another, tenma read the title of the next drama he landed the role for

“PRETTY U...” it was japan’s next major love story, advertised on every social media platform possible with the all-star cast in the spotlight already. although it had already been out for a season, tenma was entering as the up-and-coming newest character of the series

tenma was boyish, young, and much too confident for his age—perfect for the role of a second-lead bad boy who was going to steal the heart and test the protagonist’s commitment

except... he didn’t actually want to take up a new project so soon. he only did because—

“what?! you’re going to be chan on PRETTY U?!” he proudly nodded and watched as you began ranting about how much you loved this show. there was only one reason he came to the audition: tenma wanted to star in your favorite television series

you always went on and on about how great everything about PRETTY U was. after hearing so much and pretending not to listen (even if he could practically explain the entire plotline now without watching it), tenma let himself become a fan, too

after all, how could he not be a fan when you loved PRETTY U so much?

tenma didn’t respond to his manager’s pleas until one day, you revealed another reason why PRETTY U was your favorite production: the main lead

“he’s so handsome~ i love him so much!” “do you know him? could you get me his number?” “look at him... he’s the most perfect actor in the business right now—ah, sorry ten!”

tenma scoffed every time, claiming he could most certainly do better than that hotshot. although the boys typically didn’t do the same type of television, he had become tenma’s #1 rival without even knowing it

besides... what did that guy have that tenma didn’t? he was just nice! sure, he held open the door for the lead, bent down to tie her shoes, bended over backwards just to be the perfect boy-next-door. yeah... even he couldn’t pretend anymore

tenma pouted at the thought, skimming over his next pilot episode for rehearsal tomorrow. he was too good to be real, after all, he was meant to end up with the lead girl anyways (spoiler alert!)

but, it didn’t matter how perfect that actor was! because tenma had gotten the role of “chan”, the leather-jacket wearing mystery with an actual heart of gold, and he was going to make the entire audience swoon

(though, tenma just wanted to make your heart skip a beat when he ended up on the big screen)

tenma would never admit how fast he checked his phone when he felt it buzz in his pocket. sure, it was unprofessional during rehearsal but he knew it was you. however, his smile dropped the moment he read what you sent

you: remember to tell him how much i love him!

tenma: hah... no good luck for your new bad boy?

you: you know i’ll always root for you, ten!

tenma: but, i’m better than that actor, right?

tenma watched his message get delivered and was about to keep bothering you until someone called his name like they were friends. speak of the devil...

that actor’s straight, white toothy smile made tenma stand a little straighter (damn it, tenma was shorter), eyes wide as the actor gracefully introduced himself as his co-star for the next month or so (how did his voice sound even better in person?!)

“good morning, tenma! my name is jun, i’m so honored to meet a fellow actor on set! let’s work together well!” were they... really the same age? tenma barely registered the fact he was suddenly shaking jun’s (right, that’s his name) hand. why did he have such a manly grip?

tenma quickly (to his dismay) found out that him & jun had entered the industry around the same time but often had different projects, so they were never featured in the same production before. apparently, that was creating quite a buzz in the media that two childhood stars were competing against one another

a competition that tenma couldn’t lose. he was going to be your favorite actor, not his rival!

jun, like the perfect gentleman everyone described him to be, showed tenma around the PRETTY U set. jun had nothing but good things to say about the crew and vise versa. that only reinforced how tenma was oddly much more quiet than he usually was. luckily, one of the talents of being an actor was improvising, so jun was doing just fine

when they had reached the dressing rooms, jun shot a bright smile at tenma and gestured to the rather large room

“we’ll be sharing a dressing room together, tenma! we’ll be spending a lot of time together!”

tenma suddenly regretted his decision to become chan of PRETTY U. you couldn’t have had a different favorite show?! anything but... this

there were now three main characters for PRETTY U: hoshi, yuri, and chan, creating a love triangle for millions of viewers to watch every week

nakamura jun, leading role, played “hoshi”, the boy-next-door. this is the popular boy at school with the best grades and an even greater reputation amongst everyone. next, uedo ren, one of japan’s rising female actresses of this generation. she is adored as “yuri”, the perfect girl. she is the typical nerd who suddenly transformed into the prettiest girl at school from learning make-up

last (but definitely not least!) is sumeragi tenma, playing “chan”, the bad boy. it was nothing like tenma’s done before, since the character was much less expressive than he was used to. chan is a traditional rebel who is revealed to have a soft side for yuri. but, chan (ironically enough) has a secret history with hoshi, causing tension in this already confusing love triangle

(embarrassingly enough, jun had to explain to tenma the complications and ties between each character. tenma, unfortunately, found it to be extremely helpful)

even with this newfound knowledge of the characters in season 2, tenma couldn’t help but absolutely ruin the first day of rehearsals. even with a decade or so of acting as his experience, one thing kept him from being chan: his lack of chemistry with “yuri”

“cut!” the director called out again for the nth time, sighing as their eyes landed on tenma, who was not enjoying being the center of attention this time, surprisingly

“take 5, kid. once you come back, i expect you to actually go through this scene without messing up your lines.” tenma nodded and exited quickly, feeling flustered from the looks of sympathy directed his way. usually, it was one-and-done. it didn’t take a hundred tries just to do another romantic and cliché scene

tenma exhaled loudly once he felt the fresh air upon his face. without the fear of cameras in his face anymore, tenma ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated kick at the concrete. come on! he was renown child actor sumeragi tenma, why was he so in his head now?

tenma was about to yell into the sky before he heard someone close the door, standing beside him with their usual silence. tenma didn’t even have to look to know it was jun (probably with the most pitiful look ever)

“tenma? are you okay?” jun waited as tenma tried to not say anything he’d regret, shifting his weight on his foot back and forth before relenting, shrugging as if it couldn’t be helped

“i don’t know... i just, i can’t see yuri that way. how am i supposed to flirt with someone i don’t even like?”

jun pondered the thought for a moment, before tilting his head, a boyish smile overtaking his features. tenma unwillingly relaxed; jun finally looked his age

“who do you like then?”

tenma froze, a blush even foundation couldn’t hide blossoming on his cheeks. jun let out a teasing “oooh!” as he nudged tenma with his shoulder, who pushed back with an eye-roll

“i-it’s not like that! don’t be so—ugh!” tenma cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding jun’s knowing eyes. damn it, they barely knew each other. why was he getting so comfortable with his enemy?!

“well, whoever you thought of, imagine yuri as them.”

“is that what you do?”

jun shrugged, not giving a clear answer for once. before tenma could ask for more information, their break was over

when tenma returned to the scene, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. when he opened them again, he watched as yuri transformed into the one person he’s been trying to impress this entire time: you

when “you” smiled, tenma couldn’t help but follow along. his first-take after break made the cut for the final product

“you must really like them, tenma~” — “stop!!!”

filiming afterwards became easy, especially when he imagined all his romantic words were directed towards you. he could feel the clamminess of his hands, the rapid beat of his heart, the intense blush across his face, all at the thought of you

(the only time he had to start over was when he accidentally said your name instead of yuri’s)

tenma was sure he’d become your favorite actor now! after all, you were his favorite person

“will you watch the first episode of PRETTY U’s season 2 with me?”

you had never said yes so fast in your entire life. when tenma learned there’d be a cast-viewing of episode 1 after finishing the season, he knew his +1 invite could only go to the biggest fan of the show

throughout filming, you were always the person who got him in trouble when the text tone wasn’t put on silent. you liked spamming tenma with a bunch of supportive and encouraging messages when you were available, meaning tenma always had something to look forward to after each scene

in return, tenma would send a selfie of him with his castmates or the set (or, what he was allowed to show under his contract). yet, despite your constant pleas, there was one co-star he’d never take a photograph with: jun

(“tenma! we’ve worked together for months~ shouldn’t i be called your friend now?” “no—” “huh?! don’t pretend you don’t like me!” “who said i was pretending?” “tenma!”)

at first, tenma was apprehensive about inviting you to an event where jun’s picture-perfect face would be on display everywhere. but, whenever he saw you, the weight of the tickets suddenly felt much heavier in his pocket. he couldn’t deprieve you of such an exclusive event just because of his jealousy (even if he was this close to doing so)

when tenma impulsively asked three days before, it felt worth it when you threw your arms around him (he hugged you back and pretended this meant something to you)

“i love you, ten!”

tenma felt like he was on set again, with yuri’s arms tightly holding onto his heart

“i love you, too.”

even after saying it so many times, tenma meant it even if he didn’t say it to your face every time

you looked like the star of the show

tenma fixed his tie as his blazer suddenly felt too tight. you appeared in your most formal attire, looking like a million bucks as you two sat across each other in the limo

“ten, look at all of this!” you pointed out every little thing of preparing for a professional event. the little glasses of champagne neither of you two could drink sat to the side as the leather seats molded to fit your posture. as the night lights of tokyo blurred by, tenma couldn’t help but think you sparkled more than this diamond of a city

“i can’t wait to go see the first episode! thank you for inviting me.” you bowed your head, as if suddenly overcome with gratefulness. tenma lightly kicked your shoe with his, fondly rolling his eyes as he tried not to smile (mission failed)

“don’t worry about it, who else would i bring? you’re my favorite pe—friend. friend, yeah...” tenma trailed off, suddenly finding something very interesting outside of the window. you only nodded, seemingly more interested in the fact there was enough room to walk around

when tenma caught sight of the infamous red carpet laid out in front of the theatre, he cleared his throat and put on his best face for the cameras. after stepping out of the car with his bodyguards nearby, tenma turned and gave you a genuine smile. not his typical arrogant smirk the news source ate up, but a type of smile only reserved for you

when he held out his hand, the flashing lights behind him seemed like a real celebrity, something you had never considered him to be before. it was like seeing tenma in a new light (both literally and figuratively)

“shall we?” you took his hand and wondered if you could ever have your own j-drama. perhaps, tenma could even be the main lead...

before you could step off to the side, tenma already had his arm wrapped around your waist with his unchanging expression (however, underneath it all, he was internally freaking out. what was he going to do now?!)

“you’re my date, right? walk the red carpet with me.” tenma winked (you swore it sparkled) as he gestured towards the carpet ahead. suddenly, the line seemed much longer

“t-ten... you’ve never brought a date before...” you mumbled, acutely aware of how soon it was to walk down together. tenma’s arm stiffened, but nothing else exposed the revelation as he looked down at you

“you’re my first, then.” and my last, tenma thought to himself. before you could change your mind, it was showtime. tenma put on his movie star face and introduced you to familiar interviewers, smiling away as if you two weren’t panicking on the inside

while you were focusing on the fact you were going to be going viral as tenma’s first “date” to the event, tenma was trying not to blush from how close you were. you felt... right besides him

tenma was a natural in front of an audience waiting for him to make a mistake. he flawlessly answered every question with swaggering confidence, his stride easy and poses photogenic

you did your best to follow his lead but it all ended when tenma took you into the theatre, staring down at you with a bright smile

“we did it! see, told you we’d be just fine.” tenma let out an exhale of relief, glowing with joy from the adrenaline of everything that came with being a superstar. as you looked up into his excited eyes, you saw him lean down before—

“your arm is still around me.”

silence, then a hurried separation as tenma put too many feet between you two. it was suddenly as if you two were strangers. you regretted the words the moment they left your mouth; you didn’t mind at all... why did you say something?!

