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#i spent FIVE HOURS bleaching it alone

p0ckykiss · 7 months

Text

stain on the sink - mingyu

summary - mingyu is sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at his phone. for some reason, he had thought that you, who has never even dyed your own hair, let alone someone else’s, would be the perfect person to bleach his whole head. you agreed after mingyu said he’d buy you dinner if you did it.

-> established relationship, kissing, fluff, sexual joke implication

the smell of bleach stuck to every surface in the apartment, no matter how many windows you opened. you knew it was inevitable but fuck, did it have to be so bad?

you walk back into the bathroom, the smell only worsening.

“your scalp burning yet?”

“i can feel it, but it's not hurting." you sigh in relief at that, you didn't want to have to drive mingyu to the hospital because of your combined stupidity.

you clean the supplies up off the sink, the box of leftover bleach finding a home in the back of the cabinet, shoves the plastic bag you'd received at the convenience store into the corner. after you're finished, you move away from the sink, nudge mingyu's leg with your own to get him to scoot over enough for you to sit. he complies, but even with the added space, you're thigh to thigh, the ledge uncomfortable as all hell.

mingyu looks up from his phone, meets your eyes before slipping a hand into your hair. he combs it back in the way he’d learned you like, done it so much it'd become muscle memory, repeats the action. mingyu thinks this is the most content he’d ever seen you, eyes shut and a soft smile laying across your lips.

you sit like that for a while, it could have been five minutes or fifteen. neither of you know, your only measure of time being that mingyu's phone had faded to black while he was preoccupied with you.

mingyu offhandedly comments, “your hair is so soft, i don’t think mine has been like that ever since i first dyed it,”

you remember that, the shock you felt when mingyu walked into your apartment with dark brown hair. the difference between his previously black hair and the dyed brown wasn’t much, not in reality, but to you it was like his whole world shifted. you can still recount how pleased mingyu looked with it, his laugh when you couldn’t find the words to convey his support. and you could definitely recall the newfound confidence mingyu had after, low hanging shirts and burning grins.

“i liked your dark brown hair, it suited you.”

mingyu hums, then asks, “is it your favorite?”

you don’t think much about his reply, mostly because you'd already spent hours debating this topic on your own, “no, i like that dark black you did a little more,”

“makes sense why you bought that then,” mingyu says, pointing at the unopened box of black dye that's peeking through the wrinkles of the convenience store bag. you may have attempted to persuade him into doing that instead, unfortunately without any luck.

glancing at your phone, you see that the timer you set has a minute left. you shove the screen in mingyu's face, disorienting the other for a moment. when his eyes focus on the numbers, he pats your thigh with his hand, stands up, and stretches his back.

“shampoo?” he asks, elbow stretched behind his head.

you hum in confirmation, get off the tub ledge and grab your gloves again, the tight nitrile meeting your skin once more. you pull the shower curtain to cover the outside, twist the knob to turn the showerhead on.

while turned away, you feel arms circle around your waist, chin digging into the flesh of your shoulder. though you don’t want to, you tug one of mingyu's arms away from you and bring him towards the shower.

“put your head in, dummy.”

mingyu surrenders, leaning forward into the water, allowing you to shampoo the bleach out. you can’t make a final decision yet, but in your unprofessional opinion, it doesn’t look half bad. sure, it isn’t an a-grade job, but you never claimed to be a miracle worker, only someone with two hands and box bleach.

when you're certain you've gotten it all out, you turn the shower off and grab a towel from the rack beside mingyu.

you begin to ruffle the towel against mingyu's hair, intentionally shaking mingyu's head side to side. he looks like a wet dog at this point, head drooped and yielding to the attack.

you think you're as far as you'll get with a towel and tap mingyu's chin to get him to look up.

though you were surprised when mingyu first dyed his hair, and you'd thought that was long enough ago for you to not be affected by any change to his hair color, you felt that breathless feeling from before all over again.

mingyu looked good, even with his shabbily bleached hair and old pajama shirt, because of course he did.

you have been staring for far too long, you know that. mingyu breaks the silence with, “so, you gonna give me a blow job?”

the moment is gone just like that, you slap mingyu on the side with the towel.

“do you have no decorum, mingyu?”

“i meant the hair dryer,” mingyu quips, but the smirk on his lips says otherwise.

“sure,” you reply, words coated thickly with sarcasm.

when mingyu turns away to look in the mirror, leaning over the sink, hands running through his hair, he simply says, “thanks, babe,” before taking the towel out of your hands and beginning to hang it on the rack, in its previous spot.

“you’re so unfair,” you whine, and mingyu has the audacity to look confused, eyebrows scrunching as he looks over at you, extremely lost. you continue, “i bleach your hair, shampoo it out, and towel dry it, and all i get is a thanks? what happened to romance?”

mingyu laughs, head titling to the floor. you hold back a smile, knowing you've got him in the palm of your hand.

“romance? okay,” mingyu's hands meet your waist like they were built to be there, pulls you closer, breath hitting your lips. you like this more than anything else, even if the smell of bleach hasn’t stopped biting your lungs at every inhale you take. “thank you so much, y/n. how could i ever repay you?”

you find you don't need to answer that because your lips have already met, and words that didn’t need to be spoken are shared between your mouths, a secret for only you and the walls of the bathroom.

bleaching hair isn’t so bad. not when you get the reward of your still-gloved hands in mingyu's newly bleached hair and your bodies pressed against each other. you also get your free dinner, so it's a win for you in the end.

380 notes · View notes

97-liners · 8 months

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characters: mingyu, a gender neutral y/n

tags: zombie apocalypse, horror

warnings: major character death, gore, gun violence (and other violence, idk this is a zombie apocalypse setting), resource scarcity (see setting), mentions of a global pandemic (see setting)

60-minute free writing exercise

words: 2.3k

Mingyu was silent when he died.

Your hand on the trigger, his knees at your feet, you looked down the barrel to see him crying. In a moment of clarity, he had stopped fighting, and he was Mingyu again. Your Mingyu. And you knew that it was your Mingyu, that he still loved you, because he let his hands still at his sides and sat back on his heels, eyes glassy and wide and terrified, afraid to die, but afraid of what would happen if he didn’t. And because you knew he loved you, and because you loved him, loved him so much it was like a vice grip on your chest and on your finger-- because you loved him, you didn’t let his last little gift go to waste. Before the moment of clarity could pass, you pulled the trigger.

That was a week ago.

Now, you’re in your car-- his car, Mingyu’s old Toyota that he bought when he graduated college and got his first real engineering job. The days are long, and the nights are dark, but you have a destination in mind. The two of you were going to go to California together, where there’s a large settlement on the coast. In the last days before the cell towers went down, Mingyu had been on the phone with one of his old childhood friends, talking about it. “Let’s go,” his hand on yours, chest full of that stupid optimism that got him through junior year and the first six months of his shitty job in Jersey City and the time the two of you were stuck waiting for the MTA for 45 minutes, “Minghao says there's space for two.”

You’re alone now, driving through Nebraska on the I-80. There’s gas stockpiled in the trunk, and there’s still about a hundred miles until you get to Cheyenne, where you’ll get out and look for a gas station with still-functional pumps. The shotgun is on the passenger seat, accompanying you like a friend— like a lover. (There’s still blood and brains in the crevices of the gun. You spent hours with a rag next to a muddy puddle of water by the side of the road, wiping down every square inch you could see. Fresh water is hard to come by, however, and it’s not smart to stay in one place for too long. Hell, you haven’t even been able to shower in weeks. Your skin still bears the chemical burns from when you had wiped yourself down in bleach. It hurt, but you couldn’t risk the virus getting into your bloodstream, even accidentally.)

It’s sunny today. Nearly painfully bright. It feels like it shouldn’t be this sunny, not after everything that’s happened. But the sun is distant and uncaring and beats relentlessly down on the rolling plains around you.

And then, from miles away, you see it— a rest stop. The light-up sign has long since blinked out, but the shape is unmistakeable in the sea of blond grass rippling in the wind. A box-shaped building, next to it the hollowed-out remains of a Wendy’s. And a gas station. The huge kind, with two rows of pumps and a parking lot. Your breath hitches as you get closer and closer and the details materialize into view. There’s even gas prices still posted on the sign — under five bucks a gallon. That must have been put up before people started panicking in earnest and entrepreneurial gas station owners cranked up the prices to fifteen, twenty dollars a gallon, until the power lines went down and cell service went out and paying with a credit card didn’t really matter anymore. This far out into the country, when it’s been hours since you last saw anything but miles of prairie in every direction and the empty cassette ribbon of the I-80 cutting through the land, there’s a real possibility that the gas station and the accompanying convenience store might still be intact.

You pull into the parking lot. The windows are unbroken and the door is still chained shut — a good sign. You reach behind to grab the crowbar from the back seat, and when you twist back forward, you’re almost certain you catch a glimpse of Mingyu in the passenger seat. A flash of golden tan skin, of scruffy black hair, and you swear you could almost see his face, but when you turn around fully, the passenger seat is empty, save for the shotgun. And in an instant, you make the stupid decision to leave the car without bringing the gun. It’s quiet, you rationalize. There’s nobody out here. Nothing out here.

(In the days since he died, you think you’ve been hallucinating. You see the fuzzy figure of Mingyu in reflections, in shadows, in the staticky darkness when you close your eyes. Maybe it’s normal. After all, the two of you were always together, even before the pandemic. Since the first time he told you he loved you, this has been the longest time the two of you have been apart. Will be apart. Forever, you brain supplies unhelpfully.)

The door is easy to pry off its hinges, and the glass breaks but it doesn’t shatter. The inside of the convenience store is everything you had hoped for— dark, cobwebbed, but stocked full of mass-produced junk food filled with preservatives. They’re calories, artificially fortified with nutrients and chemical flavoring, meant to last for years on a shelf. Immediately, you head to where the granola bars are and begin to empty the shelves, filling your backpack in the process. Your mind is thinking ahead — this is more than enough food to last you the entire trip. This is enough to feed a couple of people for a few weeks. Is there food in Minghao’s settlement in California? How much should you take? Can all of this fit in your car? How many trips back and forth should you make?

Your stomach grumbles and you’re reminded that you’re hungry— it’s been a few days— so you take a Clif bar off the shelf and tear open the wrapper. You eat ravenously.

(Mingyu was always good at cooking. He knew how to make every soup imaginable, how to pull together the end of the month pantry staples and wilted produce and fill your tiny Brooklyn apartment with the smell of home. He knew how to fish, how to gut and clean the dirty little perch that he pulled from the Hudson, how to fry them over a fire to make them taste less like mud and more like food. How to build the fire so the smoke wouldn’t be seen, how to put it out so the embers wouldn’t give away your campsite.

You can’t cook. You’ve never had to learn, not with Mingyu by your side.)

Like your own shadow, little piece of Mingyu follow you as you make your way up and down the aisles. It’s just the hallucinations, you tell yourself. At the end of the cereal aisle, you stand still for a moment and stare at yourself in the fisheye reflection of the security mirror mounted on the ceiling. The store is dark, and the mirror is dusty. For a moment, you think you can see Mingyu standing next to you. You see him, tall, broad, alive, so beautiful he might be an angel.

It’s still breathlessly silent around you, however. You know Mingyu can’t be standing beside you, because the air around you feels empty. But there he is, in the blurry reflection of a convenience store security mirror. You blink, and he’s still there.

Suddenly, you begin to feel uneasy. He’s just another hallucination, isn’t he? The mirror is too blurry for you to get a good look at his face, and a large part of you doesn't want to see his face anyway. You're certain it’s him in the reflection. You could recognize him anywhere just from the way he stands. But something about his figure isn’t quite right.

You know what you need to do. You need to look to your side, where he’s standing in the mirror. You know, whatever it is you’re seeing, you need to just turn your head to the side and look to know what it is. Just look, it seems to tell you. I’m right here, Mingyu says.

You blink, and the Mingyu in the reflection is gone.

It’s just you, standing there in a dark convenience store, backpack open in your hands. And uneasily, you laugh. “Hey, Mingyu,” you say aloud. It’s been a week since you last said anything, and your voice sounds thin and reedy in your head. You don’t hear a response.

“Mingyu, wouldn’t it be fucked up if ghosts were real too?”

A few months ago, zombies were just something you’d see in a video game or TV show. Maybe it’s not a hallucination, but you’re not sure if that makes you feel better.

By the time you’re done raiding the convenience store, several trips back and forth to your car later, the back seat is stocked with all kinds of shelf-stable calorie-dense food. Like little luxuries, you made sure to leave some room for toilet paper, for shampoo and soap, for toothpaste, for a few boxes of instant coffee. You still need to fill up the two empty gas cans in the trunk, but first, you think you’ll use the bathrooms here.

The doors to the bathroom are on the outside of the building, and you find the keys hanging by the staff break room in the back of the store. It takes a few tries, but eventually the key turns in the lock and you’re able to push the heavy steel door open with your body weight.

As soon as the door closes behind you with a loud bang, you instantly get a bad feeling. Everything in your intuition is telling you to run. The bathroom is dark, save for one humming emergency light still illuminated overhead, and it’s completely silent. You exhale, and the sound bounces off the tiled walls and floors, whispering before settling back into that tense silence from a moment ago.

By the entrance, there are three sinks lined up in front of a large cracked mirror. You peer around the corner to see three stalls, each separated by a wall, with tall floor-to-ceiling doors that don’t leave even a centimeter of a gap between the wall. It’s still completely silent, but the persistent buzzing undercurrent of anxiety in your head is screaming at you— something isn’t right. You inch forward, skin prickling, and lightly push on the first door. It swings open. Then, you push on the third door, which also opens. You place your hand on the center door, and you can immediately tell that it’s locked.

But the bathroom is so, so quiet. Even when you stand still, glued to your spot in front of the stalls, and listen, you don’t hear anything. It’s empty, it has to be. You glance back over your shoulder at the wide mirror hanging over the sinks, and you half-expect to see Mingyu standing next to you again, but all you see is yourself—dirty, greasy, haggard— and the bathroom behind you. It’s empty.

Slowly and quietly, you walk past the center stall and enter the last one. There’s no toilet paper, but it doesn’t matter. You finish peeing and consider flushing the toilet. There’s probably still water in the tank. But something about creating all that noise doesn’t sit right with you, so you decide to forgo the last little bit of socialization clinging to your brain and exit the stall. You should probably wash your hands, you realize, so you step up to the sink and turn one of handles and, to your surprise, a stream of clean water dribbles out.

You put your hand under the water. It feels decadent. It feels like an unspeakable luxury, as you push on the soap dispenser and let some of the pink slime fall into your palm, as you lather it up into a foam. You scrub at your hands, trying your best to get out every last bit of dirt and blood embedded beneath your fingernails. And when your hands are rubbed raw but clean, you cup your hands and collect some water to rinse your face with. You wash your face with the same pink liquid soap you used to wash your hands, something you would be aghast at in another life, but now it practically feels like a spa day. Weeks of grime dissolving under your fingertips and swirling down the drain.

You shut off the water and reach for the paper towel dispenser. Maybe the bathroom really is empty and your instincts are all wrong. The door to the middle stall could be jammed, or it could have been locked by building staff before the pandemic even broke out. It would be stupid of you not to come back and fill a jug with clean water, no matter what your intuition says.

For a moment, you stand stock-still, just so you can get another gauge on the bathroom. The last bit of water leaves the sink drain and it’s silent again. You watch yourself in the mirror, hold your breath, try to sense even the tiniest shift in the air. It smells like Mingyu, you realize. Clean and soapy and warm. It’s the same scent his skin used to carry. Like he’s here, next to you.

The bathroom is silent.

Your reflection stares back at you. The overhead light casts harsh shadows over your face, leaving your eyes dark and empty.

The bathroom is silent.

Mingyu’s scent, but it’s not comforting at all. Not in the way you used to nudge your nose against his throat during lazy Sunday mornings and inhale his warmth. Not in the way you’d wear his hoodies and press your face against the lining.

The bathroom is silent. And then, with a click, the middle door unlocks.

#97.yn #97.writings

52 notes · View notes

honeykngdom · 9 months

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𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 | 𝚎.𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 | 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎

Pairing: Embry Call x Original Character Summary: Join Ainsley and Embry as they embark on a journey where they are forced to question everything they thought they knew, and embrace the pain that is inevitable to avoid in love. An imprint story. Self-discovery. Angst and romance. Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: None. prev. chapter | next chapter

𝙴𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚢

Embry watched Ainsley from the doorway; his arms were folded across his broad and bare chest, and his left shoulder rested against the wooden oak of the threshold to his bedroom. He just spent the last seven hours listening to his brothers remind him about the importance of Ainsley and her safety to everyone – not just him. How irresponsible it was to leave her unattended and alone; especially if she had personal past relations with one of the nomad leeches. Unknowingly to Embry, Jacob had asked Sam to stay back to keep an eye on her, just until Embry was finished with his temper tantrum.

He hadn’t particularly wanted to have that conversation with his former alpha; there was nothing that brought any of the guys bigger insecurities than listening to Sam scold them like the father he pretended to be. Embry never realized until then that Sam felt as though he were always to be held responsible and accountable for each of the pack members. So, when Embry came home to find Sam sitting on the most left-hand side of Jacob and Embry’s wrap-around porch, he could instantly feel the shame.

He had let his personal insecurity and anger dictate his emotions – again. Instead of thinking about everyone, he all but demanded they run out on a wild leech hunt. He wanted to be anywhere but looking at her, smelling the bleach saturating her hair. It reminded him of Bella, made him momentarily feel as though he were going to put everyone through another round of Bella-Jacob-Painfest.

And then he saw her. Once Sam walked home for the night, once he finished ripping Embry’s ego into shreds for being so incredibly careless – Embry saw her. Wrapped up in his bed sheets, dark hair a mess over her pillow as her chest rose slowly and steadily. She was still alive, she was okay, and she smelled wonderful. Guilt washed over his defeated shoulders, head dropping down as the shame weighed down heavily on his chest.

He had chosen not to sleep in the bed that night – worried she might roll over in the morning and be upset, or be justifiably angry with him. He wanted to eliminate any possible threat to the tribe, and therefore to Ainsley. To anyone she loved, because he couldn’t stand to see her heartbroken over the loss. Yet he was willing to break her heart to take away from having to listen to her talk about Maddox. In detail.

Embry appraised the small loveseat in the living room with disdain; Jacob’s room was available, he could have opted to sleep there, instead. After a minute, he sighed and awkwardly pulled his legs up so that he could fit his entire body on the loveseat, arms curling into his abdomen. He didn’t sleep that night, worried Ainsley would wake in the morning with sadness in her blue eyes, disappointed in his actions. She’d probably give him crap, too, for not being there to keep her warm. Especially when she was still fighting a cold.

That he had essentially given her, knowing how terrible her immune system was.

He groaned, pushing off the couch to wander back upstairs – for the second time – to lean in the doorway and keep watch over his hand-picked love. Embry didn’t sleep a wink.

𝙰𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢

When I woke, the room was chilled and my back hurt. My arm remained stretched over Embry’s empty half, pillow unmoved. He hadn’t come home.

I tried not to let my disappointment in myself get the best of me. I forced myself out of bed and into a warm shower; this time I worked vigorously, scrubbing every inch of my body, taking the extra five minutes to let my conditioner soak in before I rinsed. Once I felt appropriately shaved and exfoliated, I regrettably exited out of the shower. The dress I wanted to wear was salmon; definitely more of a summer dress and a lot tighter than dresses I was used to, but my mother had gifted it to me for graduation. Embry had been the first person to pull it out of my closet, making some remark about how absolutely banging my ass would look.

So, I put it on.

When I finally descended the stairs, I stopped short of the kitchen doorway. Embry sat in his seat against the wall, hunched over a bowl of cereal, chewing quietly. So, he did come home, he just didn’t share the bed with me. At first, I felt a twinge of pain pull at my heartstrings, thinking about how disgusted he had seemed with me, how I spent hours silently wishing I had just gone home first. That I had showered and changed, that I hadn’t shown up at Emily’s smelling like the one thing he hated the most.

And then I had thought about Embry cramping himself up on the couch just to stay away from me.

Idiot.

I started the kettle for coffee, and thought twice about eating breakfast. I ran my hands over my arms, shivering as the cool air bit at my exposed skin. I glanced down at my bicep, eyes widening as my pupils traced over the angry red and purple bruising.

“Shit.” I hissed.

𝙴𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚢

He glanced up at her from his paper, watching her tiny hands quickly cover her arms as she turned around. Embry wanted to pretend he wasn’t curious, and wasn't worried. He had just spent whatever four hours of sleep he could have had watching Ainsley from the doorway of his bedroom. Each time he’d retire to the living room to sit, he’d eat himself up with guilt and gravitate back upstairs.

So, when she turned her back on him, carefully tending to whatever she had noticed about her skin, he pulled his brows together to keep himself from growling in frustration. After what seemed like an eternity, he pushed away from his chair and brought his empty bowl with him to the sink just behind her. He rinsed it out, watching her thumb rub the skin back and forth; he kept his voice quiet, hands reaching out to turn her shoulders.

“What?” He inquired quietly, ducking his head the slightest bit to get a better look. She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her wrist. “What’s wrong?” He asked, pulling her hand away slowly.

He released his grip immediately, brown orbs focused on the four solid purple fingerprints that wrapped around her thin arm. Embry could feel the air thin out around him, knocking the wind from his chest; embarrassment, shame and guilt seeped into his bones and over his body.

“Sorry.” He breathed, taking a step away, averting his eyes quickly. He turned to walk upstairs, feet pulling him into the still-warm bathroom. Once behind the door, his fist collided with the mirror, sending the glass crashing down to the sink and floor in a million pieces.

𝙰𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢

I heard the grunt before I heard the glass shatter, jumping slightly at the noise. I’d definitely have to wear a sweater with the dress. I pursed my lips tightly, running up the stairs after Embry, moving hastily into the bedroom to rip through my bag of clothes I kept sitting on the chair in the corner. I knew my mother had packed my brown cardigan, somewhere –

“Can you –” I turned my head, snapping my eyes to Embry. His skin was glistening with water, skin flushed with a deep red. He held his hand out – still bleeding with fresh wounds – and grimaced. “There’s still shards under the skin I can’t get. Can you help?”

I pulled the cardigan over my arms, noticing in the reflection of the window how much smaller I seemed, drowning in the oversized sweater. “Sure.” I sighed, feeling the immediate lift of confidence as it melted away into the air and I shuffled towards the bed, gesturing him forward. He perched on the corner of the mattress, holding his hand at almost an arm’s length distance and I scoffed.

After thirty minutes of reopening a wound that was trying to heal around my tweezers, I managed to pull every shard and fiber of glass that remained in his knuckles. I rubbed my thumb slowly over the red scars, which faded back into barely there scrapes within an instant of two seconds. I sighed, trying not to dwell on the idea that maybe my not knowing was better. Maybe I would feel less bad if Embry wanted to spend less time with me; because he was being a jealous boy, and not plotting someone’s murder.

I dropped his hand and rubbed my palms over my thighs - something I did whenever I felt anxious. We sat in silence for a few moments, I was painfully aware of his eyes watching me carefully before he sighed and moved himself closer.

“The dress looks pretty.” He mumbled into my neck, wrapping his arms around my waist. I relaxed under his touch, eyes slipping shut as I exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry you have to wear this.” He whispered quietly, running his hands over my arms gently, pausing momentarily where the bruises were.

“It’s fine.” I replied, moreso trying to convince him than myself. I leaned back against his heat, content to just stay there a while, but I knew Emily would have expected me early and so I couldn’t stay too long. “I should get going.”

Embry frowned, hugging my frame tightly in his arms. “I love you.” He sounded entirely sincere, and I was sure he meant it far more than I was willing to allow. I turned my neck so I could press my mouth against his gently, “So much.” He mumbled over my lips, his once bloodied hand moving to caress my cheek in his palm.

“You can’t do that anymore.” I said finally, pushing away from him. “Getting angry like that – I get the whole moral enemies thing, Embry, but you can’t go on a wild chase every time one comes around.”

“Ains –”

“It’s still weird for me. That you kill people –”

“They’re hardly people.” He argued.

“And that you take pleasure in doing it. Regardless of who or what they are, Embry, I don’t typically condone violence.” I found myself rising to my feet, pulling my still-wet hair into a careless bun. When I noticed his guilty expression, I leaned down to kiss him again, holding his chin in my hand, “Just … think about it, okay?”

Embry nodded solemnly and sighed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The baby shower had gone as expected: Embry and I reconciled through the day, offering simple touches and gestures of affection to mend the slight impasse we had come to. Much to my dismay, Trent had spent a lot of time hovering.

“You can stop.” I said quietly, forcing myself to keep the smile on my face as I watched Embry and Paul go head to head against Sam and Jacob in trying to change fake-babies diapers. From the looks of Emily’s face, it appeared as though she were definitely at a loss as her husband was very clearly struggling.

“Stop what?” Trent asked, following my suit while smiling.

“Babying me.”

He turned his back to the crowd, filling his cup with a spoonful of punch. “I’m not babying you – I need to talk to you.”

Jared held his doll up in triumph, a grin spread across his broad lips as the doll swung limply in the air by its hand. Kim shook her head. “If that’s how you’re gonna handle a baby, we’re not procreating.”

“About what?” I hissed, cutting my eyes up. He looked tired, jaw tense and shoulders rigid. Very rarely did Trenton ever appear to be angry, or stressed. He worked as a tattoo artist at his own leisure – stress wasn’t really in the job description. “We’re not talking about him.”

“Ains.”

“No.” I said hard, eyes cutting back to the group quickly to ensure it was still just them.

Embry was hunched over his second doll alongside Jacob and Sam. His eyebrows were pulled together, fingers very gently working to secure the diaper together.

“Ainsley.” I sighed, clenching my hands into tiny fists at my sides. Anyone that knew me knew that she favoured Trent over Travis – no one ever had the guts to admit it out loud, including TJ. It was often that I found myself in moments like this, where I questioned why. Travis never pestered me about little things. Travis let me go about my business. He never butt into my life, he never advised me adamantly on what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I appreciated that.

But Travis never understood why I would suddenly disappear. Why my mood would drop. Why I’d be so easily irritated by everyone around for simply breathing in my direction or asking me a simple question. He didn’t understand the panic attacks, or the PTSD. Sure, bad things had happened to me, and I knew he meant well, but Trent had always gone above and beyond what I had expected from a non-blood relative. He had helped me buy the Jeep, he had helped me rebuild the entire engine. He picked me up from class and brought me home dinner on nights when he knew TJ and Jennie would be working late.

Trenton was my person, for a very long time. With Embry and Leah in the picture, the pair of us had been at odds over almost everything for the last few months. We were trying to prove the other was still important, but we were never really able to find the time.

“I saw him this morning.”

I paused, trying not to remove my eyes from the group as Billy mocked his son’s contorted face, drawing laughs from the other elders in the room. My mother hadn’t been able to join, but TJ and Travis sat comfortably next to Sue and Billy, Seth and Travis to their right talking aimlessly about god only knows what.

“Who?”

Trent turned this time, leering down at me. “You know who. He wants to talk to us. Alone.”

I leaned against the table, “We can’t.”

“He insisted.”

I rolled my neck back and looked at the ceiling. Either the boys had gotten very good at blocking out the extra sounds, or they were giving us our privacy. I was hoping they wouldn’t have been so kind. “Since when do you listen to Maddox?” I looked up at my brother; his eyes were soft and pleading. Obviously there was more than he was willing to discuss given the room full of shapeshifters.

“He’s going to meet us at the shop. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” I hissed, thinking about the suggestive plans Embry had previously tried to make. Given that we had never formally been able to go out on any dates outside of the reservation, he had offered to take me for dinner in Port Angeles. “I can’t tonight.”

“Ainsley.”

“I have a date – do you really want me to cancel on him? Would you cancel on her?” I jutted my chin towards Leah.

Trent followed ny eyes and slowly exhaled. “Meet me after.”

“Would you just give it up? He’s a vampire. We’re human. Are you seriously trying to bait me?” I hissed, turning my back on the group to refill my mug. “What does he even want?”

“Meet me after. For 9.” He said. Given his tone, obviously the conversation was no longer up for topic – a warm pair of hands slipped around my waist and hugged me close. I automatically smiled in response.

“What’re you two talking about?” Embry wondered quietly in my ear, pressing his mouth against the skin just below.

Trenton slipped my drink from my hand, “I’m stealing my sister after your date.”

“Are you?” Embry wondered. I winced slightly, hoping Embry’s face didn’t indicate he had any sort of issues. “Should I drop her off?”

“At the shop, yeah.” Trent smiled in triumph, looking down at me. “I’ll bring her back home afterwards.”

“The shop?” I turned around in Embry’s arms, watching his face carefully, “You’re not getting any ink, are you?”

I lifted a brow, my palms running over the smooth surface of his clothed chest. “What if I did? Is that an issue?”

He shrugged. “Nah, you’d look cute with a tat.” Embry conceded, hugging my head to his chest tightly as he kissed the top of my hair. I let my eyes slip shut as Trenton shot me a knowing look and disappeared to where Leah and our family sat. “What’s going on, honey?”

“Nothing.” I litted, hugging his frame. “Trent just wants family time, that’s all.”

“What about Travis?”

I paused. “It’s not the same with him – we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” he sighed, looking over at Travis solemnly, “doesn’t he ever feel left out?”

I laughed once. “Why would he? He has Seth and the others. He’s not lonely.”

“He’s still your family.”

“And I love him,” I said firmly, leaning back to look up at Embry, “but it’s not the same as it is with Trent. What we have going on at home works, and has worked for years.”

Embry grimaced, nose wrinkled in disdain as he nodded reluctantly and rubbed my sides. “If you’re sure.”

“Don’t worry about it, babe.” I smiled, pressing up on my tip-toes to press my mouth to his. “Did you finally figure out the diaper?”

I relaxed when Embry allowed the subject change, body releasing left-over tension from my conversation with Trent. We slipped out early, going home so Embry could shower and I could primp for our first official date-date, worrying all the while about the events that would take place after.

#embry call #embry call x reader #embry call fanfiction #series: SAH #twilight fanfiction #the twilight saga #kiowa gordon #* mine #embry call fanfic #short I know I’m sorry #was very distracted in my editing >.<

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allthatisleftinthedark · 3 months

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❣️ - What are their love languages? 🌙 - What’s their sleep schedule like? 🎁 - How do they feel about their birthday/birthdays in general? 🧑‍🦰 - Have they ever dyed their hair? Ever cut it themself?

Maisie!

Misc. Ask Meme | accepting | @offrozenmemoirs

❣️ - What are their love languages?

Many think, with how Maisie works, that her primary love language is acts of service due to her action-oriented nature and how she processes her emotions toward others. However, this is not necessarily an expression of love for her. While I do not want to spoil much as her writer/player, her overactiveness and involvement in others stems from a question she has been trying to answer since childhood.

Her top two expressions of love are words of affirmation and physical touch. This is current. Frank as she is, the gift of being uncannily perceptive has gotten her work from her superior, and it works well in the field alongside her personal matters. Those of her party, in her eyes, need reminders and reassurance because in the world they came from, it was pretty lonely. Luxury and riches may be abundant, but the soul was starved of what it needed.

However, as I write this, quality time is Maisie's third love language, albeit unspoken. Her personality tends to gravitate toward wanting to be close to people, which developed due to the admitted loneliness of her work (and her lack of personal/intimate relations). She likes having proximity to someone, or at least hearing their voice when she communicates with her family or rare others (i.e., Veria) long distance.

🌙 - What’s their sleep schedule like?

Like her eldest sister, mother, and father, Maisie works on farmer's time and would be awake before daybreak. She attempts to get eight hours of sleep to keep herself well-rested and ready for the day. However, the reality is that she tends to get five to six hours of sleep, and her body has adjusted to it.

She would forego sleeping depending on her workload or something profoundly troubling her. She never mentions that she didn't sleep but will sluggishly get through the day and prefers handling physical labor to paperwork in order to stay awake.

Maisie is a light sleeper and can be easily disturbed to wake up. At these times, and if that home, she tends to stay in bed and toss and turn before falling asleep. Outside of her home, which could include her quarters in her superior's city, she ends up trying to catch on quota and fulfill the missions that she asked for.

🎁 - How do they feel about their birthday/birthdays in general?

To commune and celebrate, Maisie loves any reason to hold events. Birthdays are an excellent opportunity to gather loved ones in the current times that seem to people adrift and distant. Being in the company of friends and family in a relaxed setting, without any outside pressures, is something she tries to do whenever possible.

Maisie enjoys celebrating birthdays in her home continent of Argyll, especially those with family and close friends. However, she also attends other birthday celebrations, which are more political in nature and require her presence, such as banquets overseas.

Regarding her birthday, it makes Maisie melancholy. After the age of 16, when she began traveling and working, she spent her birthdays alone. There is a scarce chance that she can spend a long time back in Dewburrow at home. The most recent chance she had to spend that birthday with her family and have a break was on her 60th birthday.

However, that day started with her waking up in the morning and following her sister's instructions to inspect the woods. The cake and party waiting back home never saw the birthday girl. It was two weeks until she finally returned home.

🧑‍🦰 - Have they ever dyed their hair? Ever cut it themself?

Of all the variants of Sino, the rarest versions are those with the most vibrant hair hue, this being their intended and original hair color before any threats of bleaching happen. None would ever take to dyeing their hair, Maisie included.

As for hair maintenance, Maisie cuts it religiously. Some months shy of her 16th birthday, the gnome took scissors from the bathroom drawer and decided that a "proper change" was in order. At least, this is the official reason. When her mother, Naima, saw her daughter's hair, she was left speechless. Maisie's hair, which used to reach her tailbone, was now cut to neck length.

Even with how thick and voluminous her hair is, she has maintained its length for 45 years and has never seen it any longer. She usually keeps goggles on her hair, acting as a hairband, or will pick it up into a stubby ponytail when running experiments.

Maisie refuses anyone else to cut or brush her hair. Touching it is tolerated, but her breath audibly turns shallow at it.

Note: Maisie's hair length is a component of her visual storytelling/arc. She cuts her hair as a compromise that she, deep down, feels opposed to any unwanted advances and ideas on her. Almost as if it empowers her over those who actively monitor, correct, and control her.

However, the reality is that there's no real power in the situation if someone feels forced to change. That presumed autonomic choice was made under dubious circumstances and little room.

The idea is that the short hair is representative of discipline but submission. Longer hair would be its opposite, representing liberation and becoming herself again.

The shorter it is, the more deeply involved she becomes in objectives and blinded to "what must be done." The longer it is, the more Maisie is present and speaking as an individual rather than a representative of an entity or making choices on behalf of someone or something.

For example, Maisie in the Abandoned Pantheon Route/CoL-Alt Route has the shortest length (pixie cut). This shows how much she has given up on herself to fulfill the goal of the resistance and her village.

#⋆ * pull the curtain of diplomacy and dance away / do not look. do not judge. do not leave. ; maisie doscedar‚ analysis * ⋆#⋆ * correspondences acknowledged and responded ; maisie doscedar‚ asks * ⋆#offrozenmemoirs #[ ooc: TY LUCA!! :D ]

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tahitiwoke · 1 year

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five times + little spoon. :)

ONE | I WAIT FOR YOU LIKE A LONELY HOUSE.

there is a quiet in the house he doesn't recognise; not that the place is especially boastful when it comes to liveliness, but there seems always to be something going on, somebody coming or going, scott or meech or chris or claire, nipping in and out, passing through. sometimes he is there and sometimes he is not. there is always a scar left behind for him to tell, though: a piece of paper on a side table, the door left ajar, something disturbed in her closet.

tonight is a rare stillness. she has been gone for weeks recuperating half the country away and an hour ago, she had settled back in. (he won't tell her but he'd cleaned the place; raided the housekeeping staff's supplies and hung his shirt in the closet and spent a not insignificant amount of time bleaching, dusting, vacuuming, refreshing the sheets and the curtains and removing any shred of potential infection. it probably didn't need doing, but it has made him feel better about her being there. his palms are shiny from the bleach, skin a little raw from water too hot.)

this place is a prison. it's oppressive, stark white. too much light streaming in and leaving no crevice of the place caved in shadow, like it's trying to prove there's nowhere to hide. nowhere to go to when you do not want to be seen - and he isn't sure she wants to be seen this way. what an odd life to live. someone forever looking inward.

the silence is broken by the soft pad of her bare feet and he doesn't turn in time before her arms wind around his waist, the length of her pressed to the length of him. she's warm. the silk of her sleep shirt is soft under his palms; she's there, she's there, she's there. she's alright. come to bed, she says quietly into his back.

