#y’know when i said every interview makes me love them a bit more? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

#HendallReunited

prompt: request was to write broad but to write something angsty

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: language, sexual content, angst

Harry always had issues with saying ‘no’ to people. He never quite grew out of his manners even when he should have.

He said ‘yes’ to way too many things- signing autographs for rude fans and paparazzi, and agreed to way too many things Jeff suggested.

Saying yes to everything didn’t make his life any easier is the thing. Especially when it came to his wife. She was usually left with the aftermath of him being too nice.

The media painted Y/N in a negative light occasionally and so did the fans because she would stand up for Harry and not let him say ‘yes’ to every single request.

She would tell disrespectful fans he’s not signing autographs because of the way they were screaming and interrupting his work.

Harry wished he could do it himself - admired that his wife didn’t give a fuck what people thought about her. He cared entirely too much what the world would think.

The couple didn’t fight about much - no, not really. Normal couple stuff for the most part. But this was the exception, this is where Y/N found most of their turmoil.

Every few months it would rear it’s ugly head and they’d find themselves in the same position over and over again.

This time - it was really fucking bad.

The couple had been staying in their Los Angeles home for the last few months whilst the singer finalized his album and began promotion.

It was boring meeting among boring lunch outings to get all their ducks in a row. Jeff - his manager the main orchestrator.

He was a great manager and a good friend, but it was also business too which Harry didn’t always comprehend.

At the end of the day, Harry was making Jeff millions upon millions of dollars. But Harry didn’t think that way.

Harry was in a stuffy conference room at the The Late Late Show to work on the script and ideas for the show. Promo had been nonstop.

He was a bit tired as it was nearly just hitting eight in the morning and he had been up late with you - having some late night loving in the hot tub.

“As for guest - Kendall Jenner,” James Corden’s producer states. All the men agree but Harry is taken aback.

“Why...why would we have my ex-girlfriend as one of my guests?” Harry interrupts, confusion knitting his brows.

Kendall and him didn’t end on a bad note - not at all. They hooked up a few times after their ‘break-up’ but once he’d met Y/N she was understanding when he cut it off.

Y/N wasn’t necessarily jealous of the model, but didn’t love when they’d run into each other at events. She was still overtly flirty with Harry without much shame.

Harry also didn’t have an desire to see her or host her as a guest on the show. She was nice but he wasn’t interested in being friends with her. They didn’t have much in common and he was head over heels for his wife.

“The media will eat it up, dude. Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner reunited on a show after four years?” Jeff smiles, the others nodding in amicable agreement.

This is one of this times where Harry needs to say “no,” that it’s disrespectful to his significant other to use an old flame for promo for his album.

He already knows ‘hendall’ will be trending within minutes and he can’t imagine how that would make his parter feel.

“I just...this doesn’t seem like a good idea?” Harry begins hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Why not?” Eric, one of the writers asks.

“Y’know, I’m married. I don’t think m’missus would appreciate if I did somethin’ like that just for promotion,” he states, scratching at his jaw uncomfortably.

“Look Styles, we’re not asking you to fuck the girl. It just a interview, c’mon,” The executive producer gruffs - wanting those guaranteed views.

Harry swallows - looking at his manager and then at everyone else at the table looking at him for an affirmative answer.

“Uh-sure,” Harry fumbles, feeling anxiety rise into his throat. Fuck, he’s such a god damn pushover.

He’s trying to find his voice to go back on his agreement but the meeting wrapping up and people are leaving with final handshakes.

Harry doesn’t know how to tell Y/N what is going on. He’d been keeping in stored in the back of his mind, not ready to have a blowout.

He never found the perfect time to bring it up and now it was too late. It was the morning of the show and he was due to be at the rehearsals this afternoon.

Harry had finally decided he was going to tell her this morning over coffee but forgot that she had a girl’s day planned with a few friends.

She was already out to breakfast with them when he woke up. His phone had one text from you.

Hi baby. I’m out with the girls. See you at the show tonight. I’ll meet you there around six! Love you!

He was fucked royally and he had no one to blame but himself. Maybe it’d be okay, maybe she’d roll her eyes and tell him he’s an idiot.

Realistically he knew that was just a sweet dream at this point.

—

Harry was fidgety and kept mucking up his lines during rehearsal as it got closer to the showtime and his missus arriving.

Kendall had arrived for hair and makeup without seeing her ex-boyfriend yet. He dreaded seeing the model.

Kendall and Y/N had met a few times at different events. It was always cordial. Kendall was always casual - their relationship was never more than a couple fun dates and sex.

They were kind to each other when they met but he couldn’t deny how much harder his partner kissed him on the mouth afterwards.

Before he know it, his wife is hugging him from behind as he talks to a producer about which cameras to look at.

Y/N noticed the way he tensed up at first and thought about how unusual that was for him. Normally, he’d lean back into her with his full weight causing them both to stumble and laugh.

He slowly, cautiously turns around and his face relaxes a little bit but not completely. “Hi baby,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss.

“You look so handsome,” she replies, admiring his brown pinstriped suit and her pearl necklace that he’d snagged awhile back. She thought it looked better on him anyways.

“You look even better, s’fuckin’ pretty, love,” he gushes, coming back in for another kiss - a little too sensual for the setting.

She was donned in a cropped white shirt, showing of the smooth expanse of her tummy. An oversized blazer of Harry’s, ripped jeans, and heels.

Harry thought fleetingly he couldn’t wait to fuck her after the show. Then remembered that mostly wouldn’t happen.

Reggie, the musical lead, slides up to you two. He smiles wide at you, saying, “Can’t believe you agreed to the guest this evening.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, Harry’s raise nearly to his forehead, but when she opens her mouth to ask him to explain they’re interrupted.

“Harry!” The leggy model trots over to the little group. Dressed in an interesting one-piece suit that has sewn in heels. She looked beautiful as ever, of course she was a model.

Both of them turn towards the oblivious girl, “Kendall,” Harry replies with a twinge of anxiety - eyes repeatedly looking at his significant other’s profile as multiple emotions flash.

“Hiya, you’re Y/N right?” Kendall smiles kindly, offering her manicured hand.

She accepts, “Yeah, uh-good to see you again.”

Harry knew she had connected the dots quickly in her head. The hurt, confusion, had hit her eyes before narrowing into full-blown rage at her partner.

“I promise I’ll go easy on him,” Kendall jokes before pinching at Harry’s cheek teasingly. The model was a natural flirt with everyone she got along with.

“Oh, sure,” she replies lamely, attempting to not let her feelings burst out in that moment with her husband . She knew it wasn’t Kendall’s fault.

“I’m going to go grab a bite to eat. I’m probably gonna puke when we do ‘spill or fill’. See you guys soon,” the model waves before trailing off with her assistant.

“Did you kn- of course you knew she was your guest,” Y/N seethes, turning to fully face the guilt-stricken-singer.

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, “I did.”

“How long have you known for?” She demands to know, keeping her voice at an angry whisper to not draw attention.

Harry wasn’t going to lie to his love, “About two weeks.”

Y/N replies with a laugh, “let me guess, you let Jeffrey talk you into this bullshit, again.”

His silence is all she needs to know it’s true.

“For Christ’s sake, of course,” She huffs bitterly, “what’s even worse is you didn’t fucking tell me. What the fuck?”

Harry bites his lip, not able to rasp out anything but a pathetic, “m’sorry, love.”

He wasn’t usually good at taking responsibility during a fight. He was stubborn at best but he couldn’t deny his way out of this.

“You will be, you-“

They were cut off by the staff, the audience was trailing in and Harry needed to get mic’d up now.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she points her finger at his chest before storming off to the side of the stage where she’d watch from.

Fucking shit.

Harry was a performer. It’s easy for him to push things to the back of his mind so he can entertain a enamored audience.

But tonight, he was struggling. Eyes flicking over to the teleprompter more than usual, his demeanor not as vivid and carefree.

Not when his wife was glaring daggers at him from stage right. Her hand constantly at her mouth, biting at her nails - a nervous tick of hers.

“Next up, the one, the only, the beautiful model and one of my good friends, Kendall Jenner!” Harry introduces when she walks out and waves at the crowd.

They hug and when they pull apart they step over to where they were playing the game. Either answer the question or eat a nasty food picked out by the other.

They weren’t allowed to see each other’s questions before the game started- both going on blind which put Harry more on edge.

“Okay, Kendall. Rank the members of One Direction on most to least attractive or you will be eating...” Harry spins the table, “Cow tongue.”

She flinched at the disgusting plate, smirking up at Harry before considering her course of action, “I think I can answer this one.”

He wasn’t looking forward to her answer. Neither was Y/N by the way she nearly shaking her foot off her leg.

“Okay, I got this. You - the most attractive, then uh- Zayn....Louis...Niall...Liam,” she laughs, “but all of you are hot!”

Harry fake laughs and acts like he’s impressed by her answer as the crowd roars and cheers.

When Kendall picks up her notecard - she laughs in surprise at the question before looking at him with bright eyes.

“Okay, um, bull penis!” She giggles before starting the question, “I’m dying to know this answer. So...your first album HS1 was released four years ago, correct?”

He nods, apprehensive.

“Which songs were about me? Especially was only angel?” She laughs at Harry’s pale expression before without another thought he shovels the rancid food into his mouth.

Harry looks off to the side to see that his missus is no longer sitting there. Just Jeff - who gives him a thumbs up.

The first thing he did when the show ended and the lights dimmed was bolt off to Jeff - ignoring Kendall who was about to say something to him.

“Where’d Y/N go?”

He thought she might have went out to get a breathe of fresh air but for the next hour and a half he hasn’t seen her once.

“She said she wasn’t feeling very good. She told me to tell you she’d meet you at home,” Jeff shrugs unbothered.

“Damnit!” Harry curses loudly, ripping out of the microphone and the little pack in his back waistband.

“Harry,” Jeff scolds at his unprofessionalism that was abnormal for him.

“No! Don’t fucking ever ask me to do shit like this again. You fucking knew what questions were on those notecards and you said it wasn’t anything about our previous relationship.”

“Harry-“

“Don’t fucking talk to me. You’re a real shit manager sometimes, you know that? Do not contact me tonight or tomorrow for that matter, you douchebag,” Harry barks before storming off towards the dressing rooms.

All the employees were standing around in shock, staring at the popstar as he ignored everyone around him.

Harry was famously known for being a kind, amicable guy. So it took everyone by surprise to hear him speak like that. Even Jeff was shaken up a little.

—

The house was pitch-black as Harry pulled up. The house’s first floor was lined with large, bay windows and not a single light was on.

He could find one room illuminated which was your bedroom. A dim side lamp must have been flicked on. He imagined her purposely turning off all the lights on the trek up the staircase.

Harry didn’t want to admit how much he was trembling with awful nerves and anticipation as he slowly turns the knob of the shared bedroom.

Y/N wasn’t laying in bed as he expected but found the bathroom door shut tightly. He noticed a little yellow bag with tissue paper off to the side by a dresser.

He knocks on the oak door, not daring to enter without permission.

“What do you want?” Y/N answers, tone flat and emotionless.

“Can I come in, baby? Please...” He wasn’t ashamed to beg for forgiveness at this point. Hearing the emptiness in her tone scared him shitless.

“I really could care less,” She replies coldly from her spot in the scalding water decorated with bubbles.

Harry had never felt more unsure in his life as he enters the bathroom. Y/N had gotten proper pissed at him or vice versa before - right before a concert, an award ceremony but she’d never left without him.

Her head was laying against the foam headrest and her body was covered by the soap water. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy from crying.

Harry kneels next to the tub, “look at me, please pet.”

Y/N takes a moment before turning her head and opening her eyes. They were distant, disappointed in the man in front of her.

“I should have told you about Kendall. I should have put up more of a fight to get someone else on instead,” Harry admits, his hands desperately wanting to reach out for her.

She shakes her head with a heart-wrenching sniffle, “it’s not just tonight, Harry. We’ve had this conversation continuously for three and a half fucking years. You try to please everyone, despite them giving no fucks about you.”

“Are you that much of a pushover? You let your ex-girlfriend flirt with you in front of millions. Do you know how embarrassing and unfair that it to me?” She wipes at her eyes to stop the tears spilling over.

Harry hadn’t thought of it like that - to be honest. But he agrees, it wasn’t fair and downright cruel to do that to her.

What? All because he couldn’t say ‘no’ because he didn’t want people to be mad at him? It was pathetic and ridiculous.

“I-I won’t let it happen again, lovie. I mean it, I truly do,” Harry whimpers reaching over to cup her cheek and wants to cry when she pushes him away.

“You’re a broken record. You’ve said that a million times before but don’t change,” Y/N points out, eyes boring furiously into his wife’s.

“I’m goi-“

She cuts him off with a sharp edge in her tone, “Just leave me alone, get out.”

The man’s face crumbles and for a second, she wants to just end the fight and makeup but then nothing would change.

“Baby-“

“Get out!” She finally bellows, tears streaming down her face steadily.

He obliges, head hung in defeat as he closes the door behind him. He stands there’s blankly for a second before going to the walk-in closet.

He’s pulling out a fresh pair of cotton underwear and a large sleepshirt for his partner, laying them neatly on the bed.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself while he waits so he pulls out his phone to mindlessly scroll.

He throws it against the wall when he sees #hendallreunited is trending number one on Twitter at the moment.

The singer strips down to his briefs and sits with his back against the tufted headboard, staring blankly at the wall.

His eyes catch a neon pink pair of his swimshorts tossed carelessly on the decorative vase in the corner of the room from the night before .

“Fuck, baby - no need to rush,” Harry groans into Y/N ‘s mouth as she pushes him until he’s sat on the edge of their California king.

She reaches impatiently for the tie on his neon pink swimshorts and yanks them off his slim, peach-fuzz thighs before throwing them onto the vase without a care that it was worth over twenty-thousand pounds.

After edging her in the hot tub with his fingers and mouth, she wasn’t waiting any longer before clambering onto his lap, pulling her swim bottoms to the side, and sinking onto him.

He felt guilty when his cock twitched at the thought of it. But when reality set back in, the arousal with the memory evaporated.

It isn’t much longer until the door is pulled open and Y/N’s padding into the room with a towel secured around her.

She looks at the clothes Harry set out for her and pointedly walks past them to pick out her own nightwear.

That really shouldn’t make his eyes tear up as he watches her slide on a similar pair of panties and an oversized shirt. Spotting a purpling bruise on her upper in thigh from his mouth.

Y/N silently walks past the bed and to the bedroom door, looking back before bleakly stating, “I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”

He frowns, wrinkles appearing on his forehead, “You can sleep in here, love. I’ll take the guest room.”

Harry doesn’t get a reply as she just shakes her head and closes the door loudly behind her.

It’s just - he’s never seen her this upset. She was usually fantastic at communicating her feelings and hashing things out.

She wasn’t one for the silent treatment or ignoring the topic. It had his chest rising faster than usual with anxiety. The serious of it overwhelming him.

He states at the wall for a very long time without wiping the fat tears brimming over his trembling lips.

He couldn’t sleep - it was half past three and he hadn’t even laid down or clicked off the lamp.

Harry accepted sleep wasn’t coming so he begins to tidy the already clean room. He picks up the shorts and tossing them in the hamper.

He refolds some joggers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer and when he went to move the little yellow bag - curiosity got the best of him.

There was no card and he wasn’t sure who it was for or if it had been a gift already give to Y/N that she had returned home with.

Harry really shouldn’t - but he does. Gently tugging out the paper and reaching in to feel fabric.

Pulling it out, it takes him a minute to identify what it is - two baby onesie. Who was having a baby?

He lays them in front of him, eyes widening in surprise as he reads what is printed across the black cotton.

The first one was the colors and font of his upcoming tour merch with the photo he used on his tour announcement with the heeled boot and white pants.

Love on Tour - Due Date: September 2025

With Special Guest Appearance from Baby Styles

The second one was simple and read across the chest:

I’m having your baby (and it is your business) with embroidered kiwis all of over it.

He frantically reached back into the bag to pull out a bundle of pregnancy tests tied with a silk bow.

They weren’t necessarily trying for a baby but they’re weren’t not trying either. Harry wanted a baby as soon as his missus was willing to give him one.

“No, no, don’t one,” she’d whined into his mouth when he’d reached over to grab a condom off the nightstand.

“Oh sweet thing, you want me bare? Fill you up?” He croons happily, coming back to grip at his thick base and tease at her entrance.

“Ye-yeah, H. Please,” (Y/N) whimpers, bucking her hips in the hope he’d slip inside her.

Harry hums, “Might give you a baby though, y’want me to knock you up?”

“Want it, wan-“

He cuts her off with a hard, blissful kiss as he thrusts all the way inside before pulling out to do it again.

“Gonna give it to you, whatever you want, lovie,” he promises.

The two had never used protection afterwards. It had start about seven months ago and from his knowledge she’d still been getting her periods regularly.

Occasionally, he would palm at her flat tummy and pout, “Haven’t put a baby in you yet, ‘ave I?”

He was so ecstatic but disappointed in himself for ruining everything and pleasing everyone other than who he should be.

Harry needed to fix this. He didn’t want Y/N to lose the excitement of having their baby over a dumb choice of his.

The man’s out of the room and not knocking before entering their guest room. His now pregnant love is laying on-top of the covers.

One hand subconsciously on her belly - which she removes and places next to her when her wife walks in.

The television was on but the volume was low and Y/N wasn’t watching it in the first place anyways.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, “I opened the yellow bag.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, a little taken aback. she was going to surprise him tonight and forgot to store it away for another time after the fight.

Harry has happy tears dribbling down his cheeks, “you’re having my baby?”

Y/N nods, running a slight hand through his curls. She still had a nasty knot of anger and uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.

It pains her, wanting to share this moment of excitement with Harry but she just couldn’t. The uncertainty of whether Harry would put everybody’s needs before his own baby.

“Come back to bed, want t’talk and celebrate. M’so bloody excited,” Harry murmurs, a large smile decorating his face as he smooths a palm over the expanse of her tummy.

His wife shakes her head and places a hand over his, feeling the cold metal of all of them. “I want to be left alone.”

The twinkle in Harry’s eye diminishes to devastation as he realizes that he’s fucked up so badly that she doesn’t even want to celebrate.

“Pet, can...we just forget about it tonight and be happy ‘bout the baby?” Harry asks selfishly, knowing it was unlikely she’d agree.

She didn’t, a firm expression on her face, “no, I have a lot to think about.”

“Like wha’?” He asks anxiously, unknowing of quite the reason she was so furious.

“Like how you say yes to everything and everyone. We talk and talk about how you need to say ‘no’ and do what’s best for you - for us. You agree to and never follow through”

She takes a shaky breath and continues, “it’s affected our relationship before when you’ve had to cancel our vacation away from all this for a charity concert you’d agree to perform at last minute, dinner reservations because you told your friend we’d be at their art showing they wanted you at.”

Harry knew she was right. He did those things. He wanted everyone to be happy with him - to a fault.

“Tonight was just icing on the cake, you allowed your manager to talk you into hosting your ex on that show. Out of all the people in the world - her. With flirty questions and jabs from her. You let that happen. You care about making everyone happy but in return you don’t care how it affects me. That’s pretty shitty.”

“I’m...I’m really fucking scared you’ll do that even when we have the baby. I need you to put them first and right now...I’m not sure if you’re going to. You can’t put the person you want to spend the rest of your life with first now, how do I know you’ll do it with the baby?”

Harry chokes out a sob as he presses his forehead against the bed, his broad shoulders shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this hard - years ago maybe. He felt like his wife didn’t have any faith in him and he was to blame.