“um... so, food?” tenma spoke up after an eternity of making excuses. you two quickly moved to the line of movie snacks, using candy and popcorn to substitue the suddenly awkward silence

when tenma ordered all your favorites without even asking, he turned around with the selection only to close his eyes and internalize every single thing he was feeling because there he was, his worst enemy

jun entered from a side door, most likely finishing up helping the crew with set-up (and 30 minutes early as usual) before catching tenma’s iconic bright orange hair, a grin lighting up his face

“tenma! it’s me, jun!” he said, as if they weren’t the two main leads of japan’s most famous drama so far. immediately, your smile matched jun’s as you watched as your favorite actor of all time make his way towards you two

“jun... of course you’d be here.” tenma said through gritted teeth, forcing a pleasant smile even with an armful of junk

“ah, still keeping the bad boy attitude? we’re off set now, you can stop method acting now.” jun joked, bringing his attention to you with a dazzling smile that would absolutely make any fansite’s career

“oh? who is this, a friend of yours?” tenma tried not to sigh so loud when you couldn’t help yourself and burst into a long rant about how amazing jun was. tenma waited until you reached your midpoint and stopped you with a quick nudge, trying not to scream (could jun stop being so... perfect? could you stop being so cute?!)

when tenma introduced you, he stood a little closer as he tried to maintain his jealousy. “they’re my date, by the way.” no one had asked, but tenma was clearly telling anyone who was around you two had gone together

jun’s eyes lit up in recognition as he let out a noise of surprise. “ah~ so this is who you—”

tenma didn’t regret losing his giant popcorn so fast to a co-star who could only be silenced with food. his wallet could afford another one, anyways. his pride on the other hand? could not let you know his acting secret already

“what was jun going to say?” you asked after you two departed for the viewing room. tenma nonchalantly pretended like everything was okay as he guided you to front row

“probably something about the fact you’re the one who always interrupts our scenes.”

“hey! my texts make your day, don’t lie!”

“go sit down and eat already, jeez.”

when it began, your eyes couldn’t leave the screen. it was better than you could have imagined. everything was perfect, it exceeded the standards of even the toughest fans out there. you loved every second of it... except...

tenma was too good at being chan. even with his bright hair, the dark clothes he wore made him appear intimidating, with his sharp eyes and even sharper smirk. chan’s appearance was tough, rough, and mean, everything tenma wasn’t

yet, you still couldn’t help but feel your heart sink when chan was clearly in love with yuri. yuri was one of your favorite characters by far, but she ended up bothering you for the entireity of the episode

especially every time she shared a scene (which were many times) with chan. chan was revealed to be a bad boy with a heart of gold, all with a special soft side for yuri

what was this feeling? were you... no, you couldn’t be! after all, you had never seen tenma that way before, right? yet, every time chan made an exception for yuri, you felt sick to your stomach

was it possible that tenma liked the actress who played yuri? you snuck a glance at tenma, only to see he was looking at you already (he’d never admit it, but he was watching your reactions to see if he made you proud. yet, every time you saw him, you subconsciously frowned)

were you not proud of him? did you not like his performance as chan?

before tenma could ask you, the scene changed into one of chan’s. he was standing outside in the school uniform, his head ducked as he swiped through yuri’s social media. before he could look up, yuri jumped in front of him with a teasing smile

“roar!” she called out, referring to their inside joke earlier in the episode. yuri cutely bounced back with another roar, holding her hands up like paws. chan watched, his typical rock-hard expression breaking to reveal his developing feelings for yuri

later on, chan stopped yuri in the hallway, other students watching as the school’s bad boy and goddess interact

“do that again.” chan demanded to which yuri innocently tilted her head, confused like a little puppy. “do what?” “that... that thing.” when chan roared, tenma sunk into his seat with an embarrassed defense and explanation ready. but, when he looked, you finally cracked a laugh at his little roar

your smile only fell when yuri roared again as a joke, but chan smiled for once. tenma wondered why... he thought you would be so happy to be here with him. maybe, he’d never be better than jun...

when the episode ended, it took a moment before you stood up and clapped. tenma followed along, but all he could think about was how he let you down. not only as chan, but as your boy, too

when you two left the room, you two hung back to watch as everyone congratulated one another on the success of the production. in the midst of the cheer and celebration, tenma felt small as he watched your blank expression

what did he do wrong? he put his best efforts into every scene; he might even say it was his best work yet. before he could apologize, you did the unthinkable: you roared

you jumped up into his face, holding your hands up like yuri did. when yuri did it, tenma didn’t feel a thing. but, when you did, tenma felt it. the butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stared at you, frozen in place

“this is the part where you ask me to do it again.” you shyly trailed off, about to put your hands down before tenma weakly put his hands up, knowing he was about to regret his next move (if the embarrassment didn’t kill him, he didn’t know what would)

“roar!”

that was too loud, wasn’t it? the room suddenly went a lot more quiet as they turned their attention towards a teen actor roaring at his date

“yah! why didn’t you ask me the next line?”

“b-because... i know i like you even without you doing, that, again.”

you paused, taken back by his honesty. as tenma contemplated just falling onto the floor right then and there, you suddenly hardened your expression, standing up straighter with your arms crossed

“do that again.”

“do what?”

“that thing.”

when tenma roared again, much quieter this time, you nodded as you finally smiled genuinely for the first time ever since that episode started

“good, i know how chan feels now. i like you, too.”

“does that mean i’m your favorite actor now?”

(when jun released a video of tenma roaring online, he captioned it with “ROAR = ILY!!!” tenma realized maybe he wasn’t all that bad, but still)

#sumeragi tenma #tenma sumeragi #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #tenma x reader #a3! tenma #a3 tenma

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lilsuzn · 4 years ago

Text

MLQC Gavin - Fluff abc headcanons

So by the popular demand - I am back.

Just kidding. No one was asking.

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen's Choice

Warnings: None (the reader is gender neutral)

Dedication: @marytheredqueen

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

You need to trust me when I tell you that Gavin had indeed tried to find at least one thing he could dislike about you. Many times.

Yet your body seems to have no flaws. He checked quite a few times at this point.

Your heart is pure. Loving. Patient. Loyal.

Whenever you’re at his side… The world is at peace. No pain exists, nor does suffering.

You are his purpose. You are his equilibrium. Nothing matters as long as he can be by your side.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Your beautiful eyes.

There will never be anything more beautiful than the way they shine before your lips meet in a loving kiss.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Him on his back.

You in his arms. Laying on top of him.

Your head rests on his chest, no matter if it’s your front, side or back that presses against his muscular torso - it’s perfect.

He also likes the smell of your shampoo… it’s just intoxicating for him.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

He likes doing things outside with you.

Attending festivals, engaging in new, interesting sports, indulging in some street food or picnics.

He’s a sucker for long, romantic walks too, soooooo

He takes you out to the festival. Buys all kinds of yummy food for both of you to share. Wins you an enormous plushie and then carries it around for you. While holding your hand. Tightly.

Then takes you for a night stroll, to then kiss you under the sky full of stars before you turn back.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

He only feels like he can really express himself around you - so it will get intense. In all the best ways.

Gavin doesn’t shy away with showing you his affection, even if he tends to have a slight problem with voicing it sometimes.

His expression softness, his fingers brush delicate circles on your skin.

He doesn’t need to say anything. You know.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Oh he really, really wants a family.

Two kids… or maybe more.

A dog for them, maybe.

House with a big garden and a treehouse.

He wants to play and fool around with his kids. Put them to bed. Support them. Be proud of them… Everything his father never did.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

When you want something, no matter how silly it might be - it’s yours.

Don’t even make me start on what you need.

Because there are very little things (and all of them are about you) that could make him happier than seeing you happy because of what he gave you.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

It's not optional.

There will be hands holding whenever it's possible.

It’s as much for your safety as it is for his comfort.

All these guys with eyes better don’t use them to stare at you.

See this hand? This beautiful gem of a person is with ME.

Likes to hold your hand while snuggling on a couch. Or in bed while falling asleep.

Holding hands is like a physical projection of the bond that’s between the two of you - and he loves it.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

He would blame himself. No matter what. It might be ridiculous, but he would always feel guilty for not preventing it from happening.

Wouldn’t leave your side. Would help you with anything and everything.

If there’s a concrete person or a group of people that caused your harm... Insert a very, very angry and strong bird cop with a gun.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

You would have a light-hearted relationship in which he would tease you from time to time and he wouldn’t be mad if you did the same to him.

However he’s not one to prank you. He would find no enjoyment in it.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Gavin loves to be kissed and he loves to kiss. All over your face. All over your body.

Any kisses are game. Slow and passionate ones. Heated ones. Sweet, delicate, loving, appreciating - he loves them all as long as he can share them with you.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

Acts of service - He looooves to spoil his lovely sweetheart (you) this way. Wants to bring you food, tidy up your apartment for you, brush your hair, paint your nails… Just ask him and he will do it. Whatever it is. And then he will do things on his own initiative, because he likes to surprise you. You smile so beautifully when he does…...

Gifts - He likes gift giving as I already mentioned in G, but it’s no indication of love to him. He just enjoys your reactions. Prefers to show his love differently.

Physical touch - His number one and you can not convince me it is not. He’s a snuggly bear who loves kisses. You are just so soft and warm and he loves you sosososososo much. Would never want to hold this way any other. His physical affection is something reserved only for you.

Quality time - see Q.

Words of affirmation - Gavin is not very good with words. Not that he can’t be when he wants to, but he kinda doesn’t want to most of the time. It’s uncomfortable. He’s feeling unconfident doing so. He prefers other ways, but when he does speak up… It’s the most adorable and loving thing you will ever hear in your life.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

It was your first 'real' date, but even though you both confessed love to each other, you weren't a ‘official’ couple yet.

At least there was no proper act of becoming a one.

You walk through the park on an evening of a chilly fall. Not many people in sight.

You just finished a lovely dinner date. Gavin even bought you a dessert to share.

And it just felt right. Everything.

The way your fingers were laced. How you both couldn't spot peeping at each other.

"Will you be my girlfriend Y/N? Please?"

He sure was pretty sure you wouldn't deny him, but he didn't expect you to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him the way you did.

"Nothing could ever make me happier than that, Gavin."

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

He’s scared of losing you.

Either by you walking away from him after discovering that you “deserve so much better”

Or by not being alert enough to protect you…

Surely, he would prefer the first option, but he can’t deny that both would hit him harder than anything else ever could.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

Gavin is a little bit of an odd duck in general, but I think he has one major weirdness about him.

I would call it… A Keanu Reeves complex.

He doesn’t like compliments. Always feels like they’re far from true, because he always feels like he’s not enough and maybe even never will be.

Which is so far from true.

Like, Vivi, come on! You’re so freakin perfect!

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

He usually calls you simply by your name, but the boy has his moments.

Moments when he can help but call you all sorts of the cutest names.

Little angel, starry eyes, little munchkin along with the classics like honey, babe, sweetheart, treasure and my precious.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

How?

Often.

Intensely.

Calmly.

Comfortably.

Restlessly.

He just wants to be by your side. Any. Chance. He. Gets.

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

Moonlight by Ariana Grande

Because Gavin’s sweet like candy, but he’s such a man...

Or A Drop In The Ocean by Ron Pope

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

Not at all. At least at first.

He gets better with time, but you still need to ask for it. He would never just come to you to lean on your shoulder and tell you what troubles him.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

Well. A lot.

Because of what I say in X below.

He just assumes that you don’t reciprocate his feelings, because he doesn’t deserve it.

He eventually tells you about his feelings under your insistent questions regarding the subject.

And then? After he finally tells you?

That’s when it escalates quickly.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

At first he tries to keep it inside. Not let you see… But it’s pretty obvious since he doesn’t talk to you. Barely throws any acknowledgment your way.

It would take quite some convincing for him to tell you what’s wrong.

Unless it’s jealousy that is a reason behind his anger. Then he will show you just how upset he is…

Not necessary in a bad way, tho...

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

He’s very proud of you. Always.

Even when you think you’re a failure, he still recognizes how hard you work and how smart you are.

