#''if only this person had confessed their feelings at this point in the plot everything would be fixed''
Text
hm
#one of the other things that annoys me about soulmate stories and not-canon-rooted aus in general is the way so many of them discount the#idea that two people can be perfect for each other at one point in their lives but an extremely bad match at another point.#sometimes you grow into people who would be good for each other and sometimes you grow apart#and i think it's an important part of understanding a character to understand how they got from point A to point B and what makes up a#'core' of their character and how they've changed as a result. i refuse to believe that you all Want to believe that people are static#'souls' from birth to the grave.#''if these two characters had just met earlier they would have been the perfect team and half the plot would never have happened''#if those two characters had met as teens/younger adults they would have torn each other to pieces because they lacked the perspective given#to them by the life experiences they had as individuals.#''if only this person had confessed their feelings at this point in the plot everything would be fixed''#the reason they did not do that is because of who they are as a character and this experience and regret is what pushes them to#pursue a relationship more earnestly later in the plot#''these two would have been best friends as kids!''#again if you read the portions where they were respectively children you can imagine that actually they would have publicly#uninvited the other one from their 'bff only' birthday parties#'these two characters were perfect for each other in [flashback arc] why weren't they endgame'#because they grew into people who couldn't coexist without hurting each other and weren't willing to change those parts of themselves so#they split ways (violently)#all of this is in some ways subjective character interpretation and in others very obvious#but i came across another post today about how someone is frustrated that a couple 'didn't just meet sooner'#and with these two characters it's like. they genuinely would have killed each other. like they would have driven each other to kill themse#to delete#ein babbles#and another thing about people who get smug/mad at characters for being 'stupid' for what ultimately is 'not knowing that they are in a#[genre] story' is th [dragged away from the laptop and wrapped in several layers of blanket burrito where i suffocate to death]
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the back-up plan | jjk
summary: one drunken night leads to an agreement that if you and jungkook are still single by 30, you'd marry each other. the only thing is jungkook has been doing everything he can to keep you single.
💖 title: the back-up plan | one-shot
💖 pairing: jungkook x f!reader | 💖 genre/au: romance, fluff / friends to lovers(?)
💖 rating: SFW | 18+ | 💖 word count: 18.1k | 💖 playlist
💖 warnings: jungkook & reader are both 29, reader is a hopeless romantic (what else is new with my characters?), jungkook is always pining and head over heels in love, jungkook is sweet and in luvrrr but he’s bad at feelings and tells some terrible lies (don’t hate him—ok!!), reader has a skewed view of relationships and what's expected of her, jungkook calls her wifey, hot and seggsy neighbor!namjoon (yes, pls), shirtless namjoon (2x), kissing, hand-holding, some suggestive language, mentions of erotic art and positions, first dates, alcohol consumption, reader has her belly button pierced, talks of tattoos & getting them, mentions of needles, and idk some things may come off as cheesy??? but it's a romance story so idk take what you will, light angst (you should know me by now!!), jungkook gets a lil drunk (pls drink responsibly), jealous jk comes out, love confessions
💖 a/n: the plot is a bit ridiculous, but that's the point! it's fiction (lol), i hope y'all enjoy it for what it is. the idea came from a tweet I saw, but ofc, I can't find it! so thank you to whoever tweeted it! and, happy birthday to the loml, jeon jungkook (this was supposed to be out for his birthday, but my brain said no). i also have to thank holly (@alphabetboyluvr). i respect her so much as a writer and friend, and I was super scared to ask her to even look at my outline, but she's always so sweet and willing. i couldn't have done this without her help, her comments, and suggestions <3 (i'd also recommend listening to the playlist while reading :)) and as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts 💖
sunday.
Another day has passed, and it’s creeping closer to your birthday. They’re supposed to be joyous, celebratory occasions–and you love feeling special, showered with love and gifts. What more could a person want?
But you had a clear goal before hitting the big 3-0: get married–or at least be engaged to be married.
Most girlfriends your age were still having fun, enjoying life, and not ready to settle down. You’re unsure if your upbringing or society’s expectations distorted you, but you were fond of marriage and finding the one to spend your life with.
You also blamed the hopeless romantic in you when you dragged every one of your girlfriends with you to see the new romantic comedy, giggled, and kicked your feet when reading the latest best-selling romance novel.
The thing was, you were so close to getting engaged. You and your boyfriend, Theo, of eight months–well, ex-boyfriend–discussed it openly from the beginning of your relationship. And not even two weeks ago, he broke up with you out of the blue and gave no clear explanation.
You sat in bed debating whether to download your old dating apps again. Your birthday was in six days, and you knew you wouldn’t find a suitable mate before your birthday, but at least you could try, right?
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:27 PM
Happy ‘almost 30th’ birthday.
You 11:28 PM
😭😭😭
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:28 PM
Are you still crying over Theodore Boner?
You 11:29 PM
It’s Bonner, not boner!
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:29 PM
🤣🤣🤣
You were saved from that one. Imagine having the last name Boner.
You rolled your eyes at the text from Jungkook, throwing your phone beside you as you curled under your duvet.
KooKoo-Ca-Choo
Incoming Video Call
“What do you want, Kook?”
“You gotta admit, ____ Boner sounds awful,” Jungkook laughed as he pushed back in his recliner.
“I’m hanging up!” you threatened, getting ready to push the end button.
"No, no! I'm kidding. You would've made a great Mrs. Boner."
"Bye–Kook."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm done, I promise."
"I had a whole plan. What am I supposed to do now? My birthday is in six days," you groaned, covering your face with the duvet.
"You don't remember our agreement, do you?"
You brought the cover down. Curious about his comment. "What agreement?"
💖💖💖
Before this most recent one, your ex, Jimin, had broken up with you, and you were on the rebound, looking for a good time. Jungkook came to the rescue, saving you from your next mistake. He took you out for drinks, let you drown in your sorrows, and the two of you got pretty drunk. You could only remember bits and pieces of your conversation.
“Let’s get married if we’re still single by 30,” Jungkook suggests.
“You wanna marry me? But I’m such a mess.”
Your dating life, career, friends, and family were fine.
“Yeah, why not. We get along. You seem a little kinky in bed and make a mean spaghetti dish.”
“Is that all I’m good for? Sex and spaghetti?”
“That sounds like a bad porn film waiting to happen. No, but I'm serious. If we're still single, let’s get married.”
You wave him off. “Kook, you’re drunk. You’re just saying whatever.”
“Yeah, I'm drunk, but I'm serious about this.”
He gets up, looks around, sees a straw wrapper, and ties it around your finger. He's on one knee before you.
“____, will you marry me? Hypothetically, of course, if we’re both still single by 30.”
You shake your head at your loveable friend. It was hard to say no. How could you?
“You’re so dumb.”
“See. You can write that in your vows,” Jungkook jokes, grinning from ear to ear.
“Well, you are pretty cute, and I can stand being around you,” you tease.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
You smack his arm. “Is this how you’re wooing your future wife?”
“Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I can’t believe how beautiful my future wife is.”
You’re unsure if it’s the alcohol making you susceptible and vulnerable to your good friend asking you to marry him or if it was because you were on the rebound. But what’s the harm? If you couldn’t find someone by 30, then you’d get to marry a good friend.
“That's more like it. Why yes, Jeon Jungkook. I will marry you if I'm still single by 30.”
💖💖💖
You let out a cackle. “Oh shit–I agreed to that?”
Jungkook pouts and nods. “Sure did.”
But Jungkook’s messing around, right? He was a good friend and comforted you in your time of need. There’s no way he’d want to spend the rest of his life with you. Plenty of suitable women were fawning over him, and now you’ve noticed you've never seen him with a girlfriend.
“You’re–you’re not serious, are you?” You stumble over your words, going into panic mode.
Why would Jeon Jungkook choose you, of all people, to want to marry? He could have anyone at any time.
No, you shook off the thought. You couldn’t lock him into a loveless marriage.
Jungkook licks his lips, tongue flicking his lip ring back and forth.
You shifted in bed and cleared your throat. “Aren’t you seeing that one girl?”
It wasn’t hard to notice when she practically hung onto him like a lovesick puppy.
Jungkook makes a face, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s nothing serious.”
You give him a blank expression. “Nothing serious? Kook, she’s practically foaming at the mouth and shooting heart eyes when you’re around.”
Jungkook chuckles. “That could be you, too.”
You narrow your eyes, glaring at him.
“Just saying,” he adds.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to get in the way if it is serious.” You surely didn’t want to become a homewrecker.
He waves his hand. “Oh, no, no, no. I don’t back down from promises I make.”
Your lips turn into a pout, and you tilt your head, wondering why he’d ditch Clingy Chloe and commit to a drunken promise. “What’s in it for you?”
He seems offended by your question, so he scoffs. “I mean, I’m just trying to save you from a future where you’re an old lady with 50 cats, collecting newspapers that pile up from the floor to the ceiling, and then you show up on an episode of Hoarders.”
You chuckle. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“You’re not?” he questions hesitantly.
“I mean, marriage is a pretty serious thing, and we’re friends getting married because we have no one else?” The sentiment seems ridiculous once you say it aloud.
“What? You don’t think I'll be a good husband?”
“No, I didn't say that. I think you’d be a great one, actually.”
“Then, what’s the problem? Don’t think you can handle me?” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows.
You roll your eyes at your cocky friend. “I don’t know, Kook. What if I meet someone, or what if you meet someone?”
“You don’t think I can make you fall in love with me?” he asks, ignoring your question.
Your nose scrunches, and you laugh. “No.”
“Oh, well, that sounds like a challenge, and you’re lucky I love a little competition.”
He’s not going to let this go, is he?
You settle into the plush of your pillows. “Okay–tell you what, if you can make me fall in love with you within the week, I’ll consider marrying you.”
What would you have to lose? Being wined and dined by a cute guy? What girl would pass up this opportunity?
“Deal.”
💖💖💖
monday.
Your everyday routine consists of rolling out of bed, logging into work, checking your emails, and then sitting on the couch until you get a support ticket from someone who forgot their password for the umpteenth time.
It’s a great gig, and now you’re glad you went into the right field of work.
You’re on your random binge of rewatching The Fast and the Furious saga. Your friends always make fun of you, but you can’t help it. It’s a guilty pleasure of yours.
“You got some sexy legs. When do they open?” Roman says with a grin.
You burst out laughing. The dialogue is so bad, yet somehow, these movies keep getting made. You must be the target audience.
The doorbell rings and it’s 8:30 AM. Who is here this early? You didn’t buy anything online while you were drunk, did you?
You peek through the viewfinder, and it’s blocked by something yellow. You can’t see the delivery person’s face when you open the door.
“Special delivery for ___,” the person says in a deep voice.
“That’s me.”
And out from behind the flowers, Jeon Jungkook pops out. “Happy birthday week,” he says in a sing-song voice.
Your heart settles when you realize it's your friend or future husband. “What are you doing here?”
You notice two grocery bags on the ground next to him. He hands you the flowers and picks them up.
“What do you think I’m doing here?” He raises his eyebrow, scanning you from head to toe.
Real clothes and makeup don’t exist when you're working from home.
“Cute slippers,” he points out as you stare at your fluffy white bunny slippers.
You sigh, grabbing his arm to drag him into your apartment. As you’re about to close the door, you notice moving boxes outside the apartment next to yours. Hmm, someone new must be moving in.
“Is this what you look like underneath all that makeup?” he asks, making himself comfortable in your kitchen. The two bags are on the counter, and he’s going through the cupboards to find a vase.
“Top left above the sink,” you say.
He opens the cupboard, retrieving a clear vase.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting company. Otherwise, I would’ve put on some decent clothing.”
And a bra, you think as you cross your arms, covering your chest.
Jungkook shakes his head. “You look good in anything, and with or without makeup. You’ll be my future wifey, so there’s no need to look for good me. We can just be comfortable with each other, right?”
You purse your lips and raise an eyebrow. He’s serious about this, isn’t he? You suppose you wouldn’t mind playing along to see how far he would go.
A man ready and willing to commit to marriage? You must be living in your romantic film.
You nod. “Right, we’re friends, possibly moving onto more than friends–well, actually, straight to marriage,” you chuckle, "but I’ve always felt comfortable around you, Kook.”
He flashes a warm smile. “Good, then everything will be easy, peasy lemon squeezy.”
He’s cute, you think.
“I hope you like mimosas,” he says as he unloads the groceries from the bags.
Bread, eggs, bacon, strawberries, orange juice, and champagne.
“Are you making me breakfast?” you question, narrowing your eyes at the man in the yellow beanie and white Nike shirt.
“Consider it your birthday breakfast, wifey,” he jokes, peering in your cupboards for a pan.
“Right side next to the oven.”
“Ah, I gotta remember this if I’m gonna be cooking here more often.” He whistles, setting the pan on the stove.
You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Don’t you have to work today?”
“Nah–called in sick. It’s my wife’s birthday week. I have to shower her with all the love.” He wiggles his eyebrows and puckers his lips.
It’s funny to see Jeon Jungkook act this way. He’s always been playful and flirty the two years you’ve known him, but this must’ve been his way of pulling out all his cards of wooing a woman.
💖💖💖
“Breakfast is ready,” Jungkook yells from the kitchen.
A support ticket from work came through, distracting you from your movie and Jungkook.
“‘Kay! Almost done.” You recheck your work emails, ensuring everything is complete.
This time, you put on a bra, change into a decent shirt, and put on a skin tint and blush to make yourself look alive.
You stroll into the kitchen, and Jungkook perfectly displays the sunflowers on the counter and two delicious breakfast plates. The champagne flutes are filled to the brim and topped off with a beautifully sliced strawberry.
“Thanks, Kook. This looks so yummy.”
He flashes a smile. “Anytime.”
The two of you sit beside each other, digging into the breakfast spread.
“What’s that one movie you wanted to watch again?” Jungkook asks before he sips his mimosa.
Your mouth is full, and you chew quickly to answer him. “The one on Netflix?” He hums. “Wedding Season.”
“Sounds like the perfect movie for us to watch this week.”
“You’re into rom-coms?”
“I love ‘em.”
“Shut up. You’re teasing me now.”
“I don’t know why you never ask me to watch them, but you’ll ask the girls.”
You look down at your food before catching his gaze. “I didn’t think you’d be into them, so I never asked. And you don’t seem like the hopeless romantic type.”
“I mean, growing up, I wasn’t. My parents didn’t have a fairytale romance, so I didn’t believe in love for a long time.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So, someone must’ve changed your mind then?”
He hums, not wanting to admit who made it an exception.
You nudge his arm. “Are you gonna tell me, or will I have to pry it out of you?”
He chuckles, not saying a word.
You scoff. “You’re not gonna tell me? Keeping secrets from your wife already? Rude,” you tut.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies.
The two of you finish breakfast, and Jungkook insists on doing the dishes. You set your plate in the sink and clutch onto his arm, tiptoeing to place a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you.”
💖💖💖
tuesday.
You take the morning off to run errands for your upcoming birthday extravaganza. And you’re struggling to hit the lock button on your keypad while holding a heavy box of birthday decor.
When you finally hear the whirring of the lock and chime, you turn around, bumping into someone, dropping your box, and knocking over a handful of books.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” you say, quickly picking up as many books as possible, and he picks up your birthday decor.
The man reaches for the pink heart-shaped sunglasses and other pink-colored decor. “Someone must be celebrating big,” the man’s dimpled smile displayed.
Your fingers accidentally touch his when you switch his books for your decor. You clear your throat, trying not to ogle the man. “Um, yeah, it’s for my birthday.”
He perks up. “Oh?” He flashes a thin smile. “Happy birthday.”
A breath gets caught in your throat, and you struggle to get any words out. “Uh, my birthday is actually on Saturday,” you finally croak out. “But, you must be my new neighbor.”
“Yeah, I’m Namjoon. I just moved in this past weekend.”
Oh, this is bad. Really bad.
He’s tall, has beautiful tanned skin and blonde hair, and you could live in his dimples.
“It’s–it’s nice to meet you.”
“Sorry about bumping into you, and it’s nice to meet you too. I hope you have a good birthday,” he says before picking up one last book on the ground.
“Are you doing anything this weekend? You can come if you want.”
After you ask, you want to kick yourself in the bum. Inviting a man you just met. What if he’s a weirdo? But how can he be if he’s reading ‘A Bigger Message Conversations with David Hockney.’ You may have managed to peek at one of his books.
“Oh, no,” he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding! I’m inviting you, and you can’t say no to the birthday girl,” you tease, adjusting the box in your arms.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. “You’re right. It’d be messed up to say no to the birthday girl.”
“So, you’ll come?” you ask, and a smile grows from ear to ear.
He nods. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
The two of you exchange information before you leave to finish your errands. You’re beaming down the street while carrying your box of decor.
You didn’t expect to find someone cute and endearing so quickly. And you’re surprised he said yes to your party. Maybe he’s new in town and wants to make friends. It would be a good way for him to get acquainted, and a part of you hoped you’d keep bumping into him in the halls.
💖💖💖
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:27 AM
Wanna do a movie night today?
We could watch Wedding Season.
You 11:30 AM
Sounds like a date.
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:35 AM
Is 6 okay? I can bring dinner too.
You 11:36 AM
That sounds perfect.
It's six on the dot, and you hear a knock on your door. You suppose Jungkook is the type to show up right on time, which you greatly appreciate.
He holds a six-pack of beer and a pizza box when you open the door.
"Ready for movie night?"
It’s halfway through the film, and you’re enjoying it. You love the fake dating trope because you could always count on the two mains to fall for each other.
"Are you cold?" Jungkook asks when he sees you tuck your hands in between your thighs.
"Yeah, kind of."
"Come here."
He opens his arm to cuddle, and you blink expressionless at him. The most intimate thing you’ve done with him is hug him–a side hug.
He laughs when you don’t move. “What? Scared I’ll bite?”
“No—it’s just that cuddling is an intimate thing to do,” you admit.
Arms and legs become entangled. Bodies are warming up against each other. Possibilities of things progressing.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Do you have a throw blanket somewhere?” He looks around and sees a woven basket next to the couch. He grabs a white fluffy throw for you.
Jungkook gives you an out, and for that, you’re grateful.
“Thanks,” you say as you snuggle in the blanket.
He flashes a small smile. “No problem.”
Even though you rejected Jungkook’s invitation to cuddle, somehow, by the end of the movie, the two of you had fallen asleep—cuddling.
You didn’t pull away from him yet. You peered up at him, watching his chest rise and fall. Light snores escape his lips, and now and again, he puffs out a breath like a whale coming up for air, making you chuckle.
You rest your chin on his chest, giving yourself a few seconds to enjoy this before waking him up.
“Kook,” you whisper, gently shaking him. “Kook,” you repeat.
He hums, popping his head up while his eyes are still closed. He flutters them open and immediately sits up, wiping the drool that’s dried on his chin. He clears his throat. “Um—how long was I asleep for?”
You giggle. “We both fell asleep. I blame the beer,” you say, stretching your arms.
Jungkook can’t help but notice the shiny piece of jewelry hanging from your navel. “You have your belly button pierced?” he asks with a raised brow.
You quickly pull down your shirt. “It was a dumb thing I did when I turned 21.”
“It’s cute.”
You shy away from his comment. At times, you forget you have it.
“What else are you hiding, hm?” Jungkook asks.
You scoff. “Nothing. I only have my ears and my belly button pierced.”
“No tattoos?”
Tattoos are cool on other people, and you toyed with the idea of getting one. You were indecisive about what to get.
You shook your head no. “Maybe one day.”
“Get one for your 30th. I’ll go with you. I know a guy,” he teases, pointing out the ink on his skin.
“You gonna hold my hand the entire time?”
He grins. “Anything for the wifey.”
A tattoo, huh? You’ve always wanted to see how high your pain threshold was. “I’ll think about it.”
“Just let me know, and I’ll get an appointment with the guy I always go to. I only trust him.”
Jungkook stands, proceeding to clean up the mess you two made.
“Oh, no. Leave it. I’ll clean it up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s late. We should get some sleep.”
He looks at the clock. It’s nearly midnight, and he still needs to wash up.
You walk him to the door, holding it open for him to leave. “Kook?”
Jungkook turns to you. “Yeah?”
You’re unsure what comes over you, but you pull him in for a hug. Only this time, it doesn’t feel like a friendly hug. It takes a moment for him to register what’s happening, then he wraps his arms around you. Every ounce of his body presses against yours, and you fit perfectly into him like a puzzle piece. His fresh, clean scent invades your nose, and you wish it could linger for a bit longer while his hand snakes to the nape of your neck, fingers curling in your hair.
Why do you feel more vulnerable when sleeping next to him now than earlier? Is it because you’re awake and aware of your intentions? The question was, what were your intentions? Did you want this? Did you really want him?
You withdrew from the embrace, bidding him farewell. He gives a small wave before disappearing into the elevator.
As you enter your apartment and shut the door, you repeatedly knocked the back of your head against it, muttering, ‘fuck.’ You were playing along to see how far Jungkook would go before calling it quits, but you failed to see that maybe—just maybe you could be falling too.