TWO | I WON'T BELONG TO ANYONE ELSE; JUST YOU.

what about this one? she asks, curious and amused, her fingertip jabbing at the scale-pink inch of razed scar tissue on his left ass cheek. they've been doing this for about half an hour -- phil on his front, head pillowed on his forearms and half-asleep if it weren't for her questions. claire tracing over whatever scar catches her eyeline, legs crossed, occasionally moving to pull the sheet further and further down, revealing more and more of him. she has heard about the gunshot in the hindu kush (collapsed lung, messy exit wound), the knife incident in tripoli (natasha had thrown one at him to catch and he... hadn't caught it), a stab to his kidney from a sharpened chop stick (oklahoma, a soccer mom who was actually an undercover kgb agent).

(it's easy telling her. they are snails, metaphorically. they don't inch forward, they barely centimetre forward. the increments in which they progress, both together and alone, towards one another and away again are so minuscule that he doesn't really notice anything has changed between them until it becomes drastically clear it has; this seems one of those times, one of those realising moments. he's telling her all his secrets these days -- and suddenly they don't feel much like secrets at all.

she had called him private before and it's true, he is private, but not because he wants to keep anyone out. there just seems an overwhelming lack of anyone interested in clawing their way in -- no one is beating down his door to get on the other side. except her. and he's running out of excuses to keep the door shut.)

she presses her finger into one of his oldest stories. " switzerland. my very first mission out with carol. she shot me in the ass -- by accident, though. apparently when skiing down an alp with an uzi, everybody starts looking very similar. "

there is a beat. a pause as the image processes. that's the most ridiculous thing i've ever heard. and because she is delighted by his answer, she leans forward and kisses the scar and then seems to change her mind about something. like a cat looking for the right place to perch, she uncurls from her sit and stretches out along him -- across him, on top of him. he can barely crane his head to look up and over at her from the corner of his eye. " make yourself comfy, why don't you. " she just grins and bites his shoulder.

THREE | I DON'T KNOW ANY OTHER WAY OF LOVING YOU.

i’m afraid you’re going to realize that you are better for me than i am for you. i know that’s a selfish thought. i know that. but i want you to stay more than i want to be better than that. i worry all the time, that you’ll wake up and wonder whether it’s worth it, being here, and . . . i worry it won’t be.

he tries to turn but she won't let him, the arm around his waist tightening to keep him where she wants him -- where she needs him. he knows what she's saying without saying it: don't make me look at you to admit this. it's not some great expulsion of weakness, hardly some gigantic confession of dishonesty or honesty only for the sake of it. he thinks for a long time, the pause of silence broken only by the grasshoppers creaking outside through the open window (summer in it's last days of glory).

" those fews months after the hearings, before i came here, i kept having the same nightmare. i was in a hole, in the sand. and every time i tried to claw my way out, the lip would collapse and i would just end up burying myself more and more, and right as it was about to go over my head, i'd wake up. there's some ho-key metaphor in there, i'm sure, but i know that when i was there - when i was director - it didn't matter how buried i got, as long as i was making a difference. " it's been that way his entire life. do the job, work the operation, protect your people. he just hadn't anticipated take the fall would be the last step in that process. " i don't feel that way anymore, but it's how i felt then. "

he threads their fingers together and he brings her hand up to his mouth, kisses her knuckles and the back of her hand.

" you're important to me. whatever came before all this doesn't matter, how it all happened doesn't matter -- what matters to me is what's happening now. i love you. " a swallow, because it still feels foreign to say this next bit, " and you love me. that's enough to make everything else worth it. "

( it's never been that easy: just waking up one day and forgetting. in fact, it's the one thing he's never been good at -- his memory almost photographic, his mind sharp enough to recall his three year old feet on a beach and hearing his father scowling from five yards away. )

FOUR | WHAT THE SPRING DOES WITH THE CHERRY TREES.

they talk about it beforehand, prepare accordingly -- it's not like the movies (even less like pornos), where things are all rush jobs and passionate and yes, of course it's intimate, but there is so much to be said for hygiene and communication. they shower together and he pins her against the wall, and end up distracted for long enough for the water to go cold. they talk for a while but that eventually devolves into kissing which brings them back around to their goal for the night: him on all fours while she presses kisses to his back and winds a hand into his hair.

he's got one hand fisted in the sheets, another wrapped tightly around the top of the headboard -- he's a large man and fills the bed with the stretch of his armspan alone, and there's an indulgent mental picture of the scene they must set, her behind him telling him how good he's being for her.

there is a vulnerability to being penetrated. to letting someone into your body at all, in whatever way you let them, and as much as he knows this - this isn't the first time he's done this after all - the physical and emotional connection still manages to take him off guard. they are not strangers to one another; not strangers to themselves either. it shouldn't feel overwhelming but it does and she's good enough to him to notice the slight tension in his shoulders -- spends a moment to lean over to kiss at his shoulder and -- fucking christ it changes the angle of the toy inside of him enough that it buckles him a little. his forehead drops to the mattress with a hitched groan. does that feel good, baby? she asks and he nods, eyes squeezed shut as she picks up her rhythm again.

somewhere along the way, they get comfortable and end up side by side, her pressed against the entirety of his back with an arm around his waist and another still fisting in his hair, using the edge of the bed as leverage to fuck him roughly.

FIVE | UNTIL MY HEART STOPS BEATING.

" i'm gonna turn in, honey, " he says quietly around seven. it's incredibly early for their standards and she raises an eyebrow in lieu of asking the question out loud and he just offers a shrug. " just have a headache. " it's a good enough answer, though the frown in her forehead doesn't disappear even when he kisses her goodnight and makes his way up to bed. there's been an incessant pounding at the back of his skull for the better part of the day and it's started to really make him lethargic; no amount of painkillers seems to touch it either, and in his experience the best cure of a migraine is sleep. so off he goes.

it's as easy as turning off a light.

after all those years of shootings and accidents and jumping out of planes and crashed jets and assassination attempts and bomb threats and loki and tahiti and everything else -- after all of it, it's as easy as a light switch. one moment there and the next gone. some will say it was deserved and some might say he deserved something more painful, more drawn out. but he's been dying for the better part of twenty years now and for it to finally catch up with him? well. maybe he's borrowed his fair share of time.

when claire comes to bed later - much later - and she climbs in beside him and wonders how she hasn't woke him up, he's a light sleeper after all, deciding to leave him be -- but only for a moment. unable to resist curling into him. unable to resist slipping her arm around his waist and kissing his shoulder, like they've done a thousand times before (it'll never feel like enough, will it? no matter how often they've done this, no matter how many times you kiss somebody, you never know when the last time is the last time).

the difference this time is of course obvious: he's cold. he doesn't move. he's dead.

#halechief #im really sorry about the last one #im really sorry.#V || FRIENDS. ROMANS. COUNTRYMEN. ( BRUTUS! CAESAR! )#WHICH HURTS AND IS DESIRED.

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toiletwipes · 3 years

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simpbur's college roommate

tw: obsession, possessiveness? not really tbh, simpbur is caught, overstim, vibrator, afab body, vaginal penetration, pretty boy is thrown around and so is good boy, praise, maybe a tiny bit degrading, im just a little bit scared to look through this to check for anything else. its not bad but im just scared i'll delete this if i dont post it now.

1.7k words, so not that long but I promised you guys content so here it is!

-----

it was the smaller things, really.

you wouldn’t notice them, if you weren’t looking for them, type of deal. a shirt that fits you just a little bit too snug so it sits in the back of your closet, or did. an old polaroid with an older friend, faces smiling into the flash of light, it had sat in the bottom of your old memory box, said box gone untouched by you for months. an oversized, raggedy hoodie that you had ditched for a newer, softer coat.

you didn’t want to believe it but at the moment you had bigger fish to fry with schoolwork.

the coat from before sat in your lap at the moment, you parked yourself in the library as you studied with a close friend for some government essay, and you were just nearly finished with the second to last page, when your friend spoke up.

she taps on your arm, pulling out your earbud, “hey, your roommate is will, er, wilbur, right?” you stopped in the middle of a word, lifting your head to meet her eyesight.

“yeah, why? he being creepy or something?” you ask, hoping for a no, he wasn’t bad, but you knew that if anybody else had been his roommate, he would've found himself in trouble during the first week alone.

“no, actually, it’s just- it’s just that, um, are you guys dating?” you snorted, really? you and him? dating?

“he’s cute, but no, why d’ya ask?” you laugh to yourself as you look into your notes as you start typing again.

“well, he’s just been wearing your hoodie, like a lot.” you still, eyebrows furrowing. your hoodie?

“how do you know it's my hoodie?” you look her in her eyes, folding your arms together as you lean back.

“i know for sure its your hoodie because it has that one bleach stain on the front and on the shoulder from when you said you could wear a hoodie and bleach your hair, and the time that you spilt bleach directly onto your hoodie and panicked for five minutes before doing something about it. i know it's yours so why is he wearing it?” your mind is blank as you stuff your things back into your backpack, her sputtering with questions and your lack of answers leaving much to be desired.

but as you exit the building, you shrug your coat as it starts to pour and the dark sky flashes for a moment. you rush in your walking to get to the dorms as soon as possible. just your luck that your dorm is on the other side of the campus. its still about five minutes before you bang on your dorm room. the music blasting on the other side silences as your roommate opens the door, his mouth drops into a round circle and you stare at his chest as you push past him.

“where the hell have you been? it’s barely been pouring!” he sounds off like a rattled hen but you head straight to your room, dumping your backpack and coat on your bed. without an answer, he follows you but any questions he has dries in his mouth as he watches you dig in your closet. pulling a ratty tee shirt and shorts you shrug your soaked shirt over your head.

will has to force himself out of the room but it's not a second later when you come out, hair wet and skin damp when you grab onto his head of hair and pull as you drag him to his room.

throwing him onto the bed, you barely glanced at his face, seeing it already being covered in tears, hands grasping for yours as it leaves him.

you glance around his room before you see the one clean area, his nightstand and dig through that. you found not only items you knew were missing but more, underwear you thought you'd thrown away, a vibrator that you'd thought had gotten stolen by a petty friend, not an obsessive roommate.

and then throwing his closet open, you saw it balled up and thrown in the corner, your hoodie.

taking it out, you push it into will's chest. "dude, literally, what the fuck?" you go to shout at him more but he moves onto his knees, tears dripping and pouring down his cheeks, begging for you to not leave.

"i know i'm a creep, a disgusting one at that, but please don't- please don't leave me, no one's been this nice and stayed with me for this long," he begs and continues to beg as you stand at the foot of his bed, watching as he took a hold of your forearms, rubbing circles into them.

you clasp a hand over his mouth as you coo, shushing him and smoothing over his hair with your other hand.

"my dirty, little stalker doesn't want me to go, but who said i was going to let you leave?" you then pull back on his hair, relishing in the guttural moan that is ripped from his throat, attaching your lips to his neck and climbing into lap, grinding down into the growing bulge in his sweats.

he moans out your name, hands finding purchase wherever he can, gripping your hip and your shoulder, trying to thrust up and meet your hips but you move your hands to hold his hips down.

"no, no, no, good boys take what they're given, that much you've proven, will," you murmur in his ear, slowing the rolls in your hips and watching him writhe beneath you.

"be a good boy for me, huh? are you my pretty boy?" he sobs out a yes as you grind down hard on his cock, the praise going straight to his dick as you mouth bruises into his neck. sucking particularly hard his hands come and circle around your waist, his head hanging onto your shoulder.

"please, please let me-"

"oh no, baby, tonight, it's all about you," you pause, standing up and hearing that beautiful whine pulled from his throat, "your punishment for being a dirty, little whore who wanted all my things for yourself, all of me without me." he shook his head, eyes barely opening as he reaches for you, but you've gone to his nightstand and pulled out the vibrator, turning it on and off and finding it surprisingly still working. well, not that surprising.

"now, you're gonna be a good boy and let me take care of you, or you can be alone," he reaches for you, begging you not to leave him and you can't say you weren't that affected.

something about this tall, greasy simp of a man, who stole your things and wears your old hoodie, begging for you not to go, it just settled nicely in the bottom of your stomach.

you weren't denying you were absolutely soaked by now, shoving your shorts off.

"please, i'll- your good boy, be so good for you-" he cuts himself off as you climb back to straddle his lap, this time rolling your hips once before you turn your vibrator on.

"good, so good for me," you hum as you place the vibrator between your panty-clad folds and his sweatpants-covered-cock. the vibrations sent you to a different plane as you grind into him, listening to the way he cried and the way his legs trembled.

you could tell the next moment, he was about to cum and well, you can't have that, not so soon. "ah, ah, ah," you breathe out, taking the vibe away as you lean back and away from his dick.

he lurched forward and his legs shake again as he's denied an orgasm, he cries out and into your neck.

"is my baby ready for ten more of these?" you ask him and his eyes snap wide open, meeting yours and when a moment passes and you press the vibe back against his dick, he whines.

you weren't kidding about before, it's been about an hour, you think, and he's buried his face in a pillow, crying from the over-stimulation and from not cumming.

you, yourself, have occupied your time with stretching yourself out, three fingers buried deep into your pussy and the sounds coming from it has will peeking out from the pillow, eyes sparkling with that crying glow.

taking your fingers out, and sticking them into his mouth, you move yourself over his lap, taking his cock in your hand as you rub it in between your folds. moaning, you move away as his hips jerk upwards, him biting and crying into his fist.

"my pretty baby, doing so well for me, gonna let me make you feel good? you gonna let me make you cum?" will nods his head and lets out the loudest moan you heard that day when you sink down on his cock.

buried to the hilt, he twitches inside you, and he's begging to cum, "'m gonna, 'm gonna cum, please, plea- need to, i need to cum in you," he begs and who are you to deny your pretty boy that?

"cum for me baby," you say, out of breath as you bounce on his cock, reveling in the slick sounds coming from between y'all. he does cum, hips thrusting upwards to bury himself in you, and you let him. but when you know he's all spent, you start to bounce on his cock, him crying from the over-sensitivity.

"just- just let me cum," you breathe out, balancing yourself with his shoulder and one hand rubbing circles into your clit, moans coming from your mouth as sobs leaves will's.

"oh- oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" you cry out, squeezing around will and falling on top of his chest.

breathing together, you let yourself have this moment before you get up and moves towards the bathroom. you hear him calling out for you as you grab a damp towel, some water, and a dry towel.

"did you think i was going to leave you, baby?" you ask, mostly not expecting an answer but turning to him as you run the damp cloth over his face and neck, he bit his lip.

"a little bit, yeah."

"well, don't think about that again, because as much as you're weird and steal my shit, you're still important to me," you tell me, "you're my pretty boy and you're going to stay that way."

when you finished cleaning him up and then cleaned yourself, you take the spot next to him and pull the covers over you two.

he leans into your side, pulling you into him, trying to get closer than close.

"you promise?"

you smile to yourself, thinking about having him all to yourself, "i promise."

#simpbur #simpbur smut #simpbur x reader #k: praise #k: overstim #k: dacryphilia #k: dry humping #tw: afab #this just feels like crap but i have not been able to write anything else #really sorry

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starshapedkookie · 4 years

Text

Southpaw

pairing: jungkook x female reader (ft. a little sprinkle of namjoon)

genre: childhood friends to lovers, boxer jungkook, college/frat au

includes: swearing, angst, mentions of blood and violence, pining, smut (public/private, unprotected sex, hair pulling, jungkook is big guys, duh), alcohol, smoking weed, jungkook seems like an asshole but he’s really not, OC having a crisis every two seconds, some fluff here and there as well, also this takes place over many months just saying if time gets confusing

premise: Knowing Jeon Jungkook for the better part of your life, you thought you knew everything about him. Well, that was before you two disappeared from each other’s lives at least. When Jungkook suddenly finds himself buying you a coffee to rekindle your friendship, it leads to much more than you bargained for.

word count: 30k (she’s a monster sorry guys)

quick note: this is my first story back in a year(?) give or take some weeks!! kind of nervous to post & not sure if my writing has declined in anyway but nonetheless here is the beast that has been sitting on my computer since April 2019!! quick disclaimer I don’t know much about boxing so if I get stuff wrong - I apologize!! please enjoy & let me know what you think ❤️happy 7 years BTS!

recommended songs for reading: pray (JRY, RuthAnne), mushroom chocolate (6lack, quin), hallucinate (dua lipa), wus good/curious (partynextdoor)

_____

The evening was slow—after all, it was only a Wednesday. You had just finished serving a table of two—a young man and young woman—presumably on a midweek date. You didn’t recognize either of them which wasn’t surprising considering the campus grossed about 20,000 people. You began to wipe down tables out of boredom, glancing at the clock every two minutes hoping it would jump to when your shift was over in forty-five minutes. Thankfully, you didn’t have much work to do when you got home, but you are wishing to get in bed before 10:30 to get a full eight hours of sleep for your lectures tomorrow—something you had not had in about two months. Most days, like today, you were running on five hours of sleep and five cups of coffee. It wasn’t healthy, you knew that much, but it’s how you had to live your life. Your schedule was too demanding to hit the snooze button multiple times. You had shit to do—and getting your degree was the top priority.

“Y/N,” your coworker, Mark, called your name from behind of the counter.

“Yeah?” You respond.

“Will you come help me clean this out?” He asks you and you nod diligently.

“Of course,” you say, dropping your current task of wiping already clean tables. Mark was the one student that worked here you could stand to be around. He was very much like you in the sense that school came before anything—he too was on a full academic scholarship. He worked here before you, but he made you feel the most comfortable out of everyone. You would consider him a close friend at this point.

The espresso machine was a pain in the ass to clean and did call for two people most of the time. Besides, you would rather smell the remnants of coffee beans than the harsh chemicals of bleach gliding across a table.

“You have much work to do after your shift?” He asks you.

“No, thank god,” you shake your head, “I got most of my shit done between my classes today. You?”

“I have to write a ten page paper by midnight,” he sighs, “And guess how many pages I have started.”

You give him a short glance, “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say zero.”

“Damn right,” he smiles. A short silence between you two ensues before he speaks again, “Oh! Did I tell you I’m graduating early?”

“What? Really?” You look at him and an excited grin plays on his face. “When?”

“Yeah, I spoke to my advisor this afternoon and turns out, the classes I’m taking this semester is all I need for my degree,” he speaks with a relieved tone.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” you say genuinely, “I wish that was me,” you give out a small chuckle.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to keep stressing over this hell-hole,” he laughs, “The sooner I get out of here, the better.”

“I feel you on that,” you say, “I’m proud of you nonetheless, you’ve worked your ass off dealing with this scholarship.”

He gives you a small smile in return but it’s broken by the bell ringing from the door, signaling a new customer has decided to come in. Your eyes break from Mark’s and glance over to the door, your head doing a double take.

Your mouth goes dry when you see them—more specifically—him.

No, it wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him, but you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen him outside of a frat party on the weekends. And truly, it was your first time getting a good look at him in awhile. You felt nervous—though you had no reason to be nervous. You had known him since long before your days as university students, but since you weren’t plastered in this scenario, looking at him seemed more like a chore than ever.

“You want me to get their table?” Mark asks you and you look back at him.

“No, I got it,” you say, throwing down the cleaning cloth, wiping your hands on your apron.

The small group of boys are too busy in their own conversation to see you approaching them. You clear your throat before grabbing some menus off of the podium.

“Hey guys, welcome,” your voice breaks their conversation. The three men your age turn to you all at once and a small smile erupts from one of them.

“Y/N? I didn’t know you worked here?” Taehyung—another person you knew all too well—smiles and speaks brightly

“Yup,” you say simply, “Just been here a little over a month,” you explain pressing the best smile you can muster up. “C’mon, I’ll get you seated and get your order in.”

You lead them towards the back of the small restaurant, seating them in a booth. As they follow you from behind, you can feel their eyes burning into your back and you feel like screaming at the top of your lungs. They sit down and you pass out the menus.

“What would you guys like to drink?” You ask, putting a hand on your hip.

“I’ll take a coke,” Hobi—you remember his name easily as you see him around in a few of your classes.

“Coke as well,” Taehyung says.

“Jungkook?” His name rolls off your tongue and it sounds foreign. You couldn’t remember the last time you had said it, let alone to his face. His brown eyes meet yours and he clears his throat.

“I’ll just take a water,” he finally speaks, his gaze breaking just as fast as it met yours.

“I’ll get those right out,” a grimace spreads on your face and you turn on your heels to fulfill their drink orders. You hadn’t expected the encounter to be so awkward and have so much tension—but what did you expect?

Your relationship with Jeon Jungkook was a strange one to say the least. You had known him longer than anyone you associated with—you meet each other at the tender age of eight in elementary school. You remember that day so vividly.

You had been assigned a seat right beside of him the first day of school. He kept his eyes away from you. Being the energetic child you were, you were expecting him to introduce himself but—he never did. It actually took being in school a whole week to get him to talk to you. You nudged his arm with your elbow and his eyes meet yours for the first time. You smiled at him, “I like your shirt,” to which he responded a small, “Thank you.” He picked at his nails and you smiled at him again, “I’m Y/N,” though he would already know that sitting beside of you. “I’m Jungkook,” he spoke again with a shy smile. That day would change both of your lives—all thanks to you and your mouth that couldn’t shut the hell up.

Four years later, at the age of twelve, Jungkook was your best friend. For four years, he was the one person you had came to all about your problems—he as well. The two of you would complain equally about school, he would complain about his older brother picking on him, you would complain about your younger sister bothering you nonstop—the two of you were more alike in more ways than you could imagine. Despite getting older and more different, you and Jungkook shared the same friend group. You had met a girl named Kim Jennie during a pre-algebra class and Jungkook had met a lively kid named Kim Taehyung—no they weren’t related but you often joked about it. It was nice having another close friend instead of just having Jungkook—especially a girl. You and Jennie had more in common than you and Jungkook and Jungkook and Taehyung and more in common than you two. But—the four of you clicked and you spent nearly everyday with each other.

At sixteen, a lot of stuff had changed. Yes, you, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jennie had all remained best friends, but high school was definitely not the same as middle school. You and Jennie joined the tennis team, Jungkook and Taehyung joined the soccer team—Jungkook also joining the baseball team—which kept the four of you more separated than you would have liked. The four of you all sat together at lunch each day, but as each day passed, something felt different with Jungkook. And then, halfway through your second year of high school, the news broke that Jungkook had a girlfriend—a cute girl named Yuna—who was actually older than him by a year. You felt indifferent about it. He didn’t speak to you as much as he used to and he would ditch you, Jennie and Taehyung to hang out with her. It didn’t bother Jennie or Taehyung as much as it bothered you—but then again—you had known him since you were eight and it felt weird not being Jungkook’s number one girl. You hated to say it—but you were jealous and you had no idea why.

Two years had passed, the four of you all eighteen and fully legal now. It was the end of your last year of high school and you could not be more ready to leave. Growing up through high school together, the thought of all of you going to the same university was a dream. The four of you were excited to move on to new things. Jungkook and Yuna had broken up a few months prior, not being able to work through the distance of her being away at college. Jungkook soon started molding back to how he was before—texting you throughout the day, complaining, just being Jungkook—you were happy, happier than when he was with Yuna. It was May when you had received the news that you had been offered a full ride academic scholarship. You cried and cried tears of joy—finally busting your ass for so long had paid off. Jungkook was so proud of you, though he didn’t outwardly show it, the way he looked at you when you had told him was all you needed. Taehyung suggested it—a small celebration of sorts for you—a.k.a. the four of you getting absolutely plastered in his basement. Taehyung had managed to steal some alcohol from his parents and before the four of you knew it, beers had been downed and half a bottle of tequila had been drank. You were laying on the floor, giggling at everything Jennie did, dancing around the room with a bottle of vodka in hand. Jungkook had laid down beside of you, his eyes boring deep onto you. You crane your neck and give him a small smile, not realizing how little space was between the two of you. Jungkook supports himself on an elbow and it was then you had realized how handsome Jungkook had actually become. He spent so long away from you when he was dating Yuna, you didn’t realize how much he had grown into his features. That night—was singlehandedly the best and worst night of your life.

You had no idea what came over you, but you stood up throwing out your hand for Jungkook to take. He grabbed it with no hesitation, him towering over you as your chests touched and it was the closest the two of you had ever been. Jungkook had looked over to Jennie and Taehyung, still drinking and acting stupid, before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the closest bathroom and shutting the door. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you grip his shirt tightly. The next few moments are a blur—Jungkook kisses you—actually kisses you. He gripped your waist tightly, pushing you against the door. A small whine emitted from your lips as he pulled away and you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He kissed you again, pulling your thigh up to rest in his hand. This was wrong—so wrong in so many ways. But neither of you stopped until a bang from the other side of the door broke the steamy makeup session.

That night changed everything between you two. Neither of you talked about it ever again. Despite being so drunk to the point of blacking out—you remember every detail—and so did he. That summer, you and Jungkook grew apart. And it was the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Now, at twenty-one, almost through university, you had interacted with Jungkook only a handful of times. You had studied together a few times your freshman year, but after your first year, you could count on your hands how many times you had seen each other. Most of the time, only seeing him at parties with other girls hanging off of him. It was painful to see. Even after 3 years of a drunken kiss in Taehyung’s bathroom, it hurt more than ever to see Jungkook with other girls—but at the same time you didn’t care. You had moved on and so did he. You two were now strangers but your life was good—you didn’t need him like you used to think. And he seemingly didn’t either.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” Mark nudged you out of your obnoxiously long reverie and you jumped out of your skin. “Are you okay?” He asks.

You look down and realize that you haven’t taken the three of them their drinks, the ice now watering them down to shit.

“Y-yeah, I’m just tired is all,” you begin to pour out the drinks to get new ones before Mark stops you.

“Here, I’ll handle them,” he says, “You can go home early, it’s fine,” he smiles.

“A-are you sure?” You ask him, not wanting to leave him by himself.

“Yeah, it’s about closing time anyways. Just head out, I’ll close,” he nods with a smile and you can’t help but to throw you arms around him.

“Jesus, thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you one day,” you tell him pulling away. You wash your hands quickly and throw off your apron.

“Get home safe,” he says and you tell him the same before grabbing your bag. You glance one last time to the table in the back and unexpectedly, Jungkook is staring at you. It makes your breathing hitch and you turn around on your heel quickly, not wanting to linger on his gaze longer than you need to.

_____

The weekend comes slower than you would like, but it’s Friday which means one thing—time to go out and get a much needed dose of social life. You and Jennie had found yourself at the Beta Tau Sigma crush party at their fraternity house that evening.

“Here you go, m’lady,” Namjoon comes into your peripheral vision, handing you a drink he specially made just for you.

“Thanks,” you give him a small smile. You take a huge gulp without hesitation—you trusted Namjoon with your life. Not only was he on academic scholarship too, he was also the president of this fraternity which meant if he didn’t act straight—he would face serious consequences. The mix of brains, being ridiculously handsome, and being in a fraternity was a recipe for disaster—he was your type—bonafide. You were his type too which is maybe why the two of you clicked so well, particularly in bed.

“My feet are fucking killing me,” you groan glancing down at your heels, rolling your eyes in the back of your head. Namjoon throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“At least you look hot as fuck,” he lips brush against your ear and you give him a glare.

“Isn’t hot kind of a degrading term in today’s world?” You press.

He narrows his eyes at you, “Fine—you look beautiful, cute, sexy—is that better?”

“Much better,” you nod playfully and Namjoon gets bold—pulling you even closer to him for a small peck on your lips. Eyes linger on the two of you but you couldn’t care. So many girls would love to be in your position and you feel lucky to have captivated Namjoon at least for now. Besides, he was good at fucking and you needed stress relief, as did he.

Unsuspecting, Jungkook waltzed his way into the room and he immediately stops when he sees the sight of you and his older brother Namjoon. He had heard rumors about the two of you, which he brushed off—you would never go after someone like Namjoon—oh who is he kidding? You and Namjoon are the same person and it kills Jungkook inwardly. The way Namjoon is nuzzled into your neck and the way you're smiling, giggling to every word he says, makes him feel uncomfortable. You looked so different at parties than how he saw you a few days ago at your work. Your legs looked sexy as fuck in your short black dress, your hair flowed down beautifully as opposed to being thrown up, the way red lipstick painted your mouth made him semi hard. Jesus, how after all this time, does he still think about you like this?

Your eyes break away from Namjoon and your smile falls when they meet a familiar set of doe eyes from across the room. Your breath hitches and Jungkook looks so handsome you want to die. His dark hair is slightly parted, his button up is undone at the top, and his legs fulfill his pants better than any guy here. He downs two shots, not breaking his gaze from you. You feel intimidated by his gaze and presence, despite having seen him at these things multiple times. The only difference is that now—he’s giving you some attention that you weren’t ready for.

Your gaze breaks away from each other when a group of loud boys—including Taehyung as well as Kai, another brother within the fraternity—come rushing into the room, hauling a keg in tow.

“Hyung! Come on,” Taehyung teases drunkenly as they set down the keg. There are many hyung’s for Taehyung in the room to not have specified which one he was talking about, until he deadpans on Namjoon. “Namjoon-hyung, come on!”

Namjoon begins to shake his head in protest, “I’d rather not,” he puts his hands up, keeping his distance from Taehyung, “Gotta keep an eye on this one tonight,” he nudges you and Taehyung’s eyes widen when her realizes it’s actually you, standing beside of his older brother.

“Y/N! Hey! What’s up! Didn’t expect to see you here, especially with this one again,” he narrows his eyes to Namjoon.

“Hi Taehyung,” you give him a small smile.

“Do a keg stand with me?” His eyes bulge out like a puppy dog and your own widens in shock at the question.

“Oh no,” you protest, looking up at Namjoon, “Last time I did a keg stand was freshman year and I said never again,” you explain to him. He gives you a pout.

“Fuck,” Taehyung says, “Well who is gonna do this shit with me then?” He sounds impatient and frustrated.

“Get Jungkook too—he’s been looking over in this direction for too long, give ‘em something to do,” Namjoon says and you look up at him. Did he notice Jungkook looking at you? Shit.

“Hell yeah, that little shit will definitely do it,” Taheyung smirks and yells for Jungkook to come over. Jungkook is preoccupied with a girl before Taehyung breaks his mojo from across the room. Jungkook sees Taehyung and you standing together and he furrows his eyebrows. He excuses himself from his pussy date for the night and saunters his way over towards your direction. You keep your eyes anywhere but Jungkook as he approaches you.

“Hey hyung,” Jungkook greets Namjoon, “Y/N,” he says slowly and you tense up. “What do you want Taehyung?” He spits out. He’s clearly buzzed as the attitude coming off of his tongue is stronger than usual.

“Do this fucking keg stand with me pussy,” Taehyung presses and Jungkook scrunches his nose.

“Fuck no,” Jungkook responds and Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“Come onnnn,” he drags out, begging his life long best friend to do it.

“Absolutely not, I’ve done it once and I said never again,” Jungkook says and your eyes nearly pop out of your head. Taehyung looks at you and Jungkook and shakes his head.

“I swear you two are the same person in a different body, it’s weird,” Taehyung says, “Your loss,” and Taehyung is soon leaving your side to find someone else to do his proposition.

Jungkook is left standing in front of you and Namjoon in an awkward silence.

“Don’t forget, you’re on clean up duty Jeon,” Namjoon raises an eyebrow at the younger man.

Jungkook groans, “Fine, whatever hyung,” his words run together as he gives you a final glance, “See you later Y/N,” is the last thing he says before he walks away to find the girl he was smooching up prior.

Namjoon gives you a weird look before you are furrowing eyebrows at him, “What?” You ask.

“What’s up with you two?” He asks motioning over to Jungkook.

“What do you mean?” You gulp down your drink hoping to hide the nervousness in your tone.

“Didn’t you two use to be like, best friends or some shit?” He asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “Yeah, when we were kids,” you chuckle.

Namjoon doesn’t seemed convinced, “I remember you two hanging out a lot during Jungkook's freshman year here, what happened?”

You shrug once again, “People grow apart,” you answer simply, not wanting to go in detail how one kiss basically ruined whatever your friendship was with him. Namjoon suddenly smiles, a dimple showing in his left cheek.

“You know he talks about how hot you are? Not all of the time, but I’ve heard it before,” he laughs and you freeze in your spot.

“What are you trying to prove by interrogating me Joon?” You say with some attitude. That was the least thing you expected to come out of his mouth.

“Hey, I’m just asking questions!” He defends himself, “I just didn’t know if something happened between you two—like you dated or something and shit got weird, I don’t know… just curious,” he chuckles a bit.

You eyes widen and you feel yourself getting warm, “Oh no, we never dated or…anything like that…” you trail off. “We’ve just grown apart, we’re too different now.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you, “According to Taehyung you two are the same person.”

You glare at him, “Get me another drink,” you shove your cup into his hand and see laughs at you before sauntering away for a few seconds. He comes back with a full glass and you down half of it in a few seconds.

“Ew,” you scrunch up your nose. Nice, you think to yourself.

“Maybe you should talk to him? I’m sure having an old friend is nice every once in awhile,” Namjoon continues, clearly interested in your history with Jungkook.

“I have Jennie,” you answer, “Besides, conversation goes both ways. If he really wanted to be friends again, he could talk to me.” You knew that answer was stupid. Jungkook didn’t even speak to you when you were younger. You were the one that initiated the friendship, not him, and you knew that.

“Whatever you say space cowboy,” Namjoon draws out and you give him a glare.

“Did you just quote Kacey Musgraves?” You ask with a small smile on your face.

“Fuck yeah I did,” he smirks, “She’s a gay icon are you kidding me, I’m obsessed with her.”

“Joonie, you’re not even gay,” you laugh.

“So? I love anyone who supports gay rights! Don’t discriminate my quotes!” He defends himself and you cannot help but laugh at him.

“Let’s go dance,” you grab his hand and pull him out of the kitchen onto the main dance floor. Namjoon was perhaps one of the more attractive people you’ve met here in your four years. He oozed sex appeal and charisma, which is why anytime he wanted to hang out or take you to a party—you obliged. If it meant getting in his bed at the end of the night, wearing the heels was worth it.

Namjoon puts his hands on your waist and the two of you dance to music in the crowded dance floor. Namjoon grabs a bottle of liquor from one of his other brothers who you have never met before and the two of you share a nice gulp of the cheap—but very strong—vodka.

You haven’t had too much to drink but you know if you drink anymore, you will not make it back to your apartment. You push the bottle away from you and turn to face Namjoon. His brown eyes stare into yours with a glassy, tipsy appearance, and he smirks at you.

“What?” You question him as his grip gets tighter on you.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you looked hot,” he says smoothly and you roll your eyes yet again.