He looks up at her with swollen eyes - at a loss for what to do or say. He loved her so much and was over the moon that they were going to have a baby.

“How do I fix this, darling? You’re right, I really fucked up. M’sorry,” Harry cries, grabbing at her hands and she allows it.

“Just saying you’re sorry won’t fix it,” Y/N replies flatly, letting Harry squeeze and kiss at the backs of her hands.

“Then what do I bloody do to fix this?” Harry raises his voice in frustration, staring in bewilderment at his wife.

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “Do not raise your voice at me, Harry. Actions speak louder than words.”

Harry swallows harshly, pressing one finally kiss to her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She repeats.

“I love you, I’ll fix this,” he promises with conviction. He knew what he needed to do and do it tomorrow. So he and his wife could enjoy her new pregnancy.

“I need space tonight, I just...please”Y/N says quietly, rubbing at his shoulder.

It wasn’t the first time they’ve slept in separate rooms because they weren’t getting along but they normally found their way back to each other before sunrise.

Harry nods, lip still tremble with the residual anxiety of the conversation. She allows him to press a soft kiss to her mouth before leaving the room.

—-

Cafe Habana was busy - but no one was paying much attention to Harry and Jeff. It was the morning after and Harry had demanded a meeting over breakfast with his manager.

“Y/N pregnant,” Harry states bluntly after their drinks arrive.

“Oh? Congratulations, dude. That’s exciting!” Jeff leans over to pat him on the shoulder, a big smile.

“The baby is due in September. My next tour starts in next July. The baby will be about nine months. I want to be at home with them for the first year.”

Jeff doesn’t look pleased, “what are you getting at Harry?”

“Reschedule the July and August tour dates. Tack them on to the end of the tour,” Harry lays out flat.

He hadn’t talk to his wife about this but he knew this was how he could prove that he could say ‘no’ and not be a pushover.

“No Harry. Look I get you’re excited about the baby - but that will be such a fucking hassle,” Jeff frowns, sipping his mimosa.

“I’m not asking, Jeff. I’m telling you that’s what needs to happen,” Harry replies firmly, tone strong and unwavering.

Jeff is definitely taken aback by his client’s conviction.

“While we’re on the topic, do not ever put me in a situation like you did yesterday. It affected my wife and I. And I will choose her over this career any day.”

The manager nods in surprise, “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking for an apology but if you ever pull something like then I’ll be looking for a new management team. Are we clear?”

Jeff once again nods, unsure of where this is coming from but at the thought of losing his biggest client would be disastrous so he’d do whatever to accommodate him.

“Consider it done,” he tells Harry before clearing his throat in a slight panic.

—

Y/N woke up to an empty house. She was restless, she asked Harry to prove to her that he could be what she needed. However, it was a bit unfair because she didn’t know how he could do it.

It’s just…she had a baby to think about. They both needed to be put first and if it took a gnarly fight for Harry to realize it...so be it.

“Baby? Love, where are you?” She hears Harry echo through the whole house. She was sat in the kitchen, on a stool by the island, idly sorting through mail.

“In here!”

Harry jogs in, panting like he sprinted from the garage up to the kitchen. He comes to stand in front of the love of his life.

“I might have not completely fixed everything but...I tried,” Harry tells her, cradling her face in his large palms. “ I just got back from lunch with Jeff. I told him about the baby.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I rescheduled tour dates so I can be with you guys at home in London for the first year. Then...maybe you guys can join me after?”

“Harry…” she’s at a loss for words.

“And I told Jeff that if he ever puts me in a situation like that again, I’m firing him.”

Y/N stares at him, in awe and admiration of the man she chose to marry and keep forever. His face was so sincere and vulnerable.

Harry didn’t know whether it would be enough. If it wasn’t he’d keep trying but all he could do was hope. He waited with bated breath as she processed his words.

“Baby, you-for me?” She murmurs as she stands up and crowds into his space. He instantly wraps her up into a tight hug, missing her touch.

“Of course, pet. I’d do anything for you, I mean it. I’d quit this whole career if you wanted tha’,” he tells her truthfully - lips brushing her forehead.

“I love you, so so much,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re havin’ a baby,'' Harry sighs dreamily into her mouth, tongue sliding against hers. A large hand came to palm at her belly.

“Yeah, m‘having your baby,” She giggles as he begins to trail the kisses down her jaw and neck - pressing her into the marble countertop.

“Should we name it Kiwi?” Harry rasps as he slides the tank top strap off her shoulder so his lips can meet the cap of her warm shoulder.

“We are not going to be that celebrity couple who names their baby something weird,” Y/N groans as he grounds his hips into hers with intent.

THE END

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youngbloodslut · 3 years

Text

celebrity crush | 2/??

a/n: the first interview is mostly based off of dove cameron and ava max’s interviews with popbuzz

summary: actress! reader somehow manages to bring up her crush on calum hood in every interview

pairing(s): calum hood x reader, platonic! reader x tom holland

warning(s): swearing? slight mentions of kinks

“She’s at it again mate,” Ashton smirked as he carried his laptop over to Calum who was sat on the sofa. He flipped open the computer and hit play on y/n y/l/n’s newest interview.

“C’mon, I don’t wanna-” Calum rubbed his hand over is face and shook his head.

Ashton ignored him and turned up the volume to drown out his protest. “Shhh.. watch.”

“Hey guys, I’m y/n y/l/n and this is the Pop Buzz Tower of Truth.” You spoke as the title popped up on screen.

“I think I’m gonna end up tipping it before I can even get one block out,” You said as you tried to carefully pull of a wooden block.

“That will never work,” Calum heard a voice from off camera say and recognized it as Tom Holland. He tried not to frown as you laughed and mocked him.

“Y’know what, we’re leaving that one.” You laughed, leaving the original block alone and easily pulling out another block.

“There we go. Okay, what was the last movie or tv show that make you cry? Dead Poets Society. I love Dead Poets Society so much and Tom had never seen it so we watched it after finishing yesterdays interviews.” You placed the block on top of the tower. “And he cried.”

The camera crew laughed as Tom shouted a, “Hey!”

“Tell us one thing about you that we don’t know. Um, this is hard because I’m always saying stuff that I shouldn’t be. Um, I’m an Oxford comma worshiper.” You said, unsure whether or not that’s interesting enough.

“Oxford comma?” A crew member behind the camera questioned.

“Yeah, y’know, the comma that comes before ‘and’ when making a list. I hate that people don’t use it because then I get all confused. Like if I were to write ‘Lizzie, Tom, and Robert are going to the party’ and I don’t add a comma before ‘and’ then it seems like Tom and Robert would be arriving at the party together. But some people who don’t use the Oxford comma could mean that all three people were showing up separately so I never know. Y’know what I mean?”

The camera crew were all silent after her rant and Calum chuckled a bit to himself. He thought it was cute that you were so passionate about the smallest things. Ashton looked over to him as Calum admired you through the screen. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Calum secretly liked how much you talked about him.

“No,” Tom responded honestly

“Ugh,” You rolled your eyes dramatically and looked into the camera, “See, these are the type of guys you got to look out for: Un-grammarly men.” You joked.

“Un-grammarly isn’t a thing.” Tom laughed.

“Well if it were a thing, you’d be one.” You fired back at Tom.

“Anyway, who is your favorite artist right now? Um, probably Wallows, I love them and their music.”

“I was really expecting Calum Hood to be honest.” Tom shouted from across the room.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just forgot about him like that. I love you Calum Hood. I love 5sos.” You held up your hands into a heart shape and moved your hands from side to side.

You then dropped them and grabbed another block. “Sorry, I keep forgetting that people are actually going to see these interviews. Like, he could literally see this. Dude, I hope he doesn’t.” You paused, “Oh god, do you think he knows about my crush on him?” You had been mentioning him for years and it had never once occurred to you that he could actually see these.

Calum laughed at the irony of the situation. Here he was watching a video of you saying you hoped he’d never see said video.

“This is humiliating.” You mumbled though you didn’t seem to actually care, “Who was your first celebrity crush? Oh uh, definitely Andrew Garfield. I remember when I first watched the Social Network and I was like obsessed. My friend and I both watched it over 10 times within like two months. And then would continuously make Mark Zuckerberg jokes. But of course, Calum Hood now owns my heart.” You put the block on top of the tower. “I’m actually doing really good, I thought I’d knock it down by now.”

“Describe in detail the worst date you’ve ever been on. Okay so I was like fifteen right, and, well I’m not even sure if this counts as a date. I think he considered it a date so I guess it was but basically we were in the car, he was sixteen so he could drive. We were in the drive through, we had already ordered, and he started feeling around in is pockets and I was like oh god, cause I knew what was about to happen. He was like, ‘oh no i think i lost my wallet’, and I was like its fine I’ll pay. I really didn’t mind. I ended up paying, we got our drinks and without missing a beat, we hadn’t even pulled out of the drive through, he was like’oh here’s my wallet.’ I really didn’t mind paying for my coffee, I wouldn’t mind paying for both of our coffees. But him going out of his way to lie, and then not even lie well, was so irritating.” She placed the block on the top and picked up a new one.

“What is the most useless idem you’ve ever purchased? Um, I bought a seven foot giraffe while I saw drunk once.” The block was added to the top, the tower now taller than you. “He’s in my living room if you wanted to know.”

You grabbed the next block carelessly, immediately regretting it when the tower fell behind you, “Oh shit, well I guess we’re done then.” You said nonchalantly, looking at the blocks on the floor. “I don’t think I’ll be playing this again anytime soon. Love you guys,” You held up your hands, “Love you Calum Hood.” You winked before the outro began to play.

“She must really love you, Cal.” Ashton poked Calum’s cheek annoyingly, “She’s got no shame.”

Calum wouldn’t admit it, but as soon as he got home he looked you up again. He clicked on the same video Ashton showed him and scrolled through the comments.

y/nscalumhoodkink: MOMOMOMOMOMOM

datemey/n: Queen of Jenga

ashtonfletchersbitch: Y/N LITERALLY IS ME

5esohes: no because y/n y/l/n and calum hood together is my kink

noemptywalletshere: not only does y/n own this fandom, but my ass too

He couldn’t help but laugh at the comments no matter how interesting they were. But something in the back of his head kept yelling at him. She doesn’t acting like you. Shes just likes your music, nothing more. He sighed and clicked out of the video and was about the close his laptop when his cursor handed on a video.

Y/n Y/l/n foaming at the mouth while talking about Calum Hood for 5 minutes straight.

He clicked on it a little too quickly and waited for it too load.

“Calum Hood choke me challenge.” You stuck out your tongue and threw up a peace sign with an innocent look plastered on here face.

“Bro imagine if Calum Hood saw this?” “Oh he would definitely fall for you after this video”

The third thing to pop up was a tweet from 2015 just saying: #marrymecalumhood

“Calum Hood send me hand pics. This is a demand, not a request.”

Calum continued to watch the entire video. Normally, the thirsty comments would have made him uncomfortable, but them coming from you made his heart race and cheeks flush.

God, what was happening to him?

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matbaerzal · 3 years

Text

Like This Pt.1 | T. Jost

Summary: Tyson is the best roommate you could ask for, you can't imagine ever living with someone else... no- no not like that, your relationship is purely platonic! > (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) A/N: First fic of the year hafsjkhf.... The reader studies Special Education, which will play a small part throughout this fic. Warnings: A short mention of sexual dreams Reader pronouns: she/her Words: 2,4K Tagging: @konecny-s @vitekvanecek @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 @ricohenrique @notaccurateornice @tysojost @justjosty ... lmk if you want to be tagged ❤️

As you reach the door to your apartment you shift your second grocery bag into your left hand before fishing your keys out of your pocket. You hurry to turn the key in your lock as your arms are tired from the heavy weight of the amount of food you’d bought. You huff out as you open the door, absent-mindedly throwing the keys on the side table as you set the groceries down on the floor.

“I’m sorry, can you give me a minute?” you hear Tyson speak as you take off your coat and shoes. In the corner of your eye, you see him put his phone down before pushing his chair back, standing up, and walking over.

“Hey, how was work?”

You huff out a breath in reply, and when you see him grab the groceries you almost try to object, but relief washes over you before you can. You follow him to the kitchen with the intent to sort the food so he can get back to what he was doing, but he brushes you away.

“Go sit down - relax” he gives you a pointed look.

“Thanks” you smile, hesitantly making your way to the couch.

“You hungry?” he speaks over his shoulder as you sit down.

“Very” your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I made some dinner earlier, want me to heat it up for you?”

“Don’t you have an interview” you shout back.

“Eh, they can wait” he shrugs

Without waiting for you to reply he takes out the tupperware from the fridge before putting it in the microwave. Once it’s heated up he brings it over to you, along with a glass of water before he gets back to his interview, apologizing profusely to the journalist on the other end of the call for keeping them waiting.

Living with Tyson had its ups and downs, but all in all the two of you fit together well as roommates. You’d met him during his first year in Colorado, back then you were living on campus. You’d planned to move in with a friend of yours, but after she graduated she got a job offer in another state and decided to move, leaving you practically homeless as there was no way you’d be able to afford to live on your own at the time - and there was no chance that you were ever moving in with your dorm room roommate again. Tyson offered for you to stay with him for at least a little bit until you figured things out. Then he realized he really liked having you around. You’d hesitated, thinking he was just trying to be nice, before he practically begged you to stay.

Hundreds of comments from friends asking if you’re dating or having sex later, you’re still living with him - not dating, not having sex, never even having kissed, and neither of you wanted to cross that line. With the way you and Tyson clicked, there were a lot of people who had trouble believing you were just friends, but at this point, you felt like you knew each other too well. All your dirty laundry had been aired out between the two of you - both literally and figuratively. The smell of his week-old workout sweat in the laundry room was enough to put you off. It wouldn’t be fair to say it hadn’t crossed your mind though. Objectively he is very attractive - you can’t deny that - perhaps, maybe your mind traveled places as he walked out of the bathroom after a shower with only a towel wrapped around him. You knew for a fact that he’d thought about you too, having drunkenly admitted to you that he had a dream about you once - which explained that one morning where he wouldn’t meet your eye and couldn’t have gotten out of the door quicker.

But neither of you ever acted on your attraction, it was pushed into the back of your minds - ignored completely. Because that’s all it was, an attraction, and nothing more.

You watch him as he continues his interview, zoning out as you eat your food. You hear every tone of his voice, completely focused on him but at the same time not registering a single thing he’s saying. It’s only when he looks over at you that you’re shaken out of it.

“Is it alright?” he whispers, covering the microphone.

You shake your head as you're brought back to the real world, it takes your brain a few seconds to catch what he said and your cheeks feel warm as he chuckles - “Hm?”

“The food? Is it alright?”

“Mm, yeah” you take another bite, resting the fork in the food container as you reach for the TV remote to distract yourself.

You’d been swamped with work lately, between your studies and your part-time job as a teaching assistant, you barely had time to take a breather. Your third year studying Special Education at the University of Denver was hectic, any time not spent at work or on campus or studying at home was spent either eating or sleeping in your bed. Tyson could see how tired you were whenever you came home, he always cooked a little extra for his dinner so you wouldn’t go to bed without eating first. His mediocre pasta meals always tasted like heaven after the long days you had.

By the time Tyson plops down on the couch you’re finished eating and zoned out on an episode of New Girl.

“Do you have any plans on Sunday?” he asks and you shake your head - “just studying, writing”.

“Wanna come to the game? I completely get it if you just want to stay in-”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to” you perk up, you hadn’t been to a game in who knows how long and you’d put aside your assignments at least for a little while if Tyson ever asked you to. He never had to ask before, you’d come whenever you had time, but it’d been seven weeks now - Tyson kept count.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Tys, really” you pat his thigh - keeping your hand there a touch longer before removing it when you meet his soft eyes.

You wake up late on Sunday, head stuck to the pillow, body hesitant to leave the bed. You’d already woken up once and decided to sleep longer so you force yourself out of bed, put some clothes on and go to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal. Just as you get the milk from the fridge your apartment door opens, signaling that Tyson’s home from his morning skate.

“Good morning” he smirks at you, his eyes running over your thrown-together outfit and noting the remnant of sleep in your eyes.

You nod, trying to speak through the mouthful you just took, making Tyson squint his eyes in a laugh. He waits patiently for you to finish so you can repeat your question to him - “how was the skate?”

“It was alright, easily gonna have a nap after I eat though”

“Want some cereal?” you arch your brow. He stops and thinks for a second, contemplating if he should say yes, or make his usual scrambled eggs - “you know what? Yeah” he decides. You raise your brows at him, about to make a comment but he interrupts you. “Yeah, yeah pour me a bowl before I change my mind”.

You hold your hands up - “wasn’t gonna say anything” you try, but he doesn’t look convinced. You rush to get him a bowl and a spoon, setting them down for him, pouring in some cereal as he comes over to sit next to you on your kitchen island. He pours the milk himself before lifting the bowl to clink against yours, muttering “cheers” before taking a spoonful into his mouth.

You sit in comfortable silence as you eat your food, moving around each other as you put the bowls in the sink to worry about later. You walk to the couch and open your laptop to get some work done before you have to get ready for the game.

“Do you ever take a break?” Tyson yawns, laying down on the couch next to you, his head landing on a pillow close by your thighs.

You figure his questions rhetorical, but his eyes stay on you as you start typing away on your essay. “I’m taking a break later, y’know, at the game”

“No, I mean like a real break, like flat out on the couch, books closed-”

“You’re funny”

“I’m serious”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have time for breaks Tys”

He goes quiet after that, a thoughtful look on his face as he settles into the couch, your eyes linger on him for a moment before you go back to writing your essay. It doesn’t take long for his breath to get heavy, the small snores escaping him making you smile. As you skim through an article you might use for your essay your free hand finds his hair - his curls too soft to resist running your hand through. His snoring stops as your hand first makes contact making you freeze, but he’s nuzzling into the pillow and snoring again before you know it.

Even after you’ve read the article your hand stays in his hair and you do your best to type with one hand, only opting to use your right hand when absolutely necessary. You were in tweaking stages so luckily you could keep one hand planted in his hair most of the time. You’re checking the clock here and there, knowing he didn’t set an alarm and that he didn’t like napping too long on game days, but just as you’re about to wake him he leans into your touch, eyes slowly blinking open as he hums, absentmindedly you brush his hair away from his forehead - “sleep well?”

“Like a baby” he smiles, “what time is it?”

“uh, two-thirty” you glance over at the little clock on your computer.

He leans into your hand one more time as if to savor the feel before he starts to get up, once on his feet he stretches his arms above his head, you can’t help but look as his t-shirt lifts to reveal his stomach, but you avert your eyes quickly and hope he doesn’t notice. If he did, he doesn’t comment, “want me to make dinner for you too?” he throws the words your way over his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?” you tease, fully well knowing the answer, even saying it with him once he replies - “chicken and pasta”.

You turn your head to look at him, and he can’t bring himself to be annoyed at you when you smirk at him.

“Yeah, yeah” he brushes you off - “do you want some or no?”

“Yes, please” you smile.

He quickly makes the food, the recipe burned into his brain from making it time after time. He puts a little extra cheese on your plate, coming over to the couch with both plates once he’s done. You close your computer, place it to the side, and take the plate he hands to you with ease. Once your plates are scraped it’s time for Tyson to get ready, change into his suit and leave for the arena.