Hoseok’s minding his business, eating his ramen when he sees his roommate walk in. Jungkook looks like he’s floating on cloud nine, beaming from ear to ear. There’s even a hop in his step. He twirls around, daintily sitting beside Hoseok.
Hoseok scans his friend, watching him as he breathes a happy sigh and stares into the distance.
“What’s going on with you?” He raises a brow and narrows his eyes.
Jungkook giggles and scrunches his shoulders. “I just came back from cuddling with ___,” he says as he continues in his reveries.
“Oh, boy. Everyone, can I please have your attention,” Hoseok cups his mouth into a megaphone, “Jeon Jungkook has officially gone off the deep end. He thinks being delulu is the solulu.”
Jungkook glares at his friend and kicks him under the table. “Yah–aren’t you supposed to be rooting for me?”
Hoseok slurps his noodles. “Of course, I’m rooting for you. You’re my best bud,” he says as he places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he pats Hoseok’s hand. “Now–be an even better friend, and let me raid your closet for ___’s party.”
Jungkook lies in bed; his bicep flexes when he moves his hand behind his head. He’s watching an array of colors flash across the vastness of his room. The northern lights and stars twirl and sparkle like the movements of butterflies and the ones milling around his stomach for days.
Is this what being in love feels like, he thinks. It’s like he’s living in the romance movies he’s watched. Boy meets girl, boy, and girl fall in love, and they live happily ever after.
This is it. This must be it. His chance to be with you–the one he’s fallen completely head over heels for.
If the Jungkook from four years ago were to see him today, he’d laugh and call him a simp, especially with how he’s at your beck and call.
But the Jungkook, from four years ago, was a cynic. He had no healthy or loving relationships around him until he met you through Hoseok. And, even though you were with someone at the time, he saw how kind and wonderful you were to your friends and could only imagine the kind of love you’d show toward someone special.
There were only a few more days until your party, and he was determined to make each day count.
wednesday.
Since Monday, Jungkook has surprised you every day with a gift. They were his attempts to make you fall in love with you, along with his random trips to your place.
Today’s gift was a pair of pink seashell earrings. Jungkook tells you he spent hours making it from clay, then baked them in the oven. You shook your head, wondering how he got an idea like this. Nonetheless, it was a sweet gift.
He texted throughout the day, leaving cute words of encouragement or sending TikToks of funny videos he’d find. Maybe this was his love language, taking the time out of his day to let you know he’s thinking about you.
As your day winds down, you’re scrolling through YouTube, and what catches your eye at 7 p.m.? Dessert videos.
And that’s your worst toxic trait—thinking you can bake. It always looks easy enough. If they can do it, so can you.
That is, until you’re in the kitchen, halfway through a recipe, and notice you’re out of sugar. The grocery store is too far and will close when you get there.
See what happens when you decide to bake? It always goes differently than you want.
You could call Jungkook to see if he has any or walk over to your new neighbor’s place. The latter was plausible since Namjoon was only a few feet away.
You shook off the nerves, flattened your apron, and lightly knocked on Namjoon’s door. You could hear shuffling as he unlocked it.
Your eyes widened, standing like a deer caught in headlights. Namjoon’s half-naked, black shorts hung dangerously low on his waist. His forehead is glistening with sweat.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” you ask while trying to keep your gaze in line with his and not ogling his chiseled body.
Shit—maybe he had company over.
He cards his hand through his platinum blonde hair, but a few pieces fall back, covering his eyes. “No, you’re good. I just finished working out. What’s up?” he asks. His hand holds the door open as he leans against it.
You’re dumbfounded, unable to form words again. It’s like a giant hairball stuck in your throat.
Namjoon’s brows raise, and he calls out to you.
“Oh, sorry!” you say. “I’m attempting to bake a cake but I'm out of sugar. I wanted to ask if you have any I can borrow.”
“I think I do,” he ponders as he steps back. “Come in. Come in.”
You step into a squeaky clean apartment. Didn’t he just move in? How does someone unpack so quickly? Or maybe he had little to begin with.
His apartment was like a museum, with pottery, sculptures, and art prints adorning his walls and shelves. But what catches your attention is the translucent, cylindrical coffee table. It doesn’t seem like anyone should be putting anything on it.
Namjoon stands beside you, holding a jar of sugar.
“Ah, thank you so much! Now my cake batter won’t go to waste.”
“Anything catch your fancy?” he asks.
Granted, this man is still half-naked, standing beside you. You’re trying not to go feral over how broad and built he is.
“This, actually,” you point to the glass coffee table.
“That’s probably one of my most prized possessions.”
“It looks expensive.” You’d later come to find out it was worth $1.2M after you did an internet search.
“It is,” he chuckles. “It’s on loan from a friend.”
“On loan?” you ask, turning to him. Your eyes narrow and lips thin. “Can I ask what you do for work?”
“I’m an art curator.”
That makes sense now, considering the expensive and extensive art collection.
“Oh—you’re so fancy,” you tease. “I don’t know shit about art.” You could stand before a painting and feel nothing while looking at it. Maybe you were just going in with the wrong mindset.
Namjoon chuckles. “You can always ask me questions,” he notes before walking away to put on a t-shirt.
You’re a bit disappointed that you can’t ogle him anymore.
“Well, I can’t ask you questions if you don’t take me to a museum,” you flirt, turning toward him.
He grins, showing off his pearly whites and dimple deeply etched into his left cheek. “Are you asking me to ask you out on a date?”
You can’t help but play dumb. “Oh no, of course not! I would like your expertise to guide me around a museum, and if we happen to eat afterward, then I don’t know—would you call that a date?”
Namjoon licks his lips and nods, impressed by your boldness. “Are you busy Friday night?”
The cake wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either. You’d have to keep perfecting it and maybe keep asking to ‘borrow’ some sugar from your neighbor.
You debated whether you should tell Jungkook about your date with Namjoon. It’s a harmless date; Jungkook would be off the hook if it goes well. Besides, it’s a silly agreement you two made up while drunk.
But, you’d sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow. There was one more day before the date anyway.
As you were sitting in bed, doing your nightly scrolling through social media. A video call comes through.
KooKoo-Ca-Choo
Incoming Video Call
You're on your side when you answer his call. “Hey, Kook,” you say before covering a yawn.
“Ready for bed?” he asks, shuffling underneath his duvet.
Your eyes scan the screen, and you notice his bare shoulders and collarbone on display. You never realized his tattooed sleeve reached so high on his arm, scantily kissing the top of his shoulder.
You cleared your throat. "Yeah, about to call it a night. What's up?"
"I just wanted to call and see how your day was. I was busy at work, so I didn't get to text you," he says.
Now that you think about it, the last text you received from him was this morning. And since the start of your little agreement, Jungkook has been texting and calling more than usual.
"I worked, then attempted to bake a cake."
He props the phone against something as he lies on his side, and parts of his hair still look damp from a shower. And you hate how cuddly he looks while he’s in bed and how you can see how much he works out just from the outline of his arms.
And no—you aren’t thinking about anything else.
"How'd it turn out?"
You shook your head in disgust. "Not very good."
"Ah, I'm sure it was great."
"I'll stick to store-bought cake for now."
"Next time, we can do it together and fail."
He wants to do everything with you, huh?
You chuckle at his comment and then say what’s on your mind, "I never realized how far your tattoo sleeve went up."
He peers at his shoulder. "Oh yeah," he leans forward to show you, his bicep flexing as he moves.
"Cool guy."
He chuckles. "Hardly cool. Just bored," he says. "So, should I schedule you for your tattoo?"
Since the last conversation, you've been scrolling through Pinterest and Instagram to get some ideas.
"I think I want the birth flower for September."
Jungkook shows you his arm, pointing to his tiger lily tattoo. "This one is for the actual day of birth, but the flower for the month of September is pretty too. Have you thought about placement?"
"Mm, maybe on the back of my neck or the inside of my arm. What do you think?" You show him your arm, then the back of your neck.
"It would look great on the back of your neck. It could be a nice surprise when you have your hair up."
"Oh–I like that idea."
He props himself up on the side with a wide grin. "So, I'm booking your appointment?"
You chuckle. "Yeah, why not? We only live once, right?"
Turning 30 is making your confidence go up.
“Once you get one, you’ll want more. Trust me.”
“At least I’ll have a tattoo buddy for life,” you tease.
“Ah, see, I like the way you’re thinking. Well, I should let my wifey get to sleep,” he gives a small smile. He reaches for his phone, placing it on his chest. His other hand is behind his head as he watches you through the screen.
You hum in agreement. “Night.”
“Night.”
Daydreams are one thing, and when Jungkook lies in bed, he can't help but wonder.
Wonder how you’d look in his favorite t-shirt. Wonder which side of the bed you prefer. Wonder if you dream of him, too. Wonder what it’s like to be loved by you.
Jungkook doesn’t want to wonder anymore; he wants to make you his reality.
thursday.
The birthday festivities started early for you as you requested today and tomorrow off. There’s no way you’re spending your last few days of being 29 stuck at work.
Today’s agenda consisted of a pedicure. The toes have to look cute with your new heels, and as you’re ready to head out to your appointment, Jungkook is at your door when you open it.
You tilt your head, knitting your eyebrows together. “Did we have something planned?”
He shakes his head no and pouts. “No, I wanted to surprise you with another gift.”
He hands you a gift bag, and you take a small peek, reaching down to grab the gift. You pull out a peach-shaped heart bath bomb.
“Peach?” You raise a brow and give a smug grin. “What makes you think I like peach?”
Jungkook snorts. “Oh, pfft–I don’t know. Could it be all the candles or soap? Or how you always order any type of peach-flavored alcohol? Tea? Or–”
You suck in your lips, then give a thin smile. “Son of a peach.”
“Very cute. You’re also great at fruit puns. I’ll add that to the list of reasons why I like you,” he chuckles.
To be fair, everything in your apartment had a hint of peach–your candles, air freshener, hand soap, ChapStick, and not to mention a cupboard full of peach tea.
You chuckle. “Thanks, Kook. You didn’t have to.”
“I do if I’m trying to make you fall in love with me.”
You set the bath bomb back in its bag, then on the entryway table. You close the door behind you, forcing him to step back.
“You talk a lot about making me fall in love with you, but you’ve still failed to do so. It’s almost my birthday,” you tease.
What girl wouldn’t want gifts, but you thought he’d push a bit harder.
Jungkook smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He steps closer to you–close enough for you to smell his cologne. It’s a fresh, clean scent.
He’s inches away from you. Warmth is radiating off of him. Your heart is practically beating out of your chest. Your eyes are on his, then focus on his lip ring, then the freckle underneath his bottom lip. It’s the first time you’ve been close enough to notice it.
His eyes dart back and forth between yours. His tongue wets his lips, then plays with his ring. “I’m just getting started,” he says.
You close your eyes, fluttering them back open. There’s relief escaping your body once he backs away.
“So, what are we doing today?” he asks, stepping out of the way to let you lead.
“I have a pedicure appointment. Wanna come?” you ask. You wouldn’t mind having company around, and you’re curious how he’ll continue to sweep you off your feet.
You feel bad for the poor woman who has Jungkook in her seat, and you’re trying your best not to laugh as he’s squirming, clutching onto the armrests.
You clear your throat. “Is this your first pedicure?”
“What? No,” he counters, but he’s giggling non-stop, holding on for dear life.
“Sir–I need you to stop moving,” the woman warns.
You cover your mouth. Your shoulders are bouncing due to your giggles. “Kook, she hasn’t even done anything to you yet.”
“How the hell do women do this? This is torture.”
“Can’t handle a little torture?”
He perks up, shaking off the chills. The woman continues to scrub his feet with a pumice stone. He’s sucking in his lips, trying not to laugh and smile when she gets to the underside of his foot. Then his reflexes get the best of him, and he almost kicks her.
The woman gives him a blank expression but is professional and continues as fast as possible.
An hour later, Jungkook is coming out of the nail salon, sweating bullets from the endless torture of a pedicure.
You look at him and then his toes. “At least your toes are cute.” He let you choose the color, and you had to choose hot pink to match your birthday theme for this weekend.
He does the walk of shame in a pair of yellow flimsy flip-flops because he wasn’t prepared for a pedicure. You’ve been there, done that.
You link your arms to him when you catch up to him. “Hungry?”
Jungkook groans in delight. “You have to try this.”
He leans forward. A piece of his roasted chicken ravioli covered in pink sauce looks delectable. You open your mouth, devouring the pasta. You close your eyes, savoring it.
“See, what did I tell you?” He smiles, going back to his bowl of food. “How’s yours?”
You didn’t want to say you didn’t like it–but you hate it. “It’s good,” you smile and lie through your teeth.
You begin moving the ravioli around, pretending to make it look like you'll eat it.
Jungkook sets his fork down, pushing his bowl toward you. “Here, take mine.”
You look up at him. “What? No–I like my food,” you lie again, grabbing your bowl and clutching it closer to you.
He deadpans. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you don’t like something. Come on, I’ll finish your food, and you can have mine.”
You let go of your bowl. “Are you sure?”
Jungkook smiles warmly, his small dimple on display as he nods. He grabs your bowl and begins to eat it.
Your heart softens, and you’re enchanted by your friend/potential future husband, so it pains you to have this conversation. You tossed and turned the night before because you couldn’t bear the thought of locking your friend into something he'll regret later on.
“So, you might not have to marry me,” you say.
Jungkook looks up at you, tilting his head in confusion. “Damn, someone beat me to it?” he jokes.
You flash a thin smile and shake your head no. “Well, I have a crush on my new neighbor.”
He raises an eyebrow. “New neighbor?”
You nod. “Yeah, he just moved in.”
Jungkook nibbles on the inside of his mouth then continues to eat. “You barely know the guy, and you’re already tossing me aside?” He tuts, shaking his head.
“I’m–I’m not tossing you aside. You’re still an option, but I’m just saying if it works out with the new neighbor, then you’re off the hook. I'm sure there are better girls out there than me, Kook. You don’t want to be married to me.”
He sets his fork down, pushing his bowl forward. “Well, what can I say? You can’t see the guy?”
“So, you’re okay if I see him?”
Jungkook hesitates to answer. “Mm,” he hums with a nod.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Why would I be upset?” He shrugs. “I’m only a back-up.”
His answer gives you a sense of relief, but you also feel guilty about everything. “Should we end our little deal? That way, you don’t have to be stuck with me for the rest of your life. It seems silly now that we’re both sober and not drunk making promises like this.”
He hums and nods again. “You’re right. It does seem foolish.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I'll go pay while you finish up."
You watch him get up and walk to the register. His demeanor changes as soon as you mention ending the deal.
Is he serious about this?
Honestly, you’re stumped by Jeon Jungkook and his intentions. If he did like you, why not ask you out like an average person? Why go through the trouble of marrying you? So that you could fulfill some silly goal you had for your life?
“I’ll walk you up,” Jungkook says as he turns off the car.
“It’s fine, Kook. You don’t have to,” you counter.
On the ride back, guilt has been eating you from the inside out. You’re unsure why you feel this way–maybe because you feel like a shitty friend. Saying one thing and then doing another.
But again, marriage is a serious thing for two people to consider.
Jungkook doesn’t waver in his decision and escorts you anyway. The silence is deafening in the elevator; the two of you stand at opposite sides, stealing glances. There’s an elephant in the room, but neither of you addresses it.
When the elevator doors open, you expel the caught breath in your throat. Jungkook follows a few steps behind you.
“Are we okay?” you ask, glancing at him before lowering your head.
He stuffs his hand in his pants pocket. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”
“I don’t know. I feel like an ass because you’ve been such a good friend–especially after my breakups. And then this past week, you’ve been sweet and cute with all the little gifts and hangouts,” you pause to look at him.
His eyes are big and innocent, and his lips form a slight pout. He’s intently listening to your words.
“I’m trying to say I’ve enjoyed being with you this week, and I’m sorry how things turned out,” you manage to spit out.
Jungkook nibbles on his lip, showing off his pretty dimple. His eyes dart to yours as he flashes a thin smile. “Well, I’ll always be your back-up if this guy doesn’t work out.”
You breathe a sigh of relief that he can still joke about this situation. You close the distance between you, reaching up and draping your arms around his neck.
It takes a moment for him to return your hug, but he does–wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing you into him. He nuzzles in the crook of your shoulder, taking in your sweet scent and softness.
Your heart’s fluttering, your stomach is somersaulting and doing back-flips. Jungkook’s warmth is all-encompassing, encapsulating every fiber of your being. Neither of you let go, allowing this embrace to go longer than usual friends do.
When you pull away, your lips are so close to his. Close enough to explore what they taste like. Close enough to see how plush they are. Close enough to find out just how much you’d have to gasp for air afterward.
You almost want to give in. You almost want to see where this could go. You almost want him to make a move.
Jungkook whispers your name, and you hum, gazing into his eyes. “Are you sure about this? About the deal? You don’t want it anymore?”
You're becoming lost in the stars and galaxies contained in those doe eyes. Jungkook doesn’t lose focus, doesn’t break character, and doesn’t give you a chance to run away.
“This stops when you say so,” he utters softly.
He’s unrelenting, you think. He wants this, doesn’t he? He wants you.
So these next few words sting. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Jungkook doesn’t even realize when he’s outside his apartment complex. He sits in his car, zoning out. He’s so close to finally getting you, but now there’s someone else?
For two years, he’s been trying to buck up the courage and finally ask you out, and when he finally gets an opportunity, someone always swoops in and steals you away.
When he proposed the agreement, it was more of a joke, that is, until you agreed, and that’s when he knew he’d try whatever it took to get you to the altar.
A knock on Jungkook’s window breaks him from deep thought. He looks up to see his roommate, Hoseok.
He gestures for Jungkook to roll his window down. “Why do you look like you're on the verge of crying? Why don’t you go up to the apartment?”
Jungkook holds onto the steering wheel and groans as his head hits it a few times, muttering, ‘Stupid.’
Hoseok knits his eyebrows in confusion as he rubs his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, opening the car door.
Jungkook drags his feet through the threshold and drops his backpack on the floor. He continues walking sluggishly, plopping on the couch, still in a daze.
Hoseok blinks at his friend. “What’s going on?”
“You know how I was trying to make ____ fall in love with me this week?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, she likes her new neighbor.”
Hoseok’s eyes widened. “There's a new guy already? I swear this girl must have some kind of bat signal that’s beaming up into the sky that attracts men the second she’s single.”
Jungkook drops his head back, then rubs his face. “What am I going to do?”
Hoseok shrugs. “Maybe tell her how serious you are about being with her.”
“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t want to be with me?”
“So, you’re going to trap her in a marriage instead?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Make it make sense, my friend.”
Maybe that's what he wanted. It could be like an arranged marriage. Meet first, then fall in love.
“I know it sounds ridiculous!”
Hoseok rubs Jungkook’s shoulder. “This whole deal is ridiculous. Be honest with her, then she’ll have to choose between you and the new guy.”
He knows Hoseok is right. He should be honest and tell you how he feels.
Or he could get rid of the new guy, and the deal would be back on.
Decisions. Decisions.
friday.
Jungkook was determined to make this agreement work out in his favor. He wasn’t going to back down so easily.
He took off early from work, going straight to your favorite bakery to grab a cake. Thoughts are racing through his mind as he clutches the cake box and walks through the crowded street.
What if this was his last chance? What if this new guy was ‘the one’ for you? He couldn’t let you slip away again.
He’s even prepared a monologue. He’s mumbling it under his breath when he arrives at your door.
When the door opens, he doesn’t find you. Instead, he finds a half-naked man with broad shoulders and impeccable pecs.
Jungkook stands tall and puffs out his chest, back straight, when he sees this unknown man. His mouth is agape as he scans him from head to toe. Was this the guy you were talking about?
He clears his throat and stands his ground. “Oh, uh, who are you?”
“Hey, man. I’m Namjoon. ___’s neighbor,” he says.
“I’ll be right out!” you yell from the other room.
Jungkook clenches his jaw, and he’s trying to calm his nerves. There’s no way you were sleeping with this guy already, right? No, you can’t be, Jungkook shakes the thought from his head.
You sprint from the hallway, holding a shirt. With your clumsy ways, you spilled iced coffee on Namjoon’s shirt right before your date. You felt bad, so you offered to wash it for him.
“Namjoon, I’m so sorry! I’ve tried everything to get it out. I might have to buy you a new shirt–oh,” you gasp. “Hi, Jungkook.”
Jungkook walks in, setting the box down, and he doesn’t say anything else as he leans against the counter, watching you two.
Namjoon sucks in his lips, strolling to your side, looking at his stained shirt. “Don’t worry about it. It was time to get rid of that shirt anyway.” He gives a reassuring smile. “I’m gonna grab a new shirt, then we’ll be on our way?”
You hum. “See you soon.”
Jungkook’s eyes follow you and Namjoon as you bid him farewell. You lower your head and purse your lips when you approach Jungkook.
“Date night?” he asks, turning to you.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your date. Just wanted to drop off a cake I picked up for you,” he points to the box on the counter.
You see the bakery's name on the box, and it’s from your favorite place. You undo the tabs and unfold the box to reveal a heart-shaped cake with various shades of baby pink and blue, then sitting prettily on top is one of your favorite Sanrio characters: Cinnamoroll.