“How sweet,” you grumble, biting down on your bottom lip. Without a warning, he leans in and pecks your lips gently. The alcohol in your veins surges through you as you lean back in and close the gap. Even in your heels, you still have to crane your neck some to fully reach his stature. His hands grip your waist tightly and you tug at his light brown locks, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

He presses himself into you a little bit harder and you can tell he wants you, his hands gripping one at your waist and the other one in your hair. Everything around you goes blank was it only feels like the two of you in the room together. Unfortunately, your moment is ruined when someone bumps into the two of you, knocking you apart. Namjoon steadies you and he glares at the two girls that ran into you.

“You want to get out of here?” Namjoon says into your ear, his breath fanning over your neck sending chills down you body.

“Yeah,” you nod a little too excitedly and he grabs your hand pulling you away from everyone. Namjoon is taking you up the stairs before someone calls out your name.

“Y/N!” You turn around in Namjoon’s grip to find Jennie holding onto the railing of the stairs, swaying back and forth drunkenly.

“Oh god,” you mutter.

“Is she okay?” Namjoon asks as he follows behind you back down the stairs. No, in fact, she looks terrible.

“Jennie, what’s up? I thought you were with Suzy?” You ask her and her face scowls.

“I was, but then… he showed up,” Jennie says, knowing exactly who she is talking about, “And he brought another girl with him! Y/N, what’s wrong with me? Am I not good enough for him?” Jennie is rambling as tears began to flow down her face. You look at Namjoon as he assesses the situation.

“I-I can get an Uber for her, if you’d like?” Namjoon offers and you nod.

“Please?” You beg and Namjoon grabs your hand squeezing it reassuringly before walking away to get the car.

“Jennie, come on, snap out of it,” you tell her and she continues to sob in your arms.

“Y/N, I don’t get it, I love him and he says he loves me but he does this shit all of the time,” she rambles.

“I know, I know,” you try to calm her down, “Jennie your drunk right now, but you’re so much better than him. I know you don’t realize it, but you are—“

“He makes me feel like shit,” Jennie sighs and you cradle your friend. Unfortunately, Jennie doesn’t have the best taste in men and she finds herself stuck in toxic situations she can’t get out of. You wish you could help more then you do but when Jennie is drunk, it’s hard to get anything through to her.

“Come on, let’s go to the bathroom,” you pull her up before she starts fighting you.

“I don’t need to use the bathroom though,” she pouts.

“Well, you might, let’s go,” you manage to hold her up and get to a bathroom in a hallway that isn’t too crowded. You reach for the handle only to be disappointed that it’s locked. Great.

You beat on the door with your free hand, “Hurry up in there! I have a crisis hanging off of my arm!”

“Hey, don’t call me that you bitch,” Jennie frowns and you roll your eyes, knowing she won’t remember any of this in the morning. You beat on the door again and again and again and finally, someone unlocks it and opens it fully.

The sight makes your eyes widen and your body heat up on fire. In front of you stands Jungkook against the counter zipping up his pants and the girl he was with earlier standing from her knees, wiping her mouth with a smirk. She leaves the bathroom, leaving you standing there with Jennie alone. When his eyes meet yours, his face goes ghostly pale. His mouth parts open and he feels like crawling into a hole to die.

“Y/N, Jennie?” Is all that comes from his mouth.

“Move Jungkook,” you say sternly and he moves to make room for you two in the bathroom.

“Uh, do you need any—“

“Leave Jungkook, I don’t need any help,” you say frustrated at the sight you just witnessed. You don’t know why you felt angry at him. You knew that he slept around like most fraternity boys—but to see him after getting sucked off in a bathroom—was new territory. Not only did it bring up the memory of you and him back in Taehyung’s bathroom all those years ago, it made you physically sick to know that you were just a pawn for him then. Who are you trying to kid? You were nothing to him. Once he figured out what his dick was used for, that’s all he cared about. Christ, you say to yourself, fuck him.

Jungkook leaves the two of you alone and within seconds, Jennie is over the toilet hurling her entire stomach up. You hold her hair back as she heaves into the toilet, trying not to gag yourself.

“Y/N,” she mumbles, “I don’t feel good.”

“I know, just keep it in the toilet please,” you say looking away at the sight.

Thankfully, Namjoon appears at the door. “The Uber is here,” he announces.

“Come on, we’re going to get you home,” you tell her, wiping her mouth with some toilet paper.

“Home?” She asks, “Thank god.”

Namjoon grabs her other side as the two of you carry her outside into the fresh air. You have to admit, the fresh air as sobered you up slightly. You spot the car waiting up front and Namjoon opens the door for Jennie.

“Thank you so much,” you tell Namjoon as he helps Jennie into the car.

“It’s seriously not a problem,” he smiles, “You should go with her,” he suggests and you feel your heart drop.

“A-are you sure?” You ask, subtle disappointment in your tone.

“Yeah, it’s fine—we’ll pick up another time,” he gives you a wink and you smile back.

“Okay, thanks again.”

You load into the back of the Uber with Jennie and you just pray that she doesn’t hurl in the car, for the sake of you and the Uber driver’s car. You were not about to pay the $200 fee for puke in the backseat.

_____

The next morning comes all too quickly in your deep sleep. When you wake up, you are not expecting Jennie to be in your bed with you. You had nearly forgotten she refused to sleep in her own bed last night, therefore you having to give in to her wishes of sleeping with you. Thankfully, you don’t feel like you have too bad of a hangover. For Jennie though, you know she will probably be in bed all day with a bottle of Tylenol at her bedside.

You check your phone and your eyes nearly burst from your head. It’s 1:07 PM.

“Fuck,” you groan to yourself. You did not need to sleep this late considering you absolutely needed to study for your exams on Monday. Not only was it an exam—it was your midterm exams in your human sciences and financial analytics classes, two classes that were kicking your ass. The longer you laid in your bed, meant the longer you were losing time to cram in your studying. You swig the sheets and blankets off of you to find yourself still in your party dress from last night. You grab a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt from your wardrobe before heading to the bathroom.

Your appearance makes you shudder when you seeing yourself in the mirror. You didn’t even take off your makeup, mascara and lipstick stains spread out on your face. Now it was time to really pray that you wouldn’t breakout from the old layer of foundation on your face. You grab a makeup wipe to get the gunk off of yourself before you step into an insanely hot shower.

You manage to shower quickly, scrubbing your body and face off of any stench left of you from last night. You step out, moisturizing each crevice that you can reach before you throw on your clothes. You feel 200% better now that you have showered and you can hear footsteps coming down from the hallway. Jennie appears at the bathroom door rubbing her eyes harshly.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” you comment and she stretches out her limbs, her dress hiked up far up her legs where her underwear is showing.

“Ugh!” She groans loudly, “My head is pounding. What the fuck happened last night?”

“There’s some medicine out in the kitchen,” you say as you follow her out into your living room and kitchen area. She goes immediately to the medicine cabinet and downs two pills with ease.

“Where are you going?” She asks as you began to gather up your school work into your book-bag.

“I have to study,” you tell her and she closes her eyes again, the sun being too harsh for the light.

“It’s Saturday Y/N,” she says obviously.

“I know,” you zip up your bag, throwing it over your shoulder, “But I have two midterms Monday—I can’t make below a B or I can get in trouble with the dean,” you explain and she nods, her sleepy gaze staring at you.

“Well, have fun. I’ll be here—dying,” she grins and you salute her off, leaving your shared apartment to go to the campus library.

The library is only about a ten minute walk and thankfully, not many students are flocking to the location on a Saturday afternoon. You assume that everyone is either hungover like Jennie or just don’t give a shit enough to come out and study.

You grab a coffee from the small coffee shop outside the library before you go in, sit down, and get to work on your studying. You turn on your classical music radio as you take out out your printed slides, notes, and textbooks. As strange as it is to say, as much as you hated studying—it’s where you felt the most comfortable. You knew you were smart and you knew school was your strongest trait—everyone knew that about you.

You go through each chapter of your human sciences class, writing and rewriting notes on new sheets of a paper. You make flashcards as you go along. You answer the obnoxiously long quiz questions at the end of your textbook as you go along.

Thankfully, you haven’t had any distractions and before you know it, it’s been nearly two hours since you first sat down. Your coffee is now cold but you don’t care as you need the caffeine to keep you going. You are about to pull out all of your analytics material before suddenly, a coffee cup in placed on the table in front of you. You look at the source and look back down until you look up again.

“Jungkook?” You ask pulling out one of your earbuds. His face is tired, the bags underneath his eyes prominent. He’s wearing a gray tracksuit, his hair messy underneath his somewhat contained beanie.

“H-hi,” he says simply, “Can I sit?” He asks referring to the chair across from you. You nod as he slings his backpack off and into the floor as he plops down in the chair.

“Hi,” you speak lowly. There’s tension between the two of you. It’s uncomfortable. You hate it, almost as much as you hate the sight you saw last night. “What’s up?” The question is simple, but forced.

He shrugs, “I dragged myself out to study despite my busting headache,” he says scratching the back of his neck.

“Jungkook in the library? To study? Did I hear that right?” You ask and he laughs slightly.

“Yup, unfortunately you did,” he answers before letting out a sigh. “I uh, got you this,” he slides the coffee cup over to you and you furrow your brows. You face heats up. Why would he buy you a coffee? The time Jungkook bought you something was a card and flowers the evening of your high school graduation, why the hell would he buy you a coffee?

“Thanks,” you laugh awkwardly grabbing the cup from him. You take a sip from the cup and realize it’s exactly how you like it. Three creams, an espresso shot, and a dash of vanilla flavoring. “How’d you know this is what I like?” You ask.

“Uh, you told me a few years back,” he says shy, his gaze ripping away from you. “I assumed it was the same, thank god,” he laughs trying to lighten up the mood.

“Thanks,” you repeat, unsure of what to say.

“Uh, how’s Jennie this morning?” He asks you with a genuine concern. You look from him, not being able to hold his gaze without burning up.

“She’s fine,” you say, keeping your eyes on your notes and hands in front of you.

“That’s good,” he says awkwardly. His leg is bouncing uncontrollably underneath the table and he feels like he needs to throw up.

“Why did you buy me this?” You ask him. He wants something, you can feel it.

“Um, no reason, I-I just saw you h-here and I know how much you love coffee,” he stumbles over his words and you meet his gaze again, before giving him a glare.

“Hm,” you mumble.

“Listen Y/N,” he starts, sounding more clear of his words, “I know we don’t really have a relationship anymore but, I-I just wanted to apologize to you about… the bathroom… last night,” he sighs and he hangs his head down for a second.

Your expression is blank and you shrug your shoulders with a small head shake, “Don’t worry about it.”

He nods slowly before a silence falls between you two.

“Listen, um I really have to get back to studying for my midterm tomorrow. Thank you again for the coffee,” you say with a small smile, trying your best to be cordial with him.

He nods getting ready to stand up but he stops abruptly, “What are you doing this week?”

The question catches you off guard.

“Oh, um,” your mouth is dry and it’s hard to find the words, “Probably studying, working, I don’t know,” you shrug again.

“Well uh, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up?” He bits his lip nervously, “We haven’t hung out in awhile, I thought maybe we could catch up?”

Awhile would be an understatement. The boy and you exchange another glance before you begin to nod hesitantly.

“Sure,” you answer simply.

“Cool,” he responds, “You still have the same number?” He asks. The question is weird. How is it that your best friend of so many years has to ask if your number is the same?

“Yeah,” you nod. He nods too, saying a quick goodbye before you watch as his built frame disappears into another corridor of the library, your eyes lingering a little too long on his built frame. What the hell was that?

_____

On Monday, both of your exams go a lot better than you were expecting them to. Your human sciences exam had already been graded and you made a 94 which in turn meant you were over the moon. Now you could only hope for that in analytics.

You know sat across from Jennie at one of your campus’s sandwich shops eating a late lunch.

“I don’t even know why you stress so much about your grades Y/N,” Jennie says, “You always end up with an A.”

“Jennie, I worry because if I don’t get A’s I can get kicked out of the honors program, you know this,” you say with pointed eyes, “Besides, I made a B in that business statistics class I had my freshman year, I’m still pissed about that!”

“Boohoo, I got a C minus in that class,” Jennie rolls her eyes, “All I’m saying is, you just need to loosen up. I know school is stressful but I know that you have to be going crazy.”

“I am going crazy Jennie,” you whine, “I’m just glad we don’t have much longer,” you sigh heavily.

“You and me both,” she adds, “I’m sorry I interrupted your stress relief the other night,” she says.

“What?”

She laughs, “You almost got dicked down by Namjoon and I ruined it,” she pouts and you giggle at her.

“It’s fine,” you shake your head, “He said we could pick it up another time.”

“Good, his fine piece of ass is something you gotta keep,” she smirks. Suddenly, your phone makes a ding on the table and you grab it quickly. Your eyes widen slightly when you see the text message.

[3:32 PM Jeon Jungkook] hey do you still want to do something this week?

“Who is that?” Jennie asks you.

“Uh, nobody,” you shake your head putting the phone back down.

“It most definitely is not nobody—your eyes are huge,” she points out. Dammit.

“Um,” you start, “Well last week at work, Jungkook, Taehyung, and their friend Hobi came in later at night,” you tell her, “And it was awkward and then I saw Jungkook at the party on Saturday.”

“We see him all the time at the parties we go,” she shrugs.

“I know, but then he came up to me in the library the other day…and bought me a coffee,” you finish.

Jennie’s eyes widen. “What?”

“I know right,” you say.

“Wonder what he wants from you?” She purses her lips.

“He asked if he wanted to go out this week,” you shrug, “He said we haven’t in awhile and he wanted to ‘catch up’,” you say.

Jennie’s eyebrows furrow. “Hm,” she mumbles, “Well are you going to?”

“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly, “I think I’ve seen enough of him to last me awhile.”

Jennie grimaces at you, “Come on Y/N,” she says, “You and Jungkook used to be inseparable, I don’t even know what the fuck happened to you two.”

“We just grew apart Jennie,” you tell her.

“Friendships like you and Jungkook don’t just ‘grow apart’,” she uses air quotes.

“Believe what you want,” you mutter, picking at your food suddenly not feeling too hungry.

“Why wouldn’t you go? There’s nothing stopping you is there?” She presses.

“Not exactly, but… I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” you mumble.

“Y/N, he’s your oldest friend,” she says, “You’ve known him longer than anyone else here, I know that you miss him as your friend,” she goes on.

“I don’t know Jennie, we’re not the same people we used to be. We’re not compatible as friends anymore, it’s weird.”

“How can it already be weirder than it is now? It’s weird as fuck that you two grew up together and don’t speak to each other anymore. I’d say go, just hangout, who knows what might happen,” she reasons and you cannot help but agree with her.

You don’t say anything else as you pull your phone back out.

[3:38 PM Me] Yeah I’m free tonight if you want to do something!

_____

Jungkook picks you up at seven on the dot. You feel nervousness settling in your stomach and you suddenly care about your appearance. When you open the door of your apartment and welcome him in, you have to tell yourself to keep your mouth closed.

He’s dressed in a sweatshirt and ripped jeans but he looks…so good? You hope you aren’t overdressed in your dress and denim jacket and he smiles when he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” he greets you and you welcome him into your apartment—a place he has never been.

“Hi,” you say grabbing your keys from the kitchen. “Jennie!” You shout and she emerges from the laundry room

“Yeah?” She stops dead in her tracks when she sees Jungkook. “Oh, hey Jungkook.”

“Hi,” he smiles.

“I’ll be back later,” you tell her, “What are you doing tonight?”

“I have to write a report and I guess I’m going to do your laundry since you’re lazier than shit,” she presses. You throw up your middle finger and turn to Jungkook.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

_____

“Where are we going?” You ask him as you make your way outside, keeping a relative distance between you and him.

“You hungry?” Jungkook proposes, almost with a playful tone.

“Mhm,” you mumble, looking down at the ground as you walk. This was weird… so fucking weird. The last time you and Jungkook had hung out was around two and a half years ago—not even shitting. You wonder if he still liked the same things, had the same hobbies, ate the same food, but you were completely unsure of yourself in this circumstance. The nervousness hasn’t settled in your stomach and your mind wonders if he’s nervous too.

“Alright, c’mon,” he says and you meet his gaze before he changes direction with you in tow.

It’s not even a five minute walk—mind you, in silence—until we reach the place Jungkook had led you to.

“Really Jungkook?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you step into your all too familiar work place.

“What?” He laughs, “The food is good,” he continues.

“I’m starting to think you brought me here for my employee discount,” you press to him and he tilts his head.

“You have an employee discount?” He repeats, “Good to know,” he chuckles and in turn, you return a small laugh, feeling a little more comfortable.

Mark isn’t working tonight, but unfortunately, a girl named Kyla is and you absolutely despise her. Her biggest personality trait is just being a bitch—a bitch for no reason! Sure, you can have your bitchy moments but you’re not going to be a bitch to someone unless they deserve it.

“Y/N… Jungkook,” Kyla says slowly, looking between the two of you. “Just sit wherever you like,” she says. The restaurant is free real estate as you two are the only ones here.

You choose a booth, sliding in on one side, Jungkook on the other.

“Do you know her?” You ask Jungkook once she walks away from your table.

Jungkook looks pale, “I’ve met her, once or twice,” he says and it’s all the confirmation you need to understand that means he’s fucked her once or twice.

You don’t say anything else as you look through the menu, already knowing exactly what you want.

“When did you start working here?” Jungkook asks you.

“Oh, about a month ago,” you say. He already knows that. I guess you and Jungkook are really too that point, huh? Small, dull, repetitive conversation?

“How did your exams go?” He asks, chewing on his bottom lip. He’s nervous—you can sense it.

“Better than I thought,” you answer honestly.

“Hm, let me guess—you thought you did terrible but ended up getting an A,” he reads you perfectly.

“Hey! I don’t think like that,” you say even thought you know that is a fat lie.

“Come on Y/N, you’ve been that way since we were fourteen. Lying sends you to hell you know,” he raises an eyebrow at you and you look away from him to suppress your laugh.

“Fine. I got a 94 on one of them, I don’t know about the other one yet,” you tell him.

“See, you’re a genius,” he says and you shake your head.

“Most definitely not,” you say.

“I was always so envious of you growing up, you just sat there in school and you just… got it,” he says remembering back to your younger days, “All of us were jealous of you,” he adds.

“I can guarantee nobody was jealous of me Jungkook,” you give him a grimace, “We all were stupid in our own ways, maybe you more than anyone else,” you decide to pick on him since you’re feeling more relaxed as the conversation keeps going.

“Hey, no need to shit on me like that,” he gives you a pout.

Your phone suddenly vibrates against the table. It’s probably Jennie, you think to yourself as you flip the phone over. To your surprise, it’s not Jennie—It’s Namjoon.

[7:28 PM Kim Namjoon] hope you had a good day

[7:29 PM Kim Namjoon] mine would be a lot better if you were sitting on my cock right now

Your eyes widen and you flip the phone back over with a slam to the table. Jungkook looks at you curiously.

“Whose that?” He asks.

You want to lie, but Jungkook can tell when you’re lying. “Just Namjoon,” you tell him, “He was asking about some homework.”

Jungkook nods slowly before chewing on his bottom lip again, “You and hyung are good friends?”

Your face drops and you don’t say anything.

“I’m just asking since I’ve seen you guys together at our parties,” he adds while clearing his throat.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” is all that comes from your mouth. Jungkook’s eyes are hard to read but you can tell he knows you’re not saying what you’re actually thinking. What he wants you to do is be honest with him and tell him that yeah, you and Namjoon fuck from time to time, but of course, he doesn’t get that answer.

About twenty minutes later, Kyla is bringing your food.Your stomach growls as the scent of the food comes into your nostrils. The two of you begin eating, keeping some small talk between the two of you.

“Are you still a business major?” You ask him as you chow down on your French fries loaded with ketchup.

Jungkook scrunches his face up, “Hell no,” he shakes his head.

You stop your chewing momentarily, “Oh,” is all you can muster. “I’m sure that went over well with your father.”

Jungkook gives you a short glance, a smirk across his face, “It went as well as you can imagine.”

Growing up, Jungkook was expected to go to college, get a business degree of some kind and him and his older brother were to takeover his father’s company by the time he was 30—you would know, Jungkook would secretly complain to you about nonstop as teenagers.

“What are majoring in now?”

“Photography and film,” he answers boldly.

“Oh, wow,” you tell him, “That’s a big move.”

“I’d rather die than being forced to do something I don’t want to do, that’s no way to live life,” he munches on his burger, his eyes looking straight into yours.

“How’s Taehyung?” You ask him.

“He’s good,” he laughs a little bit, “Would you believe it if I told you he has a girlfriend?” He cocks his head slightly.

“Taehyung? And a girlfriend?” You say in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” he chuckles, “It’s weird though, he won’t introduce me to her, hell he won’t even tell me her name.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “That is weird,” you pause, “Maybe he thinks you’ll steal her,” you smirk jokingly.

Jungkook shakes his head, “Taehyung’s got more game than I do, trust me,” he says with a laugh.

“I’m assuming you don’t have a girlfriend?” You ask him nervously, biting down on your bottom lip.

Jungkook stops eating and rolls his tongue on the inside of his cheek, “No, I haven’t dated anyone since Yuna really.”

The confession surprises you and you somewhat don’t believe him.

“Why not?” You press.

He shrugs, “Just haven’t found anyone I like I guess, like, really like, you know?”

You nod understandingly. Before Namjoon (whom you aren’t even dating) you had dated this guy for awhile and he was nice but you were bored as fuck in that relationship. Thankfully, you moved on from that onto better things.

Once the two of you finish your meals, Jungkook pays before you can protest and you leave the restaurant around 8:30 PM. You shove your hands into your jacket and walk along beside of Jungkook, lazily kicking rocks when you come across them.

“So, what did I do to deserve a free meal and a coffee from Jeon Jungkook in the span of two days?” You look up at him and he glances down to you quickly.

“I said I wanted to catch up, how else was I supposed to do that?” He smirks and you hit his arm playfully.

You don’t say anything so he continues.

“I don’t know, it’s just when I saw you last week working, I hadn’t seen you in so long… let alone speak to you,” he pauses, “It made me realize that I miss our friendship, I missed us…” he trails off, looking straight ahead.

“Why didn’t you reach out sooner?” You ask him seriously.

Jungkook hesitates some, “You could have reached out too, the phone works both ways” his words are unexpected, harsh. And they somewhat hurt.

You don’t say anything again, feeling a sting in your chest.

“I didn’t mean it like that Y/N,” Jungkook say, stopping his path to stand in front of you, “It’s just… we haven’t spoken in so long. I feel like you’re a completely different person ever since we got here to university. I don’t know what happened—“

“You don’t know what happened?” Your tone is sharp. “Are you stupid Jungkook?”

He looks taken aback, “W-what?”

“When we were eighteen and you fucking kissed me that’s what happened and that’s when shit changed Jungkook, don’t act like you don’t know,” you sound angry to which, you are. Talking about this gets you riled up.

Jungkook lowers his head, “We should have talked about that, I know but—“

“But what Jungkook? It ruined our friendship and you know it.”

“I ruined it?” He now sounds pissed off. “What ruined our friendship was you acting like I didn’t exist once we got here to college. You blew me off and blew me off time and time again,” he runs a hand through his hair, “I tried to maintain this friendship and you know it. If that stupid, fucking, drunken kiss bothered you that bad, you should have been a big girl and told me.”

You feel frustrated and you feel tears are threatening to spill out of you. You want to comeback with something, but you know he’s right. He did try and you were the one to put distance between you both.

“I-I,” you start but no words come out. “I’m sorry Jungkook. It’s just when we got here, things got more complicated and more stressful, and I couldn’t afford distractions—“

“So I’m a distraction now?”

“What? No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” you shake your head in protest.

“So, hanging out at fraternity houses every weekend, getting hammered with Jennie every weekend, smoking pot once in awhile, and fucking Namjoon isn’t a distraction? But your best friend of fourteen years is a distraction?” Jungkook’s words come out in a frenzy and you feel slightly attacked.

“Excuse me what? Jungkook no—“ you stop yourself from speaking. You know he’s right but that doesn’t give him a right to attack you like that. “So, what’s your excuse then for not being the bigger person than, huh? Getting sucked off too many times in a bathroom and you realized you don’t need my attention anymore? Huh?”

Jungkook’s eyes darken and you can tell he’s pissed off.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He asks you.

“Jungkook, you’re my oldest friend—“

“You don’t treat me like it—“

“Well neither do you,” you back go back and forth with each other. You’re frustrated. Angry. Sad.

Jungkook is fighting a battle in his head. “I’m sorry okay,” he says, “I think we both can admit we’ve acted shitty to each other.”

You look away from him staring aimlessly at your lap, “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Neither should have I,” he says. “I just wish you had told me about that stupid kiss, we could have talked through it Y/N. I wasn’t thinking back then.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Jungkook’s eyes look panicked and he scratches the back of his neck.

“I had a stupid little crush on you at the time okay? And alcohol doesn’t help, it only intensified my feelings.”

“What?” Your mouth drops agape at the confession.

“I know, stupid right,” he shakes his head, “Fuck I wished we had discussed this sooner because this is so embarrassing,” he laughs while shaking his head.

You’re in disbelief. Jungkook liked you? How did you not know? It makes your insides tingle at the thought, but you know you shouldn’t get excited so you drown out the feeling deep within you.

“Well, that was years ago,” you tell him, “All we can do now is look ahead,” your breath is uneven and shaky.

“You’re right,” he mutters, “I really am sorry Y/N, I-I just want you as a friend again—“

“I forgive you Jungkook. And I’m sorry too.”

What Jungkook does next is unexpected but all too familiar. He grabs your chin and squeezes it in his hand. You swat him away with a laugh as he pulls you in by an arm. You oblige his movements and rest your head on his shoulder as the two of you keep walking. There’s something oddly intimate about this gesture. And the whole atmosphere has changed but you like it—it feels… like home.

“Can I ask you something?” You mumble.

“You just did,” he laughs and his chest rumbles underneath you.

“Shut the fuck up,” you lean up from him with a smile, “Namjoon said you talk about me a lot…?” You trail off your question. You could be sneaky if you really wanted to be.

“He did?” Jungkook panics. Fucking Namjoon, he thinks to himself. “W-what did he say?” He stumbles on his words.

“Just stuff,” you respond hesitantly, “He may or may not have said that you called me hot.” Jungkook freezes beside of you.

“Fucking hell, I’m gonna kill hyung,” he mutters underneath his breath, “Look I’m sorry okay—I was really drunk and I saw you at one of our parties in this short ass dress and fuck, yeah I said you were hot—I’m sorry okay? I know that’s so fucking weird jeez, I’m sorry—“

“Jungkook it’s fine,” you laugh interrupting his rambling. “It’s not weird, I just wanted to know whether or not Namjoon was feeding me shit.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” He asks and you can sense that he is very embarrassed. “I told you, I’m not good with my alcohol.”

You shake your head, “I mean, you’re pretty hot too if I say so myself,” the words tumble from your mouth and you actually want to crawl in a hole and die. Did you just say that?! Jungkook looks at you as you turn your face away from him. Fuck, he thinks to himself. He glances down your body and notices the cleavage coming through your dress and the way you hair is pulled to one side. Fuck, he thinks again, yeah, stupid little crush three years ago my ass.

“Can I tell you something?” His voice his quiet, serious.

“Of course,” you look up at him with a concern face.

“You can’t tell anyone—not even Jennie,” he says, his voice low. You give him a confused look, but nod anyways.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him. He bits at his lip, feeling uneasy.

He takes in a deep breath before exhaling, “When I changed my major a few months back, my parents threatened to cut me off—“

“Whoa, what?”

“And they’re still threatening to if I don’t get my shit straight.”

“Jungkook, I don’t get what you’re saying? Have you done something?” You ask him, feeling already too uneasy about where this conversation is going.

“No, I haven’t done anything—that’s the problem. I haven’t proved to them that I’m worthy for them to keep paying for my school. I haven’t proved to them that I can get a job somewhere. My grades aren’t proving anything to them.”

“What are you gonna do if they cut you off? You can’t pay for this shit-hole by yourself—they know that.” You notice the way his jaw is grinding and his breathing is shaking.

“Please don’t get mad at me,” he mumbles quietly. Oh god. “Recently I started taking up, um… boxing,” he says, unsure of his words.

“…Okay?” You say slowly.

“I’ve been fighting, like underground fighting,” you almost don’t hear him, but then you do, and you want to laugh in his face—but he’s being serious.

“Fighting? Jungkook what the fuck?!” You push yourself away from the comfort of his side, “Are you crazy?!”

“I’m getting paid for the fights—if I win at least,” he tries to sound reasonable but to you, you want to scream at him in anger.

“Jungkook, are you fucking kidding me? You’re fighting? Instead of finding a real job?”

“Y/N you don’t understand—I make thousands of dollars for one fight—it’s my best chance right now.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you shake your head, pulling your hands through your hair in frustration, you cannot believe this man right now.

“What are you going to do about school then? Huh?” You press him.

“I-I was hoping you would help me, at least try to tutor me,” he says hesitantly and your stomach drops. You don’t say anything for a moment, unsure if you want to scream or cry at him.

“So this is the reason why you wanted to rekindle our friendship, so I could be your fucking tutor?”

“What no—“

“Are you fucking kidding me Jungkook? I cannot believe you right now,” your voice is getting louder by the minute. You start to walk away from him back to your apartment by yourself, unable to even look at him right now.

“Wait—no, please Y/N,” Jungkook runs to you, grabbing your hand and pulls you back to him, “I know this is all bad timing but I really did miss having you as a friend and you’re the only person, I could tell this to, at least for now,” he quickly explains.

“What, so you want me to help you through school while you get the shit knocked out of you for money?” You ask him, “Jungkook I don’t want to see you go through that, you have to find another option,” your eyes are pleading with him. His grip moves from your hand to your waist which causes your heart to race irregularly.

“Y/N, please I know it’s not the best but it really is my best option. I need someone there for me and I need that person to be you,” his face is too close for comfort and you back away from him a few inches.

“Jungkook, I don’t know,” you shake your head.

“Please, Y/N, I’m begging you,” he says again.

“Have you told anyone?” You ask him.

“Aside from you, only Taehyung knows—and Yoongi, he was the one to introduce me to it.” Yoongi—a name you’re not familiar with.

“Fucking hell Jungkook,” you lean your head back, trying to contain your emotions.

“Please you can’t tell anyone Y/N, I can get in serious trouble by obtaining money this way.”

“Yeah because it’s fucking illegal,” you spit at him. You find his hand to grip a little too tightly and you want to scream at Jungkook. How could he be so stupid? And how were you going to let him be so stupid?

“I’ll help you with school Jungkook, but the fighting… I don’t know,” you tell him, “You know I’m not going to be okay with that.”

“If you makes you feel any better, I haven’t lost. The most I’ve walked away with is a few scraps and bruises on my arms,” he tries to lighten up your mood but it doesn’t work. “I promise I won’t get hurt, I know what I’m doing,” he nudges you trying to loosen you up some. He hands end up grabbing yours, intertwining them tightly.

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep Jungkook,” you tell him and his face falls again. Both of you look at your intertwined hands. “At least promise me you’ll be careful,” you plead him.

“Of course. I promise,” he says giving your hand a squeeze. Without warning, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly. Your hands snake up against his neck and pull him close to you as well.

His scent is all too familiar and it scares you that you’ve missed out on him growing into the handsome adult he is now. And now, you have to fear for his wellbeing. Fuck. Jungkook pulls away from you and your faces meet a little too close for comfort. His nose brushes against yours, his eyes burning holes into you.

“I’d trust you with my life Y/N,” he speaks again, “And I’m trusting you with this.”

Your breath hitches as his nose brushes yours again. Fuck, you think to yourself. You bite your lip, knowing that you wold absolutely die for this boy and it takes all of you to grip his shirt and push him away from you. You feel less suffocated once your space is empty and Jungkook’s hand stays in yours as he walks you home. It’s a good thing, you think, that you’ve had a stupid little crush on him too or you would most definitely not do this shit for him.

_____

“So,” Jennie says slowly, “How was it?”

You hadn’t even walked into your apartment five feet before Jennie is rushing questions onto you.

“Um,” you pause, taking the time to take off your shoes, “It went... well,” you say, unsure of your words. Did it go well? You weren’t sure considering the two of you were in an argument nearly the whole way home.

“Well?” Jennie asks, curiosity dripping in her tone, “I need more details than that. What’d you do? What did you guys talk about?”

“Um, we just kind of caught up on things,” you knew you had to tread your words lightly. “It felt pretty normal.” You add at the last second, giving her a weak smile. She narrows her eyes at you.

“That’s it?” She somewhat frowned.

“What did you want me to say?” You give her a laugh as you begin to walk back towards your room and undress into your sleepwear. She follows your footsteps closely.

“I don’t know! I was just expecting more, more from you! You seem awfully quiet,” she says plopping down on your bed that she is oh-so accustomed to.

You look through your drawers and pull out a big t-shirt and slip it over your head. You turn to Jennie and give her another pathetic attempt of a smile.

“It’s just weird okay,” you tell her, climbing onto your bed with her, “This was the first time we’ve actually hung out by ourselves in years and I don’t know, it was good, like we picked up where we left off you know?” You knew that was a complete lie but you needed to get Jennie off your case or you were afraid you would let your worries slip.

She lets out a sigh, “I guess so. I do think about high school sometimes and we really had it good… the four of us,” she smiles fondly thinking back to simpler times.

“Yeah… we did,” you agree staring up at your ceiling.

“How’s Taehyung by the way? Did Jungkook mention him?”

You give a glance at Jennie and she’s looking at her overgrown nails. “He’s good, Jungkook said he had a girlfriend which surprised me.”

“Hm,” Jennie shrugged, “Interesting.”

You furrowed your eyebrows while looking at her. “Interesting?” You found her answer odd but she brushes it off.

“Yeah, well I have homework to do that isn’t gonna do itself unfortunately,” she stands up from your bed, “See you in the morning, goodnight.” She throws you a quick wink before she leaves, shutting your bedroom door behind of her.

You let out a sigh of relief when she leaves. As happy as you were that you and Jungkook reconnected some tonight, the uneasiness in the pit of your stomach was keeping you from focusing on the good. You couldn’t believe what Jungkook had gotten himself into. Boxing? For money? You knew Jungkook never had much common sense but this takes it to another level. You now knew one of his deepest secrets and not only could that seriously backfire on you if something went wrong. He said he trusted you with his fucking life for Christ’s sake. Who says that to someone they’ve barely spoken to in two years? Someone who is desperate, you think.

You grab a book from your nightstand for one of your classes and flip to your last read page, trying to rid your mind of Jungkook getting the shit beat out of him. And as much as you read your book and your eyelids fall sleepy, you manage to barely sleep that night, as images of your old friend are burned into your brain.

_____

It wasn’t long after your first meetup with Jungkook that he started asking for tutoring help. Jungkook knew your schedule was busy and he didn’t want to pressure you into anything, but the more you were around Jungkook, the more desperate you were to help him. You have known him for so long and despite all your differences, he truly was and will always be one of your best friends. And best friends helped each other. Right?

“Hey—sorry I’m late,” you meet Jungkook in the back of the fourth floor of the library after your last class of the day. “I had a question about my lecture—“

“Y/N it’s fine,” Jungkook says softly, not looking up from his paper, “Don’t worry about it.”

You set down beside of him and begin to take your belongings out of your backpack and you notice Jungkook has already begun some work himself.

“How was classes today?” You ask him opening up your laptop. You give him a glance and he’s focused on the problem in front of him.

“It was alright, I slept through my first one at ten—“

“What’s that?” You ask as you let your eyes focus a little too close on his face. A cut lined across his jaw and up towards his left ear and you felt yourself begin to panic. “Jungkook what—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he’s being cold and distant and you don’t like it. You look down his arms and onto his hands and notice some cuts and bruises there too. That’s when it hits you.