And he also prides himself for earning love of a woman as wonderful as you.

But he’s not a show off. He doesn’t like to be in a center of attention. He doesn’t care for compliments or recognition.

He knows how wonderful you are and that’s all that matters to him.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Well, it goes without saying.

Yes. Obviously.

This is Gavin. He does it actively throughout the whole story like it’s the only thing he knows.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

He’s not an expert in emotions.

He gave MC a blood stained letter and was surprised she was troubled by that.

Okay, let’s not sugar coat it - he’s not good at it at all. I said it.

I’m sorry. I wish it was different for you Vivi.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

I think in Gavin’s case it would be no kneeling with a ring type of thing, because he personally sees no value of that.

Of course, he would if you told him that that’s what you want, but if you don’t…

It would be a beautiful, summer evening. The both of you watching a beautiful sunset from the rooftop of a high building.

Last months you spent together were absolutely wonderful. Life with you by his side was much happier than Gavin could ever dream of… And the way the golden sunlight graces your skin is so, so beautiful.

It wasn’t the first time the thought crossed the bird cop’s mind. He caught himself thinking about it more and more often as your relationship progressed… And before he knew it, the words left his lips.

At first you were sure you must have misheard, so you asked him to repeat. And he did.

His beautiful eyes glimmered with so much love… just as much as you felt for him.

How could you say no to that gorgeous man that adores you so much?

And after that, expect to someday come back home to find the most beautiful and meaningful ring in the world waiting for you to wear it.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

Gavin is a man who enjoys simple things in life.

He likes to cozy up with you on a couch on his birthday.

Watch a sunrise and drink cocoa with you on Christmas.

He obviously enjoys various sports, especially if he can enjoy them with you.

But what really, really makes him perfectly calm? Driving Sparky with your hands around his ways and your chest pressed against his back.

The feeling of freedom mixed the warmth of your closeness… how could anyone ask for more?

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc fluff #mlqc gavin #mlqc headcanon #mlqc hc #mlqc gavin bai

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couchpotatoaniki · 4 years ago

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One Year ❣︎ Three: The Execution

Chapter Summary: Trying to cool off, you decided to spend the day by yourself. This couldn’t have gone any better for San’s plan.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, stalking, kidnapping Word count: 2.5k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Two For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Buzzing came from your pocket, initially thinking your phone got a notification until it continuously vibrated. Yunho was calling you.

“Yo, where are you? Mingi told us what happened between you and Dom--and before you say anything, he’ll be having hell to pay, regardless of whether you approve or not.”

Chuckling, you sighed as you looked at your surroundings. “Fine by me. Do what you like to him.” Slowing down in front of a cute-looking coffee shop, you answered his first question...partially. “Just taking a stroll in the town.”

“Wanna be left alone?” You hummed as you entered the establishment, being hit with wafts of bakes goods. “Very well then. But we’re gonna hunt you down if you’re not back by midnight.”

“M’kay, Pops,” mumbling absent-mindedly while overlooking the menu on the screens above the counter.

You couldn’t see the gentle bitter smile on his face, knowing very well that you weren’t as stone-cold as the façade you masked yourself in. Had an idea that you just needed space. “Alright then. Look after yourself.”

“You too.”

Beeping over the line indicated to you that he had hung up. Shoving your phone back into your coat pocket, you let your feet carry you to the till, where a young teenager dressed in a pale blue polo shirt and evergreen apron on top greeted you with a nervous smile.

Must have been new, or had some sort of social anxiety, from the way they avoided your eyes and fidgeted with their hands. “U-Um, hello. Welcome... What would you like?” the taller kid practically whispered, but you caught on to their words.

Sending a soft, warming smile, you answered, “can I have a buttered croissant with a mango and passionfruit iced tea, please? Actually, would you mind adding a chocolate muffin to that too?”

Nodding, they tapped the till, pressing various buttons before saying, “that’ll be 6,500 won, please.”

Pulled out your wallet and paid the employee. As you sat down, waiting on your order, you began to reminisce from when you used to be that age too--then again, it was not hard at all since it wasn’t too long ago.

Seven years ago, you were only 16, enjoying life just before things took a turn you never expected and you were never the same air-headed, happy-go-lucky kid you once were.

All you needed at the time was someone who was kind, who gave you a breath from the onslaught you faced all around you. Mingi was probably the only reason you’re still alive.

Thinking about the old days did more damage to you than you’d like to believe, but almost seemed impossible with the Dominic situation.

Being betrayed again hurt like hell, and although he wasn’t as bad as what you had experienced, he still broke your trust. Trust you tried to rebuild after all you went through the last time.

Thoughts you spent so long trying to get rid of grew back like weeds of the concrete walls you put up five years ago.

And despite what you tried to convince yourself and Mingi, you actually really liked the guy.

“Here you go, miss,” the young employee mumbled as he placed a tray with your order on it. Almost everything was right, except that there was a vanilla and chocolate chip muffin instead of a complete chocolate one.

Oh well, a muffin’s a muffin.

“Thank you,” you grinned, handing the teenager a tip of 10,000 won.

Their eyes widened at your strange generosity before hesitantly taking the money you held out between your index and middle fingers.

Your lips wrapped around the straw as you took a sip of your ice-cold drink. Strong tones of mango, with a hint of passionfruit, slight sweetness from honey and faint tang of fresh lemon.

Iced tea was something you had grown to love over the past five years, first time being too bitter and flavourful for you. Then again, the events prior left a bad taste in your mouth. Seonghwa was the one who helped you, always getting you an iced tea every time he went to a nearby coffee shop.

Learned quite quickly that your tongue was sensitive to heat after being so concerned how you refused piping-hot meals he cooked for you often. Waited until it cooled a lot before digging in.

No doubt the four boys would do anything for you--Mingi the most out of the rest since you wouldn’t be where you are without him--but sometimes you needed to breathe by yourself. Enjoying the little things you like croissants and muffins rather than focussing on your soon-to-be ex boyfriend cheating on you for a reason that eludes you.

That’s how the rest of the day goes.

Aimlessly walking, window-shopping, sight-seeing. Nothing registered in your mind but it was better than something negative.

Your phone was on silent, growing cold in your pocket from the lack of heat being transferred from your hand. Even then, you doubt anyone (except Dominic) would be texting you since you told them you wanted peace.

Before you realised it, the sun crawled above your head and began to set in the horizon, a clash of beautiful blues, oranges, pinks, and purples hovering in the sky. Lampposts along the streets lit up and the sky grew dark, yet that didn’t stop the hustle and bustle.

Irritated by the noises of people, you turned to an alleyway which had significantly less lighting but also significantly less humans.

As you walked, you were deep in thought, not thinking much of your surroundings. Then the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and a chill ran down your spine.

Someone was following you.

You were about to turn around and defend yourself--and you had no worries that you would lose. But then bright LED headlights of a hidden black SUV had highlighted the hair of a rather short person who stood in front of it.

Shocking electric blue stands brushed against his porcelain-smooth skin from light wisps of wind passing by. The same colour hair you realised had been barely peeking in your peripheral since the airport.

Next to a man you had very briefly met on you birthday dinner while searching for the bathroom.

Exactly how long have they been following you?

Though you chided yourself for not noticing it sooner--despite all the excuses of being ‘on a holiday’--you found yourself pondering. You had never met those two funky-haired people before in your life, and you sure as hell made sure any dangerous people couldn’t find you (not without going through one of the other boys first) so who exactly were these people?

Perhaps you were like a bee, drunk on the honey in your tea, or maybe you wanted to get your mind off the situation, needing a thrill at the moment.

You felt the need to destroy something--or at least toy with it for a bit--and these cocky assholes seemed perfect.

Either way, you relaxed your muscles (only a little, as to not raise suspicion of the young man before you).

One foot stepped behind you as you kept your eyes trained on his coco ones, only to rip them away a moment when you turned to ‘run’. As expected, something else tried to stop you. Another black SUV with blinding lights swerved into the other end of the alleyway as you tried to leave.

You’d prided yourself on good acting, and it always seemed to pay off. Right now, to sell the part of a scared girl, you stumbled backwards--planning to fall of the cobblestone path, but only to be saved by something hard.

The mysterious man’s chest, his hands holding your arms as support.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered in your ear, covering your mouth with a chloroformed cloth. You didn’t really put up much of a fight (to your standards, anyway) and succumbed to the strong chemical.

At first you were floating in a sea of black, unable to connect with your senses. Slowly, after moments of nothingness, you could feel the world materialise around you.

Soft fabric was cushioned beneath you, cradling your body with warmth. Light began to seep through your closed eyelids as the gentle, sweet smell of sugared almonds filled your nose with every deep inhale. And finally, a headache that began to pound harder with every pulse.

Grunting, you pried your eyes open, immediately noticing what appeared to be a shower room in front of you. There were two shower heads on each side, with only pillars of soft light embedded into the tiled wall rather than a proper partition. To add to the lack of privacy, the only material separating the shower room and the eyes of the bed was simply a thin pane of sliding glass which hid absolutely nothing.

“What kinda perv decided to design this monstrosity?”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you looked down on the bed you were lying in, thankfully still in the same cotton dress, phone no longer in its pockets. The mattress was significantly softer than the one at the hotel--yet another indicator that your kidnappers were rich.

On the tables dotted around the space were lilac candles. Most likely the culprit of the amazing scent in the room.

Your eyes then caught the daylight peeking through the curtains, enlightening the room in a soft apricot glow. “Fuck,” you muttered, remembering Yunho’s words in the previous call she had, “they’re gonna kill me for staying out.”

Pushing yourself off the illegally comfortable bed, you inched towards the only door you saw. Fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle and pushed down, finding it much to your surprise that it was actually unlocked. Pulled it open without hesitation, though making sure you peered out to see if there was anyone.

There wasn’t.

“Great security, guys,” you sighed, actually feeling disappointed in the lack of effort you had to put in while walking openly around. After all, it was the reason you let yourself be taken.

Then again, this could all be a trap.

Now that was exciting.

You let yourself become familiar with the surroundings upon one glance, noticing the obvious luxurious colour scheme of gold and cream that had your eyes rolling at the basic rich vibes it gave you.

Then you found your breath catching in your throat as you continued to explore, eyes frozen on a portrait hung up on a wall.

Though the fact that it was a portrait of you had initially shocked you, it wasn’t the defining feature that had your heart palpitating at a dangerous speed. Your hair was short again, a pixie cut, while you were sat on a beach that looked a lot like the one you visited in Santorini.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

In fact, the painting was an exact replica of you from five years ago, down to the clothing of ripped jeans and loose top you wore. You, from one of your darkest and lowest moments.

“Are you lost, babygirl?”

The same voice rang in your ears, repeating the only sentence you heard spill from his lips. When you turned around to confirm who it was, it was indeed the same man you saw.

The damn muscular guy, with pitch-black hair and a lock of platinum blonde brushing just above an eye.

The blood was rushing too fast, fear in your eyes no longer an act. Just who the fuck was this guy?

You took one step back, knees buckling instantly but before your brain could process it, the man had wrapped his arms around you, catching your body before hit the ground.

San could smell the delicate citrusy aroma wafting from your skin and he tried so hard to not bury his head in the crook of your neck, to kiss the area and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

Taking advantage of your frozen state, he lifted you up and place you on a nearby armchair, one beside a fireplace since he felt you were too cold for comfort.

Only until he had a ice cube pressed against your lips, did you snap out of it. “You should have it. Maybe you had a bad reaction to the chloroform. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Head turning the other way, your guarded eyes stayed locked on him rather than your painting behind his form. “English.”

“Why? You spoke perfectly good Korean at the dinner two days ago,” he said, pressing the ice cube onto your mouth once more.

“Simply because I feel more comfortable with English,” you remarked, swatting away his hand. “And stop putting that on my mouth.”