He walks out of his room wearing one of his three-piece suits and if you didn’t have the restraint you’d built up over the time you’d lived with him you’re sure you would’ve drooled at the sight. You’d think he was doing it on purpose, but you’d never let your weakness for the vest-jacket pairing slip, and he looks oblivious as he meets your eyes. The little spin he does for you does nothing to help and you have to give yourself credit for being so collected when he raises his brows as if to ask: “Is this alright?”.

“Looking good, Tys. I’ll see you after the game” you get off the couch as you speak and give him a quick hug, his phone pinging with a message signaling that JT is waiting for him downstairs as you break away.

“See you later,” he says.

“Kick some Dallas butt.”

He laughs as he walks through the door leaving you to yourself. You don’t wait long until you start getting ready yourself, not being able to focus on your writing with the anticipation of the game in the back of your mind. You put your lucky Avalance hoodie on, grabbing your coat before leaving with more than enough time to catch the warm-ups. There’s a couple of familiar faces there when you arrive. You’d met the players’ girlfriends a few times, mostly in this exact setting and you fell right back into the group again. You felt for them, having to watch their boyfriends play such an unpredictable sport. You guess you could imagine how it felt at least a little, living with Tyson and all, but the energy they brought to every game was admirable.

The game was tight, the boys fell behind in the first period but in the second and third they were no doubt the better team, but the puck just wouldn’t go in the net. With ten minutes left they manage to tie it and with 5 minutes left Tyson takes a tripping penalty. They killed the penalty and scored not long after to secure the win, but you could see Tyson beating himself up over the penalty that could’ve cost them the game. The look on his face as he sat in the penalty box is something you keep in the back of your mind as you leave with the girls to meet him.

He’s one of the first ones to come out of the locker rooms, head hanging low. Gabe pats him on the shoulder before he greets his wife, Tyson throws a forced smile towards his captain that seems genuine to anyone that doesn’t know him the way you do. The smile reaches his eyes once he sees you though and he drapes his arm over your shoulder when he reaches you, leading you towards the garage - “Let’s go home”

To be continued...

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #nhl imagine #op:w #nhl fic

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

I'm not the anon that asked about Remus and subspace/aftercare but I'd love to see more of it if/whenever you would like/have time💜 The way you write these things is so respectful, loving, and comforting and I love it so much!

Thank you so much, anon! I hope everyone who requested this enjoys it <3 Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied smut (not super explicit), nudity, aftercare, subdrop/ subspace, restraint, tears (the good kind)

“Easy,” Sirius murmured into the sweaty skin of Remus’ neck, holding him close as he splayed his hand over Remus’ belly. The muscles jumped under his palm and a shudder ran through him as he scrambled for a clumsy hold on Sirius’ arm and shoulders. “Re, easy.”

A hoarse whine slipped out beside his heaving breaths and he let out a low moan when Sirius adjusted his grip to keep him upright. “More,” Remus begged, grinding his hips back even as he shook through the aftershocks. “More, more, more—“

“You’re done,” Sirius interrupted gently, pressing a kiss to the junction of his neck and shoulder.

Remus shook his head frantically. “No, no, I can do it, I gotta, no, please.”

“You’re done.” Sirius leaned back to take more of his weight despite the fact that he was practically holding Remus already. He slid the arm locked across Remus’ chest up to brush the damp hair from his eyes and guided his head to lay back against Sirius’ shoulder. “Deep breaths for me, just like that. In and out.”

“I can’t,” Remus panted, swallowing hard as he gripped Sirius’ thighs weakly. “Baby, please, just—just let me—one more time, just one more.”

“Remus.”

“I’m sorry.” A tear squeezed from the corner of his eye, following the path of many from the throes of pleasure that had left him gasping in the way Sirius loved. “Fuck, it’s always so much. ‘m tired, and ‘m horny.”

Sirius kissed his cheek and ran slow fingers through his curls until Remus went boneless into his chest with a punched-out sound; he closed his eyes and snuggled into Sirius, rubbing his cheek along his collarbone. “There you go,” he praised quietly. Slipping into subspace wasn’t super common for either of them, but when it did happen, Sirius was only too happy to help him through it.

If his memory served, Remus’ adrenaline would finally be draining and the steady slide into the land of the living was beginning. His own drop was a little different, but he recognized the signs well enough. “Love you,” Remus managed, watching him with hooded, adoring eyes. “Love you. Y’know I love you, yeah?”

“I do,” he assured him, laying back to pull Remus onto his chest—they were entangled almost instantly as Remus mouthed aimlessly along his chest and shoulders. Teeth sank into the ridge of his collarbone. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, snuggling closer. His hair was a mess from both their hands and his lips were swollen red, sure to be chapped when the shine faded. Sirius felt guilty for half a second before remembering that Remus was the one who bit his own lips when he got close. And, fuck, had he been close.

“How are you feeling?” He inspected the light scratch marks on his forearms as Remus’ heartbeat went from rabbit-quick to just-worked-out. Maybe we should have chosen a different position for the end, he thought, then shook his head. Marks on his forearms would be less likely to get chirped than ones on his back.

“Alright.”

“How can I help you?”

Remus made a face, but didn’t open his eyes. His thigh was slick and tacky where it rested on Sirius’ hip. “Warm. Uncomfy. Don’t wanna go.”

That was the hardest part of aftercare, in Sirius’ opinion. Remus’ accent was pretty mild most of the time, but it came out full force after something intense and the small fragments of words rarely connected with Sirius’ limited English as his own brain came back online. Still, it was the least he could do after Remus worked him through five straight minutes of rambling French each time he dropped.

“Water,” Remus sighed, toying at the sheets with a trembling hand. “Sticky.”

“I’ll get a washcloth when you’re ready.”

“Take m’ with you.”

Sirius laughed softly and kissed his forehead, pushing the heel of his hand along Remus’ spine to work out any knots or stiffness. His knees ached, and he wasn’t even sure if he could carry his own weight before a few moments of rest. “I can’t carry you yet, mon coeur.”

“Sexy nickname. Sexy times.” Remus hitched his leg up over Sirius’ hip with great effort. “More?”

“Not right now, sweetheart.” A dopey smile spread over his face and Sirius felt a well of affection bloom in his chest. Remus hummed, running his thumbs over the middle of Sirius’ ribs. “Good job. Are you coming down a little more?”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m going to keep holding you, then get a washcloth, then some water, okay? But I’m not going anywhere right now.”

“Sticky.”

“I know. We’ll fix that in a minute or so. Was that good?”

Remus squirmed around until his front was pressed against Sirius side, sharing their radiating warmth. “Real good.”

He traced the outline of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and smiled when Remus nipped at it. “Your lips look sore.”

“Hmmm.”

“Next time, we should remember to use a gag if I’m not keeping an eye on you.”

Remus looked up at him eagerly, his gaze clearing of some of its fogginess. “Yeah, yeah, for sure.”

“How’s the rest of you?” Sirius watched him carefully as he straightened all his limbs with a heavy sigh, making faces here and there. “Nothing too bad?”

“Knees hurt, but I like it. Fingers are a little sore.” Mischief flickered over his face. “Ass hurts.”

“Color me shocked,” Sirius deadpanned, drawing a snort from him. “It wasn’t too much?”

Remus shook his head and stretched; his back arched, then popped, and he flopped back down with a contented noise. “Nope.”

“You look better now.”

He raised an eyebrow and rolled to face Sirius, bringing him closer with a hand on his cheek. “I needed that.”

Sirius nuzzled their noses together. “Any time, mon loup.”

They had moved well past adrenaline, latent arousal, and dizziness, and he was willing to bet Remus would be okay in bed alone for longer than a minute or two soon. The stress of a week of back-to-back interviews from people questioning every aspect of Remus’ life as the new rookie had just built and built and built until he had snapped over dinner, his rare temper flaring up before he looked Sirius dead in the eyes and all but demanded to be fucked until he couldn’t think about anything else.

“Way-it,” Remus said into the skin of his shoulder. Sirius hummed in question and felt a hand pull at his waist. “Weight, please.”

Sirius gathered him close and maneuvered until he could press down on Remus without making him feel trapped—my own personal weighted blanket, Remus teased. “Better?”

He felt the steady rise and fall under him and the buzz of a happy sound in his neck. Remus always got cuddly once he was done with the desperation and the confusion; that was the part that stuck around longest, and if Sirius was being honest, his favorite part of the whole process. For someone who was usually so ambiguous about physical contact, he could be wonderfully tactile.

There was a fine art to making sure the transition was as smooth as it could be—it was a team effort, despite the fact that Remus was fairly out of it for the first half. Sirius rubbed his back to get his attention and rested their foreheads together. “I’m going to get a washcloth and water, d’accord?”

Remus held him tighter.

“Re.” He trailed his finger along the slope of his nose, then tilted his chin up. “I need you to trust me. I’ll be right back for snuggles, but you’re sticky and we’re both dehydrated.”

Rebellion and familiar stubbornness sparked up. “No.”

“Three minutes. You can time me.” God, I hope that’s enough time.

“Stay with me.”

“You were just telling me you were uncomfortable and sticky.”

“Take me with you.”

“My legs are tired.” He combed both hands through Remus’ hair and watched his eyes, still a little red from tears and exertion, flutter slightly closed from the feeling. “Three minutes, and then I promise I’ll be right here. Do you trust me?”

Slowly, Remus nodded, and his hold released.

“Thank you.” Pull it together, Sirius reminded himself as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, using the edge as a crutch for a brief moment. His muscles begged to be left alone on the bed with Remus, but they both needed to get cleaned up before sleeping and Sirius really had to pee. Who knew holding a 180-pound hockey player in place as he shook and writhed would take so much effort?

Sirius. Sirius knew. And it had absolutely been worth it.

He rinsed his face in the sink and ran the damp washcloth over his arms—the scratches didn’t sting, but they were fading to a nice pinkish crosshatch with small lilac bruises where Remus’ fingertips dug in as he finally came, clinging to the forearm that held his back to Sirius’ chest. Without Sirius’ other arm applying pressure to his hips while his hand moved tight over his shaft, Remus would probably have slid right down onto the duvet in a puddle of endorphins.

“Stay awake,” Sirius reminded him as he entered their bedroom once again and settled into his old spot to lean Remus against his ribs so he could drink.

“I’m—” He cleared his throat and took a sip. Remus wasn’t much of a howler or moaner, not like Sirius, but his babbling and breathless sobs of overwhelming pleasure had certainly done a number on his throat. “I’m awake.”

“You sound stronger and look more like you.” Sirius stabilized his chin between his thumb and pointer, carefully wiping Remus’ face clean with the small towel; some of the frazzled edges smoothed out, and soon he just looked tired. Settled. Sated.

Those were all good things in Sirius’ book as he washed away some of the mess along Remus’ thighs once the tear tracks were gone. They would need to shower later, but he didn’t think either of them could stand long enough at the moment, and a bath would quickly turn into a nap. “You’re so good to me,” Remus whispered.

“Because I love you and you deserve good things.” He set his supplies aside and relaxed into the pillows, pulling Remus down with him. “Are you okay with not seeing my face at the end?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to change up sometimes.” His thumb moved in curling patterns over the light, mouth-shaped bruises littering Sirius’ skin. “You’ll tell me if I go too far, right?”

Sirius smiled and turned so they were face-to-face. “That’s my line.”

“You’re always bruised.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I really like it.”

“Kinky motherfucker,” Remus teased, poking his sternum. Sirius didn’t protest, just admired the grounded look on his face and the happy post-orgasm glow that rose high on his cheeks. “You’re staring again.”

“I stare at you all the time. You’re too pretty not to be looked at.”

Remus smiled, slinging a leg over Sirius’ hip and drawing him closer with an arm around his ribs; callused fingers tapped in random rhythms between his shoulder blades, and Sirius let the tension flow from his whole body. This is what people mean when they say ‘warm and fuzzy’, he thought sleepily, sinking into a gentle kiss from plush lips. The drop could be difficult to navigate sometimes, but it was always, always worth it to melt together at the end.

#fanfic #my fic #remus lupin #sirius black #coops #smut #aftercare #sweater weather #lumosinlove

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laurenairay · 3 years

Text

What Love Feels Like - S. Crosby

Summary: your boyfriend Sidney, the surprise romantic?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: established relationship fluff, cheesy romance, essentially a 4+1

A/N: I’ve been in an absolute writing rut since before Christmas, so I just want to thank @danglesnipecelly for reminding me how much I love soft sexy sid 😘 also, how have I never written for him before?!

No-one ever said dating Sidney Crosby was going to be easy.

They also didn’t say how much of a romantic he was either.

It was like at every turn, he had a new way to make your heart beat a little faster, to make you face heat up warm, to make your stomach fill with butterflies. Whether it was buying your favourite sweet treats as a pick me up, or the kisses that would leave you breathless in passing, or even the way his tongue flicked at your bare body just right, Sidney always kept you on your toes.

But it was his words that affected you the most.

You hadn’t expected much verbal affection from him at the beginning of your relationship, the rumours of his hockey robot status the main thing you knew about him – but you were quickly proved wrong. Maybe it was the media training that kept him so hockey-bland in interviews, because the minute he wasn’t in hockey mode, he immediately turned sweet, suave and so sexy. And it wasn’t just flirting talk, to prelude to sex (although the first time he murmured all the things he wanted to do with you after the team event you were at, you almost lost your mind then and there) – it was the sweet loving statements that sent your heart pounding.

How could you ever have known about his way with words?

Today had been a stressful one. Work had been full-on without any warning, and you were just about done with people. You’d even hesitated when Sidney offered to cook you dinner at his house – but eventually the temptation of being pampered by your boyfriend had been too good to resist. Maybe he’d be able to turn your day around. It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

And as you suspected, Sidney had taken one look at the exhaustion on your face and ushered you to the sofa, only disappearing to come back with a large glass of wine for you.

“You are an absolute gem,” you groaned, tilting your head back to look up at him.

He just grinned, taking the silent cue for what it was and leaning down to kiss you gently. Yes, this was just what you needed.

And the evening had only gotten better from there. Sidney had made the two of you a simple but delicious coq au vin dinner (the recipe definitely came from Vero Fleury, and you knew that you would definitely need to text her your thanks later), followed by a chocolate tart that you swore was the best thing you’d ever tasted (that one was from a local bakery, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last time you’d get something from there now!). And all throughout the evening, Sidney had kept the conversation flowing, telling you hilarious stories of grumpy Geno and naïve rookies from the recent road trip he’d had, as well as about the cute dog that his neighbour had recently adopted, and you felt yourself relaxing more with each passing moment.

Sidney had indeed turned your day around just like you’d hoped.

After eating, Sidney had insisted on clearing the plates by himself, making you roll your eyes fondly but accept a gentle kiss as he walked past. You could at least get the two of you a fresh glass of wine each. You were tired, not incapable. So with that in mind, you picked up the two empty wine glasses and followed your boyfriend into the kitchen, opening the fridge to pick out the open bottle of white wine he’d opened earlier.

But just as you finished filling the glasses, you felt a pair of arms slide around you from behind, making you jump slightly, earning a soft laugh.

“Menace,” you complained fondly, putting the wine bottle down on the side.

“Couldn’t help myself, I needed you in my arms,” Sidney said simply, squeezing you in a little hug.

You leant back into his chest, smiling to yourself. How could you say no to that? The two of you stayed silent for a few more moments, just enjoying the comfort of this embrace, until Sidney sighed softly.

“You make me want things I didn’t think I could have,” Sidney murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

What the hell?

You spun around in his arms straight away, the frown on your face making Sidney laugh softly.

“What things? And who says you can’t have them?” you demanded.

“Always so protective,” he mused.

You batted at his chest, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious Sid! What do you mean, things you can’t have?”

He bit his bottom lip, making your frustration soften a little. This was something he’d really thought about, wasn’t it?

“I just…I never expected to find someone while I was still playing hockey,” Sidney started.

What the hell? He was just going to wait, until he eventually retired? What?! But as you opened your mouth to protest, Sidney pressed a finger to your lips, a fond smile on his.

“No, I know what I’m like. My routines are so set in stone, I’m away so often, I have so many more responsibilities as Captain and well, just because I’m me. I was told from a young age that anything other than hockey was a distraction. So I just…shelved the idea. Didn’t even let myself hope,” Sidney explained.

“Sid…that’s so sad,” you said softly, clutching at his sweater with both hands, “to just resign yourself to being lonely, I can’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I can’t say it hasn’t paid off with hockey,” he mused, “and besides…I met you, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip, your face heating up warm, Sidney’s hand rising to run a knowing thumb over your cheek.

“So I wasn’t a distraction?” you asked hopefully.

“Oh, you absolutely were,” Sidney said, laughing softly, making your heart sink a little. He saw your hesitant expression, and shook his head. “It was a distraction that I didn’t know I needed. You help me break out of my intensity, to separate the rink from home. Without you, I would just eat, breathe, sleep hockey, and meeting you made me realise that I can have hockey and love. You give me a reason to live, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that,”

You couldn’t stop the tears that sprung to your eyes, nor the smile that spread across your lips. “Sidney…” you murmured helplessly.

“Thank you. For making me whole. For making me a better person,” he said seriously, hand still cupping your face so you couldn’t do anything but look into his eyes.

Your heart clenched at his words, and there was nothing you could think of to say that needed to be added. So you just lifted your head and pressed your lips to his in a kiss that said everything.

A good run of games, with far more wins than losses, always put your boyfriend in a good mood. So good, that after the latest game, which was another win where he’d gotten 2 goals and 1 assist, he’d even suggested going out for drinks. You were more than happy to agree – not that you didn’t love your evenings in with him, but sometimes it was nice to go out and try something new, y’know? These plans quickly turned into a couples’ drinks with Kris and Catherine, and Geno and Anna, and the six of you ended up in a private booth in a fancy cocktail bar.

You’d immediately ordered some lethal manhattan cocktails with Anna and Cath, leaving the guys to their own devices as the three of you toasted to the success of the men in your lives. As you surveyed the bar around you, you felt yourself relax a little. This was exactly you needed, with exactly these people. These two women had welcomed you so quickly into the Better Halves group, and you couldn’t be more excited to spend time with just them. Well, them and your rapidly tipsy partners.

It had only taken the three men a couple of hours to be giggling messes.

Kris, the troublemaker that he was, had indulged Sidney’s sweet tooth with so many sugary cocktails, that he was already pretty far gone, eyes glassy and skin flushed. Sure, he was going to feel it tomorrow morning, but the fact that he actually got the chance to let go, to just relax with his just closest friends? That was the most important thing.

How often did Sidney get the chance to do that?

The six of you were still in the booth, Geno having just come back with a fresh round of cocktails, and Sidney was started to lean against you a little heavier, making you frown slightly.

“Hey, are you good?” you asked softly.

Sidney leaned back to look at you properly, hair a little ruffled and his top two buttons undone, distracting you slightly.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…and I’ve held the Stanley Cup three times,” Sidney slurred, his lips stretched in that beautiful crooked grin.

Kris, Cath, Geno and Anna all just burst into laughter, making you laugh too.

“I’m serious! The cup is so beautiful…but you, you are the most,” Sidney said firmly.

“He’s serious,” Kris snickered, “crisse Sid, what a romantic,”

The sarcasm just made Sidney pout. Bless him.

“Okay I think it’s time for some water,” you giggled.

“Oh no please, let him carry on. It’s been so long since drunk Sid made an appearance,” Kris grinned.

“Drunk Sid is most fun!” Geno added, nodding enthusiastically.

You looked back at your boyfriend to see him still smiling at you like the sun, and you couldn’t stop the butterflies erupting in your stomach. How were you supposed to react, when he looked at you so brilliantly? You didn’t have to look at Cath or Anna to know that they were smiling fondly at you – you’d had enough wine nights with them to know how sweet they thought Sidney was with you.