“Kook–you didn’t just pick this up.” A cake like this was ordered well in advance.
His eyebrows rise, and he gives a half-smile. He walks beside you. “Happy early birthday,” he says as his eyes flick to yours. “See you tomorrow.”
When the door shuts, you wince.
Namjoon has a brilliant mind, and that intimidates you. He's far too intelligent and reasonable for a hopeless romantic who lives in their daydreams and wants a ring on their finger by tomorrow.
The two of you come to a crowded spot in the museum. You look back and smile at Namjoon. He puts his hands on your waist, guiding you from behind. Your stomach somersaults from the affection, but you continue leading the way through the sea of people, trying not to focus on it.
An announcement reminds museum go-ers that they’ll be closing in 15 minutes.
“Should we head out soon?” you ask with disappointment. You thoroughly enjoyed hearing Namjoon talk even though you had nothing insightful to say about the numerous art pieces.
The corners of his mouth curve up. “But we have one more exhibit to see,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. He holds out his hand for yours.
You’re intrigued, so you don’t question and place your hand in his.
Everyone starts to file out toward the exit, but the two of you enter an exhibit hidden away in the back.
“Aren’t we going to get in trouble?” you ask.
He chuckles. “You’re cute,” he says before showing you his work ID and security badge.
“Oh,” you giggle. It makes sense. Namjoon did say he was an ‘art curator.’ He just never mentioned where he worked.
“Feel free to look around and tell me if anything catches your eye.”
You take your time, roaming around, going from piece to piece. Namjoon stays in place, waiting until you’ve found something. You tilt your head, examining the drawing.
[ frida castelli, milan ]
It's a woman. Her back is bare, and she's curling her hands into the bedsheets. The drawing is cut off right at the small of her back, and one can assume the rest. It's erotic–as this exhibit displays various works from modern artists.
Namjoon stands beside you. “Thoughts?”
Horny, you think, but considering this is your first date. You probably shouldn’t blurt it out.
“I like the position she's in,” you say, and Namjoon chokes on nothing. You cover your mouth and can’t help but laugh.
“I like that position too,” he adds.
You try to suppress your smile because now, you’re thinking about the two of you in that position.
"Should we keep looking?"
After a late-night dinner, you’re standing outside your door, not wanting to say goodbye to Namjoon. You’d invite him in, but tomorrow’s a big day, and you have an early wake-up call.
“I hope I was able to answer your questions,” Namjoon says, leaning his shoulder against the door, facing you.
You give him a small smile, looking at the floor, then back up at him. "I think you answered everything."
He hums and parts his lips. "Well, I have one question for you, if that's okay."
You nod.
"Can I give the birthday girl a kiss?"
You lick your lips. "It's not my birthday yet."
Namjoon steps forward, scanning your face. "You can consider it an early birthday present."
"Well, I won't say no to a birthday present."
Your heart is swooning over this tall, handsome man. He’s perfect. He's brilliant and well-spoken. Someone secure and confident, even emotionally available. You’d be a fool not to want this to go further.
Your gaze darts back and forth between his eyes and his lips, unsure how to respond. You've been wondering what they taste like all night and want to kiss the freckle underneath his lip. They look so rosy and pillowy, almost like kissing a cloud.
He softly presses his lips against yours. His big hands cup your face. His nose brushes against your cheek. His lips encapture your top lip, then your bottom. He lingers briefly before pulling away, his lips ghosting over yours, and you want to return for more–you’re not done.
“Do that again,” you whisper.
His breath is warm, and he smiles before going back in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Your hands are placed on his taut chest, fingers curling and tugging on his shirt. The butterflies in your stomach are yearning for a way out. The desire in you grows deeper. You’re breathless at this point, but you don’t care if you never breathe again.
First kisses always make you go weak in the knees, and you wish you could experience them over and over.
“Your lips are stained,” you notice when you pull away.
Namjoon chuckles; his thumb swipes at his bottom lip. “That’s okay.”
He moves in to kiss you again, but you stop him by putting your index finger to his lips. “The birthday girl should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
You render him speechless—he made the first move, but you’ll have the final say.
You bid goodbye to him, trying your best not to linger and give in to your urges. Peering through the viewfinder, you see him smiling and shaking his head before he closes the door to his place.
You’re grinning from ear to ear as your back is against the door. The date couldn’t have gone better–though you probably couldn’t write a dissertation on Modern Art in Korea, you appreciated that he took the time to explain what he loves and why he’s so passionate about it.
Maybe he could be the one.
It’s midnight when you’re under the covers and still glowing from your date with Namjoon.
You check your phone to see text messages from Jungkook.
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 9:22 PM
Hey! I found some cool birth flowers. Do you like any of these?
[ 5 images attached ]
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 9:27 PM
And my tattoo guy had a last-minute cancellation for Monday at 6 p.m. I’m gonna book you for it, okay?
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 10:05 PM
I can go to hold your hand if you’d like.
KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:11 PM
I hope you had a good day. See you tomorrow, birthday girl.
This differed from how you wanted to celebrate your birthday week, especially not how you envisioned your friendship with Jungkook. Did you ruin it?
And that’s when your heart aches as you reflect on this past week. Jungkook has been so sweet, and you feel like the worst friend. Could he be into you, and you’re blind to notice?
But what about Namjoon? He’s undoubtedly checked off all the boxes you could want in a partner.
Plus, Jungkook’s just a back-up.
saturday.
The sun is peeking through, and the birds are chirping away. You’ve slept through your alarm because you’re still in dreamland.
You’re unsure who’s in bed with you. All you hear is a groan and shuffling as they reposition themselves. You peer over your shoulder, quickly turning away when they pull themselves closer to you. Then, as an arm comes into view, draping over you, you recognize the inked skin.
It’s Jungkook.
A buzz from your phone and a bang at the door awakens you. Missed notifications of calls and texts from Jenn, your best friend, flood your screen.
You sprint to the door, unlocking and opening it for her.
“Jesus Christ—I thought you were dead,” Jenn says after she brushes past you, setting several bags on your kitchen counter.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine, babe,” she blinks, giving you the once-over. “You haven’t showered, have you?”
You shake your head no.
“Well, go! It’s your birthday, but we can’t wait all day for you.” She shoos you off to the bathroom.
When you’re out of the shower, Jenn’s sitting in front of your vanity, putting on her blush.
“So, how are you doing, babe? Still not over Theodore Boner?”
“Bonner,” you correct her.
You adjust your towel, tucking it securely. “There’s been some new developments,” you say, walking to your dresser.
Jenn slowly turns around. “Please don’t tell me you’re back with him? He was a walking red flag. Well, at the end of your relationship anyway.”
You press your lips together, shaking your head. “You know that time I was upset about my break-up with Jimin?”
Jenn hums and narrows her eyes.
“Jungkook and I went out and got pretty drunk.”
She leans forward. “Uh-huh.”
You cleared your throat. “I may have agreed that if Jungkook and I were still single by 30, we’d get married.” You turned around, opening the top drawer in search of cute underwear.
Jenn’s jaw drops. “You’re not going to marry Jeon Jungkook, are you?”
You laugh it off. “No, of course not! But he’s always been there for me after my break-ups.”
“Oh, how convenient that he also happens to be single by your 30th birthday,” she says dryly.
“Jungkook’s been a good friend, and if we were to get married, and that’s a big if, then honestly, I think we’d be pretty good together,” you explain.
You're not sure if you're attempting to persuade Jenn or yourself. You’re not going to lie. You’ve toyed with the idea this whole week.
“Why don’t you just date Jungkook then?” she asks, returning to add more blush to her cheeks.
You nibble on your bottom lip. “Err–well, because there’s a new guy.”
She whips her head back around. “I go on a solo trip, and you have not one but two guys who want to be with you?”
“Technically, I told Jungkook that if things work out with me and Namjoon, he doesn’t have to marry me.”
“Namjoon?”
“Yeah, he’s my new neighbor.”
“Shut up! Your neighbor?” Jenn stands, sprinting out your bedroom door. “Which apartment? I need to see this man.”
“Jenn!” You run after her, clutching her arm, trying to pull her back. “Stop it, will you? He’ll be at the party tonight.”
Jenn turns to you. “Babe–you have Jungkook and new neighbor guy vying for your attention? Sheesh. When can I be the main character?”
You grip your towel and drag her back to your room.
“At least tell me more juicy details,” she whines.
Jungkook checks himself out in the mirror. Hot pink usually is not part of his wardrobe color, but he does it in a heartbeat if it involves you and your silly antics.
He slips the hot pink denim jacket over his white shirt and matching pink cargo trousers. He adds a neon green necklace to finish off his look.
This outfit is Ken-esque, right? He sighs, wishing you could be the Barbie to his Ken.
His roommate, Hoseok, knocks on his door, breaking his focus. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”
Jungkook nibbles the inside of his cheek. This week’s been a rollercoaster of emotions for him. He was at an all-time high before you broke the news that you no longer need a back-up.
He’s gone back and forth, debating whether to fight for you or give up.
"I don't know yet," Jungkook responds. He glances at Hoseok through the mirror's reflection.
“Tell her how you feel. Be honest with her,” Hoseok says. He’s been telling Jungkook for two years now.
Jungkook turns around. “I can’t–” he pauses and huffs a breath, taking a seat on the bed.
Hoseok narrows his eyes and crosses his arms as he leans against the door frame. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve done too much shit by breaking up her relationships. She’ll never forgive me,” Jungkook explains.
Hoseok choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Remember Jimin and Theo?”
Hoseok hums.
Jungkook clears his throat. “I may or may not have told some harmless lies that ended up in them breaking up with her.”
Hoseok huffs out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell her right off the bat that you wanted to date her.”
“I’m an idiot, that’s why, and now it’s too late. She doesn’t want me. She wants the neighbor guy.”
Hoseok sits by his friend. “It’s either now or never. You can’t keep breaking up her relationships because you’re too scared to be in a real one with her. You don’t want to start it off that way.”
Jungkook flings himself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I know! I’ve just never done this before. I don’t know how to act. She’s the first person I’ve had actual feelings for.”
Hoseok blinks at his friend, ready to say something, but Jungkook interrupts him. “Don’t say shit about that–many people don’t meet the right person until later in life.”
He holds his hands up in defeat. “There’s no judgment from me, my friend. Just consider my words before anyone gets hurt.”
You swipe the lip tint across your bottom lip and repeat with the top. Glancing in the mirror, you adjust your dusty rose dress and tie your matching ribbon in your hair.
The theme for tonight's party is Barbie core, and individuals are encouraged to wear any shade of pink. You’re ridiculous, but you only turn 30 once–why not go all out?
Buckets of bubbly are filled with rosé bottles and floral ice cubes. Barbie-esque props, including heart-shaped sunglasses and cut-out foam lips, are ready to be used at the photo booth. You’ve spent too much time on Pinterest planning the perfect celebration.
It’s ten to seven and still too early for people to show, so you order a Malibu Barbie cocktail at the bar. Jin, the bartender, even tops off your drink with pink sanding sugar for this special occasion and throws in a little peach schnapps.
“There’s the birthday girl.”
When you turn around, you see Jungkook in a bright pink attire. Not every day you see him dressed in anything other than black or white, so you consider this a rare treat.
He offers you a warm hug, and you both act as if nothing has changed. It’s not like you’ve seen him every day as he’s dropped off gifts for you, or he willingly watched a rom-com and definitely hadn’t cuddled.
It’s like you’ve gone back to being just friends.
As you withdraw, you give him the once-over. “You look great in hot pink. I wish I got to see your matching toes.”
Jungkook chuckles. “I don’t think sandals would go with this outfit.”
You shake your head no.
“You look amazing,” he adds, taking your hand and making you twirl for him.
“Thanks, Kook,” you grin. Your hand lingers in his as he delicately caresses your skin. The back of your neck is warming up, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a mistake breaking off your deal.
“Ah, there’s our Barbie girl!” Jenn exclaims as she approaches you. Immediately, you let go of Jungkook’s hand.
“Hey!” you answer, rubbing the back of your neck. “What’s up? Did you need something?”
Jenn raises her brow at you and Jungkook. “I did, but you’re busy with Ken, so I’ll ask Hoseok to help me. Enjoy your night, babe.”
You take your drink and dash off with Jenn, telling Jungkook you’ll see him later. As you stroll behind her, you loop your arm around hers.
“Are you okay?” Jenn narrows her eyes, suppressing a smile.
You clear your throat. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It looks like you and loverboy were having a moment there before I interrupted,” she says, setting down the flower vase on the dessert table.
“He’s not my loverboy. I’m gonna start seeing Namjoon, remember?”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. Look–all I’m saying is you should give Jungkook a chance. Anyone could tell he’s head over heels in love with you.”
You choke on your drink. “What? How come no one’s ever told me?”
Jenn laughs. “I never put two and two together until you mentioned your little agreement with him this morning,” she pauses, cupping your face. “And my sweet, innocent Barbie girl, he shoots heart eyes whenever you’re around.” She holds your chin, turning you in Jungkook’s direction.
Jungkook is leaning on the bar, attempting to find the perfect stance to appear cool, but he has no idea what to do with himself. He peers in your direction, catching your gaze, and quickly turns away, waving down the bartender.
She continues, “You’ve been with so many knockoff Kens that you were blind to the real one. He’s a bit of a goofball, but he seems sweet, and like you mentioned today, he’s always around when you’re in need.”
What if your decision was a mistake? Would it be too late to change your mind? You were sure Jungkook had already moved on after being rejected.
You watch while Jungkook drinks something–you figure it's vodka. A shot for yourself seems enticing, simply to settle your anxieties.
Your birthday is supposed to be filled with joy, laughter, and celebration, not you being torn between two great guys.
The party is in full swing–the music’s blaring, friends laughing, chattering, drinking away. Everyone has arrived except for the one person you've been looking for: Namjoon.
You giggle when you scan the room and see Hoseok and Jungkook dancing in the corner. When your eyes catch him, he gestures for you to come dance, but you haven’t had enough alcohol to make a fool of yourself.
He sprints to you, grabbing your hand and dragging you along. “You need a drink before you dance, huh?”
Your lips thin, and you think, how does he know you so well?
You nod and follow him from behind. You stare blankly as his hands are loosely intertwined with yours. He’s leading you through the crowd, letting go once you’re at the bar’s counter.
“Do you still want that pink drink thingy you had earlier?”
“Surprise me,” you say.
“Two Pink Cadillacs, please,” he says to Jin.
As Jin gets to work on your drinks, Jungkook makes small talk to kill time.
“Are you having fun?” he asks, standing before you. He sways to the song's beat, grinning from ear to ear.
You’d have more fun if you weren’t thinking about him and Namjoon all night. Considering that Namjoon hasn’t even shown up yet, you appreciate that Jungkook’s a sweet and caring friend.
“I’ll be having more fun once I have this drink,” you say over the music.
“You’re not having fun with me?” he jokes, holding out his hand for yours, and of course, you take it.
He draws you to him, makes you twirl around, and then dips you. A slight squeal escapes your lips when you come back up.
Jungkook chuckles. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“No, I’m–I’m having a good time,” you answer his previous question.
“Are you sure? It looks like something’s on your mind,” Jungkook notes. "You can always talk to me, you know."
Even after breaking off your agreement, he's still willing to be a good friend to you. How'd you get so lucky with someone like him?
"I know," you smile, draping your arms around his neck.
"Two Pink Cadillacs."
You break away from him, grabbing your drink. The two of you sip on them, watching the crowd.
"Jungkook, one. Hot sexy neighbor, zero," Jenn whispers in your ear before walking away.
You clench your jaw and narrow your eyes at her. It’s been an hour, and Namjoon is still nowhere to be seen. Maybe something came up. Things happen. You get it.
"What's going on with Jenn?" he asks.
"Nothing," you reply as you move to stand before him. "You know how she is."
Jungkook takes another sip of his drink. “Hey, can I talk to you about something?”
Your eyes widen and flick to him. Have you been obvious about what’s on your mind?
“Yeah, of course–” you say before a hand slides on the small of your back. You turn to see the man who’s been MIA, Namjoon.
“Hey, birthday girl. I’m sorry I’m late! It was a lot harder to find a pink outfit than I thought,” Namjoon chuckles, then he sees that he may have interrupted something. “Oh–hey, man! Jungkook, right?”
Jungkook gives a small smile, and you mouth, ‘Sorry.’
“Can I steal you away for a second?” Namjoon asks, and you oblige.
Namjoon takes your hand, ready to drag you off, but you stop and return to Jungkook. “Can we talk later?”
He nods. “Yeah, of course. It’s your birthday. Go have fun. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jungkook looks on as you and Namjoon disappear. You laugh when he says something, and Jungkook can hear it–you always let out a tiny squeak, your shoulders bounce, and you cover up your mouth because you don't like how your teeth show when you laugh.
He rubs the back of his neck. He’ll have to find time to talk to you later.
Hoseok nudges Jungkook. “Who’s that?”
Jungkook sips his drink and inhales sharply. “Her neighbor.”
“They look pretty cozy to me,” Hoseok remarks. “Go say something before it’s too late.”
It’s already too late, Jungkook thinks. He’s lost you again. What’s the point if he tried with you and you didn’t want him?
He chugs the drink and orders another round for him and Hoseok. He might as well enjoy the booze while he can–at least it would get you off his mind.
Jungkook's vision is blurred, speech slurred. Even though he sees double, his gaze is still fixed on you and Namjoon, following you wherever you go: the photo booth, the bar, the dance floor. Namjoon’s hands haven’t left you, whether holding your hand or soft touches on the small of your back.
It should be him, he thinks, but he’s been turned down before. He couldn't imagine being rejected twice.
He leans on a high-top table, rhythmically tapping his fingers against it. A few of your friends drag you off to the photo booth for the umpteenth time tonight, and Namjoon is left waiting for you.
Jungkook waits and observes Namjoon, wondering why you’d choose Namjoon over him. He thinks he could take the guy in the boxing ring. He’s too big and sluggish to move as fast as Jungkook. Indeed, he could knock Namjoon out with his right hook. But if it’s not a physical thing you’re looking for, then it’s an intellectual thing.
He shakes off the self-deprecating thoughts. Why doesn’t he go over and chat the guy up? Get to know him. It won’t hurt to find out what kind of guy he is.
There's a queue of friends waiting to take individual shots with you, and you look over to check whether Namjoon is all right. You notice Jungkook approaching and breathe a sigh of comfort, knowing he'll keep Namjoon company.
Jungkook stands up tall when he’s beside Namjoon. “Lavish party, huh?”
Namjoon turns to him and chuckles. “Yeah, she went all out for her 30th.” He cracks his neck and adjusts his bright pink blazer.
“Since you’ll be around, you should get used to it. ___ throws parties like this all the time.”
“She does?” Namjoon’s eyes widened with concern.
Jungkook pouts and nods. “You think this is bad? Last year, she rented a private island, and everyone who attended had to buy a plane ticket to her party.”
Namjoon gulps.
“Man–and now that you guys are together. I'm wishing nothing but the best for you," Jungkook shakes his head. "The last guy was going through it.”
“Last guy? What happened to the last guy?”
Jungkook glances in your direction, then back to Namjoon. “Oh, you guys haven’t had that conversation yet?”
“What conversation?”
“Let’s just say there was a restraining order involved.”
There’s a look of relief on Namjoon’s face. “Man, that guy must’ve been a psycho.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “Oh no, no, no. The restraining order was against her!”
Namjoon shifts his position, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Trust me, you don’t want to get on her bad side. Once, she took a bat to a neighbor’s car, thinking it was her boyfriend’s. Mind you, she was pretty drunk—and it was dark, but when she has an idea that you’re cheating on her, all hell breaks loose,” Jungkook tuts.
“Oh.”
Jungkook chuckles. “And don’t even get me started on her obsession with that one K-pop group, Seventeen. She practically has a shrine in her bedroom. Mingyu’s face is plastered on every square inch of her walls, and when they finally came on tour, she drained so much of her savings flying everywhere to see them—front row, I might add.”
Namjoon clears his throat. “I think I need a drink,” he says.
“But don’t worry, man, you’ll be fine!” Jungkook shouts as Namjoon walks away.
He lowers his head and rubs his face. He blames the alcohol for his stupidity. His string of lies is why you would never want to be with him.
Although Jungkook has spewed many lies to Namjoon, it doesn’t scare him off. The two of you are like two peas in a pod. And when he sees Namjoon jet off somewhere, Jungkook swoops in, hoping he’ll have a chance to talk to you before it’s too late.
“Hey!” Jungkook says out of breath. “Going home?”
“Yeah,” you beam a warm smile. “I’m pretty wiped.”
“I can take you home, and then maybe we can talk?”
You nod. “Mm, that sounds like a plan.”
You’ve always found it easy to talk to Jungkook. Even though he claims not to be good at chitchatting, he knows how to make you smile and laugh.
“Did you see Hoseok and Jenn trying to undress each other?” Jungkook chuckles.
“Jenn claims she thought Hoseok was a Ken doll,” you giggle. “I don’t know why they keep skirting around each other. They should date already.”