Sighing, he dropped the cold, melting cube back in the glass of whiskey before putting a bit of distance between the two of you. He could feel himself getting angry, that you won’t trust him, that you won’t listen to him.

But could he blame you?

“I feel like explanations are in order,” you said, narrowing your eyes down on his figure, flickering firelight resting on him to make him seem even more good-looking, shadows casted to make each feature appear sharper. But that wasn’t what you were focused on.

You wanted to deduce this stranger by his body language.

Stood tall, maintaining good eye contact, showed that he was confident. Classic black suits--expensive by the look of the fabric--showed that he as rich. Tattoos littering the skin of his hand showed a bit of a bad-boy nature. And the aura he emitted was that of a leader.

Corner of your lips twitching, you realised who--or what--he might be. The boss of a fairly powerful crime syndicate.

San, on the other hand, couldn’t see what you were thinking as you looked at him. Did you think he was as hot as he did you? Fuck, he hoped so--clearly not understanding how a normal person would react in such a situation.

“Hello? Earth to whoever the hell you are?”

“If you want answers, you certainly won’t be getting them if you act like a brat.”

Scoffing, you tilted you head, eyes boring into him with a cold glaze coving them. Like a lifeless doll. “Then how do you suggest I act then? Hmm? After seeing that you’ve been stalking me for the last five years,” you nodded towards coloured canvas, growing more unsettled every time you looked at it.

“Fair point,” he said, taking a seat on the chair opposite you. “But you should know that I haven’t been doing that. Stalking you, I mean.”

“The fuck do you call that creepy-ass portrait, then?”

“I call it a precious memory.” San shifted his focus from your gaze to the flames lazily dancing on charred wooden embers. Tongue swiped over his lips before chuckling, almost bitterly. “Doubt you’ll believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

Lips pursed, you sat quietly as you listened to his story.

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby , @sparklychangbin ,

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dclsbaby · 4 years ago

Text

mykonos-crossed lovers (part iv) 🦋

🎶playlist for part iv

prologue

part i

part ii

part iii

Summary: When you drunkenly book a girls trip to a tropical Greek island to help mend your broken heart, you would never for a second think it will take you exactly to where he is. Him. A tale of the right person at the wrong time, an overused cliché made into plots of movies you never thought would live through in your reality. Two people, still madly in love with each other, hearts still broken, suppressed by the alcohol and distractions consumed on this trip. Will they let their egos get in the way, protect what’s left of their already broken hearts, or will let their hearts speak?

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut smut smutty smut this is dirty AF please read at your own discretion

Author’s Note: to all my lovely babies thank you so much for being so patient with me as I endure one of the toughest months of my life. the reason why it had taken me so long to write was because i had uni and my mental health was at an all time low, so thank you a thousand times over to those who’ve written me to check up on how i was doing, it truly means the world 😭 after completing part 4, i felt like dom and (y/n)’s love story isn’t over yet, so a sequel is definitely something I’m considering, let me know if you would like to see that! I hope you enjoy part 4, and thank you to everyone who’s written me so many lovely things about my very first fic. i love u i love u i love u 🤍🤍🤍 xxx

Gif:

***

“She said no mate. Get the fuck away from her,” Dom interjects. You look up to him with thankful eyes. “And who the hell are you? Her boyfriend?” the blonde responds. Brave, Dom thought. “Fuck off,” he steps in front of you, allowing you to hide behind his tall and strong figure. After all this time, protecting you is still an instinct he has yet to unlearn. “You’ve got two seconds to get out of my sight, or you will get hurt,” Dom sternly says, emphasising every syllable. “Fine! Chill out mate I’m gone,” the blonde quickly retreats.

You exhale a sigh of relief, feeling grateful for the man who has brought you comfort so many times in the past. “Hey, are you okay? I’m here, I’ve got you,” says Dom as he embraces you in a hug. He rests his chin on top of your head and holds your head with one hand, and wraps his other arm around your body. You were terrified of that creepy man, you were confused from the alcohol, the lack of control is sending you into a haywire, so you are glad to be in the presence of someone familiar. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he repeats as he tries to calm your shaking body. “Thank you,” you say as you look up to him with teary eyes, with the palm of your hand on his chest, as you once again, break his heart all over again.

After a long embrace, you pull away, leaving him feeling empty.

“Let me take you home yeah?” asked Dom, and you nodded without much thought. You two make a quiet exit as he guides you out of the club, his hand on yours as you move past sweaty bodies, careful not to bump into anyone. Dom was a little drunk too, but he knew had to take care of you.

When you made it outside, you let go of his hand, a little too early for Dom’s liking. The affection, the touch were all too familiar to him, a crave he never thought he had until you let go. It was as if a simple touch had countered all efforts to move on.

You give him your address and he calls on a taxi for your two. He texts his friends as well as yours, letting them know what had happened and why it was best for you to call it a night.

Take care of her mate.

Thanks for letting us know, be safe on the way back. We’ve got her purse

***

The taxi didn’t take too long to come, and you quickly hopped into the car, followed by Dom, and gave your address. You sat by the window and leaned your head on the window screen, your fingers laced between each other as you rested them on your thighs. Dom wanted nothing more than to hold your hand, make you feel safe, to be your rock. That’s all he ever wanted in your relationship, be given the chance to be there for you. All the pent-up anger and frustration he had over you for breaking his heart dissipates. As much as it would have been a lot easier to move on with anger, he can no longer suppress his feelings for you.

Despite his desperation to hold you, he decided against holding your hand, and stayed within boundaries. He didn’t want to overwhelm you after the night you’ve had. You kept your eyes closed the entire ride back, occasionally opening your eyes to remind yourself of where you are. Dom notices this, and keenly listens to your soft breathing, and watches your chest rise.

Minutes later, you arrived back in your villa. “Hey,” he touches your arm softly. “We’re here,” he quietly says, careful not to surprise you. You slowly open your eyes, still feeling a bit delirious. It’s the same face you would make when he used to gently wake you up to say goodbye before he leaves for training, he thought.

“How long was the ride?” you ask, discombobulated, as you rub your eyes, smudging the last bit of mascara you have on. “Not long enough,” he mutters, wishing he had more time with you.

Still a bit tipsy, Dom helps you step off the taxi. You carefully place your foot down, cautious to not have your heel stuck between the concrete, and make your way towards your villa.

“You coming in then?” you ask as you turn to face Dom. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to come in,” he replies as he stood by where the taxi was. “Don’t be silly. It’s late,” you said, gesturing to him to come in.

You took out the house card that you’ve thankfully kept in your pocket, otherwise you’d be locked out. As you step into the villa, you make your way to the wooden bench by the shoe rack to take off your strappy heels. After fumbling with the straps too much, you grew frustrated as you were just too drunk to figure out how to take them off.

“I’ll help you,” Dom says as he kneels in front of you to remove your painfully annoying heels. He gently grips the back of your calf with one hand, and carefully tug on the straps of your heels with his free hand. His touch sent goosebumps throughout your legs that you hoped he did not notice. “I’ve always liked these heels,” he comments. “Mmhm,” you gave him a smile, remembering all the times he’s taken those heels off you.

“Let’s get you some water eh,” he guides you to the kitchen. You follow Dom’s lead and plants yourself on the kitchen island. He asks you where the glasses are and takes two for you and him. “Thank you,” you look at him. “For taking me home.. and for getting rid of that guy,” you said. A reminder of the creepy man made him shudder, “Don’t mention it, please,” he says, a little too seriously, with two meanings. He did not want to be reminded of another man ever being close to you.

“I’m sorry again Dom, for everything—“ “—are you though?” he cuts you off, the last bit of alcohol in his system forcing him to speak his mind. “What?” you asked, a little taken aback. “Are you actually sorry?” Dom repeats himself. “Y-yes of course I am, how could you ask that?” you were surprised at his interruption.

“I don’t know, it seems everywhere I look, you’re there, and doing something that absolutely does my head in.” he says a little annoyed, and takes a sip of his water to calm his nerves. “Dom,” you sigh. “You know I didn’t leave you because I stopped loving you-“ “-Then why did you?!” his raised voice caught you off guard, almost slamming his glass on the counter.

“We have gone through this so many times! I’ve given you every reason I have to make this easier for the both of us!” you replied with frustration. Dom reacts with a surprised face, eyebrows furrowed, shaking his head. “The both of us? Nothing you’ve said has made it easier for me, so don’t ever try to speak on my behalf,” he says with offense.

You look away whilst shaking your head. “I honestly can’t do this right now Dom,” you place your hands on your hips. “I’m exhausted, totally worn out, this, us,” you point your index finger to yourself and him. “Seeing you on this trip, talking to you for the first time in months,” you sigh, “it’s all too fucking much,” you said exasperated. “I’m going to bed, there are plenty of guest bedrooms, feel free to find yourself one,” you say as you hop off the island.

“No,” Dom says, almost a demand. He pulls you back in front of him and pins you against the counter. “We are not done talking,” he lifts you and places you back onto the counter.

He is standing between your legs, with the palm of his hands on the island, palms planted next to either side of your thighs.

“I’m done fucking about, (Y/N),” he stares into your eyes. “You know how I feel about you. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave you alone,” he breathes by your face. “Once and for all,” says Dom as he gives you an ultimatum you never expected.

Dom is breathing heavily, and you could see his chest rise with every breath he takes. The tension between you two was so strong, it could be cut with a knife. You stare into his eyes as you decide on what to say. Those green, almost hazel, beautiful eyes you miss waking up to every morning, eyes once sparkly and full of life now replaced with dark, lustful ones. His pink, flushed lips from the alcohol subtly quivering in anticipation of your response. You are left speechless by his ultimatum.

Against your better instincts, you take his face in your hands and desperately kiss his lips.

To your surprise he kisses you back, with so much passion that it’s borderline aggression, and wraps his arms around your waist. His desperate arms crawl itself from your waist to your back, then your neck, pushing the back of it so he could feel your lips better. The familiar warmth of his lips sends a thrill down your spine, a feeling you have missed for the longest time. He lets go of you for a second to grab your ass and pull your body closer to his, which you responded by wrapping your legs around his waist, lifting your skirt up in the process. You quickly unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt, eager to see more of him. Taking the hint, Dom rips his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere but that is that last thing on his mind right now.

He takes your face in his hands and presses his forehead against yours. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he says as he goes to plant kisses on your neck, down your shoulders and collarbones, pressing his lips against yours once again. “Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he breathes by your mouth. “Tell me you want me,” he asks from you. You sigh at the pleasure you didn’t think you’d ever feel again. You missed this. You missed him.

“I want you,” you hastily say to him, looking at his lips and then deep into his lustful yet loving eyes.

After your last syllable he kisses you again, more aggressively this time, and lifts your body up to pull your skirt off you. You help him unbutton his pants and feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him.

You and Dom move in sync, in the same rhythm, on the same wavelength. It was as if no time had gone by. The bond you have with him is one in a million and cannot be replicated with anyone else. A connection so deep it’s a blessing and a curse, with so much happiness can occur so much pain.

You desperately try to quench your thirst for one another by exploring each other's bodies, after what feels like a lifetime apart. Hands everywhere, limbs entangled, your face on his. He’s wanted this for so long. Dom has dreamt of what it would be like to be intertwined with you again. Though then it was a nightmare, as he would wake up to an empty bed. Even his subconscious wants you.

“Are you, you know?” you ask, hinting to an obvious question. “I haven’t been with anyone else,” he looks at you in the eye. You nod at him, saying “I believe you,” through your eyes, which he received. His admission got you more excited for what’s to come.

Dom pushes your bodysuit fabric to the side, and inserts a finger in you, causing you to gasp. You try to hide your muffled moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that early. “Wet for me already?” he smirks as he pumps himself. Unflattered by his comment, you decide to tease him a little.