“He may be fun now, but he’s going to be an absolute grump tomorrow and you know it,” you mused, shaking your head.

“Won’t be grumpy,” Sidney insisted.

Oh jeez. “Yes you will,” you teased, “But you’re cute, so I’ll let it slide,”

“You think I’m cute?” Sidney said happily, before looking at his teammates, “she think I’m cute!”

That just sent Kris and Geno into fits of laughter again, making you sigh fondly. Oh he was definitely going to feel this tomorrow.

Worth it though.

The summer brought you back to Nova Scotia with Sidney. Well, you’d taken two weeks off work in August to be able to spend Sidney’s birthday with him, but you were so glad you did. Spending some proper time with his parents and with Taylor was so worth it, and you didn’t miss the little smiles he sent your way when he thought you weren’t looking – Sidney loved you being home with him just as much as you loved it.

The best part though, was definitely waking up to that sleepy morning sunlight, the lake only a stone’s throw away, Sidney warm and content and at peace.

“Mm happy birthday Sid,” you murmured sleepily, curling further into his body.

“Shh, if my body doesn’t know that I’m getting older then I won’t get any more grey hairs,” Sidney groaned, not opening his eyes.

You just giggled, running a hand over his bare chest. What a drama queen.

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that, baby,” you teased, “you know I like your grey hair, the little grey of it that there is,”

What? You did!

Sidney lifted his head to look down at you incredulously. Of course that was what made him wake up properly.

“You like it?” he frowned.

“It makes you look…distinguished. It’s…sexy,” you shrugged. There was no reason to lie to him after all.

“Sexy?” he laughed, rolling his eyes.

Oh now that wouldn’t do. You slotted your leg between his thighs, moving to hover him slightly where he was lying on his back, waiting until he was looking at you properly. He swallowed heavily at the seriousness in your expression. Good.

“Yeah, Sid. It’s sexy,” you said softly, “you’re sexy. Clearly I need to tell you that more often,”

Sidney’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving yours as he processed your words.

“If I’m so sexy, then why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

The desire in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but to grin. You leant your head down to kiss him softly, leaning up on your elbow for a better angle. Sidney groaned softly at the sweet kiss, one hand sliding into your hair with the other resting on your waist. You kept the kiss slow, gentle, intense, with only light brushes of your tongue, taking your time to enjoy yourself. You loved early mornings like this, when it was just the two of you with nothing to do for hours, and today you had nowhere to be until well into the afternoon, so you were going to indulge yourself with these kisses while you could.

Eventually you broke away, lips feeling as swollen as Sidney’s looked. Wow.

“Is that better?” you mused, stroking the hair at his template.

“Hmm, I don’t know. That’s all I get?” he murmured, “on my birthday?”

Tease. You licked your bottom lip, Sidney’s eyes flashing darker, and you rolled off of him, tugging your sleep-top over your head and lying down sultrily on your back. Sidney’s eyes immediately fell to your bare chest, yours flicking down to the hard line of his cock in his boxers, before you grinned.

“Get over here birthday boy…” you purred.

Sidney didn’t waste another second.

Sometimes things weren’t perfect. Sometimes Sidney had a string of bad games where he got too much into his own head. Sometimes he wouldn’t communicate in any more than a couple of words or grunts. Sometimes you had to prioritise a work deadline over time with him. Sometimes things between the two of you were extremely tense until one (or most often, both) of you cracked and talked it out.

But that’s what made your relationship work – the talking. Being with Sidney meant being in such a mature adult relationship, and it was refreshing to be able to work through things with a guy that wasn’t just going to fly off the handle or sulk around. Sure, Sidney had his faults, but he always tried not to take his frustrations out on you. You knew that the highs of dating a hockey superstar came with the lows too – you knew that when you agreed to go on that very first date way back when, but he’d proved time and time again that he was worth it. He was always worth it.

Right now, Sidney…no, the Penguins had been on a bad luck streak, and you could see the pressure piling up on your boyfriend, from management, from the press, from the fans, from himself. But not from you. There was no way you were going to add to his stress, not when he needed your support more than anything.

And you knew he appreciated more than anything else.

Like today, for example.

Sidney had turned up at your apartment a couple of hours earlier than you thought, having come straight from the airport rather than going to his house first, just looking bone-tired. So you’d immediately drawn him a bath with your favourite lavender-vanilla bath bubbles, Sidney insisting that you join him too.

Well, you weren’t going to deny him that.

So that’s where the two of you were now, you lying between Sidney’s legs, your back leaning against his chest, your hands clutching at his forearms where his arms were wrapped around you.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

You just smiled softly, tilting your head back to press a kiss to his jaw before leaning into him again.

“I’m just sorry we’re doing this in my shitty apartment rather than your lovely bathroom,” you shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter whether we’re at your place or mine. You’ve always felt like home,” Sidney murmured.

Oh god, if your heart could be any more full it would be. Wow.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you said softly, not wanting to break the moment, “I’ll always be here for you,”

Sidney smiled into your neck, pressing the lightest of kisses into your skin, making you shiver despite the temperate of the water.

“I mean it, you are my home and I couldn’t be more grateful. You’ve shown me what love feels like, sweetheart,” Sidney murmured, “I love you,”

You tried desperately to blink away the tears that sprung to your eyes, squeezing his hands. “I love you too Sid. So much,” you whispered.

As his arms held you a little tighter and he buried his face in your neck a little more, you knew there was nowhere else you would rather be.

Another morning, another day waking up in Sidney’s arms. No matter how many roadtrips he went on, countless by the point, it still felt weird sleeping in your own bed without him. Your apartment felt cold, felt empty, despite it holding all your possessions, but you knew that was just because it didn’t have him in it. When he was home in Pittsburgh, whether it was in your apartment or at his house, you had never slept better than when you were with him. You could only hope he felt the same.

“Good morning,” Sidney said softly, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Good morning,” you replied, smiling up at him.

He smiled back, leaning over to press a few gentle kisses to your lips before leaning back.

“That was a real serious face you had a moment ago,” Sidney said, lying on his side with his head propped up with his hand.

Busted. “I was just thinking,” you shrugged.

“What are you thinking about?” he mused.

“Nothing much. Just…”

You trailed off, biting your bottom lip. Sidney’s hand slid to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your trapped lip until you let it free.

“Just…” he prompted.

“I could get used to waking up beside you,” you blurted,

Sidney’s face looked a little stunned. Damn it. Was that too much?

But then his face shifted into the biggest smile you’d ever seen, making your hopeful heart beat a little faster.

“Why don’t we make that a reality?”

W-What?

Sidney saw the confusion in your expression and hesitated, before turning and reaching into the bedside drawer beside him. He paused slightly, as he grabbed whatever it was, making your heart beat a little faster. What was going on? But after a couple of beats, he rolled back over to face you, hand clenched in a fist.

“Move in with me?” he murmured.

He opened his fist, revealing a shiny key, making your jaw drop a little. Oh wow.

“For real?” you whispered, eyes not moving from the key.

“Yeah, for real,” Sidney mused, although you could hear the strain of nerves in his voice, “I would really love for this to be your home too. You already have a ton of your clothes here as well as make-up and your shower stuff…so why don’t we make this full time?”

You choked out a laugh – he did have a point there.

But was it too soon?

No.

“If it makes a difference, I’ve wanted to ask you for months,” Sidney admitted.

“You have?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You’re it for me,” he said simply.

He really did have such a way with words.

“I would love to, Sid,” you said softly.

“Yeah?” he grinned,

“Yeah. I want to build this life with you. So let’s do this,” you nodded.

Sidney whooped, making you giggle, and he dropped the key into the bedsheets in favour of pressing a deep kiss to your lips. Yeah, you could get used to this.

#my writing #sidney crosby #i love soft sexy sid so much #i want this SO bad #sidney crosby fic #sidney crosby fanfiction #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby x reader #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #4+1

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sarcastich · 3 years

Text

Crown Made Of Barbwire

Everyone got their wings, sooner or later.

Feathers of every color, size, variation.

They start as two little bumps on your back, itching like a growing tooth, around the same time you hit puberty. A bit earlier for girls, a bit later for boys. They grow over the course of your teenage years, and stop once all their feathers have reached their full size.

Some people could fly with their wings, some couldn’t. Most people’s wings were two meters on each side when they were outstretched.

Peter’s wings had only taken two years to grow fully, and were beautiful, pure-white angel wings.

He’d never seen anyone with wings like his. All the other white wings were more like snow owls, speckled with browns and grays, or had underlying colors that gave the top feathers a tint.

He couldn’t quite fly with them, but they were perfect for gliding. He’d scale the tallest buildings in his area, and get a running jump off of them, plummeting for a moment before he got pulled up and flew around the neighborhood until his wings got tired. Of course, you couldn’t just fly anywhere whenever you wanted to. You needed permits, licenses, there were laws to uphold. Most people preferred staying on the ground, anyway.

But not everyone got to keep their feathered wings.

Peter had always heard stories of the burnt ones.

His aunt used it as a reason for him to be good, or when his friends were yelling about seeing criminals they’d allegedly seen out ‘n about.

“-Eat your greens or your wings will burn right off, Pete”

“-I’m telling you, man! His wings were all black and torn up, I’m not kidding!”

They were the result of corruption, evil, immorality, and sin. Once soft feathers scorched, charred, and turned into soot. They blackened and burned away, turning into a shadow of their past wonder, skeletal and black.

Peter had never imagined that one day he’d be standing at the Four Seasons, shooting photos for The Bugle, trying to get a good shot of the Tony Stark.

Peter was among the crowd of journalists and other photographers, rapidly clicking away, aiming his camera lens at Stark. Reporters were yelling out questions, waving wired microphones and recorders over the barrier between them and the walkway Tony Stark was walking down.

There was something about his wings that set them apart from a normal burnt set. Most CEOs, businessmen or just rich, successful, famous people had burnt wings.

But Tony Stark’s weren’t just burnt.

They had horns cascading from the tips to the forearms. The burning away of the pure white feathers had revealed bat-like structures. Stark had no idea why, or how. That was just how they were. Or so he’d told the public.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat when Stark focused on him, looking into his camera and flashing a well-practiced smile. Peter fumbled for a moment before he looked through the viewfinder and took several photos.

And again, he’d never imagined that he’d get a personal request for a photoshoot, by the Tony Stark.

He packed his camera bag with shaky hands, taking extra drives and lenses.

His boss had pulled him aside earlier that morning, and told him that Stark had reached out and asked for Mr. Parker to be the one present and in charge of the interview’s photos. Peter, of course, had accepted in a second. He’d be an idiot to decline. Tony Stark’s picture on his portfolio? What kind of artist would he be if he said no?

Peter stepped out of the glass lobby of The Bugle offices half an hour later and looked up from his phone, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a deep red sweater over a white collared shirt, the front tucked into his soft beige dress pants. He hoped his outfit wasn’t too casual for the occasion, but he didn’t really have time to change anyway.

Just as he looked away from the screen, a sleek black car pulled up in front of him. The driver’s window rolled down.

“Peter Parker?” the driver, a roundish man, asked.

“Y-yeah- yes!”

The man jerked his head towards the back seat door.

“Get in, kid.”

Peter did as told, nervously sliding into the car, barely moving when he sat on the leather seat, hugging his bag.

“Wh- Where’re we going-?” His voice came out a lot squeakier than he’d meant for it to.

“Stark Industries Tower, where else?”

Almost an hour later, the car stopped in front of the blue, glass building. The driver got out and opened Peter’s door. He hadn’t moved since he’d gotten in.

Getting out of the car and almost forgetting his bag, he mumbled, most of his attention drawn by the tall tower.

“Thank you- uh, mister- um-”

“Hogan. Happy Hogan.”

“Yes! Thanks!”

With a nod, he closed the car door and got back in, driving off. Peter took a deep breath, held his bag properly again and started towards the building.

After a short chat with one of the three receptionists, he was led to an elevator a bit farther away from the general area of the entry. He and a shorter woman entered the lift. Judging from her formal attire, Peter guessed she was an assistant. Her wings were far smaller than his own, made up of light blue feathers with streaks of royal blue. He kept his own wings contracted to offer her enough room in the small space.

“Friday, take us to the penthouse, and please let Mr. Stark know that Mr. Parker will be arriving shortly.”

Peter looked at her, confused until a soft tone went off and the elevator started its ascent.

She smiled at him before he let out a soft “Oh-” and averted his gaze.

With another soft tone, the lift stopped and she gestured for him to step out.

“Thanks-”, he started to say, but the elevator door was already closing behind him.

The elevator had opened to something like a living room area. Two sleek, white sofas were facing the rounded glass walls, with an ornate sculpture between them that looked like five giant bowls stacked on top of each other. Everything Peter could see was modern and minimal, with a white-gray aesthetic throughout the penthouse.

He looked around nervously, holding on to his bag by the shorter strap.

“Mr. Parker, welcome.”

Peter gasped and turned around with a jump, startled.

“M-Mr. Stark! Y-yes, hi, I’m Peter Parker, I-I’m here for the Bugle interview shoot?” He inwardly cringed at how he sounded, stuttering, his voice a lot higher than it usually was, clutching his bag for dear life.

Stark smirked at him. “I know, kid, calm down.” He gestured towards the sofas. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Peter stuttered out a thank you, and sat down at the far end of one. He kept his wings close to his body, feeling like he was taking up too much space, still hugging his bag to his chest. He looked up shyly, taking Stark in properly. His wings were relaxed as he walked to the sofa facing Peter, sitting down comfortably.

“Are you afraid of me, Mr. Parker?”

“N-No sir. I mean, you’ve obviously done s-some- uh-.. Not so great things- but uhm- You’re an icon, people admire you-”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Stark cut him off, motioning to the minibar that had very literally risen from the ground.

Peter stuttered out, “Oh- N-No, thank you, I can’t drink on the job-”

Stark poured himself two fingers of whiskey in a lowball glass, without ice, and gently pushed down the top of the minibar, and it reclined back into the floor, looking like another dark grey ceramic tile.

He took a sip, eyes trained on Peter.

Peter cleared his throat, relaxing a bit. “So, where d’you think would be best for the uhm- the shots-?”

They talked about light placement, the conversation somehow dragging over to technology and science, Peter engaging a lot more, and forgetting his nervousness eventually.

After about an hour, they got up, Peter set up his camera, and took his photos.

A behind-shot of Tony Stark with his hands tucked into his pants pockets, wings stretched out behind him. A side profile, while buttoning his suit, and various other shots.

Peter was on his knees, getting a photo of one of Tony Stark’s iconic shades on a small table, the city line stretching out behind it.

Stark had excused himself to take a call, and told Peter to take photos of anything that he wanted. Peter didn’t hear him step back into the room, too focused on trying to set his camera’s shutter speed. Stark quietly took long strides to him, stepping in front of the table.

“Oh, Mr. Stark-! I just wanted to take a shot of the glasses, they’re-”

He stammered into silence as Mr. Stark softly ran the back of his finger along his cheek. He held it under Peter’s chin, tilting his head up. Peter was blushing furiously, but couldn't make himself look away.

“Let me see your wings, angel.”

Three months later, Peter’s life had changed drastically.

He was decked out in the latest designer clothes, a skinny white Etro strap top to match his wings, baby blue Dolce & Gabbana shaded glasses perched on this nose, sitting by a marbled kitchen counter, a Valentino white leather clutch bag resting on it, and inspecting his manicured nails.

A man in an obsidian black suit entered the room, buttoning his jacket and running a hand through his hair, smirking.

“Ready, angel?”

Peter looked up, a cheeky smile on his lips. Wings fluttering, he slid off his high stool and made his way to him. He straightened Tony’s tie and pecked his nose.

“Yes, daddy.”

He leaned away, but Tony let out a growl, grabbing Peter by his waist and pulling him flush against his body.

Peter gasped, “You’ll ruin my outfit!”

“Angel, I bought it.”

Peter pouted, “Well yeah, but you gave it to me”

“I’ll buy you a new one, you spoilt brat.”

Peter giggled and cupped Tony’s face, looking into his eyes and leaning into his touch. “Y’know I love you, Tones.”

They kissed softly, Tony not letting go of his vice grip on Peter’s waist.

“Tony, we’re gonna be late... I want you to check the set up one last time-”

“Angel, I had you set things up. I trust you.”

Earlier that day, Peter had gone to the hotel’s restaurant on the top floor, under a different name and reservation. He’d checked the entire place for wires, mics, or anything that could put them in any sort of bad situation. He checked exit points, weak spots, and all the cameras. He’d been thorough.

He had taped a Glock 9 mm handgun underneath their side of the table, checking repeatedly to make sure it was fully loaded and had its safety off.

Peter grumbled a bit, before letting go of Tony, dramatically sighing, rolling his eyes and picking up his handbag from the counter.

“Well, we should get going anyway.”

Tony shot him a wolfish grin before grabbing his wrist and pulling him back.

“You missed something, i mio angelo.”

He tilted his head to the counter, a navy blue felt box sitting on it now. Peter was surprised. He knew it was a jewelry box, but he hadn’t asked for anything, and even though Tony loved showering him with gifts, there was usually some silly occasion he used as an excuse for it.

He curiously looked at the box, wondering what it was. Something beautiful, no doubt.

“Go on then, Angel, it’s yours.”

Peter stepped back up to the counter and set down his bag on the nearest stool. He pulled the box closer to himself before glancing at Tony, who was smirking at him, arms crossed against his chest.

He slowly opened it, keeping his eyes on Tony until the lid was completely vertical.

His eyes flicked down to the box, and he took in a sharp gasp, hands flying to cover his mouth. “Tony, you didn’t!”

Tony’s smirk grew into a full grin again as Peter rushed around the counter to kiss him, cradling the box in his arms, even though he could easily just hold it in one hand.

“Of course I did, mia carissimo.”

Tony took the box from Peter’s hands, setting it down on the counter. He pulled out the choker he’d gotten for his princess, with Round Brilliant cut, D rate diamonds in the center of Cushion cut diamonds arranged like figure eights.

Peter lightly grazed his own neck with his fingertips, already feeling the weight on his neck, even though he hadn’t touched the jewels yet. Tony held up the necklace.

“May I have the honor?”

Peter silently turned his back to Tony, holding his head high. Tony pressed a kiss to the back of Peter’s bare neck and gently ran his hand through Peter’s feathers, making him shudder before placing the necklace on his neck and fastening the tiny clasp. It didn’t have a chain at the end, it had a specific size. Peter’s size.

Half an hour later, Tony held the passenger door of his Audi R8 Spyder open and led Peter out, Peter giving him his hand like a princess, to the entry of the hotel. There was no swarming press, just the coming and going of guests of the hotel.

Handing his keys over to a valet, Tony pressed a kiss to the back of Peter’s hand.

“Relax, angel.”

They walked into the lobby hand in hand, people stopping to stare at them every few feet. Even if they didn’t know who Tony Stark was, they’d stop to look at the man with the bat wings and the boy who looked like an angel.

They didn’t stop at the reception, they walked straight to the private elevator that led to the restaurant, Tony’s security detail already armed and ready at the top. Once they got there and had been patted down and checked for weapons by Osborn’s security, Tony walked them over to their table.

It overlooked the city skyline, winking lights dotting the land underneath them. He pulled out a chair for Peter, getting a soft smile in return. Sitting in the chair next to him, he held his hand again. Peter shot him a worried look.

Peter kept his voice low, “I thought you said he��d be here on time?”