You two arrive outside your apartment. You unlock the keypad, leaving the door open. Turning back, you see Jungkook standing there. “Are you gonna come in or talk to me from out there?” you ask, shaking your head.
Jungkook walks through the door, closing it behind himself. He smooths down his pants and fixes the collar of his jacket. His gaze darts around the room as he prepares to say what’s on his mind.
“Can I change, and then we’ll talk?”
Jungkook nods, and you run off to your room.
With a heavy sigh, he takes a seat on the couch. He keeps shifting his weight, but nothing feels right. The sweat on his hands increases as the seconds pass by. He's never done it before, confessed his feelings.
Jungkook had rehearsed like he was up for a big audition but felt he’d stumble over his words and blurt out bleh-bleh-blahs.
You resurface a few seconds later, wearing an oversized t-shirt and what appears to be nothing underneath, but when you sit down, he catches a peek at your shorts.
“You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah, about us.”
You cocked your head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Us?”
A knock on the door interrupts you. Your eyebrows knitted together, wondering who it could be this late at night. When you open it, you find Namjoon.
“Hey! You left your phone at the restaurant,” he says. He acknowledges Jungkook as he steps in.
“Oh, thank you! Ah–don’t leave yet! I have something to give to you, too.” You dash to your room, leaving Jungkook and Namjoon.
There’s a moment before Jungkook breaks the silence. He turns to Namjoon. “That shirt she’s wearing is from her ex-boyfriend. She sleeps in it every night because she misses him.”
Namjoon’s lips thin, and he nods.
“Trust me–you should run while you can,” Jungkook says, shaking his head.
He points to the small Seventeen merch collection sitting on a shelf in your living room. “See. It’s cute and innocent until it’s not.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Namjoon says reluctantly as he turns away, trying to focus on other things until you return.
You leave your room with a bag, handing it to Namjoon. “I washed your shirt and bought you a new one too.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to,” he reaches for the shirt, taking it out.
“I know, but I felt bad about ruining it.”
Namjoon chuckles. "I like how you're giving me a gift on your birthday."
You wave off his comment. "It's nothing. Thanks for returning my phone,” you say, walking him to the door. “I’ll see you later?”
He flashes a grin; his dimples etched deeply into those cheeks. You pull him down to kiss him on the cheek, barely catching the corner of his lips. You let it linger for a second longer, ensuring Jungkook can see it.
“Bye,” you whisper, closing the door behind him.
You stand with your back facing Jungkook. Clenching your jaw and your fists, you huff a breath. Turning around, you stare at the one person you thought was your friend.
“This is my ex-boyfriend’s shirt, and I sleep in it because I miss him?” you deadpan, folding your arms across your chest.
Your glare silences Jeon Jungkook, and his deer-in-the-headlights appearance implies guilt.
You scoff and shake your head in disbelief. “Have you been sabotaging all my relationships? Tell me the truth.”
You remember Jimin and Theo and how conveniently Jungkook had been there after each breakup.
There’s still no word from Jungkook. He’s playing with the invisible hair on his chin before he stands. “Yeah, but it’s only because—”
“Because what!” you exclaim. Never in a million years did you think you’d be yelling at a good friend. “Because you want to marry me? Why didn’t you just ask me out, Kook?”
The nickname causes his heart to ache. His eyes darted to the floor, then at you. “Because...”
You lean forward, waiting for his excuse, but he doesn’t give you one. You’re only met with silence.
“Because you’re the kind of guy who lies and manipulates to get what he wants? Didn’t really think you were that kind of person.”
“I’m not—”
“You are! If you cared about me, you wouldn’t go around spreading lies. And to think I was going to marry you? God–you must think I’m fucking stupid.”
"No, I don't think that at all—" he counters, taking a step toward you, and you take a step back.
Licking your lips, you play with your bottom lip. "I—I don't even know who you are anymore."
"I'm the same person you met two years ago," he says. Jungkook steps toward you again, reaching out for you.
"Don't touch me," you warn. "Don't you ever talk to me again," you say, avoiding his gaze. "You should go, Kook."
Jungkook walks past you. He makes his way to the door—and when it shuts, you flinch.
Approaching your 30s, you figured you’d be crying because you’re likely to have a mid-life crisis and not because one of your good friends has lied to you for the last couple of years.
Jungkook has misled you throughout the week. You don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.
Your heart aches from the pain. Why did this hurt more than a breakup? You trusted him, even considered marrying him and spending the rest of your life with him. How could you be so naive? Maybe it was your distorted perception of love and relationships, and that’s how you ended up in this situation.
Maybe it's your fault and no one else's.
sunday.
It’s early. Too early for Jungkook’s taste.
He’s been tossing and turning all night. Wishing he could redo the last two years. Wishing he could’ve been honest from the beginning. Wishing you didn’t hate him right now.
Picking up his phone, he grumbles after seeing the time—six in the morning. There’s no way you’re up, he thinks. And there’s no way you’ll pick up his call either.
He assumes you’ve blocked him—wants nothing to do with him and doesn’t blame you.
The expression on your face is ingrained in his memory, and the lies he told are on a continuous loop. How would he win you back—if you’d let him, that is.
It’s that point in the romantic movie where the love interest finds the courage to go for it. Jungkook has nothing else to lose at this point. It’s now or never.
With your favorite iced coffee and pastry in hand, he’s ready to beg for your forgiveness. Beg for another chance to make things right.
Three knocks strike your door. No answer.
He gives it another moment before doing it again.
And nothing.
He pulls out his phone, searching for your contact. It rings several times and goes to voicemail. At least you didn’t block him, he thinks.
Should he wait here all day? In hopes you’ll leave your apartment?
Unless Namjoon has seen you or knows your whereabouts.
Jungkook figures, why not? What does he have to lose? He’s already lost his dignity.
Another three knocks, only this time it’s on Namjoon’s door. A few moments later, the lock unlatches, and the door opens.
Namjoon’s eyes widened at the sight of Jungkook. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”
“Hey. Have you seen or heard from ___?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, man. I haven’t.”
The corners of Jungkook’s lips turn down, and he nods. “Fuck,” he mumbles, lowering his head. He turns on his heel, ready to leave.
“Hey, Jungkook?”
He turns back and hums.
“If you like her, be honest with her,” Namjoon says.
Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “Did ___ tell you?”
Namjoon chuckles and shakes his head no. “I figured you were lying when you said she made everyone fly to a private island. She mentioned that she’s never flown before. So I put two and two together, and it was hard to ignore all the glares you gave me at the party.”
Jungkook closes his eyes, lowering his head. “I’m so sorry about all the lies I told you. None of them were true—except maybe the Mingyu thing. She does have an obsession with that guy.”
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry about coming between you two. But it’s no wonder she likes you. You have your head on straight, unlike me.”
A grin sweeps across Namjoon’s face. “It’s okay. I get it, man. I’ve been there before—not the lying, but I’ve been head over heels for someone. ___ is cool, and you seem like a good guy. Just…don’t give up on her, okay?”
Jungkook’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What about you guys?”
“Huh? Me and ___?” Jungkook hums. “We’ve been out on one date, and you’ve known her for…?
“Two years.”
“You have more history with her than I do.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell lies.”
Namjoon steps forward, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’d be a fool to give up now. Trust me, you don’t want to live with the what ifs and what could have been.”
“Um, here,” Jungkook says, handing Namjoon the iced coffee and pastry bag. “I don’t want it to go to waste.”
He bids Namjoon goodbye, and as he’s driving home, he stares off into space, pondering Namjoon’s words.
What if you never want to talk to him again? What if he loses you?
He only wanted his chance with you; whenever he gathered the courage to do so, someone always came into the picture before him. He’s realized how much his lies caused more harm than good. He was cheating his way into your heart, which is unfair to you and him.
You peek out when the elevator doors open, ensuring the coast is clear. You've seen the missed calls and texts but needed more time to be ready to face Jeon Jungkook. That's why you've been hiding out at Jenn's all day. But alas, you had to go home and face your fears.
Your door accidentally slams when you go in. Shit.
It’s not like Jungkook’s been waiting around for you, right? Though, you didn’t want to make it known that you were home.
Not even ten minutes after you’ve arrived, there’s a knock on your door. Peering through your viewfinder, you check if the coast is clear and unlock your door. You grab Namjoon's hand, pulling him into the apartment.
"Whoa–miss me that much?" he jokes, setting down the iced coffee and pastry bag.
"What's that?"
"Jungkook dropped it off this morning, but you weren't here. Have you been hiding?"
You lower your head. "Yes."
Namjoon licks his lips. “He’s in love with you, you know?”
You ignore the coffee and pastry bag and sit on the couch. “It’s a weird way to show that you like someone by lying and sabotage.”
“I think it’s cute,” Namjoon chuckles, sitting beside you.
Disbelief is written all over your face: eyes wide, brows lifted, jaw open, which only makes him laugh harder.
“You gotta give the guy some credit. He went out of his way to make sure you’d say single so he could finally have his chance with you. That sounds like dedication to me.”
“Is this a weird ‘guy code?’ Am I missing something?”
He shakes his head. “I get where he’s coming from. Does it suck that he lied instead of saying what he wanted? Yeah, but maybe he didn’t know how to say it because he feared he’d say nonsense in front of you. I know the feeling–where you like someone so much, you’re afraid of looking dumb.”
You ponder Namjoon’s words, sipping on your iced coffee. “You seem chatty. Does that mean you don’t go dumb around me?” you ask dryly.
Namjoon laughs. “I get butterflies and excitement every time I walk out my door, hoping I’d bump into you.”
“But?”
“But you should figure things out with Jungkook, and then we’ll go from there.”
It’s silly—the glow-in-the-dark stars that are plastered on your ceiling. Half of them threaten to fall, and the other half are stuck on so tight it’ll take off the paint.
“You’ve never had glow-in-the-dark stars before?” Jungkook asks. “Let’s get some.”
The only reason why they’re up there in the first place is because of him. Jungkook was comforting you after your breakup with Jimin.
You throw your duvet over your head, screaming into it. How could you have been so blind? So stupid? How are you supposed to face him again with your friend group? Or alone?
This past week was perfect—at least, you thought it was. But you’re second-guessing every interaction, every conversation, every laugh, every touch.
If you hadn’t met Namjoon, could you have fallen in love with Jungkook?
The more you thought about it, the more you hated that you were falling for him. Maybe Namjoon was just an excuse not to explore a relationship with Jungkook. Maybe you didn’t want to ruin your friendship, but then again, what did it matter because it’s been sabotaged by Jungkook himself?
How would you get out of this mess?
monday.
A notification ding shows up on your phone.
[ Tattoo appointment - 6 PM ]
Shit. You completely forgot about your tattoo.
You go through your text messages, finding the Instagram profile of Kai, who’s supposed to tattoo you. You frown when you see a cancellation fee and that the cancellation should’ve been done two days before the appointment. Now, you have to mentally prepare yourself for getting your first tattoo.
The recommendations on your YouTube only show videos of ‘how much does getting a tattoo hurt.’ You know the pain that goes into a needle puncturing your skin. The question was, how high was your pain threshold?
When you walk into the shop, a bell chimes. It’s in pristine condition, as one would expect from a tattoo parlor. You’re greeted by a girl dressed in a black latex v-neck top. A sunray heart tattoo sits right on her chest.
“Hi, I have an appointment with Kai.”
She clicks through her computer and beams a warm smile. “For ___?” You nod. “Is Jungkook coming too?” she asks.
“Oh no. I don’t think so.” Was he planning on getting something, too? You didn’t think he’d show after everything went down.
“Kai is finishing up with a client, and he’ll come get you when he’s ready.”
You flash a small smile, taking a seat in their lounge. You’re picking at your nail beds and bouncing your leg. You’re trying to focus on anything other than what will happen soon.
A light noise of whirring fills the room. You close your eyes, concentrating on your breathing. It’s a small tattoo. There’s nothing to be afraid of, you think.
A part of you wishes Jungkook was here to hold your hand like he said he would. It's dumb even to want him to be here. But after spending so much time with him this past week, you admit you miss him.
"I’m ready for you,” Kai says.
You take a deep breath and follow him to his workspace.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s my first tattoo.”
“You’ll do great. I know it,” Kai smiles, sitting at his desk. He grabs his iPad. “Okay, what are we getting today?” Kai asks.
“Um, I turned 30 yesterday, so I wanted to get the birth flower for September,” you say, showing him the inspiration photos.
“Ah, Happy Birthday,” Kai grins. “Birth flowers are a great choice. Any idea where you want it and the size?”
"On the back of my neck, I don't want anything too big. Two to three inches."
"Oh–a woman who knows what she wants. There was no hesitation," Kai teases. "Cool–so, I'll sketch out a few options, and then we'll go from there. Sound good?"
You press your lips together and nod. As Kai's working on your sketch, you stroll around his workspace, looking at the illustrations hung up. There's traditional and fine line art, and you recognize a drawing of a snake—it looks like the one Jungkook has on his arm.
“See anything else you like?”
“I, um, recognize some of your work. You’ve tattooed my friend, Jungkook,” you note, turning back to look through more of Kai’s sketches.
Somehow, your nerves have finally calmed down. The whirring noise from the tattoo gun is like white noise to you, drowning everything out. You’re lost in the intricate detailing of the drawings. Tattooing is true art, you think. But instead of a traditional canvas or paper, it’s forever inked on someone’s skin.
“Okay, let me know what you think of these.” Kai shows you the iPad with a few flowers drawn out.
“You’re so quick,” you comment as you review your options. “Let’s go with this one.” You love how delicate and dainty the tattoo looks.
“If you need a break at any time, just let me know,” Kai gives a warm smile. “I apologize for the weird positioning, but I’ll need you to lay on your stomach, and your head will hang off the table.”
Your lips thin when you catch his gaze. You remove your zip-up hoodie and place it on a chair with your bag. Kai prints the design on transfer paper, putting the placement on the back of your neck. He hands you a mirror, ensuring it’s in the correct spot.
“Alright, let’s do this,” he says.
Once you’re on the table, the once-soothing noise of the tattoo gun flips a switch, and sweat builds up in the palms of your hands. The blood rushes to your head as your head is hanging off the table. You can see Kai’s feet as he steps on the foot pedal, ensuring his equipment works correctly.
You take a deep breath, trying to exhale fear and anxiety, but nothing works. The tattoo gun sounds closer, and the needle inches away from you. Your fists clench up, and you close your eyes, hoping it’ll be over quickly.
You can feel the latex glove on your back as Kai’s ready to outline the design. You can do this, you think.
With eyes still closed, fists clenched—you’re ready.
The shop's bell chimes again, but you’re too focused on this needle about to prick your skin. You can feel another presence. Their warmth is radiating on you. You figure it’s just the girl from the front, so you don’t bother to open your eyes.
Your fist unclenches, and not because of your own doing. It’s whoever is beside you. Opening your eyes, you see a pair of black motorcycle denim tucked into leather stomper boots.
“Hey—my man,” Kai stops and acknowledges. “Good to see you, Jungkook.”
“Hey,” Jungkook replies. “Sorry, I’m late.”
“Nah, you’re right on time. We just started. I’m sure ___ appreciates you being here,” Kai notes, returning to tattooing you.
You didn’t want to admit it, but having Jungkook’s presence was comforting. A part of you wanted to be stubborn and pull your arm away, but considering that a needle was piercing your skin—it wasn’t a good idea.
Jungkook laces his hand with yours; his thumb lightly grazes over your skin. He leans forward, whispering, “Hi.”
You’re unsure if the shiver running through your spine is because of the needle or Jungkook.
While lying on this tattoo table, you’re at war with yourself. An angel on one shoulder tells you to stay strong and not give in because he’s holding your hand. The devil, on the other hand, is telling you you’re a simp and can’t resist when a man is fawning over you.
You hate that the devil is right, and you’re even considering Namjoon’s words, ‘You gotta give the guy some credit. He went out of his way to make sure you’d stay single so he could finally have his chance with you. That sounds like dedication to me.’
Was it dedication or delusion?
You won’t lie. You’ve done questionable things when it came to love, too, so you couldn’t blame Jungkook. Maybe you should hear him out and see what he says for himself.
You’re silent, letting Kai do his thing. He and Jungkook chit-chat about life and future tattoos. The buzzing mechanical hum from the tattoo gun is constant and annoying—you’re growing numb to it like you’re growing numb to the pain.
But Jungkook’s touch? It makes you tingle. You’re keenly aware of how his thumb strokes against your knuckle—the constant squeezes, reassuring your anxiety when the pain shoots down your spine.
Through the years, that’s what Jungkook’s always been—he soothes your pain.
Maybe he’s responsible for your current pain - the shattered relationships and this tattoo you’re getting, but he always has a back-up plan: himself. He’s the shoulder to cry on, the hand to hold—the constant, consistent one who shows up repeatedly.
He’s confusing but calming, and you’re annoyed at how much you don’t mind his touch. Your breathing slows, and your shoulders relax as you sink into the cushioned table.
“Almost done,” Kai notes.
That was fast. Fifteen minutes–tops.
Kai finishes cleaning the tattoo, and after you stand up from your awkward position, you’re face to face with Jungkook. Once again, Jungkook resorted back to his favorite color: black. He’s in an oversized long-sleeve shirt and jeans, and there’s a silver chain adorning his neck.
His doe eyes twinkle and the corners of his mouth curve up. “The tattoo looks good on you,” he says softly. “Do you wanna see?”
Even with a mirror, the placement makes it hard to see the finished product. You grab your phone, open the camera app, and hand it over to Jungkook. You turn around, facing the mirror, holding up your hair. You catch Jungkook’s gaze and look away. His hand gently touches the nape of your neck, removing a stray hair. He snaps a few photos, handing your phone back.
“It looks beautiful on you.”
You mumble a word of thanks, grabbing your things, attempting to flee from his presence.
Pulling out your wallet to pay for your tattoo, you head to the front, but the girl stops you.
“Jungkook already paid,” she says.
The nape of your neck warms up, and your nostrils flare. You nod at the girl. Bumping into Jungkook on the way out, you stuff your wallet back into your bag, and Jungkook follows you, catching up.
“Why did you do that?” you ask, glaring at Jungkook.
"Because it's your birthday present. I couldn't let you pay for it."
You narrow your eyes, giving him the once over. “Why? So you can tell the next guy I date how we have matching tattoos and scare him off?” you retort, brushing past him.
Jungkook cards his hand through his hair. “Come on, that’s not fair,” he shouts, running after you again.
He calls out to you, making you stop in your tracks. Turning around, you breathe a heavy sigh. “You’re right. It's not fair,” you give him a wry smile. “But doesn’t it sound like something you’d say? Mr. Liar Liar Pants on Fire.”
The third time must be the charm because he’s chasing after you again.
“Hey, can we talk, please?” he implores as his eyes scan your face.
You zig-zag around him.
He repeats by running and standing in front of you. “You can’t avoid me forever.”
“Watch me,” you retort, attempting to flee again.
Jungkook holds his hand up. “Just hear me out, and if you never want to talk to me again after that, then so be it."
You huff. “Only if you drop me off at home,” you say, crossing your arms. You don’t feel like taking the subway; it’s the least he could do.
With hands in your lap, you’re waiting for Jungkook to say something, but he’s as quiet as a mouse. He’s missed two exits and been driving in circles, going past your apartment complex for the fourth time. You wouldn’t be surprised if a police car starts following you, considering how suspicious the two of you look.
You can’t take it anymore—the endless dancing around this conversation. “I thought you wanted to talk?” you ask as your eyes flick in his direction for a moment.
He straightens his posture, gripping the steering wheel and focusing on the road. "I'm, uh, I’m sorry for telling all those lies. It was stupid of me. I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning.”
You bury your face in your hands before turning to him. “If you liked me, why didn’t you tell me?”
You had come up with many scenarios in your head and thought back to your conversations and interactions with him. Jungkook had so many chances to say something, but he never did.
Jungkook shrugs and looks at you briefly before returning to the road.
“It’s easy being your friend, but to be your boyfriend? That scares me.”
You get it. Opening your heart, being vulnerable, and giving your everything to one person is terrifying. Sometimes, it feels like days, months, and years are wasted with one person when it doesn’t work out.
“Scared you’d screw it up?” you ask, turning to him.
Jungkook hums as he pulls up to your apartment complex.
With a sigh, you admit, “You were on your way to being a pretty good boyfriend.”
You hate that you found him so sweet and cute, even after everything that’s happened.
“I was?” he questions with widened eyes and turns off the ignition. He shifts to face you.
“Yeah,” you chuckle. Your hand lingers on the door handle. “Walk me up?”
The two of you are on opposite sides of the elevator. Jungkook’s leaning on the metal bar behind himself with his legs crossed in front of him.
He hangs his head before looking up at you. "What if I had been truthful from the beginning? Do you think we would’ve been together?”
You press your lips together and shake your head. “I don’t know, Kook. I guess we’ll never know.”
When the elevator arrives at your floor, it chimes, and you exit, and Jungkook follows. You stop outside your door, watching as Jungkook leans his shoulder against the wall, facing you.