“How about I go back to the club and find that blonde again?” you threaten him. “Nah, fuck that,” he says angrily, pushing himself inside you without warning. You let out a deep sigh as you roll your eyes at the pain and pleasure. “Holy shit,” you curse at his size, still needing to adjust to the fullness. “Tell me if I’m hurting you baby,” he whispers in your ear before planting a kiss on your neck. “Keep going,” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck for support.

He slowly pulls out and pushes back into you several times, before pulling out of you completely, leaving you frustrated at the cold emptiness. He quickly thrusts himself back inside you in a quick pace, his tip hitting your core in one go. “Fucking hell,” he whimpers.

He has never felt anything as good as you, your warmth, your tightness around him, nothing could ever replicate that. His pace quickens by the second, leaving you a moaning mess. “Look at me baby,” he growls, yearning to see your face as you’re pleasured by him. The sight of you looking up at him with your eyebrows furrowed, mouth shaped an ‘o’, your chest rising, the sounds of slapping skins nearly made him finish. But that man has the stamina of a machine, and has self-control like no other, except when it comes to you. It takes every inch of him to make this moment last.

Craving to see more of you, he pulls your bodysuit strap and yanks the fabric down, revealing your breasts. Dom has always been good with his hands, he knows how to fuck you, make out with you, and play with your breasts at the same time. Desperate to feel every inch of you, he lifts your leg and rests it on his shoulder and holds your waist to push you into him as he takes control of the rhythm.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan at the change of position as you feel him hit your spot with every beat. “You feel so good baby,” he whimpers in your ear, turning you on even more and pushing you towards a high. You two are a whimpering mess, bodies intertwined, hungry for each other. A strand of his curls hangs out of Dom’s tied hair, occasionally sticking on his glistening forehead.

“Fuck baby, I’m not going to last much longer,” he says as he cranes his neck down to look at himself thrusting in and out of you. “Me too,” you whimper out. Dom’s pace gets sloppy as he is losing control. “Baby I’m gonna cum,” he cries out. “I’m on the pill,” you said. His eyes widened. “So I can-” “-yeah,” you quickly replied. “Fuck, okay,” the thought of spilling himself in you pushed him to a climax. “Shit, baby!” he releases himself in you. You gasp as you feel his juices shoot into the walls of your core. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeats himself as he rests his forehead on your collarbone. “Cum for me baby,” he whispers in your ear as cum is still spilling in you. “I’m gonna—fuck!”, you moan and grip his biceps for support as you crane your neck back and roll your eyes and join his high. As you both catch your breaths, he rests his forehead on yours, planting a lasting kiss on your lips, then your forehead. You stay breathing on one another for a short while.

“Holy--fucking--shit, that was-” “I know”, you cut him off. Dom slowly pulls himself out of you, which made you jump at the sudden cold emptiness. He watches his cum ooze its way out of you and trail down your thighs. “Fuck me that’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen,” he says in awe. “Think I just did,” you joke, earning a chuckle from Dom. He has been wanting this for so long, to hold you, feel you, and have you in his arms again. You have been longing for a touch you have missed, an emptiness you have yearned to fill.

“I would never have thought I’d be taking you on the kitchen counter on this trip, considering the circumstances,” he smirked. You raise your eyebrows in confusion, signalling him to elaborate. “I mean I knew I’d be fucking you, but somewhere normal,” he laughs as he picks up your clothes and his off the floor.

“Are you saying that I’m easy?” you asked rather annoyed, crossing your arms at what he said. “No!”, he quickly says, afraid to be misunderstood. “I meant, I’m here, on this island because of you, I planned this trip for us,” he paused.

“Remember when I showed you our plans for the summer months ago? When we were, you know, still together?” he asked. You nodded, feeling slightly guilty. “Well, I booked it that same night,” he adds. “What do you mean?” you asked confused. “When we broke up, I tried to cancel the trip, but the travel agency wouldn’t give me a refund, so I brought the boys along and called it a lads trip instead,” he replied. “Oh, I, I didn’t know you had actually planned a trip for us,” you said, looking up at him with remorseful eyes. “I wanted to surprise you, you know. We’ve both never been, and I wanted to make it special for you,” he says, giving you a smile which you matched, apologetically.

“Look babe, I know this probably isn’t the right time to bring this up, considering I’ve just fucked you on the counter and it reeks of sex in here,” he says as you roll your eyes and chuckle at the innuendo. “But if tonight has taught me anything, if this entire, petrifyingly coincidental circumstance of seeing you in Mykonos has taught me anything, is that fate wants us to be together,” he pulls and kisses your hand. You pull his hand away to tug on his loose curly strand. “I don’t want to spend another second without you by my side, I am so madly in love with you,” he reveals and mimics you as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ears. “I don’t think I ever stopped,” he looked back into your eyes.

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking away. “You seemed like you hated me when you first saw me again,” you shrugged. Dom’s demeanour changed a little bit, looking almost guilty. “I never hated you, granted, I probably wanted to. It’s much easier to pretend than to face reality, you know?” he asks. You knew, of course you knew. You did the same thing. “But it’s impossible to forget you, I’ve tried everything, and I mean everything to get you out of my head. Some things I admit, I’m not proud of, but I’ve never felt pain like that before, I didn't know how to cope,” he confesses. You look at him once more before looking down on your hands.

“Baby,” he takes your hands in his, “will you come home with me?” he pleads. Your body jolts at his request. “I will give you all the space in the world if you ever need it, support you in every step of the way and will only help you if you ask me,” he cups your face with his hands. “Just please, give me the chance to be there for you. I’m not asking you to need me, but let me be there, please,” he places a hand on your cheek. “I love you,” he adds. Your heart bursts at his confession. You responded by planting a deep kiss on his lips. “I love you,” you said as you caressed his hand on your face. “I’ll come home.”

***

By dawn, you’re showered, cleansed from the events of last night, tucked in bed with the love of your life. A case of the “right person at the wrong time”, resolved, as Dom breathes down your neck, holding you close to him with his arms around you, occasionally pressing kisses to your neck. To him, the one that got away came back, the empty space he had been forced to get used to was replaced by your body pressed against his. Dom steals a smell of your sweet-scented hair, reminding himself that this is his reality, and he no longer has to pretend.

A tale of star-crossed lovers reunite on a blue night in Mykonos, on a tropical escape meant to erase every trace of one another in their hearts and minds, only to bring them back into each other's arms.

***

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #football imagine #football fanfiction #mclfic

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pixielix · 4 years ago

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୭̥⋆*｡ royal christmas!au felix

pairing: prince!felix + gn journalist!reader genre: fluff, slight enemies-to-lovers word count: 1.7k warnings: none ― @districtninewriters’ winter fic exchange for the lovely @freckledberries

a/n: hey jules :] i’m so happy i could write this for u. ur someone who’s been so sweet to me since the very start, i’m so grateful for u !! i hope u have a merry christmas n happy holidays <3 love, angie

it’s infuriating that the prince still looks as good as he does in the world’s ugliest christmas sweater

he meanders through a crowd of thousands carrying a subtle air of grace that catches everyone’s eye and the kind of exuberant warmth that holds their attention

it feels like every movement he makes is filled with an intention to charm

one example is his habit of pushing back his hair after he bows

fingers weaving back through strands of strawberry blonde that gently frame his freckled cheeks

even you can’t deny he’s almost enchanting to watch

but it doesn’t make it any less excruciating that you’re being paid a mediocre wage to watch him smile and shake hands for hours on end

you don’t hate the prince, or anyone from the royal family really, but you hoped that your first assignment as a real journalist would be something that you’re actually passionate about

and unlike everyone else in the country, you really couldn’t care less about the royals

the feeling’s somewhat mutual

it’s a well-known fact that the royals are ‘indifferent’ to journalists

they say if the king had his way, he’d have banned every news outlet in the country years ago

maybe that’s why felix’s eyes shift to the opposite direction whenever he sees someone with a camera and a bright red press lanyard

so naturally, when you catch him trying to escape his own guards and make an early escape from the winter parade, his first instinct is to put on a charming smile and try to slither his way out of the situation

“your highness?” you find him straddling a wooden fence at the back of the park just as you’re stepping away from the crowded parade to get some air

his lips stretch into a bashful grin, avoiding your eyes as he swings one leg back over the fence and lands on both feet in front of you

“hey uh.. how did you know it was me?”

“the sweater” you point a finger at the the tinsel-covered, burgundy fabric still visible under the hem of his hoodie, unintentionally grimacing at the sight of it

“oh… is it that bad?”

“to be honest, it’s the ugliest thing i’ve ever seen. uh- no offense-” you blurt out, eyebrows knit together apologetically as soon as you realise you just insulted the prince

“none taken” he breathes a soft chuckle, “thank you for your honesty”

you both stand there in a stalemate for a few seconds, feet shuffling awkwardly in the snow as you carefully consider what comes next

felix’s eyes grow increasingly troubled as he realises how screwed he is if you rat him out to the guards, or worse, to the media

as desperate as he was to get away from the crowds and have the day to himself, ‘runaway prince’ wouldn’t be a good look

meanwhile, you have the thrilling realisation that if the prince were to somehow slip away, there’d be no need for you to stick around

sure you’d come back to the boss empty-handed, but at least you could save him and yourself from many more brain-numbing hours of smiling and shaking hands

“go.”

“what?”

“i won’t tell anyone, i promise” you assure him

“really? why should i trust you?” felix quirks his brow in suspicion as he leans back against the fence with arms crossed over his chest

“cause i want to get out of here just as badly as you do”

both of your heads whip around at the sound of footsteps approaching

“go.” you repeat firmly in a hushed tone

before he can argue, a group of his guards falls into view

“your highness, please, come back! just one more question!” you yell, but in the complete opposite direction of the park, diverting their attention and giving felix enough time to jump the fence and hide in the bushes

he peeks out and you turn back towards him with a relieved smile

“merry christmas” you mouth

all he can do is return the smile, watching speechlessly as you turn and walk away

the next time you’re assigned coverage of the prince’s activities is at the annual christmas eve performance of the nutcracker

once again, you find yourself watching from a distance as the prince captivates the crowd

taking the time to greet each of the young performers dressed as snowflakes and dewdrops with an enthusiastic high five

the lights dim as the performance starts and you use it as your chance to take a break from the noise

it doesn’t take long for you to notice a familiar young man in a hoodie walking slowly behind you down the empty corridor

“i’m supposed to be the one following you, you know”

“sorry i didn’t mean to- well i did but i-” felix stutters, frozen in place as you turn towards him

“i’m kidding. can i help you?” you smile with your head tilted and your hand on your hip

he scratches his neck, scrambling to remember the reason why he’d been looking for you in the first place

“um- oh! i uh- i didn’t get to thank you last time”

“for what?”

“helping me escape the parade”

“oh”, you smile and felix can swear he feels his heart start to tremble, “it’s no big deal”

“no really, you saved me, thank you” he bows deeply, only realising how overly courtly he’s being when he catches you stifling a laugh

“sorry” he blushes, “habit.”

without missing a beat, he threads his fingers back through soft tresses of blonde hair and you watch them fall perfectly over his handsome features

he’s even more enchanting up close

a few seconds pass as you both ponder the absurdity of a friendship between a prince and a journalist

but felix breaks the silence with the exact suggestion that you’ve been waiting for

“i’ve seen this performance of the nutcracker about twenty times before so i wasn’t really thinking of sticking around. did you want to…?”

“absolutely” you nod firmly and his eyes light up like stars

you tug the press lanyard from your neck as he holds open the exit door for you

“after you” he grins

“thank you, your highness-”

“felix.”

