#Even Though It's Not Tuesday... Because Things Happened... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jensthwa · 11 months ago

Text

we can't be friends (CS x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

San is your first love. He broke your heart and played with your feelings without even kissing you back when you two were in highschool. Now, many years later, you do your best to avoid crossing paths with him because there's just no way you could ever hate him, but there's also no way you two can be friends again. But his best friend is also one of your best friends, so there's only so much you can do to avoid San when he arranges a dinner you're forced to go to.

PAIRING: first love!choi san x afab reader.

GENRE: one shot (fluff, angst, smut)

WORD COUNT: 20k (yikes).

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, unnecesary pinning, a looot of context, bad friends :(, some arguing, tension, drinking and drunk behavior, tears, making out, description of female anatomy, oral (f reciving), fingering, love making, pet names (babe, baby), flirty seonghwa, wooyoung being a little shit again but also a genius, gyuri almost commiting a crime.

NOTES: hi everyone! this is a lenghty one, i know, but trust me when I say the context is necessary to understand what reader goes through with san. also, some of this may or may not have happened to me (have fun figuring out which part) (it's quite obvious tbh). THIS IS PART OF THE SHOW AND TELL UNIVERSE BUT CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE, even though there's some references and characters that you can only know if you read s&t lol. this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: august 06 2024.

permanent taglist: @hotteokkay, @potatomountain, @fairylover68

masterlist.

You and Choi San go way back.

Well, it's nine years way back? You were only fourteen when you first saw him.

He moved back to your area of the city a year after you moved from an entirely different one. You thought you knew every school secret there ever was, provided by your new best friend, Gyuri, but she didn't tell you about him at all.

She claimed that it was because he didn't cause any stir the years they studied together before and after spending a whole first period in your eighth grade classroom with him at the back of the class, silently taking notes, you couldn't phantom why.

He was great at every subject, seemed to have a lot of popular friends and was, overall, a pretty nice guy. He was also very cute, skinny but you could tell he was the kind of guy who played a sport outside of school hours and he had a cute pair of dimples that showed everytime you scanned the classroom just to lay eyes on him.

Choi San was a perfect boy to crush on, even a perfect guy just to have as eye candy during recess. You felt really strongly about him, not really forming a full opinion although your gut told you right away you were right. There was something about him… but you only figured that something until later, next year, starting your ninth grade.

Gyuri and you were avid readers. Precocious girls, with minds way above your age. All your teachers praised came laced with the same compliment so you both decided that was the truth. You rejoiced in it, thinking you shared things in common with the grown ups and decided that that was the key to feeling a little superior in comparison to the rest of your classmates, who neither of you liked very much.

Until they all decided to start dating each other and you two realized you were nothing but two kids with great imaginations and a love for school, praise and fictional men that couldn't be translated to the real world without sounding delusional and weird.

So you decided to do something about it. And so, on a random Tuesday recess, you two scanned the crowd trying to find two boys (or a boy and a girl, because you always knew you liked girls too) worthy of your affections. One for her, one for you. Bonus points if the two of them were also best friends, of course.

Double dates were all the buzz at the time anyways.

Besides, only then they could understand the bond you and Gyuri had. Sisterhood like no other, nevermind Gyuri actually had an older sister and a niece at the ripe age of fifteen.

And so when your index finger scanned the crowd and eliminated at least three potential crushes before landing on Choi San, you felt like it was meant to be.

You see, his best friend, Jung Wooyoung, was perfect for Gyuri to crush on. He was almost as tall as she was at the time and his easy, outgoing personality was compatible with her book crush at the time as well.

He also flirted with her on several occasions before that.

So it was meant to be.

Choi San, on the other hand, had never even glanced in your direction before.

Just like your book crush did before he fell in love with the main character.

See? Meant. To. Be.

It was decided then that, although Choi San was not going to be your first crush ever, he was going to be the guy that motivated you to be at school for the time being, because math gets really boring after trying and failing at least ten times.

You thought nothing of it when it felt a little forced, when you couldn't blush at all at the sight of him and you gathered that it didn't need to happen like in the books you read. You simply needed to say his name when someone asked you if you had a crush on anyone and that was enough to be in symphony with the rest of your classmates.

Your longing glances were caught once or twice by him and you brushed the weird flip your stomach did everytime he looked away, blushing a little. You never really cared when it happened, really, knowing his crowd and your crowd (Gyuri and you) would never even cross paths in the first place.

You two kept to yourselves and your little book unofficial book club, sitting on the floor at lunch time and cursing everyone who dared to call you weird for it. San and Wooyoung had a crowd of people at the loudest table laughing with them over stupid teen jokes and, uh, sports? You didn't even know.

And then the unimaginable happened.

Jung Wooyoung sat down, criss cross applesauce and everything, in front of you on a random Monday afternoon while you and Gyuri discussed the english assignment due next period.

Gyuri was not too excited about that.

Turns out, the only one excited to have a crush at school was you. She was very much still in the Lonely Hearts Club phase while you skipped all the way to your The Notebook phase and she was, in her own words, too afraid to admit it when you came up with your crush plan.

You forgave her, of course, and decided to wait for her as long as needed because you were certainly not about to be an individual and have a crush on your own.

And by the time Wooyoung smiled at you both and introduced himself to you, like you weren't in the same class for a year already, you thought your pretend crush on his best friend evaporated and joined the void superficial and fleeting interests you had.

But then Choi San sat beside him, his knee brushing against yours in the process, and you knew you would have to issue a formal apology to your best and only friend for leaving her behind on this little thing.

Because, oh boy, were you crushing on Choi San.

You felt the blush rush to your cheeks and then fell silent while your friend and his friend discussed Fifty Shades of Grey for some reason you never cared enough to discover and you knew you were done for.

It was the first time seeing his dimples in full action, so close to you, so you completely stopped functioning all together. Amazing.

When you decided to have a crush, you never took into account that you were, actually, quite shy. And he really wasn't, but you noticed that he knew when to talk and what to say and with your friend being a lot more outgoing that you were it gave you the comfort that she would speak for the both of you while you admired from the sidelines as your little duo became a group of friends you still miss deeply to this day.

He was funny and you laughed at your jokes even though you pretended to be tired and completely worn out by the school day, resting your head on Gyuri’s shoulder and stealing glances at the boy while she kept arguing with his best friend.

Wooyoung was popular and liked enough to have a few people sit with you later that week, people who never even knew you existed before that. They were good friends with San as well, so you tried your best to keep up with everyone until she sat down next to you one day.

Arin was not really a bad person. She just was a bit conceited, calling herself princess type of conceited and you never really related to her even if she was nice to you to your face. She was absolutely gorgeous and, you found out with Wooyoung’s arm around your shoulder and a whisper to your ear, she had been San’s crush since they were both in elementary school.

That would explain the sudden tension at the table when she sat down next to you, said hello to everyone, offered you a sweet she just bought from the cafeteria, and stared at San for the remainder of lunch time.

You also noticed Wooyoung glaring at her a little and he later explained to you that he didn't really like her all that much. She loved attention and San gave her attention, so she would intentionally flirt with him to get her ego stroked in return.

It didn't really matter how he felt about the girl, though, he didn't have to like her just because his best friend did. And when you caught her batting her eyelashes at San, you knew you didn't even stand a chance.

You tried to hide the disappointed look on your face but both Gyuri and Wooyoung looked at you while the two of them flirted endlessly for the remainder of lunch time and you figured you were doing a pretty shitty job at it. He didn't glance at you once either way, so it didn't really matter.

Arin did but she just complimented your eyes and then started a conversation with someone across the table, her annoying sweet and fake voice making your right ear ring in disapproval.

Either way, you ended up becoming her friend. Gyuri was not very fond of her and neither were you, but you all went to the bathroom together, did your makeup together, did school projects together and then sat everyday at lunch together with the rest of the guys who were, in one way or another, trying to get her to like them.

Because, once again, she was a sight for sore eyes.

It wasn't until later, in the middle of the year, that one of them did. Not Choi San, but Choi Yeonjun.

You remember the day you found out they were together and the gut wrenching concern you felt when you found out that San was not at school that day.

It was after summer break, you remember Wooyoung telling you that San and his family took a few more days of vacation and if you couldn't believe your eyes when you saw the new couple sharing a sweet kiss at the designated lunch table, you could only imagine how San felt the next day when he saw the same image right in front of him.

Yeonjun was his friend, right? He knew about his crush and decided to get together with her anyways. Surely, San was devastated.

But he wasn't. He just cheered them on and then laughed along when Yeonjun shoved his arm playfully after the hollering.

But you saw through it.

Your crush on San made you observant. Made you believe you knew him better than everyone else and so, after lunch, you took out your phone and pulled up the notes app. Writing a simple “are you okay?” in it and passing it to him the next second, you were surprised with yourself before you saw him frown a bit. And then he understood what you meant.

Nodding, he passed you the phone back, before giving you a reassuring smile that you treasured in your heart and saw in your dreams.

You didn't believe him, though, but stayed close enough to everything related to the situation to hold Arin in your arms when Yeonjun inevitably broke her heart.

Starting your tenth year, he moved back to his city and decided to play the I thought we weren't even that serious card on her. Which was nasty, considering love it's very, very serious for a sixteen year old girl.

By this point, you were all a little family and hanging out after school and on the weekends was not unusual, so it didn't surprise you when Arin invited you, and only you, to her house after choir practice on a Thursday.

She lent you her older sister’s clothes to wear (because her's would never fit you. Her words, not yours) and took you to a walk in the park just to break your heart for the first time ever.

“You know… I thought love was something I couldn't find in highschool anymore. But San it's really making an effort, you know? He's been there for me ever since Yeonjun left and… Well, I think he's going to ask me to be his girlfriend tomorrow.”

Grasping the park bench she forced you to sit at, you only nodded and let out a shuddering breath that gave away what she was trying to figure out since earlier that day.

“I'll say yes but only if you say it's okay to do so.”

Arin was not really your friend, the same way Yeonjun was not really San’s friend.

Because there's no way you would ever be okay with it.

And yet, you tried your best to give her a smile and pretend the sound of your heart breaking didn't bring tears to your eyes “Of course it's okay. Why wouldn't it be?”

A week later, they were officially dating. The rumors spread around like a wildfire and it took out of you with everyone calling San a nasty rebound and you doing your best to prioritize the ghost of the friendship you had with him. That whole fiasco lasted a few months.

Months in which your friendship with everyone just grew stronger. Gyuri was still your best friend, Wooyoung was crushing on her hard and everyone knew, Arin and San were a steady couple, a new girl joined your class that year, named Yeri, and the principal assigned her to you because she thought you two would get along really well.

“I like girls,” was like, the third thing she ever told you while you were showing her the school “I'm just telling you now because I don't plan on hiding it and you are wearing a pride pin.”

“Oh, that's cool. I like girls too,” you smiled, looking at your pride pin “I didn't hide it either and no one gave me shit about it, so, don't worry.”

Yeri also liked the mainstream music that you liked and soon she became a new addition to your group. And with Arin spending all of her free time with San, you, Gyuri and Yeri only grew closer and closer. You didn't have Arin’s voice in your ear telling you the million reasons she found Yeri uncool, but you saw it in her face every time the table laughed at one of Yeri’s jokes.

And so, it went on for a while:

Your mom driving all of you around in her car to the beach, to dinner, to the movies and letting you have mixed sleepovers at your house (meaning you, Arin, Gyuri, Wooyoung, Yeri and San) was fun and all, but it was not enough to distract yourself entirely. Everytime you glanced at the couple, that sinking feeling in your chest would appear and sulk your whole mood for, at least, fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes of pretending you were okay with them before forgetting completely for an hour or so and then the cycle would repeat until you were alone staring at the ceiling and doing your best to not cry about it.

All it took was your first kiss being Yeri of all people for you to decide that it was time to retire your crush for Choi San once and for all.

And for a while, it all went according to plan. You decided to tell Gyuri that it was okay because he was your friend first and the guy that you liked second and that you were not fourteen and desperate for love anymore, that it was time to go on with your life as if nothing really happened in the first place.

You were hooking up with Yeri anyways, so it seemed like you were doing just fine.

You grew closer to San as well and even though he mostly talked to you about Arin and whatever tantrum she was throwing at the time, you really started to feel some sense of normalcy within you when it came to just speaking to him.

You no longer blushed when he made you laugh, you no longer looked at him with the longing of a past life lover and you were really happy for him because, at the end of the day, he was really happy with his relationship.

Until winter break came around and Arin decided to give San his first heartbreak ever.

She decided to call for a break in their relationship because she was, in his words, too overwhelmed with the amount of love and attention she was getting from him.

Which was completely fucking insane considering the fact she forced him to save her contact as Princess Arin and all.

So naturally, you sided with him. And she didn't take it to heart because everyone knew you liked San anyways.

She told you the news herself through Facebook after asking you to explain to her the English assignment due next day and then she decided to tell you something you'll never understand because you no longer are on speaking terms with her:

Princess Arin: u know i broke up with him because of u right? :)

Princess Arin: one day I'll tell u all abt it.

She never told you anything about it. And by then, you were starting your last year and San was your best friend who hung out with you everyday after school, calling you late at night and helping you with assignments through Skype. So you didn't really care.

And as the day passed, you started understanding the connection they talked about in books and movies. You thought you did before, Gyuri being your eternal person in this world, but it felt so different with San.

Different and good. Different and achy enough for you to want to keep it in your life.

Your dynamic was friendly, sure, but it was alright. It consisted of banter and daring stares as well as laughter and soft moments you treasured till this day.

“It's way too early to be this annoying, Choi San.”

“Oh, you think this is me being annoying?”

You both got an hour of detention for disturbing the class that day.

You loved it.

But then, after almost a month of picking up the broken pieces of his heart one by one, and your mother giving him a self-help book to make him regain the confidence he lost during the breakup process, you realized that you were in love with him and there was nothing you could do about that.

You noticed one friday afternoon, when he offered to pay for your and your mom's ice cream at the drive through, when he scrambled to get all the change he had on him to leave a tip for the person who handed you guys the sweet treat, that there was no way you didn't love him.

And it was confusing as fuck when everyone else started to tell you he had feelings for you as well.

“Think about it. You text each other good morning everyday” Yeri listed with her finger and you nodded “Then, you go to school, sit together and spend the rest of the day together” another nod “Then after school you either go get ice cream together or hang out for a bit with your mom while she drives him home. And after that, you get on Skype for the reminder of the afternoon and then he calls you on your house phone and you two spend the rest of the night talking before falling asleep on the line together,” she looked at you like you were insane for even denying the accusations made against San, but she continued anyway “And then it's rinse and repeat and it has been that way since… What? Three months ago?”

You nodded again, defeated.

“Girl, he likes you.” she sighed, annoyed and a little tired, before sitting on your lap and kissing your lips affectionately “And you're here making out with me instead of him. You really are a lost cause.”

That didn't stop you from hooking up with her until she found a girl who's heart was not reserved for someone else, though. Said girl went to a different school and was a year younger than all of you, but she looked very happy and stopped secretly kissing you in the school bathroom like a week after they met.

And when she finally told everyone, you were really happy for her, but San not so much.

It was the night you thought everything was about to change. The night you thought he was about to kiss you or you were about to kiss him, whatever happened first.

Laying in your bed, facing each other in the dim light, he thought it was the biggest form of betrayal and pouted the whole time he explained to you why.

He thought you liked her and you realized he didn't really pay attention to you after all. Not the way you did with him.

Bless his heart.

You didn't kiss him that night because he wouldn't shut up about you and Yeri.

“I mean, why couldn't it be you? She clearly liked you if you two were hooking up for over a year” and when his hand came to rest on your back, under your shirt, you breath hitched enough for him to notice it but not enough for him to just don't do anything about it except trace the curve of your silhouette with the pad of his thumb “I don't understand why anyone would pass the opportunity to be with you.”

Huh. Maybe he did have feelings for you.

No. He's just being a great best friend. Don't take that for granted.

But it was impossible for you not to take Yeri’s words seriously as time went on.

You didn't want to think he was giving you mixed signals, but yet again there was that one time when you reached behind your passenger seat in your mothers car to pinch his leg playfully after he pulled on your hair a little bit from behind, only to end up holding his hand the rest of the car trip to his house.

His fingers slowly caressing the back of your hand were just too much for you not to get everything mixed up.

Or that other time when your school held a Woman's Day event, and your class president decided that all the boys in the class were going to give roses to the girls.

When it was your turn to get a rose, you knew no one would give you one. But Yeri stood in line and collected a rose from the bin before the class president had the opportunity to say anything else.

“I'll take that, thank you very much.” She turned to you, smiling. San blocked her way to you a second after.

“And just what do you think you're doing?”

“Giving my best girl a rose, of course.” She peeked around him, giving you a wink that you could only roll your eyes to.

San turned to you, the fondness in his eyes making you question the decision of not pretending to be sick that day. It was too much for you to handle.

“To the back of the line, then. I already called dibs on her,” he turned to your friend, snatching the rose from her hand in one swift move “I'll take that, thank you very much.”

He had no idea what that meant to you back then. It was true that, at school, he behaved a little differently than when you two were alone.

He was athletic, so he had some friends that you were sure used to ask him what the fuck was he doing wasting his time with a girl like you instead of getting a new girlfriend.

He had a family that didn't approve of yours, too. You felt it the first time you met his mom and, even though she was nice to you and your mom, you could feel the judgemental stare she gave both of you when your mom told her she was a single parent.

San told you that it didn't really matter, that his mom didn't have to like you because you weren't her friend, you were his.

He played with your feelings a little too well. Wanting him, adoring him and letting yourself be consumed by the thought of him loving you back was enough to keep it going. To ignore the fluttering way your heart kept beating whenever he talked to you which was all the time.

You assumed the way he behaved with you in private was the real him. The one who didn't care about appearances or his family approval.

The one who cared about you.

It was dizzying and fantastic and you thought he just might've been the love of your life.

But then he would tell you how much it hurted when he saw Arin at school and how much he missed her, the intimacy they shared before, and reality would come crashing down and setting your delusions on fire again.

He had sex with Arin. You would never stand a chance.

Or so you thought he did. Except when you overheard Arin speaking to her friends and that was the first time you ever got mad at Choi San.

“And, you know, me and San were never intimate like that so I wouldn't know but I think boys have no idea how to please a woman if they tried to.”

What?

Oh. So he lied to you.

And you were so upset by the thought of him making up stories of their intimate time together that it didn't even cross your mind that Arin might've been lying to save face.

So when he came back from the bathroom and sat at his usual desk in front of you, you didn't even think about his feelings when you decided to treat him like shit for lying about something so important like sex to your face.

“Leave me alone, San! I don't want to fucking talk to you right now!”

The hurt expression he gave you after that is one you would never be able to forget.

But you grew to be stubborn and a little overprotective of your own feelings, so you thought him playing the part of your best friend all these months and sweet talking to you was just another one of his lies.

“You guys not being friends right now doesn't make any fucking sense, sweetheart.” Wooyoung's tone is careful and laced with affection, but you knew he was playing the devil's advocate on behalf of San. With his arm around Gyuri’s shoulder (by that point, they were a thing for over two months) you could swear you saw him smirk when the nickname brought a scowl to your face.

He might've been worried, but he was also a little shit.

“You really are going to let Arin ruin what you two have?” Your best friend was, of course, on your side. But she was your best friend for a reason and her love included pointing out when you were behaving like an infant at the age of seventeen and a half.

“You two are practically dating and you're going to let the evil ex-girlfriend get in the way? Over something you weren't even supposed to hear in the first place? Come on.”

Again, Wooyoung was a little shit. And you were so upset about everything that you shyness couldn't even help the fury behind your reply:

“Stop saying that! We are not practically dating, he's in love with Arin and I'm not sure I even like him like that anymore!” Getting tired of everyone and their mother (your mother) feeding your delusions, you came to the conclusion that putting a stop to your friendship with Choi San was for the best.

And, in doing so, you ended up breaking your own heart for the second time in your life.

But he didn't put up an easy fight at all. You remember the feeling of pure joy when he grabbed your hand on the way to the cafeteria one day, pulling you so hard you almost ended up sitting in his lap, and the way his pleading eyes begged you to listen to him one last time.

“Us not being friends doesn't feel right, Y/N…” he said and the word he used to categorize what both of you had hurted you, but you pushed the feeling away “Please, let's not fight anymore. I don't even know what happened, but I forgive you for yelling at me and I hope you forgive me for whatever it is you think I did.”

Of course, you forgave him the next second without thinking too much about it. And for a while, everything went back to normal. You Skyped as usual and occasionally you let your other friends join the call even though it didn't really feel like it used to before.

The next thing you knew, your feelings were in full bloom again and when you realized it, it was too late.

Because by then, you had already let your childhood friend, Sunhee, join a few Skype calls and by the fourth one she invited her friend, Minseo, to them as well.

Terrible, terrible mistake. Because even through the screen, you could see that Minseo looked a lot like Arin with the added bonus that she was down to earth and cool and liked the same things San liked.

You liked the same things San liked as well, but it never seemed to matter.

Because not even two months after you decided to stop talking to San over a lie you weren't supposed to find out in the first place and then became friends one more time, he gets together with Minseo and you're sick to your stomach all over again.

You hated her. Not because she was, suddenly, his girlfriend (not girlfriend girlfriend, but in a friends with benefits arrangement you never even knew why he agreed on in the first place) but because suddenly she was so fucking obnoxious and didn't seem to like you either.

Was it not painfully obvious San didn't have feelings for you? Why was she mad at you then? You literally brought them together!

And all you got in return was her telling him she didn't feel comfortable with him having a girl best friend. That ungrateful bitch.

He stopped calling. He stopped texting, he stopped carpooling with you and your mom after school and he stopped caring whether your math assignment was done or not.

He stared pulling away more and more and it didn't matter how hard you tried to get him to talk to you, it seemed like he never really fucking cared about you in the first place.

And by may that year, you didn't speak to San anymore. Granted, the only person he did speak to was Wooyoung, but even their friendship was falling apart.

For the first time ever, San broke your heart firsthand. And it felt really, really fucking bad.

You cried to your mom about it, she reminded you that you were nothing but a great friend to him and that, if he didn't take the time to appreciate that, that was his loss not yours.

And she started hating him from that moment on. But you couldn't hate San, not even a little bit.

Why would you hate him for not liking you back? For not loving you the way you loved hi—

Your laptop closes down right in front of you and when you try to look up to find out who's responsible for interrupting your writing time, you get interrupted again.

“Ouch! What the fuck, Gyuri?” The slap to the back of your head is quick and filled with rage.

“What the fuck are you even writing. I can read from here, you know?”

“I'm just laying my feelings down and— Ouch! Stop that!” You try to hit her back but she turns away quickly when your hands almost knock her coffee mug out of hers.

“You can't possibly still have love for San, Y/N. It's been years.”

It's been four and a half, to be precise. But who's counting, right?

“And why are you writing it in third person? You don't usually do that.”

“I don't really know, Gyuri!”

“I’m telling you, this celebratory dinner bullshit it's affecting you way more than it should,” she sighs, plopping down on the couch of your shared living room, and you leave your seat at the table to join her “He might not even show up. He has that thing with Kyungmi.”

Kyungmi.

You couldn't get to that part on your open document, but San left Minseo when he met Kyungmi at one of the frat parties they love to attend. Wooyoung told you that he said that it was love at first sight and you even met her briefly when you picked Gyuri up from the apartment he and San got when they started college together.

She’s gorgeous and doesn't look like Arin or Minseo at all. It’s a different type of gorgeous. She's a year older than San and went to the same school as them and Gyuri.

You think you might even like her better than him.

You tried to be happy for San when you found out, but you two barely even speak a word to each other and you convinced yourself a while ago that you couldn't care less if he sees right through you and your fake smiles.

You gathered, after everything happened, that San knew you liked him and took advantage of that. Unintentionally, but he did anyway.

You sigh, resting your head on your best friend's shoulder. “It’s his best friend's celebratory dinner, though, he needs to be there.”

Two seconds pass and then you both say it at the same time: “He’s in love.”

And when San is in love, he has a one track mind with the name of his lover as the goal.

You nod, but you can't help but to be insistent “It's Wooyoung's celebratory dinner, he needs to show up, right?”

“I might not even show up, he's a pain in the ass.” She replies but you can tell her annoyance is not genuine and it makes you smile.

Gyuri and Wooyoung broke up towards the end of your first year of college but you all stayed close friends. A one year relationship was not enough to fuck up the friendship they had and they decided to stay civil until, eventually, they became close friends again.

To this day, you wonder why you and San couldn't rekindle your friendship when it became clear to you that you missed your friend and not the guy that you liked.

Because San was always your friend first and your first love second.

But it doesn't really matter anymore, because Gyuri is forcing you to shower and reminding you that you two need to keep Wooyoung on his best behavior tonight.

“That girl he used to like before me is going, he said. I looked her up, she's single and he needs to get together with her because I can't take him whining about it anymore.”

They keep things with each other way too civil, you think.

“I'm telling you, if we don't show up he's going to do that thing where he gets drunk and makes a fool of himself. I can't have that, I'm on a mission.”

“A mission to get your ex laid?” You ask, shampooing your hair.

“A mission to get him a girlfriend so he can stop crying to me about feeling lonely.”

“Maybe he wants you guys to—” The shower curtain opens and you see your best friend’s scowl before covering yourself up with your hands.

“Gyuri!”

“Don't you dare say what you were about to say or I'm divorcing you.”

You chuckle “Sure you are.”

You're left alone again with the water stream and she goes back to do her makeup “I told you back in ninth grade that we weren't a great fit and I was right. We can't get back together,” she sighs “It'll ruin everything.”

“I doubt it will but you guys have been friends longer than you were boyfriend and girlfriend, so I'll just have to deal with my parents being divorced and civil.”

“God, don't ever refer to us like that again— Oh! Speaking of parents,” you see her beam at her phone when you move the shower curtain to search for your towel and then she shows it to you “Mingi and Love just celebrated their one year anniversary!”

Love being Mingi’s best friend. Gyuri talks to you about her college friend group all the time. The drama fuels your dinner conversations, you even follow a few of them on social media.

“What does that have to do with parents?”

“They're the mom and dad of the group.”

San is in that friend group, you can see him in the back of the picture and you recognize his apartment layout too. He's not the main focus of it but he's all you can see until you notice the couple sitting near him on the couch.

The picture shows both of them, her in his lap and Mingi looking at her with stars in his eyes.

Good for them.

“Is that the girl he was friends with forever before they finally realized that they were in love?”

“Yeah,” she sighs in contempt, looking down at the picture again “I was there the day it happened. I mean, not physically with them, but they left Yunho's party together and I told Wooyoung that it was finally about to happen!”

Gyuri is not a romantic person at all. Her excitement shows you that she really loves them and so you soften at the news that would usually give you and your dry love life a headache “It was the day before you called me to get you out of that awful date.”

Ah, that also happened back then. You shudder at the memory.

“Tell them I say congrats, babe.”

“I'm bringing you as my plus one.”

You laugh, confused “To where?”

“Their wedding, duh.”

“They practically just got together,” you remind her, a year is not enough time to propose “And I don't really know them, Gyuri!”

“They love you,” she assures you as you step out of the shower “I have been speaking about your antisocial ass for years. They can't wait to meet you.”

“So you've been shit talking behind my back for years? Is that what I'm hearing?”

She laughs “No, babe, that's Wooyoung's job.”

Clearing your throat and looking at your friend through the mirror, you try to be as nonchalant as you can when you ask: “Has he… Did he tell you if…”

“No, Y/N, I have no clue if San is going or not and Wooyoung is actually mad at him at the moment.”

“Why?”

She looks at you, sighing “He's been lacking as a friend lately.”

“Hm.”

“I hope you're not planning on swooning if you see him. Fuck him, Y/N.”

“I know…”

“And by fuck him I mean he doesn't deserve you or your forgiveness.”

“He didn't do anything to me, Gyuri,” you remind her, shrugging “Not reciprocating my feelings is not a crime so I don't have to forgive him for anything.”

You can practically feel her starting the San hate train engine, so you step out of the bathroom but her voice follows you.

“And what about that time he ditched you for Minseo when you asked him to go with you to that medical appointment, huh?”

“Cut it out, Gyuri…”

But her head peaks around the corner, into the hall where you're rushing towards your room “Or that time when—”

“Can't hear you!” Turning to look at her, she gives you an affectionate middle finger and heads back to the bathroom.

Closing the door, you lean into the thin wood and sigh, getting San’s face out of your mind so you can focus on getting ready and actually show up for Wooyoung and Wooyoung only.

He just got a permanent position after completing his internship at a company that's your company's rival. He's going to crush you and steal clients from you but you are genuinely so happy for him.

You should've guessed he enjoyed books as much as you did back in highschool. The debates he used to have with Gyuri were not all about flirting with her but also because he has a passion for books.

And now he's going to work in the same field as you.

You're so proud of your friend.

As you get ready, you remember the excitement cruising through your body when your boss trusted you enough to give you the first manuscript of a new client so you could edit it. You're sure Wooyoung is going to do better than you, taking into account that he actually went to college for this.

You didn't.

You met your boss at the part-time job you got in senior year, when you were trying to distract yourself from all the pain and the horrors of becoming a grown up. She was chatty, got a little too drunk on soju and told you she was starting her own book publishing company.

When she returned months later after remembering that you told her you loved books and would love to work for as a publisher one day, she offered you a job in her company right after graduating highschool.

You took it because you didn't think an opportunity like this would show up ever again.

She was truly a blessing, the kind of person you never really believed in until she taught you all you needed to know about publishing and editing and encouraged you to take online classes during the nights so you could get, at least, a certification on what you do.

You're proud of yourself too. The opportunity found you in a specific moment of your life where both your heart and your self esteem were destroyed and now you're not the person you used to be.

Maybe that's why the possibility of facing San makes you so nervous. Collective memories are dangerous because the details never match the ones on the other person's head.

You know who you were back then but… Are you the same person in San’s head?

You don't even want to find out.

Scanning your outfit in the mirror for the last time, you take the shoes you're wearing tonight out of your closet and walk over to the living room.

Only to find Gyuri laying on the carpet under the coffee table, half dressed and on her phone.

“You're going to mess up your hair.”

“I don't care, I'm not going.”

Sighing, you sit down on the couch and staring at the wood of the table covering her face.

“What happened now?”

“The bitch canceled!”

“Wooyoung?”

Poking her head out, she frowns at you “No, his first love.”

“You were his first love.”

“You know what I'm talking about, Y/N!”

Laughing at her, you offer her your hand “Get dressed. Who cares if she's not going? He's not going to sulk because he's going to have you and his best friends there.”

She whines like a child when you pull her up from the floor “I had a plan!”

“Then make a new one, babe. We're going to be late.”

She starts to whine again but then stops mid-groan to give you a once over. You shift uncomfortably on your feet, suddenly self-conscious about your appearance for the first time in years.

“You look really hot…” she tells you and you fake gag at her words “Really pretty. Like a fairy and a smoke show at the same time.”

You can't possibly look like that when you have such a simple outfit on, floor length high waist black pants and a flowy sleeve top that ties in the middle. It's barely formal but now you're thinking too hard about it.

Blushing, you wave your hand to dismiss her compliment “Oh, my god. Go and change!”

She rushes to her room on the opposite end of the hall and you finally breathe, looking down at your choice of fit and wondering if it's too much.

Gyuri would've told you if that's the case, but either way it haunts your mind in the car on the way there, leg bouncing up and down under your best friend's judging gaze that only softens when you pout at her.

“They are going to love you, babe. I'm so serious, they've been waiting years to meet you.”

You nod because, yes, you're concerned that her friend group is not all as welcoming as she paints them to be.

And you wish your doubts would go away but you're really, really not good at making friends. You're cautious, extremely closed off to new people and not as good with conversation no matter how much confidence you gained over the past years.

When you walk to the loudest table at the laid back restaurant their friend Seonghwa made the reservation at, you think you won't be able to fit in with everyone else. You feel like an intruder, like Gyuri is supposed to enjoy this part of her life without you here.

That's why you rejected every invitation they ever made.

You celebrate birthdays with her, with Woo as well, but it's all very intimate and separate from their social circle, the one that includes the man you haven't fully faced in years.

But you can't exactly back out now, not when one of them turns to you and seems to light up when they see you.

“Oh? Is this her?” you recognize Hongjoong from pictures, he's the only one facing you when you approach the table, lowkey hiding behind Gyuri like a child.

“Who?”

“Huh?”

San is nowhere to be seen. Thank god.

Slowly, everyone turns around and you see their faces light up with both delight and surprise. Your heart is pounding, you feel it in your throat, in your eyes, in the heat that colors your cheeks.

But Gyuri just steps aside and presents you with a smile “This is her!”

“Oh, Y/N!” Wooyoung gets up, rushing towards you and crashing into your frame with a crushing hug “I'm so glad you're here,” he murmurs into your hair and then turns to his friends, quiet them down “Everyone, this is Y/N, one of my best friends in the entire world.”

He's such a dramatic human being.

You love him so much.

Raising your hand, you shyly wave at them “Hi.”

The entire table erupts with joy. Some of them greet you, some of them are saying that they are happy to be finally meeting you and Wooyoung grabs your arm and plops you down into the seat next to Gyuri, at the edge of the table.

Laughing, you apologize for not meeting them sooner and then you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders.

Panic raising, you quickly turn around to see who it is before releasing a shuddering, but calmer, breath.

“She's a very busy woman, guys. She works for the competition, my competition,” everyone gasps at that but Wooyoung is smiling at you “and she's very good at what she does. Which means she's busy, get off her case,” he puts a glass and a can of beer in front of you “Drink, babe.”

“Thanks, babe.” You whisper back and he leans in to peck your head before going away.

Gyuri groans “Stop stealing that from us! It's our thing, Y/N, don't indulge him.”

“It's his celebratory dinner…” you argue with a laugh that Hongjoong and Mingi follow.

“Yeah! Can you get off my case tonight, Gyuri?”

She huffs, wrapping her arms around you “I hate you all.”

“No you don't!”

The table laughs and everyone returns to their individual conversations when Woo sits down on his spot.

There's a few seats left, one besides Mingi and one right in front of you but you don't think too much about it because soon Gyuri gets up to ask Yeosang something and Seonghwa occupies her seat right beside you.

You think he can sense that you're more shy than you let on, because he doesn't include you in whatever he and Yunho were talking about and waits until he stops talking to him to turn to you.

“So, you work for a publishing company?”

The question catches you off guard and you swallow the beer quickly before nodding “Y-yeah, I… Yeah.”

He chuckles “You're nervous.”

“I'm just not as good at meeting people as Gyuri is. She usually does the job and I tag along.”

“I feel like I know you already, though.” He says, leaning back on his chair.

“Because she talks a lot about me?” he nods “Yeah, she tends to do that.”

“Wooyoung also talks a lot about you, San too… Sometimes,” your cheeks heat up and he misinterprets what it means “All good things, I promise.”

You doubt that.

Your brain gives you a hundred and one possible things San could've said about you.

For some reason, none of them are good. But you choose to believe the gorgeous, long haired guy in front of you.

“Well that's good to hear,” you take another sip of your drink before smiling at him “I was sure Woo was trash talking about me.”

He shakes his head with a smile “He wouldn't dare, he has Gyuri on his ass all the time and I'm sure she would kill him.”

“I'm sure she would kill him even if he didn't do it.”

His smile grows wider “That's true,” he says, looking over at them who are, very coincidentally, fighting about something. You let out a sigh and he laughs again before clearing his throat “So, the publishing company. What kind of books do you like to edit the most?”

Your smile grows wider too.

For the next hour, you talk to Seonghwa about your job and how you started in it. He asks you about your classes and the challenges that you face on a daily basis and Wooyoung overhears and ends up joining the conversation as well.

You don't even hear footsteps nearing until a voice cuts everyone off.

“I'm sorry I'm late!”

“Baby!” Mingi gets up from his seat, but no one else does so he's stuck between the table and his girlfriend.

“Oh, that's Love, huh?” you ask Seonghwa, Wooyoung too entertained messing with the couple to hear you anyways.

“Yeah… Is that how Gyuri refers to her?” He frowns.

“Mhm,” you answer, leaning into him like you're about to tell him an important secret “I'm not supposed to call her that, don't tell her.”

Seonghwa leans in too, pretending to zip his mouth shut and you laugh.

The girl wiggles her way into the seat reserved for her and everyone lets out a groan when they smooch each other. You can only giggle and the sound draws her attention to you “Y/N?”

You quickly nod “Yeah, hi, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you! Finally, I thought Wooyoung and Gyuri had an imaginary friend,” you laugh, shrugging at the joke “Love your outfit, by the way, are those— Oh, San, hi— Are those jellyfish?”

You want to answer. You truly do, the yes right at the tip of your tongue, but words leave you when you turn your head around and find San already looking at you with wide eyes.

He looks great, he's a bit more muscular than what the pictures show and than the last time that you saw him, his arms hugging the fabric of the dress shirt he's wearing like it was tailored for him and everything.

How dare he.

You wonder if his heart is beating as loud as yours is right now. If he's surprised, disappointed or happy to see you at all.

“Her favorite animal.” He answers for you “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi…” you whisper back and it feels like you're in a trance. He doesn't look away but the table quieting down once again snaps you out of it and you turn to the girl with a wide smile that you hope conceals whatever the fuck you're feeling at the moment “I love jellyfishes. Had a phase as a child when I would exclusively talk about them, too,” you chuckle, nervously, reaching for your earrings instinctively “Gyuri gave them to me as a present last Christmas.”

You definitely overshared just now. From the corner of your eye you catch your best friend getting ready to step in if needed.

Love looks at you, then at San (who's just standing next to you without uttering a word) and then back at you again, smiling like she just figured something out “Well, I love them.”

“Thanks…”

Coughing unnecessarily loud, Wooyoung gets up from his seat “You're late.”

It takes a second but San tears his gaze away from you to look at his best friend and you take the opportunity to chug down the rest of your beer “Sorry, something came up.”

Seonghwa turns at that and looks at him as well “You good?”

“I am. Did you guys already eat? I'm starving.”

“Nope. We're about to order. Let me get you a drink, come here.” And just like that, he disappears from your view and you almost sigh in relief.

“Are you good?” Seonghwa asks you next and you reckon he's very observant. But then again, you're not the most gracious human being when you're in San’s presence, so, you figure everyone else noticed your change of mood as well.

“Yeah, I just… I haven't seen him in a while and I didn't think he was coming. I was surprised, that's all.”

“I can see that,” his eyes move around your face for some reason, frowning a little bit but then he seems to let it go, getting the menu closer to you “Okay, good, um… I actually made the reservation here because they have the best samgyeopsal in town.”

“Do they?”

“Mhm, so…”

He helps you pick your food and when it's time to order, he moves back to his seat. Gyuri asks you with her eyes if you're okay, you nod and grab her hand under the table with a tiny smile and then everyone is moving around to make space for San and Woo once they return.

He doesn't sit in front of you.

Relief floods you and you can finally feel your muscles relax as he is so far away, at the other end of the table and in the same row of seats, so you don't really see him unless you really try.

Which you don't, so your food goes down easy and the rest of the night as well.

Until everyone but you and Seonghwa move around their seats and he ends up right in your point of view as you do your best to ignore him and focus on his friend.

Seonghwa asks you about your hobbies, you tell him that you love to write movie essays on websites no one even cares to read and he asks you to show it to him so he can look it up when he gets home.

“And you've always done this? Since highschool?”

You nod and he beams “I read like the first three lines and it looks really good, Y/N. Is that why you love books so much? Because you're a writer?”

“I wouldn't consider myself a writer but… Sure, I love to write.”

“Did you know this?” he turns to San and your smile drops a little.

“Know what?”

“Your friend is an excellent writer.”

“Oh, I know. She, uh… Used to write stories on her notebook instead of paying attention in math class,” he sips on his drink and at the detail you didn't know he knew, you turn to him fully “I used to read over her shoulder sometimes.”

“She's really good.” Seonghwa is looking at your phone, still reading “Really smart, too.”

San’s jaw tenses a little and you can't understand why “I know.” He says again.

His friend is none the wiser, blocking your phone and returning it to you “I like it,” he says, smiling and you blush “The essay.” He clarifies after a second, prompting a laugh out of you that he joins.

San doesn't laugh, but you don't pay attention to him because Seonghwa is asking you something else.

When it's time to leave the restaurant, Wooyoung suggests going back to his apartment to milk the get-together as much as you all can.

You all throw your napkins at him in feign disgust at the choice of words but you all accept his proposal either way.

So now you're sitting on the couch, legs crossed and head on Gyuri’s shoulder while you listen to all of them talk (more like argue) about something that happened at their university last week, their voices drowning the soft music playing out of the tiny speaker resting on the counter.

San is on the floor, to your right. It's hard to keep your eyes off him when you feel him looking at you when you close your eyes and let the noise fade into the background. It's not like you're able to add something to the conversation anyway and Gyuri seems to be drinking her sorrows (not being able to hook Woo up with the girl she told you about) away.

Your best friend is slurring her words already, drink in hand and index finger pointing at Jongho accusatively because, apparently, the fight they're talking about was his fault.

“You don't—” she hiccups “You don't even know why it was your fault and it pisses me off even more, you know?”

“Okay, let me take that.” Taking the drink from her hand and before she starts complaining you stand up to make your way into the kitchen.

The sink is full and a mess, so you pour the liquid into it and leave the glass sitting right beside it. Distracted by the dilemma of helping Woo out with the dishes or not, you don't notice someone else also entering the space.

That's why you jump a little when you turn and catch Seonghwa leaning on the wall by the entrance. It startles you enough to laugh the nerves out afterwards and he shakes his head, smiling.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. They're boring me to death with the fight story.”

You nod, realizing that maybe that's because he doesn't attend the university anymore. He told you he graduated last year “They're too drunk to let it go.”

“Too drunk to dance to this amazing song, too. Who's playlist is that?” he frowns and you rest your back into the sink, rolling your eyes because he's pretending he doesn't know “Oh! Right, it's mine.”

“And they just don't know how to appreciate it, huh?” he shrugs and you click your tongue “They're such bad friends, Seonghwa, I truly don't know why you keep them around.”

“You appreciate it,” it's your turn to frown and he leaves his spot at the wall to walk towards you “You were singing along to it,” he explains and you let out an ah, nodding as he extends his palm to you, clearly inviting you to dance.

“Oh, I don't… I don't really know how to—”

“I'll show you.”

His kind eyes are asking you to trust him. You really, really shouldn't.

No matter how hard you try to bury the hopeless romantic little girl who decided to have a crush on a guy back in ninth grade, she's still there, begging you to let loose and live a little.

When you grab Seonghwa’s hand, you think the smile he gives you was worth listening to her.

You can't even tell the song that's softly playing anymore, a mellow r&b melody reaches your ear but you are not listening. You're focused on him, on the way he spins you around even if it doesn't fit the bit, on the way he laughs softly against your ear when he pulls you close by your hand and then pulls away just as quickly.

Laughing as well, the spell of this beautiful stranger (because you remind yourself you don't really know him that well) is hard to break.

Until it does.

Someone clearing their throat behind you stops you and Seonghwa's feet from moving any further. When the tall, older guy turns you around, you're face to face with San and his scowl.

“Sorry to interrupt but I need to get started on the dishes. Everyone else is heading out too,” he looks behind you, at the man who's still standing close to you and grabbing your hand “In case you want to ask Mingi for a ride.”

“They finally stopped fighting!” he fakes excitement, finally letting go of your hand and walking in front of you, blocking San with his body. You chuckle, barely clapping your hands to join the pretense as he's pulling up his phone “Can I ask for your number, Y/N?”

Blinking a few times, you're not sure if your heart speeds up because he's asking or because you hear San sigh exasperated behind him “S-sure.”

When you put your information on his phone, he bids you goodbye with a pat on your head and hugs San on his way out the kitchen.

Now that you two are alone, you suddenly want to run and join Seonghwa. You were doing so, so well.

Avoiding San like the plague it's much easier when you're safe hiding behind your two best friends.

Ignoring his stare would be much easier if you weren't stuck into place.

“I—”

“You—”

You both speak over each other and you force out an uncomfortable laugh that he doesn't return. Instead, he motions you to go first while he occupies the space in front of the sink, turning the faucet on. In doing so, he has to grab your waist and move you out of the way which makes you short circuit for a second “I was going to help you with that.” You finally stammer out.

He lets out what you take as an annoyed chuckle.

“You seemed busy, I don't know how you would've done it.”

Ouch.

Why do you allow his words to cut so deep when you stopped caring about what he does a long time ago?

The band aid rips, the stitches come undone and all it took him were five seconds to melt your resolve away like it was never there in the first place.

“I'll… I go get Gyuri so we can leave Woo and you to get to it, then.”

“Bathroom.” You hear him mutter under his breath as you are taking the final step to leave.

“Huh?”

“She's in the bathroom, probably puking her breakfast out,” he looks up at you to give you a tiny smile “You left her alone with Jongho and Woo for five minutes so she got ahold of another drink.”

“God damnit.”

Rushing out, you run into everyone else at the door and Mingi has to let go of his very intoxicated girlfriend when she reaches you to give you a hug “Don't be a stranger, Y/N! It was lovely to be around you, hm?”

The sudden physical contact almost makes you gasp but you cover it up with a shy giggle “O-oh. Yeah, um, lovely to meet you too. All of you.”

“Sorry about that,” her boyfriend grabs her arms and breaks the hug “She's right, though. Don't be a stranger.”

You nod once, smiling a little more sincerely now and everyone says bye to you, including Seonghwa, who grabs your hand one last time and gives it a squeeze before closing the front door of the apartment.

You think you feel your heart skip a tiny bit under all the shit San’s words pulled up to the surface a minute ago. But there's no time to dwell in that: you hear Gyuri opening up the bathroom door before gagging and closing it again with a slam.

Jesus Christ.

You two are really getting old. You stopped drinking like an hour ago, when you were starting to feel tipsy after your second beer, and you know she didn't drink as much as she used to maybe four years ago, but the visage that welcomes you when you open the door and find her crouched down in front of the toilet certainly brings back memories of those times.

“I left you alone for like… five minutes.” Sighing, you lean in to hold her flimsy ponytail and pat her back.

“I'm good,” she gags again and then holds up her hand to stop you from saying anything else “I'm fine.”

Smiling, you help her up and she grabs the counter as she's washing away the taste of whatever she ate earlier today and alcohol “Me when I lie…”

“Y/N!” she hits your arm but the movement somehow almost makes her trip.

“You want to lay down?”

“Is she okay?” Woo’s head peaks into the bathroom and when he sees his ex, he makes a face.

“Does she look like she's okay?” you help her out of the bathroom and start heading for Wooyoung's room.

“Wow, wow— Where do you think you're taking her?”

“To your room, dumbass!”

“Why mine? San's is literally right there.” He whines, pointing at the door you pass by without a second thought. You don't want to know where his room is or what it looks like at all.

“Yeah, well, did San get her this drunk?”

“How was I supposed to know that she was at her almost black-out phase? She never drinks that much in front of me!” he complains again but you're already tugging Gyuri in, who mumbles something incoherent and then flips Wooyoung off “Na Gyuri if you puke on my bed I swear to God!”

If you didn't know Wooyoung so much, the whining and the attitude would probably make you think he didn't care for her at all. But he's brushing her hair out of her forehead, securing the blanket around her and moving to take her socks off when you reach the door.

“I'm guessing you're okay with her staying the night?”

“Of course you guys can stay the night, Y/N.” He says and he stumbles a little to get to you, so you smile and shake your head, about to let him know that you're not staying anywhere near his roommate when he continues “You can come over whenever you like. You know that, right?”

“I know, Woo.”

“I barely even see you these days, I… Oh! I forgot!” he points to the end of the hall, towards the kitchen “You guys don't really like each other so maybe don't come over when he's here because I don't want to see you sad!”

“Lower your voice,” you whisper to him, bringing a hand to his face and patting his cheek a few times to wake him up “Did the alcohol suddenly hit you or something?” you sigh for the umpteenth time “Anyways, you should lay down and I'll get going. I'll come pick her up tomorrow and—”

“That's such a great idea! Oh, I'm a genius.”

“You didn't come up with it, Wooyoung.”

“San!” he calls all of the sudden and you wish he was sober enough to read the panic on your features. He seems much, much sober when his best friend starts walking down the hall and stops right beside you “Take Y/N home, please, she's going to give you a bag that you must protect with your life.”

Said best friend looks at you, his eyebrow arched in a silent question “Gyuri’s stuff.”

“Ah.”

“Go, go. It's getting late, I'll just… I'll cuddle with my ex until you get home.”

And she has the nerve to say he doesn't want her back.

When the door to Wooyoung's room closes and you're left with San on the poorly lit hallway, you make a mental note to never step foot on this place or allow your friends to drink ever again.

You don't even look at the guy before practically running down the hallway and reaching for your bag. You make sure your phone is secured in your pocket as you slip your shoes on and soon you're grabbing the front door knob and twisting it.

Keys jingle next to you but, again, you don't spare San a glance.

“So—”

“I'll get out of your hair, you don't have to… walk me home or whatever he said.”

“Y/N, it's late.”

Turning to him, your smile is as fake as the ones you've been giving him the past couple of years “And I'm a grown up, San, I can walk myself home.”

“What about Gyuri’s stuff?”

“She can wear Wooyoung's clothes, it's not like they never shared before. Anyway… Thank you for having me, it was nice to see you. Goodnight.” Your response comes out fast and it sounds as planned out as it actually is, kinda robotic and devoid of actual emotion.

San can't see through you the way you see through him. It's okay, he won't mind it.

He probably won't mind that you close his own door on his face either.

If that door is what you hear when you're making your way down the stairs in order to make a fast escape, you choose to ignore it.

You have to stop mid-way to compose yourself. You don't know why you feel like crying or why your heart is beating so fast.

You knew going in that there was a possibility of seeing him tonight. You know how San affects you, so effortless and seemingly like no time has passed at all in between senior year and present day.

You know all of this already, it's an endless loop that will keep repeating until you either move away or decide to stop agreeing to Wooyoung's plans all together.

So why is your chest heaving with emotion? Why is nostalgia playing mind tricks with you? Why do you want to turn back and hug him and beg him to turn back time so you can do it all differently now that you know how to look like and what to say to make him love you back?

Ah, you're definitely not sleeping tonight. So you start distracting yourself while walking down the stairs again. You remind yourself to tell a much sober Wooyoung how proud you are of him. You think about Seonghwa, about his kind eyes and the way he grabbed your hand to dance with him just half an hour ago. You wonder how long it will take you to get home if you jog all the way there. You—

Why the fuck is San outside when you get there?

In a comedic way, you can see your attempt to distract your mind off of him slipping through your fingers and evaporating in the warm summer night breeze.

In a realistic way, you're fucking pissed at him for taking the opportunity of a good night sleep away from you.

You pass him and start jogging like you planned a minute ago. Footsteps follow you until his arm brushes yours and you take a step to the side to stop it from happening again.

“Go home, Choi San.”