You can tell when something is brewing in Jungkook’s mind. You’ve been friends long enough for you to notice some tendencies.
With an eyebrow lifted and his tongue poking through the inside of his cheek, he’s ready to lay something on you. He licks his lips, eyes flick to yours.
“Tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he says.
You can feel your stomach somersaulting when he doesn’t break eye contact. Your heart rate rises as you work harder to pump more blood than usual.
There were small, fleeting moments where you could picture yourself with him: weekend mornings with breakfast in bed and late-night cuddles on the couch.
“I’m trying my hardest not to feel something,” you confess. As much as he was scared to screw it up, so were you. You’ve never dated a friend. You’ve met all your ex-boyfriends through mutual friends. You’ve built fantasies of what a perfect boyfriend and relationship should look like, and Jungkook wasn't perfect–but neither were you.
Jungkook moves closer. “So you like me too?” His eyes dart from your parted lips to your eyes.
“I don’t not like you,” you say softly, stepping forward as you play with his silver chain.
"So where does this leave us?" He’s searching your face for an answer.
As always, your heart is at war with your head. The sensible thing to do is to stay friends. The foolish thing is to see how this could pan out. What if you could get your happily ever after?
"What would you do if I was yours?" you ask.
"If you were mine?"
You hum.
"If you were mine, I'd spend every waking minute with you. Asking anything and everything that comes to mind. I want to know what makes you happy and sad. I want to know what you love and hate. I want to know everything your heart desires." Jungkook eliminates the distance. "I'd pepper you with kisses all day–on your neck, cheeks, forehead, lips–everywhere,” he says softly as his eyes never leave yours. "If you were mine, I'd never lie to you again. I'd love you with every breath and never let you go." He’s eye to eye with you, hands cupping your face. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you. I was an idiot for not saying anything sooner. But if this is the only time I could be with you, I'll take it."
You gulp. Jungkook’s saying all the right things, everything a girl could want. You hate it. You hate that you’re a sucker for heartfelt moments and love confessions. Neverending cartwheels occupy your stomach. The little gymnast in there is going for the gold–doing back flips and leaps; there’s no way to stop them. Your heart beats faster for him than for anyone else–even more than Namjoon.
All it took was a silly agreement and a few lies to make you realize you didn’t want a perfect boyfriend or relationship. Forget getting married by a certain age. Forget the expectations of you instilled by society. This boy was a bit messy, a bit ruined, but a beautiful disaster.
Whatever it looked like, you wanted him.
You take another second to look at him because what you want to say next will change your friendship.
“Kiss me,” you say softly, your gaze dropping to his lips.
“Are you sure you want me to kiss you?”
You nod.
If there’s one more thing to add to Jungkook’s list of fears—it’s ruining your friendship.
“I won’t be able to stop if I do,” he whispers.
Restless is how you would describe Jungkook. Restless when it came to telling your exes lies. Restless in his ability to sit still. Restless as he chews on his bottom lip–it could be how he incessantly licks his lips or just lacks hydration. You’ve never noticed before how badly he needs chapstick.
But Jungkook’s within touching distance of your lips, and all you can think about is how much he needs chapstick. Your sweet peach one, you think.
Maybe you should offer him some.
“Then don’t.”
It’s slow and gentle when he kisses you. He’s taking his time. There’s no urgency. No tongue, no hands beneath your shirt, or roaming your body. Nothing like that.
It’s like he’s been waiting so long to do this. It’s like he’s forgotten any other mouth existed but yours. You’ll forget your name or where you are when you finally break away from his lips.
He consumes every thought you have, and this is what you were afraid of–that you’ll become addicted to his kisses. You’re unsure how long you can stand before he has to carry you to bed.
His breath is warm and sweet. You love him breathing life into you and taking it away over and over. Your hands curl into his shirt, tugging him as close as possible. Tilting your head, you open your mouth to catch more air before kissing him again. Lips upon lips are discovering each other.
Jungkook pulls away, his nose nudging yours. He kisses the corner of your mouth and your cheek. He’s on his tippy toes, kissing your eyelids, then your forehead.
“Okay–don’t stop,” you say, breathless, reaching for another kiss. “It’s for scientific reasons.”
He chuckles. “Are you researching how long someone can go without breathing?”
“Mmhm.” You reach again, but he pulls back, making you pout.
“You didn’t answer my question from earlier, ‘Where does this leave us?’ he asks.
You realize he won’t kiss you until you answer him. You cock your head to the side. “I like you, but it will take a minute for me to trust you again.”
Jungkook nods. “Mm, I get that. So…?”
“So–we should take this slow and see where it goes.”
He sucks in his lips, trying to suppress a smile. “What about Namjoon?”
The two of you hear someone clearing their throat, and you look in their direction as they appear from the hallway. It’s Namjoon, giving you a quick wave.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says as he walks to his door. “I saw you guys when I turned the corner, but then I ducked back into the hallway, waiting for you to…finish.” Namjoon presses his lips together into a smile.
You turn to Jungkook. “I’ll be one second.”
With a sprint in your step, you head toward Namjoon. “I’m so sorry you saw that.”
Namjoon laughs. “Why are you sorry? I knew I didn’t have a chance against Jungkook. I was waiting for you to realize you wanted to be with him.”
Your eyes widened. “You knew?”
His eyebrows raise, and he nods. “Mmhm.” He leans forward. “We had fun, but look at the guy.” Namjoon glances at Jungkook. “I would’ve felt like the back-up until you two got your shit together. You don’t have to worry about me. Go–he’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks Namjoon.” A sense of relief rushes over you, and you’re thankful he understands.
Returning to Jungkook, you’re no longer looking at your back-up plan. He’s the one you want to wake up next to, the one you want to laugh with, smile with–he’s become your first choice.
He extends his hand for yours. “So, should I get my tux pressed?”
You deadpan.
“We’re practically engaged now, right?” he jokes before leaning in for a kiss.
You press your finger into his taut chest, pushing him away. “Be fucking for real, Jungkook. We’re going inside and watching my favorite rom-com–While You Were Sleeping, so you can see the consequences of how lying gets you in trouble.”
“Oh, I love that one! It's the one where she pretends to be engaged to the guy in a coma, but she falls for the brother?”
You slowly turn to him, mouth agape. “You really have seen a lot of rom-coms, haven’t you?”
“I may have learned a thing or two from them.”
“Yeah–lying!” You scold him as you enter the apartment. The two of you continue bickering back and forth.
Who knew you’d be living in a romantic film of your own?
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Yan-Poll #16
Your stalker has a severe problem.
That's the conclusion you came to as you opened the door for the fifth time that day to another mailman handing you three more packages. Your living room had become unlivable, a space cluttered with cartons and the unopened remains of packages. At some point, you stopped opening them, but now they were collecting dust and destroying the comfort in your own home.
At first, curiosity had gotten the better of you. Amongst inappropriate gifts like underwear and... toys, there had actually been some useful presents. You secretly kept all the gifts that had been on your to-buy for a while and openly threw away the disgusting ones. You knew better than to accept the stalker's gifts, but since they were valuable, you couldn't help but hold on to some of them.
That was your mistake.
But looking at the neatly stacked packages, spreading from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, you realized your stalker had lost all control. You noticed brand names on the brown packages that you had only glanced at briefly while scrolling through your phone—expensive ones, too. At this point, you feared you couldn't look at anything anymore without it inevitably being sent to your home. You thought you had this situation under control, but apparently, you hadn't.
>> did you like the new necklace?
Heaving a deep sigh you looked at the countless messages, a new one popping up right on time of the delivery. Whoever he was, he was always watching. Though you ignored his constant string of texts—asking about your day, how you were feeling, confessing his love to you, wondering if you would wear his latest gifts—you knew this couldn't go on for much longer.
<< please stop
>> you finally responded :)
<< this needs to stop, I don't need all this junk!
>> but do you like it? i know you kept some of them
Biting your lip, you cursed yourself. Of course he'd notice that you didn't discard everything. That probably only encouraged your stalker to keep sending you more and more, wherever he got the money to afford it. Part of you thought, "Whatever! If he wants to blast through all that money, so be it! Might as well enjoy it!" but what about your morals?
You've been fighting so hard to live a normal life despite having this stalker. The police had given up since he was just too good at hiding his tracks, but he seemed to know everything and always be present in your life. If you let him continue like this, who knows what kind of trouble—legally and morally—you'd get into. What if this was his way of making you dependent and comfortable? This person had no qualms about intruding on your life, but what if he finally snapped? What would happen then? How much worse could this situation get?
<< anyway this needs to stop NOW
>> fine. let's make a deal: i'll send you one more gift
>> if you hate it, i'll stop. but if you like it...
<< then what?
>> you'll see ;)
Your finger hovering over the keyboard of your phone, you thought about what your stalker could possibly mean. There was a good chance it would be a gift you liked, and he'd feel confident in the choices he made regarding you. But at the same time, what if it was a god-awful present? What if it was downright horrible? How far would he go, and could you possibly stomach the consequences of his actions because you allowed him to?
<< what if I refuse?
There was no answer this time. It was strange. You were starting to really get paranoid that he was plotting something terrible.
(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)
#yan-poll#yandere talk#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere fanfiction#yandere writing#yandere stories#yandere oneshots#yandere oneshot#yandere drabble#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#Yandere TW
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Confessions of a Dirty Mind | Bang Chan
Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader
Genre: smut, and they were roommates!, porn with the barest of plots, a little fluff
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: incredibly thirsty pining, reader’s a bit feral for her roommate, the giggles will be deployed as a weapon, reader drops the d word (daddy) in her dirty thoughts but never says it out loud, accidental texts, body worship (abs, thighs, breasts - everything gets praised), love bites/marking, grinding, chan is thick everywhere, chan throws reader around a little, hints at dom!chan, fingering, oral sex (m + f receiving), facefucking, cum eating, reader is kind of an idiot but that's okay!, I wrote this out of a dire need to s this man’s d
Word Count: 6.5K
Disclaimers: NSFW; obviously I don’t own SKZ - they just inspire me
Summary: The absolute last thing you want is for your roommate to find out just how much you want him. Right?
A/N: Well, as threatened promised, I'm writing for Stray Kids now in addition to BTS! This came out of absolutely nowhere last week. I've just got Bang Chan brainrot 24/7 now, so that's cool. Thanks to @minttangerines @bangtanintotheroom @sugalaritae for their support (and amazing Aussie accents!!) 💕
Unbeta'd as usual. Please let me know what you think! Like if you'd like to see more skz fics from me… that would fuel me to keep writing. If everyone hates this I'm quitting writing and moving to the wild to live with the koalas ✌️
Being roommates with your crush is its own special type of torture. Always being so close to what you want but never being able to touch. To taste. To feel.
You weren’t always this feral. Once upon a time, you were normal. Well-adjusted, even. Then you had to move for your job and needed to find a place to stay fast and your best friend Minho just happened to know someone looking for a roommate.
Honestly, looking back, it was too easy. Should’ve known there’d be a catch. And that catch was your sanity.
Because Minho’s friend Bang Chan turned out to be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life.
Listen. A lot of people use phrases like that all the time, “the hottest man you’ve ever seen,” some hyperbole they say for ridiculous effect, but you mean it. You have never seen anyone as beautiful as this man, with his chiseled cheekbones, thick lips, and those dimples.
Fuck. Those dimples. Almost as maddening as the washboard abs he’s constantly showing off. You didn’t know a person could be allergic to shirts until you met Chan.
And now you’re suffering. Every. Damn. Day.
It’s not just that he’s the most gorgeous man on the planet. No, that would be hurtful enough, but he’s also kind. Smart. Silly as hell. You’re constantly plagued by his sweet smiles and unbelievably adorable giggles.
The worst part, though, is the way he can flip between sexy and soft instantaneously. Like when the two of you argue over something stupid. All of your arguments are fundamentally stupid. The two of you get on so fucking well, the only things you argue over are opinions on pointless things. Like last night, when you’d joined him for a beer while he watched tv.
“You’re out of your mind,” Chan had declared, twisting sideways on the couch to look at you. “There’s no way a koala could possibly defeat a kangaroo in a cage match!”
“Sure it could.”
“No, it could not!” Chan let loose a flurry of high-pitched giggles. “Have you ever seen a kangaroo? Those things are ripped! One kick or punch, and the koala’s out.” He mimed a powerful punch.
You tipped back the remainder of your beer before pointing the bottle at him. “Yes it could! Think about it - what do koalas do?” When he just blinked, you continued. “They climb! And what do koalas usually have?” Again, a blank stare. “Syphilis! So… think about it! All that little guy has to do is climb up the kangaroo, give him some germs, and boom! Kangaroo goes down.” You grin smugly. “There’s a reason they call syphilis the silent killer.”
Chan fixed you with his signature Look™, the one you think of as “stern dom daddy” - thick eyebrows drawn, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, dark eyes scanning your face - and you felt your knees go weak. Then he blinded you with the full sunshiny force of his smile, eyes closing, dimples popping.
“That is an absolutely insane argument, not to mention completely incorrect. I don’t even know where to start explaining why you’re wrong.” He paused. “No, actually, let’s start with the fact that it’s chlamydia, not syphilis, that koalas get, and go from there.” By the time he’d finished and you’d finally conceded that a kangaroo would probably win, the two of you were nearly in tears from laughing.
His duality is whiplash-inducing. And always leaves you in ruins.
So when your feelings overwhelm you, when you feel like you’re absolutely bursting at the seams with need, you do what you always do. Torture Minho.
Your bff is used to you venting to him about your crippling inability to make a move. On anyone. Ever. Over the years, he’s weathered dozens of crushes that never went anywhere because while you’re definitely a total treasure, you lack the confidence to make any of your (usually horny) dreams come true. He’s come to expect the endless text messages you send.
Except that now, “messages” might not be the right word for them. “Unhinged ravings” might be more accurate.
Ughhhh he’s so damn fine
Today he came home from the gym all sweaty and I nearly offered to give him a bath
With my tongue. My TONGUE Minho!
Like he’s always done, Minho bears it all in stride with his usual unwavering compassion.
You’re a lunatic
He doesn’t even try to convince you to say something to Chan about your feelings anymore. Now he just waits for you to exhaust yourself and then he changes the subject. Usually by sending photos of his cats.
It’s an odd friendship, but neither of you would trade it for anything.
At the moment, you’re ignoring your pain by lying on your bed, in a tee and sweats, watching a movie on your laptop. You can hear your roommate rummaging around his room. Your apartment features a Jack and Jill bathroom, so it’s easy for you to hear what’s going on next door through the adjoining space.
“Channie, why are you pacing around?” you call out.
Your phone buzzes.
Trying to find my shirt
“Are you seriously texting me from the next room?” Pausing your movie, you trudge through the bathroom. The door to Chan’s room is open so you don’t bother to knock, flopping down on his bed as he digs through his closet. He’s shirtless as usual, blond curls shaking with the force of his rummaging.
“Yeah, sorry, ‘m in a hurry and didn’t want to stop looking,” Chan admits sheepishly, throwing a grin over his shoulder at you. You ignore the fluttering in your stomach and get comfortable, resting your head on your arms.
“You could’ve just said it out loud. I can hear you all over this apartment.” It’s not a big space. Which only amplifies your angst, as it’s hard to escape from your desires when the source of it is just constantly right there. Sprawling out on the tiny couch in the living room. Making himself a midnight snack in the kitchen. Lounging on your bed while you sit at your desk, trying not to stare at his reflection on your screen. “What shirt are you looking for?”
“My tiger tank.”
You know the shirt he’s speaking of - his white tank top with an embroidered tiger’s head on the chest. It’s a favorite of yours, cut low enough on the sides and in the front to show off his biceps and pecs at the same time. The first time you’d seen Chan in it, Minho had accused you of being a vampire because you couldn’t stop talking about how much you wanted to nibble on his collarbones.
“Ah! Found it!” Chan raises the shirt over his head victoriously before yanking it on. He takes a moment to inspect himself in his mirror and you wonder if he truly recognizes just how stunning he is. He catches your eye in the reflection. “What are you up to tonight? Wanna come out with me, ‘Lix, & ‘Bin? We’re gonna get some drinks.”
Sure, you’d love to hang out at the bar with Chan and his friends. They’re always a good time. Except when closing time arrives and once again you’re forced to bear witness to your roommate getting hit on by basically every woman in the bar. Not that you can blame them. But it’s especially awful on the nights when he leaves with someone else. You’d rather not deal with that tonight.
“Nah, I’m just gonna relax. But thanks.”
“Come on,” he wheedles, plopping down on the bed, hard enough to make you bounce a little. “You haven’t been out with us in ages. Is it the guys? Did one of them say something stupid?”
“They always say stupid shit. That’s all they ever say,” you crack, smiling when Chan laughs. “But no, it’s nothing like that. I’m just tired.”
Chan doesn’t say anything, just looks at you for a moment. The silence makes you inexplicably nervous, and you fiddle with his comforter for want of something to do with your hands. But then he just nods. “‘Kay. But if you change your mind, we’ll be down at Back Door.”
“Thanks.”
Chan heads into the bathroom to play with his hair. You slip past him, back into your room, throwing yourself dramatically onto your bed and burying your face in a plush pillow. How much longer can you stand this?
You grab your phone.
I’m losing my mind
You can practically hear the sigh in Minho’s voice as you read his response.
What did Chan do now?
He’s getting ready to go out with Felix and Changbin
He looks so fucking good in those tight jeans
Minho doesn’t reply. He knows to just let you get it out of your system before responding.
My mouth is literally watering
It’s a Pavlovian response at this point
I see denim and I start salivating
A text alert pops up in the middle of your thirsty ranting.
Hey do you mind if I borrow your eyeliner?
“Stop texting me when you’re 10 feet away!” you yell, laughing. Chan pops his head out of the bathroom and flashes you that grin, the one that turns your insides to goo, and you sigh. “Of course you can borrow it, you know you can.”
Thanks
“Chan!”
His giggles float through the door and your thumbs fly.
Seriously
If Chan doesn’t let me s his d one of these days I will die
I will be the first person to die from ineedtosuckadick-itis
There’s a loud clattering in the bathroom, like someone’s knocked half the contents of the crowded sink counter onto the floor. Your makeup isn't cheap, so you hop up off your bed.
“You okay in there?” The first thing you notice is the pile of smashed cosmetics on the ground. The second thing is the way your roommate is staring at you, eyes wide, sharpened kohl liner still clutched in one hand, phone in the other. “What? What’s wrong?”
Chan doesn’t speak, but raises his phone and kind of waves it limply.
Oh god. You were in the wrong chat. You were in the wrong chat and now Chan knows you want to suck his dick. You’ve been texting for most of your life and this is the moment your brain decides to fuck up?!
As Chan continues to stare, you realize you have two choices: fess up and own it, or play dumb.
It’s no choice.
“What, uhhhhhhh, what’s up?”
Chan gestures to his phone. “You want to suck my dick?” He says the words as if they’re unfamiliar to him, like he’s trying them out for the first time.
Well, shit, how are you supposed to play dumb if he’s just going to call you right out?
“Guess the cat’s out of the horny bag now,” you mutter under your breath.
Chan cocks his head. “What?”
“Nothing,” you cough, looking at your own phone. “I mean, uh, noooo, what? Minho and I were just, um, talking about how I want to, uh, sssssss…” you glance wildly around the cramped room, hissing like a frantic snake as you fail to come up with another word that starts with s, before your eyes land on an empty glass sitting by the sink. “…Share a drink with you? Because I’m… thirsty?”
“You’re thirsty?”
Fucking understatement.
You can’t quite read the expression on Chan’s face as he glances between you and his phone. There’s a flash of dom daddy in there and then it’s gone.
“YN. I know what ‘s his d’ means. Also, you said you had - what did you call it? Ineedtosuckadickitis.” You think Chan’s lips quirk slightly as he reminds you of your textual idiocy, but you’re too busy trying to psychically rip a hole in the floor so you can disappear forever to be certain. “Where do you get your medical info, by the way? I’m starting to worry.”
He’s making light of the situation, which you would appreciate more if you weren’t sure you’re about to die from embarrassment. Your mind is reeling. There’s no way to get out of this. Any second now, he’s gonna realize how you feel. Then he’s gonna let you down. Gently, you hope. Then you’re gonna need to find a new place to live, because there’s no recovering from this.
“Fine.” You take a deep breath. “Yes, I said it.” Unable to look him in the eye, you focus on your phone as you speak. “I was telling Minho how much I want to suck your dick, because I’m a disgusting horny monster who can’t stop thinking about it. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go pack up my room now.” Shoulders slumping, you slink away, hoping he won’t follow.
He does. “Wait, what?”
You don’t answer, heading directly for your closet, tugging at your suitcase where it lies on a shelf, and he crowds into your space, arms reaching out to stop you.
“Oi, slow down! What are you doing?”
“I’ll try to be out quickly, so you can find a new roommate right away.” You keep pulling on the suitcase, but it’s futile. He barely has to exert any strength to push it back, so you give up.