“thank you, felix”

as you get to know felix on a spontaneous trip to the outskirts of the city, it seems like everything you thought about him was wrong

the warmth and sweetness of his persona as the nation’s beloved ‘fairy prince’ is completely real

and despite only being the second-in-line, he still feels a strong sense of responsibility towards the country, especially to inspire and empower young people

seeing the way his face lights up in excitement when he gushes about all of the organisations that he’s taken up an ambassadorship with, you can’t help but start to admire him

he opens up to you about the struggles of growing up in the public eye and the media storms that almost tore his family apart

it’s no wonder that when felix invites you as his guest to the royal family’s christmas ball, it causes quite a stir

“no journalist has stepped foot inside the palace in the last fifty years, felix” you repeat, pacing frantically in your bedroom as he tries to calm you down over the phone

“you’re not coming as a journalist, you’re coming as my guest.”

“i can’t even dance!”

“i’ll teach you. you know i’ll look out for you, don’t you?”

“i know it’s just- are you sure about this? about me being there?”

“it has to be you.”

you can almost hear the smile in his voice, warm and reassuring

“okay… only if you’re sure”

“i’m sure. a hundred and one percent.”

the whole interior of the palace is more rustic and homely than you’d expected

and the music is lively, so are the laughs

his sisters are the most beautiful, sweetest girls you’ve ever met and your heart instantly feels warm in their presence

along with the hospitality of his parents (besides the occasional side-eye you get from the king)

in a conversation with one of his sisters, who speaks as fondly about felix as everyone else seems to, she mentions hearing about you

“my brother is an affectionate person, but i’ve never seen him gush about anyone as much as he has about you” she beams

flustered, you look over at him, only to find him looking straight back your way

leaning back against a wall with a glass in his hand, almost oblivious to the group of people that are circling him and instead fully focused on you

he hands his drink to one of his friends and proceeds to slowly walk away

but not before tilting his head and giving you a mischievous look that you immediately know the meaning of

let’s get out of here

“this is nothing like i imagined” you breathe shakily, following felix down the stairs as he leads you out of the ballroom

“what were you expecting?”

“chandeliers, statues, maybe a dragon” you laugh

“i wish” he sighs playfully as he nudges open a door to the outdoor courtyard

felix hurries a few steps ahead so that he can extend his hand to you as you step out onto the glacial footpath

but he ends up almost slipping over his own feet in the process, so you interlace arms and cling to each other for dear life

“ah-!” you stifle a squeal, instinctively tightening your grip on the sleeves of his flowy white dress shirt with every step you take

you glide around each other on the frosted concrete for a few seconds trying to regain your balance

“hey look, we’re sort of dancing” felix chuckles, twirling you under his arm with ease as you gently fall forwards and laugh against his chest

“i don’t think this counts”

“then let me teach you properly like i promised”

light snow continues to fall as you find your rhythm, guided by the soft echo of people clapping along to a lively acoustic beat inside the palace

“am i doing this right?” you ask softly as you watch your feet while carefully mirror his steps

“yeah” he whispers against your hair, warm breath tickling your ear, “you’re doing it perfectly”

the distant roaring of crowds indicates that it’s come to that part of the night where the royal family gives their christmas address to the public at the front of the palace

but felix just continues to hold you close, humming blissfully as if to drown out the noise

“i think the whole world’s waiting for you out there...”

he pulls away, just for a second, and looks at you with those doey brown eyes that seem to hold the expanse of the entire sky on the clearest winter night

“the world can wait”

m.list

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gallickingun · 5 years ago

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remember me || t.a.

SUMMARY: Tamaki Amajiki saves a civilian. He doesn’t expect her to buy him coffee and teach him about the wiles of floral culture.

PAIRING: Tamaki Amajiki x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: mild violence and language, etc. WORD COUNT: 6.9k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my first submission for the @bnhabookclub provisional license event! if you want to participate, here is the post! and if you want to apply for the server, here is the application!!

i have to get sappy here for a second. i had 2 panic attacks while writing this because i was so self-conscious, so riddled with doubts about a. was i getting tama’s character right b. was i even on par with the great and wonderful writers of this fandom and c. am i proud of this? eventually, after talking it through, i realized that it doesn’t matter how i measure up to everyone else. i should be writing this because i want to, and because i’m enjoying myself. so, special thanks to @freckledoriya and @k-atsukidayo who have once again been my lifeline. i love you guys ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Tamaki Amajiki had never given flowers much thought.

He usually passes by the windows of a floral shop and notices the blossoms just enough to smell the variance of air – from stale to sweet – and then he moves on, not much effort spent towards the colorful display of petals in the open windows.

But now, after finding you, he cannot stop thinking about the way they bloom.

“Columbine,” your eyes light up, thumbs pressed to the dark red petals, “they are used to symbolize anxiety.”

Tamaki’s eyes graze over the flower, wondering how you could know so instantly that he might connect with this specific budding plant. The tether he feels to it is strange, something particular but also aloof – as if he could not place it if he tried.

Anxiety is something very relevant to Tamaki’s life, a demon he has struggled with every day since he could comprehend the reason his stomach tied into knots, the worry he keeps pent up in his chest burning ulcers into his belly. He wraps his arms around his waist at the memory of meeting you, the way his entire body was wrought with anxious thoughts, mind unable to comprehend the extent of your impact on him at the time.

You tilt your head as if able to realize that his mind has begun to spiral, “We don’t usually add these into bouquets, but something about them is just so beautifully broken, I can’t help but fall in love.”

It is a typical day on patrol when he first stumbles upon you, nothing special or out of the ordinary, not really.

Tamaki has been working under Fatgum’s agency for a few years to date, and he’s comfortable with the route that he’s been assigned, a routine he has held since the beginning of his deployment. The elder hero understood from the very start that Tamaki tends to try and avoid social interaction. In response, Fatgum made sure to create a patrol route so Tamaki could walk the least populated paths while also providing an effective amount of protection to the community. It’s the least he could do for the young Suneater, a new hero steadily climbing the charts despite his difficulty in speaking with the press outlets.

Some days Tamaki will try to stop by various vendors’ carts, eating foods that will create good manifestations for his quirk or just to support the local economy. It also allows him to try and force himself to have a discussion, even if there isn’t much substance to it, trying to grow more familiar with the ideology of small talk. He’s decided that he is going to stop by his favorite sushi bodega today, already thinking up his lengthy sashimi order as he starts towards the food stand.

And then he hears someone cry out.

Tamaki races in the direction of the distressed sound, channeling his quirk as he rounds the corner. The tentacles that are thanks to the octopus he regularly incorporates into his diet are extended from his fingertips, ready for action as soon as he skids to a stop in the street.

Your body is pressed against the wall of the alleyway, face cut by the brick beneath your cheek. You connect your gaze to his, your brilliantly shining irises seeking him out like a moth to a flame. Tamaki can’t help the way his chest constricts at the sight of such a helpless person, and then his heart lights on fire when he sees the burly man currently trying to take advantage of you. He snarls, digging his heels into the concrete, tentacles growing straight from his fingertips.

Before you can part your lips to try and beg for help or mercy, Tamaki is landing a swift blow to the thug’s head, successfully knocking him unconscious to the ground. You clasp your freed hands around your neck, coughing violently as you bend over at the waist, stars in your eyes and shards in your throat. A thin river of tears streams freely from your lids, and when you’re able to look back up at him, you’re far from embarrassed.

“Th-Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse. You lick your lips and swipe your hands at your face to rid your skin of tears and snot, “Seriously. That guy-he came outta nowhere!”

Tamaki finds the adrenaline of the short-lived skirmish to have fled from his system, leaving behind only the crippling anxiety that makes him blush from head to toe. He swallows the growing lump in his throat when he realizes he’s been staring at you without responding for at least a full minute now. Your hands are shaking and your shoulders quiver, but Tamaki is frozen in place, feet unable to start towards you.

Fatgum taught him how to comfort civilians, but he’s never been good at it, and the way that you look at him like he hung the moon in the sky does not make the encumbrance of his task any less intense. He knows that the objectification and idolization of heroes is inevitable, no matter how poorly he projects himself onto the public. The reality of it all only does more to constrict his throat, the familiar shroud of apprehension blanketing his body and curling around his spine like a snake. It slithers its way up into his throat until he can’t breathe, tongue deadweight in his mouth.

“Black-eyed Susan,” you muse, plucking a set of three yellow flowers from a vase not too far from him. You turn the buds between your thumb and index finger, the canary-colored blossom blurring in midair as Tamaki tries to stay focused on it. He’s not so close with you that he can smell your perfume, a distinct scent even when you are hidden amongst the blossoms in the greenhouse, but near enough that your presence is dizzying.

It is hard to focus anyway, what with the way your eyes are sparkling under the lowlights of the greenhouse.

You bring the bright flower toward your face and scrunch your nose as you sniff it, eyelids fluttering closed in bliss, “They’re used to express a fierce sense of justice. Usually, we use these in our arrangements for hero galas and festivals.”

Your eyes turn to him, connecting with his violet irises as a smile tugs the corners of your mouth upward, “Don’t you think they’re stunning, Tama?”

For some reason, when he answers, you can’t help but feel there’s a duality to his words, as if he is saying one thing but meaning something else entirely. Tamaki’s eyes are trained in on your face, not the flower, and his lips move in slow motion, like syrup dripping from his tongue, “Oh yes,” Tamaki is close to smiling, “quite stunning.”

You return to your arrangement and begin to hum a gentle melody between heavy breaths as you meticulously place the flowers in their perfect order. The way your brow furrows, creases ever-present on your forehead, draws Tamaki’s attention.

For a fleeting second, he wonders if he were to press his mouth to your worried skin, would you find yourself able to relax? To allow your body to melt into his touch?

“U-Uh, yeah,” he forces the words out, a hand brushing the back of his neck to try and relieve some of the tension he’s feeling. Tamaki adjusts his cape, taking a step forward, just like Fatgum taught him in his earliest days of training. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, but you’re fumbling towards him to capture his frame in a hug before he can make sense of what is going on.

You cup his face in your hands as you pull back to look him in the eyes, completely oblivious, it would seem, to his current state of panic, “Thank you so much! You’re Suneater, right?”

Tamaki gulps down what is left of his dignity and nods in silent confirmation, eyes a little glossy as he gazes over your face. He takes in your features, noting the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips, and he wonders if he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as you before. Normally his body would turn him to mush at the mere sight of a person such as you coming so close to him, but there is something different about your aura, the way you carry yourself. Your hands pull from his face, and he can’t help the manner that his body follows you, desperate for more.

Just as he’s coming to his conclusion about your beauty and grace, he realizes that you’re talking again, lips moving animatedly. Only this time, you aren’t speaking directly to him. You’re on the phone with the local police, letting them know that there’s been a low-level thief apprehended in the streets.

Tamaki is in awe of you – absolutely shocked at your ability to take charge of the situation, to hold onto it with an iron grip and make it your own. He should be the one alerting the cops, giving them an address and a rundown of what’s happened – that’s his job. And yet, here you are, phone to your ear and authority in your voice, detailing the scene down to the hair and eye color of the perpetrator currently propped up in the alleyway. He’s still unconscious, with his head lolled to the side with tongue protruding from his mouth.

Amajiki’s jaw is hanging just slightly, you notice, so when you step forward, crowding his space all over again, you nudge his chin with the crook of your thumb. A gentle giggle parts your lips, your head tilted in such a way that reminds him of a curious young animal, “Do you want to stop in at my shop? The police said they should be here any minute.”

“Y-Your shop?” he stutters, eyes flitting around to the different curbside stores on the strip of the road in an attempt to pinpoint the building you might be speaking of. He sees a few food stands and a bodega selling travel brochures, but nothing that screams you.