“Stop fighting it, Y/N. I'm walking you home.”

“It's a twenty minute walk—”

“Drop it.”

You do. And for the first ten minutes, no one utters a word even if the tension feels electric and the street is so quiet so you can hear when his breath accelerates when he jogs to catch up to you whenever you try to leave him behind.

Isn't that ironic. He was the one who left you behind all those years ago.

“I didn't know that you danced.”

He breaks the uncomfortable but safe silence to say that?

“Well, you saw me dance so I clearly dance when I want to.”

“You never danced with me.”

“You never asked me to.”

He laughs “I'm pretty sure I did on several occasions, Y/N.”

“Well, you're wrong,” you're getting annoyed. How dare he think he remembers better than you? “It doesn't matter anyway, what's past is past and—”

“You also gave Hwa your number,” he interrupts, his long legs taking two strides to get in front of you, still walking, facing your direction with his hands on his pockets.

It's dangerous and stupid, even if the streets are practically empty and the sidewalk barely has any bumps.

You hope he falls on his pretty face.

“I did.*

“I don't have your number.”

“Well, I changed it and you never asked for it, so…”

“You could've called me or texted me to let me know you did it.”

He's getting on your nerves.

“San,” you start, taking in a deep breath you hope calms you down “We don't even text anymore, why would you want my number?”

“Do you like him?”

“Seonghwa?” you ask, frowning and he nods “Like… As a person?”

“As a potential love interest.” He clarifies matter-of-factly and you roll your eyes.

“I met him today, San. Why do you want my number?”

“Because we're friends?” he offers after a second, shifting so he's walking by your side again.

“Are we?” you ask, laughing bitterly at that “Because we haven't spoken a word to each other in years.”

“That's not true.”

“It is, San.”

“You… You don't speak to me anymore, so…”

“Well your girlfriend at the time told me she didn't feel comfortable with me speaking to you anymore,” you sigh “so I didn't and you didn't try to talk to me either.”

“Well, I want to talk to you now.”

“And is your new girlfriend aware of that? Is she comfortable with that? Because I don't want anyone telling me what to do anymore and—”

“Why wouldn't she be comfortable? We're friends, Y/N.”

“Are we?” you insist, petty, bitter and overall very, very hurt.

He looks offended at that “I assumed we were?”

He's getting on your fucking nerves.

“We stopped being friends the second Minseo asked me to stay away from you because she didn't like me, San.”

“She’s not in my life anymore—”

The words are coming out of your mouth without even thinking it through. His demeanor, the way he's somehow reproaching you for whatever he saw between you and his friend, the way he pretends nothing happened between you and him, thinking that you two are still friends.

“We stopped being friends when you pulled away from me, saw me do the same and did nothing to stop it from happening, San.”

He stops in his tracks at that. You don't, pushing forward and quickening your step even if your calves burn.

“Either way,” you speak up “Make sure you tell your girlfriend about wanting my number and then you can ask Seonghwa for it if you want—”

“She's not my girlfriend anymore!”

Now that stops you, just a few buildings down from yours, you turn around just to find San closer that you thought he'll be.

“O-oh. I… I didn't know that. I'm sorry.”

“You didn't do anything to be sorry for.”

“Still, it must suck so I'm sorry you're going through that.”

“We didn't want the same things and so we ended it. It is what it is.”

You nod.

He walks the few steps separating you and you have to raise your chin a little to look him in the eye for the first time since you left his apartment “I wanted to tell you.”

“That you broke up with your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I don't know why. It happened when I broke up with Minseo too, I just… You're the first person that I thought of calling when it happened. I texted you, too, but the messages didn't go through.”

You hum at that.

Why would he even say that?

You resume your step, not really knowing what to say until you reach the stairs that lead to your building’s entrance.

“And you didn't ask Woo for my number?”

He follows you up.

“I don't think he would've given it to me if I asked.”

That sounds like an excuse, so you don't let it slide as you enter the code to your building and let yourself inside, San holding the door so he can get in as well “Why would he do that?”

“Because he…” San sighs, pressing the elevator button “Nevermind. He just wouldn't.”

Frowning, you turn to him “No, now you have to tell me.”

“It doesn't matter, really—”

“Tell me, San.”

He stares for a second and then looks away, like a child, vulnerable and you can't help but soften at that “He didn't like the way I treated you.”

Eating your words from before, you shake your head “You didn't treat me like anything.”

The elevator dings and you get inside.

San follows you.

“Exactly,” he says, resting his shoulder on the metal “Like you said I just did nothing and—”

“Well, sometimes that's just what happens,” you want to end this. You want to pack Gyuri’s bag, give it to him and never see him again.

This conversation hurts, it reopens barely closed wounds and it creates new ones you don't really need when it comes to whatever happened between you two.

There's only so much a person can handle and it really doesn't help that you're a fool for San. He takes advantage of it, of the fact you can't really push him away at this point and the fact that he wants to have this conversation now instead of four and half years ago?

Mean.

He's mean. He's evil. He's… He's staring at you with a spark in his eyes that you recognize too well.

Hope.

When you get to your floor, you try to wipe the image away while busying yourself with your keys. Your hands tremble a little but you're able to open the door of your apartment and get in without inviting him.

He gets in anyway. You take off your shoes as he closes the front door.

He stays silent as he follows you around the apartment and you don't worry about turning the lights on. You get into Gyuri’s room and start picking out a comfy hangover outfit for your friend. Some clean underwear, sweatpants, two shirts and socks.

When you drop to the floor, in front of the closet, to look for a bag to stash all of it in, San silently clutches beside you.

“It shouldn't have happened to us. Never us.”

You can't take it anymore.

“San, what is this? What are you doing? I mean, why are we—”

“I know.”

“It's been years…”

“I miss you.”

He's so mean. But the softness in his tone resembles the one he used all the way back in highschool, when he told you that not being friends with you didn't feel right and you want to cave in right there and then.

Your heart screams at you to do it, your reason warns you that you both have been through this before and it never ends right.

You simply can't stay friends with Choi San.

Your love for him must run too deep, your resentment claws at it and tries to hurt it but it's an immovable force that won't budge even if you try to bury it under the years that have passed, the things he has done.

Tears gather in your eyes and you try to blink them away as you stare at your best friend's clothes on your lap and try to come up with something to close this path up again, reconstruct the picket fence you built around it the second he broke your heart for the first time.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, letting the walls fall a little “I miss you too but I don't think I miss whatever version of you you are right now, San.”

“W-what?”

His shaky voice makes the walls crumble and crash.

Turning to him, your hand shakes as you place it on top of his “And you don't miss the version of me I am right now. You miss what I was back then, the comfort and the shoulder to cry on I offered you when Arin and you broke up. You miss my availability and the way I didn't press my feelings on you because it didn't matter if I liked you or not, you were my friend first and the guy that I had a crush second but—” you choke up, tears falling down your cheeks even if you don't want them to “I can't do it anymore. I'm not that girl anymore and I won't be there for you now that you and Kyungmi broke up because I can't handle it. I can't, I'm sorry.”

He doesn't deny any of it.

He stares at you, tears wetting his cheeks as well and it hurts even more this way. You wish you had the strength to hold it together, to treat him like you did on the street a few minutes ago, but you can't.

There's no way you could ever hate him like you want to.

“You know…” he starts in a whisper, letting out a humorless chuckle “That's what I used to tell myself too.”

“Hm?”

“That you were my friend first and the girl that I had a crush on second.”

How dare he mutter the words you always wanted to hear, the ones you picture being said in a different setting, the ones that haunted your every waking thought that period of time you doubted your friends, your mom, yourself for even believing Choi San could ever have a crush on you.

He doesn't get to say them. You want to tell him but the words die on your throat and form a lump that you can't swallow down.

You don't get to say that. You don't get to say that.

Your hand drops from his and you look away again only to grab the first bag you find on the closet floor and shove Gyuri’s stuff in it.

If the lack of response it's what prompts the hurt in his voice the next time he speaks, you don't want to think about it.

“I wish I didn't. Now it's too late to do something about it, huh?”

This time the rage comes back with a mask on. Feing settlement for all the what if’s covers you like a blanket on a really hot summer night: unwanted, unnecessary.

But you can't sleep without it, so you do nothing to push it away.

“I guess it is.”

You get up from the floor, leaving the room and wiping your face with bitterness coating your movements as you wait by the door for him to get out.

When he does and he steps in front of you, you extend the bag and he takes it without missing a beat.

Voice robotic and words premeditated, you open the front door for him “Thanks for walking me home and taking this back.”

He leans a little into your space and you don't move away. But just as he did in highschool, he takes in your hitched breath and does nothing more.

“Thanks for letting me talk to you.”

He didn't give you much of a choice there but it's okay. This is closure, this is the end of your story with Choi San and you convince yourself you're glad that it is.

“Sure,” you whisper back and he steps outside, turning around to watch you slowly close the door “goodnight, San.”

He doesn't say it back.

When the darkness of your apartment engulfs you, that's when you let yourself breakdown. Covering your mouth with your palm, you descend until your knees are against the wood on the floor and closing your eyes you make it a point to let it all out.

You'll let it all out, drink some water, text Wooyoung and Gyuri to let them know you're safe and go to bed.

And tomorrow you'll begin your day with the freedom of finally knowing what would've happened if you or San ever took the next step.

This is fine. This is moving on. This is—

The doorbell rings.

Opening the door again, you crease your eyebrows in a silent question that San doesn't care to answer, so you look around the floor in case he forgot something you're missing. You wipe your cheeks and under your eyes as you turn to him again “Did you—”

Time slows down when he makes it past the threshold and you can't move an inch, gaping at who you once thought was the love of your life “What are you doing, San?”

“Something about it.”

“What?”

“Forgive me,” he asks, breathless and in a murmur, fueling your confusion. And then he's closing the distance, dropping Gyuri’s bag and cupping your face so gently that it hurts “but I'm doing something about it.”

You stopped dreaming about the possibility of San kissing you that one time you two were on your bed and, another time, you told yourself that, if it ever happened, you wouldn't kiss him back.

It's too late to kiss him back.

But sparks fly when he crushes you against the wall and takes in a breath before slothing his mouth against yours like he's been waiting to do this every single day for the past nine years you've known each other.

There's nothing you can do to conceal the way yearning takes over you, pours out of you, making you breathe into his open mouth and kiss him back like you always wanted to.

You already know it is a mistake by the time you grab his shirt to keep him in place but does it really matter when this is all you ever wanted?

Feeling warmth leave your face, you notice the way he desperately crowds your space as his chest bumps into yours, leg claiming its place in between yours, the palm that leaves you pressing against the wall, next to your head.

The kiss is filled with emotion, with longing and desire and it steals the air out of your lungs tragically and beautifully at the same time. Before, you used to dream about his lips making everything feel right, making you fit in in a world you didn't feel like you belonged to.

But this kiss drops you into uncharted territory, drags you into the depths of something that should be buried by now, after all this time. It brings the flame back to life and it's dangerous.

The fact that it feels this way, both marvelous and catastrophic at the same time, makes you so sad.

Sorrow descends down your face until your mouth is picking it up and your tongue is mixing it with whatever emotion is cruising through San right now.

You have to know.

He spent your entire youth and early adulthood keeping it to himself, knowing when to show his true colors and when to hide them, choosing who to do it with and you realize the San that lives in your head is nothing but a figment of what you wanted him to be.

Because him holding to your waist like it's his only lifeline doesn't fit the San you remember, him telling you he liked you back then doesn't fit the guy who was just your best friend.

You need to know.

“San,” brokenly, you speak into his mouth and he pulls away just enough to see your face. Your eyes remain closed, your chest heaving and your lips trembling “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you, Y/N.”

You push him away, weakly, almost like you don't really mean it because deep down you don't but he steps away like you're asking to.

Because, of course, your mind scraps the bottom of your resentment to give his words a completely new meaning.

“You can find another girl to fuck and be your rebound, San,” more tears spill down and you wipe them away in anger but more threat to fall down so you cover your face with your hands and groan, desperate “I can't do this, especially not when I know that you know how bad I wanted you. Y-you know what you do to me San so stop—”

“I want you in my life. I don't— What? I don't want you like a rebound, I… Can we sit down and turn on a light so I can look at you when I say this?”

His words should be reassuring but they're not, the way you tend to feel unlovable around him coming up to the surface, preventing you from thinking clearly.

You can also feel his lips on yours still. It's dizzying but you manage to push yourself off the wall and pad around until you hit the switch of the warm light lamp near the couch and the apartment comes to life just like that.

He takes in the space he's never seen before, walking slowly towards the living room and looking over the bookshelf that screams your name all over it. He smiles a bit as he looks over the book titles and you look away before your heart starts acting up again.

You can't stay mad at him for long if he's looking through something so personal to you and smiling that fondly at it. It feels even more intimate than the kiss you two just shared.

Wiping your cheeks once more, you are sure you look a mess but he doesn't seem to mind it once he comes into your point of view, sitting down on the couch, in front of your standing form. He grabs you by your hands until you're sitting next to him, close to him, cologne intoxicating your senses.

“I told you I liked you when we were in highschool, right?”

You nod.

“You seemed surprised but it was dark so I'm not really sure. I thought you knew, everyone knew.”

Oh, he's a comedian.

“How would I have known, San? I… Yeri told me you liked me one time, in senior year, but I denied it. Then, my mom told me you seemed to want me in a non-platonic way and I dismissed her as well,” you take in a deep, shaky breath “For me, the thought of you liking me just didn't make sense. You loved Arin and she's… She doesn't look or act like I did back then at all, so how would I have known?”

You didn't need clues and puzzles and what if’s, you needed words and actions that weren't confusing. You needed him to tell you back then, because telling you right now and kissing you senseless after he broke up with a girl he supposedly was very in love with means nothing but pain.

“I didn't realize you liked me too,” you make a face, about to tell him off, but he interrupts “I didn't! I thought you liked Yeri and I thought you saw me as the annoying guy who wouldn't leave you alone. I only just realized it a couple years ago, because Woo told me.”

You raise your eyebrows and mutter under your breath “I'm murdering him tomorrow.”

The corner of his lips twitch before he shakes his head in dismissal of what you said “I liked you. I really, really liked you and never told a soul because… Well, it's scary when you fall in love, right?”

“San, you had no problem telling Arin, Minseo or Kyungmi that you liked them.”

He looks down to the floor, lost in thought and you want to open your mouth to take what you just said into a new direction, but you don't “Maybe that's because I didn't love them the way I love you.”

Oh.

Love you? As in… He loves you right now too?

No way.

“You didn't love me, San. You don't love me right now either, you… Maybe we both were in love with the idea of love? Maybe that's what happened and—”

“Quit telling me what I'm feeling, Y/N. You always do that, you always assume you know what I'm feeling but you don't!”

Raising your voice a little more, you try to get your point across in the worst way possible: by being stubborn “You don't know me! How can you possibly—”

“I knew you back then, Y/N! And I loved you back then, too!” He looks like wants to say something more but he doesn't, instead, he takes a calming breath and then leans into your space for the third time tonight “And I might not know you now but I want to. That's what I meant when I said that I want you. I want you in my life, I want to know the person you became when we stopped talking, I want to talk to you every single day and I want to hold you and kiss you and be by your side however you want me to, I just… I can't lose you again.”

His confession renders you speechless and you notice his chest is heaving, going up and down in sync with yours.

But the way he pulled away from you senior year still hurts, it paints a picture of what's going to happen if you accept this.

You can't believe his words.

He must feel lonely and confused, like he did when Arin broke up with him. He must be looking for a shelter you can't provide.

“And when you find another girl that's more to your liking? What then, San?”

“There's no one that I love more than you, Y/N and I'm sorry I was shit at proving it back then and I'm sorry that it took so many years for me to come to my senses.”

He's tearing up and your heart pangs absurdly loud at that.

“I saw you with Seonghwa earlier today, laughing and dancing and flirting and I thought: Oh, maybe if I didn't waste that much time pretending I'm someone I'm not, that would be me.”

You stare for a second, you watch a single tear drop down his cheek and then look away.

“Is that what you were doing? Is that why you pulled away?”

“Maybe?” he offers and you turn to him again. Is not enough and maybe he can see it in your expression, because he goes on “I mean, I… I thought I wanted Arin. I thought I wanted Minseo. I had people in my life who were really happy to see me with them and I just…”

“Wanted to keep them happy,” you nod, understanding. He doesn't have to say his mothers name for you to know he's referring to her and maybe his other highschool friends outside of Wooyoung “Were you pretending with me as well?”

“No,” he answers right away “You and Woo were the only ones who saw me for who I really was back then.”

“And why do you think you love me now, San?” you ask, deflating against the couch and ignoring the way your heart soars at his quick response.

“Because I never stopped,” he stammers out and then clears his throat “Because I looked for you in Minseo and Kyungmi and I wondered for years why they couldn't make me feel the same way. And I told myself I didn't need to feel the same way and that I deserved to wonder for the rest of my days but seeing you tonight? I can't.”

Straightening your spine, the pained look you sent in his direction is not intentional but it prompts him to lean closer and closer until he's cupping your cheek again.

“I can't keep wondering.” His voice is a sweet whisper, a siren song that draws you in until your forehead is resting against his.

All these years, you were so self-focused on changing to a better version of who he used to know, learning from your mistakes and closing off to the opportunity of letting him prove himself a better man, you forgot that time passed for him too. He’s telling you he changed, too.

Imagination is a safe space. Is where you hide, where desire can take its wings and fly high without hurting you too much. Make belief has rescued you before but this? The way his nose nuzzles softly into yours and your breaths tangle? This is very real. And reality is prone to hurt you.

But the want you feel is undeniable. The way your entire being wants to cave in and give him an opportunity is suffocating, it makes you choke out a sob that he follows with one of his own.

You kiss him, softly at the beginning, but his hands on you tighten and you let yourself get lost in the way they go down your neck and your arms, caressing you softly until they reach your waist and pull you into his lap.

Pulling away, you grab his chin with two fingers and force his teary eyes to snap open, searching for an answer on yours.

“If you hurt me,” you start, breathless “If you're mocking me, if you're using me to get over Kyungmi, if you are pulling me back in to break my heart again, Choi San, I swear to God I will kill you.”

“I won't do that to you ever again, Y/N,” he returns softly “I love you, I'm sorry if I ever hurt you but I love you.”

Others would argue that it is pathetic how quickly you forgive him. But then again, you could never be mad at San.

You were only mad at yourself for how everything turned out.

“I love you too, Sannie.”

Saying something never felt so freeing before.

“Oh, Y/N…” you can see the way relief washes his worries away “Y/N…” he starts to say but then leans in to kiss you again and never finishes his words.

You don't mind it.

Pouring out all the pent up affection you pretended to bury for years, you explore his mouth and carve into your memory the way he feels. The way he sighs into it when your tongue brushes his, the way he pulls you in closer when your fingers reach the nape of his neck and pull on his hair there, hands splayed on your back so he can keep you in place as he leans down and places you against the worn out couch.

He maps you out, hands going down your waist in a familiar feeling that brings back that memory of you two laying down on your bed. Only this time, he's actually touching you with a purpose. This time, you two have made up your minds and your limbs are tangled in a way you can feel all of him pressing up against you.

It starts to get stuffy, the space on the couch not nearly enough to have him the way you want to. Soon, you're both standing up, mouths still moving against each other and hands roaming everywhere until you're undoing the buttons on his shirt.

He pulls away to fully take it off, eyes never leaving yours, dropping the shirt to the ground, next to the couch and then he's on you again, making your back crash into the wall as he works the knots keeping your blouse together.

He walks you through the hall, stopping only to take your top off and then he's walking you to a room that has a familiar scent that doesn't belong to you.

“Wrong room, wrong room,” you say into his lips and he laughs, looking to your surroundings “Mine’s over there.” you point to the other end of the hall, taking his hand and pulling him towards it.

You don't make it far before he's yanking you towards him again. He looks down, taking your body in and you do the same, his firm and defined stomach a sight you never thought you would be able to see.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispers, backing you against the wall again and kissing your cheek “So, so beautiful.”

Turning your head to chase his mouth, he lets out a heavy sigh when his lips trail a path to your neck and murmurs against the skin there “I never told you how beautiful I found you before but you're so perfect, baby.”

“I always thought I wasn't your type, San,” you let out a noise when he grabs your hips and pulls you forward, crashing his into yours “Fuck.”

“And I always thought you were too much for me, too smart,” he kisses his way back up, focusing on your jaw and chin until he's kissing your cheek again “too pretty,” he moves to your ear, pecking right under it and you hold him closer “too good for me.”

It doesn't really matter that this is all new to you, the way he's speaking, the tenor of his voice, the things he's saying… It sparks something familiar in you. You're pulling his hair back to make him look at you, a moan slipping out of his lips at that.

You want to hear it again.

He's smiling at your reaction, hand tightening on his locks.

However, that smile drops when he seems to recognize the gleam in your eyes.

You gather up courage, feeling empowered by the way his hooded eyes darken but wait patiently for you to speak your mind.

“Maybe I'm too good for you now, too,” you lean in, your lips softly tracing his “Maybe you should prove to me that you deserve me, San.”

It's a dare. One that he seems to like a lot because his eyes sparkle with the same fire they used to back in the day.

“Oh, I'll prove it to you, alright.” He whispers, panting when you let go of his hair and he leans into you to kiss your lips briefly before pulling away again.

His hand tilts your head back and you rest it against the cold wall, his fingers touch your bottom lip before going down and down and down until they rest against the seam of your pants, unbuttoning them in one swift movement.

Going back up, his nails softly dig into your skin and you preen, taking the soft sting of his ministrations like you two have done this a million times before.

His mouth is on yours again, his hands are pulling you off the wall and into your room until you two land on your mattress, a moan spilling out of your lips when he sloths his knee in between your legs and pulls them apart with expertise.

You don't have the mind to break down what that means.

Opening your eyes when he kisses down your neck again, you notice your room is barely lit by the street lights outside, curtains pulled open and windows closed but, this way, you can see the way San kisses between your breasts and your belly, catching his eyes when he looks up to measure your reaction.

You sigh, already feeling some sort of build up going on down there and he hasn't even touched you properly yet.

You don't even want to think about how wet you actually are.

He leans back, open palms going down your legs slowly until they reach your feet. It tickles and you can't help but let out a giggle that he joins short after, his gaze never losing the edge because of it, though.

“San…”

He guides your hips up so he can take off your pants and you sigh when his hands return, raising your leg up “I missed your laugh,” he says low, attaching his lips to your calf “I miss being the one making you laugh too.”

You feel like crying again but then he's letting your leg down and grabbing the other one to give it the same treatment, so your tears can wait.

This time, he moves upwards till his mouth nears your clothed center and your breath hitches.

Yeah, you can definitely cry later.

“You want me to prove to you how much I want you, Y/N?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting your mound now “How much I love you?”

“San, p-please…”

“Fuck, look at you.” He sounds like he's too lost in the heat of the moment and you're kind of grateful, because the moan you let out when his fingers hook on your underwear and pull them to the side to expose your pussy to his hungry eyes is loud.

When he kisses you right where you need him, you let out another moan. And when he parts your folds to lick a stripe up to your clit, you curse him under your breath until he's laughing against you softly, the vibrations accumulating heat on your belly.

He doesn't tease you much longer and you look down at him just to catch the moment his self control slips, eating you out like a man starved while his hand stays on your hip to hold you down and keep you underwear from interrupting his feast.

“This is like,” he dives in again for a few seconds and you grab the sheets beneath you “All my fantasies coming to life but better.”

He's so chatty during this and the only thing you can do is stammer a yeah? and pray for it to reach his ears.

“Mhm,” He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue and your legs shake “It tastes even better than what I dreamed, too.”

The heat of his mouth leaves you, lips spreading your wetness through your stomach until he fully reaches your face, your eyes closed and lips already waiting for him.

Tongue caressing yours, your hands trail down his torso and focus on getting his pants off. You're shaking with excitement so it proves to be more difficult than you imagined at first but he helps you in unbuckling his belt.

Once the piece of clothing is on the floor (or the bed, you're not really paying attention to where it lands), you don't waste time in feeling him up through his boxers.

The hiss you get in return makes you smile.

Bringing your lips to his neck, you suckle on this pulse point and gain another pleased noise before grazing your teeth against skin and moving to his collarbone next.

In a way, you get what he means. If he truly was pining over you the way you were pining over him, the thought of exploring his tan skin and making him moan feels like a dream.

So you kiss him again in order to make it all last longer.

The minutes pass between the both of you, softly making out and figuring out what gets both of you going, discarding your underwear in the process.

You realize your moans make San’s cock twitch against your leg and he seems to notice the way your hips buck up everytime his hands handle you more roughly.

After a few minutes of just this, you feel his hand making its way down again and the pads of his fingers circle your clit until you're grasping the sheets again. He gathers your arousal and then enters one finger slowly and when it slides in and out with ease, he enters the next one.

There's really not much prepping he needs to do, already soft and compliant under him, you relax into his comfortable touch before you're aching for something else. And your mouth is preoccupied with his, so you do something else to catch his attention.

Hands caressing his back, you let them drop to his ass with a soft smack that wins you a soft huff on amusement and then a whine when you move his hips towards yours.

“Condom?”

You shake your head “I'm clean and I have an implant.”

“Oh?” he smirks, about to tease you but you squeeze his butt again and he moans “Fuck. I'm clean too.”

“Good,” you whisper against his cheek, laughing as he arranges his position.

And he might've been touching you all this time, kissing you until your mind emptied and your lips are all swollen up, but the look on his eyes when he slowly enters you is what might drive you over the edge.

Grabbing your hands, he pins them on the side of your head as he moves, dropping his head down with a groan as you take him in, nose touching yours and moth whispering sweet things you can't quite pick up.

He feels so good.

This all feels way too good to be real.

In the cloud you're at, you allow yourself to dream a little more before the reality of what your confessions mean dawns on you.

For now, you allow San to make love to you. Sweetly, slowly and with a passion you never were lucky enough to encounter before.

Maybe it's because your previous lovers didn't have your heart the way San does.

He rams his hips into yours hard, closing his eyes and resting his warm cheek against yours, kissing your face inch by inch when you accompany his movements with your own.

When his pace picks up, you hug him close and secure your legs around his hips as you moan.

“Y-yes, fuck.”

“Like that?” he repeats the movement from before, pulling out and then in with such force it rocks the entire bed.

“Just like that, baby, fuck.”

“God, you sound so good,” you smile a little, forehead resting on his shoulder before your head falls down against your pillow again “I love you,” he repeats against your lips, letting your hands go to cup your face with both of his again “I love you so much.”

Teetering over the edge, you feel happy tears stinging in your eyes. Though closed, you can feel San’s stare on you, on your face, on the way you react to his sweet words and relentless pace.

You say it back in a whisper and he repeats it again and again and again until you're both coming and tears are spilling down your cheeks.

He kisses them away.

You wipe his with trembling fingers as you come down, having trouble breathing from everything that just happened.

You don't feel suffocated anymore, you feel like you've been freed. Like this was supposed to happen at some point and you two finally got around to it.

“I love you,” he says once more before slipping out of you with a parting kiss.

Holy shit.

When San gets up from the bed and you point him to the bathroom, down the hallway, you're left with a sticky mess in between your legs and a lot to think about but you settle on four things.

San just made love to you. There's no way that was just sex.

There's also no way you're coming back from this.

Gyuri is probably going to kill you.

And that, obviously, your feelings for San never left. You feel the familiar warmth of them spreading through your post-orgasmic state. They're there, mocking you, asking you who the fuck you thought you were for pushing them away.

He returns, toilet paper in his hands before leaning in and cleaning you up, lips immediately finding home on your skin as he does.

You both giggle at that.

You probably need to shower but you've been crying and there's no way you're leaving this bed tonight. He throws the paper away on your bedroom’s trashcan and then crashes into the bed next to you, still naked, still looking at you with so much love you're wondering what stopped you from seeing it was there before.

Taking his hand, you bring it to his lip and give his knuckles a peck “That was really good.”

“It was.”

“I can't believe we actually just did that…”

He smiles and what he says next shocks you even more than his confession “I want to take you out.”

“San… You just came inside me not even ten minutes ago.”

“And?” you laugh and he shakes his head, leaning into your space again “I spent many years doing everything wrong, let me do it the right way.”

“Making love to me one time and then taking me out on a date is not the right way, sir.”

He nuzzles your cheek with his nose and you let out a pleased sigh “Who said it was just one time, huh?” Attacking your neck with his lips again, you push him away with a laugh.

“Oh, come on!”

He laughs as well “Give me ten minutes and I'll make it two!”

San makes love to you two more times. And by four in the morning, you're snuggled into his arms and sleeping soundly.

When you wake up and find the space next to you empty, you think it was all a dream. Your naked form begs to differ and you quickly put the t-shirt you usually wear to bed on and your panties underneath it to go out and face the feelings of your actions fighting with the blender in the kitchen.

“How do you two live with this stupid thing?”

“We don't,” you answer, startling him “We don't use it. What are you trying to make?”

San’s shirtless, wearing his pants and his hair messy. Looking back at the living room clock, you see it's just five past ten.

Smiling as he approaches you, you forget you must look a mess too when he pecks your lips and barely pulls away “Good morning, beautiful.”

You pretend to cringe at that, pulling away “Oh, God. Morning, dumbass.”

“You like it, you're blushing,” he points out and the pink on your cheek deepens as he's going back to the blender “Does anything work here?”

“The microwave,” you shrug “And the stove. Were you trying to make yourself a…” you look over the ingredients he has pulled out of your fridge “Green juice?”

“I was trying to make both of us a green juice,” he corrects and your heart skips at the immediate domestic attitude he has with you “But now I can tell neither of you drink anything like it, hm? I'm buying you a blender.”

“Please don't.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think that one is broken?”

He hums, huffing out a laugh seconds later and you walk over to him, unsure on how to approach him even though what you did yesterday night and earlier this morning didn't allow your shyness to step in.

Now you're feeling it.

He can tell, because he stops fighting with the steel appliances to grab your waist and pull you close “I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“We can make breakfast together and I can order your green juice,” you compromise and he nods, but he doesn't let you go “And later we can go out on that date you promised me yesterday and we can go over what we're going to tell the two idiots.”

His smile drops.

“Oh, fuck.”

Grimacing, you nod “It was the second thing I thought about after waking up.”

“What was the first?”

“Oh, I was trying to remember if you ever asked me to dance before,” he nods with a smile “Guess what? You didn't.”

He fake gasps at that “I did!”

“No, you didn't!”

“Babe, yes I did,” he insists and you laugh, which prompts him to wrap his hands around you tighter when you try to get away from him “It was when—”

“Oh. My. God. I'm going to be sick again.”

Now when the fuck did Gyuri come back.

And why is Wooyoung with her too, jaw slack as he watches both of you pull away from each other and create a safe distance that doesn't help whatever your best friends just saw.

“It worked?” he asks and you can barely hear him until he hollers like a crazy person “Oh, it worked! I am a genius!”

“Wooyoung, hold me! I'm going to kill them!” Gyuri looks like she's about to launch towards you at any second now, so you close your eyes and accept your fate. But nothing happens “Wait— What worked?”

When you open them again, San is hiding behind you and Gyuri’s back is to both of you as she looks at Wooyoung with, what you assume, murderous intentions.

“Gyuri, let's talk about this,” the black haired guy puts his hands up “You were too drunk to discuss it so I made the choice of— Gyuri, no!”

You burst into laughter when she starts chasing him around the apartment and San giggles as well, only more nervous than delighted by their little cat and mouse game.

He's probably sensing he's next on her hit list.

As if you would let anything happen to him in the first place.

“Stop, stop! I'm sorry, please leave me alone!” you hear Wooyoung’s voice echoing through your hall and in a second he's entering the kitchen, rounding you and San “I'm so happy for you guys, really, this was meant to happ— Stop!” He cries when Gyur catches onto him and yanks his hair to stop him from running.

“Y/N,” she starts, chest heaving and you take a step back, crashing into San’s chest. He holds onto you only to push you a little and protect himself from the fury of your best friend “When I told you fuck him I didn't meant this!”

“I know.”

Wooyoung whines but he can't get away from her grasp so he just accepts it and pouts like a child.

“A-and you!” She points towards the guy resting his chin on your shoulder “How dare you! If this is something casual for you then—”

“I love her.” He defends himself quickly and your heart all but stops at that.

“You do?” Wooyoung coos, amazed at his best friend’s confession.

Gyuri's anger falters at that.

“You… You do?”

“And I love him,” you let out in a shy whisper, smiling a bit “But you already knew that.”

“Of course I already knew that, bitch, I am your other half,” she makes a point to stare at San as she says it, letting Wooyoung go and he massages the part of his scalp that was targeted by his ex “Don't forget that.”

“Y-yes ma'am.”

You laugh again and Woo joins the embrace, eyeing you both expectantly and rolling his eyes when neither of you say anything to him “Well, you are so welcome guys. What are we having for breakfast?”

You and San don't get to go out on that date.

But when you do, he asks you to be his girlfriend the next day.

And when you say yes he almost breaks down in excited tears.

Eventually, even Gyuri comes around and threatens him into treating you right, which means he earned her seal of approval.

You delete the document on your laptop when you find it a month into being his girlfriend and, instead, start drafting your new beginning on it, in first person this time because the story doesn't feel like it belongs to someone else now.

The first line read as it follows:

How did I ever think San and I could be just friends?

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez hard hours #ateez reactions #ateez smut #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san smut #san smut #san x reader #san #san imagines #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #san x you #san x y/n #fic; wcbf.

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yoursaltyqueen · 2 months ago

Text

you realize you’re in love with bucky barnes… and everyone else already knew.

It hit you on a random Tuesday afternoon.

Not during a battle, not during one of those late-night talks when Bucky let his walls down — no.

It happened in the kitchen.

You walked in half-asleep, hair a mess, wearing one of Sam’s old hoodies (because it was huge and cozy and he always pretended to be annoyed when you stole it). And there was Bucky, standing by the stove, humming something under his breath while flipping pancakes.

Pancakes.

The Winter Soldier was making pancakes.

His hair was pulled back loosely, little strands falling into his face, and he looked… soft. At peace. Like he belonged in this tiny kitchen with sunlight streaming through the window and your favorite song playing faintly from his phone.

And it just hit you.

Like a truck.

Like every cheesy love song and dumb rom-com moment you’d ever made fun of.

You were in love with him.

Hopelessly, stupidly, heart-achingly in love with Bucky Barnes.

“Uh oh,” came Natasha’s voice from behind you.

You jumped, nearly knocking over a chair. “Jesus, Nat—”

She gave you a slow, knowing smirk, crossing her arms. “Took you long enough.”

Your face burned. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a spy. I notice things.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “The heart eyes? The way you smile every time he enters a room? Classic case.”

You groaned, covering your face. “It’s that obvious?”

Nat just patted your back. “To everyone except Bucky. But hey — Captain Oblivious makes pancakes. That’s something.”

You risked another glance.

Bucky was now trying (and failing) to stack the pancakes neatly. He muttered a curse under his breath when one slid off the plate, and something warm bloomed in your chest.

Sam sauntered in next, sunglasses still on despite being indoors. He took one look at your red face and snorted. “Well, well, well. Look who finally joined the party.”

“Not you too,” you groaned.

Sam clapped a hand on your shoulder, grinning. “Oh, c’mon. Steve and I made a bet about when you’d figure it out.”

Your eyes widened. “Steve—?”

“Yeah,” came the deep voice from the hallway. Steve Rogers appeared with a cup of coffee, looking far too smug for someone so wholesome. “I said it’d take you until summer. Sam said spring.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Pay up, Rogers. It’s spring.”

As Steve dug out a crumpled twenty from his wallet, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Meanwhile, Bucky finally noticed the gathering. He turned around, blinking in confusion. “What’s going on?”

Everyone immediately schooled their faces.

“Nothing,” they all chorused too quickly.

You cleared your throat, trying to act normal even though your heart was pounding like a drum. “Uh—pancakes smell great, Buck.”

His lips quirked into that rare, soft smile — the one that always made your chest tighten. “Made ‘em for you,” he mumbled, eyes flickering away shyly. “Figured you might be hungry.”

And just like that, the world tilted again.

Nat smirked behind her mug. Sam waggled his eyebrows. Steve just sighed like a tired dad watching his kids be idiots.

You were in so much trouble.

And you were so, so in love with him.

By the time you escaped to your room, you were convinced your friends were conspiring against you.

Natasha’s smirks. Sam’s dramatic eyebrow raises. Steve’s disappointed dad sighs.

All because you’d realized — far too late — that you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

You flopped face-first onto your bed with a groan. “I’m doomed.”

“You are,” came Nat’s voice. You lifted your head just enough to see her leaning casually in your doorway, arms crossed and looking far too smug for your liking.

“You need to tell him,” she said simply.

You scoffed. “Tell him? Are you out of your mind? This is Bucky we’re talking about. The guy who shuts down when someone even mentions feelings. I can’t—”

“You can. And you will,” Nat said, pushing off the doorframe. “Because if I have to watch you make heart eyes at him over pancakes again, I might actually puke.”

You threw a pillow at her. She caught it with ease.

“Nat—he doesn’t feel the same. He’s… closed off. And broken and—”

Her expression softened, all teasing gone. “And so are you. But you found each other, didn’t you?” She stepped closer, voice quieter now. “You steady him. He smiles more when you’re around. He’s softer. You’re not imagining it.”

Your heart squeezed. “You really think…?”

Natasha rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I know it. And honestly? You both deserve something good. So go get it.”

Your mouth was dry, heart pounding, but before you could overthink it, you found yourself walking out of the room, down the hallway, and right to the balcony where Bucky usually disappeared when things got too loud.

And there he was.

Leaning on the railing, hair loose, metal fingers tapping a rhythm against the iron. The sunset cast gold across his face, making him look even more unfairly beautiful.

“Bucky?” you croaked.

He turned, and the second his blue eyes met yours, your knees nearly gave out.

“Hey, doll,” he said softly. That pet name, the one that always made your heart stutter. “Everything okay?”

No. Yes. Absolutely not.

“I—I need to tell you something,” you blurted out, hands shaking. “And if I don’t do it now, I might chicken out and never say it.”

His brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, Nat’s voice echoing in your head.

Go get it.

“I’m in love with you.”

There. Out in the open. No take-backs.

Bucky’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to process it.

“I know you’re closed off and scared,” you rushed on, heart racing. “And I get it, Bucky. But I had to say it. Because I’m tired of pretending like I’m not completely gone for you.”

Silence.

Your heart sank. Maybe you’d misread everything. Maybe—

But then—

Bucky crossed the space between you in two strides, cupping your face in both hands — one warm, one cool — and kissed you like he’d been waiting forever.

It wasn’t soft at first. It was desperate, a little clumsy, like he was pouring every wall he’d ever built into that kiss just so he could finally let it all go. And then it softened, his lips moving slower, gentler, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Bucky pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I just didn’t think I deserved to say it out loud.”

Your breath hitched. “You—”

He kissed you again, cutting off your words.

Somewhere inside, you knew Natasha was probably watching from the window with the most smug look imaginable. Sam would owe her twenty bucks. Steve would finally stop sighing.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Right now, it was just you and Bucky, tangled up in golden light and stolen kisses, two broken people who finally realized they could be whole together.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #buck x bucky

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pink-petal-horns · 3 months ago

Text

Grizzly Bear

Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Just pure sweetness, some swearing because it’s Frank.

Frank Castle was a lot of things. Soldier. Ghost. Walking warpath. And lately?

A damn bear.

The first time you noticed it, he was fresh out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, another one in hand as he ruffled it through his longer-than-usual hair. It was curling at the ends now, thick and dark, dripping onto his shoulders. His beard had grown fuller, too—still neatly shaped, but bordering on wild.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, and something in your brain short-circuited.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said gruffly, not even glancing your way.

“Like what?” you asked innocently, eyes very much not innocent as they roamed his body. “Like you’re a damn lumberjack and I’m about to beg you to chop wood with your bare hands?”

That got his attention. He turned, one brow raised. “You’re weird.”

“And you’re hot,” you countered, completely shameless. “You’re like…a sexy grizzly bear.”

He groaned. Loudly. Dramatically. “Don’t start with that.”

But you did. And you didn’t stop.

You started calling him “Grizzly” when you handed him coffee. You scratched gently at his beard when you were curled up on the couch. You bought him a flannel shirt as a joke and nearly combusted when he actually wore it. He grumbled the whole time, muttered something about “damn woman trying to domesticate me,” but never took it off.

It became a thing.

You’d sneak up behind him while he was working at the table, running your fingers through his hair and whispering, “My big fluffy bear,” until he growled low in his throat—but never told you to stop. He liked it, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

And when you brushed his beard after a long day, sitting between his legs on the floor while he leaned back on the couch with half-lidded eyes? That man was putty.

It all came to a head one random Tuesday night.

You walked into the bathroom and caught him in front of the mirror, electric trimmer in hand.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you gasped like he’d committed a crime.

Frank froze, caught red-handed. “It’s gettin’ too long,” he muttered. “Was just gonna clean it up—”

“Clean it up?” You practically lunged forward, snatching the trimmer from his hand. “No! No way. That beard is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re not allowed to touch it.”

He stared at you, bewildered. “You serious right now?”

“Deadly,” you replied, clutching the trimmer like a weapon. “You do not rob me of the beard. Or the hair. Or the flannel. I need Grizzly Frank in my life.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, chuckling low under his breath. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re lucky I’m insane for you,” you said, tiptoeing up to kiss his jaw—soft and bristly under your lips. “You keep this up, and I’m gonna start making you growl for me.”

That earned a smirk. “Already do, sweetheart.”

You looked at him, touched his cheek gently, and sighed. “You’re beautiful like this. Soft edges. Wild. It suits you. You suit you.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked down at you with that unreadable expression that always made your heart stutter. Then, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you slightly as he held you to his chest.

“You’re the only one who sees it,” he murmured into your hair.

“I see everything,” you whispered back. “And I love it all.”

So, he kept the hair. Kept the beard. Kept letting you call him “Grizzly Bear” in public, even though it made him blush behind the gruff act.

And every time you curled up beside him, fingers tangled in that dark, soft beard, he’d nuzzle your cheek and murmur—

“Yours.”

#frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #the punisher x reader #grumpy x sunshine #fluff #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher #marvel x reader #mcu #jon bernthal x reader

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synity · 2 months ago

Note

hi hiii can i request a loser core wonwoo hahaha something about him being down bad for yn! in a college setting if i may add! thank youuuu

DOWN BAD 101

(Jeon Wonwoo x FemReader)

*Popular-but-nerdy Wonwoo × Oblivious Y/N college AU fanfiction of Wonwoo in loser-core, secretly popular, bookish simp mode, slice of life, fluff, dramatic, romance humor*

If you asked Jeon Wonwoo to define "down bad," he wouldn’t even blink.

He’d say, “Y/N walking into Intro to Modern Poetry wearing that oversized hoodie with a pen in her hair like she’s the main character of a Studio Ghibli film, and I’m just the background bookshelf.”

Which is insane, because Wonwoo is not a background bookshelf.

He’s a walking academic weapon, the unofficial TA of every class he takes, the guy professors ask to “chime in” when no one raises their hand, and the type to correct the textbook during group presentations. He has 600k followers on social medial and once went viral for crying while reading a Murakami novel under a tree.

Wonwoo is popular. He just doesn’t realize it.

Because he only has eyes for you.

The first time he saw you, you were sprinting into class three minutes late, slamming into the door frame and apologizing in a breathless panic.

The professor hadn’t even flinched.

But Wonwoo? Wonwoo blinked, and somewhere in his ribcage, a tiny, clumsy crush woke up and started banging pots and pans like wake up, loser, this is it.

And since then, he’s been doomed.

Every class, same routine.

He saves the seat next to him.

He brings two pens one blue, one black just in case you forgot.

He pretends to scroll through lecture notes but actually re-reads your old discussion board posts, like:

"I think Emily Dickinson was just really dramatic and lonely and needed a snack."

And he highlighted it. In pink.

The worst part?

You have no idea.

You don’t notice the way his ears go pink every time you call him Wonu. You think he’s quiet because he’s shy, not because he’s rehearsing your name in his head before he says it. You just assume he’s nice.

Which he is.

Painfully nice.

Like helping you carry your iced coffee back from the vending machine even when he’s already juggling two of his own and a laptop bag. Or staying behind after class to explain the notes you missed even though you literally wrote them on your phone.

One time you tripped on the stairs and he dropped everything to catch you.

Like full K-drama slow motion moment. Your hands on his chest. His eyes wide. Your cheeks flushed.

You looked up at him and said: “Yo, that was ninja-level reflex. Thanks, bro.”

And his soul left his body.

Bro.

He’s never recovered.

Wonwoo isn’t just a regular student.

He’s the top assistant to Professor Kim a legend on campus and runs the tutoring program. He’s on scholarship, works two jobs, edits poetry journals, and tutors half the football team.

But he still makes time for you.

He doesn’t tell you, though. You just think he’s… always there.

It happens on a rainy Tuesday.

You burst into the campus café with your umbrella inside out and a murder in your eyes. Wonwoo watches from the corner booth, half-amused, half-panicked. You stomp up to him like a monsoon in sneakers.

“I failed the midterm.”

Wonwoo straightens. “Wait, what?”

“I got a D.” You plop beside him, miserable. “I wrote three pages on poetic disillusionment and the TA gave me a 67 because I ‘misinterpreted the author’s intent.’ Whatever that means.”

Wonwoo's hand tightens around his coffee cup.

“Who was your TA?”

You shrug. “Some guy named Minho. Kind of a jerk.”

Wonwoo exhales slowly, nods once, then gently slides his notebook toward you. “Come over tomorrow. I’ll help.”

You show up in sweats and snacks.

His apartment is small, warm, filled with books and plants. You wander around like you’ve stumbled into an aesthetic Pinterest board.

“You live like a Tumblr post,” you mumble, petting a succulent. “Why are you lowkey cottagecore?”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You sit beside him on the floor, back against the wall, flipping through poetry printouts. He watches you tuck your knees up, your hoodie sleeves falling over your hands, your hair a little messy.

And he thinks, I am so doomed.

Hours pass. You fall asleep halfway through a poem.

Wonwoo doesn’t move.

He just stares at you for a moment peaceful, warm, trustingly asleep in his space. Then he gets up slowly, covers you with his jacket, and sits back down with his notebook.

Under his breath, he whispers,

“Please, please, please… don’t fall for someone else before I get the courage to tell you.”

Wonwoo planned to confess on a Wednesday.

Not because Wednesdays were special, but because Tuesdays were cursed (exhibit A: your D grade), and Thursdays felt too dramatic. Wednesday was… neutral.

He even picked the café. The one where you always order the same drink vanilla oat milk latte, no syrup, extra cinnamon.

You called it your “silly little drink for a silly little life.”

He just called it yours.

But on Wednesday, he chickened out.

You sat across from him rambling about some group project that went sideways, and he was too busy staring at the crinkle in your nose when you mimicked your classmate’s whiny voice.

“Wonu, are you even listening?”

“Y-Yeah,” he blinked. “Something about… group betrayal.”

You squinted. “You good, bro?”

Bro.

He almost canceled himself right there.

Later that night, he texted Jeonghan in defeat:

[Wonwoo] Hyung. I’m never gonna tell her. It’s over. [Jeonghan] LMAOOOOOOOO [Jeonghan] okay but also? do you want her or not [Wonwoo] I do. So much it’s embarrassing. [Jeonghan] then stop being a Victorian novel and act like a man

Cue the Intervention.

Jeonghan recruited Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan to stage a “help session” in the library.

It lasted three hours.

It included a whiteboard, roleplay (Mingyu pretending to be you), and a slideshow titled: “Why Wonwoo Needs To GET A GRIP.”

“Step One,” Seungkwan clicked the remote. “Be normal.”

“Step Two,” Soonyoung added, “Stop disappearing when she enters the room like some vampire boy.”

“Step Three,” Jeonghan grinned, “Tell her she’s the prettiest human you've ever seen before someone else does.”

The next morning, you texted him.

[Y/N 🍓] hey wonu [Y/N 🍓] are you busy tonight? [Y/N 🍓] i wanna talk.

He stared at the message for ten minutes.

Then replied:

[Wonwoo] never too busy for you.

You showed up at his door that evening in a skirt and hoodie combo that nearly fried his brain.

“I, uh—come in,” he stammered.

You held up a small bag. “I brought snacks.”

That was the moment he knew. He was gone. Beyond gone. Down bad with no return flight.

Half an hour in, halfway through a bag of chips, you leaned back and whispered:

“I know.”

Wonwoo blinked. “Know what?”

You smiled soft, knowing, almost shy.

“That you like me.”

Silence.

Wonwoo felt the Earth tilt.

“You do, right?” you added, more nervous now. “Or was I… wrong?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then said, very eloquently:

“Holy sh—it’s that obvious?”

You giggled. “Kind of. But only to me, I think.”

Wonwoo rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You nudged his knee. “ I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

You both stared at each other in the warm light of his apartment, snacks between you, hearts pounding. And you whispered:

“Please don’t break my heart, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He leaned in, brushing your hair from your face.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said softly, “but you already have mine.”

The next few weeks passed in what you could only describe as soft chaos.

Because dating Jeon Wonwoo, a.k.a. the shy, insanely popular, overachieving bookworm, was kind of like dating a cat who thought he wasn’t allowed on the couch until you patted the spot next to you.

Every time you reached for his hand, his ears turned red.

Every time you kissed his cheek, he’d freeze like a character in an anime.

And when you texted him “I miss you,” he’d reply, “I missed you before you sent that.”

You were down bad. He was worse.

But nobody else knew.

Not because he was hiding you god no but because the two of you were nervous wrecks. And college wasn’t exactly subtle. Especially not when your boyfriends were in SEVENTEEN.

So when the College Arts Festival rolled around, Jeonghan made it his mission to blow your cover.

“I’m just saying,” he sang, hanging a banner, “if I see one more stolen glance from Wonwoo like he’s living in a K-drama, I’m outing him.”

“Don’t you dare,” you warned.

Too late.

That Night.

The festival was packed.

Lights strung between buildings. Music booming. Food trucks lined the streets. It felt like a dream.

A week later, the two of you sat on the campus rooftop.

It had become your safe place somewhere only you two went, somewhere quiet and yours.

You were playing soft music, curled against him, when you suddenly sighed.

“Wonwoo,” you murmured. “Don’t break my heart, please?”

He turned to you.

“I mean it,” you added, voice barely audible. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Wonwoo smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know people think you’re perfect,” you whispered, “but I’ve been burned before.”

He touched your face gently.

“I’m not perfect,” he said, “but I'll be enough for you.”

And then he added, “You’re not my weakness, Y/N. You’re my reason.”

900 notes · View notes

glossdebut · 2 months ago

Text

best laid plans | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You meet Min Yoongi at a GS25 on a nothing Tuesday. You don't expect him to change your life. You certainly don't expect to change his.