“Princess, he’s only five minutes late. His detail’s here, he’ll be here, too.”

Peter toyed with the table’s centerpiece while they waited. After about ten minutes, Tony abruptly got up, rebuttoning his suit.

“C’mon bambino, we’re leaving.”

Before Peter could get up, there was a short yell and a loud muffled thump from the elevator.

The glass wall beside their table shattered, rapid shots taking out most of the security team. Tony yanked Peter down by his suit collar, looking out at the building in front to try and see the snipes. The elevator doors ominously opened, a man in black armour stepping out. His wings were plated with metal.

It all happened in the span of two seconds.

He shot the remaining guards before training his gun on Tony. Before he could get a word out, Peter pulled the gun he’d hidden earlier. In an instant, he cocked it and aimed for the man’s head.

The assassin had been a split second too late in aiming at Peter.

Peter fired.

The shooter fell to the floor, dead.

Peter dropped the gun, falling to his knees, a sudden hiss sounding behind him.

His wings had burst into flames.

He yelled out, pain blooming in his wings and along his back. Tears sprung from his eyes and ran down his face, ash falling around him, smoke rising behind him as Tony rushed to his knees beside him, holding him as he cried into Tony’s shoulder, his agonized screams muffled.

In the matter of minutes, his angelic wings were gone.

#starker #starker fic #starker moodboard #wings au #hope yall like it #gonna go cry now #reposting bc im a bit of an idiot

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits

summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f) genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again drabbles; 01

“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.”

“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!”

Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published.

However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since.

Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company.

“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.”

Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous.

“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!”

“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!”

At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why.

Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.”

Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?”

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.”

You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin.

He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.”

“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.”

“Done and done.”

“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything.

“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.”

“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate.

Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”

“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?”

Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.”

You’ve been seeing red for days.

While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work.

You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner.

Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!”

The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down.

Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?”

“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?”

“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.

Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink.

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?”

“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.”

“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?”

“Of course, she’d be dead not to.” you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?”

“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”

“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.”

“I know.”

“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”

“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.”

“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!”

“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”

“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!”

“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!”

“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”

“Trouble in paradise?”

A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts.

“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.”

“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.”

You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?”

Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving.

“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city.

“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.”

You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later.

“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?”

“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve.

“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook.

You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—”

“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.”

“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!”

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do.

“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.”

She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp.

“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips.

“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk.

“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.”

“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.”

You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle.

“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised.

From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship.

“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!”

It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation.

The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket.

“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!”

He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.”

“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.”

“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.”

“Really, then how do I like my coffee?”

“Uh… hot?”

You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel.

“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story.

“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.”

“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?”

“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?”

“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?”

“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.”

“Favorite movie?”

“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.”

“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.”

“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”

“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.”

The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation.

When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out.

“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport.

A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.”

You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.

When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.”

“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other.

“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago.

“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!”

Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion.

Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...”

“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?”

“Hard.”

You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice.

Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.”

“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.”

“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.”

“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief.

“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.”

“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.”

You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun.

The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long.

Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?”

You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism.

“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.”

Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.”

If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.”

In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us.

“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not.

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?”

The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged.

Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins.

“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!”

“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?”

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?”

“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly.

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?”

His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway.

He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?”

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him.

“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?”

“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.”

It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear.

Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes.

You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook.

“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance.

“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms.

The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse.

“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.”

“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”

“Which means?”

“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.”

The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room.

You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you.

In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be.

His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?”

“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.”

“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.”

You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something.

Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder.

“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.”

Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party.

It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.”

“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.”

“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?”

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!”

“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.”

You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!”

Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook.

The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show.

Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!”

Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!”

The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple.

Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!”

“Kiss kiss kiss!”

“This is going on my story so make it good!”

“Kiss him before I do!”

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else.

As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours.

It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm.

He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now.

Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter?

The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.”

“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night.

“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.

“Please don’t say it.”

“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!”

“No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him.

“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.”

“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?”

“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.”

Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.”

Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?”

“That’s the one.”

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.”

Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him.

“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill.

“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat.

Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.”

“What movie?”

“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.”

He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”

“Jung Hoseok!”

“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.”

After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early.

“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?”

“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”

“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.”

You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook’s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work.

Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9.

“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his.

Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.”

She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn.

“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.”

He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.”

With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.”

Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside.

Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous.

Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?”

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?”

“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!”

“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi.

“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth.

“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest.

You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?”

Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later.

“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat.

“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?”

He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.”

“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?”

“Always.”

Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.”

“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.”

As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you.

You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.”

“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?”

“Already out the door, bossman.”

Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie.

You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be.

The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.

“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!”

“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”

And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out.

“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.”

“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”

“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.”

“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.”

“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.”

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict.

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!”

“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag.

“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood.

The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.

Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace.

After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope.

While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles.

That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.

It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal.

Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.

“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet.

So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away.

You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun.

“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds.

“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.”

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.

“Did you say something?”

“I said, I’m sorry.”

You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.”

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.”

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content.

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic.

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body.

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.”

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!”

“You were worried?”

“Shut up.”

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp.

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.”

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter.

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.”

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.”

“But still.”

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?”

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting.

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.”

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?”

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.”

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.”

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu.

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind.

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads.

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid.

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.”

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.”

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table.

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions.

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.”

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip.

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.”

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com.

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly.

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.”

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day.

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé.

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.”

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.”

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.”

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.”

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.”

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?”

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?”

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.”

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.”

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.”

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.”

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand.

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.”

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers.

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,” the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.”

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.”

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger.

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.”

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.”

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed.

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother.

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house.

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.”

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.”

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!”

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.”

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues.

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting.

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say?

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.”

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something.

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why.

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom.

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him.

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree.

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye.

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder.

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much.

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store.

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked.

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months.

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm.

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face.

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.”

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band.

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry.

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band.

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.”

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?”

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.”

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.”

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!”

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?”

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.”

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.”

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that.

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.”

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?”

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable.

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone.

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.”

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right?

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!! Can i disown a first cousin??

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor.

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner.

“Shoot.”

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.”

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.”

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?”

What?

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.”

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?”

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.”

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?”

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge.

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed.

“What, like fake moan into the wall?”

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.”

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both.

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!”

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes.

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?”

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.”

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.”

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables.

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time.

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.”

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!”

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.”

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion.

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard.

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.”

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs.

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.”

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed.

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck.

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts.

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw.

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more.

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make yourself feel good.”

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.”

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body.

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,”

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal.

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand.

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why.

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.”

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you.

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies.

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch.

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club.

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?”

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles.

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.”

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?”

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs.

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.”

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom.

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.”

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway.

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”.

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route.

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.”

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!”

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.”

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently.

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.”

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks.

“You say that like it’s not possible!”

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.”

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast.

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake.

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room.

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out.

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.”

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.”

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca.

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”

“What’s up?”

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.”

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.”

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.”

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.”

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.”

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?”

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners.

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.”

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!”

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes.��

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.”

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail.

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.”

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.”

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face.

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute?

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses.

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin.

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes.

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap.

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.”

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.”

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game.

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.”

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!”

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back.

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were.

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.”

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?”

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?”

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. .

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering.

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh.

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his.

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.”

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket.

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed.

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings.

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was.

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it.

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you.

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually.

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much?

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful.

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you?

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday. Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel.

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.”

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?”

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.”

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.”

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked.

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use.

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat.

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!”

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold.

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him.

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right.

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.”

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it.

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.”

“I don’t deserve your trust.”

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug.

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this.

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest.

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.”

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced.

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?”

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side.

“Long version or short version?”

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.”

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!”

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.”

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.”

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant.

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.”

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!”

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.”

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him.

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up.

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?”

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.”

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.”

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air.

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.”

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!”

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away.

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.”

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.”

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.”

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?”

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?”

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.”

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.”

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you.

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right.

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee.

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?”

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.”

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal.

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions.

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.”

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.”

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.”

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.”

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.”

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.”

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.”

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.”

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?”

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.”

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye.

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?”

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.”

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.”

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?”

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.”

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.”

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.”

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!”

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream.

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?”

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings.

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?”

“Yep,” Jungkook pops.

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?”

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag.

“Hit us with your best shot.”

#jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jeongguk #jungkook fluff #kpop #kpop fic #jjk #bts x reader #how did i manage to write this

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celestialrry · 3 years

Text

unrequited

part 2!

1.1k

summary: Harry doesn't understand why you’re ignoring him.

warnings: alcohol consumption, bitchy Harry, and angst

Having a large heart would lead to you inevitable downfall. You were sure of it. It ruined all your past relationships, you had opened up too soon, making it way easier for them to manipulate you and then make you feel as though you had failed in some way. This happened a few times, so much so that your heart only held a place for him.

Harry was your best friend and had been since what felt like forever. Only a few months ago did you realize that the way you loved Harry was unlike anyone else you had ever loved before. He was just so perfect how could you not fall in love with him? He came over whenever you were down with takeout and candy, he would call you at least twice a week, no matter the circumstances, the two of you would cancel plans to see each other, he would hold you and kiss everywhere on your face except for your lips, he would text you often with a picture or post of some sort followed by a “This made me think of you. xx”. It was heaven. Until it wasn't.

Articles had been coming out about Harry with some model you never learned the name of, but Harry had told you earlier that the two of them were friends. Later that week, after all the articles and posts and commotion, he had called you to rant.

“It jus’ sucks, y’know? Every girl m’friends with, m’dating, apparently,” He sighed, phone up to his ear as he laid down on his couch. “I jus’ wanna thank you, for being friends with me all these years you know? Means a lot.”

“Of course Harry.”

It was then you realized Harry only loved you and would continue to love you platonically. You didn’t want to be the girl he had been friends with and stayed friends with for years, who fell in love with him. It wasn't like the world didn't know who you were, years ago Harry had talked about you in an interview after you were pictured together, calling you his “best friend”. Over time when you two would go out and get papped, no one thought any more of the two of you being friends, there were no blatant signs of affection. No kisses, no hand holding, and no longing stares (on his side, at least). So they kept the story the two of you were friends, nothing more.

If you told Harry you were in love with him and he hopefully felt the same way, it would never work out. The media would have a field day, pushing the narrative that Harry could never just be friends with a woman, because the ones he did have always ended up dating him or fucking him. Which was not true at all.

So you stayed quiet, and distanced yourself in hope that the feelings you had would go away and you could go back to being friends. Of course, this wasn't fair to you or Harry, and after a few weeks of short texts and missed calls he decided that was it.

You had been moping in your flat in London, binging this new show on Netflix and drinking a few glasses of wine when suddenly a knock on your door interrupted the daze you were in. Quickly you stood up and wiped your mouth, stumbling a bit to the door. You swung it open and your eyes met familiar sage ones.

“Harry?”

He responded with your name, then looked behind your shoulder as if to see if anyone was there. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, still flustered and surprised he was actually here with you. “Wha-why are you here? Is everything okay?” You asked as you closed the door behind him and followed Harry to your living room where he eyed the wine bottle and glass.

“Are y’drunk?” He deadpanned.

“Maybe a little tipsy but I'm fully functioning.” You responded, cowering under his glare. “Want a glass?”

“No.”

Damn.

“So, you're here because...” You trailed off. It wasn't like you didn't want to see him, but Harry seemed awfully upset and didn't even offer you a hug when you opened the door.

“Why have you been ignorin’ m’calls?” He entered your name at the end, enforcing his anger.

“It was like 2 calls Harry. I’ve been busy, I can’t answer you all the time, sorry.” You apologized sarcastically and rolled your eyes. As you looked back to him you realized that maybe wasn’t the best idea.

“And I can’t reach out to you all the time but I do! I call y’every week, even when m’on tour and doin’ press n’all. What have y’been doing that's got y’so busy? Drinking wine n’watching a show about chess? I work harder than you ever have, and if I have time for you, you have time for me.” He glowered, after gesturing to the T.V. and the wine on the coffee table.

Your eyes widened at his words and so did his. That’s when he knew he fucked up.

“Leave.” You were infuriated by Harry yelling at you.

“M’sorry?” He asked, the furrow between his brow deepening.

You frowned and pointed to the door. “Leave. You can not fly all the way to London and come into my flat and yell at me,” You brought your hand back to your body, pointing to your body. “Do you know how fucked up that is? I see you in person for the first time in what, 3 months, and this is what I get? You telling me I don't work as hard as you, and insulting me? Leave.”

It was rare you two fought. It was more rare that you weren't at least tearing up by the end of the conversation and it was even more rare that you left, or made him leave. Harry’s brows were now furrowed in guilt. He stepped closer to you, his hand out, wanting to grab your arm, you waist, your cheek, your shoulder, anything to make you let him stay. But you stepped backwards and shook your head, pointing to the door.

“M’sorry pet, please-” He begged.

The wine wasn't doing you any favors, and instead fueled the fire Harry had ignited in your chest.

“Don’t call me that, actually, don't call me until you know what the fuck caused you come over here and yell at me, and when you're ready to actually apologize, because I know you’re only saying sorry now just because you felt bad. So, leave. Now.” With that said, you left Harry in your living room while you rushed past him to the door, opening it. He knew not to say anything else, he knew you needed time, and he knew you hated him right now, but Harry would be lying if he said it didn't take everything out of him to walk past you and out into your flat building’s hallway. You shut the door as soon as he had walked out past you, his brown curls bowed in remorse.

You needed some more wine.

I want to do a part 2 so if this gets like 5 notes I will lol <3

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Note

voice lines!!!

ok !!! here are nell’s voice lines (a lot are utc bc this got long)

▶ Hello - Pleasure to meet you! I’m Nell and I’m a reporter for the Teyvat Times. I heard you have a story for me? Are you willing to share? C’mon, please?

▶ Chat: Sidekick - Want to join me? I’ve always wanted a little sidekick on my adventures! All the cool heroes and stuff always have one! Granted, I don’t really have a secret identity that requires one...

▶ Chat: Truth - The world will reveal its secrets to those who are willing to find them. As for everyone else, well… they’ll just read the newest expose I post in the Teyvat Times!

▶ Chat: Leads - We can’t sniff out a new lead and answers if we’re just standing around. Just… give me a second to fix my Kamera.

▶ When It Rains - Rain or shine, the news must carry on! Just… Can you hold the umbrella while I take pictures? If the lens gets wet, it blurs the photographs.

▶ When Thunder Strikes - Haha, spooky! Hopefully we don’t get electrocuted… that would be rather inconvenient.

▶ When It Snows - It doesn’t often snow back in Fontaine, but I always enjoyed when the rivers would freeze over as a kid. I just wonder what happens to the fish. Do they freeze too?

▶ When the Sun Is Out - Beautiful weather makes the job easier! I’m usually stuck inside interviewing people all day, so I’ll gladly take this moment to soak up some sun… maybe even close my eyes for a few minutes… sit under a tree… sleep… *yawn* Oh? Was I dozing off? I can’t doze off now! There’s a festival today downtown. I should report on that instead!

▶ Good Morning - Rise and shine, darling! Evil lurks in the night and while you and I might not vanquish it, we can at least report on the aftermath! Oh..? I’m a bit too eager to find out what atrocities happened in the night..? Hm. Maybe...

▶ Good Night - Night time already? If you really insist, I suppose I can wind down. But, uh, wake me up if you hear any weird noises! If it’s any bugs though, you’re on your own.

▶ About Nell: Persistence - Growing up, my mother always told me that persistence is key to achieving your dreams! Therefore, if someone says “no” to an interview, you can ask them approximately 11.852 more times on average before they start threatening you with a restraining order! Never give up… except when the law requires it!

▶ About Nell: Reporting - Some say reporters are opportunistic fiends who only seek to further their own careers and line their pockets with Mora. Me? Do I lie? Well… my name isn’t actually Nell, it’s Eleonora… so I guess I lie sometimes, but I promise to only tell the truth and help others in my reporting! I swear!

▶ About Us: Interview - Wow, you can fight really well! Wait… you’re the Outlander? The one who defeated Tartaglia? The one who stopped Stormterror? The one who helped the Qixing fight against Osial? Oh my archons, Nell, contain your excitement! Sorry, sorry, I was getting carried away… could I interview you? Pretty please?

▶ About Us: Compatibility - Ah, you’re so cool, Traveler! With you, drama always seems to follow. I think that makes us a great pair! So, what do you want me to report on next..? Your missing sibling..? Oh. Of course! Who doesn’t love a good reunion story? I’ll gladly help!

▶ About the Vision - I bet you probably weren’t expecting me to have a Vision! Well… neither was I. A lot of people tend to have powerful reasons as to why they have their Visions and why they use them but I kinda just found mine in the way I find any other new story… by accident. Nonetheless, a great reporter uses every tool at their disposal and if a Vision was granted to me, then I’ll be sure to wield it with pride!

▶ Something to Share: Lineage - My family name is not one of great prestige, nor are my family members anything worth writing home about. I believe that the life of someone should not be dictated by who they are related to, but rather how they choose to make a name for themselves. People who hide behind the prestige of their names are often cowards and yet they often have the best sources for my news. You win some, you lose some, I guess.

▶ Something to Share: Fontaine - Want to know a secret? Don’t tell anyone this, okay? I’m not a very strong swimmer. I’m kind of scared of water, despite my Vision!

▶ Interesting Things - I break my Kamera a lot, but mechanics are expensive. If you ever break yours, I can probably fix it for you! You won’t have to pay me for anything. Just... please don’t charge me if I accidentally break it even further, haha.

▶ About Albedo - Albedo? Haha… He’s rather cute. Plus, he always listens when I talk to him! ... I think. I can never tell if I’m actually holding his attention or not… But, he thinks reporters are dumb, therefore he is dumb. I don’t care how many alchemic achievements he finds. Someone who cannot understand how important news is is someone that I cannot respect.

▶ About Amber - Outrider Amber is lovely! She’s one of the few people in the town who actually listens to all I have to say. It’s amazing, really. Everyone loves her, even standoffish Eula! If you ever need help from the Knights, Amber is probably your best bet!

▶ About Rosaria - Y’know, at first, I wasn’t quite sure if Sister Rosaria liked me. Now? … Well, I’m still not very certain. I’m nervous to talk about her. She seems like the type to have a weird sixth sense for this type of thing. She does save me when I get into trouble, though! For a while I thought she was the Darknight Hero, but I realized that Rosaria is… Ah, forget it! Let’s just say I owe her one.

▶ About Diluc: Darknight Hero - The Darknight Hero is one of the most interesting stories I’ve covered in a long time! It’s taken me down a long path of getting to know people, especially Master Diluc of Dawn Winery. Kaeya was helpful enough to point him out as a potential source on the topic. No, Diluc isn’t the Darknight Hero, silly. He just knows a guy who knows a guy, that’s all.

▶ About Diluc: Comradery -At first, I could have sworn Diluc hated me! But apparently, he’s just like that with everyone. Now, I’d say we’re pretty good friends… I think? I’m never quite sure where I stand with him. He’s both open yet awkward around me at the same time… But, he ultimately has been helpful with some of my reporting. If it was up to me, I’d say we’re the best of friends! Please don’t tell him I said that though, he’d probably say I’ve had too much to drink and cut me off for the night.

▶ About Diluc: Love - Love? Why are you asking me about Diluc and love? Gods, both you and Kaeya are insufferable about this. Wait, what? You think Diluc has a crush on me? There’s no possible way a guy like him would give me a second glance! You and Kaeya are awful about this… stop teasing me. Diluc is the type to have whole newspapers dedicated to him and me..? Well, I’m just a reporter, that’s all. Oh? You’re asking if I like him? Well, um… that’s classified information!