“Jungkook did you have a fight recently?” You keep your voice low so no one else could hear. He visibly tenses up beside of you and he adjusts his beanie on his to try and cover his ear area.

“Yeah,” he says simply, his eyes not looking at you one time, still focusing on the paper ahead.

“Jungkook,” your tone is deep and not happy, but you suppose there isn’t much you can do in this situation. Curiosity got the best of you and you ask, “What happened?”

“Let’s not talk about that okay?” He turns to you fully and you inwardly gasp, seeing that his right eye is half blacked behind his glasses. You feel sick to your stomach and your mouth parts. Again, you don’t say anything and just give him a nod.

The rest of the tutoring session with him goes smoothly and Jungkook has significantly picked up his understanding of his classes in a short amount of time, but in the back of your mind you wanted to scream. Scream at him. How could he be doing this to himself? He first told you he was fine. He sure doesn’t look fine. It’s getting close to 7 o’clock when you tell him you have to go get ready for your shift at the diner in an hour.

“We can pick up again whenever you need to,” you tell, “And text me if you have any questions.”

“What are you doing this weekend?” Jungkook completely ignores your sentences and you turn to him, trying not to stare at the faint of blue under his eye.

“Um, I have another shift tomorrow that starts at 7,” you tell him.

“Can you get off?” He asks almost nervously as the two of you begin to leave the library.

You chuckle, “Probably not, why?”

“Well, Taehyung and I are having a small get together at our apartment and I wanted to know if you and Jennie wanted to come?”

He sounds genuine and you know it could be fun and a little different from the chaotic frat scene that you’re used to.

“Sure, I’m sure Jennie will be down,” you give him a smile to which he returns one for the first time tonight. “If I can’t get off work I’ll just come after my shift.”

“Sounds good,” he says and you are about to part ways before he grabs your arm to stop you, “Thanks again Y/N, for helping me out,” there’s a glimmer in his eyes.

“No problem, it’s what a friend would do right?” You give him your best smile although it feels weird saying that. His face drops in the slightest way.

“Yeah…” he trails off, his hand trailing down your arm before letting go, “See you soon?”

You give him a nod, “See you soon.”

_____

Your shift at the diner tonight was being particularly slow for a Tuesday and you found yourself aimlessly making lattes for yourself every thirty minutes. You were slightly jacked from the caffeine but you knew you would need it once you went home to finish off the load of your homework for the night. Bedtime as of right now was looking to be 3 AM, possibly 4. Mark is once again working with you tonight which makes it all the more bearable, but the more you stand behind the counter, sipping your coffee, the more you realize you do not want to waste tomorrow night working.

“Hey, Mark,” you say and he looks up from his book.

“What’s up?” He asks, his eyes focussing on you.

“Would you care…. to possibly… take my shifts this weekend?” You ask slowly, dancing around the topic. His eyebrows furrow and you could tell that is not what he wanted to hear from you.

“I mean… I don’t care to, but can I ask why?”

Shit. You couldn’t say it was to go to a small party. That would be an automatic no.

“Well, I’ve been tutoring someone recently and it's taken away from my own study time, so I really need all weekend to catch up on all my shit,” you say smoothly. Not a complete lie, but he didn’t need to know you would be catching up on your “shit” tonight and not this weekend.

“Yeah, sure whatever,” he waves his hand off, “Just be sure to tell our manager before you leave.”

“Right… thanks Mark.”

“That means you owe me a shift in the future,” he says pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah, read your fucking book.”

_____

Friday was a blur. You went to sleep around 3:45 AM. Had to wake up at 7 AM for your 8 AM lecture, dragged your feet to your other classes, barely had time to eat anything, only consuming coffee to suppress your appetite in the afternoon, and now that you were home you couldn’t wait to lay in your bed for a few hours.

Jennie didn’t have classes on Friday’s—fuck her—so she had been chilling all day when you burst through the door exhausted.

“You look horrible,” she said as soon as you flopped down on the couch beside of her.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” you groan covering your eyes.

“Well you better get rested up before tonight,” she says.

“What’s tonight?” You mumble, nearly drifting off to sleep right then and there.

“Jungkook invited us to his apartment, that’s what you said last night,” she gave you a funny look before shaking her head.

Shit. You had forgotten about that throughout your drowsy state all day.

“Yeah, right,” you pause, looking at her through the crack of your arm, “Wake me up at 7 to get ready.” You stand up planning on taking the fattest nap of your life.

“I-I captain!” Jennie says sarcastically and it’s the last thing you hear before passing out on your bed, not even bothering to put a blanket over you.

_____

Jungkook and Taehyung’s apartment isn’t far from yours. You wouldn’t say the exterior is nicer than yours, but the abundance of buildings shows that their community is much larger than the one you and Jennie share.

“This is right?” Jennie asks as you knock on the door heavily.

“Yeah,” you say, faintly hearing music from the other side of the door.

The door swings open and to your surprise, it’s Taehyung.

“Jennie, Y/N!” He smiles widely at the two of you before ushering you in. “It’s been wayyyy too long! You guys want a drink?”

You take a second to look around their apartment, not seeing Jungkook anywhere. There’s about two dozen people here, some playing pong, others sitting around the living area. You knew Taehyung was feeling a little drunk despite it being only 9 from the way he grabs a couple cups, the entire tower of them falling over.

“How have you guys been?!” Taehyung pours some cheap tequila into your red solo cups and hands them over.

“Good, what about you?” Jennie smiles to him and Taehyung pours another shot for himself.

“Fucking great,” he says before putting his cup out. The three of you bump cups and down the tequila, a familiar burn hitting you instantly. It’s oddly reminiscent, the three of you drinking alcohol like there are no problems with the world.

“Where’s Jungkook?” You ask, giving another glance around the apartment, only recognizing some of his frat brothers, but him still not to be found.

“He went to get more alcohol and some other things,” Taehyung says, pouring another shot for the two of you. “I heard the two of you finally got over your bullshit?”

You furrow your eyebrows and Jennie laughs. “W-what?” You have to laugh too, “Bullshit?”

“You know, how the two of you acted like neither of you existed? God it was so annoying hearing that little bitch talk about you constantly,” he rolls his eyes dramatically and Jennie eyes you suspiciously.

“Uh, yeah—“ you were unsure of what to say, “Heard you have a girlfriend now?” You change the subject quickly and Jennie raises her eyebrows at Taehyung.

“Really?” Jennie says almost passively. Taehyung doesn’t glance at you, only looking to Jennie.

“Yeah,” he says, “C’mon, drink your shit. The night is young and you guys need to catch up!”

“Or you need to slow down?” You offer and only giggles again. You down another shot and at this pace, you’ll be passed out by 11, Jennie by 10. You’ve always handle your alcohol better than her, but a shot every two minutes will do anyone in.

The three of you talk aimlessly, somewhat of an unresolved tension between Jennie and Taehyung that is impossible to avoid until you get some more alcohol in you. You’re about four shots of Jose Cuervo in and sipping on some type of seltzer when your phone buzzes in your hand.

[9:46 PM Namjoon] hey, wrud tonight

[9:46 PM You] at a friend’s place tonight, wbu

Your eyes are having trouble to focus as the alcohol begins to settle in your system. You remember vividly how you barely had any food today and you know you should stop drinking otherwise you might puke everywhere.

[9:48 PM Namjoon] damn, missing you. I believe you still owe me a rain check

You laugh at your phone.

[9:48 PM You] soon, I promise lol

“Jungkook! Fuck yes my brother!”

You instantly look up from your phone and see Jungkook walking through the front door, a case of beer in one hand and a brown bag in the other. He smiles as he sets down the case and bag of liquor as his brothers crowd around him to grab a can.

Do you go up to him? Yes, are you, stupid? But shouldn’t he look for you? What are you twelve?

Your internal monologue is interrupted when Taehyung pulls you over to Jungkook with a small push.

“Hey Y/N,” Jungkook smiles, grabbing a beer for himself. He’s wearing a hat to cover his forehead.

“Hi,” you smile and he gives you a small, somewhat awkward hug.

“Glad you could make it,” he says, the bruises on his face from the other day already looking a lot better.

“I was not going to spend my Friday night at the restaurant,” you laugh, trying intensely to focus on his face and not zone in and out as you tend to do drunkenly.

“Jennie here?” He asks.

“Yeah, she’s uh,” you pause, actually not knowing where she went. “Oh, she’s playing pong with Taehyung.”

“Come on then,” he reaches out his hand, “Let’s play with them.”

“Jungkook I’m terrible, you know that—“

“I never said you were good, but for old times sake?” His brown eyes bore into yours and you give in, nodding your head and settling your hand into his. His hands are warm—always have been. Slightly rough and calloused but smooth—what the fuck, stop it!

The four of you, girls verses boys, start a new game of pong and you’re sure Jennie is just as bad as you. That’s evident when Jungkook and Taehyung lob four in, one after another. You’re lucky you get one in their cups. Jennie, too drunk at this point, can’t even throw straight. The whole sight is very funny as the four of you laugh like you’re the only ones in the room.

“Come on Y/N!” Taehyung yells, “I knew you were ass but really?!”

“Me! What about her!” You defend yourself as Jennie throws a ball at Jungkook’s head.

“At least Y/N can aim!” Jungkook laughs, defending you as well, rubbing his head from the plastic impact.

The game ends with Jungkook calling island and you don’t even care at this point. Pong was and never will be your favorite. Flip cup was your speciality and even Taehyung knew that. You find yourself sitting with Jungkook on their couch, legs tucked underneath you, watching at Taehyung and Jennie take on another round of pong with Jackson—a fraternity brother—and his long time girlfriend—Mina, maybe?

“Are you even drunk right now?” You deadpan Jungkook with your eyes and he gives you a small smile.

“Nah,” he says, “You are though,” he says pointedly drinking from his beer.

“Hey—“ you point, “Only a little,” you whisper close to his ear and he laughs at you again. “You sir, need to drink.”

Jungkook shakes his head before standing up, your eyes following up his jeans to his t-shirt clad chest. Has he always looked like this? You grab onto his extended hand and he leads you away from everyone and your heart rate quickens. Where are you going? What’s he doing?

To your relief, he takes to the small outside balcony, sliding the door nearly closed as you step out. There’s two other people out here smoking cigarettes that greet you and Jungkook curiously. You have seen these boys before, but you know they don’t recognize you. They obviously think you’re some random girl Jungkook has invited but—if they only knew.

The fresh air feels nice, but you can feel a chill running down your spine and you watch Jungkook’s frame go to a dark corner of the balcony, bending down to pick something off the ground.

“What are you doing?” You ask him and he turns back to you and you send some interesting paraphernalia in his hands.

“Not in a drinking mood tonight,” he says, his eyes leaving yours before focusing on the small glass bowl in his hands. He starts to pack it and you’re watching his every move closely. You never knew Jungkook to be a stoner, but the way he packs it quickly and begins to light it, tells you otherwise. He inhales through the end of the bowl deeply, exhaling once, before quickly taking another hit.

“Goddamn,” you laugh and he starts to cough a little bit, a small laugh coming from him.

Jungkook begins to walk back to the corner before you grab his shirt to pull him back.

“You heard of sharing is caring?” You say and he shakes his head.

“No, you’re drunk, you don’t need—“

“I want too,” you say. You hadn’t smoked in awhile, but you knew you could trust Jungkook. “Come on, I’m fine.”

Jungkook hesitates a little before he holds out the bowl. You take it and hold is securely between your lips. He lights the underside and you inhale deeply. The balcony begins to smell like weed, but it doesn’t bother you, it never has. You exhale and give him a small smile. He puts the illegal substances away and stands beside of you on the balcony.

“Alright, that will be five dollars,” he says and you turn to him, your mouth agape.

“Five dollars a hit? Kiss my ass,” you say and you suddenly begin to feel the effects of the marijuana, which makes you giggle a little too long.

“How was your day?” Jungkook asks you and you nearly feel like you could fall asleep.

“Exhausting,” you mumble, “I got like four hours of sleep last night and one of my professors had the audacity to tell me that my answer was wrong on my homework when literally five other people had the same answer and got it right. And then I had coffee as my meals and had a busting headache until I took the longest nap of my fucking life—“

“Slow down,” Jungkook interjects with a laugh, “Too much information that I’m not processing right now.”

You let out an “ugh” before saying, “I’ve had better days for sure.” You leave it at that. “What about you?”

He smiles before turning to you completely, “I’ve had better days, better weeks for sure.” He almost sounds annoyed now, like something is deeply bothering him.

You let a pause presume between the two of you, unsure of what to say. You know you shouldn’t bring it up, but you can’t help it. The bruises on his face, the cuts on his hands—you needed to know what happened to him. Despite your intoxicated state, you could form sentences and think pretty clearly and you weren’t letting Jungkook out of your sight without explaining himself.

“Jungkook,” you say in a whisper, looking around to see if the other guys had left. They had. “Are you gonna tell me what happened to your face?”

He looks down, almost embarrassed. “There was a fight on Tuesday,” he stops when you furrow your eyebrows at him.

“Tuesday?!” You half whisper, “What the hell are you doing fighting on a Tuesday? Jungkook you said—“

“It wasn’t an official fight Y/N,” he interrupts you, “I was fucking jumped with one of my friends,” he says and your eyes widen. You feel your head spinning and your mouth goes dry. From the weed, alcohol, or the conversation? You’re not sure.

“What?” You ask, worry filling your tone, “Jungkook what the fuck! You said you had this under control.”

“Keep your voice down!” He scolds, “I do have it under control, although you can’t really control when you get jumped.”

“W-why? Who would want—“

“His name is Eric. I beat him at the last real fight and I guess he’s a sore fucking loser. He wants a rematch and everything, said he was injured before the fight, so he sent some pussies to jump my friend Jimin and I.”

The information being taken in wasn’t something you wanted to hear. Was this stupid underground boxing that serious? And how stupid could Jungkook be to continue to do this?

“Well you’re not gonna fight him again,” you pause. He doesn’t look at you. “Are you?”

“There’s a lot of money on the line,” he says.

“Jungkook you’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not Y/N,” he turns to you again, his body now closer than before. His knuckles gripping the railing are pale and cracked. “If I win this fight, I won’t need anymore money before the end of the year. Hell, I’ll probably even have some left over.”

“Okay? And?”

“Then I can be done with fighting,” he sounds genuine but insincere at the same time. This greatly improves your posture and you feel your heartbeat calming down.

“B-but I figured you would need more money? Your parents Jungkook?” You stumble over some of your words.

“Y/N you don’t understand the money within these things, it’s insane. Trust me, I’ll be set with money for awhile. I just have to win that fight…”

You want to protest him. Tell him he shouldn’t do it, that he should find a normal job, get away from that stuff—but you stay silent. Jungkook always will be as stubborn as you and he seems to have made up his mind about this fighting stuff awhile ago. At the end of the day, whatever happens to him, isn’t necessarily your business.

“You know I’ll never agree with this,” you shake your head, looking down at Jungkook’s hands. They’ve relaxed against the railing and time has slowed down significantly. Every blink of your eyes seem to last 5 seconds and Jungkook could say the same thing.

“I know,” Jungkook steps towards you, overlapping one of his hands with yours, “But like I said, I trust you and you should trust me,” he almost sounds desperate. “Look at me,” he whispers and you slowly turn your head up. Your noses are nearly touching and you can smell him, your vision clouding in the dark.

“Do you trust me?” He asks quietly, licking his lips and you swallow, trying to find your breath.

You nod your head slowly, “Yes.”

You don’t know who leans in first, but when your lips meet, it’s like a siren goes off. The scene feels all too familiar. His lips are soft and they feel just like you remember. He’s gentle with you, his left hand holding your waist to pull you towards him, your bodies flush together. One of your hands finds their way to his hair and you pull him down closer to you. This feels good, really good—but isn’t this wrong? You two have just rekindled your relationship and you two didn’t even last four weeks before you two are snogging—the very reason your friendship became weird in the first place all those years ago.

You try to pull away, “Jungkook—“ he closes the gap once again and it’s like a drug—touch is like heroin in your veins. Both of you are hungry—hungry for each other. You’re not sure when, but you find yourself backed into the wall of the dark-side of the balcony. The door isn’t in view so anyone inside couldn’t see what was going on right now thank god.

“Y/N,” the groan sends your body into overdrive and he begins to trail his lips down your neck and you’ve pulled him so close to you there is barely room to breathe. It’s gotta be the alcohol—or the weed—or just Jungkook—but you’ve never wanted anyone more in your life. You squeeze your thighs together to find some unrelieved friction and Jungkook senses what you’re doing. He stops you, forcing is own leg between your crotch and you subtly moan.

“Fuck, shh,” Jungkook scolds and it makes you laugh as you check if anyone is coming to the door.

“Jungkook,” you whisper and he closes the gap between you again, covering your mouth gently and you genuinely feel butterflies in your stomach. Jungkook’s hand trails from your waist down to the front of you jeans and you pull away suddenly, “Jungkook w-what are you doing?!”

“Do you want me to do this?” He sounds mischievous as he pops open the button to your pants and you can safely say you never thought you would be in this situation with Jeon Jungkook of all people, but you are not about to stop him.

You kiss him this time, pulling on his hair, eliciting another delicious groan from him. His hand makes it way to your center and you shiver in the cold, his hands warm against your underwear. He rubs you through the material, once, twice, three times before he moves aside the fabric—the wetness covering his fingers instantly. You look towards the door again nervous that someone might walk out here and see the two of you compromised—you would die. Especially if it was Taehyung or Jennie.

“Quiet, alright?” Jungkook whispers and you nod biting your lip as he enters a finger into you. You close your eyes, mouth falling open. Your breathing picks up as he enters a second digit. His fingers are long and calloused as you noticed before but it feels so good. He brings one of your legs around his waist so he can get deeper into your center and a small, squeaky moan escapes from your mouth. Jungkook shuts you up by kissing you again and he begins to move his fingers in and out, curling them in all the right places, sending you into a silent mess.

You and Jungkook shouldn’t be doing this—not here, not right now, not ever. But you’re not doing anything to stop it. Neither is he. Is this suppose to be happening then? No—definitely yes. Wait, what? Your brain is so foggy you can’t even think straight.

Jungkook has added a third finger and it’s becoming harder and harder to stay quiet. Jungkook’s face in the crook of your neck, your neck in his—it’s all a little too intimate but it’s hot and heavy and it feels so good. Jungkook begins to use his thumb to find your clit, which he does with no problem—rubbing there and still moving in and out of you. Goddamn, he knows what he is doing.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna—“

“Shh,” he says, “Bite me, anywhere,” he says and you do as he says, your teeth clamping down onto his shoulder as you feel yourself falling off the edge. Your orgasm comes in a huge wave and it’s one of the best you’ve had in a long time—your body is shaking and you whimper into his shoulder, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Jungkook lets you finish before he pulls his hand out of your pants, letting your leg drop. You two stare at each other for a couple seconds, unsure of what to do now. You knew that Jungkook was hard in his pants but you weren’t sure if he wanted you to do anything about it. Should you ask? No that’s fucking weird. Well it’s fucking weird you just let your best friend of a billion years to give you one of the best orgasms of your life.

“Um,” he speaks first, “We should go back inside,” he says.

You nod, “Yeah, we should.”

You follow closely behind him as he slides the door open and you step back into the much warmer apartment.

“Y/N! Jungkook! What were you guys doing?!” Jennie pops out of nowhere until she steps back, “Fuck never mind, I can smell it,” she laughs, her eyes looking between the two of you. “What’s wrong with you two? Are you fighting again? Jesus fucking—“

“No, we’re fine, just high,” Jungkook gives her a reassuring smile and she nods absentmindedly. She is very drunk and then two of you might have to go home sooner than later.

“I need to call an Uber,” you say grabbing your phone from your pocket.

“I can drive you guys if you want,” Jungkook offers and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Absolutely not, you’re high.” You say pulling up the app on your phone.

“I’ve driven high before it’s not—“

“Jungkook, no,” you somewhat snap at him. This kid really knows how to grind your gears. “Thanks for inviting us, I just don’t want Jennie to do something she regrets tomorrow morning.” You try your best to lighten to mood but it’s not helping. As much progress as you and Jungkook had made the past few weeks, that all feels gone now. There’s heaviness with you and him and you hate it.

“Just let me know when you make it home?” Jungkook’s eyes are hard to read. He looks worried, anxious, high obviously, and other potential obscurities.

“I will, I promise,” you give him a smile and he returns one weakly. You look over your shoulder to find Jennie practically draping herself all over Taehyung. Fuck. “Jennie! Come on! We’re leaving,” you stomp over to the two of them and Taehyung doesn’t seemed bothered by Jennie throwing herself at him at all. If anything, they both seem to like it. “Jennie, quit, he has a girlfriend. Taehyung, you have a girlfriend,” you narrow at the both of them.

Taehyung laughs very drunkenly, “You’re right, come on Jen,” Taehyung pushes her away slightly and she stumbles over her feet.

“Our Uber is almost here,” you tell her and she nods.

“Sounds good,” she gives you a thumbs up.

“Help me walk her Tae?” You ask and he nods.

As you and Taehyung have Jennie up around your shoulders, you look around the apartment to find Jungkook to tell him bye, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

_____

It had been exactly one week since you’ve seen Jungkook. Since he was fist deep into your vagina, pleasuring you with at least 20 people in the room next to you. It has also been the last time you spoke to him. He didn’t reach out for any tutoring this week which was odd—as the two of you set a schedule for it a few weeks back. You were worried. You knew you should reach out to him and talk about what happened—but something was holding you back. You didn’t want to talk over the phone. It had to be done in person and it just had to be done. You didn’t want to lose Jungkook a second time to another drunken mistake.

Mistake? Since when was it a mistake? Was it a mistake?

You had no idea.

It’s why you’ve found yourself at Jungkook’s apartment a week later, waiting for someone to open the door. You wait patiently and no one answers the door. You’re about to give up when a voice startles you.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

Taehyung appears to your left and you jump.

“Shit Taehyung,” you hold a hand over your chest, “I’m sorry, I-I was just wondering if Jungkook was home?”

Taehyung adjusts his backpack. He must be getting back from class. “He’s probably at the gym.”

You nod slowly, “Alright, thank you.”

“No problem,” he says and you’re about to walk away and he stops you again, “Everything okay?”

You open your mouth and close it again, “Not sure,” you tell him honestly. He nods without another word, seeming to understand where you’re coming from.

If your assumptions were right, Jungkook would be at a gym about ten minutes from campus, one he frequented as a freshman all that time ago. You wanted everything to be okay, but now, you were sure you have done fucked it up once again.

The gym isn’t crowded and you don’t recognize any cars to be Jungkook’s so your mood begins to dampen as you walk towards the front door. The bell rings and you probably look like an idiot walking in with jeans and sandals, but your eyes ignore the stares as you try to find Jungkook. You walk through the gym towards the back, your neck craning each direction to find him. It smells of sweat and grit, something you haven’t done too much of lately. You’re about to give up until you reach the back, where a cracked door leads into another section of the gym. You open the crack slowly and the sounds of grunting and hard hits fill the room. You stop in your place as your eyes land on Jungkook, downing boxing gloves, a pair of shorts, and nothing else. You gulp.

He’s hitting a heavy bag hard and fast, his movements halting only for a split second before he strikes again. He’s dripping in sweat and you gulp again. Should you interrupt? He’s definitely not expecting you therefore you probably shouldn’t barge in but you’re already here, so what are you supposed to do?

“Come on Jungkook,” another man’s voice comes into play. You’ve never seen this guy with mint colored hair. “Throw a southpaw, let’s go!”

Jungkook’s stance quickly changes and he’s throwing his right arm and then uppercutting his left arm with all of his weight.

“Nice Jungkook,” the voice says again. Jungkook steps back with a smile on his face, looking behind him.

“Hey,” a different voice yells over and you stop to see who it is. A guy slightly shorter than Jungkook appears in the crack of the door, a wide smile across his face.

“Good news, fight is set,” the guy smiles, although his smile reads less than enthusiastic. You notice some bruising along this guys arms, a large scrap on the side of his face. This has to be Jimin, the other guy that was jumped with Jungkook.

“When is it?” Jungkook breathes heavily, his hair sticking to his forehead as he tries to push it back through his gloves.

“October thirteenth,” Jimin says, “A Friday.”

Jungkook laughs, “A fucking Friday the thirteenth? How cheesy could they get?”

You swallow harshly. October 13th was a less than three weeks away. You’re sure they are talking about the fight with the guy named Eric that Jungkook mentioned.

“I know right,” the nameless guy says, “But I’m sure you’ll kick his ass once again, waste of your time.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice Jimin,” Jungkook sounds annoyed and you’re starting to wonder if you should have came here at all.

“Come on, let’s do some more sets,” the other guy says says, patting Jungkook on the shoulder.

You take in a deep breath, hoping that this doesn’t backfire. You take your chance and open the door to the room as if you just showed up. Jungkook, Jimin, and the third guy turns to you.

“Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking confused, “What are you doing here?”

You glance around the room awkwardly, “Uh, I-uh, went to your apartment to see you if you were a-and Taehyung said you were here, so,” you sound like a babbling idiot.

Jungkook’s eyes soften and it’s hard to not stare below his neck, but somehow you manage.

“Jimin, Yoongi this is Y/N,” Jungkook formally introduces you, “She’s a friend.” A friend. That hurt more than it should have.

“Hi,” Jimin gives you a sweet smile and he seems like a person Jungkook would automatically gravitate towards. Yoongi stays quiet. He’s definitely not someone you would strike as Jungkook’s friend.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting—I didn’t know…” you trail off, feeling more than awkward in this situation.

“No worries,” Jimin shakes his head, “We were almost done anyways.”

Jungkook’s eyes haven’t met yours since you’ve walked in. He’s staring at Jimin and knowing Jungkook, he’s going to try and leave as soon as he can.

“Wanna meet again tomorrow?” Jimin asks towards Jungkook as he packs up his bag on the floor.

“Yeah, sure,” Jungkook mutters, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. “I’m gonna stay here for a little longer though.”

“Alright,” Jimin says, “It was nice to meet you Y/N.”

You smile to him, “You too.”

Jimin and Yoongi leave the room and the silence is suffocating. You cross your arms around your chest feeling vulnerable and insecure. You look at Jungkook and he’s staring at you now. He looks away from you before turning back to the bag, lining up to strike it again.

“Jungkook,” your voice interrupts his chance to punch. He pauses with one more glance to your frame. You begin to walk closer to him wanting to get this over and done with. “What’s wrong with you?” You ask.

Jungkook looks down, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters and you nearly jump out of your body when he begins to strike the bag in quick, calculated motions. The bag moves backwards with each punch and his face tenses up, his mind clearly on one thing and one thing only. You exhale deeply, trying to stay calm. If that’s the way he’s going to play—you won’t keep your cool for long.

“Jungkook, stop,” you raise your voice over his movements and he suddenly quits, looking up at you again. “Don’t do this right now,” you say stepping closer to him again.

“What do you want Y/N, I’m busy alright,” he scoffs, stepping away from the bag, turning fully to you. You wish he didn’t look good drenched in sweat but it was hard to stay focused when he was looking like that.

“You know exactly what I want. You haven’t spoken to me in a fucking week Jungkook,” your words are fiery despite your cool demeanor.

“Is that really that big of an issue? We barely spoke for two years until recently,” he sounds annoyed, but also timid—you can sense something is bothering him.

You frown, “Yeah until recently because I thought we moved past that.”

He doesn’t say anything. And that’s what boils your blood. Tears are threatening to spill from your eyes—not from sadness, but frustration.

“So is that it? I let you finger fuck me and now I don’t mean anything to you anymore?” Your words are seething and once you say this, Jungkook’s face softens that slightest bit.

“What? No Y/N—“

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you? What have I done?!” It takes all of you not to breakdown right there. You just got Jungkook back. You couldn’t lose him a second time.

“Y/N listen,” Jungkook takes off his boxing gloves, throwing them in the floor, “You haven’t done anything alright. It’s just—complicated,” he shakes his head, stepping closer to you. He tries to grab one of your hands but you pull away from him.

“No, no you don’t get to do that,” you say, “What happened to communicating Jungkook? Wasn’t that our issue all that time ago?”

He looks down and back up. You really wish he would put a shirt on. “I know, I know…” he wanders off, “If I could tell you I would, but I’m just under a lot of stress right now and—“

“Then tell me what’s wrong,” you don’t want to interrupt him, but you feel like you two are going in an endless circle. Jungkook steps towards you once again and this time you don’t back away from him.

“Look, I’m sorry alright. I shouldn’t have cut you off this past week—I just thought it would clear my head,” he says. With hesitation, he grabs your wrists gently, “That was stupid I get that okay? I’m sorry, especially after… what happened,” he says and you can tell he means it. Jungkook is a genuine person, you can’t argue that.

Your face warms up and you feel almost embarrassed. Were you overreacting?

“I just don’t understand,” you mutter, “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions but Jungkook, you’re worrying me. I don’t know what’s going on with us and this whole boxing thing is keeping me awake at night.”

He intertwines your fingers together and it’s comforting. Comfort you’ve been missing ever since a week ago. “Y/N, please just trust me okay? If I can get through these next few weeks I’m set and I promise you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“How can you promise that?” You look up fully at him and you’re a lot closer than moments ago.

“I don’t to make promises I can’t keep.”

You sure hoped he was right.

_____

Two weeks have gone by since your talk with Jungkook in the gym. He had resumed talking to you normally, although there was still something off about him. Then again, there was something off with you too. The intimate situation the two of you found yourself in a few weeks back, still hadn’t been fully discussed and it bothered you like no other. It bothered you because you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want it to happen again—or even further. Fuck, you shouldn’t be thinking about Jungkook like this. But don’t you have a right to? Jesus you were so confused. It’s why you have found yourself at Beta Tau Sigma once again on a Saturday night, Jennie already lost in tow somewhere, and you’re standing with Namjoon. Even though your mind was clouded with Jungkook, Namjoon was good company at keeping you distracted.

“What’s up with you lately?” Namjoon asks handing you another drink. You furrow your brows before taking a sip. Your face scrunches up at the taste—not the best.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

Namjoon gives you a straight smile, “Don’t play stupid,” he says. You don’t even try to make up a lie. Namjoon is too smart for that.

“I don’t know, Joon,” you sigh, “I’ve just been going through a lot lately I guess,” you mutter over the loud music.

“I get it,” he says, “Wanna talk about it?”

You’re about to answer him when you suddenly spot a familiar head of dark brown hair across the room. It’s Jungkook and he’s with a girl—you recognize her from somewhere. She’s standing in front of him and he’s smirking down at her and says something that makes her laugh. Then you know where you’ve seen her before—the bathroom girl. Fuck her, you don’t even realize you roll your eyes.

Namjoon laughs, “Whoa, what was that for?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“W-what?” You look back to him and he follows where your eyes had been.

“Looking at Jungkook, eh?” He smirks, “Something going on between you two?”

You shake your head immediately, “No. Absolutely not.”

You didn’t know if that was a lie or not. Sure, Jungkook and you may have swapped some bodily fluids recently, but nothing else. You were also keeping a secret of his, one that if Namjoon found out about—would have him kicked out of the frat faster than he could blink. You glance back over to Jungkook one more time and find his eyes scanning the room. They land on you within 5 seconds and he shifts uncomfortably in front of bathroom girl.

“You sure?” Namjoon finds this situation funny. You don’t.

“Shut up,” you push on his chest slightly and he grabs your hand, pulling you towards him.

“Oh I can make you shut up,” he mumbles and you laugh as he closes the distance between the two of you. Namjoon’s lips are always soft and plump but that doesn’t mean he is always the most gentle. Namjoon is rough and sometimes—it’s just what you need. Jungkook’s lips on—

You pull away quickly from him. What the fuck?

“You okay?” He asks with concern.

You nod your head, “Yeah, I, just uh need some air,” you say. It was true—your head was now spinning and the alcohol wasn’t helping. You couldn’t believe you thought of Jungkook when kissing Namjoon.

“Alright, I’ll be by the bar.”

You leave Namjoon’s side and push your way through the hoards of people and loud music. You spot a door towards the back of the kitchen and use that as your opportunity. The air is cool but crisp. Just what you needed. There’s quite a few people outside surrounding a large bonfire keeping warm. You relax against the porch railings, staring aimlessly at the ground beneath you. You pour your drink out, knowing you don’t need to drink anymore of it. You nearly shit yourself when a voice comes up directly behind you.

“Y/N.”

You whip around, clutching your chest. “Jesus Christ Jungkook,” you say. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, a large flannel and sweatshirt covering his torso. He approaches you hastily and you don’t take your eyes off of his.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he says, obviously trying to make small talk.

“I didn’t either until Namjoon asked me this evening,” you say and you instantly regret bringing up his name. Jungkook stiffens.

“Still good friends with him I see,” he bites his lip nervously, looking over to the bonfire. You squint your eyes at him. He sounds off and annoyed.

“I see you’re still friends with bathroom girl,” you shoot back. You’re not even drunk, barely tipsy, but the thought of Jungkook being annoyed at you and Namjoon nearly sends you. At least you know Namjoon well—the only Jungkook knows about that girl is her fucking mouth.

“Gotta an issue with that?” He runs his tongue against his mouth and he looks at your from the side.

You turn to him and this feels all too familiar. “Yeah, actually I do.”

“Well, I have an issue kissing Namjoon in front of me—are we even?” He cocks his head to the side and you’ve never felt more annoyed yet turned on at the same time.

“Whatever,” you brush him off running a hand through your hair, turning back to your front staring at the fire. “Last time I checked I don’t take orders from you.”

“I know,” he says and you feel him push his body against your side. Your breathing instantly picks up and you bite the inside of your cheek to steady yourself. One of Jungkook’s hands finds its way to your shoulder, trailing it down to your elbow, then pushing it through the crack of your arm to settle on your waist.

“Jungkook,” you say quietly, not wanting to bring any attention to the two of you. Jungkook’s head leans down, his temple brushing against yours. His hand rubs gentle circles on your waist and you inhale his scent deeply. Fuck. “Jungkook… are you drunk?”

He shakes his head, “No, are you?” You believe him. He doesn’t smell like alcohol nor does he seem tipsy.

“No,” you say. Jungkook pulls you impossibly closer to him and your throat feels like its closing up.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook asks and you turn your head up, your noses brushing together. What? When has he ever been this upfront? You hesitate to answer but soon nod slowly—just once—you needed to feel it again—just once again. He closes the gap between you and you nearly melt into him. One of your hands grabs his face gently, pulling him down to you. Your own hands find their way to his fluffy hair, entangling into the locks. He presses himself into you and you feel your heart beating out of your chest. You let out a small whine when he pulls on your lip with his teeth and it shakes you back to reality.

You pull away from him—your entire body on fire. He’s got you trapped against the railing and you don’t trust the old wood to support your weight much longer.

“Jungkook,” you whisper and you feel something hard pressing into your front and your throat goes dry.

“Come home with me,” he says, “Please.” Desperation. That’s what laces his tone and you’re sure your heart left from your chest. But—you know this isn’t a good idea. Blame it on being sober, but you’re not sure you should go there with Jungkook. Not right now at least. Your head was spinning and as much as you wanted to—you couldn’t.

“Jungkook,” your eyes focus on his chest, watching your hands grip his shirt gently. “I—We can’t, we shouldn’t,” you bite your lip nervously.

“Please Y/N,” he nuzzles his forehead into yours, his grip on your getting tighter, “I need you, please—“

“Jungkook, no,” you push him off of you carefully and he looks hurt and confused. “I’m sorry, I—I want to but—“

“But what?” Once again, he looks sad and maybe a little angry now? “II’m not Namjoon? Is that it?”

You shake your head, not able to find a good answer in your head. His hands drop from your side and so does your stomach. Without another glance at your frame, Jungkook walks away, pulling at the roots of his hair.