✧ TAGS: strangers to lovers, angst (with a happy—but hopefully realistic—ending), smut, fluff, this is a heavy one so please heed the warnings!

✧ WARNINGS: mental health issues, depression, depressive episodes, suicidal ideation throughout, suicide mentions throughout, implied suicide attempt (sort of?), panic attacks, specifically panic attacks after (consensual!) sex, smoking, recreational marijuana use, vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of unprotected sex (but no real unprotected sex), MINORS DNI, please do not read this fic if any of these warnings are triggering to you!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay. so... i said i wasn't going to post any more fics until june. and i won't post any more until then after this! i'm still on semi-hiatus! but something happened in my personal life last week, and i couldn't... not get it all out, somehow. so... here's this almost 14k monster. thank you claret @yoonmetogether for beta reading and giving me so much love and support while i was in the process of writing this! i love you! and thank you yoongi, for writing/releasing so far away (and the last) in 2016 and teaching teenage aqua how to stay, even when i didn't want to. and teaching adult aqua the same thing every year since. i hope this fic helps someone. that's why i'm posting it.

P.S. i recognize that i haven't edited my taglist since my hiatus. if you want to be removed, let me know.

✧ WORDCOUNT: 13.6k words

It’s a Tuesday night, which means nothing. Just like Monday meant nothing. Just like Wednesday won’t either.

The buzzing fluorescent lights in the 24-hour convenience store stutter overhead. You’ve been zoned out in the ramen aisle for at least five minutes now, doing the same song and dance you always do. Pretending you’re going to try something different this time, be a little spontaneous. Because you must break the pattern today or the loop will repeat tomorrow, right?

Still, though, your hand hovers over the same one you always get—the spicy one in the black package that scorches your mouth and makes your nose run. But at least it makes you feel something. So, you grab it.

Into the basket it goes, landing beside a bottle of Milkis and a crumpled bag of gummy worms. You sigh, turn around—

—and nearly walk straight into some guy you didn’t even know was in the store.

You both do that awkward side-step thing, freeze, then side-step the same way again.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” the guy mutters, voice low and scratchy, like it hasn’t been used yet today.

He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, the drawstrings uneven. His hair, bleach blonde, is tucked messily under a beanie, and there’s a faint line on his cheek from what was clearly a very intense nap. He’s holding a can of cold coffee and a pre-packaged egg sandwich in one hand, clutched between long fingers.

His eyes flick up to yours, and you realize, belatedly, that you’re staring. You should probably move, or say something.

“No, I—sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Your basket clinks against your knee. “Didn’t see you.”

Both of you are still kind of in each other’s way. There’s that weird, hesitant pause where you’re not quite sure who’s supposed to move next.

You clear your throat, nodding at his sandwich. “Midnight craving?”

“Something like that,” he says, eyes flicking down to the ramen in your basket. “You going for pain, huh?”

You blink, then smile a little. You didn’t expect him to be game. “Only the kind I can control.”

That makes him huff a short laugh through his nose. “Hey, no judgment. I’m out here buying coffee at midnight, so.”

You nod toward the sandwich again. “And that. Bold choice.”

“I wasn’t ready to commit to tuna.”

“Fair.”

It feels dangerously like flirting, just for a second. Awkward, clumsy flirting, sure, but flirting nonetheless. But the moment ends just as quickly as it came, like you’ve both run out of things to say at the exact same time.

You awkwardly step in opposite directions after that.

You return to your mission. First, hot water from the machine by the coffee counter. Plastic fork from the stack that’s always slightly sticky. You sit on one of the cracked stools by the window while the noodles steep and sip from your Milkis while staring out at the empty street.

By the time you make it to the register, the guy is gone. You kind of expected that.

He was cute, you think. A year ago, when you were a different girl and sort of had your shit together, you probably would’ve asked for his number. Batted your eyelashes or something stupid like that.

But now? You barely have the energy to brush your teeth most days. You’re certainly not in a place for romance. Not when your big life plan has boiled down to ‘survive one more month.’

So no, you’re not mourning the possible missed connection with the kind-of-cute stranger in the GS25. Just acknowledging it.

But then, when you’ve paid and make a move to shuffle out, the automatic doors slide open—and there he is.

Again. Leaning against the low brick wall, trying to light a cigarette with the wind working against him. The flame sputters out twice before catching.

You could leave. You should. But you linger, and since the street is pretty much desolate, he notices.

“Didn’t mean to loiter behind you,” he says, glancing up.

You shrug. “Didn’t mean to run into you. Twice.”

He waves his free hand dismissively, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips, plastic bag dangling precariously. “No harm done.”

That should be it, probably. End of conversation, end of interaction. Two strangers walk in opposite directions to wherever it is they call home.

But something about the slump in his shoulders, so similar to your own, makes you momentarily brave.

“You got somewhere to be?” you ask, gnawing at your bottom lip.

“Does it look like it?”

It doesn’t. Neither do you.

“Wanna sit?” you offer, gesturing towards the curb. “I’m just gonna eat before it gets cold.”

His eyes widen, like that’s the last thing in the world he expected you to say.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You sit. He settles a little awkwardly beside you, pulling the sandwich out of its crinkled plastic. It’s predictably silent between you, but you don’t hate it.

He eats. You slurp noodles.

And eventually, inevitably, you glance sideways.

Okay. He is cute. Decidedly. Maybe even hot, if you caught him on a better day. In a bleary, worn out way. The kind of good looks that sneak up on you, delicate and masculine all at once. Pale skin. Sharp jaw. Soft mouth. You’re not going to do anything about it. Obviously. But… still.

“What’s your name?” you ask around a mouthful of noodles.

“Yoongi.”

You nod. Don’t offer yours yet.

Yoongi takes another bite of his sandwich. Swallows. “You here often?” he asks, immediately grimacing. “God. That sounded—"

“Like a line?” You laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

Small talk comes easy after that. You find out he used to live on the other side of the river and only recently moved to this part of the city because of a roommate situation that imploded. You tell him that you only planned to live in your current apartment for a year, until you could afford something better. It’s been three now.

He tells you he’s currently between jobs. You admit you’re technically not sure if you still have your night gig, because your boss hasn’t texted you in three days and you don’t want to ask.

He gives you the remaining half of his sandwich. You pass over your ramen wordlessly, letting him steal a few bites. It’s still awkward, eating so closely with a stranger like this. Sharing your dinner with someone who doesn’t even know your name. But it’s weirdly nice.

When the food is mostly gone, he holds out his cigarette pack. You take one and he lights it for you. You both pass it back and forth in silence for a minute.

“I used to think I’d be famous by now,” he says eventually, exhaling toward the gutter. “Like, not stupid-famous. Just… enough that I wouldn’t be here. You know?”

You nod. You do know.

“I wanted to be a writer,” you offer in return. “But I hate writing. And I hate people who are good at it. And I hate that I still kind of want to do it anyway.”

“I don’t even know what I do anymore,” he says. “I was making music for a while. Then I got tired. Now I sleep too much. Avoid my friends. Pick up shifts at my cousin’s record store when he gets desperate enough to ask.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice.”

He snorts. “It’s not. But thanks.”

You tip your head back, look up at the sky, which is a washed-out navy and completely starless. Seoul smog. “I work part-time at a bookstore that almost exclusively sells erotica. And I cry like, three times a week, minimum. Usually in the bathroom. Sometimes in front of customers.”

Yoongi flicks ash onto the ground. “You win.”

You both sit with it. The warm, awful food. The too-sweet soda and the gummy worms melting in the bag between your knees. The companionship of a stranger willing to share a cigarette and half of his shitty sandwich, whose life isn’t all that different from yours.

You turn your heads at the same time. Your eyes flick down to his lips where they’re sealed around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale. To his long fingers, thumbnail bitten to shit.

He’s really pretty, even like this, in the unflattering light of the streetlamp you’re sitting under. Long lashes and dark eyes that pierce through you. You wonder if his mouth really is as soft as it looks.

He’s looking at your lips, too, you realize. When you catch him, he looks away fast, ears pink.

“This is nice,” he says, staring at the concrete beneath his shoes.

You blink. Then, just as quietly, “Yeah. It is.”

He offers the cigarette again. You take it. Neither of you says anything else for a long time.

✧

The bookstore has been blissfully, predictably dead since you opened this morning. That’s really the only upside of the job—nobody shows up. You could count the regulars on one hand, and half of them only come in to use the bathroom, despite the clearly posted sign that says they can’t.

You’ve developed a theory about it, about the shame that still lingers around buying erotica in person. As if reading about sex is fine, but purchasing it in the flesh is something to feel embarrassed about. You could write a dissertation on it, probably. But you won’t. You don’t write anymore. You just clock in, count the till, and reorganize displays no one looks at.

You’ve already done your morning routine. Opened up. Counted money. Packed a frankly alarming number of online orders (apparently people really love vampire erotica). Now, you’re posted up behind the counter, flipping through a paperback about sexy cowboys with a bright red cover and a title that would make your mother blush.

You’re in the middle of counting how many times the author uses the word member on one page (six, and one was throbbing) when the bell above the door gives its half-hearted ding.

You glance up from the counter, fully prepared to give your standard ‘we don’t have a public bathroom’ spiel, when you see him. Hoodie. Messy, bleached hair. Soft mouth.

Yoongi.

Your mouth actually falls open a little. You eventually gave him your name that night, but you hadn’t exchanged numbers. You didn’t even follow each other on social media. And yet, here he is, bearing witness to you in all of your smut-peddling glory.

“I guessed,” he says, by way of explanation. He sounds a little breathless. “You said bookstore, and there’s like, two in the area. The other one didn’t have nearly enough erotica.”

“So you just… showed up?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You didn’t give me your number.”

If he wasn’t cute, you might be a little creeped out. He’s lucky he’s got such a nice face. It makes things feel romantic.

“You want something?” you ask, gesturing to the wide variety of bodice-rippers your manager has displayed so proudly at the register.

“Yeah,” he says. “A cigarette. And maybe to talk to you again.”

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Come on.”

You lead him through the back, past the haphazard ‘Employees Only’ sign that no one respects. Outside, the alley smells like stale piss. Very romantic, indeed.

Just like Tuesday, he lights a cigarette for you to share. You take it, and he leans against the brick wall, watching you.

“I kept thinking about you all week,” he says suddenly, no preamble. His eyes are fixed on the smoke curling off the end of the cigarette.

You take a drag, the smoke clinging to your teeth. “I thought about it too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your shoes. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up, though.”

He gives a quiet little laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know. Stubbornness? Hope? Boredom?” He shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t want to go another week without feeling like something mattered. Even if it’s just a conversation in a piss alley.”

That earns a smile from you. A real one. You pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says eventually. “I don’t even know if I’m in a place to have a thing. But I liked talking to you. And I’m tired of not liking anything.”

You look at him. He’s not exactly looking back, more at the space near your shoes. But his profile is soft, a little hopeful.

“I feel the same way,” you say, cheeks hot and heartrate climbing. Something you haven’t felt in a long time—not for good reasons, at least.

He smiles. It’s small, but it feels real.

“You’re gonna give me your number this time, right?”

You dig your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He types in his number one-handed, cigarette dangling from the other, then calls himself so he has yours too. When it buzzes in his hoodie pocket, he hums like that settles something. Like now, technically, you belong to each other in some tiny way.

You take the cigarette back from him. Your fingers brush, knuckles stay touching longer than they should.

“You’re not gonna ghost me now that you’ve won the chase, right?” you murmur.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You think that was a chase?”

You shrug. “It was something.”

For a moment, you just stand there in the alley. The world keeps moving, traffic hums in the distance. Your shitty boss is probably inside wondering why you’ve been gone more than the regulation five minutes.

But you don’t move.

You look at him. His mouth. The cigarette between your fingers. And your body makes a decision your brain is too tired to argue with.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first. Your lips a little dry, the angle off, but it doesn’t matter. He makes a sound like a surprised exhale against your mouth and then he’s kissing you back, slow and warm and honest.

He tastes like smoke and canned coffee. You drop the cigarette and his hand finds your jaw. Your fingers reach for the edge of his hoodie, twisting in the fabric like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on.

You kiss him again. And again.

You’re not trying to make it romantic, really. You’re not trying to make it anything. It’s just—fuck, it’s been so long since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted to.

And Yoongi kisses like he wants to be anywhere but alone. Like he gets it.

When you finally pull back, both of you a little dazed, he lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. “So… this is happening.”

You nod, heart hammering. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t.”

And he kisses you again, one more time for the road, hands on your hips like maybe he needs the grounding just as badly as you do.

Yoongi leaves around the back and you go back inside like nothing happened.

But he leaves with your number, and you can still taste him on your lips.

✧

Weeks pass, but you both take full advantage of having each other’s numbers.

You text mostly during lulls, when you’re hiding behind the register pretending to alphabetize the books, or when Yoongi’s stuck in the back room of the record store sorting the new arrivals.

You never say good morning or good night. It’s not like that. But he sends you photos of weird album art, and you respond with blurry selfies surrounded by piles of books with egregious titles.

There’s comfort in the ease of it. No pressure. Just a quiet thread tying your days together.

You: someone asked if we have a bathroom and when i said no they said “then what do you do?” like they wanted me to shit in front of them for proof

Yoongi: People are the worst. Come work here. The pay is shit but at least no one talks to me

Sometimes you send voice notes instead of typing because you’re too tired, and he never comments on how drained you sound. He just sends one back where his voice is raspy and low and he’s clearly half-asleep but trying anyway.

It’s not dating, but it’s not not dating. You’re not friends, not exactly, but you care, at least a little, about whether he eats. Whether he sleeps. Whether he means it when he says he’s fine.

It’s just whatever the two of you are capable of giving right now. Somehow, that’s enough.

It’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi: You up?

Yoongi: Don’t say anything about how that sounds btw

You stare at it for a second. Then you type:

You: i am. what’s up?

You: and yes i’m going to make fun of you anyway

You: is this a booty call

Three dots bubble up and disappear. Once, twice, three times.

Yoongi: I just want to see you

Yoongi: Is that okay?

You sit up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

You could say no. You could ask why. You could point out the hour, claim you have work in the morning. But you haven’t seen him since the day you exchanged numbers (and saliva), so instead, you say:

You: yeah

You: come over

You send him your address. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, in the same hoodie as last time. Holding a plastic bag with canned coffee for him, Milkis for you, and a package of cookies you once mentioned liking in a text two weeks ago.

You don’t say anything at first. He holds up the bag like it’s proof that he should be allowed inside, and you take it with a soft, bemused snort. Then you step aside so he can come in.

He enters like someone trying not to wake a sleeping house—careful and quiet and unsure of what to do with his hands.

You close the door behind him. You both fidget for a second.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, standing just inside the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your heart tips, like it’s leaning closer to him whether you let it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” you admit softly.

And then, because it’s late and you’re lonely and he’s warm and real and here, you kiss him. Again.

It’s immediate this time. No fumbling. No hesitation. Just mouths pressing together like they’re picking up where you left off in the alley behind the bookstore. His hands find your waist. Yours cup his face, thumbs brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones. You kiss him slow, then faster. Harder.

You don’t think about what it means. You don’t try to label it. You just let yourself feel it—the weight of his body, the sound of your breaths, the sudden, startling relief of being touched.

His mouth trails to your jaw. Your neck. His hoodie bunches in your fists.

When you finally pull back, both of you flushed and breathless, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I like you,” he says quietly.

You swallow around the knot in your throat and nod. “Kiss me again.”

There's a sharpness to the way your mouths move now. You tug at his hoodie, fingers slipping under the hem to touch skin, and he makes a sound against your lips, small and desperate.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, sliding up your back, curling in your shirt like he can’t bear to let go. He presses you up against the door, urgent, and you gasp when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard. “I’m sorry—I didn’t come here for this, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you say, voice barely there. “I want this.”

That undoes him a little. You feel it in the way his mouth crashes back to yours, the way he exhales sharply through his nose like he’s already drunk on it. He kisses you hard, lips and teeth and tongue with no finesse.

His thigh slips between yours and you move against it, just enough to chase friction, just enough to let him feel how badly you want this too.

“Jesus,” he whispers, low and raw. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head back and let him mouth at your throat, lips wet, sucking a bruise into the skin. Your hips roll down again, slow and deliberate, and Yoongi’s breath stutters.

“I missed this,” you admit, half-ashamed. “I missed being touched. I missed wanting someone.”

Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, expression unreadable.

“You’re not the only one,” he says.

And then he kisses you again, deep and dizzying, and slips a hand beneath your waistband. His fingers are warm against your skin. Tentative at first, like he's giving you a chance to stop him, even now. Like some small, rational part of him is still waiting for you to say, ‘don’t.’ But you don’t. You tilt your hips forward instead, breath catching, and he exhales like that’s all the permission he needs.

He pushes his hand into your underwear and groans when he feels how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so—fuck.”

It’s been a long time since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted you like this. Desperate but gentle, afraid of messing it up. His fingers slide through your slick heat and you let out a sharp breath, clinging to his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you whisper, already dizzy. “This is—fuck—this is embarrassing.”

Yoongi huffs a soft, broken laugh. “Don’t care. Come for me. Come fast. I want to feel you lose it.”

He fucks you with his fingers slow, then fast, then slow again. Just enough pressure to make you tremble, to make you cry out softly into his hoodie. His thumb finds your clit, and you nearly sob from the shock of it.

“Yoongi—” you breathe, hands scrambling for purchase. “I—fuck—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me have it. I got you.”

You come fast. Hard. Pathetically hard. Your body locks up and then shudders violently, mouth open against his collarbone, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of your chest. Yoongi holds you through it. Doesn’t say anything. Just lets you ride it out with his mouth pressed to your temple, breathing you in.

When it’s over, you’re shaking. Barely upright. He eases his hand out of your underwear and presses a kiss to your hairline, tender in a way that makes your eyes sting.

You bury your face in his neck.

“I can’t believe I let you finger me against my front door,” you mumble, mortified as you catch your breath.

“Can’t believe you invited me to,” he replies, grinning against your skin.

You both laugh. Quiet and shaky and a little shellshocked. You’re still leaning into him, your breath evening out, your body boneless. The high is fading, but the warmth he left behind is stubborn.

You lift your head, eyes still a little glazed, and give him a suspicious squint.

“I have a question,” you say.

Yoongi blinks, cautious. “Shoot.”

“How the fuck are you not getting laid constantly?”

His eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs, quiet but full-bodied, like he’s genuinely caught off guard.

“I mean,” you continue, gesturing vaguely to your crotch, “that was—God. And I didn't even know if you’d be good at it! Like, I kind of assumed it would be decent, because you have a mouth and hands and a pulse—but that was fucking criminally good. Who taught you that? Why is this not a more widely available service?”

Yoongi presses his face into your shoulder and groans, laughing harder now. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just saying, someone out there is missing the opportunity of a lifetime.”

He finally lifts his head again, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, well. Most people don’t really stick around long enough to find out.”

That sobers you a little.

You study him—his messy hair, his blown pupils, the way he tries to play it off with a little shrug. But there’s something underneath it all. Not sadness, exactly. Loneliness, maybe.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his bangs, almost absently. “They’re idiots.”

Yoongi watches you for a moment. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just leans into your touch.

And then the quiet gets to you, makes you want to crawl out of your skin, so you say:

“So… uh… want me to suck your dick?”

Yoongi freezes. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“...Right now?”

“No,” you say dryly. “Next Thursday.”

He laughs. “Are you always like this?” he asks, amused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You ignore him and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants instead, fingers slipping under, deliberate and slow. “So?”

Yoongi exhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I want you to.”

His head tips back when you start kissing down his neck. His breath goes shallow. The way he touches you, light on the back of your neck, like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this—it makes you want to give him everything all of a sudden.

So you drop to your knees in your entryway, hitting the floor with a quiet thud that echoes in the quiet. Yoongi looks down at you in amazement, eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

You tug his sweats down and he helps, fingers twitching against the fabric, thick cock already hard and leaking at the tip.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice thin. Disbelieving.

You glance up at him, smirking. “That a problem?”

“Not even a little.”

You spit into your palm, spread it over the head, and he twitches in your grip. When you lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, Yoongi lets out a quiet, broken sound.

You’re a little rusty, but you don’t tease. You don’t take your time. You just sink your mouth down around him, spit-slick and sloppy.

“Fuck—”

Yoongi’s head knocks lightly against the wall. One hand finds the back of your head, loose and shaking like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or hold you still.

You bob your head faster, messier. Let your saliva drip down over your fingers, curled around the base of his cock while you work the rest with your mouth. He groans again, choked and startled, and you feel him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus, you’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You hum around him. That does it.

He gasps. Buckles a little. Then pulls back. Not all the way, just enough to jerk himself through the last few strokes, breathing ragged.

“Shit, shit—I’m—fuck, baby, fuck—”

You look up at him, mouth open, lips shiny and wet, tongue out just barely.

He spills across your mouth, your cheek, your chin. Hot and messy and so, so much. You blink through it, a little stunned, a lot turned on.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at the mess he made of you. “You’re—god. You’re insane.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still grinning. “You’re welcome.”

Yoongi laughs breathlessly. “I think I just fell in love with you a little.”

You feel the shift, then. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but suddenly the air feels different. Too quiet. A little too still.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you huff, just to fill the space.

Yoongi leans down and helps you up with careful hands. Your legs are a little wobbly. His hoodie is rumpled. His hair’s a mess. His sweatpants hang loose on his hips and his lips are kiss-bitten and red.

You glance at him, then away just as fast.

You’ve crossed some invisible threshold. You both know it. And now you’re just... here.

“I’m gonna, um.” You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. “Wash my face.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t look back as you walk away.

In the bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror, palms braced on either side of the sink. You wash your hands. Splash your face. Pat dry and breathe.

Or try to.

Fuck, are you having a fucking panic attack? Over that? Your chest is tight, every cell of your skin foreign to you. Like you’re wearing someone else’s body and she just did something you weren’t supposed to.

What the fuck was that?

Not the act itself. That part was great. The enthusiasm, the sheer filth of it—you don’t think you regret it. Maybe. It felt good, in the moment. You wanted it.

It’s what came after.

The shift. The quiet. The moment you felt like he saw too much of you. The part of you that glows when it’s being wanted, and dims just as quickly when it’s alone again.

And—Jesus, ’I think I just fell in love with you a little’? Who the fuck says that?

It takes you longer than you’d like to calm down. You do the breathing exercises you were taught, back in college when counseling was free and they handed out pamphlets on every corner of your campus. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You smooth down your shirt. Brush your fingers through your hair.

Then return to the living room like you didn’t just spiral for fifteen straight minutes.

When you return, breathing still a little labored, Yoongi’s sitting on the arm of your couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s afraid of what comes next. Like you’ve left him with his thoughts for too long.

He sits up when you approach, brow furrowed at the state of you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You sigh and sit down.

“Yeah. I just…” You stare straight ahead. “That was good. Really good. But it’s been a while. And I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this.”

Yoongi nods slowly. “You don’t have to know,” he says. “I don’t either.”

You turn to look at him, and the thing in his eyes, the softness, it’s too much. So you keep going.

“Not just the sex. Not just… you. This,” you say, gesturing at yourself, then your apartment. The mess that’s accumulated over the past month. “Letting someone see me when I don’t have it together. When I’m not even trying to pretend I do.”

You rest your head on the back of the couch, stare up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll swallow you whole if you keep talking.

“I don’t know why the fuck now of all times is when I’m letting myself feel anything,” you say. “It’s not like my life is better. It’s not like I’ve earned it.”

Silence.

Then Yoongi shifts. Leans forward, elbows on his knees again, like he’s working up to something.

“You don’t have to earn anything,” he says. “There’s no quota for being okay. Or being wanted. You can be a mess and still deserve good things. You can be at your worst and still… feel.”

You laugh. Bitter and small. “So what, we’re just two disasters trying to convince each other it’s fine?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.” And then, so gentle it nearly breaks you, he adds, “I don’t think I’m here to fix you. I just want to be here.”

How can he be so sure?

You don’t know a damn thing about him. Not really.

You know he works the stock room in a record store part-time and hates most of his coworkers. You know he smokes too much. That he eats terrible sandwiches and drinks canned coffee. That he texts like he’s trying to make you laugh even when he’s probably in the middle of some breakdown of his own.

You know he’s good with his hands.

You know he looked at you, in all of your mess, like you were still human. You know that he says dumb, grossly honest shit way too easily.

But you don’t know where he grew up. You don’t know what keeps him up at night. You don’t know what kind of heartbreaks he’s carrying, or who let him down hard enough that he walks around like he does.

And still, there’s something in your chest that won’t calm down. Something desperate. Clawing. A tightness you don’t want to name.

Why?

Why the fuck are you feeling so much for someone who’s barely more than a stranger?

Is it just the attention? The intimacy? The fact that, for once, someone touched you without asking you to be okay first? Is this what happens when you’re starving? When your skin has been untouched for too long and someone comes along with warm hands and tired eyes and lets you fall apart without flinching?

Maybe.

But it doesn’t feel shallow. It doesn’t feel fake. Instead, it just feels too easy. Like being with him turns the volume down in your head. Like you don’t have to explain yourself to be understood.

It scares the shit out of you.

Yoongi slips down from the armrest, sinks into the cushion next to you instead. Your knee brushes his. His arm rests behind you on the back of the couch, not quite around you, but near enough that if you leaned even slightly, he’d catch you.

Neither of you moves for a while. You just breathe.

Then his arm moves and his pinky finger nudges yours.

A small thing. Stupid. Barely anything.

But it’s the first deliberate touch since everything happened in the entryway. And it’s soft. Hesitant.

“We don’t have to do… that,” he says, quiet but firm. You know he means the sex. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Maybe you don’t need to define it yet. Maybe it’s not about love or fate or healing. Maybe it’s just about want.

Two people letting themselves be wanted for a while.

You hook your pinky around his.

Just this, you think. Just this is fine.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t push. He doesn’t label anything. He just keeps showing up.

Sometimes at your place, sometimes at his. Sometimes at the bookstore, when he has a day off.

There’s a pattern now.

Late-night convenience store runs. Shared ramen on cracked stools by the window, making fun of people’s bad haircuts as they pass on the street outside. Socks borrowed and never returned. His hoodie living permanently on the back of your chair. Your phone lighting up with ‘Proof of life?’ on days he knows you’re at a low.

Sometimes you kiss. Sometimes you just sit in the same room and don’t say anything. Sometimes he talks and you don’t respond. And that’s okay, too.

It’s not about what it is. It’s about the fact that it keeps happening.

When you disappear, he still shows up. Like today.

It’s not a dramatic breakdown. Not this time.

Instead, it’s the kind of bad week that sinks its teeth in slow. No single catalyst, no big meltdown. Just one exhausting day stacked on top of another, until your body forgets how to move without dragging. Your sink is full of dishes you can’t look at. Your hair’s unwashed. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.

You didn’t text Yoongi to come over. You didn’t say much of anything at all this week.

But you must’ve sounded off, or maybe he just knows how to read silence better than most, because around three in the afternoon, you hear the soft knock at your door.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t mean to ignore him, you just can’t make your legs move.

A minute passes, and your phone buzzes from somewhere near your pillow.

Yoongi: Not trying to crowd you. Just wanted to drop off some food Yoongi: Leaving it by the door. No pressure

You muster the energy to roll out of bed and crack the door open. A plastic bag sits at your feet and Yoongi is already halfway down the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“Yoongi,” you call, your voice raspier than you expect.

He turns around.

“Hey,” he says, probably surprised that you’re upright.

You open the door wider. “You can come in. If you want.”

Yoongi hesitates just for a second, checking that you’re sure. Then he nods. He picks the bag up and slips inside without a word, setting it on your kitchen counter.

He doesn’t try to hug you or touch you or ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t judge your apartment, the clothes strewn about, the closed curtains, the dishes piling up in the sink. He barely even looks.

“You eaten today?” he asks, gently.

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna make something anyway. Just in case.”

He moves around your kitchen like it’s his. Not because he’s overly familiar, but because he’s not afraid of your mess. He pulls out eggs, rice, a few green onions from the bag he brought.

You retreat back to your couch. You didn’t mean to lie down again, but the second you sit, your body droops until you’re horizontal. So you stay curled on your side, facing the wall. Listening.

The clink of metal. The whoosh of your gas burner catching. The soft sizzle of garlic hitting oil.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, Yoongi is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, cross-legged, a steaming bowl in his lap and another on your coffee table.

You push yourself up slowly. Your head aches, your throat’s dry, but you can’t lie. It smells good.

“You didn’t have to—” you start.

“I know,” he says, soft. “I wanted to.”

You eat in silence. The rice is soft, buttery, a little salty from the soy sauce and the eggs scrambled through it. You’re hungrier than you thought, but you pace yourself.

Halfway through, he glances over at you.

“You wanna watch something dumb?”

You nod.

Yoongi takes your bowl when you’re done, rinses both of them without comment. When he comes back, he takes a seat next to you. He scrolls through streaming apps on your TV until he lands on something you like.

The opening credits roll.

He doesn’t try to hold you. Doesn’t try to tell you it’s going to be okay. He just sits beside you, shoulders barely brushing. When your body droops again, he lets you lean into his side.

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, he mutters, “You don’t have to be okay for me to want to be here.”

You don’t look at him. Your throat tightens like you’re going to cry. Which is something, at least, after the numbness of the week.

“This could be me next week,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Or tomorrow. So. I get it. That’s all.”

And then the movie continues. One ridiculous scene after another. The light from the screen flickers across his face.

You don’t say thank you yet, but you know you don’t have to.

✧

You still haven’t put a name to it.

Neither of you has tried. There was one moment, maybe, a few days ago. Yoongi was over for no particular reason. He’d looked at you from your kitchen floor, head propped against the cabinets, lips red from kissing, and opened his mouth like he might ask.

But then the takeout came, and the moment passed.

You text like friends. ‘Want anything from the store?’ ‘This customer just asked if we sell records on vinyl. I hate it here.’ ‘What are you doing tonight?’ ‘Absolutely nothing.’ ‘Come do nothing with me.’

You hang out like you’re in a relationship. Eat cross-legged on his bed. Steal fries from each other’s plates without asking. Sometimes fall asleep shoulder to shoulder watching terrible TV.

You make out. A lot.

Against walls. On couches. Outside each other’s doors at night when neither of you feels like saying goodnight just yet. It never quite escalates to the point it did that night—maybe once or twice it almost does, but one of you always pumps the brakes.

You don’t meet each other’s friends. You don’t ask about exes. You don’t introduce him to your sister or take photos together or exchange socials. Because that doesn’t feel like what this is.

You like the bubble you’ve built. The little world where nothing outside matters. Where it doesn’t have to matter yet.

Because outside the bubble, your life is still a mess. Rent’s overdue. Work is torture. You haven’t written anything in over a year and you haven’t figured out how to be proud of yourself again, not really.

But inside it—when Yoongi’s mouth is on yours, when he texts you ‘Made extra ramen if you’re hungry btw’ like that’s not the most romantic shit anyone’s ever said to you, you feel steady.

But, like anything else, it comes with its own set of issues.

The thing about not fucking is that it used to be about not wanting. A lack of drive. A lack of spark. A lack of time or energy or libido or options.

But now? Now, it’s something else. Because you have the option.

Now, it’s starting to feel like a crack in the glass. Like every time you grind against his thigh with your hips twitching and your breath shaky, or every time he pulls your shirt off and buries his face between your tits but doesn’t go lower, the crack gets a little deeper. And you’re both pretending not to see it.

Because the truth is: you want to fuck him.

You desperately want to fuck him.

You think about it constantly. The way his fingers curled inside you that first night, the soft, filthy way he talked to you, the way he looked down at your face when you sucked him off like he was watching a goddamn miracle unfold.

You think about how he’d feel inside you.

You ache with it.

But you don’t bring it up. Because once you do, once you have sex, it’s not a bubble anymore. It’s real, something with expectations.

And you know yourself, you know how you get. You’ll start needing more. Wanting more. And Yoongi, sweet and quiet and lost in his own way, will become another thing you don’t know how to manage. Another thing you don’t know how to keep.

You’re scared of that. Of ruining it. Of letting your body talk you into something your heart might not be strong enough to carry.

So you kiss him like you’re dying, but when his hands drift to your waistband, you laugh, too high-pitched, and pull away. Pretend you’re tired. Or hungry. Or something, anything. Any excuse not to cross that final threshold. Yoongi never pushes. He just nods, catches his breath, and helps you back into your shirt like a gentleman.

But you feel the tension growing. Between your thighs. In your chest. In the way you wake up soaked and aching after every sleepover, body clenching at nothing. In the way your kisses are starting to come with more teeth. With soft little growls in your throat you didn’t mean to let out.

Tonight, he’s at your place again. It’s late. You both know he should’ve left hours ago, and the crack is splintering even further, faster than you realize.

You’re straddling Yoongi on the couch, your knees bracketing his hips, your mouth fused to his. Your hips are rocking down, slow and aimless at first, but building. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, feel the press of him through his sweats as you drag your clothed pussy over him like your body is starving.

Yoongi groans into your kiss. His hands grip your thighs, fingertips twitching. But, like always, he doesn’t push. He just lets you move, lets you grind down on him with that ragged little gasp in your throat, lets you take what you need without crossing the line you’ve both carefully danced around for weeks.

Except tonight, something’s different. You’re different.

Because when he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, hot and slow, and mutters, “you’re gonna make me come in my fucking pants,” you snap.

Completely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, breathing hard, eyes wild. “I want to fuck you.”

He blinks. Catches up slowly, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

“I want you to fuck me,” you amend, a little louder. Desperate.

Yoongi just stares at you for a moment, mouth parted, chest heaving. His hands tighten on your thighs.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

Once you say yes, it happens fast.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up your back to tug your shirt over your head. He peels it off and tosses it somewhere behind you, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You don’t.

Your bra’s off next, fast, and he curses the second your tits are bare, like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks too, and now that it’s real, he doesn’t know where to start.

So he starts with his mouth.

He palms your breasts and groans low in his throat, then leans forward and takes one into his mouth like he needs it—hot tongue flicking over your nipple, lips sucking gently before he bites, just enough to make you gasp. His fingers find the other, circling and pinching lightly.

“Fuck,” you whimper, arching into him. “Yoongi—”

You grind down on his cock again, still half-dressed from the waist down, the friction sharp and unbearable. You’re soaked. You can feel it. Your panties are useless at this point, clinging wetly to your folds, and you’re half a second away from tearing them off yourself if he doesn’t move faster.

“Condom,” you breathe. “Please. Where—?”

“Yeah—fuck—yeah, hold on.”

You scramble off his lap at the same time he stumbles off the couch, both of you half-laughing and swearing under your breath. He digs through his bag on your floor, frantic, muttering, “I swear I had one—fuck, wait—yes.”

He holds it up like a prize, and you don’t even give him the chance to rip it open before you’re tugging your shorts and panties down in one go, stepping out of them and crawling back onto the couch.

Yoongi stops cold, stares at you for a second.

Hair messy. Chest heaving. Legs spread. Eyes hungry.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tearing the foil open and shoving his sweats halfway down his thighs with shaking hands. His cock bobs free, hard and flushed and so ready, and your mouth actually waters.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease and climbs back over you, settling between your legs like he belongs there. Like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams and is finally allowed to touch.

He presses inside you slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch knocks the breath from your lungs. You’re soaked, but it’s still so much, been too long, and you cling to his shoulders with a gasp.

Yoongi groans, forehead dropping to yours.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he rasps. “Fucking wet.”

You whimper, hips already rolling up to meet him. “Been wanting this,” you whisper. “Needing this—”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You gonna let me give it to you?”

“Yes, please—”

And then he starts to move. Just the brutal press of his hips to yours, every thrust deep and deliberate and filthy, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere he won’t be able to crawl back from.

Your head tips back against the couch, eyes rolling up, mouth falling open on a gasp that barely sounds like a real word. He’s got one hand gripping the arm of the couch behind your head for leverage, the other wrapped tight around your thigh, keeping you pinned wide open beneath him as he fucks into you.

“Fuck, Yoongi—fuck—”

“You like it, baby?” he growls.

You whimper, nodding helplessly, your hands scrambling up under his hoodie to claw at his back, his sides, anywhere you can touch.

Your skin’s on fire. Your thoughts are gone. All you know is the sharp, perfect drag of his cock, the sound of your soaked cunt every time he slams into you, the guttural noises he makes when your walls flutter around him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. “Tight little pussy just gripping me—shit, baby, I can’t—”

His pace stutters for half a second, like your body is pulling the soul out of him.

You cry out when he hits deep—too deep—and he groans, pulling your legs higher around his waist to get the angle just right.

“There,” he growls when you shatter under him, thighs shaking, cunt clenching so hard he nearly loses it. “Fucking cum.”

You come like you’ve lost control of your body. Loud, legs locked, nails in his back. It hits hard and fast and doesn’t stop, rolling through you in hot, humiliating waves. Yoongi hisses, desperate now, chasing his own end, rhythm starting to break.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, even though the condom’s there, even though it’s just a filthy fantasy, and you sob at the idea of it. “Fuck, I wish—wish I could come inside you—fuck—you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me ruin you for anyone else—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not even sure you mean it, but it sounds right. Feels true.

That’s all it takes.

Yoongi groans like it’s been punched out of him, hips jerking as he comes hard, cock twitching inside you, face buried in your neck as he spills into the condom.

You both stay there, gasping against sticky skin through the aftershocks. He kisses your neck once. Then again. And again.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, dazed. “I think you just rearranged my internal organs.”

Yoongi laughs. “Cool. I was aiming for your soul.”

The couch cushions are half off the frame, your legs still trembling where they’re spread open around his waist. Yoongi pulls out slowly, careful, and your body aches from it, clenches down involuntarily, already missing the stretch.

He ties off the condom, looks around for somewhere to put it before settling on the empty takeout bag from earlier. Pulls his sweats back up.

You sit up with limbs like jelly, not bothering to put your underwear back on just yet, and run a hand through your hair. Your thighs are sticky. Your lips are swollen. You feel fucked out and raw and wrung clean.

Your body is so satisfied.

Predictably, your brain is a different story.

You glance over at Yoongi. He’s slouched against the other end of the couch, head back, eyes closed. His hair is damp at the temples, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t quite come back to himself yet.

He looks gorgeous.

You want to kiss him.

You also want to run.

That tight, itchy feeling—the one you’ve been avoiding since you first let him touch you—comes roaring back. You just crossed the line. You fucked the one good thing in your life that wasn’t tangled in expectations. That didn’t ask anything from you.

You broke the bubble.

He opens one eye and glances over at you.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just…” You trail off. Shrug. “That was intense.”

Yoongi huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. You think?”

You stand. Your legs are still shaking.

“I’m gonna, uh… go pee,” you say, already heading toward the bathroom. “Before I die.”

He doesn’t stop you. Just nods, eyes following you for a second before he looks away.

You close the door and sit on the edge of the tub. Breathe.

You want to feel good. You do feel good. But also… you feel like maybe you’ve fucked up. Or you’re about to. Or like this is going to change something that shouldn’t be changed.

You think about what you’ll say when you go back out there.

You think about whether he’s getting dressed. Whether he’ll leave. Whether he should.

You think, I don’t want this to become another thing I have to recover from.

✧

When you finally open the bathroom door, the light feels harsher than it should, and your skin’s still warm from the shower you didn’t really want but took anyway. Just to delay, to think, to scrub away the sweat and the way his hands felt on your hips and the way your body sang for him.

You step into the living room wearing clean underwear and a fresh shirt. Your face is bare. Your hair is damp. Your expression, despite your best effort, is a little too tight.

Yoongi looks up from the couch, where he’s still sitting, this time in his sweats and hoodie again, elbows on his knees, fingers idly twisting the hem of his sleeve.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze softens. Immediately.

“Hey,” he says, quiet.

You nod, cross your arms. “Hey.”

He watches you for a second, then leans back, patting the space next to him.

You hesitate, but you lower yourself onto the couch anyway. Not quite touching, not quite distant. A safe middle.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, disbelieving. “Then why do you look like you’re trying to figure out how to ghost me while I’m still in your apartment?”

You wince, staring at your knees. “I just—I didn’t mean for this to turn into, like… a thing.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“I mean, we’re not, right? A thing?”

You look at him now, really look. Your heart’s racing. Your stomach’s twisting. You’re not sure what kind of answer you want.

Yoongi looks back at you for a long moment. Then he leans back again, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what we are,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to make it anything.”

You swallow hard, because part of you thinks that should make you feel better. Instead, it just makes your chest ache. You were the one who let him in, even when you swore you wouldn’t. You’re not trying to make him feel like he’s the one at fault here. It’s you. It’s always you.

“But,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours again, “I like you. I care about you. And if we’re fucking now, yeah, that’s gonna mean something to me. Even if we never put a label on it.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?” you ask, voice thin. “If it means something?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak for a long while. You sink into him without meaning to, thigh to thigh, arm to arm. You don’t really know why.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, and says, “Can I tell you something?”

You nod against his shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to be at that convenience store,” he starts, voice shaky in a way that makes you sit up, just slightly. “I mean, I didn’t have a reason to be anywhere. But that night… I think I was sort of… walking around to see if I’d change my mind.”

You still. Your heart trips over itself, because that could mean a lot of things. Because you know, just by the tone of his voice, that he means the worst.

He keeps going.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while. Not in a loud way. Not even like a plan. Just… wondering. If things would be better. Easier. If I just stopped. Just disappeared.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t breathe too loud. You just listen.

“And that night, it felt close. Like maybe I was ready. Like maybe no one would notice.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t talked to anyone in a couple days. I didn’t even brush my teeth before I left the house. I just started walking.”

Your eyes sting. You try not to let it show.

“I stopped at the store because I thought—fuck it. One last shitty sandwich. One last can of cold coffee.” He huffs. “Really poetic, right?”

You let out a breath. “Yoongi—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. Or because I think you saved me. You didn’t. You just… made it a little easier to stay.”

You’re crying now, because god, you didn’t know, but you know. You know how it feels to always have that in the back of your mind, to convince yourself that there would be relief in giving up. Letting go.

He turns his head toward you now, not quite meeting your eyes, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to say all this out loud.

“I still think about it. Sometimes. Not all the time. But… it comes back. When it’s quiet. When I’m alone too long. But since that night, it’s been easier knowing that someone gets it. That I don’t have to pretend I’m fine all the time.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s not a dramatic, sweeping kind of moment. There’s no soft lighting or music swelling. Just his tired eyes, and your tired heart, and the shared weight of knowing what it feels like to want to give up—and choosing, for whatever reason, not to.

“Maybe that’s all this has to be,” he says. “Not a love story. Not some perfect, clean thing. Just… two people who don’t always want to be here, making it a little easier for each other to stay.”

You can’t speak. You nod, and your eyes blur, and Yoongi presses his forehead to yours like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you for seeing me.

✧

Days later, things aren’t better—not in the way people usually mean. Your life is still a mess. His is too.

But something’s changed. Settled.

He lets himself in now. Doesn’t knock. Kicks his shoes off like he lives there, shrugs his hoodie off and drops it somewhere near the couch, grabs two cups and fills them with whatever’s in your fridge.

And you let him.

You sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, flipping through shows you won’t finish. You kiss during the commercials. You fall asleep with his hand on your waist.

You still haven’t said you’re together. You still haven’t said what you mean to each other. But when you’re quiet for too long, he looks up from his phone and asks, “Okay?”

And when he’s too quiet, you ask, “Wanna stay the night?”

And when you both lie awake in the dark, not talking, not moving, you think: I’m still here.

And so is he.

✧

It starts with scraps. Half-sentences in your notes app. A phrase here, a sentence there. Something you jotted down after Yoongi left one night, when your chest felt like it was holding more than usual and your bed still smelled like his shampoo.

Then it becomes a little routine. You open your laptop without the usual dread. You stare at the cursor blinking in a half-finished document and think: maybe I can.

It’s not for meant to be published. It’s not for anyone but you. But it’s something.

One night, Yoongi finds you sitting on the floor with your laptop on your thighs. You’re so focused, you don’t even hear him come in.

He just watches for a second, quiet.

“Writing?” he asks eventually, and you jump.

“Jesus—” You slam the laptop shut on instinct, and he raises both hands in surrender, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says, setting down the drinks he brought. “But… that’s new.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just… stuff.”

Yoongi sinks to the floor beside you. “You haven’t written since we met.”

“I haven’t written in a long time.”

He doesn’t ask why not. He already knows.

Instead, he leans his head on your shoulder and says, “I’m glad you’re starting to again.”

He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t ask to read it. He just sits with you, there on the floor, eyes closed. Like your writing means something just by existing.

You open the laptop again.

You keep writing.

✧

Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on your bed while you type, cradling a cup of tea you made him because he clearly needed something to do with his hands.

You can tell he’s nervous. He’s got that look on his face like he’s about to say something serious but is trying not to scare the shit out of you. It isn’t working.

“So,” he says, after a long stretch of silence, “I have a friend.”

You glance up from your laptop, blinking. “Amazing.”

Yoongi huffs. “Kim Namjoon. He’s an old friend. College. We used to mess around with production stuff, back when I thought I was gonna be a genius producer with a Grammy by 25.”

You smile a little at that, set your laptop aside. “What’d he say?”

Yoongi hesitates, fingers drumming softly against the side of his mug. “He got some seed money. Not much. Just enough to rent a space, get a couple of half-decent mics, some gear. Says he wants to start a small label.”

Your stomach does a little flip. Not because you’re worried. Not yet. But because of the way he’s saying it. Like he’s trying not to want it too much.

“He wants me in on it,” Yoongi continues, staring down into his tea. “It’d be three of us, working in a basement, surviving off cup ramen. Maybe getting a local artist to sign on eventually.”

You exhale. “That sounds… really fucking cool.”

Yoongi finally looks at you. He’s smiling now, just a little, but it’s tight at the edges. “Yeah. It does.”

“And?”

He shrugs, but it’s not a real shrug. It’s that shoulder-lift people do when something matters too much. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to give a shit again. I don’t know if I’ll fuck it up. I don’t even know if I still have anything to say.”

“You do,” you say, instantly.

His jaw flexes. “Yeah, well. Maybe. He’s starting soon. Wants me to come by next week. Just to mess around with some demos, get a feel for it again.”

You nod slowly. Try not to let the ‘what if’s start swirling. What if it pulls him away? What if he leaves? What if this tiny, fragile thing you’re building—whatever it is—gets buried under a dream he's only just remembered how to want again?

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you say, “You should do it.”

Yoongi searches your face for a long time, hesitant, like he’s trying to catch you in a lie.

“Yeah?”

You reach over and take his mug, set it on the nightstand. You curl into his side, your face pressed to the crook of his neck.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think maybe… we’re both starting to remember how to want things again.”

You feel him breathe out. Slow. Unsteady.

But he nods.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t stop texting. He still sends you memes, voice notes, the occasional photo of his workspace—a cramped basement room with exposed pipes and cords spilling out over his desk, coffee-stained notebooks piled next to a MIDI keyboard.

But he’s not around as much.

The nights you used to spend together—half-draped over one another on the couch, kissing during reruns, sleeping side-by-side without labels—are fewer now. Sometimes he falls asleep at the studio. Sometimes he doesn’t respond until 2 a.m., when you’re already asleep.

It’s hard. You won’t lie to yourself about that. You feel the absence like a low-grade fever. Always there, dull but insistent.

And there’s still no word for what you are. No boyfriend, no girlfriend. Just… you, and Yoongi. And this thing you’ve built together, quiet and warm and undefined.

But when you do see him—when he walks through your door smelling like coffee and sweat and work—you can see it on him. The spark. The momentum. The low, buzzing joy of trying again. Of wanting something bad enough to bleed for it.

He’s tired. But he’s tired for a good reason, now.

And that makes you want to try, too.

So you keep opening your laptop. Not just to scribble down half-formed ideas, but to finish. You sit with the mess of it, the aching in your fingers, the voice in your head that says ‘why bother’—and you write anyway. You dig up old stories, rework scenes that used to make you cringe. You find your voice again, piece by shaky piece.

Sometimes, late at night, you send him snippets. Just to say, look. I’m doing it, too.

And he always responds, eventually. Usually something like:

Yoongi: Fuck yes

Yoongi: Proud of you

Yoongi: Also the studio toilet flooded again. I’m going to kill Joon

You laugh. You keep writing.

It still hurts sometimes. Missing him, wondering what all this means. But now the hurt is paired with movement. With hope.

✧

Eventually, you finish something.

It’s not perfect. Not even close. There are typos and sentences that feel like strangers to themselves, and places where the ending is still a little jagged and wrong. But it’s done.

A full manuscript. Your name at the top. Your words, your voice, your pain and hunger and stupid hope wrapped into a whopping 112 pages.

You think of Yoongi when you submit it with an application to a graduate school program. A program you’ve read and re-read the description for more times than you care to admit. You don't know if it’s good enough. If you’re good enough. But for the first time in a long time, you do it anyway.

And then you don’t tell anyone.

Maybe it’s selfish, but you want the hope for yourself. Just for a little while. You want to keep it quiet and sacred, untainted by expectations or well-meaning encouragement or the crushing weight of what if it doesn’t happen. You just want it to be yours.

You keep seeing Yoongi, of course. When he can. When he’s not tangled up in late-night meetings and studio sessions. You see each other in stolen hours, sleep-heavy kisses, lazy dinners eaten on the floor.

But lately, even those small moments feel bigger.

And then one night, you get a text.

Yoongi: You home?

You are. You say yes.

He shows up ten minutes later, breathless, hoodie damp from trying to dodge light rain, cheeks flushed with joy. Real joy. The kind that lights his whole face from the inside out.

“I had to tell someone,” he says the second you open the door. “I had to tell you.”

You let him in, confused but smiling all the same. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “What happened?”

He doesn’t even sit. He paces back and forth, rakes a hand through his hair, practically vibrating.

“We signed someone,” he finally says. “Tentatively, but, this artist from Busan, she’s insane, she’s so weird and good and her voice is like—fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. But Namjoon loved her. We all did. And she said yes. She said yes, to us.”

You blink, stunned. “You—Yoongi, that’s—holy shit!”

He grins, wide and unguarded, and you’ve never seen him like this before and it just makes you so fucking happy. You’re up on your feet before your brain catches up.

You hug him tight, breath caught in your throat. Because he’s shaking a little, and he smells so good, and this is what he looks like when he’s proud of himself. When he’s living.

You pull back to look at him, hands on his jaw.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

And Yoongi’s expression shifts. Softens. Deepens. He takes a breath.

“I love you,” he says.

Like it’s not sudden. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue for weeks, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

“I just—I do. And I didn’t want to say it while things were still messy, or early, or whatever. But this is what I wanted. That night, at the convenience store. This. You. Someone who gets it. Someone who doesn’t fix me but lets me stay. And I love you.”

Fuck. There it is.

You don’t speak right away. You reach for him instead. Pull him back in. Rest your forehead against his and let yourself feel it. All of it.

And then, soft and steady, you say it back.

“I love you too.”

✧

It’s not frantic, not this time.