▶ About Lisa - Lisa makes me wish I ran a gossip column instead! Conversation with her is never dull and somehow she knows everything about everyone. Afternoon tea consists of tea in more ways than one!

▶ About Jean - The Acting Grand Master of Mondstadt is far more gracious to me than most political figures are. However, I can’t help but feel as if I’m intruding whenever I speak to her. She’s sweet, but she just seems like she has a lot on her plate and even I don’t want to add any more to that.

▶ About Keqing - The Yuheng is a very respectable figure, but if she’s at any Qixing press conference, you’re almost guaranteed to get no exciting news. She brushes off any pressing questions by saying they’re “off topic” and “irrelevant”. It’s frustrating, especially when she uses it to evade the things that really matter!

▶ About Xiao - Hey! That’s that dude that lives in Wangshu Inn! Well, I suppose he’s not a dude but rather an immortal adeptus. He’s hellbent on avoiding me. He hates my guts. I just want to interview him about his thousands of years of life! It’ll only take a few days! Why does he keep teleporting away from me? Ugh. Immortals are so haughty.

▶ About Kaeya: Trust - Oh? Captain Kaeya? He’s rather funny and is my closest drinking buddy in Mondstadt. However, don’t try to get any info out of him. He’s full of shi- haha, pardon me, I mean… Um… Kaeya likes to lie. He won’t even tell me the truth in truth or dare! You picked truth, buddy, now fess up! Sorry… I like him, I swear I do! But I guess I shouldn’t expect the truth when I ask him why he has an eyepatch. After all, even I don’t have a wild enough imagination to truly believe he was raised by pirates… although I could cross-reference this with Beidou and see if she has any information...

▶ About Venti - The bard that’s always in Dil- Master Diluc’s tavern? He’s a bit strange and, while his songs are informative, music of that style is a bit noisy and overwhelming to me. However, I do find it incredibly interesting that he looks exactly like the Barbatos statue in front of the cathedral, yet nobody discusses it. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?

▶ About Nell: I - I’m a reporter first and human second! Or… am I a human first and reporter second? I can’t remember what the boss said sounded less creepy… Well, at least I know I’m a reporter and a human!

▶ About Nell: II - Freedom of the press ensures that people always have a voice. Being a reporter can be dangerous, especially if you’re assigned to tempestuous regions like Inazuma, but it’s a job I take pride in. Information must be spread to all so the public can make informed decisions.

▶ About Nell: III - Home? Home is wherever my job takes me! Sometimes its Mondstadt, sometimes its Liyue, sometimes its Snezhnaya… oh. Fontaine? Even though that’s where the Teyvat Times headquarters are and it’s where I grew up, I wouldn’t necessarily call it home. At one point, I would have, but… things change. If I have to settle down anywhere, I would choose the wintry tundra of Snezhnaya before I even think about living in Fontaine again.

▶ About Nell: IV - Growing up, everyone always said I was a free spirit. I’m kind of like the seelies you see around Mondstadt… Yes, I wander, but ultimately I always return to the same path. Am I guarding a treasure? Haha, maybe… if you consider knowledge to be a treasure, that is. Ah, this doesn’t make very much sense, does it? I’ve never been the type to be good at poetry. I’m better off sticking to just facts.

▶ About Nell: V - My end goal..? I’m not quite sure what it is yet. I prefer to live in the moment and inspire others to achieve their dreams. News stories might not always be happy, but interconnectedness with the world allows people to discover what their true calling is. The feeling of the Kamera and notepad in my hands are comfortable enough. If I can help others understand this hectic world, then that’s good enough for me! I’m having a blast doing it, too.

▶ Nell’s Hobbies - Oh, would you like to look at my favorite articles? I have a book filled with articles and photographs of my own creation, including my very first headline article! Isn’t that exciting? It wasn’t too long ago, yet somehow it feels like it's been decades since then.

▶ Nell’s Troubles - I ran out of film again. You wouldn’t happen to have any on you, would you? Otherwise, I’ll have to go see if the gift shop has any in stock...

▶ Favorite Food - I really like spinach salads! It makes me feel like I’m a wild animal foraging for a nice summery meal. What? That’s weird? Sometimes it’s fun to imagine things, no matter how absurd they are.

▶ Least Favorite Food - Soup! I want to eat my food, not drink my food. If I wanted to drink my calories, I would just chug beer all the time like those drunkards who live in the taverns!

#//mail #axia.ocs

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angsty-omi · 3 years

Text

truth or drink.

kuroo tetsuro x reader

tw: suggestive content, exes, cursing

you heard about this interview game show on youtube through your good friends. watching it your first time with them, it was so blatantly obvious that they were still in love.

you pointed your drumstick at the TV screen, “it’s so obvious that she still likes him, look at her posture!” your voice muffled with a mouth full of ice cream.

“that’s what’s fun about these videos! plus it’s kinda sweet that they rekindle the fire through an intense game of truth or dare” hinata replied.

“truth or drink” you emphasized, “and plus, they’re exes for a reason, nonetheless. just because you try again, doesn’t mean there will always be a different outcome. if there was an issue that both parties couldn’t get over, what makes it okay now in front of a camera? men ain’t shit, and honestly so are the girls who participate in these. no self worth honestly.”

“wow... y/n it’s very obvious you’re projecting your feelings about your breakup with kuroo onto these fun challenges,” kageyama spoke for the first time that night.

and he was right. you were still in the mourning period over your breakup. every romantic song, couple, and certain aphrodisiacs were out to get you because it reminded you of him. to ease the pain, you expressed your hurt through bitchiness to others. not only were you a bitch, but a hypocrite.

how? because two years later you were sitting across the table from kuroo, with a camera to your right and shots to your left. you didn’t even know how you got into this position. one night you were super drunk and missed him. submissions were open and your intention was to see him again. other than that, it was all a blur.

as the director read the rules of the game, your’s and kuroo’s eyes were boring into each other, and you were nervous about how he felt currently being in such a vulnerable position.

“first off, we’ll introduce you guys and your back story,” the director instructed.

[where did you guys meet?]

“we-

“she was-”

you both interrupted each other. you lent out your hand as a gesture that he could say it.

“she was actually watching a game of mine, our school was against hers and her seat just happened to be directly in front of my eyesight. she looked beautiful and i-”

“now i have to stop you there, i was not beautiful. i had a bunch of acne and a crooked tooth”

*you look straight at the camera*

“since when are those features not beautiful?” kuroo mocked, making him seem like the best guy in front of the cameras.

you only rolled your eyes and let him go on.

“on our last set, it was a close game. the score was 25-24 nekoma and i needed one more hit. when kenma set it to me, i hit it. the winning spike. that’s when i looked at her, pointed, and blew a kiss. and the rest was history”

you smiled at that memory. it was actually a really sweet moment. you’ve never really felt seen or unique, but he made you feel like the most important person in the world, and you’ll always cherish that.

[when did you guys break up?]

“around 2-3 years ago, it was a while ago” you responded.

*you both immediately grabbed the shots next to each other and clanked the glass together, before downing it*

you chuckled, because of how you both knew this was going to be hard.

*you picked up the top card*

“pffffftttttt rate me in bed, and how i can improve?”

“i would honestly say you’re a good 9? it was very passionate and soft except for the times it wasn’t”

*kuroo winked at the camera, while you punched his shoulder*

“i just wish you let me hit it in the back more”

*you hid your face in complete embarrassment with the card*

“next.”

*kuroo swiped the next card*

the smile on his face immediately turned into stone when he read the card.

“are you attracted to any of my friends?” he said with a pinch of pettiness.

“HAHAhahahaha...” you slowly grab the tequila bottle next to you.

his face conveyed mild irritation with a “🙂” face on him.

“weren’t you attracted to kyoko?” you dramatically raised an eyebrow.

then he grabbed the bottle from your hand. you didn’t feel jealous at all, in fact, you too were attracted to kyoko.

“please censor the name during the final editing” you smiled at the director, and you swore they just blushed.

*you grabbed the next card*

“what’s the most annoying thing about me?”

“you would always just kiss me to avoid conflict. like, when you washed your pink clothes with my white shirts and i called you out on it, we ended up just fucking and i forgot completely about it”

“so you’re saying it worked” you fist bumped the air.

“what about me?” kuroo asked.

“i guess, if i had to name something it’d be your loud snores, loud chewing, forgetting to buy groceries, screaming at our television because kenma missed his sho-”

“okay okay i get it,” stopping you from continuing.

there were only a few more cards left when kuroo picked up the next one.

“are you happy for me now? be honest.”

“of course! you’re literally a professional volley player, basically a celebrity. i am honored i am one of the few that got to know you. you deserve everything that you have and you’re the realest person out there, tetsu” slipping out his nickname so casually, that you mentally screamed.

“thank you y/n, i really appreciate that.” he put his hand on yours with a warming smile, making it seem like he ignored it for your sake.

[why did you guys break up]

that was very tough question. both you stayed silent for a good second, wondering who will talk first.

“i-i’ll go first,

kuroo had been offered a job, fresh off of high school, while i decided to choose the local college. the job was to be a profession volleyball player... for the states. at first, he wasn’t going to take it, because it was too far from me. during our last few months of senior year, rumors about me and kenma circled around. nothing actually happened, but when kuroo asked me, i didn’t respond and...” you hesitated, kuroo’s eyes expressed the same pain from all those years ago.

you bit your lip before continuing, “because letting him think that made him let go and i couldn’t let myself hold him back y’know? it was just a situational breakup and i’m glad i made that decision. all was forgiven between him and kenma shortly after that by the way, just not with him and me.” you giggled at the end, to seemingly make it less awkward. your eyes were glossy— but, you had to confess your biggest secret.

you tried to look for a response from kuroo, but he just stayed silent. desperation started to tingle your skin.

then, kuroo did respond, by getting up from his seat and leaving you there, alone. tears now were freely falling on your face, in front of tons of people nonetheless.

“listen y/n, we can just not post this for privacy.” the director comforted.

“no it’s okay, a deals a deal kenma.” you waved off and left abruptly.

you slammed the doors open to the outside, with a cool breeze hitting your tears. you crouched in a position sobbing, while gasping for breath. he was the love of your life, and the thought of him never forgiving you really hurt.

“y/n”

you knew that voice. it was the same one just minutes ago laughing. you were so mentally drained that you thought you were hallucinating. it was only then when he wrapped his arms around you. you missed this. you missed the warmth of kuroo’s bear hugs.

“if you told me to stay i would’ve.” kuroo whispered into your ear.

“i know you would’ve, t-that’s why i h-had to do what i had to do. and now look at you, you’re rich, famous and... and” you stopped.

“you don’t have to say it y/n.” kuroo raised his voice in a serious manner.

“i-i have to or else i will never accept it nor get any closure.” you sighed, pushing him back out. looking into his eyes, they were also full of remorse, conflict, and sorrow.

as you try muster up the words, he crashed his lips against yours. immediately, you retaliate, knowing that it’s selfish but this was the last time you were ever going to be this vulnerable. the kiss screamed pain, and both of you tasted each other’s salty tears that were getting in the way.

when you finally came to your senses, you pulled away.

“if somehow we are both 40 and single, let’s meet at the place where we first met. until then, happy engagement.”

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #kuroo tetsuro angst #kuroo tetsuro headcanons #kuroo tetsuro x reader

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alldayangst · 3 years

Text

gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet.

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book.

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly.

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball.

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?”

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.”

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two.

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true.

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it.

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Note

do you think MLB h would be at the all star game @ coors field rn looking fine as hell 👀

umm yes. last one of the night. i like this one 😌

—

When they announce his name in the stadium of nearly 100,000 people, he strides up to the stage with a cocky smile and unbothered strut.

He stands up there with them as they introduce all eight, give them a fist bump as they’re all a little nervous to play against one of the most arguable best players in history.

For the first round, Harry has a wide, arrogant smirk as he hits home run after home run until the buzzer is ringing.

He knocked the first person out 27 to 19. Easy as fucking cake.

There’s a cute moment when they break so the other players can set up for their turn and the cameras focus on YN and the kids.

YN and all the kids are in matching jerseys for their dad. Easton and Cash, of course, are making funny faces at the camera. Ezra nuzzles his face shyly into his mother’s side to hide. Briar is just relaxing a sling on her mum’s chest.

The announcer echoes through the stadium, “In the audience, we have recording-breaking Harry Styles’ family tonight. Three boys and a fairly new baby girl.”

The second announcer chimes in, “Yeah, I don’t know if the crowd knows this but he’s been with his wife since sophomore year of college, pre-major leagues.”

“Worked out well for her, huh? I gotta say that those three boys look like little clones of their father,” The one chuckles as Easton and Cash dance around as Ezra continues to hide.

“I agree, hopefully they can play like him too,” The other adds.

Nobody in the crowd misses how Harry’s eyes twinkle as he looks at the mega screen while his family is displayed.

A interviewer with a microphone steps over to the family, she puts the object down at the kids level, “Are you guys excited to see your dad play?”

Easton puts his mouth much too close, YN pulls him back a bit, “Yeah, he’s gonna win ‘cause he’s the best out there!”

Cash squeezes in next to him, “He’s gonna kick ass!”

YN smacks her hand against her forehead with embarrassment as Harry barks out a loud laugh on the field - watching so fucking fondly.

Easton sneaks back in, “He’s not suppose to say that!”

The crowd is cracking up, the woman pushes the mic towards Ezra who is eyeing it up curiously, hesitantly he leans forward and squeals, “I love my daddy.”

The whole stadium erupts in laughs and coos at how cute the little one is.

Harry is holding back a laugh as he blows them a few kisses, god - his babies were fucking perfect.

The second round is just as good for Styles which really shouldn’t be a surprise, everyone knew he had this competition in the bag.

Afterwards, he points up at his wife, and mouths, “this is all for you, mama.”

And like…how does every girl not fall for this man?

Well they do and they are green with envy of YN.

After the buzzer rings on the third round and the crowd explodes with cheers and claps of Harry’s victory.

Well, he just keeps the cocky ass smile like he knew he was going to win the whole time and when the first interviewer chases up to him, he gives an answer as such.

“Harry! How do you feel about winning The Homerun Derby?” He presses a mic into close to his face.

With a shit-eating grin, he shrugs and lazily says, “S’not really a surprise I won, y’know?”

And that’s also why some many people hate him.

“Do you see yourself coming back next year to play again?”

“I totally would as long as the other players coming in are okay with losing,” Harry flashes him a confident squint before a small human then another are nearly toppling him over.

Little chants of ‘Daddy!’ as Easton and Cash tug as his baseball pants, he squat down, “Y’have fun watching, my loves?”

“Did you win?” Cash shouts excitedly, having no idea of what actually was going on as he looks around with wide eyes.

Then there is another squeak of, “Daddy! Missed you!”

Ezra is motioning for his father to pick him up.

Harry chuckles with adoration, scooping his son up onto his hip, “Hi, my lil’ lovebug. Y’like watchin’ daddy play?”

He nods, laying his head on his father’s shoulder, and YN appears with a drowsy Briar, safe and warm in the soft sling.

“Good job, baby-“

“Oi! Get your fuckin’ cameras out of my kid’s faces!” Harry bellows angrily when a photographer gets too close to Easton and Cash.

“Just taking some pictures, bro,” The guy mumbles with embarrassment before backing up.

“And I said to back the fuck away from my children, bro,” He repeats firmly, bring his boys closer to his body.

Briar is blinking curiously up at her father, he can’t help but lean forward and coos, “Hi, m’gorgeous girl.”

She smiles a toothless grin up at him and he is instantly taking the carrier from YN, and slipping the sling over his own chest.

It’s quite comical to see Harry Styles - best player in the league, winner of the derby - toting a infant around in a polka sling as he talks to interviewers.

When he gets sick of the questions, he shrugs and says, “M’sorry guys, the baby say she’s done with interviews for the night.”

Then he just trots off.

When he finally has a moment with his wife, she presses a soft kiss to his lips, “I am so so proud of you, baby.”

He steals a few more slow ones, smiling against her lips when he feels Briar tugging at a button on his jersey, “S’all to impress you, mama.”

“I’m impressed. Best baseball player, best husband, best dad…” she trails off sweetly, rubbing a bit of dirt from his cheek.

“Don’t make me get emotional,” He laughs with a few watery tears welling in his eyes as he quickly scrubs them away.

“I love you,” She murmurs, eyes sincere and devoted.

“I love you more than anythin’,” Harry tells her seriously, “None of this means anything without you, mama.”

#mlb!harry blurbs #mlb!harry masterlist #mlb!harry #mlbrry

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

The Fame Game (Part Three) || Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Sleepovers are supposed to be fun, but perhaps not when they include your fake boyfriend.

Word count ↠ 4.5k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, some bad language, Tom’s shirtless? And also a lil bit jealous

A/N ↠ I decided that Y/N is in Stranger Things because... Joe Keery. You’re welcome. This was a fun part to write! Thank you so much to everyone that’s been loving on this series - makes my heart very very happy to know it’s being read and enjoyed :’) Please let me know what you think of this part! (This picks up directly after part two just with a pov shift)

Series masterpost

THREE: What’s Mine Is Yours (Y)

The studio lights burn your eyes painfully, and your throat has been stinging distantly of tequila ever since you took the first shot.

Jimmy’s been sending you question after question, analysing and picking apart every aspect of your ‘relationship’ with Tom for the past five minutes. So far, you and Tom have answered with your stories aligned, and you thank yourself for having the stroke of genius to go over some essential details with him before the show. If you’d just come out here and winged it, as he had foolishly suggested, you know you would’ve tripped up by now.

It’s all going as expected, until near the end of the interview when Tom’s words split through the air and shock you completely:

“Well, chemistry is a very important part of any relationship, Jimmy, and you know what they say: enemies make the best lovers.”

Enemies make the best lovers..?

Even as the conversation moves on, you feel the words lingering in your mind. Tom’s been playing the role of your doting boyfriend very well all evening, but there has been something a little too earnest about his eyes and his remarks, and it’s left you feeling… odd. Exposed, perhaps. He’s out here claiming that enemies make the perfect foundation to a loving relationship, and though you’re almost certain it was a throwaway comment, you can’t stop yourself from over-analysing it.

“Well, thank you to both of you for joining us tonight,” Jimmy says finally, dragging you from your stupor. “It’s been a pleasure, as always. I wish the happy couple all the best!”

You’re nestled up very close to Tom on the sofa. His hand is on your knee, and you’ve got your arm wrapped around his side. You hadn’t discussed any of this beforehand, but you’d followed his lead when he’d first stretched out his palm. Casual displays of intimacy, according to your PR team, are everything, and it’s been almost nice to have his fingers resting on your leg, acting as a grounding presence. Any time you said something a little risky, he’d squeeze your knee - and you likewise would use your hand on his side to pinch him gently, like a reminder to stop talking whenever he came close to slipping up.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Tom says. He looks around to face you, his brown eyes warm and round. “We’ve had a great time.”

You nod along and pull your hand away from Tom’s side as you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, it’s been amazing.”

Jimmy throws out a few final farewells, and the audience descends into applause. As the bright sign that reads LIVE flickers out, the cameras stop rolling. Almost immediately, you feel lighter. With a loud groan, you stretch your arms out behind your head and collapse back into the sofa, your posture sagging. Besides you, Tom mirrors you, his legs spreading and his knee knocking against yours as you glance over and share a cautious smile.