“YN.” Chan places his hands on your shoulders, turning you around. It’s probably the closest you’ve ever been, standing face to face like this, and the nearness of him is a little dizzying. “Back up. You don’t have to go anywhere. Just talk to me.” He lightly guides you over to your bed, taking a seat next to you. “Why do you think I’d want you to leave?”
“Because I'm a gross little gremlin who can’t stop objectifying you?” you answer honestly.
Chan’s eyes widen before he bursts into laughter. “You know, you’ve said a lot of bonkers things in the months you’ve been living here, but… how does wanting to suck my dick make you a ‘gross little gremlin?’”
Oh no. You can feel it bubbling up inside you, all the things you’ve felt. All the things you’ve said. Oh, you’re going to tell him, aren’t you?
“It’s not just sucking your dick.” Grabbing your phone, you open your chat with Minho again, and begin to read. “‘I need Chan to destroy me. Fully. Like I’m a piece of wood and he’s a lumberjack. Just split me in half. With his hands or his dick, I’m not picky.’” Your entire body radiates with humiliation. You’re a tiny sun made of molecules of mortification, on the verge of going supernova. “Um. That’s one example. And there’s more. A lot more.”
And then you hand him your phone, looking away as he starts to scroll.
You stare at the wall, not wanting to see the expression on his face. Until the quiet gets to you, and you give in, peering at him, expecting to find him frozen again, or worse, looking sickened by your words.
Instead you find him smiling. And then he starts to giggle.
“‘I’m going feral,” he reads. “‘He’s wearing that beanie again. I- ’” His laughing gets louder as he struggles to finish the thought. “‘I want him to wear me instead.’” He glances up at you, eyes glimmering with way too much amusement. “What does that even mean?!”
You groan, yanking your shirt up to cover your face. “Chan, stop!” He merely laughs harder. How can he be enjoying this? You’ve never known him to be cruel. “I get it, I’m awful, you don’t have to laugh!”
But he keeps chuckling, and then you feel his hands on your hips. Like a bewildered turtle, you poke your head out of your shirt, and he just smiles.
“C’mere.” He keeps tugging at you until you scoot closer, swinging your legs over his lap, and pulls you in for a hug.
It’s better than you ever imagined. His strong arms lock around your waist, keeping you in place as his chest continues to rumble with his apparently endless mirth. Tentatively, you let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, afraid that if you cling too tightly, he’ll let go.
Chan leans back to grin at you. “You’re so fucking cute.”
You’re so fucking confused. “I am?”
“Yeah.” His fingers rub light circles into your lower back. The sensation is somehow both soothing and invigorating, sending sparks directly to the heat already simmering in your gut. “Just adorable.”
You’re not adorable, you’re a dirty little freak whose mind is constantly churning out trash, but if that’s what he wants to believe, you’ll take it.
“You’re not disturbed by all the things I’ve said?”
“Disturbed? Nah. I’m used to the crazy shit you say.” He’s got a point. You do say a lot of crazy shit. Just not usually about him to him. “Besides, d’you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say something?”
“About your dick??”
Chan tosses his head back, jostling you with his laughter. “No, you maniac, just something in general! Something to tell me that you like me.” When he meets your gaze again, you’re met with that Look™, and this time those sparks head straight for your cunt. “That you want me. Because…”
He trails off, hands gripping your sides, shifting you. Until you feel it. Poking directly into your thigh.
“Oh!”
“Yeah. Oh.” Chan licks his lips. When did his eyes get so dark? “Because I want you too, you absolute fruit loop. Took me a minute to get my bearings, wasn’t expecting you to confess it in a text like that, or with those exact words, but…” He smirks. “I’m good now.”
His thumb traces your jawline before he cups your chin. The gentle touch sends shivers rippling through you. His eyes drop to your lips.
“You good?”
Funnily enough, somehow, you are.
“Yeah. I’m good,” you whisper, tipping forward to close the space between you.
Amazingly, despite the unyielding need to just yeet yourself onto him, you manage to hold back, simply leaning in to the kiss instead. Those plush lips that you’ve raved about feel unbelievable as they caress yours. So soft and tender, like the warmth spreading through you as he tightens his hold. Then he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, and you moan, loud and wanton, unable to control the sound, and he drops his hands to your hips again, gripping insistently.
“C’mere,” he commands again, voice husky as his fingers hook into your sweats. “Come closer.” He exhales heavily. “Please.”
Please? He has no idea how little he needs to beg right now. As if you’re not dying to get as close as you can! In the blink of an eye, you throw your leg over his, straddling him. His hands wrap around you again, like he can’t stand not having them on you for a second. You understand the feeling.
You’re bolder now with your kisses, nipping and licking eagerly. A particularly sharp bite on his pouty lip makes him gasp in surprise, and you press your tongue into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut in sheer ecstasy when he sucks in response. The incessant throbbing of your clit is slightly relieved when Chan’s hips buck upwards, pushing his erection against you more firmly. He swallows your whines, breathes them back out in the form of his own groans.
The need for air eventually overwhelms you after a few minutes, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away from his face.
“Aren’t you going to be late?” you pant, marveling at how red and swollen Chan’s lips are from kissing. The urge to dive back in before you’ve gotten enough oxygen into your system to keep from passing out is strong. “To meet the guys?”
“You really think I’m gonna leave now?” Chan huffs a laugh as he gazes at you from beneath lowered eyelids, looking as dazed as you feel, and you realize, shit, Minho’s right, you are a vampire, and you’re about to eat this man alive. “Fuck no. Besides, what kind of terrible roommate would I be if I left you at death’s door?”
“If you - what?”
More high-pitched giggles fill the room. How can he be so cute while actively grinding his cock against you like this? “Your disease. Remember? Ineedadickitis.”
“I need to suck a dick,” you correct him.
“Oh, do you? Well, go on then.” He cracks up completely, bouncing you with the force of his laughter as you sit there dumbly for half a second before snapping to.
“You’re so stupid, oh my god!” With a howl, you push him away. He goes easily, until he’s lying on his back on your bed, still cackling while he swats away your fake punches. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” His fingers lock around your wrists and with a gentle jerk you’re lying on top of him, your arms pinned between you. Before you can try to pretend that he’s wrong, try to mount yet another one of your dumb arguments, despite knowing full well that he's right, he kisses you again.
As soon as he releases your hands, you tangle them in his hair. His hands trace down your back to grab the swell of your ass, crushing you flat against him, chest to chest. He suddenly breaks off the kiss.
“Are you not wearing a bra?”
You shake your head and he groans, sitting up, taking you with him. His fingers curl in the hem of your top, twisting it upwards.
“Shirt off. Now.” His voice drops an octave and you shudder, quickly obeying his order. Then you grip his tank top.
“You too.”
He reaches behind his head to peel the fabric off, tossing it on the floor. Then he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows as you openly gawk at his stomach.
“Fuck.” He’s transfixed by your chest.
“Jesus.” You’re mesmerized. From this close, you can see a faint trail of fine hair that runs down, cutting through the carved lines of his abs, like an arrow pointing to your desired destination. “Unreal.”
“You can touch, if you’d like,” Chan grins up at you, obviously enjoying your reaction.
You roll your eyes but do anyway, dragging your fingertips over his abs. His stomach twitches beneath your touch. Before you can get too far, he wiggles his hips, playfully jostling you out of your concentration.
“Can I touch, too?”
“Jesus, yes, of course!” Grabbing his hands, you place one on each breast. “Touch me already!”
He doesn’t waste any time, rolling your nipples between his fingers, waking the buds. You arch into him, his abs forgotten as he leans forward to take your left breast in his mouth.
“Shit, Channie,” you whimper, combing his hair out of his face so you can watch him suckle away. He hums into you, swirling his tongue over your nipple, around and around, before dragging his tongue across to the other breast.
“You like that, baby?” he asks, covering your chest with kisses.
Baby? Did he really just call you baby? Is this really happening, or did you slip into one of your daydreams again?
Nope, the hard dick rolling into the apex of your thighs as you grind down on him feels pretty real. You can’t help but moan, wondering what he looks like under those tight jeans. Is he as thick as you imagine?
Wait, why are you still trying to imagine anything? He’s literally underneath you right now.
Your hand splays on his torso as you guide him onto his back again. Slowly, you lower yourself over him, and drag your mouth down his neck. Clearly, you’d interrupted his going out routine earlier, because he’s not wearing his normal cologne right now. Instead, the heady scent you inhale as you stick your nose into the hollow of his clavicles is pure Chan, musky and comforting.
“Ah, that tickles!” he hisses.
“Sorry.” You press a heavy kiss to his collarbone. “Is that better?” He nods, right before you sink your teeth in.
“Nnngh!” He lets out a throaty groan as you happily suck a love bite into his delicate skin. God, the noises this man makes! You want to record them and play them on a loop.
You slip further down, dragging your fingernails over one of Chan’s nipples, watching his face for his reaction. A tiny “oh!” escapes him, and you repeat the motion, grinning when his back lifts off the bed. Sensitive. This is going to be fun.
Chan raises his head when you start to kiss his abs, taking the time to lick along the ridges as you go, the salty tang of his sweat lingering on your lips. When your hands play with the skin above his waistband, he clears his throat. “You know, you don’t have to do this, just because of that text.”
“Are you kidding me?” You pause with your fingers on the button of his fly. “You want me to stop now?”
“I just don’t want you to think I expect anything.” Although his voice is a little shaky, like he’s trying to calm himself down, you hear the sincerity in his words. The sweetness. That warmth inside you roars into a flame.
“Channie. I want this. Do you want this?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Thank god,” you sigh, unzipping his fly. He helps you peel off his tight jeans and you make quick work of his silk boxers beneath. Nudging his legs apart, you kneel between them
For a moment just you stare at the sight in front of you. You were right. He’s thick. Maybe a little longer than most of the dicks you’ve been happy to be acquainted with, maybe not, but definitely thicker.
You want to sit on him so bad. But first you want to please him, want to taste him. So much want.
While you’re dicknotized, Chan stuffs your pillows under his head so he can have a better angle. You glance at his face and find him biting his lip, eyes looking a little desperate. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you.
Might as well put him out of his misery. With a lick of your palm, you wrap your hand around him, and pump a few shallow strokes. He grunts at the sudden slickness, abdomen jumping slightly.
“Ah, baby, just like that,” he says, eyes closing when you roll your thumb over the tip a few times. “Shit.”
Your tongue darts out to follow, dipping around the head and back over, before you take it into your mouth. Just the tip, bobbing off, then a little more, then again. Each time you sink lower, he sighs.
“Fuck, that feels so good. Keep going, take it all in.”
Oh god, is he a talker? You’re already impossibly wet. You can’t possibly handle getting any more aroused.
While your mouth is occupied, you lift your leg so you’re straddling one of Chan’s, resting a palm on his big thigh. You have obsessed over his thighs since the day you moved in. You refer to them as “the thunder from down under” in your texts to Minho. And here they are now, so strong and sturdy beneath you. Wild.
Chan hisses when you deepthroat him, brushing your nose against his pelvis. Even though you pride yourself on your dick-sucking skills, you can’t help but choke slightly. More saliva floods into your mouth, and you swallow around him.
“Oh, shit!” His hips rise up a little. You use both hands, one trying to hold him down by his hip while the other strokes in tandem with your mouth. There’s drool everywhere, and the sounds the wetness makes sounds lewd even for porn. “Baby, this mouth of yours! Feels better than I ever imagined.”
Air rushes into your lungs as you pull off, replacing your mouth with your other hand. “You thought about this?” He fantasized about you, too?
“Oh fuck yeah,” he growls. “All the time. Thought those pretty lips would look so good choking on me, and I was right.” He thrusts a little, rocking his dick up into your slippery grip. “Used to dream about fucking it.”
You moan so brokenly, he looks at you in concern.
“Please,” you lick his darkened head almost frantically, “do it.”
Chan studies you for a moment, brows knitting together, before he pushes your head down.
“That’s it, go down for me,” he directs you, and you listen. “Just stay there. Let me do the work now.”
He starts slowly, tilting his pelvis a little, fucking up into your waiting mouth. Then he cants his hips a little faster. His breathing gets heavier the harder he thrusts. Once he finds a steady rhythm, he lays his hand on the back of your head keeping you exactly where he wants you.
You squirm restlessly as Chan fucks your throat. Having your roommate use your mouth as a sex toy is incredibly hot. Finally, you slide your hand into your sweats to give yourself some relief. Your clit is engorged, practically beating like a heart between your fingers. You let out a pleased moan, vibrating down Chan’s cock.
“Do that again, baby.”
You’re not denying this man anything. Again and again, you make him curse as your hums resonate across his sensitive skin. He trembles a little, and it’s intoxicating to think that you might be breaking down this big, strong roommate of yours, reducing him to a quivering mess.
At the very least, it’s something to aim for.
Chan praises you again. “God damn it, that’s good. Gonna make me cum with that pretty mouth.”
You suck and swallow and moan and rub yourself, feeling Chan’s thigh flex beneath you, and it hits you what he said, that you’re about to get Chan off, you, so you reach out, raking your hand up the inside of his thigh until you find his balls, squeezing gently.
“I’m gonna cum, shit, ’m gonna cum,” he moans, words slurring together. “Where, baby?”
You stop touching yourself so you can grip the hand of his that rests on your head. He gets the point, pace not slowing, and with a few more powerful pumps, and some stuttered exhalations, he fills your mouth. You take it all, swallowing noisily and gasping for breath once he pulls out.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
He laughs as he says it. Your shoulders shake as you half-laugh, half-wheeze, slumping over on Chan’s thigh.
“Is that a compliment?”
“Fuck yeah,” he grins. “And I’m guessing from the sounds you were making, you enjoyed that as well? Just maybe not quite as much as me?”
You shrug. “I got what I wanted.”
“Yeah, okay, maybe, but I bet you’d like more, hmm?” Without waiting for a response, he swiftly flips you onto your back. Just hauls you right over like you’re made of feathers. A rash of ridiculously giddy giggles burst past your lips, but they die away when he crawls up your body, the power of his gaze pinning you in place, and drops hungry lips onto yours.
Immediately, you surge up into him, pressing as close as you can. Both of you are glistening with sweat, his hair sticking to his face and yours as he licks into your mouth, hot and wet. You’re drowning in him. It’s everything you ever wanted. How the fuck can you possibly want more? But you do, and this feeling makes itself known as you start to whimper needily.
Chan’s hand quickly locates your breast, tenderly cupping your flesh. “Have I told you how fucking gorgeous you are? So pretty.”
You preen at his words, humming contentedly. Fuck. Do you have a praise kink, or is it just that Chan’s the one saying these words that is getting you more worked up? You roll your hips, seeking friction, and Chan’s hand slides downward until he reaches where you need him.
“Oh, baby, so wet,” he says, voice hushed, almost reverent. “Just dying to be touched, yeah? Let me help you.”
With sure movements, lithe fingers stroke along your lips, opening you up. Fingertips squeeze your clit, playing with the aching pearl, causing you to squeal, and you could die, having made such a sound, except you’ve clearly already died and gone to heaven.
Even as his hand rubs, his lips never leave yours. You thrash in his grip when he slides a finger inside you, finding your g-spot with surprising quickness and pressing the fuck out of it, and he still chases your mouth, covering your chin in kisses. Your legs kick out as he alternates between fondling your clit and stroking your walls, until he suddenly stops, pulling his fingers out so he can rid you of your sweats.
“You still with me?” he asks, kneeling between your legs, and you wonder if you look as wrecked as you feel, sucking in air like a fish. You must be a mess, if your appearance matches how you feel. But you’re also excruciatingly aroused and frustrated, so close to coming that you’re ready to blow.
“Yes. I’m here, I’m good.”
“Good.” The Look™️ is back. He grabs your legs and bends them, pushing your thighs into your torso. “Here. Be a good girl and hold these.”
Yes, daddy. You bite your tongue to keep from screaming the words, and grasp your legs behind your knees, pulling them to the side as much as you can, opening you up wide.
“Yes, Channie.”
He smiles at that, eyes so dark you can almost see yourself. “So good for me. Hold tight, baby.”
He sticks out his tongue, eyebrows cocking as he dives down, tracing your folds lightly before flattening the pink muscle and dragging it heavily upwards. You keen as his hot mouth suctions onto your clit. He rolls your clit around with his tongue before flicking it in a quick motion, over and over.
“Jesus!” You’re a live wire, muscles jolting and twitching. As he continues working over the tiny bundle of nerves, his fingers slip inside you again, two this time, scissoring you apart, making room for his tongue.
You gasp as he plunges inside, tracing your inner walls. He’s so loud, the noises his mouth makes as he sucks and laps, and messy, too, slick dripping from his chin when he lifts his face, making sure you’re watching him. Of fucking course you’re watching him. There’s literally nothing else in the world you’d rather be looking at right now than Bang Chan, the hottest man in the galaxy, devouring your pussy like it’s his last meal.
“Tastes so good,” he rasps, turning his face to press sloppy kisses to your inner thigh. “Think you can hold out a little longer? Let me enjoy, yeah?”
At this point, you’re a fucking tinderbox, one spark and you’ll explode, but sure, why not let the man enjoy himself a little more?
“O-okay,” you stutter weakly. “I’ll… try.” You bite your lip. “But maybe…”
Chan brushes his lips over your slit. With a shaky hand, you let your left leg go so you can reach out, brushing some damp locks off his forehead, and he looks at you.
“Maybe a little slower?” you ask.
He smiles, nodding a little. “Got ya.”
Instead of pulling your hand back, you thread your fingers into his hair, and he hums, burying his face again. Only now, his tongue rolls slowly over your cunt, languidly, each pass taking longer and longer. He still keeps the pressure up, makes sure he’s pushing just as firmly against your sensitive folds, still fucks his tongue into you just as deeply as he was before, but now his movements aren’t so frenzied. They feel purposeful, like he’s intent on savoring the moment.
And you realize you should, too. So you barely blink as you observe everything he does - every kiss, every groan, every time his eyes close. You try to commit it all to memory, so you can relive this moment over and over again. In case this is it.
Chan keeps humming, not so much a melody as just wordless sounds, getting louder when your thighs start to squeeze a little. Your hand grips the roots of his hair, not so much guiding him as hanging on. Until he takes your clit in his mouth again, and you cry out, holding him in place.
“Right there, Channie, please!” Your voice breaks as you beg him not to stop. He doesn’t let up, not even when you release your death grip on your right leg, letting it fall over his shoulder like the other one. You dig your fingers into the blanket beneath you, fisting the material. “Fuck, just like that!”
Your hips rise off the bed as you start to hump his face, grinding harder and harder. Chan slides his fingers back into your already clenching hole and finds your g-spot again. You wail helplessly, mind already going, body not far behind, as your muscles start to contract, everything tightening -
“Fuuuuck!”
With a loud groan, you come all over Chan’s face. He keeps tonguing your clit through your orgasm, but has to use his hands to hold your thighs open so he doesn’t asphyxiate. You tug at his hair, riding out the waves of bliss on his mouth.
When you finally relinquish your grasp on his head, he stops. He slides your legs from his arms, then sits back on his heels to examine his handiwork.
You’re a limp noodle. No bones. No muscles. Couldn’t move if you tried. Your climax completely wiped you out, leaving nothing behind. But you’re a very happy noodle, practically purring as you smile at the ceiling.
Chan, on the other hand. Chan appears to be ready for the next round. A point made obvious by the massive erection he’s again sporting. You blink at him a few times.
“I’m going to need a minute.”
He laughs, draping himself over you, arm slung over your stomach, head on your shoulder. “Nah mate, you’re done.”
A rather petulant whine bubbles up from deep within you. “Nooo, I’m good, I’m good!”
You try to reach for his dick, but he catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. Which is a surprisingly sweet move, but not what you want right now. It’s not that you don’t want to cuddle with him - if he asked, you’d wrap yourself like a blanket around him and snuggle him for hours.
It’s that you’re not ready for this moment to be over.
“Relax,” he laughs. “Plenty of time for that later. Just rest for a bit.”
“Later?" There’s gonna be a later?
Chan kisses your neck lightly. “Yeah, later. Not done with you yet, baby.”
You sigh, bringing a hand up to stroke his back. Okay. Maybe a little nap is fine. If there’s going to be a later.
Fuck, you can’t wait to text Minho.
Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜
© 2023 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.
I don't feel right tagging my usual tl since that was for my BTS writing, so I'm just gonna tag some moots that I think might like this:
@moni-logues @yoongimingyu @borahae-k @nabiolive @jikooknoona @sowoozoo-7 @eoieopda @here4btsfics @candlewaxandp0lar0ids @ballelino @starlostjimin @augustbutwinter @blueversaillesdreams @hobivore @hobi-gif @seokjinger-ale @hannahbee12719 feel free to tell me if I'm way off base, no pressure to actually read! 💕
#stray kids smut#skz smut#bang chan smut#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#bang chan x reader#skz x reader#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#bang chan imagines#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#skz imagines#fic: coadm#bang chan fanfic
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welcome to the final show | H.S, part 4
my masterlist!
summary: suddenly it’s not just you and harry anymore, and not only do the general media want an explanation, but so do your friends and family. however, the two of you are only just figuring things out yourselves.
warnings: paparazzi, anxiety surrounding leaked images, fluff, comforting, confessions, make out session, sexual content!
a/n: no because i am so thrilled for you all to read this. these two are so much fun to write about. I hope you enjoy <3
(I was on the fence about including smut, but I decided i wanted to! if that’s not something you want to read, a little warning will come up when it’s about to begin. plot wise you won’t miss anything if you choose not to read it!)