Not messy or rushed or born of need. It’s slow, reverent, deep. Yoongi’s hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile, something he’s terrified of breaking now that he knows what you mean to him. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His breath catches when you tilt your head and kiss him harder but just as slow, open-mouthed and aching.

You walk him backwards toward the bed. He lets you. He goes willingly, grinning against your mouth like he can’t believe this is happening again, that you’re his, and that this time, it’s not just comfort or heat or distraction. It’s love.

He sinks onto the mattress, and you climb over him, straddling his lap, kissing him again and again, hands tangled in his hair, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

But then he pulls back. Barely. His hands settle on your thighs. His eyes are dark and shining and hungry.

“Let me eat you out.”

Your breath catches.

“I—what?”

Yoongi licks his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, too far gone to filter it. “I’ve been wanting to. Since the night I fingered you against your fucking door, I’ve wanted to get between your thighs and just live there. I love you, and I love your pussy, and I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every single bad day you’ve ever had.”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

Then you exhale, soft and wrecked, and whisper, “Okay.”

Yoongi repositions you onto your back, gentle, lips back on yours. His hands slide down your body like he’s mapping out every inch. He tugs your shirt off, unhooks your bra, kisses down your neck, your chest, your ribs, like he has all the time in the world.

And then he pulls your shorts down. Your panties too.

He groans when he sees you. Like, actually groans.

“God, baby. Look at you.” He kisses your inner thigh, drags his nose along the crease, eyes flicking up to yours. “So fucking pretty.”

And then he licks into you.

You cry out, sharp and sudden, because it’s so much. He’s warm and wet and greedy, tongue flat against your clit, then pointed and precise, then everywhere, like he can’t choose, like he doesn’t want to.

He moans against your pussy like he’s the one being touched. Like he could cum just watching you feel good, because of him.

“Yoongi—shit—” Your hands fly to his hair, thighs trembling, already shaking, already close.

He wraps his arms under your thighs, holding you open, keeping you grounded, mouth working you over like he’s worshipping you. He sucks on your clit, gentle but firm, and you arch off the bed.

“I’m gonna come,” you warn, voice breaking. “Fuck, Yoongi—”

He groans, messy and eager, never once letting up. And then you do.

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, hands in his hair, eyes rolled back. It’s hot and overwhelming, your body jolting and twitching, his name a broken whimper on your tongue.

He keeps going until you push him away, overstimulated and trembling.

“Jesus,” you breathe.

He grins, climbs back up your body, presses his mouth to yours without hesitation. You taste yourself on his tongue.

“You love me,” he murmurs, like it’s the best thing he’s ever been told.

You nod, dazed. “I do.”

He kisses you again.

“You’re gonna let me do that every day, right?”

You laugh, breathless. “If you keep doing it like that, yeah. I might not survive, but yeah.”

You let Yoongi kiss you for a while, slow and soft and full of so much love, but eventually, you push at his shoulder. He pulls back instantly, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Lie down,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

Yoongi blinks, lips swollen and wet. But he lets you push. “Baby—”

“You’ve been working so fucking hard,” you say, crawling into his lap, straddling his thighs. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Whatever protest he might’ve had dies in his throat the second you reach down and palm him through his sweats. He’s hard—has been since he had your pussy on his tongue—and he groans, low and helpless, as you slide your hand beneath the waistband.

You stroke him slow, loving, watching the tension bleed out of him with every pass of your fist.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching into your touch. “Feels good.”

You smile. Kiss his chest as he fumbles for the condom in his wallet.

When you finally sink down onto him, Yoongi lets out a groan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in his neck when he leans his head back.

“God—” he gasps. “Fuck, baby, you—”

“I know,” you breathe, grinding your hips in slow, careful circles. “I know. Just relax. Let me do this for you.”

You ride him slow, deep, dragging his cock through your tight, wet heat over and over. Every inch of him feels like it was made for you, thick and perfect and pulsing inside you, your cunt already fluttering from how good he made you feel earlier.

Yoongi can’t keep still. His fingers squeeze your thighs, your hips, then your waist, like he can’t decide where to hold on. Like he’s barely holding on at all.

He opens his eyes to look at you and whines, higher than he probably meant to. Because you’re riding him like you love him. Because your tits are bouncing with every slow roll of your hips, and your face is flushed, and your eyes are locked on his like there’s nowhere else you want to be in the entire fucking world.

It springs him into action.

He sits up, wraps his arms around you, mouths at your tits like he’s starving. He sucks at one nipple, then the other, licking and kissing and biting softly like he can’t stop, like he needs to touch you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.

He moans into your chest. Hands moving down to your ass, guiding you up and down on his cock in that same slow, dirty rhythm, like he wants to make this last forever.

“Can’t even think,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good—too good—fuck, I love you—”

You ride him harder, faster, your hands on his shoulders. Your whole body shakes with how good it feels to be full of him, to see him like this—wrecked, undone, yours.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, hips stuttering. “Yoongi—”

“Come for me,” he begs. “Please, baby, come on my cock, wanna feel it.”

You do.

You fall apart in his arms, gasping his name, pussy clenching around him so tight it nearly rips the orgasm out of him too. You’re shaking, sweating, still grinding through it as he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name, fucking up into you just a little, just enough—

He comes with a low, broken ‘fuck,’ arms locking around your waist, cock pulsing inside the condom. He’s so loud, so needy, and god, you’ve never loved anyone like this.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, still joined, still trembling.

And Yoongi holds you like he never wants to let go.

✧

You stay like that for a while, pressed to his chest, his arms strong around your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat still racing under your cheek. The room smells like sweat and sex. Yoongi’s hand is stroking slow lines up and down your spine.

He hasn’t said much since you both came down, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You’re the one who breaks it.

“I did something,” you admit.

Yoongi hums, not missing a beat in the way his fingers trace over your skin. “Yeah?”

You nod against his chest, then force yourself to sit up, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are half-lidded and lazy, but sharp with attention the second he realizes you’re serious.

“I applied to grad school.”

Yoongi blinks.

“For writing?” he asks.

You nod again, heart hammering. “Yeah. An MFA. I submitted a portfolio. Finished something for the first time in forever. I would’ve told you sooner, I just—” You shrug. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, like he’s still processing.

And then he grins. Slow. Genuine. Gums showing and eyes shining.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, sitting up and grabbing your face in both hands.

Your eyes sting. “I don’t even know if I’ll get in. It’s probably stupid—”

“It’s not,” he cuts in, firm and quiet. “It’s not stupid. It’s huge.”

You try to look away, but he keeps your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, grounding you.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “Seriously. I’ve watched you try so hard to find something again, and you did it. Whether or not you get in doesn’t matter. You tried. That’s fucking everything.”

You bite your lip, blinking fast. Yoongi kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth.

“Thanks for telling me,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep it safe.”

And you know he will.

For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so terrifying.

✧

The email comes on a Wednesday.

You’re not expecting it. You’ve nearly forgotten the timeline, pushed it into the back of your mind like a daydream you didn’t want to get too close to. You’ve been telling yourself not to hope too much. Not to want it, even though you do. Badly.

It hits your inbox around 11:42 a.m., and you stare at the subject line for a full minute before you open it. And then—

You’re in.

You read it twice, then two more times. It still doesn’t feel real. You read the phrase We’re pleased to inform you like it’s in another language. Like it’s not something anyone was ever supposed to say to you.

Then you laugh. A startled, breathless sound that turns into something half-sobbing.

You call Yoongi.

He doesn’t pick up on the first try—he’s a busy man these days—but he calls back two minutes later.

“Hey, baby. What’s—?”

“I got in.”

There’s a long pause.

And then, softly, “what?”

You swallow hard. You’re pacing your kitchen now, barefoot and trembling. “I got in. Grad school.”

“Holy fuck.”

You laugh again, breathless. “I know.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I know! Yoongi—”

“You got in,” he says. “You fucking got in.”

He sounds like he’s smiling. Like he’s trying not to cry. You’re trying, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “So fucking proud of you. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Come to the studio,” he says instantly. “No one’s here today except me. I’ll order food. I’ll roll a joint. I’ll kiss you a lot. Do some very dirty, celebratory things to you on the desk, if you want.”

You’re already grabbing your keys. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Meet me out back.”

When you get to the studio, he’s outside. Leaning against the back of the building, waiting. The joint is already rolled, tucked neatly behind his ear, and he’s got that look on his face—that slow, lazy grin.

“You,” he says, pushing off the wall the second he sees you. “Fucking you.”

You don’t say anything. Just drop your bag on the cracked concrete and launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, wraps you up in him—hoodie and warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes and detergent and Yoongi. His arms curl tight around your waist, and he lifts you slightly off the ground as you bury your face in his neck.

“You got in,” he murmurs again. “You really—baby, you did it.”

You nod against him, laughing and sniffling all at once. “I did.”

He sets you down but doesn’t let go. Just pulls back enough to kiss you. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of you—buzzing and breathless and so fucking proud of yourself.

When he finally pulls away, he grins and taps the joint behind his ear.

“Celebration?”

You nod. “God, yes.”

He lights it. Takes a drag, passes it to you, and you both sit on the loading dock out back, knees bumping, fingers laced, smoke around your heads. The sun’s low in the sky. It’s chilly, but you don’t feel cold. Not with his hand in yours.

And everything’s… okay. Not fixed. Not perfect. But better.

Because loving Yoongi didn’t save you, and you didn’t save him. You still have bad days. Panic attacks. Guilt. Long, unbearable silences you have to claw your way out of. He does, too. Life is still life.

But he holds your hand through it.

And when things are good—like now, like this—you feel it in your bones: you love him. You fucking love him.

You lean into his side, head on his shoulder, and you think:

I can do this. I can live this life.

Especially if he’s in it.

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alinathinkstoomuch · 29 days ago

Text

BRIEF RELIEF

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (part of my fake!fiancee series, but can be read as a standalone) summary: you asked for stress relief and aaron just happened to deliver it in the supply room...right as someone walked by, based on this request. warnings: smut, semi-public setting, fingering, lil hair pulling and mouth covering shenanigans, r wears make up & works in fashion, established relationship. word count: 3k

✧ masterlist

There were plenty of ways you loved to de-stress. Spa days with cucumber water and a fluffy white robe. Shopping sprees that required a second set of hands (and possibly a second credit card). Journaling with pastel gel pens while sipping overpriced matcha in your favorite café. Picking out a new signature scent just because it was Tuesday. Clearing out your shoe closet—though, admittedly, that one sometimes caused more stress than it relieved. Choosing which pair of Manolo Blahniks to part with? Torture in heel form.

But unfortunately, none of those luxuries were on today’s schedule.

Not when you were in the middle of organising the fashion show of the season. Between pointing frantic models towards the nearest powder brush, stitching a hem with dental floss, yanking what felt like a dozen bobby pins out of a hairstyle that screamed ‘wrong era’, and making sure the outfits went out in the exact right order, there was absolutely no time for candles, journaling or topping up your perfume.

At one point, you actually had to stop and check the bottoms of your feet because you were sure they were on fire. They weren’t, obviously, but the pain? Very real. Your back felt like you’d accidentally signed up for a double reformer class, and your sweat had officially taken over the job of your setting spray which had definitely given up hours ago. Still, you smiled. You gave compliments. You kept everyone moving. Because this was your world, even if it felt like it was spinning a little too fast and a little too loud.

Just as you managed to get model number seven into her stilettos without poking your own eye out with a safety pin, that devastating, ooey-gooey voice made you pause. And maybe melt a little.

“Is it always like this back here?”

You turned and there he was, leaning casually just inside the curtain like he hadn’t somehow managed to press pause on time simply by being there.

“Only on days that end in y,” you replied, dabbing beneath your eyes in what you hoped was a graceful attempt to salvage creased concealer.

His response was a smile. One of those smiles, the kind that made everything tangled inside you slip apart until it all returned to what it once was.

“You look…busy.”

“Just another day in the office, honey,” you sighed, ushering model seven out with a gentle pat on the shoulder. Your eyes landed on the matcha in Aaron’s hand, and your entire soul lit up. “Is that—?”

“It is,” he confirmed lightly, holding it out to you. “Didn’t know if you’d had a break.”

You all but snatched it from him—elegantly, of course—and took three solid gulps like it had replaced oxygen for the next five minutes.

“I like the dress,” he added, as if he hadn’t just lobbed a verbal grenade directly at your nervous system.

You barely remembered putting the thing on, adamant that someone must’ve zipped you into it while you were too busy sticking down the inner corners of your false lashes. But the way he was looking at you, equal parts appreciative and enthralled, made you feel like you were walking the runway instead of running around behind it.

“You mean the one with lipstick smudges and tear stains?”

“I mean the one that makes half the room forget how to speak.”

Smooth. Painfully smooth.

So smooth, in fact, that the words didn’t just land—they slid. Skimmed right over the surface of your skin and trailed somewhere lower, somewhere warmer, somewhere that made your knees question their loyalty.

You had to look away. Just for a second. Like maybe if you stared hard enough at a rack of colour-coded gowns, your mind would weasel its way out of the gutter, one currently overflowing with thoughts of Aaron’s hands.

Veiny, firm, steady hands.

“There you are!” Bella, your assistant, huffed as she appeared beside you. “We need blush-toned satin fabric. Like, now. Someone moved the roll and the hem on model eight’s dress is a tragedy waiting to happen.”

You blinked, cleared your throat, and nodded like you hadn’t just been fantasising about Aaron Hotchner’s hands and fingers five seconds ago. “Fabric. Right. Top shelf, back storage.”

“Ugh,” Bella groaned. “I can’t reach it without climbing something I’ll definitely fall off of, again.”

“I’ve got it,” you said quickly, cutting her off as you turned, matcha in hand and your doting boyfriend following behind like the good man he was.

Your heels echoed down the hallway as you power-walked towards the storage cupboard, nearly tripping over your own two feet because apparently gravity had also had enough of today.

“Have you had a chance to sit down at all?” Aaron’s voice followed just as you pushed open a heavy door leading to the storage room.

“Does collapsing onto a chair for thirty seconds while I glued rhinestones to a hair clip count?”

He stepped in behind you, letting the door shut softly as you placed your matcha on the nearest shelf. You were halfway up on your toes, reaching for the top row where the blush-toned roll of fabric lived, when your elbow nudged the cup just enough.

The lid popped off and the matcha went everywhere.

“No, no, no,” you gasped, scrambling to save the now green-streaked shelf. “This was my one source of peace today!”

Aaron was instantly beside you, grabbing a roll of paper towels from a lower shelf you hadn’t even noticed, moving in to blot the spill like it was nothing.

“It’s okay, we’ll clean it up.”

You stepped back, letting him take over before the rising lump in your throat turned into actual tears. “I’m gonna be sticky for hours,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “And I’m pretty sure this is the wrong fabric anyway, and I’m sweating like I just ran a marathon in a sauna, and I haven’t eaten since… yesterday? And I miss my dog and—”

He paused mid-wipe, then reached out and rested a hand on your back. “Hey, what can I do?”

You genuinely tried to brainstorm options, real ones. Sensible ones. But all rational thought flew out the window as your shoulders slumped, your hands landed on your hips, and the words fell from your perfectly glossed lips like a prayer.

“Make out with me.”

His brows lifted, and he let out a half amused laugh, before going back to wiping up the spilled matcha—matcha that, to your horror, was currently getting more attention from his hands than you were.

Now that was a real crisis.

“Really, sweetheart? You sure you’ve got time in that jam-packed schedule for a make out session?”

“Yes,” you nodded, dead serious, like one of those dashboard figurines with the bobbly heads. “I only need, like…a five-minute heavy make out sesh to bring my stress levels back to something resembling normal.”

He shook his head, and you were graced with a side profile so pretty it felt rude. You caught the corners of his mouth twitching, the hint of a smirk creeping in at your suggestion.

“I’m serious,” you added, your voice coming out breathier than intended. “Please. I think I might combust and die if your tongue isn’t down my throat in the next ten seconds.”

“Oh, so it’s life or death now?”

You gave him your best wide-eyed pout, the one that had gotten you out of trouble and into trouble more times than either of you could count.

“Critically urgent,” you declared, every syllable dripping with need.

You were already picturing it, how his mouth would feel pressed to yours, his tongue working miracles on the tangle of stress knotted inside you. You didn’t need a massage, a nap, or even a new perfume. All you needed was for him to toss those matcha-soaked paper towels in the bin and put that incredibly distracting mouth exactly where it belonged.

And when he finally moved?

You had to physically stop yourself from squealing and jumping up and down like you’d just been handed a custom pink Prada bag straight from Milan. Instead, you stood perfectly still, well, as still as someone could stand while their fingers fidgeted with the sides of a couture dress and their pulse did laps.

When the tissues were safely tossed, you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face, slow and easy like butter on warm toast. The second he was close enough, your hands slid up around his neck, fingertips now preoccupied with the collar of his shirt.

“Hi,” you breathed, bouncing just slightly on your toes because self-restraint could only go so far.

“Are you sure this will make you feel better?” he asked, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist.

“Absolutely. This is exactly what I need. Now come on, wanna taste you.”

And really, how was he supposed to not react to that? When words like that came from lips he’d committed to memory, every curve, every sigh, every glossed-over comeback in that luscious tone he could never get out of his head.

He pulled you in close, snug enough that the silk of your dress whispered against his suit. Then his mouth was on yours. He kissed you slowly, like he was sampling you. Savouring every bit of tension he could draw out. Like he was trying to decode the flavour of your stress before licking it clean. And yep, there it was. That delayed lighting cue. Oh, and the wrong heels on model four. And ah, yes, the soundtrack that didn’t flow quite the way you wanted it to.

You couldn’t help yourself as your teeth gently tugged and sucked at his bottom lip, just enough to make his hands tighten at your hips.

There it was.

His tell. That tiny break in composure he didn’t even know he gave. He always did it—always—when he couldn't quite keep a lid on it. And you banked on it, because yes, the kiss was technically dissolving your stress, but it was also stirring up something else entirely. Something far less manageable.

“Baby,” you whispered against his mouth as you took a step back, letting him follow you until your spine hit the shelving behind you. “This isn’t enough.”

He pulled back just a fraction, his breath still fanning across your face. “No?”

You shook your head, lips parted, pupils blown. “I need more, please. I’m so worked up, it won’t even take three minutes.”

“Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re supposed to be getting the fabric for Bella, remember?”

“No, I don’t think I do.” You grabbed the hand resting on your hip and started guiding it down, lower and lower, until his fingers hovered right at the hem of your dress. You didn’t dare break eye contact, hoping he could see the desperation plain as day. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing, and you watched the twitch of his Adam’s apple like it was begging to be bitten. Still, he didn’t stop you. Not once.

You slipped his hand beneath your dress. “Just feel me,” you whined. “Three minutes. That’s all I need. Well—three minutes and your fingers.”

That did it.

His hand moved on its own now, trailing up the inside of your thigh before slipping beneath your underwear.

“Jesus,” he muttered, half in disbelief. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Told you,” you managed with a grin, though it disappeared the second his fingers brushed along your folds, dragging through the slickness before settling on your clit. Your whole body jolted, one hand gripped his bicep, the other clutched the edge of the shelf.

“Okay,” you gasped. “That’s definitely helping.”

Aaron watched as your head fell back against the unit, the silk of your dress moulding perfectly to your rising and falling chest. He hadn't meant to move like that—not really. But the second you’d dragged his hand, every rational thought he’d clung to vanished. Just like that. Gone.

Because how the hell was he supposed to resist you?

Flushed. Breathless. Desperate. And somehow, still managing to look like you’d walked straight off the cover of a fashion magazine. So he gave in a little more, slipping a finger inside you. You moaned, high and needy, one leg instinctively hooking up onto the table behind him. The motion dragged him closer, deeper, like you couldn’t bear even a molecule of space between you.

“Aaron,” you whimpered, hips rolling against his hand, your fingers digging into his shoulder. “More. Please.”

He kissed your throat, just below your jaw. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“I don’t care—fuck,” you stammered, just as he slipped a second finger in. Your back jerked against the shelves hard enough to make them rattle and tip what remained of the lukewarm matcha onto the floor. Not that you noticed. Not even a little.

Then, he heard it.

A shuffle. A footstep. The door shifting…maybe closing? Maybe nothing at all.

Aaron stilled, breath catching mid-kiss as he tilted his head towards the sound. Your leg was still hooked over the edge of the table, the shiny material of your dress bunched high around his wrist, your body trembling under his hand.

His brain should’ve been sounding alarms, but instead? He was calculating.

You were covered enough that it could pass as something innocent. If someone walked in right now, he could probably get away with pretending he was straightening your dress. He could spin something. Say you’d gotten tangled in the hem. Maybe say you tripped. Something. Anything.

God. What the hell was wrong with him?

You had him out here—him, Aaron Hotchner—planning contingencies for how to keep your orgasm discreet in case someone walked in. All while his fingers were still buried inside you.

“Please,” you mewled, squirming under his touch. “Don’t stop, please, I’m so close.”

“I think someone might be coming,” he murmured, his fingers curling deep inside you, dragging out another gasp.

“Yeah, me, just—fuck— right there.”

And that’s when you heard it too. Fast footsteps, clipped heels and then a voice unmistakably belonging to your assistant.

“Did you guys get lost? Where is the fabric?”

Bella. Of course.

But instead of panicking, your eyes snapped shut because right then, Aaron’s thumb dragged a lazy circle over your clit.

“Tell her,” he whispered calmly, fingers still not stopping. “Tell her you’ll be a minute.”

“A-Aaron—” you half-whimpered, half-hissed, toes curling inside your heels.

“She’ll leave faster if you answer. Go on, be convincing.”

You shook your head helplessly, pressure swirling hot and fast in your stomach. “C-can’t… right now.”

“Hellooo? You guys are scaring me a little bit.”

Aaron pulled back, just enough for his eyes to sweep over you. And he saw it, the flutter of your lashes, the way your teeth pinned your bottom lip, the flushed glow painting your skin. This whole ordeal, the possibility of getting caught, was turning you on like nothing he’d ever seen before.

It would take Bella exactly six steps, maybe less, to hear your failed attempts to keep quiet, to hear the lewd, obscene noises between your thighs as your wetness coated his fingers and wrist.

“Fuck, Aar—I’m gonn—”

His hand flew up to cover your mouth just in time.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” he called, casually, like this wasn’t the most indecent thing he’d ever done in a supply room. Like he wasn’t knuckle-deep inside you, fingers coaxing every last drop of your orgasm.

“Oh. Oh! Oh my God—I’m so sorry!” Bella’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. “Take your time, seriously! Fabric can wait. Don’t come out here… you know, not decent!”

The moment the sound of her heels clicked away, your body sagged against the shelf, every limb loose. You felt like you’d just been wrung out, soft, floaty, and about ten pounds lighter.

Aaron withdrew his fingers and adjusted your underwear with the kind of care that made you reconsider whether chivalry was actually extinct, your legs very nearly giving out all over again. But before he could move away completely, you caught his wrist, bringing his slick-coated fingers to your mouth and took them in, sucking them clean with a witty swirl of your tongue.

Aaron’s jaw flexed. “That’s not helping.”

You let his fingers go with a wet pop.

“Gosh, silly me. You’ve been so generous,” you cooed, your other hand drifting south, feeling exactly what all of this had done to him. “It would be rude not to return the favour…especially when you know how pretty I look on my knees.”

He swallowed whatever response he was about to give, then reached up to fix the strap of your dress where it had slipped, a gesture so surprisingly tender it felt like he was putting you back together, piece by piece. Then, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging it enough to guide your face up to meet his.

“Behave,” he warned, his other hand wrapping around your wrist, stopping your palming ministrations. “Unless you want me to take you home right now and have you miss the end of the show you’ve poured three months of your life into.”

“Boo. You’re no fun, Hotchner,” you pouted, stepping past him to finally snag the blush-toned fabric Bella had been losing her mind over.

“No fun?” he repeated, raising a brow. “Honey, my hand was up your dress not even a minutes ago. You’re lucky I didn’t use your lace panties to keep you quiet.”

You spun back to face him, dropping the fabric onto the table with a disappointed look. “You’re kidding, right? Why didn’t you?”

He let out a low laugh before bringing a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing under your eye. “My dirty girl, why don’t you focus on finishing the show first, then we can discuss gag options at home, hm?”

You tilted your head into his touch, lips parting around a sigh that was equal parts amused and turned on. “I suppose I can last a couple more hours.”

He smiled before placing a kiss on your lips.

“That’s my girl.”

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salem-s · 2 months ago

Text

FINAL ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS language, flufffffffff, angst if you squint, smmmmmuuuutt (unprotected...everything so don't take after them please). 18+ mdni.

WORD COUNT 13k. legit do not say anything. this was originally 4k words but i obviously couldn't let that happen for the last chapter. so.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER the only exception by paramore

Rafe swears he hears pounding on his door.

He takes an ear bud out, trying to discern if the noise was real or a part of the song he’s currently listening to. After a moment’s silence, he moves to put the bud back in but one, two beats later, the knocks sound again, confirming someone is at his door so late into the night.

Irritation bubbles in his chest.

Rafe’s been at these stupid memorization cards for what feels like hours, getting nowhere close to being ready for his eight a.m. exam. His mind has – obviously – been elsewhere for the betterment of a week, and he'd be lying if he said the attempt in drowning himself in work has properly distracted him from the events of last week.

Spoiler alert: it hasn't, and it's only getting worse.

Especially now, as the handwriting on the paper started giving him a headache hours ago, so he begrudgingly put on his glasses that he refuses to let see the light of day. The specks, unfortunately, do assist in not making the letters blur together, especially when he’s so tired that his gaze falls in and out of focus.

However, he hates them so goddamn much that it only worsens his already sour mood.

But now they aren’t the only annoyance of his night.

The fact that someone is ferociously pounding on his door only augments his headache, his frustration, and his precariously bubbling temper. He glances at the time, nearing two in the morning, angry that someone has the audacity to not only interrupt his studying, but probably everyone’s sleep on his floor, careless to rhyme or reason or simple ethics.

He wastes no time standing so quick his chair nearly falls over, stomping over, a long list of curses and horrific things to say are on the tip of his tongue, ready to viscerally berate this person until next Tuesday.

Rafe whips the door open. “The fuck is the–”

His words die in his throat when he sees you.

The air is momentarily knocked from his lungs.

Your hair and makeup are done, as if you've just come from somewhere, adorned in one of his favorite tank tops on you and jeans that hug you too tight to be anything holy. You peer up at him with wide eyes at his harsh words, hugging your basically bare frame in a feeble attempt to warm yourself from wherever you just came from.

God, you look beautiful.

He knows he’s supposed to be mad at you and giving you space and all that, but all of that fades in an instant when he notices your arms coated in goosebumps and your teeth slightly chattering.

Something ugly brews in his chest, discomforted by the thought of you bracing the cold all by yourself. Where is your jacket?

“Jesus, you��re freezing,” he grumbles, ushering you into his room without a second thought.

In an attempt to regain his cool, he frowns to keep up with his indifferent demeanor since he's supposed to be cordial and all, even though the mere thought of attempting small talk with you settles a kettlebell in the pit of his stomach. His heart aches looking at you, because you're simply a walking reminder of how he fucked it all up, said the wrong things and came on too strong with poor timing, a reminder of what he could've had if he was a little more patient, more calculated, less stupid in his endeavors.

Because the past week has been absolute torture for him.

He learned very quickly that almost everything around him reminds him of you: books with an aged spine and annotations adorning the wrinkled pages, simple parts of nature that resemble the color of your eyes, strangers hugging, the mere smell of eucalyptus, everything all at once. The day he got back, he went to the liquor store with Elliot in an attempt to distract himself, but it proved fruitless when he found himself wandering idly in the wine aisle, frozen in place when he found the same bottle that you snagged two of after that grueling dinner with your family.

From that point on, Rafe really only stayed in his room unless it was absolutely necessary to leave.

But it seems as though even the confinements of his room don't provide the solace he's been desperately seeking, as the knowledge of how your room shares a wall with his has been plaguing his conscience. There have been countless times where he's debated saying fuck it, knocking on your door, and begging on his knees to have you in his life again, but he knows he can't do that.

He needs to let you come to him, to not bombard you as he has before. That was what scared you off, his forwardness, so he's vowed to keep cool, keep a distance, and keep quiet as much as he can to give you the space you need.

So, he knows he needs to remain stoic, indifferent, guarded.

Reminding himself of this, Rafe hands you a hoodie off the back of his chair. “Did you lose your key again?”

The sound of his voice is so nice to hear, so refreshing, and you nearly sigh as you hug the hoodie close to your body before pulling it over your head, relishing in the way it smells like him, in its warmth as if he was just wearing it moments ago. Pathetically, you nearly sigh at how it feels adorning your body.

“I left my purse at Elliot’s,” you whisper, hugging your body. “Since when have you had glasses?”

Rafe freezes, forgetting he had them on.

Ignoring his pink cheeks and ignoring your question, he moves on, putting his guard back up.

Quickly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, so he reels it in. “Uh, it’s late. I have an exam.”

You frown at the considerable distance he’s put between you, but part of you really can't blame him since you were the one who orchestrated the falling out.

“I won’t…I won’t take too long. I just need to know if…” You trail off.

How on earth are you going to go about this? Especially when his stare is so piercing, as if he's looking right through your body and into your soul, brows pinched in what you assume is irritation at your stammering.

“Know what?” he drawls out.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, gaping to try and find the words. You shiver as you recover from the chilly walk, but also at his stare that you can’t quite make out the meaning behind. Is he mad? Irritated? Relieved to see you? You hate how you can’t tell.

But you take a deep breath.

You know how he feels about you, you know all of it, despite this front he’s wearing right now. If Elliot can confirm it, it must be true.

And as if you needed the extra push, your gaze drifts slightly beyond him, fixated on his desk and noticing the sprawl of papers, his computer open to an online textbook, and notecards that have almost perfect handwriting etched onto them. What gets you, though, are the five almost professional looking photo prints laid out side by side across the top of his desk.

All of you.

You in the distance teetering your balance on a particularly precarious rock in your private cove. You walking up the dirt path to your nonna's cottage with the mountains behind you. You holding a hand up in an attempt to block the lens as your body adorns a hideous dress you only showed him for shits and giggles. You leaning forward to do your mascara in a tiny mirror hanging on the wall, wearing the perfect beaded dress. And, finally, you sitting alone in the garden chair in your nonna's yard, the moonlight hue behind you as you read your book, unknowing to his presence from the kitchen.

Just above his desk, just hovering over the photos, is his ceramic fish hanging on the wall, one of his only pieces of decor in his entire room.

Rafe follows your gaze with confusion, and his posture stiffens when he realizes what you're looking at, what you discovered. Instantly, he frowns as he side steps just enough to block your view of the photos, of the fish. But the damage has already been done, and your breath hitches as you immediately get the confirmation you need to open your heart up.

All of a sudden, you're blurting it out.

“Elliot told me what you said to him.” The lack of clarification has Rafe raising a brow, to which you add, “About what happened with Yara.”

Rafe’s breath hitches.

“Is it true?” Your voice is so small that it doesn’t sound like you.

“Which part?”

“All of it.” You take a cautious step closer, the tequila running through your bloodstream giving you the confidence.

Rafe doesn’t answer, instead he cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes trail down your body in calculation, gears working overtime in his head as he soaks in your words, the sliver of desperation coating your tone, the way you're playing with the hem of his hoodie, your brows etched in slight worry as you anticipate his response.

Then, it clicks with him, eyes slightly widening at the realization. The reasoning behind your acute coldness towards him wasn’t out of unrequited feelings, but rather the latter.

You cared too much, felt too much.

The thought gives him whiplash. You must've seen him and Yara in that godforsaken closet and gotten the complete wrong impression on the matter. His heart fucking lurches at your wordless confession, and no wonder you were so apprehensive about his words, about his intentions, and pushed him away at every single opportunity that presented itself because of a stupid miscommunication, because of her stupid actions.

“Is that why you were upset?” He takes it further and steps closer. “At your nonna’s, you said you were upset about something that made you tell your mom about us. You saw us? In the closet?”

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you.

“Is that why?”

You can’t speak, not while he’s practically caging you in, standing so broad and tall in front of you that it renders you speechless. He faintly smells of shampoo, an intoxicating scent, and you can almost see yourself in the reflection of his thinly wired glasses, only shielding his bright blue eyes through shiny glass. His hoodie swallows you whole, and you're grateful for the extra layer that feels like it’s warding off the vulnerability you're reeking of.

All you can manage is a small nod.

Rafe clenches his jaw, and a part of you fears you've said the wrong thing.

But then his eyes immediately soften as he brings a hand up to hover over your jaw, almost in muscle memory, as if he's been paining him to not do so, to not touch you.

For fuck's sake, he almost looks relieved.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You nearly snort at the simplicity. For a number of reasons, really, but the biggest one comes first.

“I was embarrassed. I thought you didn’t mean what you said in the ballroom.”

Your voice is so quiet that you almost think he doesn’t hear it, especially when he gives no reaction for a few seconds.

Then his palm is pressing harder, fully allowing himself to touch you. And, god, you can't help but lean into the embrace with a long sigh through your nose, not breaking eye contact with him as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, over the wound that’s practically all healed with little to no remnants of the disaster that occurred in that bathroom all that time ago.

A flicker of pain etches over his face at the reminder of the cut, of what your own mother did, but then his eyes trail back up to meet yours, now glossing with certainty.

“Nothing happened with Yara,” he reassures firmly.

You nod, sure of yourself now. “I know.”

“All I could think about was you.”

You can’t breathe.

Cautiously, Rafe leans down to test the waters, and once you make no move to pull away from his touch, he indulges in his endeavors to brush his lips against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“About your pretty smile.” He pulls back to move to your other cheek. “Your pretty laugh.” To your forehead. “About how being with someone else made me sick.”

The air escapes your lungs.

“I meant what I said.” Rafe pulls back so he can meet your eye, a flicker of worry glossing over his pretty eyes, but nonetheless filled with determination. “Every word.”

You can’t help your second nature and let a sliver of panic let up.

“I thought you didn’t want to date in college.”

The excuse is meek, you know that, he knows that. It’s a last ditch effort for him to truly understand what he’s getting himself into.

But he's serious. Not a fraction of uncertainty glosses over his pretty features, or give you any shroud of doubt that he didn't mean what he said on that ballroom floor. With the firmness of his palm against your burning skin, the narrowed yet softness gaze in his blue eyes, and the way his other fingers on his other hand twitch in your direction tell you all that you need to know: that he's fucking missed you as much as you've missed him.

And – normally – that thought would scare you and send you running for the hills with a heartbeat too erratic and a mind too gone, but now it only solidifies you, grounds you, keeps you tethered to the boy standing in front of you. He's handing you a proverbial knife and hoping you don't stab him with it, and you have once before, but now you don't dream of letting it happen again.

“I didn’t,” he confirms cautiously. “Not until you showed me what it could be like.”

If it’s possible, you lean further into his touch, frowning in your overwhelming blossom of emotions. The thought of being wanted by someone settles a foreign feeling in your gut, wavering between pride and uncertainty.

“I want you, too,” you whisper, nearly sighing at how he visibly relaxes at your words, but your voice remains shy. “But I’m scared.”

Rafe pinches his brows in the slightest at your tone. “Of what, baby?”

The words die in your throat.

The list is endless, really, piling with a million excuses that only grow by the second. Where can you begin? How the idea of someone wanting more than just your body is evidently unheard of? How the concept of more implies putting up with the ugly parts of life, the parts you push deep down and never let see the light of day?

Your hands find his unoccupied one, holding onto your lifeline as if it'll fucking kill you if you let go.

“I don’t know how to be more than just…a body.”

That makes him frown. Immediately.

Despite it, you continue.

"All my life, I've just been..." You try and find the right words, avoiding his eyes and looking down at your connected hands instead at the weight of your upcoming words. "I've never been wanted, or yearned for, or anyone's first choice. It's really hard for me to believe that someone...that you...would want me..."

Rafe reels.

Have you really thought this entire time that he’s only here for the sex? That that’s all you're good for? All you're worthy of being loved for?

How can you not see how much more you are? How much you mean to him? Don't you know that you occupy his mind at every waking moment? That you're the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up in the morning to the last thing he sees at night, and how he shuts his eyes when he’s alone and pretends you're right there beside him, holding his hand or scratching his back or playing with his hair.

Don't you know how much he loves you?

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmurs gently before leaning forward, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug that makes you oof against his chest, getting pulled taut against him. “How can you say that? How can you even think–? When I can’t even–” He grips you tighter. “Fuck.”

Your confusion is through the roof at his desperation. “Rafe, are you–”

“Do you even know how much you mean to me?”

That silences you.

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he says in a wrangled breath. “Ever. I don’t know how to trust people. I don’t like to and I don’t know how. But with you, it’s never felt easier.”

A large hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and your heart lurches when you can feel a slight tremble.

Especially when he murmurs your name so quietly, so ardently, that you can't help but just listen.

“You’re so much more than a body.” Rafe’s voice is quiet yet firm and it makes you fumble at the sincerity. “You’re smart. You remember things better than anyone I’ve ever met. You wouldn’t admit it, but you’re actually sweet. You take care of things and people you deeply appreciate. I’ve never seen someone so delicately handle a ceramic fish before.”

You shakily chuckle against his chest.

“And the thought of not being around you anymore really scared me. And even if you...didn't feel the same," he says low, "I wouldn't have minded, as long as I could be in the same room or exist in the same friend group, it wouldn't...matter. As long as I could still see you.”

Rafe finally relents on his grip, pulling back a fraction and taking his hand to gently grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him and face the ferocity of his words, as if they didn't just fucking crush you in a way you've never felt before.

“I liked being with you.” His stare is piercing. “Existing together. Doing all of it.”

You hum. On instinct, you reach up to brush some hair out of his eyes.

Rafe’s heart pounds. “Tell me,” he says, voice dripping in desperation. “Tell me it was real to you.”

You nod instantly. “It was real. All of it.”

He sucks in a breath at the verity, and goes to say something else but you don't let him, instead pulling him down to kiss him.

And, god, it’s exhilarating.

All of your fears, all of your doubts, all of your uncertainties that plagues yours and his heart, mind, soul all fly out of the window. You can finally lean into one another without the steel weights cursing your shoulders or the cage locking in your hearts. The kiss is a wordless promise, an oath, a safety net.

His hands are everywhere instantly: arms, waist, face. Not an inch goes unnoticed as he finally, finally can touch you again, feel you again, hear you again. Your hands trail up to the nape of his neck, holding yourself here in his arms as if to remind yourself this is real and happening. He’s here, right here, and he’s not going anywhere, nor is he letting you go anywhere.

As much as it scares you, the tension in your shoulders slowly release.

You slowly back him up until his knees hit his desk chair, Rafe taking the hint and sitting down and wasting no time to pull you into his lap. It's muscle memory at this point, molding yourself onto his body. You both sigh at the sensation of the familiarity.

Straddling him, you place your hands on his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt as his hands trail up and down your side, settling under your – his – hoodie and skimpy tank top to feel the ridges of your ribcage, a connection he's been yearning to make ever since his hands left your body last. His palms are hot against your icy skin, sending a plethora of goosebumps up your spine.

Rafe simply stares at you, watching you admire the planes and grooves of his shoulder muscles, his biceps, anything you can get your hands on to make up for lost time spent pining in silence.

When you finally meet his eye, you shyly smile when you notice him already shamelessly looking right back at you.

One of your hands cradles his jaw, fingers gently skimming over the lenses of his glasses. “I like these.”

Rafe groans, rolling his eyes and darting his gaze away. “I hate them.”

“Why?” You nudge his cheek to force him to look at you. “I think they make you look handsome.”

“They make me look stupid.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. They're glasses."

"Still stupid."

"You should wear them more often,” you demand lightly.

Rafe frowns. “No.”

“Well, don’t they help you see?”

“Obviously, but–”

You smile, and he’s having trouble focusing. “Then case closed.”

His lips twitch. “Sweet girl,” Rafe warns.

There’s no backbone to it.

“Don’t sweet girl me,” you warn right back at him. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you bring them?”

Instead he cocks his head to the side with a teasing smile.

“Are you really that interested in my optical choices or is this your sweet little way of getting in my pants?”

You snort. “We both know I don’t have to be sweet to get into your pants.”

Rafe laughs boyishly and you love the sound. But he’s still avoiding your question.

“Answer.”

“Bossy.”

“Rafe.”

“Okay,” he huffs playfully, “I didn't really have to bring them. I only need them when I’m reading or writing a lot. My eyes get tired.”

You pout endearingly. “That’s, like, the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard–”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” You lean forward and press a slow chaste kiss on his lips.

Of course, he can’t even fathom pulling away and mmrphs low into your mouth, leaning up to chase your lips again for another kiss when you lean back. You hum at his neediness, but giving in anyway and slightly parting your lips to give him all the access he wants.

Rafe wastes no time in doing so, a hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck to guide your movements as he lazily makes out with you as if he has all the time in the world to do so. The warmth of his mouth, his body, his palm nearly make you melt in your very spot, a wave of relief washing over you.

You decide that you love this spot right here on his lap. Your favorite seat. Your throne.

When you happily hum again, Rafe kisses you harder, squeezes a little harder.

“God,” he mumbles against your lips, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

The possessiveness makes your stomach pool with pride. All his. All yours. No one else's but each other's.

You can’t help but tease him. “I don’t remember you asking me officially.”

“You’re still mine.”

And Rafe kisses you again. Harder. A mark of his words.

“Say it,” he demands quietly against your lips.

And you just fucking beam. “I’m yours.” Your fingers splay through his hair. “All yours, Rafey.”

Scoffing, he turns his head away as you chuckle at his reddening cheeks, peppering kisses on his cheek, jaw, lips, anywhere available for you to coat in markings of you, you, you.

“Stop calling me that,” Rafe murmurs, but loses all the edge in his tone because the feeling of you pressing your lips all over him sends his mind for a loop.

You simply hum. “No. You have so many names for me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you like those.”

“Who says I do?”

“Be so fucking for real.”

The laugh that escapes your mouth is loud and boisterous, probably waking up someone on your floor. But Rafe can care less because the sound is music to his ears, despite you jesting at his expense. Shit, you can make fun of him all you want if this is how you're gonna react, smiling and sitting pretty in his lap whilst drowning in his clothes, kissing him like he hung the stars himself.

You playfully slap his shoulder. “Whatever. But I’m still going to call you–”

“No.”

“Yes. When you’re least expecting it.”

Rafe hums low, a warning.

Shrugging, you suppress a smile. “What? I gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

“Shut up.” Then, softer. “C’mere.”

You laugh incredulously. “I’m already here.”

You nearly have the gall to laugh again when he ever-so-slightly pouts, but it all dies in your throat when he’s tugging you impossibly closer, resting your face in the crook of his neck as his hands splay wide and broad on your back. It takes you one, two seconds to register his actions, and you find yourself melting at the notion of Rafe Cameron hugging you.

It feels so achingly familiar that you can’t help but sigh in contentment, letting your eyes shut for a few moments as you feel his chest heave in and out with his low syncopated breaths.

Your heart lurches at the action, pressing yourself impossibly tight against him in fear he's going to disappear if you inch back even in the slightest. He takes a particularly deep breath, one of relief almost, your chests brushing together even closer than before. It makes you hum, pressing another kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

You speak before you register it. "Thank you."

His hands gently rub up and down your back. "For what, baby?"

"For..." You swallow the lump in your throat. "For not running."

Your words make him frown, and he eases you back so he can look you in the eye, confusion glosses over his features as one of his hands reaches up to cradle your face, forcing you to look at him when you turn your head away in embarrassment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. "Gonna take a cavalry to get rid of me."

A smile twitches at the end of your lips.

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, letting it linger there for a moment before moving back up to meet your eyes, but before he can do anything else, you're already leaning in and severing the distance.

Rafe's large hand holds you in place, reciprocating your kiss with more fervor than before that makes his breath hitch. Your hips barely – just barely – move in tandem with his that has his hand gripping your waist, stopping your moments immediately.

You lean back at his sudden apprehension, almost shy. "What?"

"Don't- Don't do that," he answers meekly.

Of course, you've never been one to listen.

You roll your hips again.

His other hand leaves your face to grab your waist, both of his palms and all of his fingers digging deep into your flesh to cease your movements. His face is uncharacteristically scrunched in pain at the reluctancy of initiating what he's been dreaming about since the last time you had him.

You notice immediately. "What's wrong?"

Rafe's eyes dart between yours, sucking in a breath as he looks at you. "I don't want to hurt you again."

The words confuse you. Tilting your head to the side, you try and rack your brain on where this sudden approach is coming from, where the sudden apprehension stems from. The expression on his face tells you that he's holding back, he's pained, haunted by something you can't conjecture.

"You haven't hurt me," you tell him earnestly, a little confused, but one-hundred percent honest.

He furrows his brows. "...The day of the wedding?"

What?

You only look at him in befuddlement, mind trailing off when you replay the course of events of the day in your head. The only thing that would pertain to his words was when he fucked you deep and rough that morning because you asked him to. It had felt good. Too good. It was when you realized you were in too deep and it scared the shit out of you.

"Rafe," you say slowly, "what are you talking about?"

He looks pained even repeating it. "You cried. After we..." He shakes the thought away. "There were teardrops on your pillow."

The confession makes your heart skip.

That's why he was so weird with you for the entire day? Why he kept himself at an arm's length and could barely look you in the eye when you lounged together on the beach? Because he thought he'd hurt you? Made you cry? When you were upset for the complete opposite reason?

You frown at his anecdote, hurt that he's had to carry this miscommunicated guilt with him for a week, unknowing to the real reason, and under the complete wrong impression of your feelings.

Before you know it, your hands are reaching up to cradle each side of his face tenderly.

"That wasn't because of you," you whisper ardently, almost pained that he's been thinking that the whole time. "Not at all."

But Rafe doesn't seem to believe that. "I was too hard."

"No," you say immediately, shaking your head to emphasize your point. "No, you were too gentle."

That makes him furrow his brows.

At his silence, you continue with a deep breath.

"I thought that if I asked for it rough, it would let me get over my feelings for you, to remind me that it had to just be sex." Your voice is impossibly quiet yet firm. "But you didn't treat me like another fuck, you made sure I had what I needed, said all of these beautiful things, treated me impossibly gentle afterward."

The pad of your thumb brushes over his cheekbone.

"I cried because I was scared," you admit gently. "Not of you. Never of you. But of my feelings. You didn't make it easy for me to try and stop liking you."

A smile twitches at the end of his lips.

"So," he says quietly after a moment, "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head earnestly to confirm. "No. I'm sorry that I let you believe that you did."

His eyes blink, soaking in the weight of your words with a slow nod, the gears in his head turning as he gradually lets himself understand that it wasn't his hands that orchestrated your tears. He didn't hurt you. You are fine.

"You're okay," Rafe drawls out cautiously. "Right?"

Your nod is immediate. "Yes. Always with you."

That seems to make the tension in his shoulders release bit by bit, relaxing under your touch and allowing himself to believe you, believe that it wasn't what he thought it was, believe that he didn't hurt you.

"Okay?" You ask gently, confirming that he understands what you're saying.

Now he does, nodding against your touch and letting his hands experimentally skim your waist, easing up on his grip, and letting them venture over the smoothness of your skin. He waits a beat for you to pull back, to tell him to stop, but you don't.

Instead, you press yourself down onto him, making his breath catch.

It's out of clarity, certainty, especially when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss on his lips, a confirmation of your truth. He leans up to chase your mouth, and he's successful when you close the distance, allowing his tongue access to your mouth as teeth clashes against teeth, a wave of passion emerging like a tidal wave at the notion that he didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you.

"Fuck," Rafe mutters against your lips when you roll your hips once more. "You're going to fucking kill me. I swear."

Experimentally, he grips your waist and moves you back and forth against his already hardening dick, and when you don't pull back or voice your discomfort, he allows himself a deep exhale, allows himself to soak into the moment, allows himself to enjoy the feel of you, you, you.

"I missed you," you nearly whisper before you can stop it, the vulnerability feeling foreign on your tongue. "Missed this."

Rafe groans against your lips. "Me too, baby." He kisses you again as you moan quietly into his mouth as he continues guiding your movements against him. "Let me show you, mhm?"

Anticipation pools in your stomach, blossoming in your gut and sending warmth down to where your body touches his.

You're barely nodding before his hands venture down to your ass, holding you taut against him as he stands, your grip tightening around his neck like a koala and wrapping your legs around his middle. In seconds, your back hits the mattress, his knee is slotting between your thighs, and his lips are on yours again.

It's so familiar, so achingly familiar that you cannot believe you went so long without it, without him.

You arch into his chest, bodies molding together as puzzle pieces connect. A hand flies to his hair, tugging the strands gently that makes him omit a low groan into your mouth, one hand shamelessly groping one of your breasts under his hoodie and the other bracing himself over your body, barely hovering.

Rafe pulls back just slightly, a flicker of irritation coating his pretty face as he leans up to take his glasses off, ones that have slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to annoy him.

But you react before you realize it.

"Wait," you say, leaning up a tad for emphasis, a hand coming up to cradle his face and gingerly skim the metal as he freezes. "Keep them on."

A teasing smile twitches at his lips. "Seriously?"

You sheepishly nod, biting your lip.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, amused gaze darting between your eyes at the request.

"Please?" You add sweetly.

The scoff that leaves his mouth makes you suppress a grin, knowing how that one word makes him feel and using it to your advantage. He shakes his head in disbelief at you, but his faux irritation proves to be fruitless as a smirk can't help but grow on his lips.

"Can't say no to that, hm, sweet girl?" He murmurs, half in playfulness and the other half in adoration.

You shake your head slowly at him, your grin fading into something shy, as if asking for what you want proved to be difficult.

But he wouldn't dream of denying you that. Ever. Especially when you asked so nicely, so sweetly, just for him. Who is he to say no? Hell, you could've asked him for a car in that same tone and he wouldn't hesitate to ask what color, make, and model.

So Rafe indulges your request, pushing the glasses up further on the bridge of his nose and leaning down to connect your lips for the umpteenth time, nearly grinning when you let out a satisfied mmrph at him letting you get what you want. His hands are everywhere they can reach, groping and mapping out the curves of your body and nearly moaning at the softness of your skin.

"Can't believe you're mine," he murmurs against your lips, sending a shockwave down your spine as his thumb brushes over your nipple. "All mine."

"Yours," you whisper sultry, needy, desperately, nearly bucking up into him.

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sound of it, pushing the hem of your – his – hoodie to reveal your chest, and you sit up to aide him in taking it off. The act is deliberately thorough, as his calloused palms smooth over your skin, gingerly pushing it up over your head. Your tank top is next. Then, your bra. Then your jeans. Before you know it, you're almost completely nude, simply left in your light blue underwear and exposed in the cool air of his room.

All he can do is stare at your bareness, letting out an appreciative hum as one hand grabs a breast, his cool ring ghosting over your nipple that causes you to sigh deeply, eyes raking from your stomach, to your chest, and eventually back up to your face, where you peer up at him in anticipation. His hand gropes you meaningfully, as if he's studying the feel of the swell in his palm, relishing in your warmth.