“That went well, didn’t it?” You ask quietly. Jimmy’s wandered off, and around you, people are rolling up cables and wires. You can feel the eyes of some of the audience on you, so you reach down to play with his hand. Tom lets you fiddle with his fingers, and you gulp as you draw your fingertips across his soft skin.

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. His eyebrows furrow together as he looks at you curiously. “What was the question you answered with Harrison?”

You scoff. “That’s a secret.”

You’d almost died when you’d read the card. As much as you’d disliked the prospect of doing a shot, the question had read ‘Which of Tom’s friends would you consider dating?’. Though you feel no romantic attraction towards Harrison, he’s the only one of Tom’s friends you know. You couldn’t admit it to Tom live, because PR would have had your head, but you don’t particularly want to fess up now, either.

Tom’s always been a bit weird about your friendship with Harrison, and you don’t want to add more strain to your relationship. Maybe a month ago you would’ve loved to have another thing to rub in Tom’s face, but now things are changing. Your relationship is beyond twisted as it is, and much to your surprise, you no longer feel the burning need to exacerbate that - not now you know you’ll be tied to his side for the next five months. For all you thrive off Tom’s discomfort, it’s starting to take a toll.

Tom pouts, but there’s an intense heat to it. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes. “What was your first question?” You return. “The one that you replied to by saying I’m stubborn?”

Tom groans, and the illusion of him being a doting, sweet boyfriend shatters. A part of you is relieved he’s back to normal as he glares at you. Tom has been too nice to you this evening, and it was becoming a little unsettling.

“I won’t tell you mine unless you tell me yours,” he barters. Tom looks down at your joined hands and loops your fingers together, leaning in closer on the sofa so he can drop his voice. The strong waves of his cologne drift out over you, causing your mind to spin. “Oh, come on, girlfriend, we were getting on so well, just tell me? Please?” He even flutters his eyelashes.

You chuckle in the face of his charm. “No way.”

Tom pulls away, his jaw flexing. He drops your fingers dramatically. “Fine. Be like that.” He stands up quickly, but then he pauses and begrudgingly offers you a hand, his eyes skimming the busy room. He, like you, seems to recognise there is a time and place for your petty bickering. “Let me escort you backstage,” he says, voice dry and monotonous.

You sigh heavily. “You’re so annoying,” you tell him, accepting his hand. He helps you up with a strong grip, your fingers tangling together easily. “I almost bought the act that you were actually a decent guy tonight, y’know?”

Tom keeps your hands together as you slowly walk backstage. “I almost bought yours,” he returns, his voice quiet. “I suppose we’re both good actors, aren’t we?”

You set your mouth in a firm line. “I suppose we are.”

You don’t see him for a while, and for that, you’re very grateful. For a few weeks, it seems PR are satisfied with a few teasing tweets here and there, and you enjoy the freedom of living Tom-free again. It really is quite disruptive, having to parade around with him, and lie when your friends and family question you about him. It’s quick to grow tiresome as you have to explain, over and over, that, no, you don’t hate him - love just happened!! Yeah, he’s great! Oh, you always thought there was something going on between us? Haha. Hah. That’s so funny.

It’d be so much easier, you think, if you and Tom got along better. But you know the only way that’ll happen is if one of you apologies to the other, and you’re still too fucking angry about everything to let your walls come down. Your history spans three poisonous years, and you aren’t willing to start lowering your defences for fear of him using that against you. You’d rather suffer through several more months of torture with Tom than show any sort of regret or remorse. You will not be the first to place your cards on the table, which lands you in a difficult position because you know he isn’t the type to concede either. You’re so similar it almost hurts.

About a month after the show, you’re on set when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you pick up the small device to see Rebecca’s name flashing over the screen. With a sigh, you quickly answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi Y/N, it’s Rebecca. I hope you’re doing well.” There’s a brief pause, then, “So, we need you to do something for us tonight.”

You reach up to pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Always straight to the point, aren’t you?”

Your PR manager laughs. “Time is precious,” she reasons. “Anyway, we’ve been monitoring your socials. People find it odd that you’ve not posted anything with Tom, and we’ve realised that there is a shortage of photos of you both together.”

You hum. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve ever had a photo together where it looks like we actually like one another.”

“Exactly. That’s a problem.”

“Great.”

“We’ve been in contact with Tom. He’s going to pick you up once you’re done on set, and then come and stay the night with you. You’ll be spotted entering your apartment together, and he’ll be seen leaving in the morning. Whilst you’re together, if you can try and take some photos, that’d be great. Try to build up a backlog of different shots, so you have some in reserves for the future.”

You throw your head back, biting back a dramatic groan. “He’s coming over tonight?” You clarify.

Rebecca sighs. “Yes, Y/N. Is that okay?”

“I suppose.”

“Perfect. He’ll pick you up from set at 5.”

The line disconnects and you put your phone away, trying not to think about how easily your quiet evening plans have been whipped away. You’re called back to set almost immediately, and that provides you with a perfect distraction. You slip on your mask, sinking into a different character, and you let all your worries and irritations fade away.

When Tom rocks up to set, you’re still filming. You catch him from the corner of your eye as you act opposite your co-star Joe Keery, carrying your banter perfectly. You love Joe - love the fact that both of you are wearing matching sailor costumes and somehow manage to rock them, and that your scenes always flow together very nicely. You’re having a great time together, and you feel sad when the director calls out a final Cut! and the cameras stop.

“Great scene, Y/N,” Joe compliments, reaching out to pat your shoulder.

You smile back at him, nodding lightly. “You too!” You say. “I’m going to miss filming with you.”

Joe nods, whipping the sailor hat from his head and running a hand through his long hair. “Me too,” he agrees, mouth curving into a frown, “Who else would dress up in these stupid costumes with me and not make fun of me?”

You laugh, but before you can form a full reply, you feel a figure lingering behind you. You tilt your head and see Tom there, and then feel his warm hands slip around your waist. It all happens so quickly - one moment he’s whispering hi, the next his fingers are wrapped around you and yours are on his shoulders, then he’s kissing you quickly. It’s just a peck, but it completely blindsides you, and you’re still recovering when he pulls back and looks at Joe.

“Hi, mate, I’m Tom,” he greets, his voice artificial and loud. “Y/N’s boyfriend.”

You look between them, your heart hammering in your chest as you retract your hands and let them fall to your side. Tom immediately links your fingers together.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Joe replies, eyeing you sceptically. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he accepts Tom’s free hand, and they shake slowly.

“All good things, I hope, eh?” Tom replies, glancing over to you. You raise your eyebrows, trying to figure out what he’s doing, but he just grins slyly in response.

“Eh, sure,” Joe says. Your friend rocks back on his feet, and you’re briefly reminded of the many, many occasions where you’d stormed onto set and ran your mouth about Tom. “Well, I’m gonna go now. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He raises a hand.

“Bye, Joe. Have a nice night.”

As soon as Joe’s slipped out of sight, you turn your attention to Tom.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, voice higher and quieter than usual. You pull your hand from his grasp, and it drifts up to your mouth, to where your lips are still feeling the aftershocks of the kiss. You stare at him through wide eyes. He’s in a lovely blue denim jacket today, and it contrasts brightly against his short styled hair and his deep brown eyes.

“Greeting my girlfriend?” Tom replies. He looks a little bashful as he folds his arms across his chest. “Is that a problem?”

Fuck, you hadn’t missed him at all.

“You kissed me,” you state.

“Briefly,” he agrees, “We’re in public, Y/N. It would’ve been weird if I hadn’t done anything. Plus…”

“Plus?”

Tom grimaces. “It felt a bit odd to see you so close to him.” He pauses, his face the picture of discomfort. “I didn’t like it.”

“You have got to be kidding, Tom,” you mutter, eyes widening. “Are you seriously being like this because I touched his arm? He’s my friend, dickhead.” You scrunch up your nose, eyeing him sourly. “You don’t have any right to act territorially, Tom. We aren’t actually dating.”

“Right.” Tom tentatively reaches up, and you let him place his hand on your cheek. It feels almost like an apology, and you find the lines of irritation melting from your face. As his fingertips gently trail across your cheekbone, your lips pull into a small smile. “I’m sorry if I took you off-guard,” he says, surprising you completely. You’d never thought you’d see the day he owned up to one of his actions. “I won’t kiss you again unless we talk about it first.”

You swallow drily, trying not to enjoy the way it feels to have his touch skating over your face so smoothly.

“Good,” you agree. You rock back on your feet and sigh defeatedly. “We should go.”

It’s a little after 7pm by the time you get home. You make light, superficial conversation with Tom in the car as you put up with his chiding remarks about your driving, and by the time you walk through your front door, you feel frazzled.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” you mutter as you walk into your living room and take a view of the mess.

“It’s fine.” Tom places his bag down on the sofa and looks around, greedy eyes taking in the details of your apartment. “It’s nice here.”

“Thanks.” You look around at your apartment, smiling quietly to yourself. The building is in downtown LA, right in the centre of things, and it wasn’t at all cheap, but over the years you’ve spent hidden away within the walls, you’ve made it feel like home. You’ve added character by tacking up a variety of posters, plants, and other fun keepsakes. “Do you want to order food? I don’t really want to cook.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom pulls out his phone and glances up at you, face illuminated by the screen. “What do you want?”

“Thai?”

He pulls a face. “How about Chinese?”

You scrunch your nose up. “Thai?” You try again.

Tom bites his lower lip, his fingers moving over the screen. “Is it nice?” He asks you.

“You’ve never had Thai before?”

He looks up at you, shrugging haplessly. “Nope.”

“Yes, it’s nice.”

Tom surprises you by holding out his phone. “Pick something for me?” He asks. “Something good, though.”

You chuckle softly, accepting the phone and scrolling through the app. “I can’t promise you’ll like it, but I think you should.” You add a few things to the order before tossing it back. You dig your hands into your jean pockets and hesitate. “I’m gonna take a shower. Do you want me to show you the guest room?” You ask, eyeing up the hefty bag Tom had brought with him.

“That would be nice.”

You’re quick to show Tom his room, and then you’re off through the shower. You’d been called to set for 7am, and the hot, pulsing water soothes away the tired ache in your muscles. The scent of fresh lavender clings to your skin as you dry yourself off and then collapse into a loose pair of leggings and a nice hoodie. You feel more like yourself as you stare into your reflection in the mirror now. You love acting, and you love being someone else, but you feel safest as you are right now: bare, authentic, yourself.

You’re so relaxed that you almost forget Tom’s staying over until you walk into the living room and see him sprawled out on one of your sofas, phone in hand. He cranes his face back to look at you as he hears you, his eyes drifting lazily over your figure.

“Food will be an hour,” he tells you sadly.

“Great,” you grumble. You walk into your kitchen, looking over at him from across the open counter. “Do you want any wine?”

“Fuck yeah.”

You snicker as you start to pour out two glasses of rosé. “So how do you want to go about taking these photos?” You ask tentatively.

“Well, they made me bring a few different outfit changes,” Tom starts, speaking slowly, “So I guess we should just… Move about a bit and take some pictures together.”

It’s awkward as you walk back into the living room and hand him his wine glass. “Cheers,” you mutter, tipping the rim of the glass against his. A piercing ring fades across the room, and you share a despondent look with Tom.

“Cheers indeed, love.”

It’s uncomfortable until the wine kicks in, at which point the staged photographs come together a lot easier.

You start off with a few simple candids around your apartment. You take some of Tom pretending to make some tea, and then of him standing out on your balcony overlooking the city. He changes out his shirts and hoodies every few shots, as instructed by PR, so you’ll have a more comprehensive selection of photos to post in the future. It grows quite amusing after a while as you both try to out-Vogue the another, and once the air is full of your endless laughter, you find yourself relaxing.

When he’s satisfied with the number of candids he’s got of you, Tom suggests you get a little closer and try to get some more intimate, couple-y pics, “‘for the ‘gram, yeah?” This is when you run into a problem.

“I haven’t done this in so long,” you find yourself admitting as you sit beside Tom in your bed. You’ve slipped into a pyjama shirt, and Tom’s settled beside you.

“Had an incredibly handsome actor in bed with you?” He returns, eyes sparkling mischievously. This evening he’s been very cheeky with you, and you have to admit you’re warming up to it.

“Haha,” you say drily, rolling your eyes. You puff up your pillows and settle against the headboard. “Taken any photos with a romantic interest,” you clarify.

Tom pulls off his shirt easily, balling it up and throwing it across the room. You startle at this sudden action, your eyes drifting down to the defined lines of his abs. Tom is stacked. His lips curve into a smirk.

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” he teases, causing you to scoff. He opens up his arms, and you settle into them gently, aiming for a sleepy, lazy, we-woke-up-like-this vibe. Your head finds his chest, and your cheek presses against his warm skin comfortably. “Smile.”

He takes a few photos of you together, posing as a lovestruck couple, and as the seconds pass by, you melt further into him. You hadn’t realised how cold you were until Tom opened his arms and let you in, but now it’s as if you were freezing before the first touch. He’s got his hand resting on your side, and you feel his mouth linger above your forehead, hesitating.

“Can I kiss your face?” He mumbles softly, “Might make it look more realistic.”

You hum quietly, closing your eyes as you wrap yourself further around his torso. “Sure. Can I kiss your chest?” You ask boldly, spurred on a little by the woozy heat that smothers your mind.

You hear Tom’s breath hitch, and find yourself holding yours until he mutters, quietly, “Yeah.”

You let him have his fun first, and try to remain as nonchalant as possible as you feel his lips fluttering out across your forehead. He leaves a delicate trail of kisses from temple to temple, caressing your skin slowly, softly, with his warm mouth. You realise with a soft epiphany that you don’t mind being in this position: Tom’s peppering your face in gentle kisses, holding you close in his bare arms - and it’s quite nice. And maybe… Maybe he’s quite nice, too. Sometimes.

Tom’s hand smoothes over your hair, and you tilt your head until you’re able to scatter a few short kisses across his chest. You can hear the small clicks coming from his phone, and you really drag it out, enjoying the press of his supple pale skin against your mouth. It warms you up, sets a tingle flaming through your lips.

“There,” you say, finally dragging yourself away from him. “Do you think we’ve done enough?”

Tom hums, watching you closely as you sit up from his chest. His arm retracts from your side, and the air between you clears. “Yeah. I’ll send them to PR and see what they say.” He messes around on his phone for a few minutes, but you stay exactly where you are - shrouded in duvet and blankets and lingering near his body heat. Your eyelids flutter shut as you relax, your peace lasting until he asks, slowly, “When was the last time you dated anyone?”

You pry open an eye, looking at him curiously. “Eh, it’s been a while. Almost a year since there was anyone serious.” You look up at him, your head resting easily on the pillow. “Why?”

“Just realised I don’t know that much about you, really,” Tom replies. He slips down the bed until he’s lying beside you, and both of you move onto your sides to face one another. He looks quiet and unassuming like this - tufts of brown hair pushed messily around his forehead, with a warm expression hanging from his lips. It’s an odd look to be directed towards you.

“Yeah,” you hum. You let a small smile find your lips. “I don’t know much about you either.”

The sheets rustle as Tom moves a little closer. “Do you… want to know more about me?” He asks gently.

You swallow. You can taste the wine on your tongue, and you wonder why you can only seem to get along with him when you’re tipsy.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe it’d be easier to do this if we weren’t always so…”

“Horrible?”

You bite your lip as you nod. “Yeah. We can be pretty mean.”

“Why do we do that?” Tom muses, his cheeks nice and flushed.

“I don’t know.”

Tom reaches out beneath the covers, and his hand finds yours softly. He links your fingers together, and you look into his eyes intently. You find only warmth and sincerity staring back at you.

“Maybe we should try to be less hostile to each other,” he suggests.

Briefly, your mind rewinds to that day at the park, all those weeks ago, and how Tom had dramatically announced that the thought of being your friend repulsed him. It surprises you to hear this change of heart, but you realise you’re in the same boat. A lot has changed since then.

“Okay,” you find yourself agreeing. “I’d be down to try that.”

“Okay.”

You share a small smile, and it seems to last a lifetime. For a while, it’s just you and Tom, buried in your bed together, hands clasped, breathing in sync, and it’s nice.

Eventually, food comes, and you convince Tom to watch one of your favourite films in your living room. You settle on separate sofas, but you’re able to make some light-hearted conversation. He even jokes around with you. It feels nice - but also too good to be true.

As you sober up, you find yourself looking at him sceptically. No matter how welcome the thought that things between you are slowly mending might be, you don’t trust Tom, and that’s not about the change overnight. He’s an actor, and you wouldn’t put it past him to be pulling your leg - drawing you into this rouse, only later to turn around and pull the rug from beneath you, and laugh at you for believing that he’d want to be your friend. Your perception of him has been skewed so negatively for so long that it’s hard to believe he’s actually being nice - even if on your end, the softening is genuine.

But you let yourself believe it, just for the night. You throw popcorn at him, and laugh together, and finish the bottle of wine over dinner.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom calls out, resting up against the door of the spare room. He’s caught you coming from the bathroom. He’s shirtless again, grey sweats hanging low from his hips, and you can’t stop your eyes from shamelessly tracing the curve of his v-line. “Not going to give your boyfriend a goodnight kiss?”

You roll your eyes, but you find yourself walking over to him. “You’re so fucking cheeky, Tom,” you mutter, amused. You press your hand to his shoulder and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight,” you say, eyeing him firmly.

Tom’s eyes dance with a thousand different emotions, and he dives in to kiss your cheek in return. “Night, love.”

You raise a hand in farewell and turn away before he can see the huge, embarrassing grin on your face.

When you wake up, it’s to silence and a slightly sore head. Your clock reads 8.22 AM, and you amble towards the kitchen.

You decide to extend towards Tom an olive branch - a cup of tea - to solidify your newfound… friendship? Amicable arrangement? You don’t know how to label it other than a loosening of your mutual disdain, but you know that whatever the dynamic was last night, it’d been nice. The idea that there’s more to him than the cocky, fronting mask he sometimes wears is pleasant.

So you make him a cup of tea, and then tentatively walk across to your spare room. You knock quietly, hear nothing, and then gently push your way inside.

The room is empty. Tom is gone. He’s left the bed unmade.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, scrunching your eyebrows together. You glance around and notice he’s taken all of his things, and then walk back into your room to check your phone - no new messages from him.

You sit down on the edge of your bed and sip at the tea you’d painstakingly poured for him.

Maybe it was too good to be true, and you’d just been stupid to think one tipsy evening together was the start of something new. He’s clearly undergone no change of heart if he’s managed to waltz out without as much as a text goodbye. You feel stupid and angry, but above all disappointed.

Because for a moment - a brief, hopeful moment - you’d imagined being Tom’s friend, and the prospect had made you feel happy.

↠ NEXT PART

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland series #tfg #yeeeeeep !!!#y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert

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patt-writes-stuff · 3 years

Text

Pink (Hawks x gn!Reader)

Pairing: Hawks/Takami Keigo x gn! Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: cursing but that’s about it!

Genre: Fluff, slight angst, Romantic/Relationship

Tags/Aus: boss x secretary, pining, slow burn, slight cannon divergence probably

Summary: 5 times your boss, Hawks, made you flustered + the one time you made him flustered

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! This is my fic for the Attack on Academia server’s Secret Santa Event!! This is for @sugacookiies !! and I really hope you like it!!!

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 1

“Thank you so much for coming today, we’ll be sure to get back to you soon,” the lady who had been interviewing you said, smiling at you. You bowed your head slightly, thanking her for her time with a small smile on your face.