Although, does Tamaki really know enough about you to determine what kind of shop you might own or manage? He chastises himself for jumping too far ahead, his intense and sudden feelings forcing his heart to tumble over his inhibitions.

The habit of his emotions leaping into his throat is one he has struggled to curb for years now – he’s fully aware of his naturally forward-thinking spirit. He can take one action, one string of words, and force it into a new, paradoxical reality which he has fashioned all on his own in a matter of moments. The fabric of this new world is woven so intricately that it’s difficult for him to pull himself out of it, the alternate universe sucking him in and creating a vortex in which his mind can play.

You nod, grabbing your phone out of your pocket and unlocking it quickly, heading to your pictures folder for something specific. The split seconds in which you are distracted give him time to pull himself out of the recesses of his mind, to mend the fabric of time to bring him back to the present. You proudly hold the device up in his face, and he blinks harshly so he can focus.

The photograph on your screen shows him a rather familiar front display stand, dozens of budding flowers framing a beautifully crafted window sign that he’s seen every day since the start of his time at Fatgum’s agency. Tamaki tilts his head, trying to take in the store fully before he admits that he patrols by your flower shop consistently.

His head spins – he can’t believe he never stopped into your store before. Could he have met you a long time ago? Could he have seen you every day for the past few months, getting to learn your favorite flowers and flavors and the specific perfume you wear to smell so enticing? Another question plagues his mind – would you have stopped to give him the time of day had he not met you by saving your life?

“Oh,” he forces himself to speak, to dislodge himself from his tumultuous thoughts, “I-I’ve seen that shop before. You own it?”

You’re looking at the photo now, marveling at it with proud, shining irises. The picture distracts you from his enlarged pupils and blushing cheeks, and he’s thankful for the reprieve of your daunting gaze. Tamaki takes advantage of the seconds of your distracted scrutiny to map out your frame again, attempting to commit as much of you to memory as possible, given the short amount of time he has with you. He swallows the lump in his throat, licking his dry lips when you shove your phone back into your pocket, and he must refocus his eyes on some facet of your face other than your lips.

“There’s an adjoined coffee shop just to the left of it.” You’re smiling at him, and Amajiki thinks his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, flesh bruised from the intensity of its ministrations underneath the skin of his pectoral. The beginnings of a bashful tinge of pink warm your cheeks and ears, and Tamaki speculates whether your body is reacting to him or the heat of the afternoon. You lick your lips, “We can grab a scone and a cup of coffee if you like? My treat since you saved me.”

Tamaki is immediately refusing, holding his hands up as he shakes his head, ducking away from you entirely. “No, n-no, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Your lips are pulled downward in a pouted frown, eyes losing a little of their luster. Tamaki regrets instantly that his mind is so tied down to the rules, the reality that: “Heroes aren’t supposed to accept bribes, gifts, or rewards in any form.”

You are twirling a different yellow flower between your fingers – this one is much more fragile in nature. Tamaki eyes the papery blossom and ponders the antiqueness of its appearance, as if it were meant to be made into outdated floral prints on fine china.

Your eyes are focused in on the center of the bud, narrowing just enough that he can tell you’re trying to concentrate, “These are yellow carnations. Carnations can mean so many different things – red for heartache, white for innocence, pink for the reality of being unable to forget someone – but yellow, wow yellow is something much more draining, exhausting.”

Tamaki is scooting closer to you, his body drawn in by the tone of your voice, “If the other flowers mean something so kind, h-how can this one have such the opposite effect?”

Your eyes are sparkling, but there is something hidden in the back of them, an emotion he can’t quite pluck out. Perhaps you have a familiarity with this type of flower? Does it hold a different power for you than the others? Are there memories tucked away in the recesses of your subconscious that wreck your spirit when you see this type of blossom?

“That’s the beauty in the buds,” you laugh at your attempt at a jesting remark, eyes hooded now as you glance downward, “if you choose the wrong one, you’re sending a different message entirely.”

Tamaki’s knee bumps into yours, and usually, he would pull away, but this time something feels different, weightier than before. His eyes cannot stray from you; he finds it difficult even when he tries. And so, he succumbs to the desire and leans closer. Near enough to you now that your body heat is intoxicating once mixed with the headiness of your perfume. He tries to keep his eyes from crossing and his hands in his lap, body uncharacteristically wanton for your skin.

You take a breath, your chest expanding, “Yellow carnations mean rejection, disappointment. Usually, they’re used as a revenge flower, given to someone who has harmed you, or taken advantage of you. We don’t do many yellow carnation bouquets.”

The phrase only seems to make you more determined – your brows pull together so tightly that your forehead creases, “Well,” you pause, brushing your hand over your face, “I guess it just won’t have to be any of those things then.”

Tamaki’s head tilts just enough to remind you of a confused animal. His inky irises are zeroed in on you, raven locks of hair falling in his eyes, “Wh-“

“It’s a date!”

His eyes practically bug out of his head, sweat starting to bead down his temples. He shakes his head and steps back from you, holding his hands up in the space currently separating your bodies. Tamaki attempts at conversation, trying to tell you in as few syllables as possible that no, that’s not okay, we can’t, I don’t think that’s allowed…

You shrug, “Listen, call it whatever you want - it’s just coffee.”

The police arrive with sirens blaring a few minutes later, taking down a statement and emailing Tamaki a new set of paperwork he’s going to have to fill out later regarding how and why he used his quirk. He secretly is praying that you will flee the scene once you realize how mundane this part of the hero job can be – interviews and paperwork and confessions on the street.

Maybe you’ll find him and the whole process tedious enough that you’ll run away, back to your flower shop where you can live on in peace, pretending as if you never met him. It’s not always fun and games being a hero, and typically, once a civilian realizes it, they walk away from the scene at hand and find something much more interesting to take up their time. Tamaki is sure you must have a thousand other things you would prefer to be doing than waiting for him to wrap up a discussion with a police officer, or so he’d like to believe.

For some reason, it does not surprise him to find that you are still waiting on him, patiently sipping a bottle of water given to you by another officer while you chat, feet twisting back and forth to pass the time. Tamaki’s mind begins to wander again to how he always passed your shop and never found you outside, watering the arrangements or even in passing in the window. He would have waved – that’s what Fatgum taught him to do. He has been trained to interact with civilians, to remind them that he is there for their protection and safety, as a beam of light in the darkness of their daily lives. There are other shop owners who he knows by name, their faces somewhat cataloged in the recesses of his mind, so he knows he would recall meeting you.

You’re remarkable; Tamaki would have remembered you.

And yet, he knows that now, every time he passes your shop, he’ll think of you, regardless of whether or not you’re outside watering the plants or inside working on an arrangement. Tamaki will be distracted with thoughts of your pretty smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about your shop. Surely he’ll never be able to walk the beat of this street again without remembering you, his heart hammering in his ribs as he plucks up the courage to pass your shop each day. He’d bank on the hope that you’d see him, that you’d turn to wave, and he might be able to catch a glimpse of you, maybe even hold a full conversation more than a few sentences long.

It’s like his eyes are magnets for you now, drawn to find your essence like a northern pole. He turns his head so he can look over the officer’s shoulder, trying to find your frame again amidst the police and pedestrians alike.

Tamaki is more than surprised to find you staring directly back at him.

“What are these?” Amajiki points to a white flower he realizes he should have memorized based on its simplicity, and yet the hero knows that he’d sooner hear your bell-like voice rattling off the meanings to him, “I feel like I’ve seen them before…”

“Daisies,” you giggle, plucking a plume from your wall on display.

You twirl the flower around, taking an inhale of it before returning your attention to the hero stood in front of you. Your body moves without thinking - inhibitions tucked away in a box in your heart as you step forward, so your body is almost flush with his own. You press one palm flat against his chest, eyes connected with his inky orbs as you grin.

Tamaki is frozen in place, his feet cemented into the ground. He couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to, what with the way his anxious heart stutters underneath the cage of his ribs. Amajiki is somewhat thankful for the bone structure around the organ, acting like a prison so his heart can’t flutter out into the open. His body blushes from head to toe, painting his skin pink, when he feels your fingertips brush against his cheek.

“You look so pretty, Tama,” you murmur as you tuck the bright white blossom behind his ear.

You cannot pull your gaze away from the fragile petals held in place by the thickness of his violet hair and the curve of his ear. The blossom looks so lovely and light in contrast to his inky hair, tucked away like a secret between the strands and his skin. You are practically whispering when you speak next, afraid you might shatter some unspoken moment, “A daisy symbolizes innocence and hope. They’re typically used to symbolize the potential of new beginnings, a promise of faith despite a certainly somber situation.”

Tamaki’s face is bright red, but he manages to speak, “O-Oh, so a get-well type of flower?”

“Something like that.” Your hand ghosts over his cheek, pushing the bud deeper against his temple so the petals are flayed outward, a hauntingly beautiful smile painted on your lips. “It looks purely providential in your hair, Amajiki. Like a light in the dark.”

When you catch him staring, your left eye drops in a wink. Tamaki knows that he has never felt his entire body blush before, but now he is privy to what the sensation is like, an intense heat traveling from his ears to his toes. It’s hot and stimulating in all the strangest of ways, pinpricks of heat underneath his skin, making it seem like he may balloon up and fly away at any given time. He coughs to try and conceal the way his throat is bobbing, covering his mouth with his gloved hand. Even his palms are bright pink beneath the white leather of his suit, turned darker in shade by the overwhelming heat of your gaze but thankfully hidden by his gloves.

The eye contact between the two of you must make you bolder, because you are walking towards him now with purposeful strides. Tamaki knows that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his body combust instantaneously to avoid talking with you, and he can’t quite run away when you’re striding towards him. None of those options would prove very heroic.

And, at the end of the day, despite his personal inhibitions and self-restrictions, his job is to be a good hero, to strive to provide the public with safety and comfort, and maybe today the word heroism just means coffee.

You step over to him, your body closer now than before, “You think you’re ready for that coffee now?”

“I-It’s three in the afternoon, what if the caffeine-“

“There is this cool, new invention called decaffeinated coffee,” you deadpan, raising a patronizing brow at him, smirk lilting your lips, “or you can always try tea.”

Tamaki runs his fingers over his jaw in trepidation, the pads of his digits soothing his sweating skin. He licks his lips and chews on the inner corner of his mouth, diverting his eye contact from you to the ground, focus now steadily on the toes of his boots.

The first thought in his mind is that he could be reported for this – he’s still on duty, and he’s decked out in his full hero costume. If he were to be spotted by one of the head heroes or a news outlet for being too friendly with a civilian after saving their life, it could end poorly for him in terms of his reputation. Not only would Fatgum be disappointed, the Suneater’s ranking would dip into the undesirable zone, and he’d probably lose a few of his current brand endorsement deals.

And yet, when you grab him by the elbow and loop your arm through his, Tamaki is frozen just long enough for you to begin dragging him down the street with little opposition.

“Hollyhock,” your eyes roll back in your head as you smell the pink flower in front of your face, a whimper caught in your throat at the dizzying scent. You groan, slumping down in your chair, “One of my favorites.”

Tamaki’s ears perk at the statement, eyes widening just enough so he can memorize the shape of the floral arrangement, stashing away the memory in hopes that he might pull it forward if he were to need it in the future.

“This flower is usually an accent piece, something to show that the recipient is ambitions, outgoing,” you place the stem back into the arrangement, neatly tucking it away to ensure the set is not disturbed. “They’re so stunning, such a phenomenal meaning. So often we don’t reward ambition, instead trying to stifle it.”

The hero turns toward the arrangement, eyeing it carefully. He tilts his head, careful of what he says next, “They a-are pretty flowers.”