"You're so beautiful," Rafe admires gently, almost to himself, before leaning down and taking the other breast in his mouth.

The words make your heart skip a beat, but you shove down the feeling as you arch into his mouth that licks and bites and sucks against the soft skin, a hand in his hair to keep yourself grounded, keep yourself tethered to him. No inch of your chest goes unnoticed, untouched, ignored.

Rafe is thorough in his appreciation, and as lovely as it is, you're growing impatient with need as you writhe underneath him.

"Want you," you whine under your breath, not like he can hear you anyway as it comes out as an incoherent babble, but figuring it's better than saying his name over and over like a mantra, but it proves fruitless when he albeit hums. "Rafe?"

"Yes, baby?" He asks lazily in between kisses as if he has all the time in the world.

"I want... I..."

He etches lower and lower on your body until his mouth is ghosting over your clothed cunt, a low hum emitted from his mouth as he presses a kiss against the wet patch on your underwear, greedily inhaling and exhaling hot breath that makes you squirm. By the looks of it, he's pleased at the sight of you eager for him, ready for him, squirming for him.

Instead of responding, he licks and sucks against the cotton of your panties, against the spot he knows makes you crumble all the same. You moan raggedly, almost embarrassed at the volume given the fact that you've just started, given that he's doing this over your clothes.

"Words," Rafe mumbles teasingly, the baritone of his voice vibrating your core with such fervor that it makes your back arch and your fingers grip a little harder in his hair. "What d'ya want, hm?"

"You," you manage to say, breathless and writhing. "Need you."

His nimble fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down achingly slow until they're fully off, discarded somewhere carelessly as he resumes his position between your legs, taking in the sight of you: so pretty looking down at him, cunt glistening with need, face flush with anticipation.

One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as his mouth ghosts over your core.

"You have me," is all he says before closing the distance.

You moan at the contact, as his tongue plunges deep where you need him and his nose brushes against your clit. The taste of you has him groaning into your heat, the rumble causing your eyes to roll back at the sensation. The sound is obscene, especially when he eats like a starved man, like he's been depraved of his favorite meal, like he's ravenous.

"Taste so good, princess," he practically moans into your heat.

It's almost unbearable. You've been so worked up this past week at the thought of him, the thought of never being able to make things right, the thought of losing something you can't help but love. The wave of relief that washes over you only augments your pleasure, because your worries dissipate and you allow yourself to enjoy this, enjoy him, enjoy what he can give you.

One of his hands venture up your body to grab a breast, as if he can't allow his hands to be unoccupied, to not feel and dote on you with every fiber of his being. The added pleasure makes your eyes roll back involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you whisper so quietly that it's barely audible.

Your other hand covers his, gripping the back of his hand and squeezing tight to wordlessly reciprocate your want, your need, your appreciation.

His other hand comes to aide his mouth, maneuvering his body so he can both use his fingers as they glide in with ease, and his tongue that can't bear to separate just yet. It makes you whine so beautifully that his hips stutter forward against the mattress, groaning low into your cunt at the sudden sensation.

As Rafe sucks and laps and fingers you so brazenly, you let out a ragged breath at the plethora of pleasantries, suddenly hit with how nice everything feels, how the combination of his mouth, plunging fingers, and the hand fondling your breast start the familiar coil bubbling in your core.

"Fuck," you curse at the intensity, and how quickly it builds. "Please, I-I-"

Your hips writhe under his touch as you let out a particularly broken whine, chest heaving as you get closer and closer to your release.

"I know, baby," he murmurs low, almost strained.

Gasping, you momentarily lose breath at the speed of it, gripping his hand that's on your breast tighter, affirming how quickly you're approaching your high with your body language, one that he seems to understand quite well, something he's come to know better than a lot of other things in life. He's well versed in your tendencies, a pride he wears with his chest.

"Rafe," you whine as your orgasm comes closer, and closer, and closer. "I'm-"

You don't finish the sentence, and you don't even hear if he responds, because your orgasm hits you so quickly, so blindly, that your back arches off the mattress, a tidal wave of ecstasy flooding your veins and searing hot in your core. Your heartbeat is up to your ears, and he could be saying the secrets to the universe and you'd simply have no idea. It's pulsating, inebriating, because you don't hide behind a curtain of shame of how much you need him, not anymore, and that makes the release tenfold.

Despite your writhing hips, Rafe is able to lap up every drop, groaning deep into your cunt at the taste of you, of how nice you feel against his fingers, against his tongue, how pretty you sound as you let him hear you louder than ever.

Lazily, he licks and sucks you through the aftershock, nearly grinning at how your thighs tremble against his head and your ragged breaths ease from the intensity. Your thumb rubs absentminded circles on his hand, a gesture so fucking sweet that he reciprocates by placing a chaste kiss against your cunt, eyeing it for a moment as a brief goodbye before he sighs a hot breath against it.

"You did so well, sweet girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your body while turning his palm in your hand to gingerly lace his fingers through yours, squeezing once, twice, three times until his mouth is against your neck, sucking that sweet spot that makes you shiver.

You practically shake underneath him, still attempting to return to planet earth.

Rafe's nose nudges your jaw. "You okay?"

You exhale a noise that you think is affirmation, but frankly you're still trying to screw your head on straight after hearing your heartbeat in your ears, shuddering under his grounding touch that sends electricity through your already amplified veins.

"Yes," you start breathlessly, "I-I've just been– my brain– I couldn't... I need to..."

Rafe's face is suddenly inches from yours, practically beaming down at your incoherent babbling with a knowing glance, one that affirms just how nice he fucks you (your words, not his, as you've so graciously told him once). It's proving true now, as he takes in the sight of your gazed expression and bleary eyes, chest swelling with pride.

Watching you attempt to figure out your words all breathless and pouty, he can't help but let his gloating simmer into something more affectionate, something softer that he seems to only reserve for you. It's fascinating to see you like this, completely unguarded and fucked out and beautiful, nonetheless.

"Couldn't what?" He eggs on, heart blooming at the state of you.

"It doesn't matter," you mutter absentmindedly as you slip your hand out of his to paw at his chest, still recovering from the dizziness of your brain, movements sluggish as you reach down for the tent in his sweatpants while your eyesight slowly returns to normal. "C'mere, I–"

"Easy," he drawls out amusingly, taking the trembling hand that reaches for his dick and lacing his fingers through yours instead. "You're shaking."

You blink through your frustration, your vision returning (almost). "I'm not– I– You're being withholding."

His grin is impossibly wide. "I'm sorry, sweet girl." He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I'll give you another, just catch your breath, yeah?"

Your struggle is obvious, and your desperation even more, because you've missed him so fucking bad and all you want to do is feel him irrevocably, completely, ardently. The realization is pathetic, you know, but you figure that you're past the point of being shy, especially with him, who has seen you at your all.

You frown, spluttering, utterly flustered at his nonchalance, especially when his unoccupied hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, running the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth. "Wh– No, I don't want another, I want–"

"You don't want another?"

Groaning, you flush under his piercing stare. "No, I– Ugh, Rafe. I want you."

"Me?" Rafe repeats in faux surprise, brows raised playfully. "Could've just asked."

You roll your eyes so hard it only makes you a little more dizzy, trying really hard to appear angry but it goes nowhere when a hint of a smile ghosts your lips. And it only grows when he leans in, placing a long, chaste kiss on you, and you melt into it when you taste yourself, lungs wound tight. You figure you can breathe later.

He notices immediately, pulling back with a boyish chuckle that makes your chest feel funny. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"Do it again," you mumble shyly, eyelids heavy with desire. "Please."

And he does. Immediately.

You albeit whine into his mouth as he reciprocates the noise at the sound of it, squeezing your hand once more and the gesture nearly kills you as you practically pout into his mouth at the sweetness of it. With your mind airy and lungs breathless, all you can think about is Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, how he kisses you, how he touches you, how his voice sounds reverberated against your body.

It's incriminatingly intoxicating to be surrounded by him in all of your senses: his hand laced in your own, his breathy whimpers against your lips when your hand trails to the hem of his shirt to brush against his bare abdomen, teasing the waistline of his sweats. You're caught in a whirlwind of him, drowning in his scent and caged in by his arms.

You realize quickly, as you've noted before, that Rafe Cameron should come with a warning.

He pulls back, and you're about to protest until you see he's moving to take his shirt off in one swift motion, sick of the cotton barrier between your chests. As he begins to take his sweats and boxers off, you sit up, idly waiting for him as you tuck your legs underneath you. The sight of his cock hard and aching, dripping pre-cum off the tip, has you shamelessly staring, as you let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Rafe notices your change in position, patiently waiting all pretty and breathless and brazenly looking at his dick, and he can't help but tilt his head and stare at you with an amused gleam in his eye.

When he makes no effort to move, your eyes travel back up to meet his to see that they're already staring at you, a piercing gaze that has you biting your lip at the notion of being caught.

"What?" He asks teasingly, searching your face for any indicator of what you want.

But you're apparently good with your words now, or at least better than before.

"Wanna ride you."

The sentence makes Rafe scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head at you as he runs a hand through his hair, practically in awe of you, of your words, of how good you're being for him tonight, how you're starting to ask for things. It makes his chest swell with pride, proud that you feel comfortable enough around him to start voicing your needs, your wants, things that he'll give to you in less than a heartbeat.

Nonetheless, once he's learned how to use his brain again, he leans forward, turning his body so he's sitting up against the headboard and extending an arm for you almost immediately.

Which you graciously take, gripping his forearm as you crawl onto his lap, sucking in a breath when his dick is the only thing in between your two stomachs. You can't help but stare down at it, bringing a hand to grip his length like you've been dreaming about for days, letting out a deep sigh that makes your hot breath fan over his tip.

Rafe lets out a low moan, gripping your hips impossibly tight as he watches you spread the pre-cum off his tip with your thumb, spreading it down his length and jerking him off at a painfully slow pace that nearly has his hips bucking at the sensation of it. The sight of your hand wrapped around him nearly makes his brain shut off, dumbifying him to the point where all he can do is pathetically whine as you hold his dignity in the palm of your hand.

A particular tight squeeze makes him tense underneath you, eyes screwing shut for a moment to compose himself as one of his hands leaves your hips to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movements altogether.

Your head whips up, pouting. "What?"

Rafe just shakes his head, almost pained as he can't even get the words out.

But you understand him, and you pout. "But I want to."

"Sweet girl."

You hum, looking back down as you feel his hand push your wrist down, down, down until, with some adjusting, his cock is sliding in between your folds.

The sensation makes you both moan shamelessly, your lashes fluttering as your eyes roll shut. Your stomach pools in warmth for the anticipation, especially when your hips rock back and forth against him to coat his cock with the remnants of your previous orgasm, mixing it with the pre-cum that you graciously spread on him. The feeling, almost on command, makes him practically shudder underneath you.

Rafe whines out a curse, and if you weren't so light-headed you'd think he's begging. "Feel so nice already, making me go crazy."

Frankly, the stubborn part of you wants to elongate this as much as possible, but as you feel your prior orgasm practically dripping onto his length, it's clear that you're in no position to withhold him from experiencing the same euphoria. All you want to do is give back what he did for you, how he made you feel, to wordlessly tell him how much you appreciate him, yearn for him, want him to be taken care of.

With shaky hands, you guide his cock to your entrance, not wasting another second before you're slowly sinking down onto his length.

"Shit," he murmurs shakily against your lips, his grip iron tight on your hips – borderline, your ass – as he feels you lower inch by inch. "Oh my fucking god, holy fuck. Taking me so goddamn well."

It isn't until you feel him fully bottom out when you're letting out a ragged breath, one that you were unaware you were holding at the intensity of the feeling, of the stretch, of how much more you can feel him in this position, his cock hitting places unknown as you still on his lap, soaking in the moment of simply being full of him, relishing in the notion of how nice it is to be in your favorite spot.

Your arms sling around his neck, draped over his shoulders to impossibly taut yourself to his chest as you place a chaste kiss on his lips, one that he can't even reciprocate because he's still sharply breathing, still not over how well you're taking him and how perfect you feel around him. It's, understandably, making his brain all fuzzy, and all he can try and concentrate on is not coming in this given moment.

So, no, he doesn't kiss you back. He can't.

Instead, he shakily exhales against your lips, gently shaking his head when you cheshire-cat grin at him, attempting to roll your hips in retaliation but his grip on your hips is iron. Part of you relishes in the marks you're going to wake up to, imprinted by him, and greedily want to and move again to get him to dig deeper, to be able to feel the reminders of him in the morning.

You try. He holds you still even harder.

"Just- Fuck," Rafe groans. "Gimme a minute, wanna feel you."

You pout, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the simplicity of his words, yet find yourself obeying. Leaning back a fraction, you take a moment to take a selfish peek at him: blue eyes blown black with lust, hair falling onto his forehead in messy waves that you brush back gingerly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose that you fix silently, lips parted and swollen from all the activity he's been engaging in with them.

He looks unequivocally fucked out. You assume you look equally as such.

Without thinking, your arms retract from their position around his neck, slithering up the sides of his neck and letting your hands cradle each side of his jaw, holding his face in place as your thumbs absentmindedly trace circles, squares, triangles on the soft skin. You simply stare at him, admire him, wait for him to give you the green light to continue moving.

And Rafe doesn't think he's ever been held like this before.

It does something irreversible in his chest, a pang of an unknown emotion jolting through his skin like electricity as he simply sits under your touch, teetering between wanting to explode with admiration and shutting down altogether to sulk in the feeling. He's sure you have no idea what you're doing to him, and whether you mean to or not, he's sure there's nothing better on the planet than this, than the feel of you wrapped around him, holding him, grounding him.

His hands move up and down your spine, tracing vertebrae bone by bone in a delicacy he never knew he possessed. As his heart pounds in his chest, his mind morphs to mush, and the only thing he can conjecture is that he is, irrevocably, yours for the rest of his life. There's frankly no doubt about it, and the thought makes his lashes flutter shut to truly soak in the physicality of it all.

He feels you place a feather-light kiss on his lips, and before you can pull back to continue to give him the moment to gather himself, he's chasing the kiss and closing the distance again.

This time, Rafe's the one moaning into your mouth, especially as you accidentally shift your hips when kissing him back. At the slight movement, his impatience is suddenly through the roof as his hands venture down to your ass, slowly starting to guide your motions up and down, back and forth, taking him in ways that has his eyes rolling back.

Your thighs aide his movements for about a minute, but soon begin to tremble as your bounces get needier, kisses become breathless, sighs turn into whimpers. Calloused palms roam the entirety of your body, groping and rolling the flesh of your ass in tandem with your movements, slithering up your ribcage to squeeze and suck on your bouncing tits, down to where your bodies connect to press a firm thumb on your clit.

That right there makes you whine so gutturally deep where his hips unexpectedly jerk into you, his cock – somehow – burying deeper inside you to a spot unreached before.

Rafe moans your name like a mantra, like it's the only word he knows.

It makes your brain fuzzy, as your neediness takes over and your conscience is on autopilot. You say something, but it comes out like an incoherent babble, something insignificant and probably pertaining to how good he feels, as you continue to shift your hips up and down to take his full length, lift up to where his tip barely pokes out, only to sink back down onto him again. Over, and over, and over.

Your arms sling back over his shoulders, lazily linking behind his neck as one of his hands snakes around your back to pull you impossibly closer while the other works your clit, thumb pressing on it so firmly that you momentarily see stars at the ferocity of it all. Nails scratching the smooth skin of his back, you almost break skin at the attempt to pull him closer, as the need for more, more, more stems from the coil beginning to rumble in your stomach.

"Rafe," you gasp, sucking in a breath as you feel the familiar sensation bubbling. "Feel so full, feels so good."

"You feel like a dream," he mumbles shakily against your lips, hips jerking up into you as you recognize that he must be close. "Never gonna– fuck. Can't believe you were– and I was– oh my god, oh m– You feel so fucking nice– I'm gonna–"

Your chest is light, core on fire. "Something's– I feel– I–"

For a second, your eyes roll back as a searing hot sensation floods your lower half, and you momentarily only see white as you feel your body practically give out and lean forward onto his, gasping into the crevice of his neck as his hips slam into you from underneath. Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulder blades as firmly as you can muster with your little-to-no strength in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Your whines are loud and straight pornographic at the branding fire feeling in your cunt.

Did you just come?

Given the heat overwhelming your core and the bundle of nerves shooting electricity through your veins, you think you just did. With your heartbeat in your ears, the sound of Rafe's shameless moans feel like they're underwater as you're practically putty in his grasp, both of his arms bear-wrapped around you as he thruuuuusts up into you with such intensity, such fervor, that you think he just came, too.

Spots blur your vision as you moan into the hot skin of his neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, only now feeling the hot spurts of his cum gushing into you with every upwards thrust of his, and you can't deny how fucking good it feels to be full of him – to be really full of him – as the sensation is burning hot and tempestuous and everything you've needed.

Your chest heaves at the intensity, clawing at his upper back for some sort of leverage that you're not sure will do anything to aide your limp body. His hips grind up into your core, and once you gain some sort of semblance back from practically passing out from the orgasm he just gave you, you realize he's been speaking the entire time.

You happen to catch the tail end of his words.

"–ve you, I fucking– I– fuck-" Rafe whines, and the sound vibrates your lips that are pressed against his vocal cord. "It's like you're made for me, feel so fucking nice, so pretty on top of me, I– fuck. How could I– When you–? With the–? Oh my god, oh my fucking god."

All you can respond with is a low moan, overstimulated as you come down from your earth-shattering orgasm as he fucks himself using you through his, his cum leaking out of you and spilling down your thighs and onto his lower stomach. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, breathless at how much you both came at the same time.

His bucking gradually ceases, becoming less and less grandiose and eventually settling in stillness as his chest heaves against yours. You register his hands trailing up and down your back soothingly, lips pressed to your hairline and placing chaste kisses with sweet nothings riddled between them. Your eyes flutter shut, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck that makes goosebumps adorn his arms.

The two of you sit like this for a minute, mentally coming down from the daze your simultaneous orgasms put you through. Once your vision returns to normal (i.e. you're no longer seeing stars every time you open your eyes to try and look at him), you gently press the palm of your hands to his shoulders, pushing yourself up off his chest to sit up and find some semblance of independence.

Your brain is foggy, no doubt, as you hazardously sway as you blink at him, heart racing as you discover he's already looking at you.

"Holy shit," you murmur, dazed and fighting exhaustion.

He exhales shakily. "I know."

You manage a wry smile. "That was-"

"I know," he repeats bashfully, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to push his glasses further up his nose, letting your fingers dwell on the metal sides before bringing it down to cup his jaw. It's as if you're a ghost in your own body, feeling airy and light yet wrecked all the same, shaking as if you've been left in the freezing cold with no amenities, shaking as if he just gave you the best orgasm you've ever had.

Noticing your frailness, you laugh in a self deprecating way. "I think I passed out."

Rafe exhales a shaky chuckle, one of disbelief, as a hand travels up to the side of your neck, keeping your head in place from all the swaying. Though a flicker of concern coats over his eyes at the hazy smile you're flashing him, eyes blinking ferociously as if they're regaining sight.

It makes him frown. "Did you? Are you okay?"

You nod, lazy yet immediate. "Uhm, did you hear me? I think our neighbors are gonna kill us."

A boyish laugh escapes his lips, and he lets himself ease into the fact that you're fine, you're smiling, you're gazing at him like he hung the goddamn stars himself.

His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of your eye, one that you didn't know you had, humming low and sure as his eyes rake over the features of your pretty face. Now, you're left in the stilled silence of your own doing, basking in the aftermath of your actions, of the words that led you to this point. Your heart skips a beat at the vulnerability, knowing it's more than sex, knowing that what you're feeling right now – the gravitational pull towards him – is reciprocated, especially as his gaze softens. It's replaced by something deeper, more raw, cut open for you to do what you please.

The intensity of his stare makes your breath hitch, and, despite literally what just occurred, a wave of shyness overcomes you, averting your gaze down to his chest.

But in your bottom peripheral, you catch a glimpse of the fucking mess.

Your eyes widen, looking down to where your bodies connect. "Oh my god."

His gaze follows lazily, glancing at the sight with nonchalance for his soaked bedsheets, suppressing a shit eating grin as he continues to see small amounts of cum still dripping out of you, as if there's an endless supply of it inside you, continuously adding to the plethora of a mess on his (freshly washed, by the way) bedsheets.

You blink stupidly, attempting to fathom the sheer amount of mere sex all over your lower bodies, all over the sheets, some of it even grazing his abdomen. How did that even get there? How could the two of you produce that much? And – oh, god – is it ever going to come out of his sheets? Fuck, is it leaking through?

But he has no qualm with the matter, and instead beams at the fact.

"That was all you, sweet girl," he teases with a hand skimming the faint bruises starting to form on your hip. "You came so hard. You squir-"

Your hand comes up to cover his mouth.

Your face scrunches up in embarrassment at the word, because you fucking hate the term, and frankly assumed it was a myth for the longest time since you've never done it before, nor have any of your friends. Yet your heart thumps at the possibility that – most of – this mess is from you.

No, it couldn't be. It can't be.

Because if it is, he is never, ever going to let you live it down, and you can count on that for a fact.

Eyeing him quickly and feeling your face flush as he stares right at you, eyes twinkling with amusement, you remove your hand from his mouth and ring your fingers together, looking back down to the sheets with a dismissive scoff.

"I did not," you argue meekly because, frankly, you have no idea if you did or not. You don't even know what that was. "This is all yours."

Rafe's grin is blinding, teasing, fucking proud. "You totally did. Went everywhere, baby."

Face flushing, you groan and throw your hands up to cover your face, hating how hot your skin feels at his laugh and complete nonchalance over the matter.

"Fuck," you murmur as you take in the sight of it. "Are you serious? But I didn't– I don't even– How could I–?"

Instead of answering, he whistles low. "Holy shit, you really did pass out, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as guilt riddles your chest for ruining his sheets. Expensive ones, at that. You're assuming it has a crazy thread-count imported from god-knows-where, as he's the person to get the best of the best of material things as long as he has the means to obtain them. You've always liked sleeping in his room on the random occurrence it would happen, partly because his bed is always so damn comfortable, the sheets definitely having something to do with it.

"I'll wash them" you offer quietly, slight panic settling in now that you're – somewhat – back to normal and coherent enough to register that this is a problem. "I'll buy you new ones-"

But, of course, Rafe simply shakes his head, pressing his palms against your spine to lure you closer, letting the words die in your throat as he tugs you against his lips. He kisses you slow yet meaningful, a wordless promise that he's not mad about something like this, he's not even concerned, barely letting his beaming smile falter at the thought of having to clean it up. He's only thinking about you, you, you.

"No need," he murmurs against your mouth, still fucking grinning. "I'm framing and putting this shit on my wall."

You groan at his words, cheeks unabashedly hot.

"Gonna time-stamp it and everything," he adds just to be a prick. "Wave it around like a flag, and shit."

You want the ground to swallow you whole. "Stop."

"Wear it like armor."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're hot. I mean it, baby. I'm gonna get you to do that every time."

"Rafe."

"What?" He says incredulously as if it isn't the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. "You can't expect me not to go crazy over that, hm?"

You only shake your head at him, but you suppose if the roles were reversed, you'd definitely feel an inclination to drawl out the teasing to a T. After all, riling him up is one of your favorite past-times, as riling you up actually might be his number one.

Eventually, you secede. Especially when he threatens you with another orgasm.

After he cleans you up and delicately dresses you in his own clothes, with wobbly legs you attempt to help him strip the sheets (even though all he told you to do is sit at his desk and look pretty, which you wholeheartedly refused to do) and replace them with his spare set. In an effort to get your shit together, you use the communal restroom to wash up, taking one of his spare toothbrushes – because of course he has one – and using it. He goes into the restroom across the hall, stating he was bored of being alone, to freshen himself up.

When you return to his room with him hot on your tail, you slither back onto the clean sheets and settle under them as if you were made to lay there.

Getting comfortable, you quietly watch him resume his tasks of the night: organizing his notes, taking off his glasses and leaving them askew – to your utter dismay – as his shirt and sweatpants follow, leaving him in boxers, and finally turning off his desk lamp as he navigates through the dark and and climbs into bed beside you.

It’s muscle memory the way you puzzle-piece your way into each other’s arms. Rafe tugs you impossibly close, placing a chaste kiss on your hairline as your hands splay across his bare chest, nearly sighing in relief at the familiarity. It's unfathomably inviting, it's cloud nine, it's home.

When he starts to lightly rub up and down your back, you sigh again.

“Tired?” Rafe murmurs gently.

All you do is nod against his neck, placing a ginger kiss on his vocal cord.

He hums at your sweet gesture, nearly melting at the implication. “Okay, sweet girl. Go to sleep. I'll be up early tomorrow but you can sleep in, m'kay?”

Tomorrow. Early morning. Notes. Glasses.

Fuck. Exam.

Your eyes flutter open as you remember his night before you arrived, all the papers scattered on his desk, the reason he was wearing those godforsaken glasses in the first place, the open textbook on his computer, the entire reason he was up so late in the first place.

A kettlebell settles in your gut.

“Wait.” Rafe hums lazily in response. “What about your exam?”

With a chuckle, he nuzzles into your hair, unbothered.

“Baby, if I don’t know it by now, there’s no use.”

Part of you feels guilty. Guilty about plaguing his conscience for the betterment of a week and – no doubt – pulling his focus from his studies and all of the important shit going on in his life. Guilty about arriving at his door in the middle of the night and – again – pulling his concentration from what he needs to pay attention to in order to get the marks he needs to pass.

Guilty about everything you've put him through, him, Rafe, your Rafe, who's been so patient with you in your journey of self discovery or whatever bullshit.

“I can help,” you offer weakly, as he rubs soothing up and down your back. “I’m a good teacher.”

Rafe chuckles quietly and you nearly frown, unsure of his nonchalance.

“Best teacher I know,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and baritone and it practically lulls you to sleep.

Your eyes are already closed. “Let me help. Please.”

“Very sweet of you. Go to sleep.”

“‘M really smart. You said so.”

“I did.”

You yawn. “What’s the class?”

Rafe doesn’t answer for a minute, and you soon believe he falls asleep. But then, quietly, “Art history.”

Your heart flutters. “I know about that.”

A warm hand rubs up and down your back. “I’m sure you do, baby.” Then, it cradles the back of your head in brazen laziness. “Sleep.”

His voice emulates a lullaby, low and alluring and smooth. Impossibly, you nuzzle closer to him with a stupid smile on your face. Grinning against his neck, you press the lightest kiss you can muster as your hands gently skim over the hills and divots of his chest, grounding yourself, a reminder that this is real. He’s here, right here, holding you, reciprocating your love, your want, your need.

“Stop smiling,” he says above you, but his tone is far from authoritative. Instead it’s softer, as if he’s suppressing a smile as well. “I can feel it.”

You squirm when he pinches your side, reciprocating the act and attempting to tickle him, but he doesn’t budge in the slightest.

Suddenly, Rafe grabs your wrists lightning fast and pins them high over your head, the motion forcing you on your back as he hovers over you. Despite the darkness, you can feel his face inches from yours, breath fanning over your lips.

“I thought you wanted me to go to sleep,” you challenge.

Rafe snorts. “You’re being a brat.”

Ah, that word. That sort of behavior has gotten you in trouble before, and the thought of annoying him makes you grin even harder.

“Rafey, that’s hardly nice.”

The guttural groan he lets out makes you laugh quite unattractively, letting out an oof when he collapses against your body and therefore crushing you. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent against your soft skin that feels like a million pin pricks to each nerve.

His hand leaves your wrists and slowly drags down your arm, settling on the top of your ribcage just under the swell of your breast, lazily rubbing his thumb over the grooves and curves of the bone with little to no shame whatsoever.

The act gives you goosebumps. “What? Nothing to say?”

“Go to bed.”

You hum, kneading your fingers through his hair and smiling when he lets out a content sigh. “Okay, fine.”

Rafe practically clings to you, breathing in your scent and unabashedly nestling into your embrace. Your fingers through his hair feel so achingly familiar, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it until now. He feels your lips gently press on the crown of his head, his heart skipping a beat as he involuntarily lets out another sigh, a wordless thank you for trusting him, believing in him, and – most importantly – letting yourself have this. Trusting him. Trusting yourself.

Exhaustion seeps through his pores, eyelids heavily shutting as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, deeper against your body. Your nails lightly scraping his scalp and back quickly lure him to sleep, so gentle and adorning that he’s so close to–

"Hey."

"Sweet girl, I said go to bed."

You pause for a moment, elongated the silence in the darkness as he can practically hear you thinking. After a second, he frowns as he just now analyzed your tone, which was far from teasing.

He's about to prompt you to continue when you shift slightly above him, and his heart fucking melts when he feels your lips press a kiss against his hairline.

"Those photographs are beautiful."

Despite the complete darkness, and despite the fact that even if the light was on, you wouldn't be able to see his face anyway given his position, his face flushes hot.

Because you weren't really supposed to see those. They'd been the final prints he submitted for his photography class, tasked to photograph the pleasantries of life that may emulate beauty in everyday life. And, to him, he wanted you as his everyday muse since you already occupy almost every waking thought of his.

Rafe sat on the prompt for the entire semester, never once finding a muse meaningful enough to him to make him feel like he could complete the assignment. However, once Lorenza had given him the camera, the task seemed like the easiest thing he's ever done. Plus, you made it pretty simple. You emulated effortless beauty. All day. Everyday.

"I had a pretty model," is all he responds with.

And your thanks is translated enough when you press another kiss to his forehead, ticking his soft skin with your gentle breaths, and all he can think is sweet, sweet, sweet girl. It's concerning, really, how he really only thinks of you. He thinks of you when he wakes up, when he sees something funny, when he's scribbling down notes, when he goes to sleep.

So. Yeah. You are his everyday beauty. By a longshot.

He continues to think of your pretty, of how warm you feel pressed against him, how sweet you smell. He remembers how you looked in the moonlight, the candlelight, under the Sicilian sun with a glisten he could swoon over. It lulls him to sleep. Simply the image of you, you, y–

“Rafe?”

Rafe’s pulled from his slumber, barely lifting a finger and humming in response. He can’t even open his eyes, bloodshot and tired from all the studying.

“Do you want me to come home with you for Christmas?”

Out of all the things he expected you to say, that has to be the last topic on the list.

All exhaustion comes to a halt as his eyes blearily blink open, unsure if he’s heard you right, as the question is so out of left field that he doubts you actually said what he thinks you said. Despite his head feeling like a million pounds, he manages to lift it so he’s looking at you in the darkness.

Rafe can just make out the outline of your face. “What?”

He hates how small his voice is.

But your fingers continue to massage his scalp and he feels you shrug underneath him.

“I dunno, I was thinking I could do for you what you did for me." Your voice is impossibly shy, almost as if you didn't mean to bring it up but now there's no going back. "Provide some moral support, I don’t know. Just a thought.”

Yes, he wants to scream. Of course he wants you to.

It would make life incredibly easier, not to mention he’d get to spend more time with your undivided attention and shower you in a ridiculous amount of appreciation now that you're officially his. He can show you off to his friends and family and flaunt you around, shamelessly hold you and kiss you and not have to feel the slightest bit guilty about it.

He'd tell you to bring that beaded dress he bought you, take you out to dinner on the mainland and fuck you for the whole island to hear. There's no doubt he's going to buy you anything under the sun that you express interest in, shower you with the kind of love you've been aching for for so long. He'd have to be assertive, though, because you're exactly the girl his sisters will immediately love, and there's no way he's going to be able to share you.

Rafe needs to relax.

Instead of saying all of that, he takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to Lorenza’s?”

“No,” you respond quietly. “I was supposed to go home so she’s already going on a trip with her girlfriends. But now I'm just...” You take a breath. "No, I'm not."

He frowns at the idea of you spending winter break alone, because there’s absolutely no way you're going to go home and face your family again, and the long haul across the Atlantic feels like a chore after just recovering from doing so.

“You can say no,” you murmur playfully. “I have a sublet lined up for December, and I’ll come back to the dorm when they open on the new year.”

That makes Rafe scoff. “You’re not doing that.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” he commands. “You’ll spend it with me.”

Suddenly you clear your throat, almost shyly. “I didn’t mean to, like, invite myself. You seriously can say no–”

Rafe is sitting up before he knows it, leaning on an elbow and finding your jaw with his other hand to navigate through the darkness, and kissing you firmly enough to let it do all the talking for him.

You mmrph in surprise into his mouth, effectively shutting you up and assumingely shutting down any doubts you have about the entire idea. Rafe kisses you certainly yet deliberately slow, as if to reassure you of his answer, that you don't have to stress about being too much, especially around him. In fact, he wants you to be too much, yourself, unapologetically you. He craves it, utterly deprived every second you're acting shy as if he wouldn't give you anything you asked for.

Pulling away, Rafe resumes his previous position and lowers onto your body, his original position. His lips find the soft skin of your neck and place a kiss there, sucking ever so slightly to emphasize his point, to stake his claim, to wash away your doubts.

“I want you to stay with me,” he murmurs quietly. “Okay?”

You hum shyly. “Okay.”

Rafe runs his hands over your ribcage. “I need you to know something, though."

"Yeah?"

Your tone is so fucking sweet that it makes his upcoming words difficult, understanding you can completely hold your own against a family full of narcissists yet wanting to shield you from it all anyway. He wants to hide you away from it all, but he knows you're tough, you're strong, you're too kind for your own good.

"My dad probably won’t be the friendliest.” Rafe figures that's the nicer term for Ward. "He'll be charming and inviting when you first meet him, but behind closed doors..."

He trails off, not necessarily wanting to get into the specifics of his father's tendencies right now with you, laying pretty beside him and body exhausted with earlier passion. To subject you to this all over again, it makes his chest pull, knowing that his father will probably say or do something to remind you of the obscenities of your own family, to remind you of the darkness that shrouded you a week ago.

Before he can continue, you gently massage his scalp. "I understand. I'll be alright."

It makes him nearly swoon. "You're too sweet for your own good, hm? You can be mean to him if you want."

You laugh and he swears he's never heard a prettier sound.

"I'm not doing that."

"If I asked you nicely?"

Chuckling again, your nails rake down to the nape of his neck and back up to his scalp, making him sigh low into the confinements of your hold. But it's much more than physicality, it's almost a promise, reaffirming your stance and wordlessly convincing him that you have his back. Now and always.

"Still no," you murmur, and by the tone of it he swears you're smiling. "You're the one who said I'm incapable of being evil."

Rafe snorts. "I did."

You hum happily, content with 'winning' the conversation as you continue to massage absentmindedly. "Besides, I’m great with parents.”

This conversation feels all too familiar, full circle, echoing his words that he spoke to you all the time ago when your mother stormed into your dorm room, the catalyst for all of this, the start of the spiral to where you lay now with limbs entangled and hearts out in the open.

Shaking his head slightly and allowing himself to shut his eyes, Rafe murmurs in agreement, almost tauntingly.

“I’m sure you are, sweet girl.” Then, quieter, “Sleep.”

The words are like a command, and despite every effort to not do so, you find yourself babbling something incoherently, words soon dying in your throat as you fall asleep, but not without being lulled by the sound of his syncopated breaths, and that, somehow, his hand has found yours in the darkness, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gentle enough for it to be a long lasting reminder: he's here, and he's not going anywhere.

You let yourself succumb to that. You let yourself deserve it.

notes holy shit???????? i have a few (more like a hundred) things to say. legit where do I begin.

thank you for 900 followers FIRST OF ALL i only started posting laaaaaate march (practically april) so this is absolutely incredible, thank you for all the support it's been so overwhelming in the best way. half of the comments genuinely make me lol and the other half make me legit spiral bc huh???? you like my stuff??? anyway.

for those who have sent me inbox messages: I SEE YOU!!! I APPRECIATE YOU!! I HAVE NOT IGNORED YOU!!! i'm gonna try to get around to answering them but trust i see y'all!!!!

on the topic of inbox messages, a few of you have been asking about if i'm open to blurbs, and i 100% am. i cannot guarantee i will be able to answer all of them (i started a full-time job??? crazy) but i would love to try and provide that.

okay i think that's it from me. again. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT i'm legit sad this is ending but, again, im open to blurbs about them so TRUST this def won't be the last time we read about them. GODSPEED!

856 notes · View notes

lumosflairr · 22 days ago

Text

WHAT HE LEFT IN ME - harry j. potter

summary: As Voldemort's influence drives Harry into isolation, Harry grows distant, angry and cruel - pushing away the only girl he's ever loved.

This story contains: angst, Voldemort is alive, sirius lives, harry is distant and rude, fluff at the end so happy ending.

taglist: @ronhazmione @roseidol @h0gw4rtssturn @aouoo

[This fic is LONG!! it contains loads of build up though so i salute to you if you can read this through]

Before everything started to fall apart, Harry had been the kind of boyfriend who held your hand like it grounded him. Like maybe if he let go, he’d float away. He wasn’t always good with words - often fumbling or red-faced when trying to say how he felt, but he didn’t have to say much.

his actions spoke.

He’d sit beside you in the common room with his thigh pressed lightly against yours, fingers brushing, eyes flicking over occasionally like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. He’d shower you in gifts and often you would come back to your dorm with him casually sitting on your bed with fresh picked flowers. The flowers he knew you loved.

He laughed more, back then. Not often - not loud, but just enough to make your heart melt. You’d catch it moments like a wizard chess game against Ron going hilariously wrong or a whispered joke behind Snape’s back, and your personal favorite- when you stole his jumpers and would simply claim it as your own.

Overall, he loved quietly.

He didn’t shout it from the rooftops or have over the top gestures - there was no need to.

You saw it in the way he showed up to your special events, the way he actually listened to you instead of it going in one ear and out the other - which goes with how he remembers every little detail of you down to the bone.

He remembers your favorite books to read in the library in your free time, exactly how you took your tea, even how your eyebrows always furrow and you twiddled your quill on your test lightly when McGonagall gave lectures in words only Hermione could comprehend.

He’d wait for you outside of class even when he pretended he “just happened to be passing by.” His hand would find yours in the corridors, unsure at first, but firmer over time, like he was getting used to the idea of someone choosing to stand beside him.

When you were alone, he was different.

He wasn’t “The Chosen One,” not the Boy Who Lived, Just Harry. Funny, dry, a little awkward sometimes.

Just Harry.

YOUR Harry.

The Harry who would hold you as you both steal kisses under bedsheets and whisper sweet nothings. The Harry who was vulnerable with you, telling you about his dreams to live with Sirius or how his childhood was. Even his fears for the future. He told you things he hadn’t even truly mentioned to Hermione or Ron.

He wasn’t perfect. He could be stubborn and reckless. But with you, he tried. He tried to be better, to be present. And even if he didn’t always have the words, his actions told you everything-

You were safe.

You were Loved.

You truly had a purpose and could be loved.

But that was before.

Before Voldemort’s presence crept under his skin and far deeper in his head - not just in dreams anymore, but in his emotions. The anger wasn’t his, but it settled itself deep into his chest like that’s exactly where it was born and raised. He grew colder without meaning to.

He was always distant. Distracted. Like there was more than just a war going on inside his mind.

The worst part about it?

He stopped trying to protect what he had with you. Because deep down, he didn’t think he could keep it.

It didn’t fall apart all at once.

It unraveled in quiet, small moments where something felt off, but you convinced yourself it was nothing.

The first time he snapped was on a normal Tuesday afternoon in the common room. Hermione was out with Ron at Hogsmeade while you stayed with Harry. You had both arranged to meet there just to enjoy one another’s presence, hoping to find a moment of normalcy. Something where you both can share a smile again.

As soon as you arrived, you noticed him on one of the sofas. His figure slumped over and his eyes focused on the fire burning infront of him. You could feel a knot form in your stomach and a slight ping at your heart from the sight.

“Hey,” you said gently, sliding into the seat beside him.

Harry glanced up, his brows furrowed slightly. “Oh, hey.”

You offered a small smile. “I thought we could study together while we have some time alone to.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You nodded as you placed your charm books on the table in front of you two gently, trying to ease the tension. “Want to talk about it?”

For a long moment, he just stared at the table, lost in thought. Then finally muttered, “It’s… nothing. Just tired.”

you frowned to yourself. You knew bloody well that wasn’t the case at all, but he was already on edge. You reached your hand out to his, but he snatched it away. Your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened slightly as your eyes make their way to his face - confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

You blinked. “Snap? What do you mean?”

He looked at you, running a hand through his hair. “I guess… I’ve just been on edge. I don’t want to drag you into it.”

You squeezed his hand. “You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m here.”

He gave you a small, almost sad smile. Not the smile you were hoping would come out of this. “I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes it feels like Voldemort’s closer than ever, and I don’t know how to fight it without breaking everything around me.”

You intertwined your fingers with his and placed a kiss to the top of his head. His eyes met yours and you gave him a smile. you didn’t have to say what words were behind them - he knew.

“im here. you wont break me. i’ll always be here”

It didn’t last though.

The little things began to fall apart.

He stopped waiting for you after class. He didn’t meet your eyes as much when you spoke. When you laughed, he barely reacted — like he hadn’t even heard you. And when he did speak, there was something sharper under his words. Not always. Just enough to make you second-guess yourself.

One morning, you reached for his hand in the corridor between lessons. He let you, but his fingers stayed limp in yours. His grip used to be so sure — like he needed the contact. Now, it felt like he barely noticed. Like you were just there. Like you weren’t holding him steady.

You found him later that night pacing in the common room, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. He didn’t even notice you at first. And when he did, all he said was, “Don’t start.”

You didn’t even say a word.

It stung the way his guard shot up like a wall between you. And even though he apologized again and again, always just enough to make you stay, something inside you started to ache in a deeper way.

He was slipping away farther and farther and neither you or both of you two closest friends could either.

Its been days, maybe even weeks since then and everything has gone down hill since. Umbridge remained nothing but trouble with her torment towards the students - even staff. You often found dinner to be just Hermione, Ron and you.

You missed Harry. Your Harry. The Harry that would hold you and refuse to let you go. The Harry who would stay up all night if he could just to hear your voice. Now it was like he was invisible.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna go talk to him” You told Hermione and Ron as you stood up from where you sat.

“Don’t be to pushy - he shouted at me earlier im sure Godric Gryffindor could hear” Ron muttered, going right back into his food.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and spun around to give you a friendly smile.

“I hope it goes well. I’ll be in the common room if you need to talk after”

You gave her a smile and nod as you made your way out the great hall walking your way to the Gryffindor common room.

You looked around for any signs of Harry, nothing.

You sighed and made your way up to the boys dormitory finding Harry and Ron’s shared room.

You raised your fist up to knock, breath shaky as your arm froze. You let out another sigh and knocked on the door. Two knocks.

“Not in the mood for company.”

“Harry, please - Its me.”

Silence.

After what felt like ages, you had enough. You opened his door and watched him as he sat on his bed in his signature blue shirt and some jeans your sure he’s been wearing almost all week.

You stood a few feet away, keeping space.

He didn’t even look at you when you walked in.

“You’ve barely looked at me all week. Let alone speak to me.” You started off slow, your eyes glued to his figure.

“Maybe I didn’t have anything worth saying.”

ouch.

Your face scrunched up in disbelief as you watched him. Cold and lifeless. Eyes glued to his feet as he twiddled them on the floor.

“Harry, something is wrong. And not just Umbridge, or the Ministry, or — or everything. You’re different. You’re not the Harry I know.”

Harry turned to you finally. You were met with eyes that you were sure didn’t belong to him.

cold. lifeless. dark.

“Maybe I’ve changed”

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing. I said something’s wrong.”

“Well, sorry if I’m not chipper enough for you lately.”

Your breath hitched. You were starting to get pissed off and your voice raised slightly higher than it was earlier.

“That’s not fair. I’ve been patient. I’ve been here. Hell - Hermione and Ron don’t even know what to say to you anymore, especially after you lost your mind on Ron. You keep shutting not only me out but our friends from first year and pretending like you don’t care, like nothing matters.”

Harry gave you a look. a dirty one. One that said so many things you couldn’t even explain.

“Maybe nothing does matter”

You felt like you just got a slap to the face. Your fist balled up in anger and pain as you made your way even closer to him, which he returns with a scoff.

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like—like someone I don’t even recognize.”

He stood up. voice low and cold as he stared at you. An angry expression all over his face. Your heart broke as you looked at him. This was not the Harry you know and love.

“Good. Maybe if you don’t recognize me, you’ll finally stop pretending I’m someone worth fixing.”

You pushed a finger on his chest and gave him a stern look.

“I wasn’t trying to fix you. I just wanted to be here for you. But you keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy.”

Harry grabbed your wrist and shot you a look. You hissed and looked into a pair of unrecognizable eyes.

“Because maybe I don’t want anyone near me! Maybe it’s easier that way! I’ve got enough people to lose without adding you to the list!

His fists clenched around your arm, words sharp and bitter.

“Voldemort’s out there, and he’s looking for me — always. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like he’s closer, like he’s in my blood, and I wake up furious, like his anger is mine. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to hold your hand and cry about it like some sad little love story.”

Your eyes narrowed as tears threaten to pour out. You yank your wrist away from his grip and shoot him a deadly grin in return.

“You think that’s what this is about? A sad little love story? I’ve been standing here, trying to fight for you, and you’re acting like I’m just some needy extra in the tragedy of your life!”

“You are if you wont stop always getting in my fucking way! Y’ know what? I’m done. This is over. I don’t need to carry you around when you can’t even function properly without me holding your hand. I don’t need this - I don’t need you.”

Harry practically yelled right in your face with his last sentence. The tears no longer threatened to pour, they simply did. You stopped breathing - only for a moment. You searched in his eyes for something - something to let you know he didn’t mean it. He would apologize. Something that screamed “I’m still your Harry!”

You didn’t find it.

“Is that really what you think of me?” your voice shook as you spoke.

Harry remained silent, the stern look on his face not washing away.

Was he serious? This was how things ended? The boy you’ve loved since your second year, the boy who held you like someone would pry you away, the boy who made you truly believe love was made for you and him, had just ending things like that?

“right. got it.” you muttered as you head straight for the door. As soon as it was swung open, you were gone. You ran down the stairs with tears falling down with what it seems like every step you took. As you ran, you barley even noticed how you completely ran past Ronald.

He didn’t even have to ask what happened to know. He felt bloody bad for you - You were both his mates. While Harry was obviously his best, he really felt horrible for you.

When Ron made his way up to his shared dorm, he was met with harry shaking, jaw clenched as he tossed his robes into his trunk. not even bothering to fold them.

Ron walked to his side, sitting on his bed as he just watched Harry for a moment.

Ron took a breath before he spoke..

“That bad?”

Harry paused for a moment, glared at Ron, then went back to tossing things in his suitcase before he spoke.

“It’s fine. We broke up”

“yeah.. assumed that..” Ron coughed, awkward as always.

He didn’t know what to say. He liked Y/N — really liked them. Not just because they made Harry happier, which they did, but because they were one of the few people who treated Ron like Ron, not just “Harry’s mate.” They laughed at his jokes, teamed up with him to roast Malfoy, helped him with homework when he pretended not to care. He’d gotten used to them being around.

And now it felt wrong not to say anything. But it also felt wrong to say anything.

“She really cared about you, mate.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter now.”

Ron was baffled at Harry’s response. He knew Harry didn’t actually think it didn’t matter. He saw the two of you everyday and was well aware of how much Harry adored you.

“You don’t actually believe that. You’re just mad. At everything.”

Harry spun around, shooting daggers at Ron.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Ron. You don’t know what it feels like to have him in your head. To feel like you’re turning into something dangerous.”

“Your right, I don’t. What I do know is exactly how it looks when someone’s hurting and pushing every one they care about because they’re scared. I don’t care about how you snapped at me earlier and yelled like bloody murder. But the light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you. I care about that. Pushing not only me and Hermione away, but the girl you would talk about a future with to me won’t solve anything with Voldemort. It’s only hurting you worse.”

Harry’s gaze on Ron softened. His shoulders were now more tense.

‘The light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you.’

The words hit like a punch to the chest — not because they weren’t true, but because they were. Harry sank down on the edge of his bed, his fists clenched in the blanket, jaw tight. He could feel it — the rage crawling just beneath his skin, the familiar cold weight that came with it. Voldemort’s presence, faint but constant, like a shadow just out of sight.

But that wasn’t the part that shook him the most.

It was you.

Crying.

Because of him.

He pictured your face — the way you smiled when he made stupid jokes, the way your fingers found his under the table without thinking. How your voice softened when you said his name like it meant something sacred. How you looked the last time you spoke — blinking fast, voice cracking, like you were trying not to fall apart right in front of him.

He’d done that.

He’d let himself become something that hurt you.

And Ron was right — he’d pushed you away because he was scared. Terrified. Voldemort was always out there, always watching, always closer. And Harry kept thinking that if he distanced himself from everyone he loved, Voldemort wouldn’t have anything to take.

But he never stopped to think about what he was losing in the process.

He thought of what Ron said again:

‘The girl you would talk about a future with.’

He had. On quiet nights. On walks back from Hogsmeade. In the gaps between danger and duty, you were always the person he imagined beside him when the war ended. A future with peace. A future with you.

He’d torn it apart with sharp words and silence and the twisted belief that pushing you away was the same as protecting you.

But it wasn’t.

It was cowardice wrapped in good intentions.

Hermione found you sitting on the floor between your bed and the wall, knees tucked to your chest, face buried in your arms. She didn’t say anything at first. She sat at your side, cross-legged, her hand resting lightly over yours. She hadn’t left since you came back upstairs. She didn’t ask questions at first. She just stayed — offering tissues, brushing hair from your face, letting you breathe.

You didn’t try to speak - you simply just sobbed, the kind of quiet sobs that came from too much held in for too long.

“Im so sorry” Hermione whispered as she rubbed your back trying to sooth you. “Nobody has the right to say things like that no matter whats going on in their lives. None of this is your fault”

Your breath hitched as you tried to somewhat collect yourself so you don’t throw up from all the tears you’ve shed.

“He’s not… He’s not the same. And I don’t know if he’s coming back. I know its not my fault, but I feel like maybe if I’d have done something differently or- or maybe if i hadn’t just said anything at all.. maybe-”

Hermione cut you off with her own sentence.

“If you said nothing, you’d still be crying over this. You did exactly what you should’ve and I’m so glad you did what was right. With Harry..” Hermione’s voice cut off as she collected herself some as well trying to stand strong in this situation. You two were her closest friends and to her, seeing this go down was worse than what Voldemort could’ve done.

“I think he’s scared. Of what he’s feeling. Of what he could become. But that doesn’t mean it’s your job to carry that weight.”

You leaned into her with a shaky breath as you wiped more tears that fell. You wanted to stop them from pouring but you couldn’t control it.

“I just didn’t want him to feel alone.” you whispered out, voice fading in and out from your earlier cries.

Hermione leaned back into you and spoke up again.