You get home alone that night. Fuck. You think you really may have messed up this time. No, Jungkook wasn’t Namjoon but Namjoon could never be Jungkook. The history the two of you have... god you were so confused. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt gravity pull you to someone more since recently, that someone being Jungkook. As confused as your feelings were, you cry some in your bed. You don’t sleep that night, worried that whatever wedge is driving itself between you and Jungkook again—won’t be fixable this time.

_____

Jungkook, maybe much not to your surprise, cuts you off again the next week. You haven’t spoken or seen him since the party. Since he wanted you to go home with him and you nearly did, but thankfully you used your head some. You missed seeing his face dearly and missed his smile even more. When did things get so complicated with you and him? Ever since fucking graduation in high school—nothing has been the same. It’s been years and years and it’s something you’ve never gotten over. The more you think about it, the obvious reasons begin to show. Maybe Jungkook means more to you than you thought? Maybe he wasn’t just supposed to be your best friend? What if you two had been destined for something else all this time? Or maybe you weren’t meant to be friends at all?

Your thoughts are interrupted when a familiar face walks into your shift at the diner. Taehyung is by himself, his backpack thrown lazily over one of his shoulders. He looks tired, but just like you, getting through the day. His eyes meet yours and give him a small smile.

“Sit wherever,” you tell him and he decides to sit along the bar, sitting across from where you stand.

“Good evening,” he gives you a small smile, running a hand over his face.

“Hey Tae,” you breathe out, handing him a menu. He holds up his hand, not wanting it.

“Just get me a latte, extra espresso please,” he says and you nod.

“Coming right up.”

It doesn’t even take you a minute to make lattes now. The process has become so familiar it’s become second nature. Mainly due to your own obsession with lattes and your determination to perfect them yourself. You top the mug off with some foam before sliding it over to Taehyung. He doesn’t wait for it to cool before taking a big gulp.

“Rough day?” You ask, leaning forward on your elbows.

“You don’t even know,” he grumbles, “I had a quiz in my hardest class today that I didn’t know about, therefore didn’t study for,” he pauses, “I had to pick up all the slack on a group project that’s due on Saturday and then I have had to deal with Jungkook’s dumbass all week and he was at his worst this morning,” he rolls his eyes.

The mention of Jungkook makes your heart flutter yet stomach feel nauseated, “What’s wrong with Jungkook?”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, “Don’t you know?”

“Um… he hasn’t talked to me in a week,” you look down at your hands, your mouth dry.

“Jesus fuck,” Taehyung groans, “No wonder he’s been in such a fucking mood. What did he do?”

You weren’t sure how to go about your answer. Um, yeah, so like Jungkook wanted me to go home with him to have sex and I did too and I didn’t and I don’t know why. Sounds great.

“It wasn’t him. It was me,” you pause, “He asked me to go home with him.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly, a small smirk on his face, “Did you?”

You shake your head, “No, I couldn’t bring myself to. I wanted to but…” you trail off, slightly embarrassed to be telling Taehyung this.

“Goddammit,” he nearly laughs, “No wonder he’s pissy. Between you and tomorrow, kid’s got his work cut out.” You pick up Taehyung joking around but you still furrow your eyebrows.

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask.

“The 13th. Did he not tell you?” Fuck. His fight. Without talking to Jungkook everyday, you had forgotten about the fight.

“He mentioned it.”

“Are you going?” The question catches you off guard.

“What, oh no,” you shake your head, “No, he didn’t ask and I don’t think that’s something I wanna see anyways.”

“Trust me, he wants you there,” he says, “He’s just being a dick.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” you snap. “Every time something happens between us… he shuts me off. I don’t fucking get it.”

“Y/N he does this to everyone when he’s stressed,” Taehyung pauses, “Especially since, you know,” he shrugs. The fights.

You nod, “I get it,” you slump, “It’s still frustrating.”

“You don’t have to tell me that—at least you don’t live with him,” he gives you a laugh and you send a smile in return.

“How do you feel about it?” You ask him genuinely, “The boxing I mean…”

Taehyung squints his eyes briefly, “I think it’s stupid personally,” this answer warms your heart until he continues, “But if I was as good as Jungkook I would probably do it too. The money in these things are insane.”

You raise your eyebrows, “So I’ve heard.”

Taehyung nods before he gets a text on his phone. He reads it before smiling.

“Your girlfriend?” You probe curiously.

He clears his throat, “Uh, yeah,” he responds quickly before turning his phone over. “So, what exactly is going on between you two?”

“Uh, what do you mean?” You laugh sarcastically.

Taehyung deadpans his face, “You know what I mean. I know you guys have this weird chemistry, it’s obvious. Plus he hasn’t shut up about you since you started tutoring him. Y/N this, Y/N that… it’s disgusting.”

Did Jungkook really talk about you?

“Ask him, not me because I don’t even fucking know. I could tell you what Kim Namjoon and I are before I could define mine and Jungkook’s relationship.” You let out a laugh and other eye roll.

“I’m assuming you and hyung are… what do they say? Friends with…?”

“Yeah yeah whatever you wanna call it,” you swat your hand slightly embarrassed.

“Jungkook hates it you know,” he says, switching tones. “You and Namjoon.”

You slightly snort, “And why is that?” You could tell Jungkook didn’t like seeing you with Namjoon, even before last weekend after he voiced it.

“Because he knows Namjoon is the type of guy you’ve always wanted, not him.” This takes you completely off guard.

“Why would Jungkook care about that?” You furrow.

Taehyung shrugs, staying silent this time. You weren’t stupid—you knew what Taehyung was implying by saying what he said. It makes your stomach drop. Maybe Jungkook felt more for you than he supposed to as well?

“So are you gonna come tomorrow?” He asks.

“No Taehyung,” you say, “I don’t want to see Jungkook get the shit beat out of him.”

“Jungkook won’t get the shit beat out of him, I can promise you that.”

You eyes glance over to the door as a small group of people walk into the diner. You don’t say anything else to Taehyung as you walk over to greet them. You seat them and make your way back to Taehyung, but you can’t chat much longer as you now have a table to tend to.

“Listen Y/N,” Taehyung stops you before you can walk back over with menus for the group, “If you wanna come, just text me. Like I said Jungkook wants you there, whether he’s said so or not. Also, another latte please, you’re slacking woman.”

You swat him with the menus before walking away from him. Goddamn, these next 24 hours were going to be hell.

_____

You couldn’t remember the last time you were ever this nervous for someone aside from yourself in a very long time. You remember how nervous you were in high school when you got injured and Jennie had to double with a girl on the bench of the tennis team. You remember being nervous for your parents when you left for college. And now, you don’t ever recall a moment in your life where you have been this nervous for Jeon Jungkook of all people.

It was Friday at 3:43 PM and you day was slow but painless, and you had no official plans set for the evening. Taehyung had texted you, wondering if you wanted to hitch a ride along with him to the match. You had yet to answer him. His text mocking you from your screen and you wanted to pretend that you knew nothing of the boxing match but that was impossible.

[You 3:59 PM] What time should I be ready

You send the message before you could regret it and delete it. Jennie has yet to be home from going to the store and you would need a good, yet believable excuse for your absence tonight.

[Taehyung 4:00 PM] i’ll pick you up around 8

[You 4:00 PM] Sounds good. Have you spoken to Jungkook today?

[Taehyung 4:02 PM] no he’s been quiet all day. have you?

[You 4:02 PM] Nope

You don’t receive another text from him and you slump down on your couch. It had been nearing two full weeks since Jungkook had spoken to you. You felt like all of this was your fault, sending him mixed signals and unsure of your own feelings for him. From the secretive finger fuck to the gentle kiss you shared last week, Jungkook was on your mind 24/7—aside from taking exams of course—but he was all you could think about lately. Growing up, you obviously loved Jungkook and was practically glued to his hip, but even then you don’t recall thinking about him every single fucking second.

You pull at the roots of your hair and let out a frustrated groan. Maybe you should reach out? After all, without your initiation of friendship all those years ago, you wouldn’t be here now.

You pick up your phone and find Jungkook’s contact and before you can stop yourself, you tap the call button. Your hands are clammy and you know he probably won’t answer, but it’s worth a try. The line rings for about thirty seconds before it goes dead. That dumbass doesn’t even have voicemail set up.

Pissed off even more, you slam your phone against the coffee table and let out an exasperated ‘fuck’ before going to your room to take a nap. Fuck Jeon Jungkook, is the last thought you have before you drift off into sleep.

_____

Taehyung picked you up at 8:02, though you told Jennie it was Namjoon who picked you up and the two of you were having a night in. You think she believed it but left her before she could ask anymore questions.

“I just don’t fucking get it Taehyung, one second he’s fine and another he’s like a child throwing a fit,” you filled Taehyung in on how you tried to call him but to no avail.

“You don’t have to tell me how he is Y/N, I fucking live with the guy,” he groans from his drivers seat. “I just think he’s going through a lot right now… with school, his parents, the boxing, you… he’s never handle stress that well you know that.”

You let out a sigh, leaning against the window, “It’s just so frustrating trying to help him only to get cut off like this…”

Taehyung looks at you with an eyeful glance though you don’t notice. “Y/N, in his eyes you’ve cut him off too, you do realize that right?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What? No I haven’t?”

“Come on the little brat can’t keep his mouth shut. I know what happened with you two a couple weeks ago,” he says. You don’t say anything, cheeks getting warm. “And the weeks before that on our fucking balcony—“

“Okay what then Tae!” You interrupt him, too embarrassed by the memory.

“Jungkook is trying Y/N,” he says with a hint of a smirk, “He thinks you’re rejecting him,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly.

“Rejecting? C’mon Taehyung you know that I—“

“I know that you and Jungkook like each other, even though neither one of you have said anything, Jennie says it too.”

You narrow your eyebrows at your friend. “I don’t know what I think about Jungkook okay?” You’re being honest. You know you like Jungkook… but you’re scared of what that entails for the future. You want Jungkook in your future, you just don’t know what the right path is.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything else as he pulls his car into a fairly full parking garage. It’s dimly lit and slightly freaks you out. Taehyung had to drive to the other side of the city to get here and you don’t recognize the neighborhood around.

“Stay close to me, alright?” Taehyung opened your door for you and you nod without any argument. You follow Taehyung out of the parking garage into the chilly air and you huddle by his side. The two of you walk down a couple streets before he turns down a dark, dimly lit alleyway.

“Taehyung what the fuck,” you whisper and come to a halt. His brown eyes bleed into yours despite the darkness and he takes your hand into his.

“It’s okay,” he says reassuringly, “I promise.”

You nod reluctantly and the you continue to walk down the alley, coming to a stop at the end where you spot the familiar face of Min Yoongi. He’s standing down a small flight of stairs beneath you two and he greets Taehyung with a stiff smile.

“Taehyung, what’s up,” he says, his eyes immediately looking over at you, “Y/N?”

You tighten your grip around Taehyung’s hand, Yoongi’s stare quite intimidating.

“She should be on Jungkook’s list.”

You stay quiet knowing Taehyung doing the talking is the best strategy. Yoongi looks down at a clipboard—old fashioned but effective you guess—before nodding.

“You guys are good. Hurry and find a seat, there’s a lot of people down here tonight.”

“You got it,” Taehyung gives him a small smile before you drag behind him down the stairs and enter through a heavy door. You already hear plenty of commotion as you enter a huge space a few feet from the door. Your eyes look around and you could see nearly a hundred people just in your line of sight.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung says.

“What?” You get nervous by his tone.

“I’ve never seen this many people here, goddamn.”

“Why are there so many people here?” You spot a large boxing ring, dead center of the room and your mouth goes dry.

“I guess people like rematches?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you.

“Where’s Jungkook?” You ask, noticing how some eyes are staring at you, making you shift uncomfortably in your boots.

“Probably in the locker rooms… wanna see him?” He asks.

You bite your lip. “Does he wanna see us?” You hope Taehyung says yes. It’s killing you inside not being able to see him, hear him.

“Guess we’ll find out, c’mon,” he smirks and you follow him closely. As you look around, you do notice people you somewhat recognize. Whether it’s from walking around on campus or some of your classes, all these faces are not too unfamiliar. Taehyung takes you away from the crowd of people, through another set of doors and down another hallway. With this much walking and standing, you would have worn something other than booties. You enter the “locker room” area and you suddenly feel queasy. What if Jungkook is mad that you’re here? What if he doesn’t want to see you after all? What if—

“Y/N?” Your thoughts are broken by a honey-like voice and you focus in on the source. Jungkook sits a few feet away from you and Taehyung, back leaning against a wall. He looks confused, but also pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?” He gets up and does the unexpected—he embraces you in a tight hug. You return it without a second though, holding him close to you. He pulls away from you after a few moments and gives Taehyung a small hug too.

“Hey,” you say shyly.

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung asks his friend and Jungkook shrugs.

“I’m alright.” Jungkook looks at you again. “I didn’t think you’d ever come to one of these,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Me either,” you say with no expression. As much as you wanted to be happy—you couldn’t. You were pissed at Jungkook for ignoring you and you were pissed that Jungkook was about to fight. You eye his frame, a white t shirt and navy sweatpants hang low on his hips. He looks calm, too calm for your liking.

“Will you give us a minute?” Jungkook suddenly turns to Taehyung and he nods glancing at you.

“I’ll get some seats.”

Taehyung leaves you and Jungkook alone and you nearly feel like crying. What the fuck is this mess?

“Y/N listen to me,” Jungkook says stepping towards you, “I’m so sorry about thess past two weeks. I-I’ve been a dick for no fucking reason and it’s not fair to you.”

You don’t say anything as you stand there with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Fuck I know I’m idiot and there’s no excuse… I’ve just been so stressed lately and you’re the best fucking part of my day—“

“Well why don’t you fucking act like it Jungkook? I’m sick of something happening between us and you acting like a I don’t exist for god knows what reason,” you raise your voice slightly.

“Y/N I,” he pauses, his hands finding their way to your shoulders, “I haven’t been honest with you and,” he pauses again and you feel your heart speed up. What’s he talking about? “I just wanna say—“

“Jungkook, you got five minutes,” the two of you turn to Park Jimin who seemed to come in at the wrong time.

“Fuck,” he says, “We’ll talk after okay?”

You nod hesitantly and before you can push yourself away from him, Jungkook places a kiss on your forehead and it makes your insides melt. Fuck, you meet his brown eyes, biting your lip nervously.

A revelation springs into your mind; you think you might love him. He pulls you in for another hug, though this is one much shorter as Jimin is ushering you out of the locker room in the blink of an eye.

As much as you wanted to be mad at Jungkook, those thoughts had quickly subsided and replaced with butterflies and nausea. Did you really love Jungkook? You always have, but the feeling in the pit of your heart is pulling you to a different type of love. You cared about him, sometimes even more than yourself. You’ve always wanted the best for him, even if that meant sacrificing your feelings in the process. Now you were stuck between a rock in a hard place, much like you were back in high school when you had a crush on Jungkook. Fuck. And now you have to watch him fight someone like dogs,

You shake yourself from your thoughts, as loud music flows through your ears and you look around for Taehyung. Luckily, his ashy hair color is easy to spot amongst the crowd and you push yourself to him, squeezing in between bodies and their chatter.

“My bet’s on Jeon,” a voice says.

“Fuck no, Eric isn’t gonna let the same guy beat him twice.”

You try to ignore the snide comments about Jungkook and when you get to Taehyung, he greets you with a smile.

“Hey, everything good?” He asks.

You lick you dry lips, “I don’t know,” you say honestly. Taehyung’s eyes drop and he nods.

Suddenly, all the lights go out in the venue and a roar of screams and cheers fills the void. You stay still, pressing your body close to Taehyung. It’s not that you feel unsafe, but this environment—it wasn’t for you at all. You heart rate quickens when a man, give a few years on your age, gets into the boxing ring before you, the crowd cheering even louder for him. He bumps a microphone with his palm before bringing it to his mouth.

“Welcome, welcome!” He beams with a smile, “What an outstanding turnout we have tonight! You guys choose a good one to watch because tonight is the rematch of two of the best fighters I’ve seen in a long time…”

“Let’s give a welcome to our first fighter, weighing in at 148 pounds, 5 foot 11, Jeon Jungkook!”

Being an underground fighting ring, there isn’t a posse escorting Jungkook to the ring. He’s got Jimin by his left side, Min Yoongi on the right. Jungkook is shirtless, wearing only a pair of navy shorts, black and white boxing gloves on his hands. He enters the ring with cheers and you inhale and exhale deeply. You look up at Taehyung and he gives you a nod of reassurance to calm down. Jungkook jumps around in place a few times, shaking his arms and shoulders out. From your seat, you can’t read his eyes or facial expression—but he looks calm and unnerved.

“Coming in next, weighing in at 145 pounds, 6 feet tall, Kim Eric!”

Jungkook’s opponent walks in next, three guys surrounding him. He walks slow and steady, his bare chest tattooed beautifully, his boxing gloves a dark red. He enters the ring to cheers and this Eric guy’s gaze doesn’t leave Jungkook’s body one time. Jungkook hasn’t spared one glance at the guy and you find yourself somewhat smiling. Jungkook has always been a cocky-fuck when it’s come to sports which would usually annoy you, but here right now—he looked hot as fuck standing there as if he had no care in the world. Jungkook stands on the left corner of the ring, sitting on a small stool as Jimin and Yoongi talk to him. Jungkook nods, absorbing their information. Eric and his guys do the same.

Suddenly, both men stand and Jimin is putting a mouth guard in Jungkook’s mouth and with one last nod, he finally looks over at Eric, who has already made his way to the center of the ring with the announcer. Jungkook stalks over slowly, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Alright guys, I want a clean fight. No kicking, no cheap shots. If you get knocked down, I give you ten seconds to get up. You look me in the eyes and say you’re good before anymore fighting happens alright. We go for five rounds, unless more is needed. A knockout wins. Touch gloves.”

Jungkook sticks out his gloves for Eric but Eric only stares at him, ignoring the sign of solidarity.

“Fuck you,” Eric says to Jungkook and sends a chill down your spine. Jungkook rolls his eyes, backing away from him, but stays silent.

“Alright… ready… fight!”

Time slows as a bell rings loudly, the cheers get even louder, and you find yourself gripping Taehyung’s arm for support. Jungkook starts to move around the ring slowly, but Eric isn’t having that—immediately rushing to Jungkook to get a few jabs in. Jungkook manages to dodge them perfectly before Eric can corner him. Jungkook keeps his gloves high and never looks away from Eric. Eric comes after Jungkook again, jabbing once—twice—the third time hitting Jungkook square in the face.

“Shit,” you breathe out, eyes widening.

This time, Jungkook comes for Eric, his jabs coming quick and calculated, landing Eric in the body once. Jungkook jabs again and hits him in the face. Eric moves around quickly, Jungkook not quick to follow him. Eric comes after him again, Jungkook blocking his jabs, but missing at the end, leading to Jungkook getting hit in the face once again as well as a body shot.

Eric is coming in hot, throwing punches and jabs left and right, making Jungkook dance around to dodge them. After a few moments, Jungkook begins to fight back, landing Eric square in the face twice. You notice that Jungkook must have busted Eric’s lip as blood now protrudes from his mouth. This seems to send Eric into overdrive and attacks Jungkook quick and fast. You cover your mouth when Eric has Jungkook trapped against the rope, landing body punches after body punches.

“Alright!! Enough, break it up!!” The announcer gets Eric off of Jungkook and Eric starts to laugh in a very showman's way. Jungkook is breathing heavy and he tilts his head—a habit of his that comes out when he’s frustrated or angry. This seems to be both.

Jungkook and Eric continue to throw jabs at one another. Within a few seconds, the whole fight seems to change as Eric manages to slip past one of Jungkook’s blocks and lands him straight on the cheekbone. Jungkook’s body almost freezes before he falls back on the floor and you gasp at the sight.

“Fuck! Taehyung—“

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” he says but his eyes never met yours.

The announcer is on the floor with Jungkook counting down from ten and Jungkook finally sits up when he reaches the number four.

“You good son?” The guy asks Jungkook.

He nods, “Yeah, let’s go.”

Jungkook gets up and walks around, stretching his neck around, waiting for the ref to announce the second round.

“That’s what you get motherfucker,” Eric says walking past him to his corner. Again, Jungkook says nothing before sitting down. Jimin takes out his mouth guard and lets Jungkook drink some water.

“Why is Jungkook letting him hit him like that?!” You ask Taehyung, looking up to him, “He’s getting his ass kicked!”

Taehyung shakes his head, “Jungkook’s smart Y/N… he’s trying to run Eric’s energy out. If Eric keeps swinging the way he right now, he’ll be passed out on his own soon.”

The second round commences and this time, it’s Jungkook who comes out fast. Jungkook soon has Eric trapped against the rope, landing jab after jab. The ref intervenes and lets them get some air. Jungkook’s skin is sweaty and red hot and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look as mad as he does right now.

Eric counters quickly, catching up with Jungkook again, landing punch after punch. Jungkook escapes but Eric sticks out a foot, causing Jungkook to trip. The whole crowd—yourself included—start to yell at the action. The referee pulls Eric back and points his finger at him. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you know it’s a scolding by the way his mouth is moving quickly. You look over at Jungkook who shakes his head disapprovingly. He’s talking to Jimin as Yoongi cares to a cut on Jungkook’s eyebrow.

“He’s a fucking asshole,” you make out Jungkook saying.

The third round starts and it seems both Eric and Jungkook are equally fighting this time. Jungkook’s combinations are cleaner than Eric’s, anyone can see that, but the way Eric keeps landing in on Jungkook—makes you feel like this isn’t going to end well for him.

“Come on Jungkook!” You find yourself yelling in the chaos, your whole body shaking as Jungkook dances around the ring to get away from Eric. Eric has him trapped again, but with Jungkook’s strength, gets Eric off of him to turn the tables. There’s sweat and blood coming off both fighters and it’s got to be the most horrifying thing you’ve ever seen.

“Come on you little bitch,” Eric spits at Jungkook, “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Jungkook says nothing again, jabbing when he needs to.

“Fucking hell why won’t you speak to me you fucker?” Eric speaks again.

“I don’t have shit to say to you,” Jungkook finally retorts back. “You lost my respect when you sent those pussies to jump Park and I.”

Eric swings hard and Jungkook ducks, barely missing it by an inch. Eric is tired, Jungkook too, but Jungkook can see a weakness in him now.

“Come on it was all in good fun,” he says with a smirk, “You know what else would be good fun?”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

“Kicking your ass,” he pauses and before Jungkook can do anything else, Eric swings down hard, landing on Jungkook’s body knocking the breath out of him. Jungkook stumbles backwards, holding his stomach, he lands again on the ground with a clunk. Eric stands over him, before taking out his mouthpiece, “And stealing your bitch you invited tonight.”

“Goddammit,” you mutter watching the scene unfold in front of you. No one knows what they’re saying to each other over the noise and you honestly couldn’t care. You just want Jungkook to get up and finish this shit.

Jungkook stands up, though with a visible wince in his face. He’s breathing heavy and is filled with pure rage. The fourth bell rings and it doesn’t take long for Jungkook to attack him. Jungkook is fast and furious, landing punch after punch and you’ve never been happier for someone to get their ass kicked. Jungkook lands a punch straight across the face, causing Eric to stumble backwards. Even though you know nothing about boxing, Eric looks exhausted where Jungkook looks ready for more. With everything left in Eric, he starts coming after Jungkook. Jungkook blocks until he can’t block no more, but something in Jungkook’s stance changes. Jungkook steps forward, his right hand landing straight on Eric’s face cause his form to break. Jungkook steps quickly again, his left hand bringing an uppercut to Eric’s jaw.

The room nearly falls silent as Eric loses balance, going down straight on his back and head. When he hits the ground, the room erupts in a roar so loud it nearly deafens you.

“Holy shit!” Taehyung exclaims. The ref is down on the ground, counting down from 10, and then it’s at 5 and then 3 and then—

“Ladies and gentlemen, Jeon Jungkook wins this rematch!” The ref grabs Jungkook’s hand and holds it up over his head and you find yourself jumping up and down, pulling Taehyung down for a hug.

“Taehyung oh my fucking god!” You exclaim. He smiles brightly at you.

“I told you, he knows what he’s doing,” he says and you nod. You couldn’t deny it now—as stupid as Jungkook was for getting involved in this, his talent for the sport was extraordinary. “Come on, let’s get to his locker room,” Taehyung pulls you by your hand and you make your way back to where you were earlier.

Jungkook hasn’t arrived yet, but you find Yoongi already in there, setting out a first aid kit.

“Hey guys,” he says, “Great fight, huh?”

“Yeah, it was brilliant,” Taehyung says. The door opening catches your attention and Jungkook walks through with Jimin. Your eyes instantly meet and you can’t even stop yourself from running to him and throwing your arms around him. He exhales deeply with a sharp wince, returning your bone crushing grip with his own.

“Alright lovebirds, he needs to get fixed up,” Yoongi’s voice interrupts you two. You hesitantly let him go and he sits down in front of Yoongi, sitting forward on his knees. He’s still breathing heavy, dripping sweat everywhere.

“Fucking hell Jungkook, since when do you box southpaw?” Taehyung pushes his shoulder slightly and Jungkook only laughs as Yoongi wipes away the blood on his eyebrow.

“I’ve been working on it for awhile,” he says, “Just never had the right time to use it… until tonight at least,” he says giving you a glance. “Eric is all talk, no bite. I can’t fucking stand him.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be boxing him again anytime soon,” Jimin says, “He’s embarrassed himself twice now.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Yoongi chimes in, placing one of those bandaids that pull the skin together like stitches above Jungkook’s eyebrow. “No one will want to box you now knowing you can southpaw.”

Jungkook looks at you and you furrow your eyebrows at him. He said he wasn’t going to fight after this, but the way they are talking—it sounds as if he is.

“Well, I think my boxing career is probably over after tonight,” Jungkook speaks up as if he could read your mind. He tears his eyes away from you as the others look confused.

“What?!”

“Why?”

“Jungkook c’mon!”

“Guys,” he breathes out, “I made a promise, okay? Besides, I have enough money now, I don’t need anything else.”

Your features soften as you listen to his words. His promise was to you. A smile grows on your face as you watch his body calm down from his intensified state. Once Yoongi is finished, he packs everything up. The five of you talk amongst yourselves before Taehyung turns to you.

“You ready to go home?” He asks.

“I can take you home,” Jungkook says before you can answer.

“Okay,” you give him a small smile that he returns.

“Okay then, I’m gonna head out, I won’t be home tonight Jungkook,” he says.

“I know I know, at your girlfriends,” Jungkook swats his hand and Taehyung flips him off before leaving.

Jungkook stands up throwing on a shirt and slipping into Birkenstocks. “Come on,” he says to you, holding out his head. You gladly take it and it feels more like home than home ever has.

_____

“Fuck Jungkook, how much money is this?” You ask him as he hands you a white envelope as he unbuckles himself in the driver seat. The envelope is thick and you peak out of curiosity, your jaw dropping.

“I told you,” he says snatching it back from you, “As much food as I’ve bought you lately, hopefully this will last.”

You swat at his sarcastic comment before letting out a laugh. Instead of going home, you asked Jungkook to go anywhere but there. You’re parked outside of his apartment complex, which was fine with you. The two of you needed to talk. Not much talking goes on as a silence falls between you two.

“Y/N.”

“Jungkook.”

The two of you laugh as you speak at the same time.

“You first,” you say, turning your body to face him fully.

He takes a deep breath before speaking, “I know I said it earlier but I really am sorry about this past week. There’s not an excuse that justifies me acting like a complete dick to you, especially when you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say.

“And when I said you’re the best part of my day… I fucking mean it. I’m sorry for coming onto you like I have, I just,” he doesn’t finish, his eyes looking everywhere but you.

“Jungkook,” you get his attention again, reaching over the console to grab his hand, “Don’t apologize for that. Yeah, you’ve been a dick each time something happens between us but that’s the apology I care about.”

“I just don’t know how to say it,” he mutters, caressing your hand gently.

“So you’re really not going to box anymore?” you inquire. Jungkook was good, more than good... it couldn’t be easy giving up on that.

He shakes his head, “No. I told you I didn’t want you worrying about me anymore. I keep my promises,” his smile his sweet and you swear your feel yourself melting more and more into his touch.

“Jungkook,” you let out a deep sigh, “I didn’t realize how much I needed you in my life until we became friends again. You know almost everything about me and I don’t want anyone else to ever take your place…”

It’s hanging there by a thread—the words on your tongue—and you’re not sure you can say them and they feel constricting—but you know you have to and—

“I love you,” the words come from your mouth and you feel like you could puke. “I don’t know when or why, but I’m in love with you Jungkook. You’re all I think about anymore and I don’t want anyone else when you’re right here.”

Jungkook parts his mouth, staring at you with a look you can’t read. Fuck, you fucked this up for sure.

“Shit—I know that was so rushed and stupid. Fuck I’m an idiot—“

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice interrupts you and you try to hide within your own body from embarrassment. With your hand of yours in his, he pulls on it, forcing you closer to him. You look at him wide eyed before he presses his lips against yours firmly. As usual, his lips feel so good and you melt into him. This is good right? What the hell is going on? You pull away from him after a few moments, an unsure look on your face.

He nuzzles his nose against your own before speaking, “I’ve wanted to tell you that since the night of our graduation.”

“Really?” You ask as you feel your palms sweat, heart racing.

He nods, “I’ve been in love with you for god knows how long now.”

A smile creeps upon your face and you let out a sigh of relief. Jungkook watches you with interest, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can take you home whenever,” he says quietly.

You’re quick to shake your head, “No, it’s okay… I can stay, if you want,” your voice trails off and you suddenly feel shy under his gaze.

You don’t notice how Jungkook bites his lip but he does say, “Yeah. Of course.”

_____

Jungkook’s apartment is how you remember it, though a lot quieter without Taehyung here. You’re sure the reason Jungkook’s apartment is spotless is because of him. He has always been clean and organized and Taehyung… well he was Taehyung.

“I’m gonna get in the shower, my room is in here if you wanna chill,” Jungkook says and you give him a small nod. He rids his shirt before he even closes the bathroom door and it makes you gulp. This is new territory for the both of you. The two of you just admitted your love for one another and you’re about to spend the night with Jungkook? And not in a friend way? Jesus Christ you could be tripping.

You walk into Jungkook’s room and it smells just like him. His bed is neatly made and his desk is sprawled with two computer monitors and some notebooks from school. His walls are decorated as you’d expect—a Korean flag hanging, a ‘Saturday’s Are For The Boys’ flag—typical—and a few Beta Tae Sigma plaques scattered. What catches your eye is a wall of neatly lined photos taped to the wall. You look around at all of them with a smile. Most of them are Jungkook and his frat brothers, Taehyung, a few of his older brother, there’s even a picture of you, him, Taehyung, and Jennie from high school. One that catches your eye the most is one of just you and him. It’s an old picture but the memories from that day flood your mind. It was from your first week of freshman year here at university. Both of your smiles are wide and you two are hugging each other’s frames closely. Jennie took the picture you remember. It makes you smile to yourself, butterflies entering in your stomach. Did you love Jungkook then and didn’t know it? The way you’re looking at him in the picture would say so.

You suddenly feel an urge to be close to him again. You’ve never been a ballsy person but as you look back at the bathroom door that’s closed, your desire to be touched again by Jungkook again overwhelms your senses. Closing your eyes briefly, you don’t need much more convincing before your stripping yourself of your jacket and shoes. You kick off your jeans and sweater, leaving you only in your undergarments. You tip toe to the bathroom, grabbing the handle, opening it easy.

The shower water is loud and there’s steam in the small quarters. Jungkook is humming to himself as you start to take off the rest of your clothing. With a deep breath, you grab the shower curtain, pulling it back. Jungkook’s back is facing you but he hears you instantly.

“Shit Y/N you scar—“ he stops mid sentence as he takes in your naked frame getting in the shower too.

“Hi,” you mumble meeting his eye contact.

“H-hey,” he nearly chokes on his own air, trying to keep his eyes up from your breasts.

“Scooch,” you smirk at him to move to get underneath the water too. He does as you say watching you curiously. You’re in the process of wetting your hair when his chest is pressed firmly against your back.

“This wasn’t expected,” he says into your ear, his hands moving to grip your waist from behind.

“You’re the one that wanted me to go home with you,” you say giving him an innocent glance over your shoulder. He laughs biting his lip, pressing them against the skin behind of your ear. You lean into the physical contact, feeling almost all of your stress go away instantly.

You spin around to look at him fully as it’s a frenzy whose mouth collides with whose. He leans down to grasp your lips in their entirety, pulling you closer to him than you ever have been. He pulls you away from the water so it doesn’t get in your face as he presses you against the shower wall. His tongue dips in and out of your mouth, his hands free roaming over your breasts and down to your ass, whatever he likes within the moment. Your hands grip his dark locks as he moves his mouth from your mouth, to your neck, down to your chest. He waste no time taking your right nipple in his mouth and you exhale deeply at the feeling.

You pull his face back to yours, kissing him again not able to get enough of his lips. His hands trail down from your ass to the front of your thighs, getting closer and closer to your wet center.

“Is this okay?” He asks as his fingers rub slowly back forth between your entrance. You can barely speak as his touch is setting you on fire but you manage to nod.

“Yes, please, Jungkook,” you say. He enters one finger, then another stretching you out nicely. Fuck you forgot how good this felt with him.

“Fuck you’re so wet,” he breathes heavily and you glance down at his hardening cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. Jungkook lifts one of your legs and starts to take his fingers in and out of you slowly and agonizing. He fingers you deep and rough and you can already feel a climax coming.

“Shit,” you croak out as Jungkook rubs one of your nipples, kissing your neck. There’s a pain at the back of your head at his force pushing you against the wall but it’s easy to ignore when it feels so good below your waist. “Jungkook, I’m gonna come,” you say as the snap inside of you is about to break.

“Come on baby,” his voice is deep and groggy. As if on cue, you feel your climax wash over you and you’re not shy to be loud. You know no one is here so it doesn’t bother you one bit. Jungkook kisses you against feverishly as he pulls his fingers from you. You feel impossibly empty but you know what you want to do and you’re not near anywhere tired. Your hands travel down to his front, grasping his hard dick in your hands. God, he’s so big.

“Oh fuck,” Jungkook seethes through his teeth as you pull on the sensitive skin, all the way from his pubic hair down to the tip. He places a hand beside of your head, leaning forward against your forehead. His eyes are shut tightly and you lick your lips, wanting to take him in your mouth.

You push him away from you slightly and move down to your knees, your face front and center with his beautiful dick. You take no time to put him in your mouth which causes Jungkook to groan loudly.

“Y/N,” he says looking down at you. He’s never seen a better sight. You make sure to keep eye contact as you bob your head up and down his shaft. While one of Jungkook’s hands stays against the wall, his other grips your hair, fisting it into a makeshift ponytail. “Oh fuck—He pulls on your hair and it only makes you want to please him more. Your left hand go to his balls, the right helping you up and down his length. He pulls your hair again and you take as much of him as you can. His tip reaches the back of your throat and you gag around his length and Jungkook thinks he could actually cry. Watching you through half open lids, he decides this isn’t how he is going to come—not tonight at least.

He grabs your hair and pulls you away from him and you’re slightly confused when he brings you to your feet.

“Come on, I need to be inside of you,” he says and you nod eagerly as he turns off the shower. He leads you out of the bathroom in a frenzy, pulling up into his bedroom. You shut the door behind you and he pins you against it, kissing you hard and deep.

Both of you are dripping wet but neither of you care to dry off as he carries you to his bed. You settle on his lap as his hands rest on your waist tightly. Your hands grip his face just as tight but you’re careful not to touch his injury above his brow. You couldn’t believe he was just fighting two hours ago—that seemed like forever ago compared to now. A lot can change in a short period of time and it makes you slightly chuckle against his mouth.