“Yes,” your voice has quietened when you admire the blossoms, eyes glazing over as if you were under a spell. You sound far away when you speak, like you might be somewhere between here and there, feet planted on the ground beneath you but mind and soul much further away. “I think so.”

The scent of floral buds and coffee beans makes his head spin – or maybe it’s just the closeness of your body and the gentle breeze that blows your perfume towards him. Your smile mixed with the sunlight of the day makes Tamaki’s breath hitch, eyes averted from your gaze so he won’t turn every shade of red in the book.

“Bean There, Done That,” you rattle off the name of the shop, “they give me free coffee because I put together the floral arrangements for their shop.”

Tamaki is overwhelmed by the menu alone – his eyes roll back and forth over each flavor of roast and style of drink that they offer. Eventually, he feels terrible for holding up the line and he starts to stutter, attempting to spit out some flavor of some type of some kind of drink. His surprise only grows into silence when you half-step in front of him, palm jutting out to wrap around his bicep as you start ordering something that sounds like he might actually like it.

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you wait off to the side, his toes overlapping as he turns his feet inward. Your hand has since released him, but that does not stop his body from blazing beneath his costume from your touch. Tamaki coughs to hide the trepidation, “I-uh, I don’t really…I don’t really drink coffee? I-It doesn’t do much to help my quirk, so I tend to stay away from it.”

You shrug, folding your hands together at the knuckles in front of your waist, “It’s okay! I figured.” You’re turning to look at him, softness held in your irises as you behold his face, “Plus this place has a lot of options, so it can get kind of easy to feel bogged down, especially when you’re in a line, and other people are waiting impatiently.”

Wow, he thinks to himself, it’s like she’s in my head.

You’re pressing your palm to his arm now, warm touch once again like an anchor to his befuddled mind. When he looks down, you’re smiling, and some small part of him wishes your expression would never fade away into anything less miraculous than your grin coupled with dimpled cheeks and shining irises.

The crumpled petals look like sheets of tissue paper all bundled together, but somehow your magic touch makes them look appealing, beautiful even. Tamaki watches as your delicate hands swirl around the arrangement, tucking different colored flowers into various sections of the vase, transforming it from something that was one dull on its own to a symphony of color and meaning. He tilts his head and smiles, a gesture he’s discovered to be much easier now that he’s found you, “A-And, what are these?”

You glance up from your work, hands caught beneath a blossom, “Hydrangeas.”

He nods, as if he might know exactly what that word entails, lying through his teeth. When you see his unsure expression, you can’t help the grin that tugs upward on the corner of your mouth, “Do you know what these symbolize?”

Tamaki curls in on himself, shoes overlapping as his knees knock, “Uh, n-no?”

“Hydrangea flowers are beautiful because they are used to communicate gratitude for being understood,” you pluck a blooming flower from the stand, turning to hand it to him. When his knuckles brush yours, it’s like a dozen electric shockwaves tumbling through his veins, blistering his blood beneath the skin, turning him to ash inside. Tamaki gasps at the contact, but he’s thankful that you don’t laugh at his unexpected outburst, or rather you continue as if nothing happened, allowing him to shrink back in on himself with less shame than he may have been burdened with otherwise.

You lick your lips and take a short breath, eyes returned to the arrangement at hand, “Hydrangeas are beautiful and easy to manage, most people have them in their yards or gardens for decoration. I haven’t met many gardeners who know what the true meaning is, however, it seems that people always choose them for their bouquets.”

“When would you give someone a hydrangea?” Tamaki asks, eyes tracking your motions no matter which side of the arranging table you’re on. He cannot get enough of you, body drawn to your presence as he sits in wait of another story, another tale to tumble from your lips.

You are tilting your head, considering the question like it held the weight of a court behind it, as if Tamaki were your judge and jury. You sigh, the weight of the world seemingly settled on your shoulders, almost like you’d thought about this question far too much before, “I think if I were going through a hard time, and I had a friend who just was there for me, I would give them a bouquet of hydrangeas.”

“Why?”

He wishes he hadn’t blurted it out – how rude of him – but your answer makes it worth the accidental insensitivity.

“It’s easy to try and instruct someone on what you think they’re to do next,” you answer carefully, eyes following invisible directions as you stalk around the arrangement as if it were your prey. You grind your teeth together; Tamaki can tell based on the way your jaw quivers under the strain. “It’s difficult just to sit and listen. Even when it’s meant to be kind and helpful, it can sometimes be overwhelming to constantly be told how to react or what to say or how to handle a situation. Almost like they aren’t considering you at all, instead preaching to you of their prowess, how they might have done better if they were in your shoes.”

Your voice is almost chilling, hollow like a needle or a feather, “To find a friend who could listen to me without interjecting their opinion, without telling me what to do, now that is worthy of a hydrangea.”

He allows his subconscious thoughts to wander for a moment, thinking on the implications of you possibly having a mind-controlling quirk. Is that the reason he was okay with coming here? Was it all because you manifested a quirk that allows you to influence the minds of men? Or did your quirk work on women too? Did you-

“Hey,” your voice is gentle, subtle despite the loud volume of everyone else in the shop. Your palm is on his bicep, and for some reason, it anchors him instead of making him want to float away at the sudden contact. Your eyes are genuine as you whisper, “Breathe.”

Tamaki listens to you, taking a short breath in and exhaling soon after, eyes never losing direct contact with yours. His shoulders roll with tension, Tamaki’s lower lip tugged between the bite of his teeth. He swallows, realizing what a fool he must appear to be. How can a hero need assistance from a civilian just for breathing?

“I know what anxiety looks like.” You brush your thumb against his bulky costume, and Tamaki wishes a very secret thing then – something he would never admit aloud. He is curious about how intense your touch would be if he weren’t in his full hero outfit.

Would the pads of your fingertips be soft? Would he be able to feel the heat from your skin leeching onto his own? How much more calming might your skin be if it was direct on his own?

You tilt your head, a considerate grin tugging on the corners of your lips. He’s pleasantly surprised to note the dimples that dip inward, making you all the more appealing, as if you needed any additional help. Tamaki tries to say something, but it gets lost in his throat, so you speak instead, “I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you at the counter. I just wanted you to be a little more comfortable. I felt bad since I was the one who asked you to come.”

“N-No, it’s fine,” he forces the words out, turning to look you in the eyes. Tamaki grits his teeth together and muscles through the anxiety gripping his bones like a vice. He questions when the day will finally come when he might break. “I just feel bad for the people waiting on me.”

“This flower is pretty,” Tamaki licks his lips and leans forward, inspecting the blossom rather intently.

You laugh, and he’s reminded of how delicate you are when you giggle. His eyes are momentarily redirected toward you, taking in every curvature of your face, the dimples created by your smile, the way the gesture reaches your eyes, and it’s like little stars shine from your irises. Tamaki can’t help the way he grins, your laugh and your smile are infectious, much like your love for flowers.

“Have you seen one before?” you ask him, stepping towards the wall of blooms, “They’re a beautiful choice, a lot of meaning behind them. Most people have never seen one, though.”

Tamaki turns to face the flowers again, compelling himself to detract from your silhouette, “Are they rare?”

“Not necessarily,” you respond. You push yourself up on your toes to grab a bright red bud from the wall, twirling your choice blossom between your fingerprints. The scent wafts from the center of the flower, a small dusting of pollen coating Tamaki’s nose.

You giggle as you reach across to brush his skin free from the yellow powder, hand lingering just slightly too long for him to ignore your possible intent. You lick your lips, irises swallowed by your pupils for a moment, allowing him a direct line of sight into your soul. He reads you for a split second, and he swears that the look in your eyes mirrors his own when he thinks too hard about the way you move and the distinct notes of your smell. You’ve taken over every inch of his mind, every last curve of cerebrum and cerebellum.

For the first time, Tamaki is somewhat confident that you might be under the same spell.

“These are anemones,” you break him from his stupor, pulling his line of sight towards the budding flower in your grasp, “they signify anticipation – the build-up before the burst. Kind of like when you’re going to have your first kiss!”

Tamaki stutters, “T-That’s why you’d g-give someone this flower? Wh-When you want to kiss them?”

“No, silly,” you swat at him, smacking the back of your palm against his bicep. However, before you can turn away from him entirely, he notes the beautiful blush turning your cheeks to a rouge. You sigh dramatically with your hip leaned against the table, “I just mean that’s what the flower symbolizes – the tantalizing next step into the unknown.”

“Sounds scary.”

Your eyes light up as you turn to look at him again, irises gleaming under the bright lights of the flower shop, “Oh, but doesn’t it feel riveting?”

You are too close now, your pose intoxicating as he remembers every time you’ve come so near to him and he hasn’t had the strength to reach out and grasp you by the waist. Is this his time? Is this the day that he finally hands you a blossom and tells you the truth about the war raging inside of his chest? He has little soldiers prodding at his heart, stomping all over his bones, making them ache when he is adjacent to you.

Something within him wanders into the tumultuous thoughts of how you might respond, what his body would do in reaction to you. Would he finally find some relief from the plague of himself when he finally passes the threshold into adoring you on a physical level? Mentally, he’s been infatuated with you for some time now, but his throat can’t force the words out when he’s within ten feet of your frame.

Tamaki reaches out, his hand weighted down with reserve and implications. And yet, it’s almost like you lean into his touch before he can think on it too harshly, before he can make the rash decision to retract it and flee. He gasps audibly, eyes flashing to find your face, irises connecting like some sort of lighthouse out at sea, giving one another hope despite the disparity of every other moment leading up to this one.

“Anemones,” Tamaki whispers, voice curling from his throat, projecting onto you like a prayer. His hand is hot with hesitation as it rests on your rib cage, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“Well, the people waiting on you can get over themselves. Everyone needs to learn a little patience, anyways.” You brush a hand through your hair, blowing away stray locks as they float back into your line of sight. You sigh, voice sounding dejected until your topic turns to blossoms, “I-I’m sorry if this wasn’t the place to bring you. I just figured it would be easy since it’s right next to my shop. I’d love to show you some flowers if you have time?”

“I-I’m on patrol,” he manages to push the words out from between his teeth, his throat grating like sandpaper, “I’m not sure…”

“Maybe another time, then?”

Dare he say you sound hopeful? And maybe even a little nervous?

How is it that each time his mind snaps him from you like a rubber band, you are right there, ready to stretch his limits yet again?

“I have seen this one…in Mother’s Day bouquets, I think?” Tamaki asks, unsure of himself this time as he circles the table. There are so many different types of blossoms, so many different meanings to decipher based on genus and color alone.

Your nod makes the pit in his stomach settle for some reason, and Amajiki releases a breath he didn’t realize that he was holding captive in his lungs. He’s not sure he understands why just the small reassurance of your head bobbing or your voice lilting on the right side of kind can calm the raging sea in his mind and stomach.

Tamaki is nearly tucked into your side, hands itching to find purchase against your body, his frame devoid of his typical uniform. The long sleeve shirt may cover the majority of his palms, but that does not mean he would refrain from baring his skin if it meant he could dip his toes into the edge of the ecstasy he might feel at your touch.

His fingertips are on the cusp of you, the calloused pads extended, beckoning you to come closer in a silent, desperate plea. Like your hearts are tied together in some other realm, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, in a dozen other lives, you turn subconsciously to allow the collision of his fingerprints to impact the curve of your waist.

“Gladiolus means remembrance,” your voice is breathless as you point towards a set of buds that are seated proudly on the wall of flowers. You tilt your head upward, eyes shining as you press the heel of your palm into the column of his throat, thumb grazing his Adam’s apple to soothe it.

The weight of your words does not fall on deaf ears, Tamaki’s every sense on high alert as you speak next, “They can mean remembrance of someone past, or of someone you’re currently trying to honor. Or they can just mean a simple remember me.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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