“He knows. Even if he’s too angry to show it right now. He knows.”

You were truthfully so blessed for Hermione. As she brushed the hair from your face and spoke with that quiet, unwavering certainty only she seemed to have, something inside you settled, just a little. The ache didn’t vanish, but it no longer felt like you were drowning alone in it.

They sat there for a long time — no more words, just shared silence. Shared heartbreak.

It’s been weeks since everything with Harry and you went down.

Harry was asleep, but it didn’t feel like it.

He was awake - painfully. His body remained stiff beneath his blankets in the boys’ dormitory. What pulled him under this time wasn’t rest.

It was rage. Hunger.

He could feel the stone floor beneath his coils. He could see through slitted, reptilian eyes. He was gliding through the corridors of the Ministry, low to the ground, every movement silent and precise. He could feel the pounding of a heart, but not his own.

There it was: a man with thinning red hair, dozing in a chair beneath the soft golden glow of a flickering light. Arthur Weasley. Alone. Vulnerable.

“Strike now.”

Without hesitation, he lunged.

Harry felt the impact. Felt the fangs tear through flesh and muscle, tasted blood. There was a weak cry - and Arthur fell sideways, clutching his ribs, blood already spilling across the polished floor. Again, he struck. Again.

And then—

“NO!”

Harry shot up in bed, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. His scream had ripped through the dormitory, waking Ron instantly. The curtains around his bed were yanked open. Ron’s voice was frantic.

Harry - what? What is it?”

Harry was trembling, clutching the sheets. “Arthur… your dad. He’s been attacked.”

“What?!”

“I saw it. I was the snake… I was inside it. I bit him - he’s in the Department of Mysteries. He’s bleeding, he’s dying - Ron, we have to tell someone! Now!”

Ron didn’t hesitate.

——————————————————————————

The guilt didn’t settle. It grew. Even after Dumbledore confirmed that Arthur had been found alive, but just barley - Harry couldn’t shake the feeling crawling under his skin.

He wasn’t just seeing Voldemort anymore. He was connected to him. He had been the thing that tried to kill someone he loved.

The worst part? he enjoyed it.

He kept his distance even more after that.

From Ron. From Hermione.

Especially from you.

Because if Voldemort could use him to hurt Mr. Weasley… what would stop him from using Harry to hurt you? It was no longer a fear. It was a possibility.He told himself that he was right all along, and that he did the right thing by pushing you away from him.

But then he remembered the way you looked at him in the firelight. The way you cried the night he let go. The way Hermione said you weren’t just hurting — you were breaking.

And Harry knew then that Voldemort wasn’t the only one doing damage.

He was too.

Grimmauld place was colder than usual, even with the fire lit crackling infront of Harry. He’d been sitting with the weight of it all — the vision, the blood, the connection. The echo of Arthur Weasley’s cries still rang in his ears.

“your thinking to loud again”

Harry startled slightly. He looked up. Sirius stood in the doorway, his coat draped over one arm, looking every bit the shadowed version of the man he used to be — but there was warmth in his eyes. Concern. Familiarity.

“Sirius..” Harry muttered, “I didn’t hear you come in”

Didn’t need to,” Sirius said, stepping in and sinking into the armchair across from him. “You’ve been looking like that for hours.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re blaming yourself for Arthur being attacked. “I know that look. I wore it for years after Azkaban. And my father, well- he’d have worn it his whole life, if he’d had a heart to break.”

Harry didn’t say a word, just looked at Sirius while he spoke.

Sirius leaned forward, eyes softer now. “You think you’re becoming him, don’t you? Voldemort?”

Harry’s silence finally broke.

“I felt it, What he left in me,” Harry finally whispered. “Through the snake. I saw it happen, Sirius, I was it. And it… it didn’t even feel wrong at first. I felt powerful. I felt… hungry. What if there’s something in me? What if I’m like him?”

Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then, firmly..

“You’re not a bad person, Harry. You’re a very good person who bad things have happened to.”

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us,” Sirius continued. “What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.”

Harry’s face softened completely before he spoke again, “What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…” He couldn’t say your name.

Sirius’s voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “Then you fight harder. And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back.”

He gave Harry a long, meaningful look.

“Including her.”

Harry looked up at Sirius, his eyes glistening with regret.

“I broke her Sirius. She was trying so hard to reach me.. to help me. I pushed her away and treated her like she wasn’t anything to me. But she means so much to me.”

“Then tell her before its far too late.” Sirius stood up and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a pat before he walked away.

You heard it all

You didn’t mean to stop outside the door to be fair.

You were just coming downstairs for tea. A simple excuse to escape the suffocating quiet of the girls’ room, where your thoughts kept swallowing you whole.

then you heard his voice.

Harry, the harry who once was yours.

His voice was muffled , low. Fragile in a way you hadn’t heard it in weeks.

Your hand gripped the banister. The flickering light from the hallway sconce spilled just enough through the cracked door that you could make out Harry’s silhouette inside — curled in a chair across from Sirius.

“What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…”

or who? you? your breath hitched with the sudden cutoff. You wanted to pry your hands away and go back to your room, you wanted to ignore it and act like Harry still wasn’t your everything while you felt sure you meant nothing anymore. but your body wouldn’t let you. Your hands remained glued to the banister as you continued to listen.

“Then you fight harder,” Sirius said gently. “And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back. Including her.”

You froze.

Her.

Your heart pounded in your chest, pressing up into your throat.

“I broke her,” Harry murmured. “She was trying so hard to reach me. And I shoved her away like she didn’t mean a thing. But she did. She does.”

You blinked hard. Your throat ached.

There it was. The thing you had begged to hear the night he shut down. When his eyes went cold and his words came out cruel, and you left because it hurt more to stay.

But now — alone in that room with Sirius, Harry was saying it aloud.

He still loved you.

He never stopped.

But your knew deep down it wouldn’t be that simple to let him back in. No matter how many times you believed you would let him walk straight back in. His words still stung. Maybe he was still in there — the boy who used to wait for you outside class, tuck letters in your books, kiss you like he thought you hung the moon.

And maybe he’d have a damn good enough apology.

You made your way back upstairs and closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it like it was the only thing holding you upright. The air in the room felt heavier than before, but in a different way. Not suffocating. Just… full.

Hermione looked up from the edge of her bed, where she’d been reading in the golden glow of a low-burning lamp. She sat up straighter the moment she saw your face.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently, putting her book aside.

You nodded too quickly. Then shook your head.

Hermione was up in an instant, crossing the room to you. “What happened?”

“I… I heard him,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Downstairs. With Sirius.”

Hermione’s expression softened. “Harry?”

You nodded again, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “He was talking about the attack. About the way Voldemort… felt through him. He was scared. So scared.”

you and Hermione shared a sympathetic look.

“And he mentioned me,” you added quietly, staring at the floor. “He said he broke me. That I tried to reach him and he shoved me away. But that I mattered. That I still matter.”

The words cracked in your throat while it felt like the words hit you even harder this time. Your breath was short and you were sure you were on the verge of tears.

Hermione ran to you and embraced you in her arms. You wrapped yours around her as your breath became slightly unsteady as a single tear fell.

“I never stopped hoping he’d come back,” you whispered. “Even when I hated him for hurting me. I still… I still loved him.”

Hermione pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “He’s coming back now. Piece by piece. And he’s going to need you — not because he’s broken, but because you’re the one who reminds him who he really is.”

you both pulled away and shared a smile. Though yours faded once again.

“I don’t even know what to say to him when i see him..” you groaned as you smacked your head into your hands.

Hermione let out a little giggle at your actions, pulling your hands away from your face so she can look at you.

“You don’t have to know,” Hermione said. “Just listen to your heart. It’s always known him better than anyone.”

——————————————————————————

The next morning, sunlight streamed faintly through the tall, dusty windows of the corridor, casting a soft golden glow over the creaky wooden floor. The quiet of early morning held the house in a kind of hush, the kind that settles right before something important.

Harry stood outside your door.

He’d barely slept. After Sirius’s words and Ron’s pointed honesty, after Hermione’s quiet look when she passed him late in the hallway - he’d stayed up, thinking. Feeling. Regretting.

really regretting.

Harry knocked on your door. Two knocks.

He heard a quiet shuffle inside. Then the door cracked open, and there you were, hair a little messy from sleep, jumper slipping off one should.

his jumper.

Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met harry’s. His hair was messier than usual. His eyes were tired - not just from lack of sleep, but from the weight he’d been carrying. Still, when he looked at you, something in his expression shifted. Lighter. Softer. Like seeing you was the first deep breath he’d taken in days.

“I was hoping you’d be up,” he said quietly.

You held the door, unsure whether to lean into it or close it again. “I figured you’d come.”

You didn’t mean it to sound bitter — it didn’t, really. Just honest.

“Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?”

You stared at him for a moment. Part of you wanted to close the door and guard whatever was left of your heart. But the rest of you, the bigger part - remembered the sound of his voice the night before, cracked and vulnerable through the door. Remembered Hermione’s words. Remembered love.

“The kitchen’s probably empty,” you murmured.

He didn’t move immediately. Just looked at you like he was surprised you still had space in your heart for him.

Then he followed behind you.

It wasn’t forgiveness. not yet.

The kitchen was quiet when you entered — dimly lit by the weak morning sun peeking through the grimy windows, and empty.

You sat across from Harry at the long table. The space between you wasn’t far, but it felt like it carried weeks’ worth of words left unsaid.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just looked down at his hands. Twisted his fingers together. You noticed the faint tremble in them.

“I, um…” His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t really know where to start.”

You waited.

“I’ve been a right mess,” he said finally. “I was angry. At everything. At Voldemort. At Dumbledore. At the prophecy. At myself.”

You looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, he met your gaze.

“And instead of dealing with it, I took it out on the one person I trusted not to leave.”

Your heart twisted.

“I pushed you because I was scared,” he continued.

“Because Voldemort is looking for me. Because I feel him inside my head some days and it makes me question who I even am. And I thought… if I kept everyone at arm’s length, I couldn’t lose them.”

“But I lost you anyway,”

“I didn’t mean a single bit of the things I said,” he went on. “I only said it all to make you leave. To hurt you before I could hurt you worse. So maybe, you would realize how I don’t want to wake up one morning to you dead because of me. Because of him. What he left in me, i took out on you.”

“I know sorry doesn’t fix everything. But I am sorry. For all of it.”

You sat still, breathing through the knot in your chest.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Harry said, quieter now. “But I need you to know you never stopped mattering to me. You still do.”

You took a fair look at him, you saw the pain in his eyes and how his soul had seemed to be almost entirely sucked out. But beneath it all, you saw him.

Your harry.

The boy who once waited for you outside Potions. The one who snuck you Honeydukes sweets when he knew you were upset. The one who held your hand under the table during DA meetings, because your nerves were louder than your wand.

he was still there. Barely, just barely.. but you saw your boy.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself speak without a wall between you.

“I missed you,” you said softly. “Even when I hated you.”

Harry’s breath caught.

“I hated how much I still loved you.”

He blinked hard, and you saw his shoulders shake just slightly as he nodded. “Me too”

You watched him. Not the Boy Who Lived. Not the weapon Dumbledore needed. Just him.

And still, part of you wanted to reach out.

But part of you didn’t trust your own hands yet. So you stayed still. Let the quiet speak for you. Let him see how much it had cost to be hurt by someone you trusted with everything.

“I know I don’t get to ask this,” he said eventually, “but… do you think you’ll ever be able to look at me the same way again?”

you didn’t answer immediately. You took a deep breath before you answered his question.

“I don’t know,” You answered truthfully. “I want to. Its like a part of me does and always will, but you hurt me in ways i’ve never been hurt. And that takes time.”

Harry nodded. He was looking at you. Really looking at you. Like he used to. his face spread with guilt and shame.

“thats fair”

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” he added, voice a little hoarse. “Just… let me earn your trust again. However long that takes.”

The words sat with you. You didn’t move closer to reach for his hand. You didn’t pull back either. That was enough for you.

So you nodded. Small, but real.

——————————————————————————-

The library was tucked away behind thick, creaky doors, the kind that groaned every time someone opened them. so naturally, you chose it.

You weren’t sure if you came to find them or just stumbled in out of instinct, but there they were: Ron slouched sideways in an armchair by the fireplace, chewing on the end of a Sugar Quill, and Hermione curled up with her knees to her chest, a book resting forgotten in her lap.

They both looked up the second you stepped in.

“You talked to him,” Hermione said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

You sank down into the space between their chairs, curling your arms around your knees.

“I did.”

Ron sat forward slightly, watching you with careful eyes. “How’d it go?”

You breathed out a shaky little laugh. “It was… hard. He apologized. Really apologized. But it doesn’t fix everything.”

“No,” Hermione murmured. “It wouldn’t.”

“But I didn’t shut the door on him,” you added. “And I wanted to. But i looked at him - really looked at him. He’s still Harry.”

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “He’s been different these past few weeks. All that anger. It’s not him, not really. But when he talked about you… it was like that part of him came back.”

Hermione leaned over and took your hand gently in hers.

“You don’t owe him instant forgiveness,” she said, her voice strong but kind. “But you also don’t have to keep punishing yourself by pretending you don’t care.”

Ron gave a half-smile. “For what it’s worth… I think he’s finally learning not to run. That’s got to count for something.”

You nodded slowly ans gave them both a smile, leaning your head against Hermione’s shoulder.

The train ride back had been quieter than usual. No sweets from the trolley. No laughter from younger years. Just the four of you — you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione — pressed into one compartment, bundled in scarves and unsaid things.

It wasn’t the same as it used to be. But that didn’t mean it was broken.

Something between the four of you had shifted — tightened, maybe. Like surviving the weight of December had quietly stitched your threads back together. There were fewer outbursts now. More shared glances, longer silences that didn’t feel uncomfortable, and the occasional smile that felt like a promise that things might be okay again someday.

You and Harry didn’t sit as close as you used to. But you talked. You shared smiles here and there. Things started suddenly looking up.

Strangely enough, there was something comforting about the DA meetings.

Despite everything - the tension in the halls, the fear in the headlines, the ache that still settled in your chest when you looked at Harry too long, even Umbridge.. the evenings in the Room of Requirements brought back hope. Like you had some stability.

And Harry was still a fantastic teacher.

Tonight’s meeting had gone exceptionally well - spells flying, laughter bubbling as Neville accidentally disarmed himself, a round of light applause when Ginny nailed a perfect Reducto. It felt normal. Just for a little while. Like everything you yearned for was finally back.

But when everyone started to pack up, laughing and shaking out their arms, you hesitated. You told yourself you were just reorganizing the spellbooks. But your hands weren’t really moving.

And when you looked up — he was still there.

Harry stood near the back wall, wand loosely in hand, watching the last of the group file out. You told yourself you should just leave and tell him goodnight, but you stayed.

He didn’t say anything right away. He locked eyes with you and just took a slow step closer, the distance between you still careful. Still heavy.

“You’re getting good with Expelliarmus,” he said quietly.

You gave a faint smile, not looking at him. “Well, I’ve had a pretty consistent example.”

He huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Yeah, it’s kind of my thing.”

When you finally turned to face him fully, you saw it — that flicker in his eyes. Longing. Regret. All the things he hadn’t been able to say when the world was falling apart and he was pushing you away with it.

“You’ve been doing better,” you said. “In here, I mean.”

His jaw shifted slightly. “This room’s the only place I feel like I still know who I am.”

You nodded once. “That makes two of us.”

Harry looked at you and smiled. “you’ve always been really talented with spells, you still are”

You arched an eyebrow. “Are you complimenting me, Potter?”

“maybe im finally starting to remember how.”

You smirked. “You know, I still remember the first time you tried to teach me Expelliarmus. You were so serious like you were prepping for a NEWT exam and not just trying to show off.”

Harry let out a laugh - a genuine laugh. The laugh that makes your stomach turn in so many ways. The laugh you’d yearned for and missed more than anything.

The laughter faded into quiet smiles, but neither of you looked away. And in that pause, something else started to fill the room, a kind of warmth that had been missing for far too long. The kind that lived in old memories and late-night talks and the way your eyes lingered on each other now, just a second too long.

“You remember that night after the Yule Ball?” Harry asked suddenly, voice lower.

You tilted your head, curious. “When we snuck up to the Astronomy Tower and you nearly got us caught?”

He laughed again.

“Yeah. That one. You told me you’d hex me right after.’”

“right before you kissed me to shut me up”

“exactly.”

Your heart skipped a beat and your sure his did as well. You both help eye contact, shit. It was just like how it used to be. Harry was never angry anymore. He obviously had his moments, but he hadn’t lashed out. never on you. never came close.

“I didn’t know what I was doing back then,” he admitted, stepping a little closer.

“I don’t think either of us did,” you said, voice softening. “But it still felt easy… back then. With you.”

Harry’s eyes locked with yours. “It could be again. I want it to be.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You weren’t ready to trust that so easily — but gods, you wanted to. The space between you had vanished without either of you realizing. His hand brushed against yours, tentative, like testing the weight of the moment.

And you didn’t pull away.

“I’m still mad at you,” you murmured.

“I know.”

“And I still don’t forgive everything.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“But…” you stepped closer, your voice barely audible, “I still love you, Harry.”

His breath caught, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you.

“I never stopped,” he said.

Then — slowly, carefully — his hand came up to cup your cheek. You leaned into it before you could think twice.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It was trembling and quiet and real. All the broken pieces trying to fit back together, not because they were forced — but because they wanted to.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, smiling like fools.

You leaned your forehead against his. “Still an idiot.”

Harry grinned. “Yours though?”

You nodded.

“Mine.”

Spring had finally started to sneak into Hogwarts, soft and quiet. The sun was warmer on your face, the air smelled like blooming grass, and for the first time in what felt like months — you could breathe. Things slowly reverted to how they were. This was how it used to be. But stronger now. Wiser. Braver.

You and Harry lay side by side on the slope near the Black Lake, his hand laced with yours, thumb tracing circles against your skin. His other arm was slung lazily behind his head, eyes half-closed, the wind tousling his hair in that ridiculous, untamable way you’d grown to love again.

Ron and Hermione were a few feet away, bickering over some spellwork, though Ron’s grin betrayed that he was only trying to get a rise out of her. Hermione rolled her eyes and pretended not to smile.

“Feels like the world’s still spinning,” Harry murmured beside you, breaking the silence.

You turned to him. “It always was. You just forgot how to feel it.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and smiled like he used to. The one that reached his eyes, made everything feel steady.

“I don’t think I would’ve remembered without you.”

You squeezed his hand. “That’s what we do, remember? You fall apart, I put you back together. I fall apart, you do the same. It’s teamwork.”

Harry chuckled. “So what you’re saying is… I can’t ever break up with you again or I’ll be tragically incomplete.”

“Exactly,” you said, deadpan. “And I’ll hex you if you try.”

“Romantic,” he grinned, and leaned over to kiss you softly.

You let it linger. Not because it was new, or uncertain — but because it wasn’t. Because it felt like home.

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sundrlands · 9 months ago

Text

‘significance’ j. sunderland x reader

minors dni

cw: light face slapping, light scent kink, sub/top j. sunderland x dom/bottom reader, oral, breath play if you squint, breeding kink, light spit play, dry humping. no depictions of specific characterizations in regards to the reader’s looks. reader has she/her pronouns.

summary: what happens when two deprived people meet by accident? a server and that odd man who’d always come to drink coffee every morning at 6am. from awkward conversation to a dinner that turned into rough, needy indulgence. it was easy, a deprived little thing like him… it was just too significant.

a/n: this is years after the events of sh— no mentioning of the events either. forgive me if this is all over the place… it’s definitely a long one. i kind of went wild while writing this one. there’s more smut than there is plot but nonetheless… i hope you enjoy my very first james sunderland fic.

there he goes again… that odd man… in the same spot he’d always sit in. the farthest table by the window with no one to accompany him besides himself.

james… that was his name. james sunderland.

he was kind enough to tell you this after the tenth time he’d come in. you didn’t have to ask or even tell him your own name… mostly because you didn’t know how to approach that level of conversation. you were just a server— giving the customers phony smiles, a ‘hi, how can i help you today?’ and the fakest kind of enthusiasm when any other would try to offer a joke out of curtesy.

yet something about him… his somber eyes— with light wash of rosy pink coloring the bags underneath them— that looked as if he was deep in thought… as if he were to be troubled by something… or someone from his past… the short stubble that grazed over his chin and upper lip, and his body language that seemed as if he never wanted to be bothered or probably never slept. his gaze always wandered around the diner, out the window or at the soft ripples within the mug he’d hold. sometimes… you found him staring at you, nervously looking away whenever your eyes connected. you never understood why though or what he could be thinking each time he looked at you, so you never asked or gave it much question.

james was just a stranger who came at the same time, almost every single day— six in the morning, as the sky still glowed its grey hues— not a minute early. not a minute late. the bell from the diner’s door ringing loud and brash with the thick of his boots stepping on every creaking, rotten floor board.

each time he’d come, you’d watch him to see if he’d do anything different. maybe he’d add in a sugar packet… two or three… or maybe he’d get a breakfast sandwich like mr.colemen always did— the trucker who you knew had a wife but still flirted with the older cook, ms.miles on tuesdays— or maybe he’d bring in someone he knew to occupy his time… he didn’t. it was the same each time. he’d arrive, ask for seating and sit— not wanting anything else but his coffee— black. no sugar. no cream, just like he liked it he said. he’d watch the steam from his cup vanish until it ran cold then take his sips that felt like a lifetime in between each one.

you couldn’t lie… you were fairly intrigued by him… it wasn’t as if you hadn’t had regulars come in just as much he does, if not more, but something about him seemed different… the expression he always wore… he always seemed so lost in thought yet… so attentive in his surroundings. something in you wanted to know who he was.

each time you gave him a cup of his favorite black coffee, you couldn’t help yourself but try to formulate conversation after he gave out his name… but he was always just so fucking vague… each sentence he spoke was watered down— that trickled slow like shallow water… simplistic and dry, running in a soothing hum.

it was pretty. the way he spoke.

you told him that too. a gentle, ‘you have a nice voice’ after he sung a sweet ‘thank you’ after setting the coffee down in front of his hands. he was awkward about it, like he hadn’t received a compliment like this one or a compliment at all. no words given other than that, having the conversation run flat and you walking away in regret thinking, ‘maybe that was too much’.

it only took one day when you had been off shift to see him sitting at a park bench, the one at the end of the town with his hands in his pockets, back slouched and those same somber eyes staring into the park’s pound to finally sit next to him and not feel the dynamic imbalance hit you like how it did in the diner.

“james!” your breath creating its soft clouds within the cold air as you softly spoke, vanishing as it rose.

“ah!” he hummed, “funny to see you here.” he looked at you… the blonde strands flowing against the wind, his attention fully on you instead of him quickly trying to look away. it was direct, like he stared from within your body… you didn’t expect a person like him to have such good eye contact… it almost made you nervous.

“no coffee today?” you replied, offering a smile.

“afraid not. im just on my lunch break… needed some fresh air.”

“may i ask where you work? hope that’s not improper of me to ask.” you laughed quietly, taking a real good look at him. he was almost like a statue… a rugged one. his lack of fashion sense…and his ability to hold so much expression all the while it being so bland and so cold.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he turned his head back towards the pond, “no… no it’s not ‘improper’. it’s just an office job. pretty boring id say.”

“fitting.” you replied, “not that you’re boring! just… seems like a occupation you’d have is all.”

“i wouldn’t say that you’re wrong even if you did say that.” giving yet another humming chuckle.

you stayed for the time he had to spare. the conversation going just as you thought it would… awkward but he was sweet nonetheless. though it was the way it was, his words flowed with every sentence he spoke, like the gentle stream of the pond in front of you both or the thick clouds that scattered in the grey sky. it took you just a few moments to notice how pretty that man was. he exuded such odd comfort… and warmth that made you want to keep talking to him. listen to anything he said even if it meant nothing or sounded humorously stupid.

“well.” he sighed, grunting as he stood, “id love to keep… talking, but i have to go back.”

you nodded, exchanging your goodbyes as you watched him walk down the park’s path until his body disappeared in the distance.

and so, from then on it had been easier to talk to him. finding any way to get to know more about the odd man who only drank black coffee and stared at you from time to time. it started just at your workplace, quick and steady back and forth talk then at the park, then offering a time to spend together on your off day for breakfast.

that was the first time he had something other than coffee. it was the first time you saw him smile more than once… not a faint one… a real one— seeing how his teeth jumbled at the bottom of his mouth or the harsh smile lines appear by the sides of his lips.

the more you looked, the more you conjured how pathetic of a man james really was. his life seemed so dull… just like the springs occasional showers and faded blue skies… but he was like the sweetness of june— the warmth within this man was little to none but still, he captivated you with his odd charm even if he tried or didn’t. you couldn’t help yourself but to think it was so easy to get him flustered, to have him smile whenever you showed interest in whatever he spoke about… like a lost puppy who finally got attention after being alone for so long.

a slip of a compliment flowed in almost every other sentence, seeing him stutter in his words, choking up a thank you whenever he could. it was amusing… like an addiction. sewing your way into his life was oh so significant. he considered you a ‘friend’ to put it lightly, one who obviously stared at you whenever you weren’t looking: like at the pier. you stood in front of him, hearing the crows sing and the water waves crash against the wood— he’d eye down your frame, seeing the way your clothes hugged your form… dissociating the world’s music around you both with an open mouth and twiddling fingers.

each time, you acted as if you hadn’t noticed and maybe you were just that good for him to not pick up on it whenever you failed to mention or question why he’d stare so goddamn much. it didn’t matter anyway, you liked it just as much as he liked staring at you.

he’d sit stiff, noting how erect his back would be whenever you placed your hand on his shoulder, a soft grip given as you both spoke about whatever. he’d clear his throat whenever you stood a little too close to him, rubbing the tapered part of his hair on the back of his head with a line of ‘uh’ and ‘ums’ in between each word he spoke.

god… this man was just so pathetic.

“why don’t we have dinner?” you smiled as you turned towards him, the bustling chatter amongst the passing people as you both walked down the same park you and him had your first real conversation.

“oh.” he chirped, a quiet laugh intertwined in his speech, “sure. where?”

“my house.” you answered confidently. through the few months of you being his ‘friend’, it only seemed right, so you told him. you wanted him in a place of vulnerability. to rule out every other being that’d pass by or surround you while in public. you just wanted it to be you and him. him and you. “if that’s fine by you. im not too bad of a cook.”

“your house?” his voice fell flat but it was nothing that worried you. the ring of his monotone voice was thick and with how he reacted to your small gestures, you knew he was more than willing to oblige. “you don’t mind me… coming to your house?”

you gave a little nod and he gave a gentle smirk. james didn’t know what could happen once the dinner would happen but he had no reason to disagree… or even want to. he grew accustomed to your company, more than any coworker he had that tried to gather him for night drinks after tough shifts… or even the women who were so abrupt in their interest in him… the thin pencil skirts and revealing blazers. he didn’t care.

a date was given. four days from then after his early ending shift. and so time flew. he hadn’t come to the diner at six in the morning like he did, he wasn’t even at the spots he’d sit during his breaks from work. a part of you had been worried if he tried to avoid you, wondering why you haven’t seen him since your request. he wasn’t good at texting— sending him a ‘hi’ would only result to him replying a ‘hey’ three days later. you almost didn’t buy the groceries you needed to prepare or an outfit that wasn’t too much but definitely would grasp his attention.

luckily you did.

it had been the day and it was five in the afternoon, the sun setting itself and the wind blowing more rapidly, flowing with the night’s usual atmosphere. james stood at your door with the address you gave him not too long after he agreed for the dinner you proposed. he just stared at it’s wood, his heart racing without his mind fully understanding why. he was a grown man but too afraid to see your face until this very moment. so he’d stay in the house longer than he needed to without going to the diner in the mornings. he’d stay in his cubicle on his lunch break, finishing any extra assignments he needed done for his boss.

moments spent with his feet planted on the ground before he gave three knocks at your door. he waited, only for a minute before you opened the door. you were dressed so nicely opposed to his work outfit still on and the light fragrance of the food fumigating in the air, hitting his nose.

“you’re here.” you spoke, relieved that he hadn’t stood you up. “come in.”

and so he did. small talk was given, complimenting your abode and trinkets you had scattered all about, admiring the personality your home gave opposed to his apartment that was just there… only the essentials, almost soulless. you thanked him of course, going on about little things as he listened before you finished all that needed to be done for dinner— it was pasta. simple and easy to not fuck up.

two plates placed with wine in crystal glasses and forks being spun. you connected over the flavor of the sauce and the warmth of the garlic bread that complimented the pasta. everything went smoothly, more than you thought it would’ve. easy conversation with the add in of knowing more about who james was… though he was his usual vague self.

you couldn’t pinpoint why he had been or what was truly on his mind. in certain instances, he’d drift off, his eyes wavering with a slow chew before ending his sentence with something mundane. your curiosity kept prodding with each question you gave— he didn’t show feeling of intrusion but he wrapped around certain topics leaving you needing more to be answered.

it felt like twenty one questions… moreso… him answering yours than you were with his but his composure and hospitality hadn’t changed from his kind and awkward demeanor he’d always give. it took awhile before you realized you had been digging in his chest like a crow on a rotting corpse before you covered your mouth with a soft, inaudible gasp.

“ive been blabbering…” you say, shyly laughing as you continued the last of what was left on your plate.

“no.” he responded, his voice trickling like soothing raindrops against a windowsill, “you’re just curious.”

“that i am.” your eyebrows raising as you sipped the bitter red liquid of your wine, “but you’ve had enough.”

he shook his head, wiping his mouth with a nearby napkin as he gulped, “i enjoy the conversation. i just have a lot in my past im not too fond of is all.” you noticed his eyes again… that troublesome look… the blank stare. whatever happened seemed to had never left him. james was like a puzzle piece… all scattered… some pieces missing so the full picture could never be seen or even admired.

“don’t we all…” pursing your lips as you set your glass down, “…but that’s the beauty of life, yes? it’s shitty… things come and go. regret… wrapped in solace. but that only means you can make happier memories.” trying to be positive to remove anything he had stored in thought.

you saw his shoulders relax from its usual tension, his eyes finding their way towards yours with a thick silence being transferred between you two. “yeah.” he spoke, breaking the silence momentarily before it fell back. the white noise… the gentle buzz cradled your eardrums, sitting like a stone in both of your seats.

the contact between your eyes spoke a million words… ones that haven’t been spoken out loud— it was of interest, undeniable lust. from his constant gaze from when you once were strangers… his usual order of coffee, to the moments you spent together in numerous places to now. those pretty light eyes shook as they bounced from each part of what your body showed at the table. they were quick… hungry… without any hesitancy. he dared not to look away, enjoying the visual of your being in a place with no one around, just you both.

as for you… the feeling of his eyes felt like fire caressing your skin… as if his wherever his pupils directed themselves, you could feel. it felt like fingertips gliding underneath the fabric of your clothes… just as when he ate… the way his lips latched onto the silver of his fork— the unintentional sensual gesture as he slid it from his mouth and chewed. the coat of spit that was left across it, and the delicate way he held onto the spine of the wine glass. you wanted to replace the flavor of your homemade sauce with the flower of your labia… to feel the latch of his lips against your breast or on the sides of your neck. the way he ate gave you an intense feeling of need… greed… swelling indulgence. not to mention his goddamn voice… the voice you were already so found over— the subtle cracks and dips between certain vowels… how deep it was… how gentle it felt amongst the silence.

“james..?” you questioned, tilting your head slightly, almost in a trance by the tone of your voice.

he gulped roughly, already sensing whatever you were going to say by the look you gave. “yes?”

“may i kiss you?” the words flowing softly within a sigh, holding your breath as you waited for his answer.

he just stared at you, eyes blinking like a cat in comfort as he continued to stare. moments past… which felt like hours before he nodded.

you stood from your seat, his attentiveness not failing to follow you in whichever way you went, slowly walking towards him with your hand sliding against the rough stubble on his face. he exhaled through his nose, his eyes shutting closed, his body melting into your touch as if he longed for such embrace. he hummed… the vibration flickering against the tips of your fingers before you felt the warm air of his exhale against your lips. slowly you leaned, shaky breaths with a soft press of the lips.

his lips were so soft yet stiff, a long press, occupying the other side of his face with yet another hand, pulling his face closer to yours as you deepened it. james let you lead, his rough calloused hand grazing against your wrist with a gentle grip, simultaneously pulling you closer to his embrace.

at the touch of his lips, you felt yourself get jolted with pleasure in between your legs, the softness rushing to a hungered one— his lips opening, allowing your tongue to push through and taste the sweetness of his of spit. his mouth was warm and the muscle of his tongue slid into yours as spit started to slide down his chin… quickening breaths and an even louder hum than he ever gave.

with the sharp sound of the chair scraping against the floorboards, he scooted back, you unconsciously sitting onto his lap just to feel the growing bulge against his work pants. you sat right on it, feeling it press against your clothed cunt with a groan that wrapped around your tongue and down your throat. he felt big, and the throb of it excited you, having your hips think on its own with a heavy yet slow rut.

the hands that held onto your wrist fell at your hips, the tightness of his fingers digging into you as if he’d never want you to leave from his touch. your bodies molded into one, your breasts pressing against his heaving chest with your hands now gripping the back of his neck.

at release, your forehead pressed against his… his deep gasps sounding pathetic and irregular, lips ajar, trying to savor the feeling of your lips that were once on his. the creek of the chair upon your slow grinds were loud and obnoxious but that didn’t stop you from adding on more friction, loving the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

“let me… do what i want to you… let me make you feel good.” you whispered against his lips, feeling your words being sucked from his quickening gasps.

“please.” he whined… a sound you’d never heard before from a man, let alone one of business. his willingness in the subtle acceptance of him submitting to you had your mind fill with haze. the glisten of his eyes pleaded for something… anything… like he had never been touched before. “please…”

his face leaned in the crook of your neck, his nose nudging against the warmth of your skin, sharp inhales, devouring the perfume that coated it. light peppering kisses lining up and down, all along the side of your jaw. a smile crept up on your lips… you knew just from the sight of him that he was just a pathetic little thing. and with the way he acted just from a kiss… how hard he got with you sitting on his lap, you knew that whatever you did he’d grant you a reaction that would be better than any man has ever gave you or will give you.

you gripped the back of his head, a drunken stare as his lips still purse from the abrupt release of his kiss. “wait.” you breathed, pressing your finger in the center of his lips. he was so tantalizing… his eyes drooped with anticipation, knowing that since he has you now… his self control was little to none.

at the side of you finger, he kissed it, holding onto your wrist as you placed another finger against his lips. you watched and he watched you— his mouth slowly opening and guiding his fingers against his tongue. with hallowed cheeks he began to suck, bobbing his cute head down to the knuckle. curling your fingers, you felt his tongue slither in between, spit messily sliding down your palm and arm.

“good boy..” you praised, your voice in sync with the sounds of his sucks— a deeper whine trembling against your fingers at the sudden pet name.

you grinned, cocking an eyebrow at his reaction. he liked that? you thought. seems fitting.

sliding your fingers from his mouth, you gripped his chin, a gentle press given, “watch me.” you whisper and with a pull at your top, he watched. his eyes directing themselves at your breasts with an even quicker and excited exhale exuding from his whining lips. eyebrows furrowing at the need to touch, his hands hesitantly removing from your hips and curling, waiting for the okay to be able to grope them upon your request. unclasping your bra, they drooped prettily in his face, letting whatever you took off hit the floor beside the chair.

“come on pretty boy… touch them.” you slurred, your voice seductive, teasing him, watching how his eyes never left, just opening at the sight of your bare breasts. “i know you want to.”

he sighed, one that was pent up and riddled with eagerness. “oh my god…” his voice shook. james was driven by the lustrous nature of your body. captivating by the sounds that fell from your lips and the commands you spewed— each word directed itself at his cock, feeling it twitch and tighten at his pants. the way you were entranced by his eyes as he was with yours, looking up at them with admiration, need and desire that festered throughout his body, making him burn at the touch.

doe and gentle with a sweet song flowing in the disguise of a moan he sung. the single free strands laying against his skin, complimenting with the reds that blossomed at his cheeks.

‘i want her… i need her… all of her… i want it. i want it. i want it. i want it.’ he chanted in his brain— feeling as if he was going to pass out at how hard he was breathing— his hot mouth curling at the warm bud of your breast, tongue flicking at it’s hardened tip, pulling back with the gentle graze of his teeth until a pop was heard, pressing a series of kisses around your breasts.

you were drunk off the man. that poor pathetic odd man. his body calling for more… groping your breasts with vigor, feeling the shortness of his nails digging and molding them to his liking… and the little broken noises he made, so soft and sweet, higher than his usual tone. a fleeting glint of mischief glistened in your eyes, letting out a chuckle.

“that’s it…” your voice trailed, lifting your hips, starting to bounce on his lap, granting a broken moan to feather against your nipple.

“god… fucking dammit..” he exhaled, gritting his teeth as his body sunk into the chair, his feet planted harsher on the floorboards, bucking his hips upward, feeling the weight of you created more friction, his swelling cock pulsating. “don’t stop… please.” he whined, eyes squinted as drool fell from the side of his trembling lips.

your hands running in his warm blonde strands, “that’s a good boy.” you tightened your gasp, pulling it with a yank. he blinked slowly with a coo, “you like it when i bounce on it?” you teased.

he nods. his poor hips already tiring out, them stuttering at every upwards thrust. “yes ma’am… fuck it feels… it feels so good.”

planting your hands at his chest, you felt the fast pace of his heart, running your palms up his body until your fingers wrapped around his slender neck— each digit falling into his skin, hearing his strain. “poor baby… you wanna feel more don’t you?” you grunted, his head tilted back with your face hovering his. with a slight cock of your hand, it collided with the softness of his cheek, a loud yelping moan bouncing along the dining room walls.

“fu… fuck…” he stuttered, his lips almost at pout.

no woman had ever treated him this way, so rough and teasing and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. his nerves was heightened as his cheek burned with the faint remnants of your palm. never did he think he’d enjoy something like this, in fact… he was left speechless. the sight of his eyes looking more pleasing than they already looked. they never looked away from you, wanting to get every expression you gave… watching your lips as they continued to taunt him, needing to see the way your breasts bounced as you continued to rut against his lap above his pants.

“oh?” you chirped, noticing the deepening submission in his glare. “you liked that didn’t you?” your hips now stopping in its place.

weakly, he laughed, “i do.” his voice still so sultry and deep.

leaning closer to his face, your lips feathered his, exchanging breaths with shared smiles, “go on your knees and take it out for me.” your other hand sliding down slow until it cupped his bulge. removing yourself from his lap, now standing.

he lifted himself off the chair, taking off his bottoms and boxers. there he sat, like an obedient little thing, on his knees— his thick dick laying and jerking at every throb as it laid so delicately against his thigh— staring up at you adoringly with gleaming eyes, as if he had been admiring a star.

it wasn’t as if you necessarily thought about what he looked like underneath his boxers, but the sight of it made your eyes sparkle— it was so thick and long, it made your mouth water.

“james…” shocked and even more turned on at how pretty his dick was. the light graze of his brown pubes looking well kept. “fuck it’s so pretty.” running your finger down its side, hearing the most pathetic moan fall from his lips— his fists balling at the sudden touch. “needy little thing you are.”

it was cute. from the little slap you gave him and the way he wanted you to have your way, it only fed into the desire to treat this boy with some excitement. that dull life he had was now changed as thoughts puddled at your brain seeing this man look so weak as you stood to look at him.

“such a pathetic… pretty man.” you cooed, tilting your head, “and look at your dick.” his eyes dropping to watch it leak and pool at the flesh of his thigh. “it’s excited for me isn’t it?”

his fingers wrapping around his shaft, needing some type of friction… it was starting to get painful with how long it hadn’t been touched bare. whenever he was turned on in the comfort of his home, he’d jerk himself off until he fell asleep. over and over again until his wrist burned and his throat dried. he had no self control and with you around, he could cum just from your voice.

“take your hand off.”

“god i just…” he whimpered.

“mmh mmh.” your head shook, as you bent down, “hands off. i tell you when you can and can’t, do you understand?” placing your finger underneath his chin to raise it, seeing gentle plea in his eyes.

“yes ma’am.”

he felt belittled, unable to control his own person. a quick shiver fell down his spine, leaning closer into your embrace… just the soft touch of your finger gave him a bolt of pleasure. knowing if he touched himself, you’d slap him in retaliation. oh how he so desperately wanted that.

you unzipped your pants, stepping out from them, alongside your panties, already dripping against the inner of your thigh. placing a palm at the top of his head, your fingers gripped tight, angling yourself in front of his face.

he gulped roughly, staring at the swelling of your clit. “lick it.” without hesitation, his face fell in between your legs, his curved nose nudging against your clit as he inhaled, lapping his tongue in between the folds of your pussy.

the scent of it drove him wild— eyes rolling back as he continued to inhale, loud enough for you to hear. he smothered himself, the muscle of his tongue thickening with his lips latching it just to get the taste of you fully.

you were taken aback at how skilled his tongue was, how his nose stimulated your clit so lovingly with each bob of his head. obnoxious sucks radiated in the air with his fingers clasping against your thighs, hard enough to hurt.

moans trickled from your throat, gasping on the thick of the air, guiding him with the hand that gripped his hair. his tongue plunged deeply into your pussy, feeling his mold his muscle inside of your fleshy walls, thrusting his head to fuck your opening.

you felt yourself already needing to cum and that has never happened before. at least not this quick. the softness of his lips sucked so roughly and his tongue flicked so fast, your knees buckled inward, unable to keep up with the pace of his mouth.

“james…” your moans heightening in volume, your chest deepening after every breath you took, “your fucking mouth…”

his hair, all tattered and messy, with his eyes reddened from it almost tearing up because of the lack of air he was given, not stopping for a second as he drank in your arousal and your moans. a tingling sensation bounced off his body, circling through each part of his limbs.

the sounds of his sucks almost overpowering your moans itself, as he felt your meaty pussy flutter in and out his mouth loving how full you made his mouth.

“i can’t stop,” he gasped against your cunt, “it’s just so good… i love it, i fucking love it. fuck… fuck…” nothing in this man’s brain could made him stop. it was like he pushed himself in between your legs like he wanted to be apart of you— keeping his strength in his neck to keep his same motion.

removing himself to breathe, he gathered spit, directing at your clit and watching it drip before catching it in his mouth, rolling his tongue along the hood of your clit before latching on with hallowing cheeks. sucking in air, your body curled forward, feeling two of his fingers slide in the opening of your pussy. they curved as they started with long strides.

that ‘odd’ man surely knew how to please a cunt. fingers picking up its pace with the loud wet sounds interweaving the moans you both sung. “yes… yes… james…” you panted, his wrist steadying, feeling you leak against and down his knuckles. your walls clamping on his fingers like a heartbeat.

“im gonna..” you announced, your body trembling more than you could even control, your legs giving out with him quickly holding you up as much as he could— his face deepening in your cunt, grunting as he felt you cum against his tongue.

“mmmhm” he hummed over and over again, feeling you shudder against his face.

falling to your knees, your face was angled with his— his mouth wet all from his nose down to his chin. the sight of you, trying to compose yourself from the orgasm you had made him feel dizzy. “feel good?” he whispered, trailing your face from where it hung low, catching your lips. you could taste yourself on his lips, running your tongue at the flesh of his bottom, sucking it in your mouth with small nips before pulling back.

forming spit in your mouth, you held onto his cock, an immediate grunt rupturing from his throat, letting the spit falling down at his tip. brushing your thumb over it, lathering your spit down to his shaft.

“tighter… please…” he mumbled, foreheads now pressing as he watched your hand wrap around his throbbing and slightly veiny shaft, rolling your wrist in circular and jagged movements. tighter you held, hearing the sound of his throaty moans.

“like this?” you breath, quickening your pace. he deserved it.

lifting the bottom of his shirt, he placed the cloth in his mouth, seeing the light spread of hair that tracked up his navel and a hollowing abdomen at every whine he let out. “yes..” he gritted through his teeth.

his precum swaying around from the vigorous speed that continued to grow. he held his breath, brows knitted, body tense at the rhythmic pattern, veins channeling on your forearm with your fingers glazing against the underside of his tip. “look at me.” you whispered, his eyes slowly traveled up your body until they locked with yours.

you spoke of lust in both your gazes, hearing the wetness of his spit coated cock at every pump, hunger radiating in you both like you desperately needed this— shameless and passionate intimacy.

your body yearned to feel him inside and the way he stared at you— the burning sensation it brought you— made it difficult for you. you wanted to feel him stretch your cunt. pushing him back by the press of your palm against your shoulder, he lay. hovering over him, wrapping your leg over his waist before angling yourself over him.

slowly you slid down on him, never feeling something as big as his. even just from the tip, you felt yourself gasp heavily as you kept lowering yourself down onto him. “fuck you’re so… big…”

james continued his whines, eyes closing tight, his body shuttered… you were so warm, your fleshy walls holding him so comfortably. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body with his hands— sliding against your thighs, up your waist and momentarily on your breasts.

“you….” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, with you pushing more of him into you— textured and wet, with a heartbeat that cradled the shaft of his cock. “your pussy is sucking me in…” he groaned, his ass tensing.

all of you. the sight of it all, each movement you made. fuck, didn’t you drive him insane. at this moment, he knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.

your pussy gripped his cock, deeper it went, as if your grip was unable to let him go. each moan you let out, your pussy clammed and mimicked each word as it pulsated against him.

he couldn’t stay still, whimpering as you started to lightly bounce against him— hands planted on his chest with a slight roll of your hips. you couldn’t believe how good he felt inside of you, how full he made you. with you already cumming, it was hard to keep yourself steady, feeling yourself break down each time you lowered yourself.

pressing his hand on your back, he turned you both, now with you on your back laid against the floor, “let me pleasure you… please.” he begged, both hands placed on the sides of your head.

“fuck me like the good boy you are…”

and with that, it was as if a switch had been turned on in his brain. using one hand to grasp your thigh, “like this?” he breathed, his words as slow as his thrusts, his drowsy-like eyes running up against your face. gritting his teeth, sucking on the cool yet hot air, eyebrows knitting together. he placed his forehead against yours, your hand now sliding up to his neck— the pads of your fingers and thumb pressing down the sides of it, slowly tightening your grip. with struggling breaths, his hips continuing his rhythmic thrust yet trying to find the spot, the spot that will lead you into ecstasy.

the hand that held your thigh pressed it down further, his knees fixing itself at a better position, now his groin aiming downwards. his thrust now falling into slow, hungry pounds, his balls hitting just above your asshole. “does it feel good here…?” leaning down as he pressed wet kisses at the edge of your lips.

all you could give were responding moans, your body overstimulated by every movement he made.

each inward thrust, you could hear skin slapping against one another, your breasts mashing into each other. lips trailing down to your cheek, then to your ear, his tongue running at the side of your ear then switching to the next, groaning a series of ‘fucks’ and your name as the thrust started to increase in intensity. they were once slow, now holding more power, grunting at each inward hit. “god. your… pussy… feels… so…. soo fucking… so goood…” each word ending in a hitch.

his voice now holding a deeper, grosser tone, more animalistic as he grew pussy drunk at how you wrapped around him.

he enveloped your lips, inhaling and capturing your tongue in his mouth, sucking on its pink muscle, bobbing his head and swallowing any ounce of spit that rolled down to the back of his throat. your tongue slipped from his mouth, pressing a long kiss against his lips once more.

your mind transversed across what could possible be the gates of fucking heaven at this point. each twist and turn of his hips hitting spots your fingers could possible never do, your damp walls clamping around his girthy cock—greedily needing to paint your insides with his cum, over and over again if he could.

"it feels good, it's so good...." you trailed off, lips pressing together as you muffled a few moans of satisfaction that sounded nearly like his name—the tip of his relentless cock hitting sweet, sweet spots with each charging pound. your hands removing themselves, now dragging and scratching into his back, tugging the flesh leaving continuous marks onto his skin— causing him to wince in blissful pain.

the reverberating sounds of your name rolling off his tongue along with the desperate whines and groans of pleasure only elevated your lust "you're obsessed with my pussy," you whined, head thrown back at the intense plunges against your favored spot.

your promiscuous ways dragging him down in the mud, wanting to rut and fuck you like an untrained animal. that alluring voice of yours, cracking into a moan after you tried so desperately to tease him.

your concaving walls collapsing at his cock, walls with a flowery texture that ran against the pulsating veins of his dick. your wails rushing to his dick alongside your suction— with each inhale making its grasp tighter than before. your folds clasping at the sides of his shaft at every pull.

he place a thumb so kindly pressed at your slippery clit. circling it slow, with rougher presses at each thrust, it’s hood pushing back, feeling your wet, exposed bud nudge at the skin of his thumb. each run around, he could hear it, how your slick found it’s way all the way to your clit, making it harder for his thumb to be held in place.

his body loosened, with his hips now controlled, it’s speed rising with a longer pull and harder pound, body muggy with a thin layer of sweat, with your face buried in the inner corner of his neck.

“i don’t ever want to stop fucking you… your pussy is too good.” his voice ridged and strained.

rhythmical slaps of wet skin colliding as his balls felt a sharp sensation each time it bounced against the sweetness of your hole. your pussy’s heartbeat causing his eyes to roll, holding his breath and letting it out shakily.

“fuck me just like that james… just like that.” your eyes widening with your legs wrapping around his waist. “im close!”

“i don’t want to stop fucking you… i wish i could fuck you nonstop… i want to keep going…” his chest madly rattling against his ribcage.

shivers cascading through your arms as they gripped his hair firmly once again. your beings were joined in such an impassioned, fervid act of lustful ignited bursting flames out of your bodies. “can i..." he breathed out, voice hoarse, “can i breed you… please… please..”

the walls echoed sounds of your repeated pleasure lamentations followed by his needy words and melting into the increasing melody of skin against skin, lead you over the hill, "cum inside! do it baby…" you uttered directly into his eyes, the familiar knot forming at the pit of your abdomen, convusling cunt tightening around his sliding shaft with each thrust.

he couldn’t stop himself, feeling you cum on his cock made him bury himself further inside, hot spurts of his own cum filling you with rolling eyes and harsh gasps. glazed spit lips, bodies trembling from their high, and strained moans.

his arms snake around your body, cum oozing down his balls and thigh. “fuck….” his body not even finished with his high, slow thrust to chase after the leftover high you both breathed out.

“god james… who wouldn’t known you fucked so well…”

laid out on the floor, you both tried to catch your breaths. the contrast between every moment of you knowing one another to now, fucking each other like your life depended on it, you couldn’t help but laugh.

how significant is it to have a simple man— attractive at that— with his usual order of black coffee in your house, fucking you without a care in the world.

you knew… this wouldn’t be the last time.

#james sunderland smut #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james sunderland silent hill #james x reader #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 smut #silent hill x reader

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quintessenceofdust88 · 1 month ago

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(idk what this is yall. It just came to me and I had to write it. Not particularly Eddie Diaz friendly, but he's not even here, so)

It's a Tuesday night and Tommy can't sleep.