“What?” He breaks the kiss asking you with a hazy grin.

You shake your head, “Nothing,” you smile pushing his hair from his forehead. You liked seeing it. “I love you,” you repeat. And you probably won’t stop, ever.

“I love you too,” he says, “So much.”

“Let me ride you,” you whisper in his ear and his eyes light up like a child. “Are you clean?” You ask him.

He nods quickly, “You?” You nod in response and both of you feel excited and anxious.

You rub your hand against his length again and you hold it up as you adjust yourself to sit on him. As soon as his tip enters you, a shiver runs down your spine. As you sink yourself lower, groans come from both of your mouths, a deep moan erupting from you when you bottom out.

“Oh my god,” you breathe in and out to control yourself.

“Ride me baby,” he says and you start to move your hips against his. He fills up every inch of you and it feels so good. Your hips lift away from his and he chases them with his own thrusts. He kisses your neck as you throw your head back, your hands digging into his shoulders for leverage.

“Fuck Jungkook,” you say seeing stars in your eyes, “You feel so good,” you whine.

“You have no idea,” he says against your sticky skin, one of his hands bruising into your waist helping you ride him in a fluid motion. “Goddammit,” he says.

As you grind against him, your clit rubs against his pubic hair, sending your toes curling. He senses that you’ve found your sweet spot against him and places his thumb there instead to rub the sensitive bud.

You feel yourself inching closer and closer to a second climax when Jungkook stalls your motion.

“Lay on your stomach,” he breathes and you do as he says climbing off of him quickly. He doesn’t even give you time to get there all the way before he’s grabbing your hips to pull your ass to him. He slides right into you and you nearly scream into his mattress. Your hands grip the sheets as he fucks you deeper from behind. He smacks your ass once, twice sending a loud whine from your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter trying to focus on Jungkook’s whines and small ministrations from his mouth. He reaches forward, rubbing your clit again and you want to die and go to heaven at the feeling. Neither of you try to be quiet anymore as you feel the second orgasm coming over you. You clench and unclench around Jungkook’s length as he stalls his thrusts to feel the action.

“Come inside of me,” you say, knowing both of you are clean and you have an IUD.

“Jesus,” he breathes, picking up his pace again chasing after his own high. As the sensitivity becomes too much, Jungkook finally lets go, coming deep inside of you. He holds your hips close against him, trying to deepen his climax as far as possible. The hot cum inside of you feels good and you moan at the feeling.

When Jungkook finishes completely in you, he pulls out with a sigh. You collapse against the bed, completely spent. Jungkook finds a clean rag in his pile of clean laundry and is quick to clean yourself and him up. You feel like you can barely move as Jungkook joins you in his bed. He turns you over to face him and he kisses you gently which you return happily.

“I love you,” he says for the third time tonight, kissing your nose.

“I love you too,” you entangling your legs together. The room is silent apart from your breathing and you’re about to go to sleep when he nudges you with his hand.

“Come on,” he says.

“What?” You ask.

“Let’s actually take a shower now since someone wouldn’t let me,” he eyes you with accusation.

You squint at him before flipping him off. “Fuck off.”

_____

The next morning you wake up with Jungkook hugging you from behind, his face nuzzeled in your hair. You have no clue what the time may be, but you since it’s early by the way the birds chirp out the window. You stretch out your arms as best as you could and try to move your legs, but it doesn’t work since Jungkook’s heavy legs are tangled with your own. You’re tempted to fall back asleep but when Jungkook moves behind you, you turn to see his ruckus. You’re met with his brown eyes and you jump slightly, not expecting to see him awake. Both of you let out the faintest of laughs, not saying anything.

Jungkook leans over and kisses your lips, “Good morning.” His voice is groggy and he shuts his eyes again as you fully turn your body to his.

“Good morning,” you respond, watching the way his chest rises and falls gently. “How’d you sleep?”

“Hmm, really good,” he mumbles. You are about to join him in closing your eyes again until a loud rumble comes from your belly. Jungkook laughs.

“Hungry much?”

“Starving,” you groan, “I didn’t eat dinner last night.”

“Why not?”

“I was too nervous before your match… I thought I would yak if I ate,” you answer. Stupid, you know, but it was your train of thought last night.

He opens his eyes again, “Let’s go to the diner for breakfast… employee discount.”

You glare at him, “Is that all I am to you? A fucking employee discount,” you say saracastically.

“And my girlfriend if that helps?” He raises an eyebrow. Your cheeks heat up and you smile.

“Welllll, since my boyfriend is rich now and gets a discount, I’m assuming he’s paying.”

He smirks, “Obviously.”

“Will you take me to my place so I can change? And then we’ll go?”

He nods, his hand caressing the side of your body, “As much as I wanna stay in bed, I could really go for pancakes right now.”

“Waffles are superior,” you remark.

He frowns with a disgusted face, “Get the fuck out of my bed you heathen.”

_____

Jungkook insisted on coming up to your apartment with you because he didn’t want to wait in the car, but you know he just wants to see you change in front of him. Boys are all the fucking same.

As you fumbled with the key, the door opens and whatever Jungkook is saying to you is suddenly drowned out when you see—

“Jennie?”

“Taehyung?”

The names leave yours and Jungkook’s mouth as you watch the scene in front of you. Jennie is sitting on the counter, Taehyung in between her legs with a coffee cup in hand. Could be worse but what the fuck is going on?!

“Shit,” Jennie says pushing away Taehyung. “Hey guys,” she smiles awkwardly. You and Jungkook look at each other confused before Jungkook speaks.

“Uh, Taehyung?” He asks and Taehyung is. as red as a tomato.

“Oh fuck,” Jennie mutters shaking her head. She looks at Taehyung for backup.

Taehyung pinches his nose before speaking, “Um… we’re dating.”

You and Jungkook have the same reaction as your mouth drops.

“Jennie is your secret girlfriend?” Jungkook asks.

“Surprise,” Jennie smiles again looking at you.

You look at Jungkook and shake your head at the four of you. What a fucking cliché.

The four of you go to breakfast together that morning and it’s like old times, just with a sprinkle of something new. As long as the four of you have known each other, you’ve always had each other’s backs. Even now, with you and Jungkook and Jennie and Taehyung—you know that would never change from here on out. Turns out, Jennie just thought her and Taehyung were friends with benefits, while Taehyung was telling everyone he had a girlfriend because he was that smitten with her. The four of you laugh at the situation at hand and you couldn’t believe everyone was back together... like this. As Jungkook’s pancakes and your waffles arrive, Jungkook’s beaming smile lighting the whole room you think to yourself—this is how it’s supposed to be.

8K notes · View notes

angstama · 3 years

Text

apple tree | chifuyu.m

pairing: chifuyu matsuno x reader

genre: angst, slow-burn, unrequited love, pining, fluff, chifuyu doesn’t love you that way :(

warnings: as usual, heartbreak coming ahead <3

✧. in which you look back on the times that chifuyu had been the highlight and heartbreaker in your youth.

you were five when you first met chifuyu matsuno under the big apple tree one summer day.

head deep into bending the fragile weeds into a flower crown when a blonde haired boy with the prettiest ocean blue eyes approached you. “what are you doing?” he asked curiously, licking his already melting chocolate ice cream while looking at the imperfectly balanced flower that you had spent hours on crafting in your hands. “making a flower crown.” you answered simply, not even sparing the blonde haired boy a glance as you were too focused in tweaking the branches.

“woah that’s awesome!” he beamed in excitement, plopping down next to you instantly and leaning in closer to take a look at it. “yeah i know right!” you smiled in triumph, finally looking up to see whoever was showing interest in your little hobby and behold, there sat chifuyu in a rainbow striped t-shirt with his legs crossed and eyes gleaming with interest.

in all honesty, your flower crowns were horribly ugly, but in chifuyu’s eyes it was uniquely you. perhaps it was maybe because he hadn’t seen anyone making an actual flower crown before or perhaps maybe he was just feeling sorry for the girl who always sat alone under the big apple tree that never bloomed a single fruit all year round. whichever it was, you wished that it was the first. “teach me how to make one please!” he grabs your wrist, causing your cheeks to burn under the scorching hot sun and heart rate quickening though you were clueless as to why it happened being only at the age of five, so you decided that it was okay to have him around.

strangely ever since then, you were never seen alone under the apple tree in the park again.

you were nine when you first understood the concept of crushes, with the help of your best friend, chifuyu matsuno of course.

“it’s when you want to share the biggest chicken drumlet with them dummy!” chifuyu explained, voice muffled from stuffing his face with fried chicken one after another. you weren’t sure how the two of you derived at the current topic, though you remember the last you checked, chifuyu was rambling on and on about the new girl in your class. “so, you’d share this with whoever you have a crush on?” you asked as you pointed towards the biggest drumstick that chifuyu had saved for the last, as always.

he nodded impatiently, grabbing the very same drumstick and ready to devour it but only to come to a halt when the two of you locked eyes. “want some?” he offered, waving the fried chicken in front of you. “wh-what?” your words fumbled, taken aback by chifuyu’s sudden offer right after the whole sharing of the biggest chicken drumlet explanation he had just made. “you kept staring at it. do you want it?” he asked, with innocence laced in his voice, oblivious to the shade of red slowly making an appearance on your cheeks. you huffed, “am not!”. chifuyu only lets out a snort, “yeah sure,” he chuckles boyishly, leaning down to rest on your shoulders, causing your body to stiffen upon the sudden contact. that afternoon, for almost an entire hour you were forced to sit as straight as you could, afraid that something was going to erupt in your tummy again as you could feel the bubbling sensation that threatened to explode.

you were thirteen when you finally realised that you, y/n l/n, wants to share the biggest drumstick with chifuyu matsuno.

it was christmas eve and chifuyu had invited you over to his place for a dinner, claiming that his mother had threatened to throw his precious romance mangas away if he didn't invite you.

you arrived at the matsuno’s household ten minutes earlier than stated with a tray of roasted potatoes held in your hands and beads of sweat running down your forehead despite the freezing cold temperature outside. for the eight years of friendship you had with chifuyu, you’ve never felt this nervous seeing him and his family. it’s the cold, you naively thought, when the door swung opened, revealing your best friend dressed in a maroon striped sweater with suspenders. his eyes widened, not expecting to really see you when he was just opening to check in an attempt to ease his mother’s sixth sense. “y/n? why didn’t you knock?” he gasped, gently tugging the tray on your hands into his as he looked at you in surprise. “well, i was gonna but you opened the door before i could!” you scoffed a white lie, wanting nothing but to cover up the fact that you had been standing outside because you couldn’t get your heart to calm down.

“chifuyu why don’t you give y/n the gift you got for her now?” mrs matsuno chimed, elegance evident in her posture and movement when she lightly dabbed a napkin across her lips which made you wonder how is it possible that she's the mother of chifuyu when chifuyu shared not a single bit of her grace when it comes to eating. chifuyu pauses briefly, “give me a sec,” he nods before stuffing the roasted potato that was previously halfway into his mouth and standing up to jog over to his room. “he cleaned the house for two months for it.” mr matsuno chuckled as chifuyu jogs out again, this time with a paper bag held in his hand.

“you better wear it everyday.” he sent you a playful wink, handing you the brown paper bag. you carefully unwrapped the ribbon that bounded the paper bag and pulling out an overly oversized hoodie enough to fit you through a lifetime. you noticed that it was same hoodie that chifuyu often wears except that yours was in the shade of emerald green, the colour that chifuyu had taken the effort to remember that you had once claimed as your colour when the two of you had a heated discussion on what colour represents yourselves.

“wow! now we have a friendship hoodie!” you beamed in excitement, pulling the oversized hoodie over your sweater. “how do i look?” you asked, posing a few turns at chifuyu as he took a good look at you. “pretty.” he held a thumb up before stuffing another spoonful of pasta down.

your lowered your gaze upon hearing the sudden compliment your best friend gave, opting to look at the last piece of roasted chicken that mrs matsuno had offered you earlier just now before chifuyu could lay his hands on it. your lips pursed, not entirely confident to do it but eventually picking up the piece of meat and placing it on chifuyu’s already dirtied plate from all the sauces he had mixed with his food. “thank you,” you mumbled, looking anywhere else but chifuyu’s burning gaze on you.

the butterflies were taking flight soon and you on the other hand had no idea how to contain it.

you were sixteen when chifuyu first broke your heart on the first day of the spring season, openly declaring in front of you and takemichi that he’ll be confessing to the pretty girl sitting in front of him during lunch time.

her name is haru.

“no way! you’re kidding!” takemichi gaped, leaning in closer to chifuyu as the close proximity between the two of them wasn’t enough for him to hear chifuyu clearly. chifuyu crossed his arms, confidence evident in his posture, “of course not! i’ve already decided, there’s no going back!”

“be sure not to scare her away!” you stuck your tongue out to which chifuyu rolled his eyes in response. “eh? you’re just jealous that no one’s confessing to you!”, wiggling his head in a playful manner as he brought an ‘L’ sign up to his forehead to further anguish you. you raised a middle finger, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation for you weren’t sure if you were able to contain the effect of your heart dropping six feet down.

you knew chifuyu succeeded when he came running to you after school with the brightest smile you adored, a faint tint of blush coated on his cheeks. “guess i’m gonna see you lesser huh lover boy?” you chuckled softly, shoving your textbooks into your canvas bag as he swung himself onto your desk with a smug grin. “you’d wish huh don’t you? but no, you’ll still see me as often when i’m off from boyfriend duties,” he sang happily. perhaps maybe because it was chifuyu’s own words, you believed wholeheartedly that you were okay with being just his best friend and being supportive of his relationship. so you watched chifuyu’s love for haru bloomed into something more than just the typical puppy love you often watch on romcoms.

in just a blink of an eye, two years had passed and the next thing you knew you were spending your birthday without your best friend for the second time in a row. “this sucks,” you grumbled, throwing your phone aside when the time struck midnight, announcing a new day had just arrived. chifuyu’s words were just empty affirmations when you realised that you barely ever saw your best friend. you weren't sure if the two of you were even best friends anymore. it felt more like he’s just a friend that you talk to occasionally now. you see, chifuyu is a loyal friend and that’s a widely known fact and that’s what made it even more heartbreaking for you because chifuyu always does just enough to keep your friendship alive and you had no reason to hate him for that.

you rubbed your temples tiredly, wanting nothing more than to run your aching head into the wall when a packet of your favourite watermelon mints was thrown onto your desk. “rough night?”atsumu, your beloved table-mate asked smugly. “you don’t say,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes at the obvious as you impatiently tore the packet open. “he didn’t wish ya happy birthday did he?” the freshly bleached haired boy questioned. atsumu got his answer when you didn't sat in silence, opting to look out the window to distract yourself from the threatening tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. and god do love to test you when the scene of chifuyu leaning in to kiss haru on the lips ever so gently unfolds at your sight. oh how you wished that it was you who he’s kissing right now.

chifuyu always does just enough to keep your friendship alive.

it was already late into the night when you heard a knock outside your balcony. your breath hitched when you saw that it was chifuyu who had disturbed your little movie marathon alone after the events that had happened lately. “hey,” he breathed, a soft smile wearing on his lips to which you returned it with an awkward one, inviting him into your messy room. “oh we’re in our friendship hoodie!” he chuckles nervously. your eyes travelled on him, realising that indeed he’s wearing the same hoodie that you were currently wearing right now. “it’s late chi, what’s going on?” you sighed, tone coming off harsher than you intended to. chifuyu nods slowly, face soon replaced with an apologetic look. “i’m sorry for missing your birthday, i feel horrible really,” he begun. “ i know i haven’t been around lately, so i want to make it up to you.”

your brows furrowed at chifuyu’s apology, you knew he was being so sincere so why did you feel even much more upset hearing it? “that’s it? you could’ve just done this in school tomorrow chifuyu.”you sighed, trying your hardest to mask the pettiness within you with a tired voice. “ i know i know, but i couldn’t sleep knowing that i left my best friend alone on her 18th birthday.” he looked at you hesitantly as you quietly pulled your duvet over your lap. “how about let’s go hiking and watch the sunrise this weekend? just the two of us. i know you’ve been wanting to do that.”

you wished you weren’t in love with chifuyu so that you wouldn’t give in so easily. you wished you were petty enough to make a scene and just be angry at him but you couldn't so here you are right now, hiking up the trail with your hand in chifuyu’s as you helped him up the slope. “your stamina really sucks,” you retorted to which chifuyu huffed in response. “it’s not that my stamina sucks, it’s that this trail is literally ninety-eight percent high slopes,” he pouts.

“well you could've chose not to show up.”

“no! i want to do this with you. what are you talking about?”

you only smiled at his little defence. “whatever,” you mumbled as you quickly dropped your grip on his and walking ahead of him in an attempt to hide your blush. “hey! wait for me!”

it was near autumn when one day chifuyu appeared in the wee hours of the night with tears streaming down his cheeks when he fell into your arms and hugged you tightly. you found out that haru was moving away to the states with her family and had broken up with chifuyu, refusing to try out long distance relationship.

so like any other best friend, you let chifuyu cry into your shoulders as you sat in silence that night, heart breaking at the torn state chifuyu was in. he truly loved her.

you were twenty when chifuyu held your hands and asked you to be his.

“chifuyu matsuno! where the hell are my batteries?” your voice echoed through your shared apartment, causing poor chifuyu to jump and drop the eggs he was previously holding in his hands on to the floor. it’s been almost two years since haru and chifuyu had broken up and you had spent a great deal of time trying to mend his broken heart though you knew that it would never be fully healed. she was his first love after all.

the two of you had moved in to a small apartment close to your university as planned since young, officially becoming roommates. “fuck!my eggs!” chifuyu cried out loud as he frantically lets go of the spatula in his hands to grab a kitchen tower and clean up the pool of egg yolk and egg white on the marble floor. you groaned in annoyance when chifuyu doesn’t answer your question, slamming the tools drawer shut and making your way towards the kitchen.

“i swear chi-” you paused when you saw chifuyu kneeling on the floor with his pink kitten design apron tied against his body, a pout clearly evident on his lips. “what ever happened?” your head tilted slightly, annoyance slowly decimating. “you screamed like a mad woman. that’s what happened.” he retorted. you rolled your eyes, grabbing another kitchen towel and joining chifuyu on the ground. “well if you didn’t misplace my batteries, i wouldn't be screaming.”

“if you looked close enough, it’s literally on your study desk.”

“it’s not!”

“it is!”

“it’s not!” you huffed, getting up and stomping over to your room to prove a point but your eyes widened, horrified by the pure sight of your batteries accompanies by a fresh pack with a sticky note attached on top of it. ‘you’re welcome <3′, it wrote. you slowly walked out of your room with your head hung low, doing the walk of shame. “say it,” chifuyu taunts as he skilfully tossed the omelette onto the plate and placing it in front of you. you scrunched your nose, lips pursing and taking a deep breath. “i’m sorry,” you mumbled quietly, fingers fumbling at the ends of your shirt. “ah-ah i can't hear you,” you hear him sing, a little too happy. obvious that he’s enjoying this. you sighed in defeat, clearing your throat loud enough. “i’m sorry,” you said it loudly this time.

chifuyu lets out a laugh in satisfaction, throwing his head back while you on the other hand could only pout at his triumph. but that didn’t mean that your heart didn't swell up at the expression of happiness he has on his face right now. digging in at the breakfast that chifuyu had made for you which had now became a routine, you couldn't help but to feel small under chifuyu’s intense stare on you. “are you not gonna eat?” you raised your brow, eyeing the untouched omelette on his plate. chifuyu rests his chin on his palm, looking at you with a look of as if he had something to tell you.

“i will.” he hummed before reaching out to grab your hands. your body stiffened, dumfounded at what’s currently happening. “you know, for the last two years, life was a little less painful thanks to you.” chifuyu confessed earnestly, “ i guess what i’m trying to say is that, you’re my end game y/n l/n. i don’t think i would've came this far if it wasn’t for you so i’m going to ask you this once,” he paused, intertwining his fingers in yours as he gazes into your eyes deeply,

“will you be my girlfriend?”

your relationship with chifuyu wasn’t a perfect one but the two of you always made it work somehow. which is why here you are sitting against your bed frame with luggages packed by the side wondering what exactly had gone wrong along the way?

and you realised that you were never meant to be chifuyu’s end game. you were never meant to be his forever.

“you think that i don’t fucking know that you were always looking at her instagram when you think i’m not around?” you screamed, body shaking from the exhaustion that’s taking a toll on you both physically and emotionally. “i don’t see how it’s wrong wanting to see how my friend is doing?” chifuyu snaps.

you scoffed, crossing your arms as you looked away. “yeah. as if you don’t still say her name in your sleep. as if you don’t fucking mess up our favourite food, as if you didn’t tell takemichi that you wished i was haru!” this was the last straw for you. you were too exhausted to try anymore. haru was irreplaceable and you were just a temporary band aid for chifuyu.

it was as if you had hit jack pot when your lover went silent. “i’ve loved you for so long chifuyu. but loving you hurts too much. i’m so tired of this.” you finally allowed yourself to break down, letting yourself go loose on the emotions you’ve suppressed for years as chifuyu could only watch in remorse for tearing you apart till this state.

you finally understood why the apple tree never bloomed any apples.

you were twenty seven when you decided to leave chifuyu matsuno. fifteen years of friendship and seven years of being each other’s significant other. you finally walked away, planting one last final kiss on chifuyu’s lips and shutting the door on your ex-lover’s sleeping figure.

#chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x y/n #chifuyu imagines #chifuyu x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo manji gang #angst #fanfic #mikeysano #manjiro sano #reader #tokyo revengers takemichi #takemichi

184 notes · View notes

lustbile · 3 years

Text

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

#nct smut #ten smut #chittaphon smut #nct imagine #nct series #nct fic #ten imagines #ten oneshot #nct oneshot #kpop smut #wayv smut #wayv imagine #wayv oneshot

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

Text

Harmony

Synopsis: Dogged by a shameful past, you try to fit as your new identity in a new dance program at a renowned music conservatory. The school heartthrob and world-class violinist takes interest in you, which would be fine if he wasn’t also your childhood best friend.

Warning: hysterectomy, infertility, panic, mention of murder disclaimer: fertility does NOT determine your worth as a person

Word Count: 10.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Kim Seungmin

There he is. Of course, there he is. Where else would the handsome prodigal son of the most prominent violinist go if not the best music conservatory in the country? You watch his bleached head of hair make its way across SKZ Conservatory of Music’s courtyard as fans flock him from behind.

As for you, you sit on a random bench by yourself, waiting to start your first day at the conservatory’s new and nameless dance program as Emily Regan, not Y/N L/N, and most definitely not the gifted Kim Seungmin’s long-lost childhood best friend.

You must have stared at him too long, for he catches you and smirks. Blushing, you quickly clear your throat and head to class. He couldn’t have recognized you, right? No, you definitely look nothing like you did when you were six. If so, then why is he following you? You speed up, and while he makes no attempt to do the same, he surely is still on your tail. You turn the last corner and he does the same. You enter a room and take a seat. He— oh, you have the same class. First year literature. Just your luck.

He walks by where you are seated and stops. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You wish the ground would swallow you, but at least he didn’t call you Y/N or something like that.

“R-Regan. Emily Regan,” you mutter.

“Oh, American?”

You nod, still avoiding his eye.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Kim Seungmin.”

He extends a hand out to shake, and you take it hesitantly. You aren’t sure you are on first name basis yet, but Kim Seungmin does what Kim Seungmin wants, you suppose.

“Hello, Kim.”

He smiles and takes the seat next to you and you wish you could disappear. But you can’t, so you excuse yourself to use the washroom. You thought you could get another spot when you returned, only to find him reserving your spot next to him for you.

The whole class, you do your best to focus on the professor, but he makes it difficult for you. He makes no effort to hide that he’s stealing glances at you, and fear creeps up your spine. What if he connects the dots and realizes you are your father’s daughter? He’d hate you, that’s for sure. After all you’ve done to him, it’s only natural.

You shake your head and he looks at you curiously. No, the one who did all that isn’t you, but Y/N L/N. You’re Emily Regan now. You just have to make sure you keep it that way.

Still, you’re glad to be able to see him again.

You know you should not be doing this, and there is no reason for you to potentially embarrass yourself even more, but you cannot help yourself. His pieces of work are right there, and his door was propped open so that you could see the music inside. So, you let yourself in.

Being the son of a major benefactor of the school, Seungmin has his own studio on campus. Instruments of all sorts line the wall and his Stradivarius violin lays on the table beside the draft of his latest composition. No one will steal it anyway; it’s chipped and insured.

It does, however, mean that Seungmin probably just stepped out for a bit, so you’ll have to be quick. You look at his piece and hum the notes to yourself.

A small smile forms on your lips as you read the sheet. It’s a duet, and he’s only written the second violin part for now.

This whole thing feels familiar. Reading music with him, cheek to cheek, is something you did often. In fact, that’s exactly what you were doing that day you got that call to rush home only to find where you once lived was turned into a slaughterhouse. Your fingers curl around your cardigan as you recall that day. It was Albinoni’s Adagio. You shake your head and refocus on the notes before you, humming a little louder to drown out your thoughts. You need to finish before—

“You have perfect pitch.”

—Seungmin returns.

You shoot up straight and turn slowly around. Seungmin leans against the door with his arms crossed.

“You have perfect pitch,” he repeats, walking over to his piano. He takes the sheet and plays it on the keyboard. “You weren’t even a microtone off.”

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t—”

He holds up a hand to silence you. “You’re a dance major, right? Do you play anything?”

You shake your head and lie. “Not really.”

“That’s a shame. Well, it’s never too late to start.” He picks up his violin and hands it to you. “Do you want to hear how the piece actually sounds?”

Your eyes widen at the familiar instrument and you visibly flinch backwards to which he raises a brow.

“Emily? Something wrong?”

“No, er, I, uh…” What should you say? “I’m alright. Thank you, and sorry for intruding. I need to use the washroom now.”

“Hold up,” he calls, effectively making you freeze in your step. “You don’t think you can just walk in here and leave unscathed, do you?”

“W-what do you mean?” you laugh nervously.

“You’ve got to pay the admissions fee,” he replies. “If you don’t play the violin, then here.” He hands you his music. “Compose the first violin.”

“What? I don’t even play!”

“You can try, or I can call security. You might even get suspended,” he smirks.

You open and close your mouth soundlessly. If you fail here as Emily Regan the dance major, then what will become of you? You have no choice but to concede and take the paper from his hands.

“Great. It’s only thirty-two bars, so bring it by tomorrow!”

“But I—!”

He takes out his phone and begins dialing the number for security while reading out each digit.

“Fine! I’ll do it!” you relent.

He grins victoriously. “Great!”

You frown at your new project. “But if I may ask, why the first violin? Don’t people usually compose both at once or the melody part first?”

“I like playing second best,” he answers casually.

This you remember from your childhood days, but that was long, long ago, and only because you always wanted to play first. His skills have improved tremendously since then. Anyone who calls Kim Seungmin a second violinist these days would surely be mocked. “Second? But you’re a renowned soloist!”

“I just haven’t found the person I want to follow yet.”

There’s a pain in his voice that makes you bite your own lip. Even if that person is still here, how can he, the prodigal son from the greatest violinist in the nation, stand next to, let alone play with again, the child of a pariah?

“I better get started on this,” you excuse yourself. You can’t bear to see the scars you left on him any longer.

Seungmin finds you the next day with your face on your desk.

“Rough night?” he chuckles.

You pop your head off the table and swipe your hand over your mouth to rid it of any drool. At this point, you should give up ever looking good in front of the school’s heartthrob.

“Here,” you cough, sliding over your work. “I’m forgiven with this, right?”

He hums approvingly and pulls up a keyboard on his phone. After playing it once, he shakes his head and pulls out another score and places it in front of you.

“This won’t do. Try again.”

Your eyes widen. “But—!”

“You didn’t put yourself into this piece did you?”

How can he say that after you spent all night researching and writing drafts, trying to make something that wouldn’t disappoint the great Kim Seungmin? You open your mouth, however, no objection comes out. Something in you knows he’s right.

“Take your time with this next one. Just bring it to my studio when you’re ready, okay?”

You give a small nod and look at the paper on your desk with dread.

“But you did work hard on this,” he continues, “so here. A reward.” He slides a cup of coffee to you. “Tell me what you like and I’ll get that next time.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to,” you say, a little surprised by the gesture. “This time or the next.”

“Oh, come on. A little boost is nice after a rough night, isn’t it? How many hours did you even sleep?”

Good question. You’re curious yourself. You went to bed at four and were awakened at seven by your bladder, so one, two, “Three.”

He looks at you weirdly.

“What?” you defend. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You’re not from America, are you?”

That came out of the left field. “What?”

“Americans count like this.” He raises his index finger then his middle and then his ring, counting a number with each digit. “But you went like this.” He holds up five fingers and progressively puts one down, starting from his thumb.

“I must have gotten used to it here already,” you laugh sheepishly. “Oh look, the professor!”

You feel his stare, but thankfully, he does not say anything else after the instructor greets the class.

The next attempt takes you eight days. You wouldn’t mind a little longer to work out the finer details, but seeing him in class pressures you to just turn it in.

You hold your breath as he scans over your new attempt. Your nervousness does not last long though as he does not even bother playing it and instead drops it right into the bin. He takes out yet another copy and slams it on the table in front of you.

“I really am trying my be—”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he cuts sternly. “Remember what I said. I want you in this piece. Not your best— you.”

“I—”

“No. Look here. Look at me. Focus.”

You gulp and do as told. His lips are pursed and his eyes intense.

“What do you feel?” His question sounds more like a statement.

“Happy?” you try.

He scowls.

“Sad?”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “Look at me. What do you feel?”

You rack your head for emotional words. What answer could he possibly be looking for? “Attraction?”

Seungmin breaks his seriousness and laughs loudly. “Attraction?”

“I mean, you have all those fans and the looks, wealth, and talent,” you try to explain, “so I thought you were looking for that.”

He pokes your forehead. “This isn’t about me or what I’m looking for. It hasn’t been since I gave you this piece. Think about it honestly. What does Emily Regan feel?”

Emily Regan? “Frustrated.”

Another shake of his head. “Deeper. Think. What do you feel?”

You bite your lip and flick your eyes to meet his. What do you feel? What do you feel, posing as a dancer here at SKZ Conservatory in front of Kim Seungmin?

“... shame.”

He smiles bittersweetly and hands you a pen. “Write,” he whispers gently.

You stare at the empty bars, pen quivering slightly above the page. Finally, you draw a small oval in a line.

You write and write, humming the notes to yourself and not realizing how time has passed. When you finally finish, the sun has already gone down. You look up and see Seungmin with his elbows resting on the table across from you and his hands clasped, not having moved a centimeter for the past few hours.

When you finally put down the pen, he turns the sheet towards himself. He stares at it for a good ten minutes before standing up with it and pulling out his Stradivarius. From his phone, he first records him playing his own composition and then plays yours over it.

The whole thing could not have been more than five minutes, but to you, it feels like an eternity.

At last he finishes the piece with an up bow and brings his arm in a circle to his side. He stares at your work for a few more silent moments before saying, “Have you published music before?”

That certainly is not the comment you were expecting. “No?”

“It’s… familiar. I don’t mean the piece, but the style, it’s…”

“Well, do I pass?” you cut in before he can think too much of it.

He sets down his instrument. “It’s a little bland, but I'll take it. Good work, Emily.”

“I’ll be taking my leave then. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Wait—” He calls after you, but you are already out the door.

You speed walk until you are in the safety of a nearby washroom. You rest your back against the stall door and let out a sigh. Does he remember the amateur pieces you made almost two decades ago? Did you accidentally just expose yourself? No, prodigy or not, there is no way he can connect you to Y/N L/N just from thirty-two bars of music. At any rate, it’s best to lay low from him for now, you decide.

Laying low does not really work when you are one of the few members of the conservatory’s budding dance ensemble though. Seungmin is hosting a charity concert and requested dancers for his show. You manage to finish your numbers for the night without complications and are now waiting in the wings for the curtains as Seungmin begins his final piece.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to enjoy his music until something about the tune strikes you. Your eyelids flutter open as a familiar melody fills the auditorium. It’s your piece! Sure, he wrote it into a solo, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

When he finishes, he bows and makes a speech. Your classmate nudges you to snap you out of your surprise and urges you onstage for the curtain call. The whole time, you stare at Seungmin, unsure of what to make of the situation.

At the end of his speech, he gestures for the dancers to come forward. He meets your eyes with his usual smirk and grabs your hand for the bow.

When all is done, you want to find an explanation for that last piece, but your bladder demands to be released right at that moment. You’ve been finding yourself needing to go more and more or the area starts to hurt, so you quickly relieve yourself and speed out. To your luck, it seems Seungmin took his time packing up his violin; you see his silhouette just across the field from the performance hall.

“Wait,” you call out, running after him. He doesn’t hear you until you are closer. “Wait!”

Seungmin turns around as you stop in front of him, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath.

“Emily?”

He takes a look at your state. You’re still in your costume from having rushed out, and your sheer asymmetrical skirt is doing nothing for you against the night wind.

He shakes off his coat and wraps it around you. “Are you here because of that last bit?”

You nod and stare at him, hoping your gaze draws an explanation out of him.

“It’s a good piece. I felt the need to share it.” He fixes the collar around your neck. “I know I should have asked first. I’ll buy you food sometime to make up for it, yeah?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter that you played it; I just want to know why you did it.”

“I told you already. I like it,” he shrugs.

“You like Paganini. You like Strasate. Anything from them or even something you wrote would have made a better finish. Why this?”

“It’s a charity concert for the needy. Your piece had fitting emotions.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Is there really nothing else?

“Hold on.” He narrows his eyes back at you. “How do you know so much about composers?”

“I— It’s— This is a music conservatory! I’ve just seen their names around in murals and such!”

“Makes sense,” he nods.

“Good. Well then, have a good evening, Kim,” you bid, relieved, and begin to turn around.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm? It’s quite late,” he offers.

You turn around but do not stop walking away. “I still need to change. Thank you though!”

It is only when you’re in the green room do you realize you still have his coat.

“Kim,” you call out, shuffling your feet quickly after him.

A wide grin spreads over his face as he turns around and sees your form. There’s a tuba on his shoulder. “Emily! Looking for me?”

You nod and thrust forward the bag in your hand. “Your coat. I came to return it.”

Seungmin dramatically wraps his hands around the instrument. “Oh no! My hands are full right now! Could you bring it to my studio in fifteen minutes?”

Your grip on the bag tightens in frustration, but he leans towards you, tuba looming overhead, and blinks thrice.

“Please? I’ll make it worth your effort.”

You fumble backwards, flustered, and drop your hand and the bag to your side. “Fine,” you relent. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he promises. As you walk out of the music hall, you hear a tuba playing fanfare.

Fifteen minutes later, you knock at his door which opens before you even finish your first knock. Seungmin greets you and gestures inside where a plate of mochi sits on his table with two cups of tea.

“Care to join me?” he invites.

You again hand him the bag and keep your feet planted where they are. “I think I’ll have to pass, but thank you.”

“Aw, don’t you like sweets?” He reaches for the plate and circles it around your face.

Still, you shake your head. “Again, thank you, but based on the last few times I was in here, I would rather not be.”

“I promise not to make you compose again. Just come in before the tea gets cold!”

“Why do you want me to anyway?”

“Huh?” His eyes widen at the question.

“I mean, other people have perfect pitch, yet you only sit with me to work through a composition. You sit next to me and buy me coffee and now you’re inviting me to tea. Why are you so interested in me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “‘Cause I like you, obviously.”