———
There’s a certain type of love that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.
And it’s an all consuming kind. One that when you think about it you feel it to the bone.
And oh, had you done a lot of thinking. Overthinking was pretty much all you’ve been doing the past two weeks.
You obviously are attracted to Harry. Physically, emotionally… just in every sense of the word. That’s nothing new for you. And even throughout the points of denial since forming a personal relationship with him. It’s the truth.
You’ve probably gaslit yourself out of it more times then you could count. However picture evidence of you holding hands with him in the homely streets of Italy is kind of a slap to the face.
And despite how cute you think the photos may be, you are still inexplicably panicked about them.
It’s the morning after the photos got posted. And you are genuinely still in shock. You struggled to fall asleep last night after the images first came out— your brain in complete overdrive for god knows how long until you fell asleep.
And this morning you’re ignoring the influx of messages and calls you’re getting from family, friends, and people you’ve met through love on tour.
Several texts from your own sister coming through half an hour ago. All of them including the word ‘fuck’. Shes definitely mad you didn’t tell her this had happened.
Either way, you’re left pacing the length of your hotel room. Heart still near racing in your chest as you try to figure out what to do, and how to handle something like this.
You held hands with him, you remind yourself. You didn’t get caught making out with him… the act for you came across as still something bordering platonic— even though you wished it were anything but that. This could eventually blow over.
You sigh out, leaning against the wall of your hotel, this was considerably more simple when the rest of the population had no idea it was happening.
Now they do, and they have a lot of questions. Plus, it makes it significantly harder when it’s about things you don’t even have answers to.
Harry hadn’t messaged you since everything had happened. If he even knows is beyond you.
But it felt wrong talking to anyone about it without talking to him first.
You felt a sense of guilt. Because this easily will stir up drama for him. Stuff like this spreads so fast, and you’ve seen it happen 100 times. But now you’re no longer in the back seat just watching it unfold. There will be articles, posts, even snippets in the newspapers about it. And whether or not it’s something he’s accustomed to, you still feel at fault. Like you could’ve been more careful, more considerate.
You move to sit on the edge of your unmade bed, staring at your phone that you’ve left on the bench top. How do you even approach it? What do you say to him?
You quickly decide you don’t really want to, at the moment. There is too much going through your head, and you’re still a bit freaked out about it all.
So another anxiety shower is. Which for right now, is your best and favourite option.
Standing up, you head to the bathroom, leaving your phone out in the room, allowing it to continue buzzing while you decide it’s time for some hardcore self-care to calm yourself down.
On the other side of things, Harry is also freaking out. He woke up to texts from a couple people, asking about a headline?
And for people he knows personally to be reaching out about trashy posts on the media, it’s almost always a bad sign.
One being from James, who has been off ‘The Late Late Show’ too long for him to withhold himself from making bad jokes when they present themselves.
Are they even allowed to put that many exclamation marks in the title? Overkill if you ask me. 😪😪
But when he reads the link and sees the image of himself with you, his anxiety immediately shifts from being personal.
[ 1 attachment link] : Styles Has Found His Next Musical Muse, But She’s Actually a ‘Hardcore Fangirl!!!’”
He’s almost positive you will have seen the leaked images. There is no way you would have missed this unless you were still sleeping.
Guilt nearly slaps him in the face. You do not deserve this. He already knows that you’re probably being slammed on Twitter and in comments of these pathetic articles.
And that is never nice. He hates it enough when it’s himself, and that’s after a decade of learning how to deal with it.
His concern for you leads to a text, one he doesn’t want to make, but does anyway. Purely for the fact he needs to know you’re alright.
Because the worst thing that could happen is you having some kind of anxiety attack after reading something online, and not having anyone there to be with you to talk you down. Regardless of how confident you can appear to him, he’s not taking the chance.
Hi love, can you please let me know you’re alright?
He sends it through, and then he typed out another one after it’s been about five long minutes without a reply.
I am very possibly overreacting right now, but do you need me to come over?
Another ten minutes go by,
I’ll be over in about 15. x
He is aware this may be over the top. You could be asleep. You could be just processing what’s happened— since he still remembers the first time things like this happened to him. And it’s a really weird experience.
But he is undeniably protective of you. That is one thing he can’t lie about.
And even more-so, he’s terrified this will scare you off. Because if it’s too much for you, he has no clue how he’d deal with it. Since it’s way too far out of his hands now.
Even though he knew well that this was a easily plausible situation. And it’s almost surprising how long they’ve gone without it happening earlier.
In his own time, he’s been overthinking plenty too. Wondering if it’s normal to want to lay your entire life down for someone two weeks after meeting them.
Maybe if he were 16… but pushing 30… it might be a bit harder to justify.
But somehow, despite knowing how stupid he probably seems, he leaves his bedroom after throwing on some shorts and a tshirt. Going out and grabbing the keys for his car from the kitchen.
Gemma is out there cooking toast, and she turns around to see him near running out the door.
“Harry!” She says, and when he stops to give her a quick greeting she interrupts him.
“Don’t worry so much.” She sighs.
Immediately confused, he frowns, frozen in place, “what…?”
“I’m assuming that this Y/N you’ve been on about really likes you too, okay? There’s no way she doesn’t. So just treat it like any other relationship or friendship you have. No matter the circumstances you met under. If you like her, you like her. Don’t let shit from the media get to either of you.”
Her advice comes just when he needs it, as it always does. And even though he acts like she doesn’t, she knows almost everything there is to know.
A small nod, “Thank you Gem…”
She gives him a warm smile, one that’s always encouraged him.
———
You hear the knock on the door while you’re standing in the bathroom, finishing applying a face mask. Stood clad in your shorts and black boob tube.
And after finally calming down a bit, it gives you another wave of panic. Since after waiting a few moments, the rapping on the door continues. You were hoping they would just go away, whoever it was.
You quietly leave your bathroom, going down the short hallway to look through the peephole in the door.
You don’t even get your eye up to it before you hear the all too familiar voice on the other side.
“Y/N, it’s Harry…” He was a bit muffled, but you didn’t even think as you start unlatching the locks on the door.
The look of relief on his face when you finally peek out is almost palpable.
“Hi…” you say quietly, pulling the door open further, letting him come in quickly.
He has two cups in his hands, and once he’s inside your room, he is fast to place them on the nearest free space.
“What are you—“ you don’t get through the sentence before he breaches the distance between you, tugging you into a hug, uncaring of the face mask residue getting on his shirt.
He squeezes you, “‘M so glad y’alright.”
You take a deep breath. So, he knows.
You feel immediately bad for not letting him know earlier, before he felt the need to come over.
“Did you call me? I’m so sorry, i was in the—”
“I texted you couple times— don’t be sorry. I don’t want it to seem weird I came rushing over… i was jus’ worried about you.”
You slowly draw back, “I was going to text you, I just didn’t want to… i didn’t know how to go about it, i guess?”
He pulls away, “I am so fuckin’ sorry this happened.”
“Why are you apologising? I should be…”
“Why should you apologise? You of all people do not deserve to be dissected by people in the media. Ive dragged you into something you didn’t deserve to be dragged into.” He says, sounding exasperated.
“You aren’t at fault for any of this, H. I feel like I’ve stirred up unnecessary drama up for you…” To this he immediately shakes his head.
“You haven’t. I was just worried about how you’d perceive it all… and fuck— i didn’t want it to scare you off.”
You both seem to realise that you were freaking out over each other. Starting to laugh together, realising how stupid you both probably sound.
“Okay… we sound really silly.” You sigh, moving to grab the cup he’d placed down prior to your very quick debrief.
“But seriously, Harry,” you lead him over to sit down on the edge of your bed with you, “I am still sorry. I feel like I’ve caused unnecessary… assumptions.”
He frowns a little, “assumptions?”
“About us. You know…” you shrug, eyes avoiding him, doing a terrible job at acting nonchalant.
“That we’re together? That what you’re so shy about, hm?” He teases, and you physically cannot handle the way he says it.
“I— well— Yes, sure that’s what I was going for.”
You gently scratch at the dried edges of your clay face mask, and he watches quietly, wishing he could see the blush that’s risen on your cheeks underneath it.
“Why were you showering so early— It’s like midday, I thought you said you showered in the evening?” He asks, out of the blue, causing you to frown.
Your answer comes out unsurely, “I have anxiety showers sometimes. It calms me down.”
He cocks his eyebrow, “Is that why you were literally dripping wet when i came over the other day?”
He pins you with his gaze, and you don’t reply for a few seconds. You were hoping he broke the silence himself, but it was clear he was waiting for a response.
You blurt out, “You make me nervous!”
To this he laughs, “I make you nervous?”
“Not… all the time.” You amend, “Just sometimes.”
You remove yourself before he can ask more questions, and you go to wash off the face mask in the bathroom, while he’s still stifling his laughter.
You emerge after washing it off with cold water, and his eyes follow your every step as you go to sit back down.
“Yknow, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better I’d—“
He’s cut off by a bang on the front door.
You were only scared for a second, until you heard a shrill feminine shout from outside it. One you know to be your best friends classic angry voice.
You were relieved for only about another second before you realised, she will probably break that door down if you don’t let her in.
Oh god.
“Y/N Y/L/N. LET. ME. IN!” You can picture her angry little face. And you’re almost a bit terrified of her.
But you have to hide Harry. Like you have to actually hide him.
“Harry— you— fuck, get up—” You whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible, grabbing his wrist.
“What is happening?” He sounds awfully confused as you manhandle him around the hotel room, trying to find an adequate place to hide a 6 foot tall man from your fired up best friend.
“She may kill you— she loves you— but she’s very mad at me right now, because I didn’t tell her about,” you pause as you try to label again whatever the two of you were, “us… this… whatever you want to deem it.”
You realise the cupboard is about the only reasonable place, unless you make him climb down the balcony.
“Are you—“
“Y/N! i already KNOW you’re in there!” She calls from the door again.
You tug the door of it open, “Get in!”
You half push him inside it, “I’m so sorry, but just, just sh okay??”
He nods hastily, and you quite literally shut him in there.
“I’m coming!” You shove the takeaway cups into a kitchen cupboard and rush to the door.
Letting her in, she practically storms past you. And you pray to god you can get rid of her in a short period of time.
“I’m sorry!” You say to her, grabbing her hands.
“How could you not tell me something like that?!” She barks, shaking your arms like an angry child.
You do feel bad, because you would also be pissed if it were the other way around.
You try to explain, clutching her warm palms tighter, “To respect his privacy! I wanted to, so, so badly but I just… I didn’t want it getting out.”
She groans, pulling you in for a tight, yet still frustrated hug.
“But you know I wouldn’t have told anyone!”
“I do, i know. I’m sorry.” You embrace her, “but every time we were together there were other people… and I just hadn’t figured out how, let alone talked to him about it.”
She calms down a tiny bit, and sometimes the best way to describe her is like a miniature tornado. Her anger is very quick to bubble over and turn her into this fired up, yelling ball of energy. Yet it dissipates shortly after she lets it all out.
“Okay, well I get that, of course. But… wait are you two actually— have you slept with him?” You pull back from the hug and give her a shocked stare. Her ask stuns you for a moment.
You’re hyperaware that he is listening to this conversation.
What is he thinking right now— you can’t help but wonder. And you have to physically force yourself to push the thoughts that come with such a question aside.
“I— why would you ask me that!” You hiss at her, sounding guilty, even though you’re just throughly embarrassed.
“Because he's Harry Styles!” She exclaims, “who happens to be a very gorgeous man, and I would not be surprised if you wanted— I don't know— in his pants?”
“We are just friends!” You drag your hand down your face. Internally pleading that she stops saying embarrassing shit.
“Whatever you little liar. Acting like as if you haven't said on multiple occasions just how bad you wan—“
“OKAY!” You interrupt, trying to keep the frantic tone out of your voice, “I get it. I really do, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But look, I have so many people I have to call and— i think my whole family also want me dead— so can we maybe get a coffee tomorrow? Talk it over, and you can ask all the questions you want.”
At your proposal, she seems to realise you mean it. And despite the confused look on her face at the fact you’re kicking her out to call what is basically her own adopted family, it seems she understands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna seem pushy. I was… just also in shock. Tomorrow at 10?” She smiles.
You start both walking over to the door, “that’s perfect.”
Tugging her into another hug, she huffs out an ‘I love you.’
You laugh and give her a chaste peck on the side of her head, “I love you too. I promise I wanted to tell you on my end. I just didn’t want to fuck anything up…”
She nods, pulling back, “I know. And if you need anything, or anyone before I see you tomorrow, don’t forget I’m only a few floors up.”
“I won’t.” You open the door for her, and bid a final goodbye. And once it’s shut, you realise how badly you want the ground beneath your feet to literally swallow you whole.
Despite the embarrassment, you quickly rush over to let Harry out of the cupboard you’d shoved him in.
And as he steps out, adorning a smirk and clearly stifling a laugh, you apologise profusely.
“God— I am so incredibly sorry.”
A proper abashed grin spreads across his face, one that flashes his dimples. Reminding you of the sign you took to the last show, telling him how pretty you thought his smile was. You still think the same.
“Kind of exciting hiding in a cupboard. I never even did it as a teenager.” He chuckles, brushing a few stray curls from his eyes.
“Do I look a little more youthful? As gorgeous as ever?” He teases.
“I am so sorry you had to hear all of that, she has a… she lacks a filter.” You excuse, cheeks flaming as you try to dig yourself out of the hole your best friend has unwittingly buried you in.
“That's okay love, but I am a little curious…”
You frown at his careful words.
He takes a step closer as he continues, “what so badly did you want to do to me that you told all your friends about?”
At this, you completely turn your face away from his green-eyed stare. Because you cannot trust yourself.
He doesn’t realise the dangerous game he’s playing with you right now. Especially while he’s standing in-front of you like this. Tattooed arms out, beautiful face and jawline on display.
“Y/N, darling. I asked a question.” His voice has turned to honey. He’s talking you in a way he never has before. With a tone that is almost demanding an answer, laced with a undertone of seduction.
“Stop it.” You hiss, flicking his solid chest with your hand.
He steps forward, and you step back in response. He backs you up all the way to the edge of your bed.
“Stop being a flirt.” You scoff, finally holding eye contact for more than a second.
His pupils have blown out a little, and the stare he’s giving you is something you want burned into the underside of your eyelids.
“Why? Is it working.” He chuckles, demeanour softening a tiny bit as his hand slides down your arm.
You don’t reply.
“Please tell me, Y/N. I want to know. Y’know I’m nosey.”
“Resorted to begging, I see.” You snort, heart still hammering behind your rib cage.
“If it works, I can do plenty of it.” He playfully remarks.
You try to not reply again, but you’re met with a silence. Somehow he knows you’re going to fill it with a fumbled half-confession.
“I don’t even really remember. I was probably tipsy on some wine. Said some stuff to… the girls. After a show.”
“After a show?” He smirks, “Which one?”
“Barcelona. And maybe back at… another. One or two others.”
“But that’s all I’m saying!” You interject, hoping he takes that as enough of an answer.
He laughs at your attempted defiance.
“Anyways, what even— what are you getting at here?” You ask, because truly, his flirting is heavily confusing you. In every way possible.
“Remember when you told me I had a the prettiest smile?” He lightly grazes your hip with his warm hand.
“I— yes. That was like, 2 weeks ago. What’s your point?” You are biting at your bottom lip.
“Don’t get feisty.” He coos, “Everytime I smile around you, I think of that. And then, I wonder what other things you think about me. What other parts you see of me and consider as pretty.”
“And, can you blame a man for wanting to know what dirty things you’ve said about him to y’friends?”
Jesus Christ. A part of you melts at his words. He is watching you like a hawk, gauging your every little reaction. But you’re clinging to any part of you that’s trying to keep this from heading in that direction. Even though you know it’s not because you don’t want to.
“We really shouldn’t… H.” You state, voice almost shaking with an unspoken need. One that you’re trying to keep from bursting through the seams.
“Why not, Y/N?” He asks, making it sound like a challenge. Causing him to be met with a quick jump in your voice.
You are pulling at every part of your strength right now to justify why this is a terrible idea.
“Because, Harry. I am a fucking fangirl for you. Not in a casual way either, like bordering a little bit insane! It’s horrifying, and very embarrassing! And this is a horrible idea, because I don’t think you understand the kind of—“ You don’t get to finish whatever you were about to say, because he kisses you. With his all.
It feels like he pours every once of his being into it. The way his smooth lips press into your own, fuelled by a heat that is felt in the very pit of your stomach. Your knees almost buckle at the sensation.
You grab his shoulder to stabilise yourself. And your lungs are already drawn of all their air.
In actuality, it mustn’t have lasted very long— maybe a couple seconds— before he pushes the back of your knees against the bed, forcing you to sit down.
He draws in a breath after you seperate, “I don’t care if you have photos of me on your fucking bedroom walls, baby.”
“Could not care less, look at you.” He leans down now, kissing over your lips again in separate, doting pecks, “y’so gorgeous, and genuine. I love that you love what I do.”
You’re in a bit of shock, looking up at him with widened eyes. Because obviously you’ve imagined kissing him before. Probably a thousand times. And that dream has somehow sprung to fruition.
How exactly? you’re still unsure.
“I— Harry.” You say, with no real purpose, clutching onto his broad shoulders.
The way you whine out his name drives him almost insane, and he drops down onto his knees between your spread legs. Giving him easier access to kiss your mouth.
His hands snake around your waist, and he lets his lips slot back over yours.
You loose yourself in the act, your own fingers skating up his back and into the hair at the nape of his neck.
It’s so fucking soft. And you use it to press his face closer to yours. He’s surprised when you’re the one to part your lips and dart your tongue out first.
Skating along his pink bottom lip as an invitation.
He accepts it happily, clutching at your waist while he lets his tongue dip into the heat of your mouth. You can’t help but groan at the sensation, and feel the warmth start to gather between your thighs.
He was kissing you like a starved man. And slowly everything you knew started slipping from the forefront of you mind. All you could feel and focus on was him.
How his muscly frame filled up your senses—and the area between your knees— paired with the glide of his tongue over your teeth.
—((sexual content from here and onwards))
His hands tracing over several parts of your body, even going to pull you closer with his hands cupping your bottom. Squeezing at the swell of your ass playfully.
You bite your teeth down onto his lip and drag it backwards, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat.
Your hips push forward, brushing the front of your shorts on his torso, causing his jaw to go lax.
The two of you seperate for air, panting, and his eyes veer south, looking at where you’re pressed against him.
“Fuckin’ Christ. Look at you, needy little thing.”
You bury your head into his neck, kissing along his sharp jawline. Unable to control your slowly circling hips.
“So, y’willing to share what it is you wanted to do to me yet? Given that you’re practically grinding on m’chest.”
You hum a maybe, and he lets out a deep laugh.
“After Barcelona,” You start, and he works to coax the answer out of you with his hands and lips.
“Mmhm…” he acknowledges, mouthing against your clavicle.
“You had looked so good that night… and I got a little tipsy after the show, back at our BNB.”
“You were in those low rise black pants, and that tiny cropped vest. And my god— i said to all the girls that if you were down, I would happily let you take me. Anyway you wanted.”
“Anyway?” His hoarse voice asks.
“Anyway. Fingers, tongue... cock.”
At the first mention of something genuinely sexual, he almost looses it. Envisioning your spread legs with his head pressed between them.
“But I didn’t just say that because I was tipsy. Or because of the outfit you wore.” You allude quietly.
He can’t wait another second before he’s pressing his already swollen lips back against yours. And hard.
“Want everything off you.” He fists at your boob-tube.
Your body is hotter than a thousand suns, and your need for him is literally tearing through you.
It’s clear this was your tipping point. There was no going back to something casual and platonic. The way your whole body ached to have him was unfathomable.
“Strip me.” You beg, arms lifting so he can tug the thin black material over your head, leaving your breasts in a strapless bra.
He runs his tongue over the exposed skin, hands sliding to the clasp at your back to get it off you.
He moans aloud once he sees you, briefly recalling the times his gaze has dipped to your cleavage in those little sundresses you wore while you were out together, and how he would always be wishing for a moment like this.
He laves his tongue over your nipple, before quickly occupying himself with the button of your shorts.
“These off too?” He confirms, voice gravelly with want.
Hastily, you nod, “Yes, all of it.”
Your sheer eagerness is turning him on even more. You always seemed a tiny bit reserved, so hearing you beg for your clothes to get torn off…
“Ass up,” he asks, watching as you lift it from the bed so he can tug the shorts from your waist and down your legs.
Left in nothing but your underwear, he slides his hand over your front to see how wet you were.
You moan as his fingers brush over your clothed-clit. And you notice now that your arousal has wet through your panties.
“Fucking hell. You realise you’re absolutely drenched, right baby?” He near moans, rubbing a gentle circle over the fabric.