For once, it's not because he misses Evan. No, this time Evan is where he belongs, right in his arms. He is sleeping soundly, more relaxed in slumber than Tommy has seen him awake for weeks now.

That's, partly, what's taking Tommy's sleep away, if he's honest with himself.

Doing his best not to wake Evan up, Tommy untangles himself from his boyfriend (God, it feels so right to be calling Evan that again in his mind), grabs his phone and slips away to his porch, the cool air of the night a welcome sensation.

He stares at his phone. It's 12AM, but he knows it doesn't matter. It never mattered to them. He dials Sal's number and hits the call button.

It doesn't take even ten seconds before he hears his best friend's voice on the other side.

"Everything okay?" He asks right away, cause sure, Tommy knows Sal won't be mad at a midnight call, but he'll worry.

"Yeah, everything's fine", Tommy reassures him, and he hears Sal relaying the message to Gina immediately. Gina is practically Tommy's sister in law, he knows she worries too. "I just... I needed to ask you a question. We're best friends, right?"

"Tommy", Sal says, and by his tone Tommy can tell he's baffled. "Twenty years, man. I think we're past the point of this question"

"I know, just humor me, will you?"

"Fine. Thomas Kinard, you're my best friend. Shall we write it on our diaries too in glitter pens?" He says, and Tommy chuckles lightly, but he does have a point to this.

"Okay, so. If you're very angry at me for some reason, what would you do?" Tommy asks, and then decides to go ahead and just ask what's looping through his mind. "What would it take for you to push me against a wall and threaten to punch me?"

At first, Tommy can hear Sal laugh at the other end of the line, but when Tommy doesn't laugh back, he falls silent. Even though he's not seeing him, Tommy knows there's a thunderous expression in Sal's face right now.

"What's this about?" He asks shrewdly, but Tommy's not ready to tell him yet.

"Just answer the question, please" He says, and Sal sighs.

"I don't know, Tommy, the most likely scenario of that happening would be you being replaced by an alien and I'm trying to figure out if you're the real one. Other than that? Nothing, Tommy. What the hell? We're friends. That's not how friends solve stuff."

"So... Not even if I did something to Gina or the girls?" Tommy pushes.

"Well, first of all that's more unlikely than the alien thing. I know you would never intentionally hurt my family, Tommy. So, no. I'd be pissed, but I'd talk to you. Now tell me what's this about before I send a unit of LAPD to your house to find out who punched you."

Tommy feels a wave of affection for his best friend. He always knew that would be Sal's answer, and hearing it feels good for him, but it makes him feel even worse for Evan.

"It's... Not about me. It's about Ev..." He cuts himself off, but knows it's already too late. "...a hypothetical"

"Hm", Sal offers, and Tommy knows he's not buying it. "Would hypothetical happen to have a birthmark and legs the size of a small country?"

"And happens to be sleeping in my bed right now" Tommy admits, and Sal sighs.

"Fuck, Tommy. Do you know what you're doing? You know I'll support you even when you're an idiot, but I don't wanna see you hurt again, man, that's all"

"I... I know, Sal" Tommy says, and he can't resent his best friend for looking out for him. "But we talked properly this time. We know what to expect from each other. And I love him"

"Yeah, I know you do, you sap" Sal says, but there's no real heat to it. "How's he holding up? He and Nash were real close, weren't they?"

The irony of Sal asking that question before any of the 118 doesn't go unnoticed by Tommy, but he doesn't want to share too much without Evan's permission.

"He's... Not great", Tommy admits that much. "It doesn't help that, unlike me, he has a very shitty best friend"

"Yeah, well, lucky for him, he has a great boyfriend who also has a very great and handsome best friend" Sal says, and Tommy rolls his eyes fondly. "You should bring him over this weekend. The girls miss you and Gina will want to interrogate him again because the first time doesn't count anymore"

'Damn right!', Tommy hears Gina add on the background, and he laughs.

"I'll check when he's free and text you, sounds good? We'll bring dessert"

"You better. Tell Buckley he'll have five Delucas to impress all over again. Chocolate is the way to go"

"Will do." Tommy promises. "And Sal? I love you, man"

"Yeah, yeah, don't go all mushy on me", Sal grumbles, but then his voice softens. "Love you too, Tommy. Take care"

They hang up, but Tommy doesn't go straight to bed. The story Evan told him, about how Diaz told him he was making Bobby's death about himself, had left a bitter taste in his mouth that has only gotten worse now that he was reassured that, no, in fact, there are no circumstances where it's okay for a best friend to physically assault the other.

Now how to give Evan the message?

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #sal deluca #anti eddie diaz #gabby writes #ficlet

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ahundredtimesover · 2 months ago

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Something About You (06) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, kissing (18+)

Word count: 22.3k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

A/N: The last one (and a bonus)! It was a short journey but thank you for gushing about these two with me. They definitely have my heart. [KILIG] I hope you one day find someone you could settle into, too (could be anyone, or a dog I guess). Please enjoy! ☺️

The day after you get back from a mini-vacation is always the toughest.

You drag yourself to work on Tuesday and spend much of it daydreaming about the past weekend and everything that happened - from spending time with your friends to eating the most amazing food. It was four days of unforgettable memories that you’ll hold dear, especially considering the big changes happening in the lives of people you care about.

There was a change in yours, too - your feelings for Jungkook, specifically, and your acceptance of it. You didn’t want to expect much during the trip but you suppose that going with the flow meant you let things surprise you and they did.

From briefly holding his hands to being taken care of, you found yourself falling into what once were very normal and natural occurrences between you two and enjoying them. There was comfort and familiarity but also a rush of emotions that somehow felt new - thrill, anticipation, overwhelming desire but contentment in things being the way they are.

There were moments where you felt like you wanted to confess, like when you laid by the pool one evening and looked at the stars or when you watched the sunrise together on that final morning. That was always your thing, though. You’re assertive when it comes to what you feel for other people and you tend to let them know right away because you don’t like wasting time.

But not with Jungkook, as you feel that letting things happen and progress gradually is the more natural way of going about it, even if it feels like your feelings came out of nowhere.

In a way, they did. All it took was one conversation with your friends that got you thinking. But all you had to do was pay attention to your feelings and that’s what made you realize that maybe the comfort and familiarity you’d always felt with him was part of the process.

The 10 years of friendship was 10 years of experiencing heartbreaks and learning life lessons separately but being there for each other regardless. That’s 10 years of slowly adjusting to each other, allowing parts of yourself to intertwine and fit with his, and then finding out that you want more than what friendship can give you.

Maybe hold hands longer, or cuddle and kiss. Or more specifically, hold hands while watching something beautiful together. Or cuddle after a long, tiring day. Or kiss to express your care and appreciation in ways that words can’t. You suppose it’s experiencing life together in a new way - next to him where you wish you’ll always be.

It’s unlike you to feel like this. You don’t always wait. You act on your desires immediately because you know you can always walk away if it’s not returned, and it’s something you can live with.

But not this time, not only because you have something to lose but because desiring him is something you enjoy. Understanding what you feel, letting it settle, and then basking in it are part of the experience that you want to embrace because then you know you’re not rushing; then you know it’s real.

What’s also part of the experience is not knowing how to act and missing him. Like when he didn’t text you all Tuesday because he crashed when he got home after teaching PE all day, or when he messaged you the next day asking how you are and you stared at the text for five minutes because you didn’t know how to respond.

Or when he miraculously replied in the group chat about going to your place on the weekend but then sending his apologies the day after that because he got dragged into a school trip that he couldn’t say no to.

Today is Saturday, and you’ve been cranky since last night. You know it’s not his fault but you can’t help the empty feeling at not having him around and not being able to tell him about it.

You’re lying in bed with your thoughts going from one deep corner of your mind to another when your doorbell rings. You drag yourself out of bed and find Jimin, Taehyung, and Mo-eum smiling as you open the door.

You greet them with a pout before letting them in.

“Wow, nice to see you, too,” Jimin says sarcastically as he places the food and drinks on your coffee table.

“Hey, don’t be hard on her. I’m sure she’s happy we’re here,” Mo-eum smiles.

“Yeah. She just wishes that Jungkook was, too,” Taehyung adds. “I mean, I don’t blame her though. That’s how it is when you like someone.”

“Why are school trips scheduled on a weekend?!” You whine. “And why is he the one who had to be the substitute chaperone for it?!”

Your friends endearingly smile at you and hold in their giggles because they’re not used to seeing you pouty about Jungkook not being around.

“It’s the science club’s trip to an observatory that they scheduled this weekend because of the planets’ alignment tonight,” Mo-eum explains. “And Kook’s in the roster of substitutes so he got called in at the last minute because one of the teachers got sick. It sucks but that’s how it is.”

“It’s crazy that they just assume he’s free on the weekend,” Jimin shakes his head.

“Well, he doesn’t have his own children to take care of, that’s for sure,” Mo-eum corrects.

You know she’s right and you can’t really blame anyone for Jungkook not being here. Come to think of it, he probably prefers catching frogs at the swamp and building tents with his students over being stuck with your rowdy group in your apartment just watching movies. You also just spent the last weekend together so missing today wouldn’t be much of a big deal to him.

You’re the one who’s sulking because you miss him, and the weight of your feelings hits you again.

“I can’t believe I like him,” you sigh as you sink onto the floor by your sofa.

“I can’t believe you haven’t told him you like him,” Taehyung says as he munches on your lunch of fried chicken and beer.

“Tae, it’s just been a week,” you glare at him.

“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow.

You definitely seemed confused for longer than that.

“Fine, a few weeks, then,” you correct yourself.

“Still a few weeks more than your usual,” he hums. “I mean, you tend to kinda go for it the moment you realize you like someone.”

“Well, he isn’t just someone,” you say softly now. “He’s my friend and that makes all the difference. I can’t just walk away from him if he doesn’t like me. This is a risk in itself! Why– ugh, why did I even convince myself to give in to my feelings?!”

“___, let’s breathe a bit, yeah?” Jimin rubs your back to calm you down. “He literally just couldn’t make it today and it’s because of an obligation and not because he didn’t want to be. Okay? You can’t just assume the worst and end up regretting letting yourself feel what you feel. You haven’t even told him you like him!”

“When would I?” You pout again. “And it’s not like I’m planning it like this major event or anything. I want it to be natural but I’m also thinking - for how long should I let things be this way? Do I drop hints and then back off if he seems uninterested? Do I tell him outright? Do I wait?”

“I think, for once, you’re overthinking,” Jimin sighs. “Just see what each day brings. Did you talk this week?”

“We were texting on Wednesday. He confirmed coming today but we've both been busy since then,” you narrate. “I don’t want to just keep texting him.”

“Why not?” Mo-eum asks.

“I don’t know, I’m kinda shy. I’m cautious of being assertive and I don’t want him to think he has to reply all the time because I know he’s not the type,” you explain.

“Again, overthinking,” Jimin says. “Just do what you normally do. And do what you want. That’s how things developed anyway - you, doing things naturally, so keep it that way. And when you think you’re ready, then tell him how you feel. We’re here to support you with whatever you decide. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sigh, leaning on his shoulder before you stand up and say you’ll shower because you just got out of bed.

“Bum,” Jimin yells as you make your way to the bathroom.

“Shush, I’m sad,” you groan.

When the door shuts, Mo-eum turns to the two men.

“So, until when are we gonna pretend that we don’t know that Jungkook likes her, too? Are we just gonna hide the fact that they like each other to both of them?” She whispers.

“Mo-eum, we promised that we won’t meddle so we won’t tell her, the same way we’re not telling Kook that she likes him,” Taehyung responds.

“Well, you asking Kook if he likes ___ and Jimin suggesting to ___ that she could like him is kinda like meddling, isn’t it?” Mo-eum asks.

“Hey, my question was totally innocent,” Taehyung defends.

“And I literally just floated an idea. I didn’t even know that Kook already liked her that time,” Jimin counters.

“Okay fine. So now they like each other and we’re the only three people who know. Why aren’t we doing anything?” Mo-eum wails. “___ is sulking because Kook isn’t here and Kook is texting me, asking what we’re doing as if there’s anything more to say about movies and drinks!”

“Because we’re good friends who’ll nudge them here and there but then we’ll let them confess at their own time and place,” Taehyung says. “We did our part last weekend. I left them alone and stopped myself from teasing them so that I wouldn't ruin their moment.”

“True. And I made sure no one else wanted to watch the sunrise with them on Monday morning,” Jimin adds. “I had to do hypnosis on Joon to convince him that he didn’t need to see it just so ___ and Kook could have their alone time.”

“Fine,” Mo-eum agrees. “So do we just let them figure it out from here?”

“For now, I think we just wait,” Taehyung nods. “I’m leaving soon so we’ll have more time to see each other and that means more chances of them spending time together or being alone. I just hope they figure their shit out while I’m still here so I can celebrate.”

“We’ll see. I mean, you have that farewell party next Friday and something has been happening every night out,” Jimin states. “Who knows? Maybe it will happen then.”

The three of them quickly change the topic once they hear the door unlock and you return to the living room. You look less upset now and there’s a bit more life on your face and they know you probably just needed to cool off.

“You feeling better?” Mo-eum asks as you reclaim your seat next to her on the couch.

“I think I just needed a shower,” you chuckle, thinking to yourself earlier how silly you are for sulking.

Of course you wish Jungkook was here, but just thinking about him being with his students and witnessing something pretty spectacular tonight makes you smile.

He loves his kids. He’s a proponent of learning outside the classroom and he’s often talked about how he enjoys joining excursions and field trips because of the other things he gets to teach them. He loves his job and his passion for it - no matter how quiet or subdued compared to yours - is incredibly attractive. You can’t wait until he tells you all about it.

Your friends look at you softly and take your word for it. You’re one who says what she means and they suppose you just needed to rein in your feelings so you could get over them.

“Alright then. Movie time,” Taehyung smiles.

You sit in between him and Mo-eum, alternating leaning on their shoulders, as you watch his picks for today. You go from action in Reservoir Dogs to heartfelt romcom in About Time - his favorites - which means you go from tense to cry-laughing the entire afternoon. You get food delivered for dinner and your friends stay until close to midnight.

The two glasses of wine you have make you sleepy, but you don’t crash out right away. The minutes before you do, you think of Jungkook again and how he’s doing. You wonder if he got to marvel at the night sky and if he’s warm enough for the night. You wonder, too, if he was thinking about you.

You learn the next morning that he was, as you wake up at 10 AM to a photo of the sunrise from him. It looks like it’s taken by a lake, and you see the light illuminate on the water. It’s stunning, and you smile as you stare at it and feel the rush of thrilling yet wholesome emotion at the thought of him thinking of you when he took this.

[to: bunny kook] that’s so pretty, kook! It looks so calming

[from: bunny kook] yeah it was.

[from: bunny kook] i think the one in jeju was better though

You spend the remainder of the morning just giggling to yourself and kicking your blanket out of excitement.

It’s silly acting this way over one text, but you suppose that’s how quickly you’ve fallen into the deep end of this whole liking Jungkook thing. You might also be overthinking because him saying that the sunrise in Jeju was better could literally mean that he liked the view there more. That was followed by a pod of dolphins swimming so you’d understand if that was his reason.

But then again, there was also you. He told you about the sunrise. He asked you if you wanted to see it. You’d like to think that you’re the missing variable this time and maybe that wouldn’t be a stretch. So you bask in it for a while even if he messages that he’ll get back to you later once they’re on the trip home.

You go about your day running errands. It’s mid-afternoon when he sends a text that they’re on the bus heading back to Seoul and you reply that you’d just gotten back to your apartment to do some chores. You talk like that for the next hour or so as you constantly check the clock, hoping that it wouldn’t be too much if you ask him to have dinner somewhere nearby when he arrives.

But as luck would have it, their bus gets caught in traffic. And when they finally arrive at the school, he has to wait for the last remaining student to get picked up before he could leave. It’s not that late in the evening but you think it’s late enough to hang out, and given the weekend he’s had, you suppose he’d just want to lay in bed and get some rest.

So that’s what you suggest that he does.

[from: bunny kook] where should I get food delivered?

You laugh at his question, not because it’s funny but because it seems silly that he’s asking you. You decide to call him and reason to yourself that it’s much easier than texting, which is true. You’re folding your clothes after all.

“Are you really asking me about food?” You gasp when he picks up the phone.

“Well, you’re the one who always orders delivery,” he chuckles. “I’m kinda drained; I can’t really think right now. What do you recommend?”

You think about it, really think about it. You don’t want to disappoint him with your food choice so you give him options of your favorite burger joint, your go-to donburi place, a noodle house, and a Chinese restaurant - all hearty and definitely his type of food. He decides on getting a rice bowl and he orders while you’re on speaker.

“Alright. That should come in half an hour,” he informs you.

That’s enough time to talk, you think, so you ask him how the trip was.

“Oh, there’s so much to say. And I have to show you the pictures so I’ll tell you everything the next time I see you but it was really fun,” he shares. “The guides taught the kids about the different plants in the forest and which mushrooms are poisonous. Then we set up tents on a field and then went to an observatory to look at the stars. They loved seeing the planets on the telescope and it was just nice to see them excited.”

“That sounds fun, Kook. Glad you got to be with them then, even if it was a short notice trip,” you say, and meaning it.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t ready, especially having just come from a trip. Mr. Im was the other option but it was his son’s birthday so he begged off,” Jungkook sighs. “I still would’ve enjoyed movies at your place though. I heard there wasn’t any horror on the list.”

“Nope. Tae’s choices. Plus, neither one of the guys wanted to sit next to me and Mo-eum,” you laugh. “Jimin said we would’ve watched something scary if you were there since you don’t mind being yelled at.”

“Hey, you’ve improved. We watched The Thing last week and you yelled just one time,” he points out.

Not like you could admit that the only reason why you didn’t react like you normally would was because you were more nervous doing something silly with him so you just laugh and agree.

“Well, what a weekend for you, huh? I’m sure you’re exhausted, and you go back to work tomorrow,” you say, wishing he would’ve had time to rest.

“It happens. It’s part of the job and it’s fine,” he hums.

Jungkook stops himself from saying more, like how he wished he got to spend even a bit of today with you. But he wasn’t sure if it would’ve been too much if he insisted, given that you were doing errands all day, too. And well, he would’ve been obvious as well, even if looking back, sending you the sunrise picture then saying that the one in Jeju was better could’ve given him away.

He woke up at dawn for a quick hike up a hill to watch the sun rise because he wanted to reminisce about last weekend and be reminded of you. It still looked pretty but it felt different doing it on his own.

He recalled the last morning in Jeju - your little squeals every time he drove through a hump then feeling you tighten your hold on his waist for security, sitting on the ledge and seeing your smile grow wider as the sun ascended, and the way you held his hand in awe as if things didn’t feel real unless you had something to touch.

You thanked him for taking you there and said that you’ll always remember that moment. He blanked out and couldn’t say that he’ll always remember it, too. A part of him wishes that he’d been braver that day and just told you how he felt, but he thought of the plane ride and the drive back home and how awkward it would’ve been if you didn’t feel the same way and he didn’t want to put you in that position.

But what he’s learned these past months is that the thrill, the anticipation, the curiosity and yes, even the regret, are all part of the experience. It’s part of settling into the feeling and settling into you and he knows that at the end of the day, whether he crashes on the ground or he lands safely, the comfort of these past few months because of you is what he’ll remember.

That’s what he wants you to remember, too.

You hear the doorbell ring on Jungkook’s side of the line and you internally sigh at having to end the call. Despite how close you’ve become recently, you’re not exactly at the level where you talk this much and while someone’s doing something else, so you offer to hang up.

There’s a beat of silence on his end and you resort to calling him out to retain that sense of normalcy in your friendship.

“You chew loudly,” you reason. “You eat like a child sometimes.”

“Uhm, and you don’t?” He counters. “You’re the one who eats while yapping.”

“I like to multi-task,” you say. “I can nourish myself while arguing a point or narrating a story.”

“You’re silly,” he chuckles now, but he decides to let you go.

He would’ve wanted to stay on the line with you but you’re sensitive to chewing sounds and he can’t help himself with how he eats sometimes. He’s not really the type to be on a phone call for long but he doesn’t mind it with you because you always have something to say. You fill the silence that he doesn’t know what to do with, and even when there’s nothing to say, he just likes knowing that you’re there.

“But yeah, I’ll go ahead and eat. Thanks for the recommendation. The food looks delicious and their serving is huge,” he states.

“Yup, thought you might like that part,” you laugh. “Get lots of rest, okay? And uh, see you soon? Tae said he’ll organize dinner this week and then there’s his farewell party on Friday.”

“Yup. He’s been blowing up my phone with reminders. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

You finally hang up and lay on the pile of clothes that you stopped folding since getting on the call with Jungkook. It’s become increasingly clear that you want more of him and you’re trying not to get overwhelmed and be swept away by your emotions.

You know what you feel for him is real; you just don’t want to scare him off with how deeply you feel it. You have to remind yourself to tone it down and give him space to breathe because who knows what he’s feeling, too?

Maybe your friends do or maybe they don’t. Even with their non-stop teasing and their penchant for pushing your buttons, you know enough that they won’t meddle or at least, act or say anything on anyone’s behalf.

You’ve seen it with Seokjin and Hayoung and even Suhyeon and Hoseok. And while Jimin has his Yoongi-Gyu-rim agenda, you know that he knows his boundaries and he’s letting them figure things out on his own. Kinda like what he and Taehyung and Mo-eum are doing with you.

But you’ll see Jungkook again like you said. Maybe the time to tell him would be then.

The American restaurant that Taehyung chooses is quite loud and full for a Wednesday night. He doesn’t mind it though, since it’s like preparation for him on how the next year of his life is going to be like. He’s leaving for New York next week and he wants to brush up on his English and American pop culture knowledge, which is why you’re all here during quiz night.

You got stuck in a meeting and took a cab here and more noise isn’t exactly what you need right now but you suppose it’s fine. You’d go anywhere for Taehyung and you know that this kind of vibe is what he seeks sometimes.

He runs to you when he sees you enter the restaurant and gives you a tight hug. It hasn’t sunk in yet but you know soon that it will, so you hold him tighter and whisper that you’ll miss him but you already hate this place.

“Ha! I figured. Yoongi’s been cursing me under his breath since he arrived, too,” he laughs. “But don’t worry. My parents’ house on Sunday for lunch and it’ll be better. They serve the best milkshake and lava cake here so order them.”

He grabs your hand then whispers. “I saved you a seat,” and gestures to the space next to Jungkook.

“Weren’t you sitting there a while ago?” You ask.

“Yeah, because I was saving it for you. Hoseok and Namjoon are still on the way.”

“Tae,” you pull his hand now, as you recall your thoughts from these past few days of where your friends might stand in this whole situation. “What does this all mean?”

“What?”

“This…” you sigh as you gesture towards Jungkook. “Letting me sit next to him and, I don’t know, things you’ve said?”

“Because you’re my friend and I support what you feel,” he smiles tenderly. “Nevermind his side, whatever it is. What matters to me is that you get to experience something new and good, something that makes you feel good about yourself, and something that you could settle into and that makes you feel like it’s right.”

Your face softens as you process his words. Your friends know you as someone who dives right into things and doesn’t care much for the consequences because you’ve always managed to get through them, whatever the end result was. With Jungkook, you’ve learned to settle into the feeling, experiencing every fun and exciting and scary part of it and you suppose that’s made you appreciate yourself, too.

“But hey, you know me,” he continues. “I’m not gonna let you crash, especially when I won’t be around. Take that how you want.”

His smile is a bit cheeky this time as he pulls you again towards the table. He takes the seat across from you while you take the one he supposedly saved, right next to Jungkook.

“Hey,” he greets. “Heard you got caught up in a meeting.”

“Yeah. The CEO of some Foundation was at the office and my manager dragged me along,” you sigh. “I left my car at the office because I was too tired to drive.”

“Well you’re here now. You feeling okay?”

“Yup, all good now,” you assure him. “So, Tae said the milkshake and lava cake are good so I’m getting both. What did you order?”

“None yet, I haven’t made up my mind. What are you thinking?”

You browse the menu and go through a bunch of choices with him before you settle on barbecue ribs while he orders a steak sandwich and lobster mac and cheese. You get the chocolate milkshake while he gets vanilla.

The conversations around you are constant, this despite the fact that you all spent several days together not long ago, but you suppose so much has happened since then. The wedding preparations continue. Taehyung has finalized his rent of an apartment in Manhattan and booked a local modeling gig. Mo-eum’s up for a service award. And Hoseok spearheaded a massive fashion collaboration.

You sometimes forget that your friends are at the top of their fields because of how natural and human they are outside of their jobs. It’s a relief, you think, that despite everything that goes on in their lives, your circle of friends will always be home.

You think about the man next to you and feel that way about him, regardless of what he feels for you. You suppose that’s what Taehyung meant about experiencing something good for a change.

Jungkook feels like home. Whether it’s one you move on from or one you stay in for a long time is something you have yet to find out, but you’re settling in it comfortably now and you like it.

And when he nudges your shoulder to show you his food then offers you the first spoonful of the mac and cheese, you start to think that maybe you like being here for now. You like the comfort and the carefree feeling of it. There aren't any expectations nor demands.

You just… like him. You like being around him. You want to hold his hand and it’s okay if you don’t get to yet. You want to know how his lips taste but you can wait until the time comes. You want to drown in his warmth but leaning on his shoulder would be enough to satisfy you.

This is different for you, too. You’re often impatient and needy. You need to get your hands on whatever you want the moment you decide you want it. Maybe with Jungkook, you will, eventually. Maybe it isn’t now.

You enjoy the night more than you thought you would. Your table wins first place on the quiz. Taehyung wows the entire restaurant when he sings Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby on the jukebox.

And you savor every bite of your ribs and share the lava cake with Jungkook. You notice him pushing the chocolate syrup and vanilla ice cream on your side of the plate so you could get more of it and your heart jumps at this.

It’s the little things, you realized the other night. He’s so good at them. He pays attention even if sometimes it seems like he’s spacing out but you’ve noticed him notice everything. You wonder if he’s noticed the change in you, and if he has, you wonder if he’s just going with the flow like you are, just waiting for the right time to make a move.

“Your mind’s gone elsewhere again,” he chuckles, disrupting your thoughts. “The ice cream’s melting.”

“Ah, you know me,” you shrug and finally take that final spoonful. “It doesn’t stop… thinking. It freaks me out sometimes.”

“Hmm. I hope your thoughts never scare you though.”

“They’re not always good, you know?”

“They’re still yours,” he counters. “You don’t have to be scared of yourself.”

You nod and smile, and you wonder how he does it, how he just calms you down with words or even with a look of assurance.

This is the version of you that likes him. And like you’ve realized, you like this version of you that likes him. You start to wonder if you’ll also like the version of you that gets to be with him and if he’ll like that, too.

Dinner finally ends after most of you run out of energy. It’s a work night, after all, and it’s just the middle of the week. Since you left your car at your office, Jungkook offers to drive you home.

You nod, and just when you thought you’d get to be alone with him again, Namjoon asks if he could hitch a ride, too. He has to pass by a friend’s apartment and he lives in the same block as Jungkook.

“Uh, sure,” Jungkook nods. “Let’s go. I’ll just drop ___ off first.”

“No problem,” Namjoon smiles.

You laugh at how things are turning out, as the rollercoaster of emotions gives you a whiplash. You say goodbye to your friends and when you get to Jimin, Taehyung, and Mo-eum, they’re frowning and asking why Namjoon is cockblocking you right now.

“Oh shush, he isn’t,” you chuckle. “It’s fine. I liked tonight with Kook.”

And you mean it. You sat next to him and he talked about the school trip. You scooted closer so you could hear each other over the noise. You got to see his smile again and felt that comfort that being with him gives.

And all that felt enough, reminding you that this isn’t like all the times before. It assures you because what Jungkook deserves is certainty and you think that’s what you can give.

Namjoon sits in the passenger seat with you sitting behind him. And you don’t mind at all; you like listening to him ramble about things. So does Jungkook, as he laughs and asks questions, even as he constantly looks at the rear view mirror and meets your eyes.

You feel the rush whenever he does, like this tingling feeling all over your body, especially when you see him smile right after from the back of the passenger seat. It does quell the noise in your mind a bit, as it constantly goes from wanting to tell him how you feel to wanting to bask in this feeling a little while longer.

You arrive at your apartment and Namjoon reaches out his hand from the front for you to shake as a goodbye. Jungkook turns to you with a softness in his eyes, like a look of contentment mixed with a bit of regret that you probably mirror.

“Good night, ___. Don’t hurt yourself, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” you chuckle. “Thanks, Kook. I’ll see you guys again.”

You walk up the steps of your apartment and glance back to see Jungkook’s smile before he drives off.

Jungkook looks at himself in the half-body mirror and nods, feeling satisfied with his chosen outfit for this Friday night.

It’s Taehyung’s farewell party before he leaves next week and all your friends are obligated to go. Not that Jungkook wouldn’t, but he at least prefers to go in peace, and not with the said man knocking at his door and demanding they go to the Club together. And then judging him for what he’s wearing.

“Nope, you’re not wearing that,” Taehyung shakes his head. “Choose something else.”

“What’s wrong with a shirt and jeans? I actually think I look pretty good when I’m in a basic outfit,” Jungkook argues.

“You do. But Kook, you need to look irresistible.”

Jungkook turns around and gives his friend an incredulous look.

“Why?”

“Because I have hot friends and if one of them fancies ___ and asks her out, what are you gonna do?” Taehyung challenges. “Are you gonna sweep in with your basic outfit and make her pay attention to you? I mean, what are you even doing at this point?”

“Okay, you’re being harsh,” Jungkook scowls, wondering where all this accusation is coming from. “And hey, I’ve been doing a lot, okay? I take her home, I text her, I… I’m affectionate with her.”

“Yeah, normal things I guess,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “But what are you telling her?”

“That I like spending time with her?”

“What about hey I like you, should we date?”

“None of that… yet,” Jungkook sighs as he sits on the couch and leans his head back, suddenly feeling stressed at this sudden attack. “Why are you rushing me anyway?”

“I’m not rushing you. It’s just that you’ve liked her for months but you haven’t told her yet. I’m just wondering why. I mean, you haven’t really been saying much about it recently.”

“Because I don’t know how to express it,” Jungkook admits. “I never know how with these things. And I told you, I want her to settle into me, slowly. If I confess to her without that happening then it might freak her out and I don’t want that. I want her to actually like me back, you know?”

Taehyung merely hums, cautious not to give anything away. While he, Jimin, and Mo-eum have talked about not meddling, it doesn't mean it isn’t frustrating when he has to pretend like he doesn’t know anything, especially when you and Jungkook are so painfully unaware of what the other is really feeling.

It’s tempting to tell Jungkook about what you feel, the same way it’s tempting to tell you that he’s actually been pining for you for a while now. Or even to just lock both of you in a room and urge one of you to confess, or blast it on some speaker that you both like each other. Though Taehyung doubts it’d ruin things, he doesn’t think it’s the most natural way to go about it.

He supposes that one downside of being long-time friends who end up liking each other is that things that may seem normal actually already mean something more. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism, and it’s probably why you haven’t picked up just how much Jungkook likes you and why he doesn’t seem convinced that you like him, too. Maybe it’s also because you’re both focusing so much on how you feel and not what each other’s actions probably mean.

But like he said, he won’t meddle but he could nudge. And dictating how Jungkook looks tonight is one way he could do that. Taehyung already knows how you react to the man and if Jungkook sees that, it might give him the confidence this time.

“Okay then. Entice her,” Taehyung says as he gets back to the conversation.

“What the heck does that mean?” Jungkook laughs at the absurdity.

“Just… wear something that fits the occasion more than jeans and a shirt. Like, something that you think would impress her.”

Jungkook nods and thinks it’s not a bad idea. He never felt like he needed to try with you when it came to how he looked or presented himself. He’s always dressed in jeans or joggers with a shirt or a jacket whenever he meets you and you never mind. Not that you have a reason to. You even seem to like it when he’s in his oversized hoodies because they’re comfortable, which is what you said about the one he lent you in Jeju.

But maybe if he wants you to see him differently, dressing up might be one way to do it. So he heads to his closet and puts on an outfit that he thinks might work then asks his friend if it’s okay.

“Hmm,” Taehyung circles him. “Jeans and boots are on brand. Switch the jacket with a leather one. And good choice with the tank top because she likes nice arms and you better flaunt them.”

“I’m not gonna remove my jacket there,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, although he admits feeling confident about his physique.

He may have seen you look at his body a little longer than usual during your last trip and he admits it made him feel good, even if he wondered why you didn’t say anything because you tend to be vocal about those things.

Taehyung disregards him and pulls out a belt from the drawer as a final touch.

“Wear this.”

“Oh, I forgot I had this,” Jungkook says as he puts it on.

“I bought that for you years ago! Can you appreciate the fancy things I get you and wear them?!”

“Yeah, I will,” Jungkook laughs.

He assesses himself in the mirror and thinks that he looks infinitely better. He feels good in it, too. He’s unsure if being dressed up would do much but he hopes it will, at least in terms of giving him the confidence to drop even bigger hints about how he feels. And then depending on how you react, maybe he’ll confess, too.

He looks back at your trip and the times you’d held his hand - consciously and instinctively - and your moments of silence and comfort that were somehow laced with tension. He’s hopeful that he’s not hopeless when it comes to you.

Taehyung hums in contentment at his friend. He knows that with you, the feelings are new and you’re still getting used to them. A few days on an island where Jungkook was half naked half the time already got you all hot and bothered and made you attentive to how it affected you.

Maybe seeing Jungkook with this mature yet casual look could do something to you, too. And if it’ll help push you to be honest about what you feel, maybe that’s what the two of you really need.

You stare at yourself in the restaurant’s bathroom mirror and think you look good enough for a night at the Club.

You got dragged to a sponsor’s dinner and had to quickly choose what to wear so you could go to the Club for Taehyung’s farewell party right after. You went for a sparkly top and white skirt ensemble paired with blue velvet heels and it makes you feel a little flirty and confident, which is what you need if you want to see where this whole thing with Jungkook could lead.

Not that you expect that anything huge would happen but if you could have moments again, then that wouldn’t be bad. Taehyung gave you a heads up about his hot friends being present and quite frankly, you don’t care. You already know that Jungkook’s the only one you’ll have your eyes on and you’re excited to see him.

You put your hair down then head out. You finish the dinner and get in the car that Taehyung sent for you since he wanted to make sure you got to his party on time, even if you’re punctual and he’s just early. He said he wanted to be with his friends as long as possible. And that he dragged Jungkook with him so you can’t be late.

You aren’t, but when you arrive at the Club, it’s already packed. Taehyung has always been a social butterfly so you didn’t expect any less but still, this is way too many people for your liking.

You make your way in and spot some familiar faces. You heard that there are reserved tables for you and your friends so that’s where you try to go, but Jihyo gets to you first and starts dancing with you.

“Just like college, hey?” She giggles, and you laugh at your memories from those days.

You’re glad you remained friends with her. She always matches your friends’ energy and right now, it’s pretty high, as you spot Jimin and Mo-eum dancing their way towards you.

Jimin hugs you and compliments your look, stating how it feels so girly, a contrast to Jungkook and his leather jacket. Your eyes immediately flit to where he is, and you spot him on the table, laughing with Namjoon as they engage the people who pass by to greet them.

He looks so handsome with his parted hair, especially when he combs it with his fingers like he often does. You see the neckline of his top and that is definitely not a shirt like you expected he’d wear, and your heart does a thing at the thought that he’s in a tank top again. Just the image of him in one gives you the shivers.

He meets your eyes and it takes you a few seconds for it to register, but you manage to smile and wave in time. Hopefully he doesn’t pick up the pattern of you constantly zoning out whenever you look his way.

You manage to get out of your dancing circle and head to the table where your friends are. Namjoon engulfs you in a hug and praises you for a recently published research from your team that he already finished reading. Hoseok and his girlfriend get to you right after, and you quickly get into conversation because it’s been a while since you’ve seen her.

You constantly glance at Jungkook who just sips his drink while chatting with whoever is near him. There’s a tiny smirk on his face after you meet his eyes though, and you see it from your periphery. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to go to him like you are.

It takes a while but you make it around the table after greeting everyone, finally ending up where Jungkook is. He softly smiles at you before giving you a hug and whispering hey. Your body chooses to shiver again in response.

“Hey,” you greet back then look at him from head-to-toe. “Did Tae dress you?”

“Sort of,” Jungkook chuckles. “He told me to change from something else and made me wear the belt and the jacket. Does it suit me?”

You’re unsure if this is a trick question. Or a test. You’re losing your mind over this outfit and he’s fully clothed.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Different from your usual outfits and this is… mature.”

He snorts in response. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You realize the other connotation of what you just said and try to make something up but your brain already isn’t functioning at full capacity so you wave him off.

“Whatever. It means what it means.”

He says something but you can’t hear him over the loud music so he leans closer and whispers in your ear again.

“I said the outfit looks nice on you. It’s very chic.”

“Oh, thanks,” you mutter, feeling the heat on your cheeks. “I, uh, I tried. Tae has hot friends and—”

You stop mid-sentence at the stupidity of your words. Your brain truly isn’t functioning right because you obviously dressed all prettily so the man in front of you would pay attention to you but you go on about Tae’s friends who you don’t even care about instead.

You turn away and curse at yourself internally, unable to properly correct yourself to Jungkook.

“Right, of course,” he replies.

As if by some cosmic occurrence, Taehyung appears next to you and pulls you in a hug. You thank him for the ride and he says his car and chauffeur are there for you should you decide to go home early, which he won’t mind you doing. He steps back and looks at your outfit.

“I like this vibe,” he hums in approval. “Doesn’t she look nice, Kook?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook sips his drink and nods. “I’m sure everyone would think so.”

He doesn’t look you in the eyes, not like what he was doing just a minute ago, and you feel stupid all over again, so you try to get out of it.

“I, uh… bathroom!” You blurt out. “I… I have to go.”

You turn around and scold yourself repeatedly until you find Jimin on the dance floor and pull him to a nearby table.

“Jungkook complimented me and I said I tried to look nice because Tae’s friends are hot and I’m so stupid because why the fuck would I say that!” You yell in one breath. “Is my brain secretly jeopardizing my chances with this man without me knowing? Whose mind is this?! Why is it dumb?”

Jimin, who’s clearly had some to drink and is no doubt endeared by your yapping, chuckles and hugs you.

“Oh, ___. You become a little silly in front of Kook. I think that’s normal.”

“It’s stupid,” you pout.

“It's not the end of the world though. He already thinks you look good.”

“I said his outfit is mature.”

Jimin snorts this time and assures you it’s fine. You probably just need a drink to calm your nerves. It’s a different environment with him this time, at least since you’ve admitted to yourself what you feel, and saying things you don’t exactly mean happens.

“Come. Let’s have a shot.”

Jimin pulls you to the bar and orders you something that might help a bit. Hayoung arrives shortly after and says she needs a drink for Seokjin so he’ll start loosening up and stop clinging to her. You talk a little bit and you glance at Jungkook every chance you get.

He’s talking to Jihyo and your other friends and dancing a bit when they make him. You feel silly for leaving his side and wish you were next to him because even if you’d seen each other a few days ago, it still feels like it’s been so long.

But right when you’re about to head back to him, your hand gets pulled again and you turn to see Gyu-rim dragging you back to the bar.

“I need you. You’re sensible and direct,” she tells you.

“Do you need me, too?” Jimin pops up next to you with his sickly sweet smile.

“No. You give me a headache,” Gyu-rim deadpans, prompting Jimin to giggle and head back to the dance floor.

“Okay. What do you need my brand of sensibility for?” You ask your friend.

“Yoongi hasn’t minded me all night. I need you to tell me it’s normal and I shouldn’t worry.”

“Why would you worry about it?”

Gyu-rim shrugs and looks away.

Yoongi doesn’t always mind people and it’s one of those quirks of his that everyone’s just accepted. Not unless he’s not usually like that with her. Or something happened and he should be minding her. Either way, it’s bothering her, and as someone who usually doesn’t care, Gyu-rim seems to be caring a lot.

And then it hits you.

“Do you… do you like him?”

Gyu-rim’s resting bitch face doesn’t give much until she starts blinking rapidly. Then she nods.

“Oh my god! That’s… that’s amazing,” you squeal. “Wait, this doesn’t have anything to do with Jimin and his pact, right? You can’t have him putting things in your head, Gyu.”

“No—yes, I mean… I liked Yoongi before Jimin ever said anything,” she admits. “Jimin has this weird thing about knowing, I guess. He’s probably an empath or something but the moment he started yapping about that pact shit and teasing us, I started thinking that maybe it’s not just me, that maybe someone else could see… something between me and Yoongi.”

“How’d you know you like him? I mean, you’ve been friends for so long,” you ask, hoping you could get a bit of insight from someone who probably knows what you’re feeling.

“He just always made me smile.”

“But you… you rarely smile,” you furrow your brows.

“Inside, ___,” she groans, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I always smile inside when he’s around. Like, he just makes things better and I don’t know anyone else who does that for me.”

“Can I ask what it was about him that made you feel all this?”

Her lips slowly turn up.

“He can handle all of me, you know? I’m aloof and impatient and uncaring and I have all this baggage but he just lets me be and deals with all that because he just does,” she says, and you see the tiniest of smiles on her face. “I’m never too much for him. And he’s just the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

You smile this time because that’s the Yoongi you know. He’s very accepting of people and he has this quiet warmth about it. But even if it’s something you see in him as well, it’s Gyu-rim who feels differently. And just like you’d told Jungkook before, parts of us adjust around other people and you find someone who fits you right and then you just want to be with them all the time. It’s not very different from how you feel, too.

“Okay, so back to the part about telling you that you shouldn’t worry,” you say. “You shouldn’t worry. This isn’t Yoongi’s crowd nor is it his scene, you know that. And sometimes that makes people uncomfortable. It makes them not think straight. Do you think something’s bothering him though? What were you doing before that?”

“We were drinking last night, just talking about stuff, you know? About growing old and shit and my mom called about some family friend’s son who’s visiting Seoul and that I should bring him around so I did and—”

“Wait, he’s the other guy who was at our table?” You ask.

You remember some unfamiliar dude that you just smiled at then passed by. You didn’t think he was actually with any of your friends.

“Yeah… I mean, where else would I take him? I took him to Co-ex earlier and—”

“What if Yoongi isn’t used to seeing you with another guy anymore? I mean, it’s been a while since you’ve been with someone. Maybe he wants to talk to you but the dude is… there? And he doesn’t want him to feel uncomfortable or Yoongi himself… doesn’t know how to act?”

“Hmm,” she hums. “See, that’s more sensible. Hoseok said Yoongi might be jealous or something.”

“That’s… that’s also possible.”

“No. Stick to what you said,” she frowns. “That’s… that’s more realistic. I don’t want to hope for Yoongi to be jealous because that implies something.”

“Fine. He’s just unsure of how to act because he’s used to things just being you and him. So just talk to him. Don’t give in to his awkwardness. He doesn’t push anyone away so just stay next to him then he’ll give in!”

“Okay then,” she nods. “You know your shit, huh?”

“I just… listen to podcasts, I guess,” you lie.

If she doesn’t believe you, she doesn’t show it. She nods again, buys you a drink, then walks off. You watch her approach Yoongi with a glass of whiskey. They don’t talk at first but you see her try to engage until he finally says something, turns towards her, and then all is normal again.

You pat yourself on the back for handling that rather maturely. But your little triumph ends quickly, as Mo-eum stands next to you at the bar and asks you why you’re there.

“Gyu-rim had a crisis and I helped her with it. She bought me a drink.”

“Oh. I think Yoongi likes her,” Mo-eum says matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, deciding on keeping mum about what you know.

“But anyway. Back to you. Why are you here instead of where Jungkook is? Don’t you plan on letting him know what you feel?” She asks.

“I… I probably do,” you convince yourself. “I just said something stupid and I’m letting that settle first by not being around him. What do I even say?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who asks the guy you like out,” she shrugs.

“Do I look like I’m confident about this Jungkook thing?!” You exclaim. “I don’t even know what to do or say or if I should even do it now.”

“Do you need a nudge or a push?” She asks. “Because I’ll do it for you.”

You look at her questioningly before she turns your head towards a direction in the Club and there you see it, Jungkook by a cocktail table, talking to a girl.

He’s bending down to hear what she has to say over the music, and she tiptoes to get closer to him. And while it may be totally innocent, just the sight of him being that close with another woman makes your heart sink.

“I, uh…” you stutter, unsure of what to say.

“Jimin said she’s a friend of theirs from middle school so they go way back. And she happens to be a model-actress friend of Tae’s,” Mo-eum explains as she leans back on the bar table. “They just bumped into each other and caught up. Small world, huh?”

“She, uh… She looks happy to see him,” you state.

The woman is laughing and patting Jungkook’s arm and he looks engaged, too. He’s smiling and watching her talk and maybe they’re really just catching up and there’s not much to it. It’s also possible that with all the serendipitous meetings that happen everyday, this might be the one that changes it for them.

Because it happens. Two old friends meet again after years and who knows if they had history? It’s possible that there were hidden feelings and now they’ve matured and can finally express and act on them. Or maybe these grown up versions of themselves are what they need, and you’re just standing by, watching it unfold for both of them.

Your mind’s already conjured so many scenarios, many of them involve Jungkook and the woman holding hands. But you notice him meeting your gaze and you quickly look away.

“She is. I heard they haven’t seen each other in so long,” Mo-eum says. “Imagine seeing a middle school classmate after decades and finding out he’s pretty cute.”

You turn to your best friend with a frown. She’s never provoked you like this.

“What? I’m just saying. She might scoop him up before you even get a chance to tell him you like him. I don’t even know what you’re waiting for.”

“I’m just being cautious,” you reason.

“Hmm. Does caution get you the guy?”

You disregard her question and continue.

“I’m enjoying how we are now without directly talking about feelings,” you add.

“Okay. But are you enjoying now?”

“Clearly not! What the fuck, Mo-eum. I never get jealous. What is this feeling?!”

“It doesn’t feel good, does it?”

You panic inside as the scenarios flash before your eyes again. You may be a bit dramatic but that’s how you are and it’s how you deal with things.

“Okay, I can’t do this,” you say as you start walking to the opposite direction of where Jungkook is.

But Mo-eum pulls you back.

“Yah! Where are you going?”

“Just…” you start, briefly looking at Jungkook again who just happens to meet your eyes every time. “Somewhere. To take a breath. I don’t know. I can’t be around for this.”

“You were already avoiding him. You can’t keep doing that all night,” she sighs. “Didn’t you say that you don’t want to act differently because if you do, he’ll ask you what’s wrong then you’ll end up telling him everything?”

“Exactly! And I can’t… do that at a Club! And not with the image of him with another girl drilled in my mind,” you pout, your head bowing down now.

“___, hey. Look at me,” she says, shifting your body to face her. “That might not even be anything. I’m sorry for putting things in your head. But… you have a chance to spend time with him so take it. You can’t just keep skirting around what you feel when you already know you like him. And I can see that you like him a lot.”

“I do,” you say with furrowed brows and she laughs at how angrily you say it.

“You look like Kook when he eats something really delicious.”

You frown at her teasing and you let her drag you back towards your table where you see Jungkook is now at. With the girl.

Your dramatic ass won’t let the logical part of you win. You don’t care. You’ll go full Yoongi mode tonight.

You stay at the cocktail table next to your friends. Jungkook, you know out of courtesy, introduces you to the woman as a friend from middle school. You greet her as you would any person, and she seems nice and she’s also really pretty.

She gets back into conversation with Hoseok and his girlfriend because they apparently have common social circles. You’re reminded that you live in your bubble with your friends and they’re connected to more people outside of your group. Their talk about fashion and other things that you can’t relate with makes you zone out.

As you’re about to turn to Namjoon next to you, Jungkook approaches your side.

“Hey, ___. Are you—”

“Do you want a drink?” You interject. “I’m heading to the bar right now.”

He looks at you with pursed lips before he answers.

“Just a glass of Coke.”

“Okay. An amaretto sour for me then,” you nod before heading out.

Jungkook watches you make your way to the bar for the nth time in the past two hours or so. He’s barely spoken to you all night and it’s all he’s wanted to do but you’ve been off talking to other people and he’s getting a tiny bit jealous. He was on his way to you when a friend from middle school called him and they got to talking.

Maybe the second time he caught you looking at him before you looked away should have signaled to him that he should just go to you and make sure you don’t get away again but he’s been hesitant all night, and only because you look unsure and uncomfortable. You also did say that you dressed up because Taehyung’s friends are hot and there have been all these mixed signals and he doesn’t know what to do.

When you get back to the table and place the drink in front of him then immediately head to the couch and sit between Hayoung and Seokjin, Jungkook sighs to himself. You’re so pretty tonight and he hasn’t even been able to appreciate that because you’ve been feeling so far away.

“Oh, Kook. Don’t be too sad I’m leaving,” Taehyung says as he appears next to him. “I mean, that’s why you look upset at my farewell party right?”

“It’s too early for that. You literally scheduled to see me every single day next week,” Jungkook playfully shakes his head. “Sorry. You’re not the reason why I’m upset right now.”

“Is it ___?”

“She’s been avoiding me all night. You said this outfit is supposed to make me look irresistible!”

“And you do! I’ve had so many people ask for your number and beg me to introduce them to you but I lied and said you’re dating someone.”

“How does that help me?”

“So no one would tail you!” Taehyung says.

“Doesn’t matter, does it? The one person whose attention I want can’t even stay more than a minute next to me.”

Taehyung can only sigh at his friend.

“She’s seated now. Take the seat in front of her and try again.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says softly.

He always enjoyed it when you just found your way to each other during nights like this but he supposes he’s got to make it happen this time.

So that’s what he does, as he approaches the couch and takes the small chair in front of you. He quickly gets into conversation with Seokjin and Hayoung and he looks at you tenderly, hoping he gets to telepathically tell you that he just wants to be near you.

You suppose you’ve been a little too dramatic tonight. It’s unlike you to be bothered like this, especially since you tend to make the first move because you don’t like wasting your time. But with Jungkook, you just don’t want to screw things up. You don’t want to say things that you’ll regret. But you also don’t want to completely isolate him.

So you smile a little, at least to just acknowledge that he’s there.

Not far away, your three friends congregate.

“So, uh… about those two,” Jimin gestures to where you are. “We said we won’t meddle but we’ll nudge. Can we just push them? The tension is killing me.”

“I know! ___ got jealous when Kook was with your friend,” Mo-eum tells Jimin. “I’m so tempted to tell her she has nothing to worry about.”

“Kook is upset that she’s been ignoring him all night,” Taehyung groans now. “And look at them. They’re just looking at each other like, can one of you just make a move!”

“So… we push?” Jimin smiles.

“I’m gonna shove them towards each other at this point,” Taehyung says.

The three of them approach the couch and it’s at that moment that Seokjin and Hayoung stand up to say that it’s already 12 so they’ll be heading out.