That sets off your alarms. Quickly, you dart your eyes around, looking to see if any of his fan girls are around to hear that and murder you. You then push him into the room and slam the door behind you.

“Excuse me, what?” you exclaim.

He sits by the food, crossing his legs. “I. Like. You.” he repeats slowly.

“B-b-b-but that’s impossible,” you sputter. “Curious? Maybe. But attracted to? No.”

He chuckles. “Why not? I mean, it did start out as curiosity, but the more I poked around, the more intrigued I became. You’re a woman full of mysteries, Emily. I like that.”

You put your hands in front of you and slowly back up. “No, no. No. No. There’s nothing to me at all. We don’t know each other very well. Of course a stranger is going to have a lot of unknowns. Once you get to know me, you’ll find that you’ve wasted your time and energy.” You like your acquaintanceship right now. Even being ignored by him is totally fine, but if he ever finds out who you are, he’ll hate you and spit on the person you’ve tried so hard to become.

“Oh really?” He stands and advances to you, making you shrink. “Then let’s put your theory to the test, shall we?”

“What do you mean?” you gulp.

“You answer my questions and I’ll see if I still like you then.”

“Q-questions?”

“Yeah. We can go slowly if you’d like. Maybe one a day? How does that sound?”

When you don’t respond, he begins. “Why do you seem so afraid of touching a violin?”

“I— uh…”

“Why did you lie about your home country? Why did you feel ‘shame’? Why did you sneak into my studio to look at my work yet claim to have no interest in music?”

With every question, he takes one step in your direction, finally backing you up against the wall.

“And” —he lowers and softens his voice— “how does it feel to kiss you?”

“I’ll— I’ll—” You squirm in your shoes, head down and fists balled. The silence is deafening between your stutters, but he makes no effort to fill it, waiting patiently for your response. “I’ll answer the last one,” you finally squeak.

“Alright then.”

You hear one of his hands pressing on the wall behind you and feel the other coming up to your jaw. He leans closer and closer and you squeeze your eyes tighter and tighter. You’re shaking so much, you can’t tell if you’re even still standing anymore.

His breath fans your lips as he suddenly chuckles and straightens up. He leaves a quick peck on your forehead and steps back.

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want to, Emily.” He has a soft smile which you stare at with surprise at the turn of events. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop annoying the daylights out of you though,” he adds cheekily.

He slides the mochi back into the box they came in and hands them to you. “Go back to your dorm. Maybe we’ll continue our interrogation next time. Oh, and there’s a closer toilet if you turn right since you seem to go all the time.”

You stand there, mochi in hand, with your jaw opening and closing without any audible sound. He laughs again and turns you around towards the door.

“Go, before I poke you with my bow.”

Mention of a violin snaps your soul back into your body. “Okay, okay. Goodbye, Kim.”

“Thanks for returning the coat,” he calls after you as you disappear into the washroom on the left.

“Remember to choose a partner for this project. Let me know if you can’t get one by next week,” your literature professor concludes and whisks out the door.

You feel the entire room turn towards your direction no thanks to the one and only Kim Seungmin sitting next to you. He himself turns toward you with a plotting grin.

“Emily.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, pain rippling through your belly as you do so. There is no point resisting, and you don’t feel up to it today anyway.

“Are you free tonight? I’ll pick you up after your practice and we can get a head start.”

That night, you already know who has just arrived when the girls come squealing into the locker room. You couldn’t care less though. You try to rub away the pain that’s nagging at your belly and fumble around for some pain killers. You allow yourself five minutes after tossing back the pills, but begrudgingly drag your feet outside so as to not keep Seungmin waiting.

He greets you with an electrolyte drink which you take and thank him for as discreetly as possible without catching the attention of his fans. He thankfully seems to take the hint and follows you outside, only fully approaching you when the last of the girls retreats back into the changing room.

“Ready for our project?”

“You’re awfully excited for homework,” you comment.

“It’s not just any homework.” He bumps you with his shoulder. At that moment, another wave of pain grips your stomach, causing you to stop in your step and bend over.

“Did I nudge too hard?” he gasps. “I’m sorry!”

You shake your hand. “Just… premenstrual cramps. It’s a little hard to manage these days,” you squeeze out.

He walks you to a nearby bench and kneels in front of you. He opens your drink for you and wipes sweat from your forehead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go home and rest for today?” he asks worriedly.

“I’ll be fine in a bit; I just need the medicine to kick in. Sorry for delaying us.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He takes your hand and massages the pressure point between your thumb and index finger. “Is there anything you need?”

You assure him that you’re fine and can continue with the scheduled homework session which you know he cut short with one excuse or another. You two do the bare minimum on the assignment before he “realized” he scheduled an appointment to restring his violin. After Seungmin walks you to your dorm, you quickly put on a liner and head to bed.

That night, you learn that a liner was a mistake. You wake up as you often do by a call from the bathroom. Groggily, you swing your legs off your bed and are startled by a loud ‘squish.’ Too distracted by the gnawing in your pelvis, you think nothing of it, until you open your door and the hallway lights pour into your room, illuminating your blood-covered feet. With a gasp, you quickly turn around and see the trail of red behind you. You quickly reach for your heaviest pad only to be gripped with the worst shock of pain you’ve had yet. You fall to your knees then ultimately to the floor.

Waking up on the floor makes you forget where you are, and realizing that you are laying in a pool of blood and urine does not help. It takes a moment for you to recover from the shock the state of your room gave you, but when you do, you decide to get yourself cleaned up first then deal with the room later.

Twenty minutes later, you again face the disaster that is your dorm. Thankfully, you do not have literature today, so no one— and by no one you mean Seungmin— will notice if you take a day off to take care of it.

You begin pulling off your bedsheets to wash when you hear a knock at your door. You panic and look around. It doesn’t take a genius to know your room is in no condition for a guest right now.

“Emily?”

And of course it has to be Kim Seungmin. You freeze in your spot, not knowing what to do.

“Did she leave?” you hear him ask himself. This is good. You hope he leaves.

“I guess so,” he mutters.

You hear some plastic shuffling outside and then his retreating footsteps. You breathe a sigh of relief which you immediately regret because of the pain that comes with breathing too heavily. Your periods have never hurt this much, you note with worry.

You return to your sheets until your phone vibrates with a notification.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Hope you’re feeling better. I left some soup and food at your door since it seems like you aren’t home.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [10:59 AM]: Call me if you need something. Or if you need a ride to the hospital.

Hospital? You rub your abdomen, wondering if the pain warrants a visit. You take some more painkillers and eat the food before finishing cleaning your room. As you leave the washing machine running downstairs, you sit at your table after another washroom stop for a quick nap. You nestle your head in your arms and close your eyes…

… and open them a few hours later, feeling like you’d rather be dead. You can barely breathe and your room spins around you. You don’t even remember to grab your keys as you stumble out the door. Hospital, hospital. No, the hospital’s too far. The conservatory’s health center will have to suffice for now, and it’s only two buildings away.

You must look really unwell, for as soon as you step into the facility, there are already three staff members rushing to your side. You aren’t sure what happens next. It looks like your arrival caused quite the commotion, but all you can hear is Mozart’s Requiem playing somewhere. The world is closing in on you, and you feel your legs give out.

“Seungminnie…”

You wake up to the humming of machines in a hospital room. You realize they transferred you when you see an old lady sleeping in the bed beside yours.

Thankfully, you feel much better now, though you suspect it has something to do with IV connected to your wrist.

Seeing that you are awake, a nurse comes in to check your vitals.

“Are you feeling alright, Miss Regan?” she asks.

You nod and thank her as she replaces your IV bag.

“The doctor wants to see you in a bit for your consultation, but I need a bit of information from you first. We couldn’t find any family members attached to your name, so you’ll have to fill out some forms for yourself, alright sweetie?”

After making sure you are able to, she hands you a clipboard which you complete steadily until one section. “Emergency contact,” it reads.

Seeing your hesitation, the nurse chimes in. “It can be anyone. A friend, teacher, anyone you can trust just in case, you know?”

You smile politely. "May I leave it blank?"

The nurse looks stunned. "I suppose, but what if something happens?"

"You can call a lawyer."

She looks doubtful but stays quiet save for the few instructions she gives to reach your doctor’s office. As you walk there, you think about what just happened. Emergency contact? You'd just moved here for school. Your mother passed during childbirth, and your father— Emily Regan doesn’t have a father. There's no one you could have put down, you tell yourself. No one. Not even a certain overzealous violinist.

You knock twice on the door you were told.

“Miss Emily Regan?” the doctor greets as you walk in.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Doctor Lee. How are you feeling right now?"

"A lot better."

"Glad to hear it. Please take a seat. Tell me, have you experienced frequent urination lately?"

You walk out of the pharmacy with a paper bag in your hands. Your heart drums in your ears but for a completely different reason this time. What will this mean for you? You’ll need to be resting for two months after the procedure, and as a dance major, this means you can’t attend class. Never mind its impact on your school year, what will this mean for your entire life? Your father has already tarnished the name Y/N L/N. You’ve tried so hard and lied so much just to make Emily Regan real. What have you made her into now? Dirty. Fiendish. Despicable. Even if you escaped being the daughter of the most hated artist who shamed his whole nation, you’ll never escape who you really are. And now this? Your hand unconsciously rises to your belly, rubbing it. It’s only further proof of what a defect you are.

It is around four by the time you arrive back at the dorms. Thankfully, the hospital phoned your resident assistant who has your keys for you. You’re still distracted by your thoughts as you approach the building and nearly miss the man pacing up and down the front door.

Seungmin has his shoulders hunched and hands clasped together as he blows on them to keep warm, his grey cardigan not doing much against the evening chill.

“Kim?” you call out, not believing your eyes. You are, after all, on a lot of drugs.

He immediately runs towards you when he recognizes you. You stand where you are and wait for him to come, now believe that he truly is here. Was he out here waiting for you? Your hand curls around your belly. He shouldn’t be wasting his efforts like this on someone like you. Never mind the faults of Y/N, even as Emily, you no longer deserve the love of someone like Kim Seungmin. You’d never wish for your childhood best friend to be with someone as flawed as you.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire as he stops in front of you, raising his hands as if wanting to hold you but is afraid you’d break under his touch.

“You didn’t pick up the phone…” he whispers. “You weren’t home and you didn’t pick up the phone…”

“I… had something going on.” You tuck away your prescription in your coat. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t—”

“Kim.”

“—the phone—”

“Kim Seungmin!”

His eyes look up to meet yours and you see the daze being snapped out of them.

“Huh?”

You exhale sharply and repeat. “What are you doing here?”

“Your dorm doesn’t allow guys past twelve,” he replies matter of factly.

Your brows knit together. “You were out here for four hours?”

He nods. “Where were you? You were sick yesterday, and now you’re off the map until four in the morning.”

You shouldn’t have snapped. You know what he means by his words, but you aren’t exactly having the best day, and Seungmin isn’t supposed to be here. You aren’t who he actually likes. You aren’t the six year old Y/N nor are you an ideal bachelorette. No, you are some imposter and you hate it. You hate it, so you state flatly, “Why does it matter to you where I was? If you’re worried about the literature project, then I’m sorry. I promise to finish it on time, but it was you who ended the homework session early yesterday, and as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have anything scheduled for today. Thank you for the meal earlier, but if stuff like that’s going to make you feel entitled to knowing about my every whereabouts, then please stop doing it.”

“That’s not what I—”

You close your eyes and let your head roll back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, so please just leave me alone for a bit.”

You walk past him, expecting the conversation to be left at that. You hear him hesitating, which you also expect, but you are not ready for the:

“No.”

Seungmin runs in front of you and spreads his limbs out, blocking your path. “You’re suffering. I don’t know from what, or if it’s even really period cramps, but you are. I’m not letting you do it alone.” He sucks in his cheeks as he tries to find his next words. You half expect him to take you to his studio and sit you down with a drink until you give him at least a hint of what’s happening, but he surprises you with, “I’m not saying you have to share it with me, but you need to have someone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” he objects. “And trust me. I’ve seen a man try and it cost him his life and his daughter.”

The familiar story makes you freeze. Despite yourself, you ask, “Who?”

“My father’s best friend. The late violinist, L/N.”

“T-the one who turned out to be a murderer?” Why are you saying this? Just leave him and go!

Seungmin approaches you now that you’ve stopped. His presence makes your eyes water. “He only got involved with the wrong people and ruined his name because he tried to deal with the grief of losing his wife on his own. He even hid it from his own best friend, and that’s how everything tumbled out of control.”

“And his daughter?” Stop it! Y/N— no, Emily, stop it!

“No one knows, though she could be dead. My father immediately sent out searches for her, but nothing ever came up.” His voice softens almost to the point of inaudible as he talks about her. “Father hasn’t played a duet since, and neither have I.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say.

“Don’t be. You didn’t even know about it, so what could you have done?” he laughs dryly.

The irony makes your toes curl.

“Just don’t make me watch another person go down the same path, okay?” he pleas gently.

Again, you should have done something else. You should just say, “Okay, I’ll reach out if I need it” and leave it at that. Instead, you turn to him and ask, “Can you play me ‘Méditation’?”

You watch his eyes widen at the ‘coincidence’ of your request, especially after that story.

“‘Méditation?’” he asks.

“Yes. Massenet’s.”

He visibly takes a step back and you know why. After all, you’ve made this exact request a million times whenever you were left to sleepover at your father’s best friend’s house.

You wake up on the couch of his studio. Seungmin lays sprawled out on the floor next to you, violin on his chest and bow dangling from his thumb. You use the blanket he put over you to lift the ten million dollar instrument onto a table before he can roll over and crush it. You cradle the Strad, lifting it over its owner to the table on the other side.

“You know who composed ‘Méditation’ but you can’t touch a violin?”

The voice startles you, and you jerk backwards, stumbling back onto the couch. Once you’ve regained your balance, you glare at the man who’s still laying on the ground, moving only his eyes to look at you.

You sigh and pull the blanket over your head. “Don’t pry my secrets or I’ll have to keep avoiding you,” you warn.

“Oh!” he hums.

You pull the blanket back down and see him sitting up now with an arm propped on his knee. “What?”

“You finally admitted to hiding things,” he tells you.

“Everyone hides things.”

“But not everyone sucks at denying it.”

“Hey!”

He points at your jacket. “Your pill bottles are literally rattling with every move you make, Miss I’m-totally-fine.”

You wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. “They’re— they’re—”

“Pill bottles,” he insists. He folds his hands on the couch and rests his head on them. “Your inept lying is adorable.”

You groan and toss the blanket over his head. He tries to pull it off, but you clamp your hand over his to stop him.

“I don’t want to tell you this, but you did house me for a night, so you deserve to know at least this much, I guess.” Your serious tone stops his resistance attempts. “I’m scheduled for surgery in a little over a week. I’ll be in a hotel for two weeks after the procedure with a nurse since I don’t have someone to care for me during the bed rest period. It’s a relatively safe procedure, so don’t worry.”

Seungmin flips your hand over and grabs it. The blanket slips off his head and you are left looking at his glassy eyes.

“I…” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “I won’t ask you where you’re staying if you don’t want to tell. Just promise you’ll text after the surgery. Let me know that you’re still alive at least.”

You nod. “You’ll see me working on our Powerpoint for the project at least.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

“I won’t be able to dance for a month and a half after this. My general education classes are all I’m going to be doing,” you assure him.

“If it gets too hard—”

“I know. Thank you, Kim.”

You roll your suitcase off the bus. You aren’t sure if it is extra windy today or if it’s just your nerves, but you shiver as you stare at the hospital before you. You take a deep breath and take a step forward only to find your feet glued to the sidewalk.

Just then, you hear a ping through your earphones. You pull out your phone and see a message.

Kim Seungmin- Lit [7:41 AM]: [get_well_soon.mp3]

You click into it and a piano and violin playing a familiar intermezzo fills your ears. You then look down at your feet and successfully lift one up and place it in front of the other until you are in front of the reception.

“Hello. I have an appointment under Emily Regan, and I'd also like to update my emergency contact information.”

After two weeks, you’re at last pushing open the door to your own dorm room.

You aren’t sure if it’s the morphine or the darkness of the room, but stepping inside after two weeks and seeing your curtains sway lightly in the evening air makes you feel emptier than you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly, your emotions overwhelm you all at once and you succumb to the floor. Your throat tightens and you wrap your arms around your abdomen, tucking your knees to your chest. You think you are crying, but you can’t be sure. The walls are closing in. You feel yourself being shackled by chains and no matter how hard you scream, no one hears you. Your voice bounces in your head like a ricocheting bullet and water is seeping in from somewhere, filling your nose and mouth, depriving you of air. All the while, your heartbeat echoes in your head.

Ba dum.

… dum.

With a strangled gasp, you manage to break one hand free for a split moment, and you immediately look for the remote that has called a nurse for the past two weeks. Of course, you are no longer at the hospital, so the only thing you grab is your phone.

“Seungminnie… Seungminnie, Seungminnie.”

You fumble with the device, but the chains are tightening around you again. Fog clouds in and you can’t see your phone anymore. You don’t even hear it hit the floor as it slips from your hand.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Suddenly, you’re six again. Before you is the empty hallway of Violinist Kim’s mansion. Your plastic princess heels thunder with every step as you run down the hall.

Ba dum. “Seungminie?”

There’s no one there. Every turn you make just leads to another empty hall. The ground begins to morph, twisting and turning under your tiny feet.

Ba dum. Ba dum.

The giant bow on your dress unravels and cinches around your ankle, and you trip and scrape your chin.

“Seungmin!”

“Emily!”

The ribbons shrivel. The chains clatter to the ground. The water drains. You gasp haggredly for air as your hands fly up to his shoulders for support. Beside you, your phone sits on the floor, his name illuminating from the screen.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his own device from his ear.

Your hands climb up to his face, cupping it. Your eyes are still glazed over. Blood drips from your lips from having been gnawed on too much.

“You’re… you’re not Seungmin.” You put your hands all over his face, feeling its features. “Or are you? No…”

“Emily—”

“Who’s Emily? You’re not Seungmin.”

“Stop biting yourself.”

“Seungmin’s not blond. Seungmin’s not—”

“Emily!”

“WHO’S EMILY?”

He freezes and looks at you. You’re drooped over at this point, defeated and tired. He then puts one hand behind you and pulls you into his arms.

“I am Seungmin,” he says gently. The vibration of his chest as he speaks lulls you. “I am Seungmin,” he repeats. “I’m right here. You’ve found me. I’m right here.”

Shakily, one of your hands reaches up and grabs his shirt while the other circles around to your lower belly.

“... Seungminnie…”

You’re in the furthest corner of the bed, staring at him. He’s just standing there, staring at you, juice in one hand and your keys in the other.

“So,” he begins. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully. Your eyes shift to your desk where some medicine including a bottle of Kadian and a pack of birth control sit carelessly. “But I don’t suppose I had to say much for you to figure things out.” He’s going to leave you all alone now. Why is he even still here? He should realize how unsuitable you are for someone like him. There’s undeniable evidence in front of him now.

He clutches at his chest and scrunches up his face as a glaze passes over his eyes. He takes a moment before taking out one of the pills. He hands it to you with the juice, obviously having read the administration instructions.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That and the frequent urinations. How much did they take out?”

You look away and your hand subconsciously reaches down. So he is still holding onto hope for some miracle. That’s why he hasn’t left yet. “Enough.” Now go, Seungmin.

He sits beside you, fiddling with the blankets between his fingers.

You break the silence first. “Don’t feel inclined to stay.”

“Huh?” he questions, looking up.

“I’m” —you motion downstairs— “you know. You’re here because you like me, right? Well, I can’t exactly produce an ideal family anymore. You should probably look for someone who can help you continue your and your father’s legacy.”

He looks more confused than you’ve ever seen him. “What?”

“I’m saying you should walk away now. I won’t hold it against you, so you don’t have to live with any guilt. I never considered our relationship possible anyway.”

Confusion shifts to anger. “You— You think I— I—” He struggles with his words after having been presented a scenario he’s never even considered. He exhales long and hard. “No. Just” —he grabs at an imaginary stress ball— “no. I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me. I don’t like you just because of your fertility. How could you think that? I don’t want a child. I want you. Do you understand? You! I couldn’t even sleep or drink for the past two weeks you were hospitalized, and the only time I could eat was whenever you sent a text or when I saw your little cursor on the Powerpoint. You think a surgery like that can weigh out whatever I felt that drove me to do this?”

“Still, I’m—”

“Worthy, beautiful, and loveable,” he insists.

Those words are foreign to you. They’ve been long before you went to the hospital. How can he believe such things about you? Would he say the same things about Y/N?

Seungmin sighs when you don’t respond and drags you closer. You don’t resist which he takes as a good sign. “So you don’t have to hide things from me anymore, okay? I’ll be here for you.”

You try to bite your lip only to find ointment there, so you play with a loose thread on your blanket instead.

“I… I’m already hiding a lot of things from you that I’m afraid to confess,” you admit. “Will that still be okay?”

You feel him nod. “Take your time. I’ll wait until you’re comfortable.”

You close your eyes and bask in his warmth. Will he really be okay if he knew he has in his arms the daughter of a drug addict murderer? Will he really be okay knowing you’re his “best friend” who left him without a trace for all these years?

You hope so.

You want to believe so.

“It’s out! It’s out! It’s out!” you exclaim.

“It’s just one grade. Relax,” Seungmin chuckles. Still, he stops playing the piano and swings his legs over to look at your phone.

“Not all of us have an established violin career to fall back on,” you remind him while logging into your account. You cover your eyes and hold the phone away from you as the page loads. “I can’t look.”

Seungmin takes the device. “I think you should.”

“Why? Is it good or bad?”

“We got a hundred.”

“We did?” You uncover your eyes. “We did! We did!”

In your excitement, you give him a quick hug. He puts your phone on the table and drags you onto the piano bench. “You’re not doing anything right now, right?” He puts a simple piece in front of you. “Try this.”

“Kim, I don’t play.”

“It’s simple. Look.” He squeezes in behind you and puts your hand on the keyboard. “That’s middle C.”

He presses on the key and you scoff. You lift your left hand up as well and humor him. You’re definitely a bit choppy, but you make your way through the piece slowly and surely. Seungmin wraps his arms around your belly and rests his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed, swaying slightly to the music. When you get to the end, you lift up your hands and rest them on your lap.

“You’re just cuddling, aren’t you?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes shift to the music. “No, I like it.”

You feel his heartbeat accelerating at your words. “So uh, you’ve played piano before, haven’t you?”

“Uhm. I played a few different things.”

“Violin?”

“That was my focus.”

He’s not surprised. “Were you good?”

“I was better than you,” you tease.

“Oh, really?” He jumps up and puts his violin under his chin in a challenging stance.

You put your hands defensively out with a laugh. “That was like years ago!”

He wiggles his eyebrow and starts performing up-bow ricochet and left hand pizzicato.

You roll your eyes humorously. “We get it, Mr. World-class-musician.”

He laughs too and sits back down beside you. “Speaking of which, I’m playing with the JYP Philharmonic next weekend. You’ll come, right?”

You nod. “If I can manage to walk there.”

“I need to get there early, but I’ll have my driver take you.” He smiles widely. “You have to come, you have to. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

He holds a finger to his lip cheekily. “Now it’s my turn to have a little secret.”

You fix the ribbon around your neck and smooth out your skirt as your driver comes around to open your door. You thank him and make your way into the building where Seungmin asked you to meet him. You hear him before you see him.

“Oh, she’s wonderful. She really is.”

There’s another lower voice that mumbles a reply you can’t make out.

“Kim?” you call, approaching his waiting room.

Seungmin’s grin widens as he turns around and sees you. You, on the other hand, drop the chocolate and banana you brought for him when you see the other man in the room.

Seungmin gestures to you and looks at his companion. “Dad, this is Emily Regan, the girl I’ve been talking to you about. Emily, my father.”

Violinist Kim looks as shocked as you. “Emily… Regan?” His eyes narrow.

Seungmin furrows his brows. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything and extends a hand out to you. “Nice to meet you, Emily Regan.”

You shake his hand uncertainly, unable to look at his unblinking eyes.

“Emily? Dad?” Seungmin looks between the two of you.

The older gentleman turns to his son. “See me for a moment.”

After Seungmin sits you on a couch, the two step out into the garden as per his request. You watch as Violinist Kim says something that makes Seungmin run a hand through his hair then stab them into his pockets as he slouches backwards. He replies with something that his father quickly rebuttals. What can they possibly be discussing? It’s clear Violinist Kim does not approve of you. Does he realize who you are? Or is Emily Regan the one he disapproves of? As a parent, it’s not uncommon to want grandchildren after all.

Suddenly, someone else bursts into the room. “Mr. Kim Seungmin, the conductor is looking for you!”

The stage worker is surprised to see only you in the room, and you inform him where the performers are. He thanks you and lets himself outside to deliver the message.

You stand as Seungmin and his father walk back in. Your friend pauses in his steps to talk to you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “This isn’t how I thought my dad would react to this. I’ll talk to you after.” He then spots your hand which has again found its way to your abdomen and frowns. “I swear that’s not something we talked about nor is it even something worth getting upset over, okay?”

You give him an assuring smile. “Break a leg.”

You watch as he hurries to catch up to the stage worker who is giving a briefing as they walk. You don’t bother to ask what is wrong. You can already tell from the cold eyes of Violinist Kim what is wrong. All you can do is wonder how much he told his son.

The concert goes well. You can tell that whatever happened with his father took a toll on Seungmin’s mentality, but his concerto was still dynamic and captivating. A few rows in front of you, you spot Violinist Kim still nodding along to the music and supporting his son.

After forty minutes, the house lights come back on and it is time for intermission. Seungmin is done with his concerto, so you go back backstage to see if you can catch him. You don’t have to go that far though. On your way, you hear a tree go, “Psst, Emily!”

You look and see him waving you over. He’s still calling you Emily, so that’s good, you note.

“Why are we out here?” you inquire.

He takes you a little further into the woods until he finds a boulder for you to sit on. He hoists you up so you’re comfortable.

“I thought I should clear things up before my dad talks to you,” he explains. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know what kind of headache misunderstandings cause.”

You nod, prompting him to go on. He does.

“You remember when I told you about Violinist L/N?”

This sends your heart racing. Has he found out?

“Well his daughter used to be my best friend. The thing is, my dad thinks you look a lot like her, and he thinks I’m only with you because of it.”

Oh, it’s just that. Thank goodness.

He grabs your hands, his eyes serious. “I just want you to know that no matter what he tells you, that’s not it. I like you for you, Emily, and nothing more and nothing less.”

You’re still convincing yourself that he isn’t aware of your past identity, and you must be making a face that he registers as doubt for he slides a hand up to your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Please believe me.”

You snap out of it. Of course you believe him, and it wouldn’t change much if he were in love with Y/N L/N anyway. However, you don’t miss the opportunity to ask, “What would you do if she is not dead? What would you do if she came back?”

“I’d celebrate her return. I’d grab lunch with her and introduce the two of you, but that’ll be the extent of it.”

“What if she’s been doing well all these years, and you were the only one left hurting and alone, wondering where she is? Could you forgive her? Could you accept someone like that, not to mention a child of a murderer, with open arms?”

Seungmin retreats his hand and frowns at you. “Why are you saying things like that? She’s my best friend!”

You grab his hand before it can go far. This time it’s your turn to stare him in the eye. “I’m not accusing her. I’m just asking if you, Kim Seungmin, would be able to forgive her in this scenario, and I’m not going to say that you’re right or wrong if you do or don’t either.”

“Then why do you ask?” His frown shifts to a perplexed one.

You let your hand drop to your side. “I… I’m in a similar situation. I don’t know if my friend will accept me if I try to reconnect.”

“Do it.” He has on a smirk now as he walks closer. “If it’s you, I’m sure she’d love to reconnect.”

You pout at his unsatisfactory response. “You’re just biased.”

Your pursed lips only makes him stare at them. “I sure am,” he mumbles.

He again brings his hand up to your neck, index finger resting behind your ears. You can’t tell if he’s avoiding your question or just distracted, but who cares? You’re distracted now too. The woods are setting the perfect mood, and the orchestra is playing something romantic inside. Your eyelids begin to close. He looks at you one more time, his own eyes drooping.

“Is this okay…” he whispers raspily. “... Emily?”

Your eyes fly open and you shove him away a little harder than you intended to. This isn’t you. The person he wants to kiss isn��t you, and you can’t steal that away from him, even if you desperately want it yourself. You can’t have this. You can’t have him. It isn’t yours and it isn’t right.

He falls down and looks up at you, bewildered.

“I’m— I’m sorry!” you blammer. “I, uh, I have to go.”

You jump off the boulder and walk faster than you know you should post-op.

“Emily.” You hear his feet crunching leaves right behind you. “Emily. Stop. Emily. Emily. Emily.”

Why does he keep saying that name?

You don’t turn back and you don’t slow down.

You hear him curse and speed up, which scares you, but before you can react, he sweeps you off of your feet and carries you in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Something you won’t on your own,” he replies vaguely. He storms to his green room and kicks the door open. He sets you down in the middle of it and pulls out his violin. “Play,” he commands you.

You shrink back at the sight of the instrument. It’s a glorious instrument carved from a choice tree and shaped over a careful flame by masterful hands, capable of drawing out the soul of its player. You know touching it will draw out what you’ve been working so hard on suppressing. You aren’t Y/N, daughter of Violinist L/N. You have no business with a violin. “I can’t. You know this, Kim.”

“You can’t play or you can’t admit the truth? Play, Emily.”

Wait, what?

He holds the Stradivarius in front of you. His tone is firm and his eyes are fierce, but he doesn’t hold the violin any closer than thirty centimeters away. He needs you to make this last leap.

“What do you know?” you demand.

“Play.”

“Tell me, what did your father really tell you?” you screech.

“Play.”

You begin shaking. The f holes are taunting you. You hear the screams of your father’s victims. You hear the TV reporters all cursing his name. They’re all inside there. They’re all inside, waiting for you to release them with your playing and eat you alive. “Kim, please.”

“Play.”

“No, I— I—”

“Play.”

He already knows. You’re sure he already knows, yet somehow, this still feels like a chasm far too wide for you to cross. Can you accept this violin? Can your past? Y/N is the child of a drug-addicted murderer. She’s a six year old whose own father bathed her in blood and blacklisted her existence. Can you accept Y/N L/N?

You look up at the deep brown eyes before you. You know he can.

“Seungmin…” you choke.

He lowers his voice and softens his gaze. “Play,” he tells you.

And so you do. You timorously reach for the instrument and perform Albinoni’s Adagio, the very last piece he’s heard you play.

Tears roll down your face as your fingers fly across the board like you’ve played the piece all your life. You’re scared, you’re scared, you’re so, so scared. You didn’t even realize how hard you’ve been working to repress this part of you, and now that you’re facing it head-on, you don’t know what to make of it, but for once, it’s okay. Even if you fall. Even if you break apart, you finally have someone who will pick up the pieces.

You play, and play, and play until you don’t know what to play any more, yet still you played. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you play until you can no longer lift up the scroll. You let the violin slip to your side and the bow clatter to the ground. A pair of arms wrap around you to stop you from collapsing. You close your eyes as one final tear makes its way down your face.

Seungmin presses your head into his shoulder. “I forgive you, Y/N, because I love you.”

You look onto the expecting crowd. Your heart’s beating quickly and the violin in your hands feels heavier than usual. Seungmin steps up next to you with his instrument. He adjusts your white skirt, his new golden band glistening under the lights as he does so.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

You smile at the familiar question. “Ready,” you reply.

He smiles back and lifts his Stradivarius under his chin. You do the same and he begins to play three one-eighth C’s followed half one. You feel his music envelop you. You close your eyes, place the tip of your bow on your E-string and let “Wedding March” flow from your soul.

A sense of peace overcomes you. After learning about your father, starting your life over, and losing your fertility, peace seems almost foreign to you, yet you’ve done it. Amidst all the chaos, you’ve finally found your harmony.

~ ad.gold

Read it from Seungmin’s perspective here.

#kim seungmin #seungmin #stray kids #skz #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #seungmin fluff #seungmin angst #stray kids fic #seungmin fic #violin #childhood friends #stray kids imagine #seungmin imagine #20210615

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hymuk · 2 years

Note

Hello I loved you’re previous fanfic I’m glad you want to write again ! So I would really like uprising arc Petra standing by Levi’s side ( some slight romance and og squad is always welcomed ofc ☺️)

Uprising Arc — Canon Divergence

Rivetra Angst, Canon Divergence -- 1,233 words

A/N - Thank you so much! Here it is--it's a bit heavier than what you originally requested + Petra-centric but hope you enjoy! @himebee-5

Petra tried to pretend she was asleep every time Levi slipped into bed, well past midnight, the scent of bleach and soap fresh, clinging to his skin. She paid attention to the way the weight of the bed sunk in beside her, settling in once she felt him slide his arm around her stomach, careful to avoid touching her broken—now healing—wrist.

Petra’s days were filled with grief. She haunted the halls of the headquarters, the skin under her eyes perpetually stained with dark splotches, her lips set in a thin line. None of the new members of Levi’s squad daring to say a word to her, save Eren, who would give her the kindest and softest of smiles. His eyes mirrored her own, the grief undisguisable despite the smile that played on his lips, and she would find herself unable to smile back or to do more than simply meet his gaze. She was a cruel reminder of that day.

After she was able to walk again, Petra would roam the halls on her own schedule. Nobody provided her with a schedule. She was to report to Hanji until her training was done, then be reassigned to another commanding officer. When her training was done, they seemingly forgot about her, and she spent her days roaming the halls instead, occasionally running tasks for Erwin when he thought she looked less gaunt than usual.

The newest members of their regiment had taken the now vacated spots on Levi’s elite team. There was no longer any excuse to see him anymore, now that she wasn’t under his command, but he would always find her throughout the day. When she was huddled between a crate and a sack of rice in a storage closet, trying to will herself to take a nap. When she would sit alone by the bath in her towel, unable to find the will in herself to get up and settle herself into the water. And the only moments when he could recognize an inkling of who she used to be, would be when she sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee.

Petra had become a shadow of herself.

Hanji was the one who had come up with this training regimen, one that would supposedly get Petra back up walking, even after her tragic and overwhelming injury that left her bent up the side of a tree. Petra followed what Hanji told her to do every day, her eyes blank, the light that usually graced them dulled out by the weight of death, after death, after death.

Petra was the model patient. She sat in her bed when she was told to rest. She drank the clear broth and ate the stale bread they fed her without complaint, finishing her meal in minutes—whoever delivered it to her able to be in and out of her room in five minutes with her dishes clean. When Hanji came to collect her, bright and cheerful, to take her to her therapy sessions, she allowed Moblit to lift her from her bed, and deposit her into the simple wheelchair, the seat now sculpted to the weight of her body. She followed each and every instruction, as any soldier worth their salt would, and she didn’t question the orders of those who were above her. She didn’t ask any questions. There were none worth asking. It went without being said that Petra would never fight again.

Erwin, as things came to take a turn for the worse, didn’t do her the disservice of discharging her. He was far more aware of the dangers of an idle mind than most others. So, he let Petra haunt the halls of their headquarters. Once Hanji said she was good to be up on her feet for more than an hour a day, he allowed her to take a spot in the corner of his office, sorting and filling out the stack of reports that reminded them every day of that day in the forest. He kept his eyes down when every day, at the same time in the afternoon, Levi would enter with a soft knock on the door, setting a cup of tea down at her work station, leaving after because he knew he wouldn’t get a response from Petra. And he ignored him when he would pass Levi in the hallway, making his way to Petra’s room, to join her in bed for the night.