After exiting the room and closing the door, you took a deep breath, as if to calm your still very present nerves. You had been up for a job as a secretary at pro hero Hawk’s agency, something you were more than thrilled about.

Growing up, you’d always been immensely intrigued with the world of pro heroes. Your room had been decked out in hero figurines and posters, the whole nine yards. Hell, even your comforter was hero themed at a certain point in time. It had just always fascinated you how these people would use their quirks for the good of humanity and to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Sadly, your quirk, MoodLocks, wasn’t very useful in crime-fighting. All it did was allow your hair to change colors depending on your mood. It was pretty, of course, but you had a hard time controlling it and it could never help you beat an opponent. If anything, it would give the villain an insight into your thoughts and put you at a clear disadvantage.

So, as time passed, your childish fantasies of becoming a hero did as well. It didn’t bother you anymore, as you were more than happy with the career you’d chosen. Your love of heroes was still very much present, hence why you were so nervous about today’s interview. If you got the job, not only would the pay be incredible, but you’d also get the chance to help an actual hero. Maybe you’d even get the chance to meet more of them!

You were pretty sure you had made a fairly good impression so hopefully, you would indeed get a call from the agency soon.

Walking out of the agency, you couldn’t help but let out a yawn. You’d stayed up far too late last night googling commonly asked job interview questions so you wanted nothing more than to get back to your apartment and catch up on some much-needed rest. Maybe you and your roommate could order in.

“Oh God, I am so sorry that was my fault. I just finished this super stressful interview and I’m super tired so I was not watching where I was going-” your babbling came to a sudden halt as you looked up, brain losing all ability to form coherent thoughts.

Right before your very eyes was the man who’s “a bit too fast” in all his red-winged glory. You’d seen him in interviews online, of course, you kept up with most pro hero interviews, so you knew he was handsome. However, the cameras most certainly did not do the man justice. His yellow glasses were resting on his forehead, pushing his messy (and very soft looking) blond hair back. His gold eyes seemed to be looking right into your soul, calculating yet calm.

God, you wished you could make your eyeliner look remotely similar to his.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you realized that you’d been staring for what you could only describe as an uncomfortably long amount of time.

Before you could embarrass yourself further, the winged hero placed a gloved hand on your shoulder. He looked at the top of your head, an intrigued expression adorning his face before morphing into an easy smile, he spoke, “‘S no problem, chickadee. Good luck with your interview.”

And just like that, the hero went along his merry way.

Curious what he’d been staring at, not to mention the nickname, you looked up at your hair, which had previously been a bright shade of orange due to being anxious, was now very pink. You blanched at the thought of having lost control of your quirk so easily, in front of a cute guy pro hero who might be your future boss no less.

‘Well,’ you thought, ‘at least I can say I met Japan’s #2 hero even if I don’t get this job.’

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 2

Much to your surprise, and pleasure, you had indeed received a call from Hawks’ agency about a week later. After several follow up interviews (much more than you were expecting, honestly, but you suppose it made since he’s such a high ranking hero) a very thorough background check, you had gotten the job.

When you had gotten the job, you had been hoping that the blond would have forgotten your first encounter, since you had literally malfunctioned right before his very eyes. The chances of him forgetting weren’t exactly small, after all. You were sure he met plenty of people every day and your interaction had been incredibly brief.

A month into your job as his secretary, you seemed to be in the clear. Sure, he knew about your quirk, since he was your employer and the ever-changing array of colors in your hair aren’t exactly subtle, but seeing as he hadn’t mentioned it so he’d probably forgotten.

You’d stayed at the agency long after your shift was overdue to a couple of low-ranking villains attempting to rob a bank. It had been an easy win for Hawks, he was in and out of there long before his sidekicks had even gotten there, but the villains had caused a lot of unnecessary damage to the building, so there was a ridiculous amount of paperwork.

You couldn’t wait to get home and change out of your stuffy work clothes and into the comfiest pair of PJs you owned. Your roommate, always a sweetheart, had been kind enough to save you some leftovers from her dinner so all you had to do was warm it up, eat, shower, and crash on your bed.

Whilst you were getting ready to head home, your boss had decided that it was only fair to walk you home, seeing as it was late. You had insisted that he didn’t need to do that, even showing him the can of pepper spray you carried around your person at all times. Still, he’d insisted, and who were you to say no?

The winged hero had originally offered to fly you home, but you’d profusely told him it wasn’t necessary. So, the two of you ended up taking the train. The two of you got a couple of weird stares from your fellow passengers, seeing as the flying hero was taking a train instead of y’know… flying and his wings took a significantly large part of the seat the two of you were occupying (it seemed uncomfortable but he didn’t mention it). Hawks seemed to either not notice or not care, opting instead to have an animated conversation with you about the best fried chicken places in Fukuoka. It was mostly him talking, but you’d add to the conversation every once in a while, and sometimes people would interrupt and ask for an autograph, which he’d sign with a carefree smile on his face.

“You don’t have to walk me home, sir,” you told him after the two of you had exited the station closest to your apartment.

“What kind of hero would I be if I let a civilian walk alone across the dark streets of Japan?” He asked you, tone light and teasing. “Also, didn’t I tell you to call me Hawks? Sir makes me feel old.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at his words, turning to the left towards your apartment. You’d get there soon and a small part of you wanted to keep the banter going for as long as possible.

“I don’t think that would be very professional of me, sir,” you said playfully. He laughed and the two of you settled into a comfortable silence while you walked.

After a moment, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and he spoke up, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how exactly does your quirk work?”

“Oh well, y’know, it changes color depending on my mood, so red means I’m angry, blue can mean I’m sad or calm, pink means I’m flustered or embarrassed, purple means I’m scared, etc.”

“So your hair went pink the first time we met because you were starstruck by my devilishly good looks?” He asked in a faux haughty tone. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.”

The asshole remembered your first encounter.

Your hair turned pink and you celebrated inwardly as you approached your apartment. As you opened the glass door to the complex, Hawks laughed at your hurry.

“Good night,” you stated, tone indignant at his laughter, as you made your way inside.”

“‘Night, Pinky.”

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 3

Working for the red-winged hero himself was both everything you were expecting it to be and completely the opposite of it at the same time.

The hours were crazy, something you were anticipating considering villain activity had been increasing and your boss was a busy public figure. What you were certainly not anticipating, however, was that Hawks would be such a teasing little shit.

Not only had the man remembered your first encounter, but after you had explained your quirk to him (he’d asked you about it despite it being in the agency’s records since you had applied for the position, you guessed he’d done it as a way to break the ice) he’d taken it upon himself to fluster you to get your hair to go that embarrassingly bright shade of pink.

He’d call you all sorts of nicknames ranging from pinky to songbird (your favorite was by far Pinky since it feels so personal. Not that you’d ever tell him that). He’d also gotten into the habit of trying out all sorts of ridiculous pick up lines on you. The greater majority of them were bird-related, of course. Those never really got you but they did make you laugh.

The one that probably got you the most was when he’d bring you your favorite drink or lunch from a place you’d mentioned you’d like offhandedly, saying he had just been “flying by” and remembered your conversation.

You didn’t mind his flirtatious banter in the slightest. He never crossed any boundaries and kept things professional when it came to business. It was pretty fun to see what nicknames or pickup lines he had up his sleeves.

The only downside was that you’d begun to develop a slight crush on the red-winged hero. It would never lead to anything, you were well aware of that. He was not only a famous hero who was constantly under public scrutiny, but he was also your boss.

It can’t hurt to dream though.

“What’s got you so distracted?” An all too familiar broke your very him-centric train of thought. You looked up from the paperwork you’d been blankly staring at. You’d been trying to multitask between eating and doing paperwork so you wouldn’t have to take any work home. After much insistence from your roommate, who was well aware of your crush on Your boss (she’d teasingly gifted you a pair of Hawks themed PJs on your birthday), you had finally given in and agreed to let her set you up on a date with a former schoolmate of hers.

“Nothing, just thinking about a date I have tonight,” you lied, looking up from your desk to meet those lovely honey-colored eyes you spent more hours than you’d care to admit thinking about. You scanned his body language, trying to gauge his reaction. Not that you could ever get a read on him. More often than not, it was impossible to get a read on him under the visage of carefree indifference he was so well known for. In the almost half a year you’d known him you’d never once seen the hero lose his cool or show any emotion other than the ones he wanted to portray. It was kind of unfair seeing as he could get a picture-perfect look into your thoughts and emotions just by looking at the color of your hair and here you were, left grasping at straws.

He seemed to have no outward reaction other than his shoulders tensing and his eyebrows scrunching up a bit in mild distaste. It was gone so fast you were sure you must have just imagined it.

“Pinky’s got themselves a date?” he said after a moment, a slightly forced teasing tilt to his voice. He crossed his hands and placed them on the taller part of your desk and leaned his weight on them, staring down at you with a cheeky grin.

“I guess so,” you said, fiddling with your chopsticks as you continued, “I’m kind of nervous though. I haven’t got on any dates since I started working here, I’m a little rusty.”

“How come you haven’t gone on any dates?” he asked, staring at you with an intensity you weren’t quite expecting from him. “Had a special someone in mind?”

The roots of your hair went white in surprise before you managed to school them into going back to your natural hair color. It was brief but he had surely noticed.

“I’d go on lots of dates if my boss gave me more days off,” you said, pushing past the momentary lull in the conversation and giving him a pointed look.

He let out a laugh, a real and genuine one, unlike the ones he’d let out during interviews or out in public. The thought made your face heat up. It made you feel special. Even if he didn’t see you in the same way you saw him, he at least trusted you enough to be real around you. That was enough for you.

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, kid, any person would be lucky to land a date with someone as beautiful as you,” He stated, looking at you with a certain emotion behind his gaze that you couldn’t quite decipher. “If your date happens to go south, just give me a call and I’ll pick you up. After all, what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t look out for my secretary?”

You looked at his retreating form, your hair as pink as bubble gum and heart threatening to beat out of your rib cage. He’d just called you beautiful. He’d also said that anyone would be lucky to date you. Did that include him? Did he like you?

“Hey Hawks,” you called out, surprising both him and yourself. Despite him telling you to just call him Hawks instead of ‘sir’, you’d stuck to calling him sir for the sake of professionality. “Thanks for the offer.”

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 4

You let out a tired sigh as you watched the number of floors go up on the tiny screen atop the doors of the elevator you were currently in.

When you had signed your contract to work at Hawks’ agency, you were aware that you would need to be accessible 24/7, however, you thought that if he did contact you at an ungodly hour, it’d be for something important, perhaps something along the lines of a press scandal or a massive villain attack that you’d need to start filing paperwork promptly so that the agency could report the casualties or cost of the destruction. You had highly doubted Hawks, Japan’s literal #2 hero would call his secretary at 3:00 a.m. in the goddamn morning and order them to bring him a bucket of fried chicken from fucking KFC.

You clearly hadn’t known the man at the time, you thought as you stared at the red and white bucket in your arms.

The elevator dinged, alerting you that you had arrived at your destination. Making your way through the hallway, you tried to figure out why your boss would be so cruel as to make you get him fast food when he had two perfectly capable wings that could take him to and from the nearest KFC faster than you ever could. You bet it’d even be warmer.

You’d need to download UberEats on his phone.

Before your fist could make contact with the door, it was swung open, surprising your half-asleep brain. Before your eyes there was a very awake looking Hawks, his eyes zeroed in on the bucket you were holding

“Hey there, chickadee,” he said in a teasing tone, resting his arm on the door frame in a very attractive manner. God, if you were just a bit more coherent and a little less sleep-deprived, your hair would be the most embarrassingly bright pink color imaginable.

Thankfully, you weren’t and you could hear your bed calling your name from across the city, so without bothering to answer, you shoved the bucket of chicken into his arms before turning around to speed your way back to your at this point cold bed.

Before you could get very far, however, Hawks had grabbed your wrist with your free hand.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” He asked you, letting go of your wrist.

“It’s 3 in the goddamn morning, Hawks,” was your deadpan answer.

“C’mon, you wouldn’t let your poor boss eat all alone would you,” you could tell his tone was meant to be light and playful but it was lacking his usual flare.

Your concern for the overgrown pigeon won out, and with a defeated sigh, you walked into his apartment, Hawks trailing behind you, visibly pleased that you stayed.

Despite all your time working for Hawks, you’d never actually been inside of his apartment. You had come here several times before to drop off documents he needed to sign or a new schedule (because the Hero Commission apparently couldn’t send emails directly to him) but you had always left the things at his building's front desk.

Hawks’ apartment was… emptier than you had expected it to be. It was nice, the furniture was obviously high quality, not that it was surprising considering he was a high ranking hero, but it lacked a personal touch. It had no pictures or knick-knacks in sight. It felt more like a house instead of an actual home.

“So, how’d your date go?” Hawks inquired once the two of you settled in his living room, him on the couch and you in the armchair next to it. He picked up a piece of chicken, offering it to you. However, it was far too early to even think about consuming food, so you politely declined.

“It was fine. He was nice,” you answered.

To be honest the date had gone well. He’d been nice, a complete gentleman. He’d taken you to a nice restaurant, he was great in conversation, he’d even walked you home but at the end of the night, the two of you had agreed that there was just no chemistry between the two of you whatsoever. You had decided to just stay friends.

“There won’t be a second one, though,” you added after a beat of silence.

“Good,” your eyes widened at his words and suddenly you had an epiphany.

Hawks had been jealous. He was jealous because he liked you. That’s why he had asked you to come here.

Before you could voice your thoughts, he spoke again, a sly smirk on his face, “By the way, I love your pajamas. I wasn’t aware you were such a fan.”

Your hair turned pink, as it often did whenever Hawks was around when you looked down at your clothes. In your haste to get Hawks his food so you could go back to bed, you had forgone changing clothes. You hadn’t realized you were wearing the Hawks themed PJs your roommate had gotten you as a gag gift. They were mustard-colored with lots of cute red feathers and tiny Hawks chibi heads scattered around the fabric.

He would never let you live this down.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 5

Following the KFC event, the two of you hadn’t spoken about the situation further. At this point, you were well aware of his feelings for you, and you hadn’t exactly been subtle about liking him. The two of you just hadn’t spoken about it. You weren’t official but there was an unspoken rule that neither of you would go on dates with other people.

You were fine with it. Really, you were.

Except that you were definitely not okay with it and you were very much upset that he had just answered that he was single when the lady that had interviewed him had asked him if he was seeing anyone.

Rationally, you understood why he said no. You weren’t official and saying yes would just throw the media into a frenzy while they speculated who he was seeing. You remember how crazy everyone went a couple of months ago when pictures of Mirko and Hawks in their street clothes hanging out started circulating on Twitter. They were trending for weeks, and you had had to answer call after call, explaining that no, they are not dating and no, they don’t have time to go on the 8:00 a.m. news to answer questions about what it was like to date as pro heroes.

On the other hand, you were tired of dancing around each other. You were aware that dating a pro hero would come with hectic schedules and even some danger, but you didn’t care.

“So I was thinking you could come over and we can watch that hero documentary you told me to watch- hey are you mad at me?” Hawks asked, brows furrowed as in confusion.

“No, I’m not angry at you,” you answered, putting your stuff away and heading to the agency’s doors. You were more than ready to go back to your apartment and there was a pint of your favorite ice cream waiting for you in the freezer with your name on it.

“You totally are,” he scoffed, following after you.

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are.” Your overgrown pigeon of a boss insisted, mimicking your tone, “If you’re not angry then why is your hair red?”

With a sigh, you spoke, failing to hide the snarky tone to your voice “So what if I am angry? Why do you care? It’s not like we’re dating or anything.” You walked out onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, that’s what you're upset about?” He asked, realization dawning upon his features. When you didn’t answer he kept talking, “You of all people know why I didn’t say anything.”

“I know. It’s just- nothing, never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” You told him, looking away with a defeated sigh.

You were about to walk away before he stopped you by placing his glove cladded hand

“At least let me take you home,” it wasn’t much of a question, but you nodded anyways.

All of a sudden, you let out a shrill scream when he picked you up bridal style, hands instinctively clasping on to his coat to assure you wouldn’t fall.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you home,” he explained as if it were obvious. Before you had a chance to argue he set off into the sky.

You couldn’t hear anything but the wind in your ears and his heartbeat, but you finally understood why he loved flying so much. Exhilarating was the only word you could use to describe it. And cold. It was also really cold. You understood why he walked around with such a heavy coat now. You snuggled more into him, trying to get some more warmth, which caused Hawks to tighten his hold on you. The affectionate gesture alone had your hair going a shade of pink.

You got to your apartment building much faster than you ever would by taking the train, something that you regretted a bit since it meant he’d let go of you.

“Look, Hawks,” you started, “maybe we should-“

“Keigo,” he said, effectively cutting you off,

“W-what?” You spluttered, caught off guard.

“I want you to call me Keigo,” he said with a sense of finality, looking into your eyes with an emotion you couldn’t quite read, or at least one that you were just choosing to ignore. It’d just make what you were about to suggest harder.

“Look, Hawks,” you started, opening the door that led to the stairs, “I really like you, hell, maybe even more than that, and I want to be with you but I don’t want to be whatever we are right now forever.”

Ignoring the way his wings physically dropped at your words, you closed the door behind you and headed to your apartment.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 1

Once you got home, you immediately stripped out of your work clothes and into your Hawks-themed pajamas (because they're the comfiest, not because they remind you of him, obviously) and you’d taken out your ice cream and went to town on it. Your roommate had noticed the dark blue that had taken over your hair but you’d brushed her off, saying it was nothing to worry about. She’d been doubtful, but she had a night shift so she left, but not before making you promise to call her if you needed to.

You’d spent the rest of the evening eating your ice cream and watching tv before deciding to get some sleep so you would feel at least a little less sorry for yourself tomorrow.

You were currently in your room, scrolling through your phone on your bed before calling it a day when you started to hear a tapping sound. You’d ruled it out to be some tree branch knocking against your window due to the wind. However, the longer you ignored it the more incessant it became.

You nearly fell out of your bed when you realized it was Hawks, your boss, the #2 pro hero of Japan, tapping on your window while squatting on your fire escape.

You got up, heading towards your window and unlocking it before pushing it up. You helped him in before sitting down on the bed and motioning for him to do the same. An awkward silence filled the air, neither of you was quite sure of what you should say.

“Hawks, what are-“ you started before being cut off by him.

“Look, Pinky, I love you so much it scares the shit out of me,” he declared. Your hair went the brightest shade of pink it had ever been at his words.

He played with the embroidered design of the throw blanket you kept in your bed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the red-winged hero so vulnerable in all your time knowing him.

“But there’s a lot of crap that comes with my job and I could never forgive myself if I brought you into it and you got hurt. So-“ before he could finish speaking, you grabbed onto his coat’s collar with both of your hands and crashed your lips against his.

You’d waited almost an entire year for this. One thing was for certain, it was well worth the wait. You loved every single thing about him. And he loved you. That was all you needed.

After a beat, you pulled away, choosing instead to cup his cheek in an adoring manner. The two of you looked at each other with nothing short of pure unadulterated adoration.

“I love you Keigo,” you spoke his name for the first time, “as long as you’re by my side I don’t care about what happens.”

His reaction was, for lack of a better word, cute. His honey eyes were wide in shock, his face as red as his wings, and his aforementioned wings were puffed up in shock. Now you understood why he loved teasing you so much.

“So, do you wanna watch the documentary?” You asked him, walking out of your room and into the living room with a victorious smirk.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #takami x reader #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #secret santa fic #patt’s creations

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