“Okay, Cinderella. I see that Yoongi and Gyu-rim are ready to head out, too,” Taehyung hums. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“I’m… gonna go ahead as well,” you say, deciding right then that you’re too tired from all the emotions of tonight.

You’ll sort yourself out after a shower and then you’ll figure things out from there. Maybe text Jungkook and try to be normal.

“Oh, we can take you home,” Seokjin offers.

“Nope, she’s out of the way!” Taehyung exclaims. “Plus, I told her I’d take care of her ride home. You guys could go ahead. Bye!”

You look at Taehyung curiously. Once your other friends leave, he smiles at you.

“Actually, uh, I made the chauffeur take someone else home because she’s really drunk,” he lies. “So I’m booking you a cab and since it’s late, Kook, can you please go home with her and make sure she’s safe and stuff? You can come back here but I also know you’re tired from a full day of classes under the sun.”

Your eyes widen the entire time Taehyung speaks, and you glare at him in question and disbelief. You want to refuse but Jungkook agrees immediately.

“Sure, uh. If that’s okay with her,” he says, looking at you then quickly turning away.

“Yeah, it should be fine. Nothing we haven’t done before,” you state, trying to sound unbothered.

You go around and say goodbye to the others who are still staying then head down once Taehyung gives you the car details. Jungkook tails you and stands behind you while you wait for the car to arrive.

It’s a little tense, as you’re not used to being awkwardly quiet with him. You’re often talking and making fun of each other after a night out and well, comforting him a few other times. So this feels new and different and not the good kind.

You find ways to distract yourself. You look at the street across from you, turn around to see if any other familiar faces are leaving the Club, and put your hand out to confirm if that’s a drizzle you feel, all the while avoiding Jungkook’s direction. You remember he’s there when he says that the car has arrived, and he opens the door for you before he slides in.

“You good?” He asks.

“Yup,” you respond without looking at him.

You stare out the window and sense him looking at you then look away, which is pretty much how this whole evening has been. You feel the tension thicken and the heat rise to your cheeks. You hate that you’re being like this, especially when you decide to look at him, only to find him turned to the window this time.

You sigh to yourself and know that you have to get your shit together, and just as you’re about to say something, the car stops and you’re already in front of your apartment.

The rain decides to fall at this moment, and when you get out of the car after Jungkook, he hovers his jacket over your head and urges you to start walking. You both run to the building damp from the rain, and you tell him to join you upstairs so you could return his hoodie.

He follows you to his apartment with his jacket in his hands, and right as you enter, there’s a sudden downpour followed by loud thunder. You check the weather forecast and it doesn’t seem like the rain will ease anytime soon.

“Stay the night, Kook,” you say as you turn towards him, feeling genuinely worried now.

“Is that okay with you?” He asks with a tinge of sadness in his eyes.

“Of course,” you say softly, as the guilt of how you’ve been acting overtakes you. “I’ll set up the couch.”

You give him a hanger for his jacket and you both follow your routine whenever he’s over. He retrieves his toothbrush and gray towel from the drawer while you put the sheets on the sofa bed and place his hoodie on top. You shower after he does and see that he’s finished the glass of water you put out for him earlier.

“Are you okay there?” You ask before walking to your bed.

“Yeah, thanks,” he half smiles. “Sleep well, yeah?”

“I will. You, too,” you smile back.

And just like that, you’re gone, and Jungkook has never felt you so far away.

Jungkook lies on the bed that you’ve set up for him, always with the two pillows and the humidifier next to the side table because he’s told you once that he sleeps better when he has one on.

He at least knows through this that you don’t hate him, whatever your reason for that would be. You may have avoided him earlier and may have been quiet throughout the car ride and avoided his gaze every chance you could, but maybe he didn’t make much of an effort to talk to you either. He wasn’t sure how to, and with his feelings intensifying everyday, he just doesn’t know how to go about this the right way.

He could do that now, perhaps break the ice and get even just a small conversation going until you’re both acting normally again. But it’s late and you’re probably tired.

He decides to pull his shit together tonight and build the confidence to talk to you tomorrow, which could lead to him admitting how he feels. With both of you in this weird limbo, it’s hard to act without knowing if he’s crossing a line or staying too far behind it. Without the expectations, he doesn’t know if he’s acting as he should or if there’s more he could do.

Jungkook sighs to himself with all the thoughts running through his mind. He just wants to be next to you, listening to you talk about how your day has been and what weird thoughts and ideas you have again.

He just wants to hold your hand. The few times that you did while you were in Jeju all felt so nice and so natural. He hopes they could last longer and he could savor them this time. He wants to cuddle you, too. You always look so comfortable and he already knows he could get rid of his tiredness and stress if he could just hug you at the end of the day.

But there’s nothing he can do now. You’re probably fast asleep and he wishes he was. If only it wasn’t this hot.

He sits up on the couch and gets a feel of the air, which definitely is not as cold as he expected, given the rain outside. You don’t have a cooling fan in sight and the only air conditioner is the one in your sleeping area, which usually seeps into the living room but it’s not strong enough tonight.

So Jungkook removes his shirt, the one that you lent him, leaving him in just his sweatpants, which he’s also tempted to get rid of. But he keeps that on and lies back down, hoping the air would cool a bit and that being shirtless in your living room isn’t too disrespectful.

Not far away, you’re tossing and turning in your bed. You’re afraid you might have screwed up this time, as you recall the sadness in Jungkook’s eyes as you quickly ended the night.

You didn’t annoy him, didn’t talk to him, and didn’t give him the smile you usually do. The times he went home with you from a night out, you were always comforting him and now, it seems he needs comforting because of you.

You think about talking to him, not wanting to end the night the way you did, with awkward and unsure half smiles and just this uncomfortable feeling of not being right with him.

You briefly hesitate as he might be asleep already, but the sweat on your hairline alerts you of the temperature in your apartment. You sit up and wonder why it feels warm inside despite the rain, but you don’t want to think science right now and instead just turn your air conditioner as low as possible.

And then it hits you.

Jungkook is outside, barely reached by the cool air, and you don’t have any fan out there for him. You know he can’t sleep when it’s hot, so you quickly get up and take the few steps out of your sleeping area to your living room only to stop in your tracks.

Because lying on your sofa bed is Jungkook in nothing but his sweatpants, the rest of his body bare, and his tattooed right arm over his eyes.

He must’ve felt hot and removed his shirt, which you don’t blame him for, so you take the fan underneath your desk then tiptoe towards the other end of the room so you could plug it in.

But right as you do, sparks appear, causing you to shriek in panic. Jungkook wakes up and immediately rushes to you.

“___, what happened?!”

“I tried to plug the fan but there were sparks,” you explain. “Let me try th—”

“Did you feel a shock or something?” He worriedly asks as he takes your hand and massages it.

“I… uh, no. I’m fine,” you reply, settling your eyes on your palm that he continues to rub before lifting your gaze to meet his. “I just wanted to turn the fan on because I know you can’t sleep when it’s hot but…”

Your eyes fall to his very bare chest and you suddenly feel even hotter.

“Now I’m scared something’s up with my wiring,” you continue.

“It could be anything. We can check it out tomorrow,” he suggests. “But don’t worry, I’ll be fine here.”

You know he’s trying to appease you but you don’t want him to sleep uncomfortably. So you suggest something else, something that might feel a bit tense but it might also be what eventually will make things feel normal.

“Or you can, uh, sleep next to me, on my bed,” you say, biting your lip in nervousness. “It’s cold there. The air doesn’t get through here much.”

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“Yeah, Kook. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“Right,” he nods, remembering Sapporo and how it felt being next to you. “Okay then.”

He wears his shirt then follows you to your bed. He lays on one side and waits until you’re lying down as well. He wishes you goodnight and closes his eyes, hoping that would help quell the mix of nervousness and excitement he’s feeling. He needs it to keep himself from blurting everything to you at this hour. Maybe all that could wait.

But something prompts him to open his eyes, perhaps that need to see you again before he falls asleep. And as he turns his head, he sees you lying on your side, the covers tucked under your chin, and you, still wide awake, looking at him.

Jungkook catches you by surprise, prompting you to pull the covers over your head and hide under the blanket, just in case he’s asleep but his eyes are open, which apparently happens.

But he is, in fact, awake because now, he’s attempting to pull the blanket down, as if knocking on your built up wall, asking you to come out.

So you do, as you slowly reveal yourself and find him lying on his side now, too, facing you.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I, uh,” you start, unsure how to say everything and if you even should at this time. “Yes?”

You wanna apologize for how weird you’ve been but that also means you’d have to tell him you like him, and that also means explaining how you got to this point and then saying what you want to happen now.

You’re not even sure if he feels the same way, so you’re now also thinking of what to say in that situation. You basically made it impossible for him to cop out because he’s literally about to sleep next to you, and now you feel stupid for even making him stay.

But you also can’t go on longer being this awkward around him. It doesn’t feel right. And now that he’s here, you’re able to see him up close again, which you’ve been wanting to do all night. And you just—

“You’re not hard to read, you know that, right?” Jungkook chuckles as he settles in his position more comfortably. “Your face has like, a dozen expressions all at once.”

“I just…” you start, your mind bouncing from one thought to another, being pulled to different scenarios and scripts of how you’re going to go about this.

You sit up from the bed and lean against the frame.

Your face distorts and this prompts Jungkook to laugh again. He sits up and faces you.

“So, are you gonna share even just one of the million things that are in your head right now?” He asks.

“Fine,” you groan, knowing that there’s really no other way but to go through it.

You’re just gonna have to face the consequences of what you’re about to say, whatever it is. And that could include kicking yourself out of your own apartment out of embarrassment.

“I know it seemed like I avoided you all night and well, I did,” you start.

“Yeah, you did,” he hums. “I wasn’t sure what I did. I wanted to ask you and—”

“You did nothing wrong. It was all me,” you shake your head. “I said something stupid early on and I was just trying to get my shit together and then I saw you with that… friend of yours from middle school and I… got scared. And then I just acted weird all night. It was really silly.”

“Why were you scared?”

“I believe in serendipitous encounters. And that felt like one. One that could… lead to something more,” you say softly, like a whisper, afraid to manifest it into the world.

“And why would that matter?”

You close your eyes and think that this is it. Of all the times that you asked a guy out because you told them you were interested in them, none of those made you feel nervous. This time, you’re feeling every possible emotion all at once and you just want Jungkook to keep you steady.

“Because I… feel… something… for you…” You stutter, avoiding his eyes because you’re unsure if you want to know his reaction or not.

“Care to elaborate?” Jungkook asks, not wanting to rejoice just yet and instead bask in this feeling of being on the cusp of something more with you. That’s if you mean what he hopes you mean.

“It’s, uhm…” you try again, knowing you’re gonna have to suck it up.

You mentally smack yourself in motivation. Better to just say it all out here than delaying it.

“I guess it started with a moment when something felt different. And then I woke up the next day and I was just thinking about you, wondering how your day’s been and then wanting to hear you actually talk about it,” you ramble. “And then I thought, oh I want to actually see him, and then I do and then suddenly my heart’s doing this weird thing that it’s never done around you and then I’m clammy and nervous but also… happy? And then I try to look at you but I can’t because now you’re like, attractive to me and I never thought that before and–”

“Wow, way to tell me I’m ugly,” he teases to mask how nervous and excited he is, even with everything you’d just said that also makes him want to leap for joy.

“No! That’s not what I mean,” you backtrack, smacking his chest and then apologising when he yelps in pain, although you doubt he actually felt that, but you say sorry anyway. “What I meant was that you’re obviously objectively handsome but that… that’s never affected me before but now it does and–”

“How is it affecting you now?” He pushes.

“It’s making me giddy!” You yell, surprising you and him, but you continue. “Like, fuck you’re handsome but also, since when were you this handsome and what the hell am I supposed to do about it? And so when a girl is next to you, giggling and touching your arm, I’m like, of course she also thinks he’s handsome and then they’re gonna hold hands and date and shit and that makes me irrationally upset and like my tummy wants to explode and– stop smiling!”

“I’m sorry I just…” he smiles softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me handsome. It’s just nice to hear you say that.”

His heart melts at the pout you give him, and he just wants to get to the part where he confesses his feelings but he also can’t get enough of you rambling like this.

“So, when have you started feeling this way?” He asks.

“Jeju,” you mumble. “Maybe before that. Probably on the plane or something, I don’t know but… yeah,” you continue, looking away and sighing.

He’s drawn this out so much and you internally smack yourself again because you definitely did not think this through.

“Look, if you don’t feel the same way, it’s totally fine. I can handle rejection. Let’s probably buy some more alcohol because I don’t have enough and I would need a lot so I could pass out and forget this ever happened,” you blurt out. “And then I’m just gonna have to not show my face to you for a while but I’ll get over it, really.”

“Why would I want that?” He asks, his earlier cheeky expression now replaced with an incredulous one. He nudges your knee so you’d look at him. “And why do you think I’d reject you?”

“Because!” You smack his chest again in reflex. “Accepting the worst is my way of coping. And you’re not even saying anything. You just keep asking questions. Are you a researcher? You’re not, so why do you keep–”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He raises his hands in submission but flashes you a shy smile. “I’m not doing this right. I guess I just wanted to hear you ramble about how much you like me.”

“Why?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“It makes me think I’m not crazy, since I feel the same way.”

“What?!” You yell again, something you realise is a defense mechanism of yours this time to drown out the sound of your beating heart that he can probably hear.

“I feel all of that - wanting to know how you are, wanting to see you, then wanting to see you again, feeling my heart do these weird things whenever you smile at me or pinch my cheek or lean your head on my shoulder,” he explains, and now he’s the one who can’t look at you in the eyes. “I woke up one morning and just had you on my mind. The whole day,” he continues.

“Since when?”

“Sapporo. Maybe before that. Probably when you stood up to my ex or something,” he echoes your words.

“That was half a year ago, Kook,” you say, the reality hitting you that he already liked you when you started getting confused. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I was dropping hints,” he admits. “Driving you around, saying that I want to spend more time with you, texting you… I even sent you that sunrise picture from the school trip and said that Jeju was better and well, I assumed you knew it was because we watched it together then.”

“I…” you try, although you’re unsure what to say.

In hindsight, he was doing a little more than usual, but you were blinded by what was normal for you and didn’t want to delude yourself, even as you were thinking of all the worst possible outcomes.

“And I didn’t wanna risk it,” he adds. “I mean, it was a risk keeping it either way. You could one day just say you like some guy you met at a cafe because, well, you believe in whirlwind romances and serendipitous encounters, like you said. But I also thought to let you settle into me, you know? The way I learned how to settle into you. And maybe prepare myself for a possible rejection in case you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Well, I confessed first,” you point out. “Were you gonna tell me if I didn’t?”

“Yeah like, tomorrow morning or something,” he laughs. “The feelings just kept growing. But I didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything. I still value our friendship, even if I want more.”

“Well, I don’t feel pressured to like you back given what you feel since, well, that’s what I feel, too.”

“Good,” he chuckles, thinking how ridiculous but so on-brand your confession to each other is. “So does this mean we’re dating?” He cocks an eyebrow, wanting to now jump to that part where he gets to express all that he feels to you in different ways.

“I guess,” you shyly nod, then giggle when his smile causes his nose to scrunch and his eyes to sparkle under the moonlight. “That’s the logical next step, right?” You ask, slowly inching your legs closer to him.

“It is,” he nods, shortening the distance between both of you this time, even if he’s still in disbelief that this is really happening. “Is there any other logical next step we should take? Like, I don’t know, kiss or something?”

“Ah, so that’s what you want to get to right away,” you laugh.

“It’s just one of those things that I woke up one day and thought to myself I wanted to do,” he admits. “And hold your hand, stuff like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” you respond, biting your lower lip in response to how his eyes keep darting to them.

“Okay then, that settles it,” he says, his voice now low that it causes your stomach to tangle in knots, especially when he leans closer to gently boop his adorable nose against yours.

“Still wanna get drunk and forget about all this?” He teases as he looks you in the eyes.

“Depends on how well you kiss,” you tease back.

“Oh,” he grunts. “You’re gonna challenge me like that, huh?”

His look turns lustful as he shifts his body and slowly lowers you to lie on your back. He hovers over you with his one arm above your head while the other gently lays on your waist.

Much as you want to push his buttons, especially with the obvious hunger in his eyes, there’s still that tinge of softness that you hold onto.

“Definitely not a night I’d want to forget,” you whisper. “You can kiss me now.”

He savors your features, and much as he’d wanted to hungrily kiss you all over just seconds ago, you look so soft that he wants you to experience all his gentleness tonight.

And that’s what he does, as he delicately places his lips against yours and he feels you smile into the kiss.

It’s wholesome and languid, as if you’re testing the waters and convincing yourselves that this is really happening. It’s like you’re slowly familiarizing yourself with what could be your everyday, but it’s hypnotic just the same.

He pulls away and all he sees is this tenderness in your eyes that he’s never seen on you before. You thumb his cheek as your eyes map his face and he’s overwhelmed by how much you’re savoring him. The gentleness after all your intensity is what he likes most about you and he gets to see and experience that up close.

You pull him for a kiss now and it’s deeper, hungrier, as you take control this time. Your tongue seeks entrance, something he immediately grants, and you moan at the pleasure, at the high it gives.

Because that’s what kissing him feels like, like you’re up in the air, your mind dazed yet filled with so many thoughts and nothing all at once. Your hands travel to his back and you pull him down while you push against him, feeling his body react to this intimacy, to this intensity. You feel like you’re running out of air but that you also can’t live without this.

And then you’re able to breathe and you feel empty and full at the same time. And really, really giddy. Your heart is racing from all that. Jungkook kisses you so good, you want to do it over and over again.

You pull away and kiss his cheeks. He giggles before removing himself from you then lays on his side. He props himself on his right arm and you turn to face him.

“This is weird,” you say.

“You say that after kissing me like that?” He asks incredulously. “You’re really something, huh?”

“Excuse me, what does that mean?” You gasp.

“Just seemed like you enjoyed it a lot,” he teasingly shrugs.

“Yeah, and it seemed like it got you excited, too.”

You gesture down and he laughs. You definitely felt his dick poke your belly earlier and you’re proud of yourself for being able to keep it together.

“Can’t help it. I mean, I’ve been thinking of doing that for a while,” he says so casually, and it makes your heart race once more. “But I guess it might take some getting used to. You’ve always been affectionate to me in a playful, let-me-annoy-Jungkook type of way,” he laughs.

“And you’ve always been affectionate to me in a let-me-help-this-helpless-woman type of way,” you laugh back.

“I guess massaging your weak legs and giving you piggyback rides give off that vibe,” he hums. “That changes now, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” you smile then kiss his lips again. “I’ll have you know that I’m very affectionate. I… I need to feel it, too.”

“I know,” he says, softly brushing your cheek. “And I’ll always give that to you.”

“Good,” you say, yawning now.

He chuckles at your sleepy eyes. He lays on his back and nudges you to hug him. You do, and you start talking about what you’ll do tomorrow until you fall asleep mid-sentence.

Jungkook laughs again. It’s just like Sapporo, but tonight is so much better, he thinks, as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and you snuggle even closer to him.

He’s settled in this home and so have you, and he can’t be any happier.

You wake up with the sun in your eyes, and you think it might be really up there by now for it to be this bright.

You lift yourself to look at Jungkook, still adorably sleeping and you’re reminded that last night really happened, and you’re not imagining things anymore.

You smile to yourself at how it all unfolded and that regardless of how, you got here, and you really don’t wanna screw this up.

You turn to the other side and try to get off the bed for your morning routine, but strong hands pull you, flushing your back to his taut chest. You’re engulfed in his arms now and you sink into it even if you say you’re gonna heat up water for the coffee.

“Coffee can wait,” Jungkook mumbles in your ear, as he lays his leg over yours, giving you no chance to get away.

And you don’t really want to, not when he’s holding you like this and his morning raspy voice is giving you the shivers.

“But I wanna face you,” you whine.

So he loosens his hold and you turn around to face him, only to be suffocated by his chest so you complain again that you can’t breathe.

“Make up your mind,” he groans, but you just laugh and adjust yourself despite him tightly wrapping his arms around you.

And it’s nice, you think, how despite the initial weirdness of being intimate with a person you’ve only been platonically affectionate towards for years, this moment feels natural. It feels comfortable and safe and a place that you could easily slot yourself into and it’ll feel right.

You shift again so you could look at him, this time with the sunlight brushing his face and he looks just as beautiful. You don’t fight the urge and you kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck. He’s groaning then giggling in response and he tickles you in retaliation so you bite his nose and he groans even louder.

“Did you just bite my nose?!” He looks at you incredulously.

“Couldn't help it,” you reply with your puppy eyes that he’s so weak for. “It’s so cute.”

“I never knew if you were just making fun of me or what,” he chuckles.

“I’m endeared by it,” you state. “Like, I just want to squish your face all the time. And now I want to keep kissing it, too.”

“Kissing’s good,” he hums.

You smile at him, kiss his lips, then scurry off the bed to heat water and wash up in the bathroom.

Jungkook finally lets you go and laughs to himself at how silly he feels over wanting to hold you a bit longer, even if he’d done it the entire night. He woke up to your kisses and there was no better way to start the day, and he’s afraid to get used to this because he knows he’ll keep looking for it.

But he can think about that later on. Right now is what matters and being able to act how he wants around you and express what he feels is freeing. He can still tease and make fun of you then hold you right after.

He stretches his arms as he familiarizes himself on your bed. He looks around and gets to take in your space, the one you’d quickly let him into.

You have enough plants in your sleeping area and he knows it’s Mo-eum who comes over to make sure they’re all alive. You have some art pieces that he knows Taehyung got for you, and there are some cute and playful trinkets that Jimin buys you for fun.

He sighs at his absence until he spots it - the snow globes he bought for you during your Sapporo trip, perched on the shelf of your desk next to a group picture in the snow.

You made space for him, he thinks, and he knows you’ll keep doing that to each other from now.

His thoughts are disrupted when his phone starts to ring and he sees that there’s a group call incoming so he picks it up. Taehyung looks like he’s on a boat, Jimin is in his car, and Mo-eum is at her parents’ house, as Jungkook can hear them bickering in the background.

“Oh, Kook picked up,” she chirps. “I wonder if ___ is still asleep.”

Jungkook disregards her comment and instead asks what everyone is up to. They share where they are and Taehyung says he just wants to check up on his friends after his party, which he does all the time.

“Where’s ___?” Jimin asks this time. “She did say she got home last night. Speaking of which, Kook! What happ—”

“Were you looking for me?” You ask, as you pop up on the screen cuddled next to Jungkook.

It takes a while for it to process but you slowly see your friends’ faces turn from curious to surprised.

“Oh my god, are you two fucking?!” Jimin exclaims.

“Better. We’re, uh, we’re dating,” you say, giggling shyly.

“Fucking finally!” Jimin yells. “I knew it was gonna happen. My senses are never wrong.”

“See, ___. You had nothing to worry about seeing Kook with a girl last night!” Mo-eum adds.

“I actually lied about my driver taking home a drunk friend last night,” Taehyung smirks. “We needed a way for both of you to be alone.”

“Oh my god, you’re all so dramatic,” you playfully roll your eyes. “Well, thanks for scheming then. It rained and my fan sparked and I told him he could sleep on my bed and I got all weird then boom, we’re here!”

“That’s… one way to put it,” Jungkook laughs. “But yeah, she confessed first and here we are.”

You pinch Jungkook in response and he yelps in pain, but you do express your agreement.

“Who’d have known he’s been crushing on me for months, huh?” You shrug.

“I did,” Taehyung exclaims. “Kinda sensed it in Japan but I didn’t ask him until after.”

“What the— well, you were kinda sus,” you hum.

“You mean like, leaving you to your alone time? Making Kook give you a piggyback ride? Yes I was,” your friend laughs.

“Well, now you can stop ogling him in secret and just do it shamelessly,” Jimin smirks. “Kook, did you know she was losing her mind over your body in Jeju? She even hit her head on the boat because she panicked seeing you half naked.”

“Park Jimin, you fucking brat,” you cuss him, earning you his sickly sweet teasing smile.

“Oh, so that’s why,” Jungkook says. “I thought you were just perpetually zoning out.”

“She was. Because you were half naked!” Mo-eum reiterates.

“Okay guys, I think he got the message,” you groan at your friends.

“Hmm. I didn’t know all that. Let’s do something about that later then,” Jungkook whispers in your ear.

Your cheeks heat up and you shyly smile, prompting Taehyung to state that you’re being freaky already.

“Oh shush. You were all pushing for this,” you counter.

“Yes, we were. You both looked like idiots from this side,” Taehyung laughs. “But thanks to the universe, I guess. We were trying hard not to meddle.”

“Well, you pushed a bit but this still happened,” you say softly now. “We’re uh, still getting used to it and it literally just happened last night.”

“So… are you announcing it to everyone during Tae’s lunch tomorrow?” Jimin asks.

“I will if you won’t,” Taehyung states, and you laugh and say that how you’ll act will give it away anyway.

“Okay, then. That’s another celebration on the list,” he smiles. “Well, I better go. I just wanted to check if our nudging last night resulted in something and it did. See you guys tomorrow!”

You drop the call, not without Jimin smirking and teasing and praising the heavens right before it ends. You and Jungkook laugh and share that that’s exactly how you expected the call with your friends would go.

“So… you have a thing for my body, huh,” he teases.

“It’s not so bad,” you nonchalantly hum. “But hey, that was literally the last thing I noticed, okay? I like you for your heart. And your cute nose.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he laughs.

You kiss his cheek before pulling him off the bed.

“I heated water for our coffee. I like how you make it,” you smile sweetly.

“Okay, Princess,” he teases. “I’ll make us coffee, then.”

You decide to head out for lunch at a cafe right after. It feels natural going on a ride with Jungkook, laughing and talking throughout the drive that he insisted on doing, and then choosing different dishes so you could try more things.

Even holding his hand feels natural, even if it’s something quite new. You reach out and he’s right there, looking for you, too.

He’s also used to how you are whenever you’re out. You turn to him to ask about a store you want to check out and he’s dragging you there a second later. You go to the supermarket and start blurting things you want to eat and he’s putting ingredients in the cart right after. You pass by a dessert stall and he gives in with just your smile.

It’s barely been a day but this already feels like a dream. You think that throughout your friendship, he’s always been the attentive and dependable one. You don’t doubt that he’ll continue being those things now that you’re dating, but you also wonder how you’ll be. You could only hope you could be someone he could depend on, too.

You return to your apartment and unload your groceries. You decide to head over to his place to spend the night, so you pack some clothes and drive there. You’ve been there a few times but now you get to settle in it, too.

He tells you to sit on his couch once you arrive while he cleans up his room. He obviously didn’t expect all this, and he wants to make sure you’re comfortable in his bed later on.

You offer to help but he doesn’t let you, so you watch from your seat as he goes in and out, taking out his sheets to launder, vacuum cleaning the floors, and putting on the humidifier with the patchouli scent that you like.

Jungkook is larger than life in the simplest and purest of ways. You remember a conversation you had months ago about how you both change lives differently. You do yours through research that affects programs and policies while he does it one student at a time. You give your whole self to every project that lasts months or years, while everyday, Jungkook shows up for his kids to teach or to just be there for them.

He possesses a quiet passion that’s constant and unchanging. It’s comforting in its persistence, as evidenced by how he stood by you as a friend all these months, even if he had already felt differently. It’s one you feel blessed to have witnessed all these years, and you’re now at the cusp of receiving it, as you already know that he will be exactly what you need him to be at any moment.

This is when the fear creeps in and you’re new to this. When it comes to your relationships, you don’t think this much. It’s the one aspect of your life that’s dictated by feelings alone so once it stops feeling right, you cop out.

But you don’t want to do that this time, not with Jungkook who deserves so much, and you start to question your worthiness.

“Your mind’s going places again,” he says, disrupting your thoughts.

There’s no teasing tone this time, but a bit of worry and comfort.

“Do you wanna share them with me?”

You nod, knowing that if there’s anyone who’d understand and assure you, it would be him.

“Come, sit on my lap,” he says, as he takes a spot on his couch.

“Why?” You ask.

“Because if it’s as serious as it looks, then I wanna make sure I get to hold you when you talk about it,” he answers. “And if, for some reason you wanna walk out that door because you’re scared or something, I could at least hold you down and make you stay. Because I really want you to, regardless of what you’re thinking.”

You nod, realizing that he could see right through you. So you take up his offer and climb on his lap.

“I’m… I’m a lot to handle, Jungkook.”

“I know,” he smiles.

“Kook, I mean it. I get chaotic and unhinged. I complain a lot, all the time. I have moments of shutting out and shutting down and I get so into my job and I let it get to me and I…” you explain.

Your heart races at the expression of all your flaws and vulnerabilities. Jungkook has seen these sides of you but to have him see them up close? To be at the receiving end of those? It’s quite terrifying.

“I’m just a lot,” you finish, bowing your head in shame.

“Why do you think I like you?” He questions, tilting your chin to face him. “It’s because of all those. And the fact that you’re fiercely loyal and unapologetic and funny and gentle and caring. You’re a good person so yeah, you’re… a lot, whatever that means for you. For me it just means that you’re… you. And I like all of that. That’s why I’m here, you know?”

You go from smiling to wanting to cry. None of your partners ever assured you that way, but you suppose you were never scared enough to let them know the things you fear or worry about. You were never that open or honest. You weren’t sure if you trusted them enough to accept all the vulnerable and raw parts of who you are, and things ended before they could reveal themselves.

“Plus, you’re not the only one,” he continues. “Do you think you can handle me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You chuckle.

“I’m a lot to handle, too, ___. I tease a lot and I get reckless sometimes. I live life the way I want and do whatever I want. I shut out and shut down just like you but I also get clingy and I… like having the attention of the person I like. I can get insecure and jealous sometimes and I hate it,” he admits. “And I feel too much but I’m not good at expressing that, especially in words.”

“You just did though,” you point out.

“Not all the time. But even then, I could be a lot for another person, I know that. So whatever you’re worrying about, I worry about that, too.”

“I just don’t wanna freak you out. And I don’t want to freak myself out.”

“We’ve known each other for years and I know dating a friend isn’t really your thing. But being friends for as long as we have means I’ve seen so many sides of you and I’ve adjusted to who you are and I’ll keep on doing that, the same way you’ve adjusted around me and will continue to,” he assures you. “You’re not gonna freak me out, ___. You’re already everything that I want.”

“Okay,” you say softly, feeling like you can breathe lighter with every assurance he gives.

“But how are you freaking yourself out?”

“Because this is all new, Kook,” you say. “I always feel so intensely and then the fire runs out but with you I… I feel everything, the intense and the not so intense feelings. There’s this desire for you, like I wanna rip your clothes off and do things to you but I also feel endeared by you like I just wanna keep you in my pocket and make sure nothing hurts you. I admire you for so many things and I want you to achieve everything you want in life. I wanna take care of you but I want you to take care of me, too.”

He chuckles then smiles then softens at your words. They sound exactly like you, and he wishes he can say everything the way you can, because he feels all those things just the same.

“There’s so much more I feel that I can’t even put into words, like they just came out of nowhere but they also feel so familiar because you’re comfortable, Kook. You’re my comfort and I’ve just never felt this way before,” you add. “I’m afraid to lose you, and it just all hit me today and that… that freaks me out because I don’t want to let you down.”

“And you won’t. I mean, it’s a relationship, ___. Things will get hard and there’ll be disagreements and challenges but we’ll get through them together, okay? You’re my comfort, too, and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t plan on screwing this up.”

“Me, too,” you shyly smile. “I really like you. Like, holy shit, I really do.”

“That’s nice to know,” he chuckles, enjoying the way you’re so honest about this. “I do, too.”

His hands that were holding yours drift to your side, caressing your thighs then making their way to your hips to pull you closer. His eyes turn lustful as they flit to your lips and you just know your eyes mirror them, as the intense desire gradually overtakes you.

You kiss him so deeply that you feel it everywhere. Your mind screams of how much you want him, your heart is beating insanely fast, your skin burns with pleasure at his touch, especially when his hands sneak under his hoodie that you’re wearing, and you feel all that and more in your cunt, pooling in essence and desiring him even more.

But you stay right where you are, wanting to be able to control the emotions so they don’t control you, wanting to be sure you don’t get lost in all of it that you’re unable to pay attention, to appreciate, to savor.

You pull away, your glassy eyes meeting his, and he smiles softly at you and you know he understands. You hug him tightly and you both stay there, letting the gentleness take over this time.

Jungkook prepares dinner not long after. He makes his version of makguksu, making sure yours caters to your low tolerance of spicy things, and bakes pork belly in the oven.

You watch him work around the kitchen, feeling your heart swell at just seeing him be him. It almost makes you feel silly that everything he does triggers something in you - either a cuteness aggression or intense desire - but it does.

You suppose if you’d paid attention much sooner, you would’ve been losing your mind a long time ago but then again, you probably wouldn’t have been the right person for him then. The thought terrifies and comforts you. You’re reminded of what Hayoung told you in that cafe during your Jeju trip, about wanting to be the right person for each other at the same time.

There’s a lot of fear you’re bringing with you and Jungkook mentioned earlier about the baggage he carries after his failed relationships. Without saying it, you made another unspoken promise to each other of letting all those go.

“You okay?” He asks you as you’ve zoned out on him again.

“Yes, just thinking of how much I like you,” you beam at him before hugging him and kissing his cheek.

“You’re cute,” he giggles then kisses your lips.

You feel hot all over again and it’s this mixed feeling of desire and endearment all at once. You suppose it’s something you’re gonna have to get used to, and you wouldn’t mind it at all.

He lets you taste your sauce and you insist that a hint of more heat won’t hurt, so he adds a tiny squirt and sets that aside. He serves the meat on a tray and lets you take your seat. He brings out a whiskey bottle, the one you got him from Sapporo, pouring you a glass each.

“A memento of our friendship,” he says, echoing your words from not long ago.

“I…” you start, laughing at the memory. “I meant that. But I also hoped I didn’t draw a line that day.”

“Not necessarily. And I knew what you meant,” he smiles. “But our friendship got us here, ___. That would always mean so much to me, even if we didn’t end up dating.”

“I feel the same, Kook,” you smile back.

Dinner ends and you insist on cleaning up. You watch a scary movie that has you seated between his legs and curled in his arms. Once it’s over, you’re panting in fear but like you always say, it’s part of the experience. You’re glad that now includes hiding and screaming on his chest when it gets intense, and then laughing about how you reacted right after.

Once you’ve washed up, you enter his bedroom and wait for him to finish with his shower. You look around his room and spot the shelf with photos and mementos. There are some class pictures and a few with the teams he coached over the years; there are several with your friends dating back to college, too.

And then there are the Teacher of the Year awards and thank you letters from his students. You smile at these, as you’re reminded just how much this vocation means to him. You point them out once he returns to his room and you see him blush when you read out some of his students’ words of praise.

“Are you good with little kids, too?” You wonder out loud as you settle on his bed.

“I substitute for the first graders sometimes,” he hums. “They like me a lot. They run to me when I do yard duty during recess.”

“Hmm. I hope I don’t see that.”

“Why?” He asks.

“I might fall for you even more. I can only like you so much, Kook,” you say.

There’s a hint of playfulness there but you also sound like it’s a real problem, and this makes him laugh. You’re endearing when you’re this expressive, and he only hopes he could express just as much as you do.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” he hums. “I’d like that actually.”

You smile in response, knowing that’s not far from happening.

Like you expected, liking him isn’t hard, and it hit you like a freight train today that you’re feeling so much more for him than you thought you would. He may have liked you first but you definitely fell into the deep end pretty quickly and pretty hard, and you’re learning that despite the initial worries, it doesn’t scare you that much anymore. You’re diving into this head first, and it’s also why you’re trying to pace yourself, trying not to drown in all that you feel.

He turns off the light then switches on the lamp on his bedside. You lie in bed and wait for him to lie next to you, but then he stops himself.

“So uh, I usually sleep without a shirt on,” he informs you.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” you echo his words.

“Okay. I just wanna make sure you won’t faint or anything,” he shrugs. “I mean, you did admit how much you liked seeing me half naked and stuff. Then again, I can do CPR but I’d rather kiss you while you’re conscious.”

You laugh at his teasing and feel the heat rise to your cheeks, especially when he finally removes his shirt and blesses you with a sight that you definitely have been thinking about.

He’s left with just his boxers on and you can’t help but eye him up and down and bite your lip in the process. It’s different being able to desire him openly and up close. It’s also different seeing him embrace it, as he smirks at you while watching you obviously lust over him.

So you play along.

“I think I’ll be fine,” you tease back. “I mean, I can do that, too.”

You remove your shirt and you watch him visibly gulp at the sight he’s never actually seen before - you, bare, on his bed, in nothing but your cloth shorts.

You cock your eyebrow at him as if challenging him to do something. And you really hope he does.

His lips part as his eyes gaze at your swell breasts. The way he’s looking at you makes you shiver and you feel it everywhere. Your now pert nipples definitely do, and it seems that he’s taken notice, too.

“Hey, keep yourself together,” you tease now. “I can’t do CPR so please remain conscious.”

“I’ll try,” he mumbles, as he makes his way towards you on the bed.

There’s hunger in his eyes and you feel it when he cups your cheek and kisses you fervently. You moan into the kiss but you don’t move, letting your body take in all that desire and spread all over you instead. You remain unmoving, even when he starts kissing down your jaw, then your neck, then down the valley between your breasts.

You know he senses you panting though, but that just urges him to do it slowly, grazing his tongue against your skin and leaving a trail towards your buds. He sucks your nipple, then moves over to the other one, all while he keeps himself steady on the bed with his knees, his one hand loosely holding onto your waist.

He’s slow and gentle, as if he wants to take his time and savor this, too. Perhaps he can sense the pace you want to go and he’s going along with it.

You’re holding yourself back from jumping on him and doing everything right now but you’re learning that it’s not that hard. Sure, the desire to lay down and have him kiss you all over your body until he’s sliding inside you is there, but it’s one you can manage. You want to settle into all this first, and you think he knows that.

He kisses you along the path he took earlier until he’s back on your lips, then he pulls away and boops your nose.

“Hmm. I survived,” he says, prompting you to giggle.

He finally lies down and you do the same. He pulls you close to him and faces you.

“You’re cheeky, aren’t you?” He chuckles. “And unfair. You’ve seen me shirtless so many times so you already knew what to expect.”

“Doesn’t mean my reaction would be any different,” you hum. “Plus, there’s literally no other reason for you to see my boobs before today. But I’ll have you know, this is the quickest I’ve ever shown them to anyone.”

“That’s nice to know,” he laughs. “And it’s an honor. Thank you. They’re very beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

He laughs again and you like that despite this very new thing you both have going on, the comfort and playfulness haven’t gone away. You’re just bolder and flirtier now and that’s the fun part of it.

He props himself on his right arm as you talk deep into the night. You continue your narrations of the past trips you’ve had, starting from Chungbuk last fall when you spent a lot of time together, to Sapporo in winter when things had already changed for him, and then to Jeju not long ago when things had changed for you.

The more you talk, the more everything makes sense. You used to be so averse to the idea of falling for a friend because the progression of feelings over time didn’t really make sense to you. Like your friends said, whirlwind romances were all you knew.

But being friends with Jungkook allowed both of you to get to know each other with no ulterior motive or hidden desire. It was pure and natural and you suppose that’s how you learned to adjust to each other, to understand each other, and to know how to be what the other person needs.

The whole time you talk, his hand mindlessly caresses your bare torso and takes your hand. You can laugh and tease each other and remain where you are. It lets you pay attention to the sound of his laugh, to how his eyes sparkle, to the dip on his cheek when he smiles, and to how gentle and caring he is.

You fall asleep against his chest and in tangled limbs with your heartbeat on pace with his.

Jungkook wakes up to the sight of you still bare next to him with your arms bent upwards. You look endearing, even if that arm hit his face in the middle of the night.

He laughs to himself. It was bound to happen at one point; he just didn’t think it would be this early.

You’re still in deep sleep and it allows him to bask in this moment with you. There are no inhibitions and worries, just a whole lot of feelings. Tempered in its physical expression they may be, Jungkook feels all of it from his end and from yours.

It’s what he always liked about you, too - that you feel so much and you’re not afraid to show it. You’re giggly and excited around him, blurting out that you like him when you have the chance. It doesn’t really diminish it for him because words carry so much weight for you, and he appreciates it every time you say it.

He hopes he gets to express everything he feels for you. Maybe not in the exact same way but in ways that matter.

You moan in your sleep and turn towards him, reaching out because you always need something to hug, so he pulls you close and you pull him in. Flushed against his chest with a bit of room to breathe, you settle in his hold.

He lets you stay there and he smiles to himself. He’d only dreamt of all this not long ago, and now he gets to live it.

You wake up not long after with kisses on his chest up to his neck before you face him.

“Good morning,” you mumble. “Did you sleep well with my half naked self?”

“Yes, I did,” he laughs. “You hit my face though. That’s a first.”

This wakes you up completely and you look at him in apology.

“Don’t tell me I hit your nose.”

“You did,” he nods. “But hey, I can now say I’m one of the guys.”

“Oh no,” you pout, kissing it. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re good. It’s one of the relationship hazards I was very much aware of,” he laughs. “And I don’t mind at all. I mean, I get to wake up to this.”

You’re lying on your back now and your breasts still make his breath hitch. He kisses them again and he loves the way you heave when he does. He can imagine how much more you’ll react once he kisses other parts of you that he’s been yearning for but the time will come, he thinks.

He’s following your pace, he reminds himself. Perhaps you need to settle into the other intimate acts and he doesn’t mind, not when he gets to experience a different kind of intimacy with you. Such as right now.

Such as walking to his bathroom and brushing your teeth and washing your faces together. And sharing kisses in between drinking the coffee he prepares. And zipping up your dress and hearing you tell him you like how he looks in jeans and a shirt. And having moments of silence then bursting in laughter over some memory while holding hands in the car on your way to lunch.

You and Jungkook let go of each other before entering Taehyung and Seokjin’s parents’ house. You decide you’ll announce your relationship when something related to it comes up, so you shush your friends who do know when they come up to greet you.

You take your seats next to each other on the dining table and look at the local food spread that you know Taehyung will be missing. You control your smile whenever Jungkook passes you a dish or puts food on your plate and you stop yourself from doing the same but then decide it shouldn’t matter so you do it, too.

This is normal between all of you, including leaning on his shoulder because of how good everything is. No one seems to be thinking any different, until the conversation leads to last Friday and what everyone was up to.

Mo-eum and Jimin talk about closing the Club at 4AM and then riding with Taehyung to his friend’s house for his day trip at the lake. Suhyeon shares that she got surprisingly drunk and dragged her boyfriend to the playground where they got soaked in the rain. Namjoon danced all night then fell asleep on Hoseok’s couch.

And then there were the early leavers - Yoongi had coffee with Gyu-rim then drove her home, and Hayoung craved kalguksu so Seokjin made it for her. Your cousin asks you if you slept right away after you got home since you didn’t look that well, prompting laughter from the younger ones, including Jungkook.

“Actually, it was a funny thing that happened,” you start. “Tae, uh, booked me a car and asked Kook to come home with me then it rained hard so I told him to stay over but it was hot so I plugged the fan but it created a spark so I told him he could sleep on my bed… and then I told him I like him and he said that he likes me, too, so now we’re dating!”

Several shocked and questioning pairs of eyes stare back at you and you almost wonder if there’s a glitch in the system.

“She’s not joking. That all really happened,” Jungkook follows up, chuckling at how everyone seems to be speechless.

“Oh my god. Our babies,” Suhyeon finally speaks up and beams at both of you. “This makes me so happy.”

Hayoung hugs you from behind and heads to Jungkook to do the same. There are expressions of surprise and joy and observations of both of you spending more time together.

Hoseok says he didn’t really see it coming but that thinking about it now, it’s not that unexpected because of how well you and Jungkook get along. Seokjin notes that your closeness with the man isn’t the same as with Jimin and Taehyung and maybe that’s also why.

“So, how’s your fan?” Yoongi asks, causing you to snort at his unrelated question but you think this might be a bit of an interesting moment for him, too.

“It’s fine. It just acted up that night and I don’t have any wiring issues,” you state.

“So, this all happened on Friday, huh?” Namjoon asks. “I barely saw you and Kook talking though. What made you admit it?”

“Well, I… saw him with a girl and my mind went all over the place and I guess I got jealous,” you chuckle. “That happens, you know? Sometimes the person you like is just one serendipitous encounter away from finding a person they could be right for and you have to claim your spot, something like that. I, uh,” you continue, glancing at Jungkook as he takes your hand under the table. “I’ve liked him for a few weeks now and I was just waiting for the right time.”

“Well, I’ve liked her for months and I could’ve been one serendipitous encounter away from losing her,” Jungkook shakes his head.

“So, you liked her first and didn’t say anything? Just like Seokjin?” Hayoung laughs.

“Yeah. He liked me first but I fell harder,” you confess.

“Oh, like Hayoung, then,” Seokjin teases, earning him a playful slap from his fiancé who also agrees.

“It runs in the family, I guess,” she smiles.

Seokjin wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses her forehead. It’s a soft sight, as he wasn’t always this affectionate but Hayoung brought out that side of him.

You often wonder how that happens, how one person becomes more of something because of another, or which qualities of their partner they acquire after some time.

You wonder what you’ll be more now that you’re with Jungkook. Maybe you’ll be calmer and less neurotic. You might actually even be more responsible and independent. Whatever it is, you hope he’ll like you even more. You wonder, too, what traits he’ll start acquiring now that he’s with you.

The conversation continues, as Jimin, Mo-eum, and Taehyung come clean about the little things they were doing throughout the Jeju trip to make sure you and Jungkook spent more time together. You’re amazed at how your friends managed to just nudge but both of you are the ones who still made it happen.

You’re reminded of what Hayoung said about her and Seokjin, how the other could’ve chickened out after someone confessed, considering the good friendship that’s on the line; it’s a lot to lose for something you’re unsure will work out.

But they chose to make it work and be the right person for each other, and that mirrors how you and Jungkook just went for it, too, with neither one of you forcing or rushing it. You glance at Yoongi and Gyu-rim, oddly observant this time around and you hope it works out for them on their own time as well.

Lunch ends and the afternoon is how it always goes. Some people are just chatting and drinking while others are playing games. You’re doing the latter, as you try to beat Taehyung in Street Fighter, which you do, and then he decides you should all play Fall Guys instead. You glance at Jungkook who’s chatting with Hayoung and Seokjin and you could only guess what that’s all about, but you might have an idea.

Jungkook has his eyes on you as he talks to your cousin. A lot of it is about the wedding and meeting your entire clan in less than two months. But it’s also about you and how happy she is that you get to be with someone like him; she even goes as far as welcoming him to the family.

He knows it’s just been over a day but the feeling that all this feels so right doesn’t escape him and he doesn’t want it to. Sure, you’re still in the honeymoon stage and challenges will come your way but with a group of friends like the one you both have, he thinks you’ll be okay.

It’s a thought he holds onto as you finish dinner and on the ride home. You insisted on driving him to his apartment, even if he suggested booking a cab from your place instead but you won, stating that it’s work day tomorrow and it’s better that he gets to rest right away.

You stop in front of his building and though you hate saying goodbye, knowing you’ll see him again and again comforts you.

You turn to him with a pout and your puppy eyes that say you don’t wanna let him go. You laugh at yourself with how silly you are, but he looks at you with a soft smile. He cups your cheek and kisses you, gently at first then it deepens by the second until he pulls away. You sneak a last one on his lips before he gets out of the car.

And then he calls you.

You put him on speaker while looking at him on the driveway from inside your car and laugh.

“Miss me already?” you tease.

“Maybe,” he smiles with his nose scrunched. “Just wanna make sure you get home safe. Stay on the line until you get there?”

“Okay,” you smile back before driving away.

It’s a 15-minute drive but it’s enough time to talk about your respective schedules for the week. You hang up to take a shower and then lie in bed to find a message from him.

[from: bunny Kook] just remembered we have ministry of ed people assessing us tomorrow

[from: bunny Kook] should i wear blue or maroon tracksuit?

[from: bunny Kook] or maybe gray?

You giggle at the messages, as you start to see what he’s like when he’s really comfortable. You can imagine him staring at his closet, frozen in thought, even if all his tracksuits probably look the same anyway. But he’s sharing with you his random thoughts, and this is a man who barely even replies, much less read messages.

But now he’s video calling you and he asks why you’re laughing when you show up on the screen.

“Nothing,” you smile. “I’d go with the gray.”

“Okay,” he says, not even thinking about it.

He lies in bed and talks to you once more and you’re giddy and endeared at how he doesn’t want to let you go just yet. It’s just been two days but you already can’t get enough of each other. And you wish it would stay that way.

He finally hangs up after a drawn out goodbye. You suppose this is what will change with him now that he’s with you, and you smile yourself to sleep at the thought.

You spend most of the week after work with your friends, as the day of Teahyung’s flight draws nearer. You go to an arcade on Tuesday, do karaoke on Wednesday, then play bowling on Thursday. You eat at all the restaurants that he’ll miss, and on Friday, you and Jungkook pick up Jimin, Mo-eum, and finally Taehyung to drop him off at the airport.

It’s not the first time you’ve done this but you suppose so much has happened in between. It’s bittersweet, knowing you’ll all be separated again, even if he’s off to do the thing he loves most in the world.

Taehyung gives each of you a hug. When he gets to you and Jungkook, he claims the big role he played in getting the two of you together.

“I mean, I planned all the trips so… yeah, I was pretty instrumental,” he smiles.

And you give him credit for it. You give your props to Jimin and Mo-eum, too, who somehow managed to keep you level-headed enough throughout all this.

You bid Taehyung goodbye and head to your apartment for some takeout dinner and a night of drinking and talking about how the past few months have been.

It’s later on in the evening when it’s just you and him that Jungkook goes back to the thought that he really could’ve been one serendipitous encounter away from losing you.

You could’ve met someone at Taehyung’s farewell party or one of Jimin’s many cool friends. It could’ve been someone at one of your conferences or a guy ordering the same drink as you in that newly opened cafe near your office.

But he quickly dispels the thought, as he watches you snuggle closer to him as you fall into deep sleep, settling into his hold, like what you naturally did just a week ago when all this happened.

He likes you so much and contrary to what you think, he fell just as hard for you. And the more he settles into this, into you, the stronger he feels that even if you’ve known each other for years, you’ve had several serendipitous moments these past months that got you here.

Maybe it was waking up when you did that second morning in the forest that had you sharing coffee and talking about things. Maybe it was your car breaking down that led him to driving you to Cheonan, or even seeing Si-an at the club.

Maybe it was being seated next to you on the plane to Sapporo or your lightbulb going off. Maybe it was being the lone pair to fly to Jeju at night or the locals telling him about the sunrise spot that had you joining him that final morning.

It could’ve been one or all of them but they led you closer to each other. He doesn’t think there’s a better way of ending up where you did than this - you, tucked in his arms, settled so naturally in his hold, as if you were always meant to be there.

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