Petra came to him first. She came to his office, in the middle of the night, and for a brief moment when Levi heard the knock at his door, he thought maybe the same redhead who would regularly grace him in his office had returned to keep him company late at night again. She entered, holding her blanket wrapped around her, her eyes darkened with exhaustion. Levi wasn’t to expect the late night mutters and chatter to tea anymore. He let her sit in an armchair, curled up, looking smaller than he’d ever seen her before. She couldn’t fall asleep, even as she listened to the rhythmic turn of the page and scrawl of pen on paper. Watching her, alert but weary in his armchair, he stood up, and decided he was done working for the night.

Without speaking, Petra followed him out of his office, entering his room and settling onto his bed, waiting for him to join her. They’d done this once before, but what started out as something new and exciting became a comforting routine they’d practice every night.

She laid in the bed they now shared, trying to steady her breathing to seem rhythmic enough to fool him into thinking she was already asleep, but she felt tense. She laid there, silently, wondering if he would say anything, or if they would lay there in quiet companionship like usual, and pretend the other was asleep.

She was surprised when he whispered her name–for a second, she almost thought she’d imagined it.

“Petra,” he whispered again, this time, his breath brushing lightly against her neck.

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry, but found it in herself to respond and say his name back. It was the first thing she’d said these past couple of days.

“Levi,” she whispered back.

They continued to lay there, quietly, but she felt him move his arms, turning her towards him so that they were facing each other. She was surprised how clearly she could see his face in the dark, light trickling in through the window. They studied each other. She traced the tired lines that ran across his face with her eyes, noting how much darker the circles under his eyes were than she’d ever seen. His eyes looked almost… desperate–sad, regretful. She didn’t know what he was thinking, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to share. She’d never asked why she could no longer find him in his office late at night. Or why there were days where he’d crawl into bed at sunrise wearing a set of clothes he hadn’t been wearing earlier that day. She lifted her hand to hold his cheek, searching for something–anything that would tell her why he looked so broken. But instead of asking, she pulled him closer, and kissed him softly on the lips, feeling relief when he accepted the first kiss she’d given him since the expedition.

#rivetra #levi ackerman #petra ral #levi x petra #shingeki no kyojin #snk #attack on titan #fanfic #accepting requests #request

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yeoandmoon · 3 years

Text

you are now listening to graceland too by phoebe bridgers! ( yeosang x f!reader )

fluff, burnout!yeosang, bassist!yeosang, writer!reader, childhood friends 2 lovers but also idiots 2 lovers, yeosang and reader run away, seongjoong are engaged, wooyoung + yeonjun have a band, there is only one bed, yeosang has a nose ring, it’s implied reader has a bad relationship with her mother, wc is 3.1k

NOTE: happy yeosang day! this was a doozy to write, but i hope you all enjoy it! its based off one of my favourite phoebe bridgers songs! :)

There’s a mural on the wall of the hotel lobby. It’s a warm toned painting of a forest, with a hint of a bright blue sky peeking out from the top of the trees. There’s a moose standing at the forefront of the mural, and a little fox sleeping on a rock towards the bottom, surrounded by colourful flowers and leaves.

The mural confused you, if you were being honest. The hotel you worked the night audit at was situated in the busy downtown centre of the city you lived in, and there were barely any forests for miles around the city - let alone any wildlife, like moose or foxes. Hongjoong said it was to make guests feel more ‘in touch with nature’ and to help people forget about the ‘problems of the real world’, while Yeosang claimed it was ‘just another scam in the tourist trap’.

You, on the other hand, was sure the mural was put there to torture you. You would spend nights having staring contests with the moose (which, to your surprise, you always lost), or you would spend hours on Google with Hongjoong trying to find out what species of fox the sleeping fox was (you were sure it was a cape fox, while Hongjoong swore up and down that it was a gray fox). The blue sky between the trees teased you; a reminder that most of your days were spent in the library at your university, or in this dimly lit lobby.

Sometimes, it felt like the only time you saw the sunshine was when you were with Yeosang.

Despite the occasional burnout and the lack of seeing sun most days, you didn’t mind the job. You were always more of a night person, and your classes were always later in the day so you did manage to pull in some sleep. Due to the late hours, you usually only dealt with customers in the first hour or two of your shift, and most of that was just directing confused Ubereats delivery people and pretty Tinder dates to hallways and rooms. It was the perfect job to work on your writing, and get your school work out of the way without listening to your mother cry about how you’re throwing your life away like your sister.

Plus, you could think of a hundred worse people to spend the night shift with than the nighttime valet, Hongjoong. Hongjoong often kept you occupied with his latest reforms and art projects, and stories about his fiancee, Seonghwa & their friend, Yunho (who he kept insisting you needed to go on a date with).

“Your emo boy is coming.”

Well, you could think of ninety-nine worse people to spend the night shift with than Hongjoong, who sat next to you at the check-in desk.

You scoff, “He’s not my emo boy.” You mumble, glancing at the street entrance to see Yeosang walk in with an ice coffee on hand.

Despite your words, Kang Yeosang was your person (you wouldn’t quite use the term ‘emo boy’, even if it did fit), and he had been since your family moved in next door to his family when you two were children. Although your friendship lately had been reduced to these late night meetings while you two were on break on your respective graveyard shifts (you at the hotel and Yeosang at the convenience store down the block, of course) and occasional meetings in the garden when you were both running errands for your families, you still considered Yeosang one of your dearest memories.

It was hard not too, you suppose. He had been there for many of your firsts, and was always cheering you on. Yeosang always made you feel powerful and important - like a powerful heroine, and not his bratty next door neighbor who cried on his doorstep after being dumped by her first year partner. He always made you feel wanted.

Yeosang grinned at you as he stepped into the lobby (if your heart fluttered in your chest, you ignored it). He had on a backwards dad cap, and he had recently changed his nose ring out for the gold hoop San had bought him for his birthday. You could just faintly see his birthmark peeking out from where his bleach blonde hair curled under the hat.

“Hello, Sunshine.” He greets you, setting the coffee down on your desk.

You set the pen you were holding down, “Hi Yeosang.”

Upon first glance at Yeosang, you can tell he’s buzzing about something. He’s leaning over the check-in counter and chewing on his lip while making small talk with Hongjoong about the tourist season.

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your coffee as Yeosang turns back to you, “Do you remember Wooyoung and Yeonjun?”

You nearly choke on your coffee at the mention of your other neighbor and ex-boyfriend. Wooyoung had moved onto your street a few years after you had, and quickly became apart of the little bond you and Yeosang had formed. He moved to the coast with Yeonjun, your ex, the first chance they had gotten, but Wooyoung’s family remained in the neighborhood.

“I babysat Woo’s brother the other day…” You watched your friend, “Did something happen? Mrs Jung didn’t say anything the other day.”

Yeosang grins, and it’s his scheming grin, “Their band got signed,” He tells you, “They need a new bassist, and Wooyoung showed them that video you took of me from that show last month. Their label wants me to come down; play a few shows with them, record a couple demos. See if we have chemistry, basically.”

Your eyes widen - both out of excitement and fear. You were happy and excited for Yeosang! This is the opportunity he had been wanting for years, but you were also terrified.

You were terrified in a horrible, selfish way because you knew if Yeosang left to join Wooyoung and Yeonjun, he’d never come back to you.

“That’s… That’s great, Yeo!” You manage a grin whilst trying to shove the selfish thoughts away, “When do they want you there?”

Yeosang’s smile falters, just for a moment but you still catch it, “Monday.”

“F-Five days?”

He nods, “I’m leaving Saturday morning, so I can be there Sunday afternoon.”

You can see it in his eyes; he’s terrified too.

Before you can say anything else, Yeosang leans over the check-in counter and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I have to get back to work, Sunshine.” He tells you, his voice quiet as if he’s giving you a secret, “I’ll see you later.”

He’s already halfway down the lobby when you swear and move out of your chair, you quickly call his name as you move out from behind the desk. You rush over to where he’s standing, and look up at him. He’s confused.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when you pull him into a tight hug, “I’m proud of you, Yeo.”

Yeosang wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His chest is warm, and you’re sure you could spend hours here. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your head, “I know, Sunshine.” He pulls away, his hand on your arm, “I really do have to go, though. I’m already late for work.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around your torso as you watch him leave the hotel and turn down the street to go back to the convenience store. When you turn back around, Hongjoong is watching you with an amused look on his face.

You glare at him as you walk back to the desk, “Don’t you have a fiance to call, or something?”

----------------

You were tired.

Friday nights were always busy, but tonight was draining and loud and you could only take so much of Miss Liu’s incessant phone calls about mundane things at 3am. All you wanted to do was go home, and fall into your bed and sleep for hours.

Hongjoong didn’t help your mood either. It was an innocent question about Yeosang, asking if you’d seen him since he visited you on his break but it pushed your mood down to a low point. You had been so busy the past few days, and if you were being honest with yourself, you had been avoiding Yeosang.

You weren’t ready to see him leave. You knew it was selfish, but you figured avoiding Yeosang was easier than admitting you didn’t want him to leave you behind. You would just simply watch his life through Instagram and consider the ‘what-ifs’ in your life.

You shouldered your tote bag after clocking out before yelling a good-bye to Hongjoong. You could see the beginning rays of morning sun hitting the other buildings in the downtown core as you stepped out the employee doors, and then you were hit by the sight of Yeosang leaning against one of the pillars.

Your eyes widen, “Yeosan-”

“Come with me.”

You stop. Your words are left in your throat, “W-Wh… Go with you? To the coast?”

Yeosang nods, “Come with me,” He steps forward, taking your hands in his, “What do you have here? A degree you don’t care about? A job you hate?”

You frown, running over his words in your head, “I-I have my mom. And… I have Hongjoong!”

He raises an eyebrow, “Y/N, Sunshine… Your mom will barely notice you’re gone, and Hongjoong can visit us.” He cupped your cheek.

You’re so busy having an internal crisis you hardly notice the usage of ‘us’. You’re considering the logistics in your head. Yeosang was right; you didn’t care about your degree, and all it would take was an email saying you quit for them to find a new front desk person. Your mom would be upset for a few weeks. She’d probably make some passive aggressive Facebook posts about you before acting like your best friend again.

“Yeosang…” You look up at him, your hand coming up to circle around his wrist.

“Your sister is there, and you could write everyday.” Yeosang adds on, “I did the math, Y/N. Between the two of us, we’d have 6 months to figure it out. 6 months, and we’ll come back here if nothing works out.”

You stay silent for a moment.

“Sunshine, I promised I’d show you the stars, didn’t I?”

You gasp at the promise. It was a silly promise he had made when you were both kids; something you’d almost forgotten about.

It hits you quickly: there’s no one else you’d rather run away with. There’s no one else you’d trust to run away with.

You look up at Yeosang, “Yes.”

He grins, “Yes?”

You nod, “Yes, Yeo. I’ll go with you.”

----------------

An hour. An hour was how long it took for you to turn your life upside down for Kang Yeosang.

In an hour, you had emailed your program advisor and told them you wouldn’t be returning for the next semester, and you had called your manager and told them you wouldn’t be coming in for your next shift, or any shift after that (which was promptly followed by a phone call from Hongjoong, who seemed more excited about this than you were). You had packed up most of your clothes and important belongings, and they were loaded into the back of Yeosang’s shitty car. You left a note for your mother, and before you knew it, you were sitting in the passenger’s seat of Yeosang’s car.

----------------

You had fallen asleep barely an hour into the car ride.

The rolling hills and fields outside your window made your eyes feel heavier, but you tried staying awake to keep Yeosang company.

“Go to sleep, Sunshine.” He tells you, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Yeosang’s promise was all it took for you to succumb to your exhaustion.

You don't usually remember your dreams. Though today, there are flashes of a beach, and a smile that takes your breath away. There are blue skies and if you try hard enough, you can just faintly smell sea salt.

You wake up hours later, smiling. True to his word, Yeosang is still there when you wake. He’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, and tapping his fingers to the beat of the song on the radio.

Yeosang smiles when he notices you’re awake, “I talked to your mother.”

Your eyes widen, “You talked to who?”

He laughs, “You didn’t answer your phone, so she called me.”

You frown, glancing at your phone in the free cup holder. You could imagine the amount of calls and texts that were in there.

“She wasn’t very happy.” Yeosang continues, “She wants you to call her when we get there.”

You nod, “Thank you, Yeo.” You say softly, looking over at him.

Yeosang throws you a smile, “Of course.”

“Not just for talking to my mom…” You watch him, “For not leaving me behind, too. Thank you.”

Yeosang reaches over, taking your hand, “I’d never leave you behind, Sunshine. You’d have to try really hard to get rid of me.”

----------------

The car ride was long, and full of Yeosang’s early 2000s emo playlist & fast food. You called your sister, who was ecstatic to hear about your plans and had immediately offered you and Yeosang her beach house. She made a comment about how ‘she always knew you two would end up together’, and it made your heart flutter when you glanced at Yeosang.

Yeosang told you about Wooyoung’s band, and how excited he was to play with Wooyoung. You smiled, listening to him fondly talk about your old friends and their music.

It was getting late though, and you could see it in Yeosang’s face that he was getting tired.

“We should stop for the night.” You tell him, “You’ve been driving since 6am, Yeo.”

He huffs, “We could drive through the night.” He proposes, “We’d make it to your sister’s place in a few hours.”

You frown, “Or... We could stop for the night, shower, and then leave first thing tomorrow morning. We'll get there by noon tomorrow.”

Yeosang glances at you, going to protest. He ends up yawning instead, his nose wrinkling slightly, “Fine.” He pouts.

You laugh, reaching for your phone to google the closest hotels. There's a comfortable silence in the car, filled with the occasional beat of Yeosang’s fingers on the steering wheel. You feel at ease, even if it's just for a moment.

“There’s a motel off the next exit.” You tell him, stifling a yawn of your own.

----------------

Sure enough, there had been a motel off the next exit. It was small and slightly rundown, but cheap and had an available room. You waited in the car while Yeosang went into the check-in office, promising to be back in a moment.

He came back dangling a key in his hand, and a slight frown on his face as he opened the car door to let you out.

“So... There’s only one bed.” He broke the news, a blush growing up his cheeks, “It’s all they had, unless we wanted to drive another hour down the highway.”

Your eyes widen, “O-Oh.” You glance at the key, and then back up at Yeosang, “I’ll sleep on the floor, or something.”

Yeosang frowns, shaking his head, “We can share for one night, Sunshine. I think it’ll be okay.”

Which leads you to here; lying almost nose to nose with Yeosang. Your hair was soaking wet from a shower in the tiny bathroom and the small motel bed wasn’t comfortable, but you didn’t seem to mind as you took in the man in front of you. You pushed the strands of bleach blonde hair out of his face, and your fingers softly lingered on the birthmark next to his eye.

His breath stuttered, “Y/N,” He says, his voice a mere whisper, “We’re free.”

You let your hand rest against his cheek. Your eyes lingered on his lips before you caught yourself, moving your gaze back up to his eyes.

Yeosang only smiled at you. He gently held your wrist as he tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on your palm, “I’m going to kiss you now, Sunshine.”

“Yes please.”

You felt every nerve in your body light up when Yeosang kissed you.

A small part of your brain told you that this is where you’re meant to be: in Yeosang’s arms.

You felt this way the first time Yeosang had kissed you too, all the way back on that roof in 11th grade. You two had been talking about the future; about your writing and Yeosang’s music. You looked up at the hazy night sky, and you asked Yeosang if you’d ever get to see the stars.

He smiled at you, telling you that he would show them to you one day before he kissed you so sweetly.

Yeosang still kissed you sweetly. He kissed you like you held the secrets of the universe in your hand for him to take.

You pulled away, “I think I love you.”

He smiles against your lips, rubbing soft circles into your wrist, “I think I love you too, baby.”

—————-

You had this assumption that the next morning would be awkward; that you would be stuck for the next 6 months with someone you could barely look in the eye because of a late night confession.

Instead, you awoke to Yeosang kissing your head and placing a bagel & ice coffee down for you. He had quickly ushered you into the shower, before you put on a change of clothes and were quickly led out to the car between bites of your bagel. This all happened over Yeosang telling you how you only had a few hours before you reached your sister’s beach house, and he wanted to try and make good time so you could enjoy the beach today.

You giggled at his antics before settling into the passenger’s seat for the last few hours of your journey.

You sipped your ice coffee as you watched out the window. The countryside on the highway zoomed by you, and the car was full of sunlight from Yeosang’s sunroof being open. There was a Fall Out Boy song on the radio, and you felt a sense of calm brush over you as Yeosang took your hand in his.

The sunshine had never felt so nice on your skin as Yeosang pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

taglist: @vanishingboots @sunsethw4

#ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #kang yeosang fluff #kang yeosang imagines #b.

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hes-a-rainbow · 3 years

Text

Simply Meant To Be (Part One)

A/N: I’ve always loved soulmate AU’s so I wrote a little something based on my interpretation. I’ll only continue this if it gets good feedback so remember to like and share!

word count: 2k warnings: small mention of panic attacks.

Soulmates weren’t a new concept. Many people argued soulmates were as old as the universe itself. But that didn’t stop the tiny twinge of jealousy that twisted in Rue’s stomach as she opened up yet another wedding invitation. She stared back at the smiling couple, one of her friends from high school that had met their soulmate a few years back in college. Another photo zoomed in on their ring fingers. Their first initials scarred on both of their fingers indicating their eternal bond.

She flipped over the invitation to fill out the rsvp and dinner selection she would be having in a few months time. She also marked an ‘X’ next to ‘not bringing a guest’. She sighed as the tiny ‘X’ seemingly mocked her loneliness.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in soulmates, they were a fact of life since the beginning of civilization. It was merely the loneliness she felt seeing everyone meeting their soulmate while she still remained alone. Her best friend, Madison, who had met her soulmate back in kindergarten and she was now six months pregnant with their second child.

There was no real science to when, where, or how you would meet your soulmate, it was just supposed to happen. Fate would eventually intertwine the lives of two people who were simply meant to be. Rue was now nearing 26. She had been in love before, as many before her, but the looming fact that her significant others’ soulmate could show up at any time kept her from anything long term.

There was always that terrible thought in the back of her head; the one she had since she was young and still kept her up at night. Growing up, the concept of soulmates were taught in schools. Children mocked each other on the school yard that they would be forever ‘unmarked’, a term coined for those who were destined to be alone. It was a rare phenomenon but it still happened nonetheless.

She took a look at her left hand adorned with rings except for on her ring finger. She remembers spending hours as a child staring and hoping the initial of her true love would show up. But all these years later, it remained as bare as the day she was born. She never thought of herself as a pessimist and she knew she was still young (her parents hadn’t met until they were in their mid thirties) but it still hurt as she watched from the sidelines as seemingly everyone else was matched up.

The loud ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts. Her friend and close confidante, Caroline, was calling. She swiped her finger across her phone and cleared her throat, “What’s up?”

“Well hello to you too!” Caroline’s voice roared back to her. She hit the volume button down lower as she knew Caroline was a loud talker. “I’m on my way to Rory’s. My guitar string broke this morning and Talia got called in for a late shift. Do you wanna stop by with me and then get take out for dinner?” Caroline’s soulmate, Talia, was a highly wanted chef in Hell’s Kitchen who worked nights at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the entire city.

She stared at the digital clock on her oven that indicated it was only 5:30. “Sure, I just got home so just let me change and I’ll meet you at Rory’s.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and wandered over to her bedroom to pull out a pair of jeans.

“No need. I’m walking up your stairs as we speak.” Like clockwork, she heard the sound of Caroline’s knuckles knocking at her front door.

“Jesus Caroline, and what if I had said no?” She walked over to the door, unzipping her work pants. Caroline’s bright smile and bleached blonde hair greeted her. “You can’t say no to me!” Caroline looked down at her friends’ outfit. “Cute but can I recommend something less librarian?” Caroline placed her guitar case by the door as Rue rolled her eyes but held the door open. She sauntered back over to her dresser to continue changing out of her work clothes. Caroline sat on her bed and basically held an entire conversation by herself as Rue simply replied with oh, uh huh, and that’s crazy.

Winter had come to the city fast, blanketing the city in a slick frost every morning. The two women walked side by side, bundled up in hats and scarves as they walked the two blocks from Rue’s apartment to Rory’s, an old music shop that also happened to be run by Rory, Rue’s upstairs neighbor and close friend.

“And I know she’ll be upset if I spend so much money but she’s been talking about this knife set for months now.” Caroline rambled on about what she would be getting Talia for their upcoming anniversary. They weren’t married yet, or even engaged for that matter, but they had been together for nearly five years now and didn’t see the need to rush anything.

“I mean it is your five year. She can’t be too upset that you would want to splurge a little bit. But that’s also basically your whole paycheck. You’d basically be leaving it up to her to pick up that entire month’s rent.” Rue’s faded leather boots slapped the pavement as she hid her face further into the scarf wrapped around her neck, trying to warm up her freezing nose. It was almost completely dark out now which meant there was no sun to help ease off the cold.

“And what about that song you were working on? No amount of money spent could give Talia anything that personal and from the heart.” Caroline was an aspiring musician who worked full time as a coffee shop manager and played open mics on the weekends. Caroline hummed in response, her confidence slipping. “I’m just not sure if I like how it turned out…” She let her voice trail off and stared ahead as if in deep thought.

“She’d love it no matter what. Anyone would.” Rue knocked her shoulder into her friends’. “I mean isn’t that like everybody’s dream? To have a song written about them?”

“Yeah, I guess.” They both stopped at the old music store with the big ‘open’ sign in neon lights adorning the window.

“Ah fuck it’s cold out there.” Caroline announced as the warmth from the stores’ heater hit them. Rue untangled her scarf to hang loosely at her side. A loud bell indicated their arrival and they saw Rory’s head perk up from behind the register.

“How much for an hour, ladies?” He called over to them and was met with not one, but two middle fingers from them both. Rory was only a few years older than them but had become especially close with Caroline because of their love of music. Rue worked as a receptionist at a law firm but worked a few shifts at the shop here and there when Rory needed extra help.

Caroline walked over to the counter and plopped her heavy guitar case on it. “String broke again.” She popped open the buckles on the side, lifting it up to reveal the old acoustic guitar she had been gifted as a teenager. The shine of the guitar had been long lost and was now replaced with a few dings and scratches but Caroline loved it no less than the day she got it.

“Damn Caroline. Really have to start being more careful with her.” Rory took the guitar out of it’s velvet bed by the neck and examined the broken string that hung lamely at the side. “This is the second time this month. What could you possibly be playing?”

“I’m trying to learn some flamenco techniques and it’s not going as well as I planned…” Rue wandered over to the wall that hung the electric guitars, zoning out the banter coming from her two friends.

She always admired the instrument but had absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. She loved how Rory kept all the guitars miraculously clean, there were never any fingerprints or smudges on them and she swear he went over every spot with a toothbrush to make sure. She reached for an acoustic guitar that was hanging lower than the more expensive ones.

“You break it, you buy it!” Rory called over to her as he always did. She huffed in response and propped her knee up on a low shelf that held a variety of guitar straps. She didn’t know how to play nor did she know any songs but she loved the sounds the strings made when plucked. She would find herself mesmerized when she watched Caroline play the guitar so effortlessly. Rue even thought back to when she was a child and took a few piano lessons here and there but could never get the hang of it.

As she stood under the guitars and heard Caroline and Rory bickering about which string would be the best replacement (of course his recommendation was also the most expensive brand he sold), the bell by the front door rung to indicate a new customer. Rue didn’t bother looking over as she played some random notes in an attempt to put something together but only to be met by a terrible ‘plunk’. She decided to put the guitar back before embarrassing herself even further in front of her very talented friends.

She was about to place the head of the guitar back on the hook it hung from when she felt an intense pain in her chest. The hand not holding the guitar went right to the center of her chest as a warmth ran over her body. Her ears started to ring and she teetered in her place before placing the guitar down on the floor, not wanting to damage it if she fell.

“Rue?” She heard her name coming from behind her but her eyes filled with stars. She opened and closed them as the pain in her chest increased, causing her to fall to the floor on her knees. She could hear frantic chatter coming from the counter but her only focus was calming her breathing. She had suffered from panic attacks before but the intense pain in her chest was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She heard footsteps running towards her as she released a groan from deep in her throat.

“Rue! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Caroline slumped to the floor next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. Rue’s vision was blurry and she blinked fast as her eyes started to water. A bang and a deep groan went through the store somewhere behind her. “Holy shit!” A stranger's voice yelled, “Harry, man, are you alright?”

Suddenly, the pain Rue felt in her chest shot down her left arm. She felt as if she were dying. It was as if her skin was being cut from the inside out while also spontaneously being burned. “Rue! Rue!” She could hear Caroline calling her name but it came through as muffled though her ringing ears. She looked up to see a group of men standing by the counter. Rory was speaking frantically on his cell phone and she could see two men crowded around another who sat in the same position on the floor as she did. The brunette on the floor looked up and their eyes met. The overwhelming pain stopped suddenly as she stared at him. Pictures flashed in her mind of her and this man, someone who was a stranger to her but also oddly familiar. She saw his smile and heard her own laugh. She saw tears stream down his face and her own fingers wiping them away.

What is this? She thought in her head.

You know what this is. Her conscious replied.

Caroline’s face came back to her line of sight, “Hey Rue, look at me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” She held Rue’s face in her hands. Rue’s hands came up to clasp her friends’ wrist, her breathing rapid as her heart beat finally started to slow back to a normal pace. Her left hand still stung. More specifically, her left ring finger.

She pulled away from her friend quickly to examine the new mark that now adorned her skin.

“Holy shit.” Rue rubbed at the mark with her other hand to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But with every swipe, the letter remained. “Holy shit!” Rue heard Caroline agree as she looked down at Rue’s hand, but Caroline’s voice was filled with less fear and more glee than Rue’s.

There, on her left ring finger, still swollen and red was the letter H.

A/N: This is just an idea I have that I may or may not continue based on the feedback. I know Harry was literally just a mention in this part but I would obviously include him much more going forward. Let me know if you’re interested in what happens next and please like and share!

Part Two

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry style fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #one direction #hslot #soulmates au #harry styles writing #tpwk #treat people with kindness #harry styles drabble #harry styles x oc

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woodrokiro · 3 years

Text

Do It For the Band, Part Five (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki:

Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, and Four.

Against her better judgement, Tatsuki takes an early flight home the next morning, so she really doesn’t know what went down.

Frankly, between battling her colossal hangover and focusing on not puking on the plane when it hits turbulence: she doesn’t even think about it until later in the week.

Since the tour ended, the band has a week off to just chill and take some time for themselves before regrouping and planning their next move. Tatsuki goes straight home to smoke weed and binge dumb movies on her to-watch queue. Chad and Orihime had plans to stay in their last tour city for a while since they had friends and family there.

And as for Ichigo and Rukia…

Who knows. They’re both such dorks that they’re probably that gross couple who serenade each other in bed, naked, making weird metaphorical lyrics about the sex they just had.

Gross. But kind of sweet.

She makes a point to not think about or reach out to any of them (besides Orihime, of course) the entire week - not that she doesn’t love her team fiercely, but they all need the break away from each other... Especially after they spent all their time together making the album and going on tour, and especially if Ichigo decides to show one of his new Rukia-love ballads to the band upon their return.

Still, she attempts to check in with Ichigo on the fifth day over text.

How ya doin’, tiger?

He doesn’t respond for a few hours, but she doesn’t think much of it. He’s always been sort of a shitty texter, and there’s a strong chance all the raucous love-making isn’t reminding him to check his phone.

She’s on the fourth episode of Terrace House’ newest season, debating whether one of the cast members is a chaotic queen or absolute garbage when she hears the familiar ping of a text message on her phone. She picks it up and reads:

Fine.

Huh.

Not exactly the sunshine-y answer she expected, but then again: it’s Ichigo. He’s not exactly a sunshine-y person, even when - apparently - he’s radiantly happy.

She shrugs, deciding not to push it. She’ll find out soon enough how everything’s going when they have practice in a couple days.

Practice is in Chad’s garage, and Ichigo, Chad, and Orihime are already there.

She mostly chats with Orihime, who has so much to update her on about her newest recipes, like natto ice cream and sriracha orange juice, and hey, Tatsuki, what are your thoughts on this newest article I found about robots dominating the planet within the next five years?

Tatsuki glows in the babble, chuckling when she can’t help herself. Says the first sounds… Interesting, the second sounds like maybe she can keep revising it a little, and that last article sounds like it might be from a not so trust-worthy news source.

Her friend tries to argue the source’s credibility when she looks over at Ichigo. He’s silently tuning his guitar, head bent and posture weirdly… Slumped when she catches his eye.

She raises her eyebrows at him without interrupting Orihime’s chatter. You good?

He shrugs, gives a weak smile and thumbs up before returning his attention back to his instrument.

Uh oh.

Ichigo Kurosaki does not do weak smiles… Or thumbs ups, for that matter.

It’s another few minutes before Rukia swings the door open, a bit of a sweaty mess and running out of breath.

“Hi all, I’m so sorry I--”

“You’re late.”

Everyone swings their attention to Ichigo, who observes their keyboardist stone-faced. The shocked silence that follows is short, but suffocating.

Rukia flushes before she blinks, raising her chin. “Yes. As I was saying… I’m sorry I’m running late, everyone. I had a lunch meetup with an old friend that went longer than expected. Please forgive me.”

“Chill, Rukia - you’re fine. You’re only five minutes over.” Tatsuki shoots a look at Ichigo, who’s still ruthlessly eye-ing daggers into Rukia.

What the hell…?

“... Whatever. Let’s just get started. Go over everything to catch back up to speed, and all that.” Ichigo plugs his guitar into the speaker, and Rukia nods as she quickly sets up her keyboard.

Practice from there is…

Like. It’s good. It is. Despite the long break, everyone is still on top of their shit: Tatsuki’s beats are muscle memory by now, and Chad is as on it as he ever was. Ichigo and Rukia are in perfect sync, per usual.

The energy, however, is another story. While there was always some sort of joy and excitement when they all played together, now it’s like the air is stiff, heavy. From behind, Tatsuki can see Rukia keeps trying to look at Ichigo during all the parts they usually harmonize together, to get some sort of connection.

Ichigo doesn’t even remotely glance her way the entire time.

They’re near done with the entire set when Ichigo clears his throat, turning to the rest of them. Urahara has joined them by this point, watching with an unreadable smile as ever.

“So… I think we should scrap Sun and Moon from our main set.”

Orihime lets out a soft gasp. Chad’s fingers accidentally let loose a note on the live bass. Tatsuki chokes on her spit.

“Sun and Moon? You mean our crowd pleaser? The one we always end shows with a bang on?”

“It’s not our only crowd pleaser, we’ve also got some other great ones. I’m just afraid it’s gonna be a one-hit wonder, ya know? And with that note…” He turns to Urahara. “What do you think about us going ahead and starting to write for our sophomore album?”

They gape at him.

Even Urahara raises his eyebrows. “That’s… Well. That was fast.”

“Is it? Our album is more like EP, anyway - just a little longer. Like a warm-up. And it’s good, of course I’m proud of it - everyone worked so hard on it - but, just… Why not start now? Why not take advantage of the momentum we’ve got going on?”

Rukia clears her throat. “Ichigo, that’s… We’ve got such a good grip on what we have -”

“I just think Soul Vibes is static for us. Outdated.” He quickly looks back at her before returning his attention to Urahara.

Rukia looks like she’s been slapped.

“I think we’re more dynamic now, even just in these few short months. And yeah it’s fast, but - we have time, right? To get started on writing?”

“I suppose so.” Urahara looks at Tatsuki and Chad, who both shrug. Something’s really off here, but Tatsuki sort of sees his point. It’s clear Ichigo’s raring to write something new… Why not?

“Sure, if you’d like, I can make some arrangements with the music studio. You and Rukia can go in there and--”

“Actually, I was thinking we can work on some stuff alone before presenting it to the group.” He stops Tatsuki when she begins to sputter. “Look, I know the whole reason for pairing Rukia and I for songwriting was to get us working as a team. But we’re fine now…”

Ichigo looks back at Rukia, and they share a look that’s so… Tatsuki doesn’t know what it is, but she sees Rukia swallow heavily in response.

“We’re fine now.” He repeats grittily. He starts again, stronger: “We collaborated on some cool shit, now I think it’s time to make it a little more diverse like I mentioned earlier. Have my songs, have her songs, have Chad’s songs if he still wants - all threaded together with Tatsuki’s beats. Why not?”

The room is quiet as they contemplate it. It’s not a bad idea, but…

Tatsuki glances over at Rukia, who’s looking down at her hands.

Urahara clicks his tongue.

“Well, Kurosaki, you raise a good argument. I don’t see why not, and I’m not hearing any objections… Just one thing: you’re not striking Sun and Moon quite yet. No arguments! Hear me out.” He stops Ichigo with a hand. “You’re not striking it until any of you come up with a song just as good, if not better. There’s power in that one, you can’t deny it. Make something as rock n’ roll as that and the team will talk. Let’s just… Keep each other in the know, all right?”

The band - Rukia included, albeit softly - agrees, and they start to pack up.

Tatsuki doesn’t know what’s going on; she’s always down for making more jams, she knows Ichigo and Rukia have got more up their sleeves, that Chad definitely deserves to put more of his stuff forward - but that… Look the two vocalists shared…

What happened that night after she left the bar?

She doesn’t have much time to wonder, however, because suddenly she’s shaken out of her thoughts when she hears Ichigo approaching Orihime about whether she wants to go out and get a couple of drinks.

Tatsuki’s heart is too busy falling to see Rukia’s stricken face.

#my stuff #ichiruki #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #do it for the band

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

Black lace and property damage

Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.

A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

The porch light above the front door is out.

Was he supposed to change that before he left?

“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”

“Spiders don’t have rabies.”

“No one’s ever proven that.”

Dammit. Yeah, he was.

Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.

Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.

“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”

Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.

An empty echo returns.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

Figures.

Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.

One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.

Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.

He flips it open.

“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”

Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.

“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.

Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.

Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).

And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.

Is that asking too much?

“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”

Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.

No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.

Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.

Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.

Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.

Staying awake. Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*****

When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.

Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.

Asleep.

Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.

God. Dammit.

Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.

Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.

But lately? This is life.

With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.

Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.

He grins.

It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.

“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”

“Spit it out babe.”

“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”

An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.

He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.

Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.

Sam always knocks now.

But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.

Sometimes he just needs you.

Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.

So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.

He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.

He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.

In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.

But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.

Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.

Love is weird.

Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.

And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.

It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).

Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.

Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.

In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.

The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.

He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.

That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.

The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.

Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.

There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.

So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.

The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.

“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”

His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.

Black high heels.

Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.

Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.

“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “

Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.

The words die on his lips.

Black high heels, yes.

And.

Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.

Gorgeous, devilish smile.

Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.

“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.

“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”

Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”

“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”

Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.

“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.

“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?

Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.

Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.

Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.

“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”

Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.

From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.

He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).

But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.

Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.

Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -

No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.

Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.

So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -

He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.

Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.

The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.

“Ow,” he grunts.

“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”

Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”

“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.

“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”

“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”

Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.

“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”

“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.

“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”

Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.

“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”

“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”

Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -

“Cold!”

Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.

Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.

Bucky’s nose twitches.

In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.

In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?

Is porn a lie?

Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.

For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“

Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.

“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”

“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”

Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.

A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?

This is definitely happening more often.

He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“

Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“

He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.

Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.

Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.

“Feel good?” you murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”

He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”

Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.

“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.

“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.

And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.

“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”

“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.

“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”

“Sorry…sir.”

Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.

He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?

Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.

“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”

How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -

“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.

Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.

“Bucky, come on -”

And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.

With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.

Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.

“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.

“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“

Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.

Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.

“So I broke your car.”

He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”

“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.

Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”

Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.

“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.

“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”

He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.

“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”

“Yeah? You liked it?”

“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”

“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”

Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.

Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.

Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.

“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”

He boops your nose and you grin.

“Deal.”

“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”

“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.

“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bitsmasterlist

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