“I—shit— I’m sorry, didn’t think I’d gotten so…” You’re almost a little embarrassed at the amount of arousal between your legs.
He hooks his fingers into the crotch of your underwear, peeling them down your thighs.
Your bare cunt had him almost light headed. You were genuinely glistening, and your slick had already spread to the hood of your clit.
“Darling don’t be sorry. Y’got the prettiest little pussy. Cant believe you’re this wet.”
“What did it for you, huh?” He asks finger running through you, eliciting a groan from both your throats.
In a pleasure-filled haze, you slur out a reply, “You. Just all of you.”
You squirm under his featherlight caress, and take a moment to watch him gaze at you. There is nothing but this look of admiration and desire in his eyes.
“Wanna see you, Harry.” You plea, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
He waits not a second to slip it over his head, and your hands immediately run down his torso. Staying quiet as he lets you indulge.
This is something you have thought of in a million different ways. His chest is built like that of a Greek gods, and his tattoos are an added bonus.
You feel the ridges of his abs under your fingertips, and you trace over the butterfly tattoo as well.
His breath flutters in and out of his nose. But using your hands doesn’t satiate you.
You need him on your tongue.
“Stand up.” You ask, and he doesn’t question you, he just obliges.
You keep him stood between your bare legs, but lean your neck inwards, tongue jutting out to run a solid strip up his stomach.
A rumble comes from him, akin to a growl as you move to of his pecs. Gliding your tongue over the hair-dusted flesh, and enveloping his own nipple into your mouth.
You’d never done this before, since sucking on a guys nipple is less of a commodity… but the reaction it works out of him is perfect.
The way he throws his head back, sharp jaw tilted to the celling, and hair falling from his forehead.
“Oh… oh god.”
You draw back, grabbing his shorts and pushing them down. Kissing both the laurels that sit atop his hips before cupping your hand over his bulge, covered by black Calvin Klein briefs.
“Can I take you out, please?”
“Such nice manners, good girl.”
Good girl. The words float around in your head, and something else inside of you comes undone.
Not sure if it was your self respect… or some other part of your morals. But you could go feral simply over those two words.
You bite down on your lip as you tug the briefs down, watching his cock slip up.
Lord.
You almost salivate. It’s perfect in every way you’d want it to be. A flushed red tip, dotted with beads of pre-cum. And of course it’s big.
For an already perfect man, it’s hard to believe you can strip him completely, and still not find a single flaw.
“Staring pretty hard… you a little intimated?”
“It’s big.” You state, hand coming to wrap around its thick base. “Want it in me.”
He leans down, picking you up by your thighs. You laugh in reaction, him manhandling you into the centre of your still unmade bed.
There was a sense of intimacy that was being shared as he pulled you forward, so you were straddling his hips.
Both of you leaned forward to lock lips, kissing feverishly as you touched over every inch of skin you could. Eventually, both of your hands falling between the others legs.
You stroked over him, and he careful slid his middle finger into you.
He worked you until you were near dripping down his hand, and were scraping your nails along his shoulders.
“Harry— need you…” you beg.
“Want me to take you right now?” He asks, cock throbbing in your hand.
“Yes. I can handle it. Promise. I’m clean and on birth control if you wanna go bare.”
“Only if you’re sure. I trust you.”
“I am… just want to feel you.” You plead.
“Need you to tell me how y’want it first, pretty.” He coos, curling his finger inside you.
You moan in response, and he slides it out shortly after so he regains your attention.
“I—“ you stutter, now feeling empty, “anyway you want, I said that earlier.”
“No, baby, how do you like it?” He asks again, smiling against your skin.
“Anything, hard or gentle, I’ll come either way. Look at you— as if I wouldn’t.”
He pulls your core to his, rubbing the tip against your slick hole, “Then tell me as we go how you’re doing, and what you want or need okay. Want you to feel really good, m’kay?”
You nod, and he starts to sink into you, already pulling a moan from your lips at the stretch.
He on the other hand struggles to hold himself together as your warm walls part for him.
“Fuck, fuck… you’re so tight, Y/N.” He groans, pulling you down nearly all the way— stopping before he reaches the base of his cock, taking a moment to adjust so he doesn’t come before he’s all the way in.
“Mm-“ you whine out, nails digging into the warm muscle on his back, “Harry…”
Once he’s composed himself, he lets your hips sink the down to the base of him. You both take a moment to feel it. Panting, because the heat and the connection you’re both sharing is only describable as euphoric.
“Y’okay?” He sighs out, clutching your waist with firm hands.
“Yes… so fuckin’ full.” You moan out, hole fluttering around his length.
He carefully draws his hips back, pulling out a little only to push it back in.
Just that small movement has you reeling. And you’re quick to realise that this is probably going to be the best sex you’ve ever fucking had.
“Look at that, your cunt swallowing me up. So fuckin’ hot.” He whispers, slowly starting to pick up the pace.
His fingers move to play with your clit, and he notices the reaction that courses through your body the second he rolls it between his fingers.
You buck your hips against him, and he brings his lips down to suck on the side of your breast.
“Mark me.” You encourage, wanting him to leave you with bruises from his mouth.
“Dirty thing,” he moans, fucking up into you, “so fucking wet too. All f’me isn’t it?”
The dirty talk causes you to clench around him, and he picks up on it.
“Jesus, you really are? Like when I say dirty stuff too, clearly.” He grunts.
“Yes, fuck! Please touch me.” You ask, needing to feel more of him, to the point it consumes your senses.
He touches you almost everywhere, with his hands, lips, tongue. All over your body until you genuinely can’t think of anything else.
It leaves your body shaking, and he can tell you’re not going to last much longer going by the clenching of your cunt.
“I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing around me like tha’.” He curses, keeping a fast pace with his hips as you feel the beginning of your high approaching.
It starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach, “God— you’re so deep.”
“Yea, love? Feel me all the way up here?” He splayed his hand on your lower abdomen and you nod.
“Gonna come soon… please.” Your thighs are going weak from trying to hold your body up, and he notices, flipping you around so he’s on top of you.
The new angle has you biting down on your palm to try and stop yourself from crying out.
“Taking it so well. M’not far off either, baby.” He groans, his thrusts faltering as he bottoms out.
He pushes two fingers past your lips, allowing your tongue to swirl over them before he is removing them. Taking them down to rub over your swollen clit.
The added stimulation is what’s going to tip you over the edge.
“H—fuck—Harry! I’m gonna come!” You moan out, nails scraping down his bicep.
“Good fucking girl,” he prompts, fingers flicking over your clit, “let it all go for me, gush all over my cock.”
His words send you spiralling. And they’re the final push you need before your cunt clamps down around him with a loud moan tearing out of you.
“Fuckfuckfuck!” You’re writhing around him, and he curses at how tight you’re clenching him.
“That’s it, keep fucking going— ride it out on me.” He hisses, hips finally faltering as he feels his cock come inside of you.
Twitching between your warm walls as his stomach muscles contract and ripple with the intensity of his release.
He near buckles on top of you, his body weight pressing against you. And The two of you are panting, still shivering out slight aftershocks of your orgasms.
His forehead rests against yours, and you lean forward to brush a kiss against his parted lips.
Gently, he pulls himself out. A tiny hiss coming from his lips at the sensitivity.
He rolls over, bringing you to lay down on top of him. And you feel the partial heaving of his damp chest below you.
“Thank you…” You mumble out, sounding almost shy.
He picks up on it, “Don’t sound so nervous, darling. Y’were amazing.”
This brings a smile across your lips. It’s safe to assume that maybe things around you are complicated. But actually between the two of you, it’s anything but.
You like him, so much. So you just say it.
“I like you, Harry.”
And he affirms your statement with a kiss to your temple, and says quietly, “I like you too, Y/N. A lot.”
And this feels like an unspoken agreement that maybe the media is only going to get more riled up about the two of you as time goes on, but what you have is something genuinely worth fighting for.
Plus… they already know so, what’s the worse that could really happen now?
———
that was a long one!! hope you all loved it, and thank you so much for the support on this series. and don’t worry, you will definitely still be seeing more of them in the future. 🤍
taglist:
@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18 @laurxn-robinson @kkr102 @superlegend216 @jerseygirlinca @cherrysulewski
+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles smut#harry styles fanfiction#fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles oneshot#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles writing#harry styles series#welcome to the final show#harry styles one shot#famous!harry#fangirl! y/n#harrystyles smut#famous harry#fanfic#love on tour#hslot
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Could you an enemies to lovers Rafe Cameron x chubby/ curvy middle class Reader. She’s friends with the pogues and spends most of her time with them which leads to encounters with Rafe and his goonies. Rafe has always been in love with her but doesn’t show it instead he just teases/makes fun of her every time he sees her which always leads to bickering. She finally has enough when he scares off a guy who was hitting on her. She tells him that she just wanted to feel beautiful, not fat and good enough which he took away that possibility because of him scaring the guy off. She confront him his behavior towards her (thinking he is making fun of her by flirting with her)which leads to a love confession and a ton of smut with praise and breeding kink
I love this sm! So sorry this took a little to finish, hope you like it!!
What was that for?
Warnings- p in v, drinking, car sex, porn with plot
Rafe Cameron. The kook prince, the man who was secretly, deeply infatuated with you.
He found you interesting. You weren’t scared to stand up to him, and that was rare with some pogues.
You hated him. He was attractive, he was extremely fucking hot. But he was the most annoying person you’ve ever met. Him and his little minions.
It was a life long fight between the two of you.
“Shit, well look who it is!” A familiar voice said. You rolled your eyes, putting on a fake smile and coming towards their table.
You had just gotten a new job at some fancy restaurant in figure 8. It paid well, so you tried your best to keep it.
“Since when did you start working here?” Rafe asked you, as you poured some water for him.
And you hated to even think it, but with his legs spread and his arms crossed in that chair, he looked too good.
“Last week.”
“Didn’t know they hired pogues.” One of his friends said with a laugh. Rafe smiled, his eyes fixed on you.
You clenched your jaw, forcing another small smile.
“What can I get for you guys?” You asked them, putting on your friendly- waitress voice, and keeping your fake smile.
——-
Now, you sat down with your friends at the boneyard, a drink in your hand and a smile on your face. All of you talked for a while, about anything and everything.
Boneyard parties truly were amazing. Everyone came together, no matter what side of the island you’re from.
“C’mon, you needa pick up a guy.” JJ told you, he had been trying to set you up with this one guy the entire time.
You groaned, taking a sip of the cheap beer in your hands.
“It doesn’t even need to be him! I’m tired of seeing my best friend sulk around alone. And he told me that he thinks you’re hot!”
“I’m not alone. I got you guys. And while I-“
“You’re the only single one in the group.” He pointed out, nodding to Cleo and Pope, as well as Sarah and John B.
“C’mon. Give him a chance, please…?” Jj begged.
You sighed, scarfing down the rest of the beer and throwing it.
“Where is he?”
“That’s my girl!” He shouted, a smile on his face as he looked around, coming over to one of his friends.
“Hey, Josh, I thought I would introduce you to one of my friends. This is y/n.” He pointed to you.
“Y/n, this is Josh.” He pointed to the boy, who had a shy smile on his face as he held out his hand for you to shake.
“Hi.” He said quietly.
“Hi.” You said with a small smile.
“All righttt… you two get comfy, now.” Jj spoke, pointing finger guns at the both of you.
“See you, J.” Josh said.
You just waved goodbye, and turned back to Josh.
“Uhm… you’re..” he cleared his throat. “You’re beautiful.”
You smiled, your cheeks warming up.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He chuckled, and the two of you talked. You learned more about him,
He was sweet, you thought to yourself. He complimented you and didn’t talk about himself too much.
“Hey, so.. this might be a little soon, but I was wondering if I could get your number?” He asked you, his eyes hopeful.
“Yeah. Yeah. Of cour-“ you began to pull out your phone when a hand on your shoulder made you jump, you furrowed your eyebrows and turned around.
“Hey, I feel like I’ve seen you before.” Rafe spoke, looking at Josh, his gaze sharp.
“Uhm… I- I mean you- you probab-“
“I- I- you.” He mocked, cutting the boy off. “Oh, wait. You’re that one dude.” He clicked his tongue.
“You uh… you’re the dude who got beat up by Kelce in high school. That’s why you look so familiar.” He nodded.
“Yeah. You told your mommy on him. Nice to see you again, man.” He said, a wicked grin spreading across Rafes face.
Josh’s face was suddenly drained of all color.
“Feel like you had a nickname.. it was something like dirt licker? Cause…” he chuckled.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You exclaimed, and shrugged Rafe’s hand off of you.
“I’ll… I’ll see you later.” Josh murmured, ignoring Rafe and looking at you before walking away.
You stayed looking at Rafe now.
“What the hell was that for?!” You shouted, shoving him. You were thankful no one could hear, since you both were far away from the crowd.
He held his hands up in defense. “Chill out, sweetheart. I’m saving you. That dudes a pussy-“
“Why do you care? Why can’t you just fucking leave me alone?! One good thing happens and you ruin it all!”
He seemed genuinely confused at your words.
“You make me feel like shit, every. single. day. And some guy finally notices me, he finally fuckin’ makes me feel good about myself, I just wanted to feel pretty and not fat for once, and you ruined it!”
You both were close now, your face so close to his that he could feel your breath.
“I love you.” He blurted out. You looked at him, stepping back, confused.
“What?”
“I thought I made it obvious.”
“Wha- Rafe, you fucking call me names every day, you come to my job literally just to make fun of me! You and your friends are complete assholes to me! Then you go ahead and flirt with me as a joke, which really fucking hurt, in case you didn’t know!”
“I wasn’t jokingly flirting with you. I just…”
You waited for his response, thinking it was gonna be more bullshit.
“I do like you. I have since like.. 11th grade. Why do you think I only give you so much shit?”
You looked at him, even more confused.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Let me show you.”
His lips were on yours in an instant, his hands making their way down your body, landing on your waist.
You were shocked, taken aback. But you quickly kissed him back, moaning into the kiss when he slid his tongue into your mouth.
“Back to my car?” He asked you, his voice a whisper as he pulled apart from the kiss.
You nodded quickly, the two of you walking to the car. He opened the back door for you, then jumped in as well.
You practically were jumping on him the second those doors shut. Your body flush against his in the backseats.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” He said with a chuckle when your hands flew to his belt.
“I probably can.” You mumbled, pulling his pants down to his legs, he kicked them off. You straddled his lap now, a new confidence buzzing in you, mostly because of the alcohol in your system. He took his shirt off and threw it somewhere.
Your lips on his had him drunk off of you immediately, one hand cupped your face and the other went to your thigh, and then between your legs.
He pulled your panties to the side, dragging his finger down and collecting your wetness on it. You let out a moan at the contact.
He pulled away from the kiss, and before you could protest, he brought his finger to his mouth, looking at you with those hooded eyes.
That was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.
His fingers then started to moved in and out of your pussy, you clenching on his fingers was enough to make his pants tighten even more. He finally pulled them out, licking them clean.
Your eyes widened and he smirked, liking your reaction. He flipped you both over, you now laying on the seats and him hovering over your body. Pulling his hard cock out, you stared at it in disbelief.
How the hell would that even fit inside?
The tip was red and angry, leaking pre cum. He noticed your expression and chuckled, making you look back at him.
“I’ll make it fit.” He murmured, his hand bunching your dress up. He put his cock over your panties that he could see through because of the wetness seaping through. He rubbed his cock over your panties, moving it up and down.
“Please-“ you whined, desperate for any sort of contact at this point.
“Use your words.”
“Please, just fuck me!” You blurted out. He smiled at that.
“That’s all you had to say.”
His hands pulled the fabric to the side, he lined the tip up with your entrance.
You let out a cry as he slowly entered your gummy walls, you grabbed onto his back, pulling his body directly to yours.
He groaned as he moved even deeper from your movements. You buried your face in his shoulder, tears filling your eyes at the sharp pain you felt.
“You’re fine, you’re fine.” He murmured when your nails raked down his back. “Relax f’ me. God- too fuckin’ tight.” He groaned out.
Soon, the pain was overtaken by pleasure. He moved slow, watching your face for any sort of pain.
“You okay, baby?” He asked you, you let out a moan and nodded.
His pace quickened at your nod, one of his hands on the window.
“Shit.” He grunted out, as you moaned. He fought the urge to cum right then and there when he saw your fucked out face. His grunts and groans only made you closer to the edge.
“Rafe!” You cried out, he could tell you were close by the way you gripped him like a vice.
“C’mon, cum for me.” He told you, his free hand slithering its down and rubbing your clit in a circular motion.
That was enough to make you scream, coating his cock.
“Good fuckin’ girl.” His pace never stopped.
“Shit, where should I-“ he started, feeling his orgasm coming on.
“Inside.” He couldn’t even finish his sentence before you spoke. He groaned at simply the thought of you carrying around his child, and came inside of you, both of you panting as he slowly pulled out.
—-
“Whose car is that?” Jj asked, stumbling around drunkenly with the rest of the group. They all looked at the car with the fogged up windows, it rocking back and forth, and shrugged.
“Don’t know but looks like someone’s getting it on tonight.” Kiara said with a laugh and a shrug.
“It’s my brothers.” Sarah said with a grimace. They all turned to her now.
“Gross.”
“Hey- where’s y/n?” Pope asked suddenly, realizing her missing presence.
Jj shrugged. “Last I saw she was with Josh.”
“You think they went home together?”
“Probably.”
#rafe outer banks#obx rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron angst#rafe cameron imagines#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey#drew starkey smut
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calgary - matthew tkachuk
part of the think later fic series
“I’m drunk, oh wow,
All my habits came back around.”
***
this has two parts!
part 2
***
request: “could you do calgary with matty tkachuk?? maybe something fluffy, and him being overprotective?”
summary: an attempt to relive your highschool glory days turns into a night of drunken confessions.
word count: 7k
pairing: matthew tkachuk x fem!reader
warnings: alcohol, unnamed pills
notes:
- ty for requesting! fun to write! keep ‘em coming <3
- ^ you guys already knew your girl had to go all out for her hometown, because calgary natives fuck it up the best!
- the plot is basically the lyrics of the song
- some friends to lovers because it makes me feel so lonely and I have to make y’all suffer too
- not super proof read
***
At some point in every Calgary native’s life, those wild, reckless nights of stumbling down Stephen Avenue after too many shots morph into something that feels suspiciously like maturity—like finding yourself sipping ritzy, overpriced cocktails on Seventeenth at six-something pm, wondering when your life turned into a scene from a yuppie rom-com.
The moment you realized this was your new reality, you spiraled. The “Oh my god, I’m so old, I can’t have fun anymore” pit of despair opened up beneath you, and you were falling fast. You had your shit together—no, scratch that, you have your shit together. You’re a bona fide adult. But still, you can’t help but yearn for the glory days of sneaking into clubs with a fake ID at fifteen, batting your lashes at some guy named Jason in a cowboy hat just to get him to buy you a drink.
But then, just as you’re about to spiral further, you remember tonight’s mission. Matthew, one of your closest friends, is back in town. The guy is practically a legend in your life—a hockey player sent off to South Florida but always makes his way back to Calgary for Stampede. You met him in the most random way—some Tinder date with a different Flames prospect gone awry. Who could have guessed that a failed date would lead to one of the most solid friendships of your life?
Matthew is that rare breed of guy—fun, charming, and completely non-threatening in the “someone’s gonna catch feelings” department. At least, that’s what you’ve always told yourself. But let’s be honest, there’s something about him that’s always felt…different. You’ve sworn up and down that, it’s not you, that you’re just friends, but there’s always that little nagging thought in the back of your mind. Could there be more? Should there be more?
Nah, you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about overthinking. Tonight is about channeling your inner fifteen-year-old, if only for a few hours. You’re on a mission to relive the glory days, and Matthew—well, he’s the perfect partner in crime.
The pulsating bass of the club thunders through your veins, the kind of beat that makes your heart race and your feet move, even if you didn’t want them to. But you do. Oh, do you ever. You’re dancing like you’re possessed, limbs flailing in a way that’s somewhere between “I just got electrocuted” and “I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.” You’re definitely more of a mosh pit person than a rhythmic dancer, but tonight, it’s all about the vibe, not the technique.
The lights are flashing wildly, casting everyone in an array of colors—red, blue, green, pink. It feels like you’re inside a kaleidoscope, everything spinning and twirling and making your head buzz in the most exhilarating way. The crowd is a sweaty mess of bodies, a hotbed of random hookups and questionable dance moves, but you’re right there in the middle of it, soaking it all in like the club’s ambiance is your life source.
“Another one?” someone yells over the music, thrusting a shot glass in your face. You don’t even see who it is, but hey, free alcohol is free alcohol. You down it in one go, the burn of the tequila (or is it vodka? Who even knows at this point) sliding down your throat and settling warmly in your belly.
You’re officially shitfaced. You can’t even remember how many shots you’ve had, but counting stopped being a priority after the third one. Or maybe it was the fourth. Whatever. You’re having fun—so much fun that you’ve completely lost track of time. How long have you been here? Is it still tonight? Did you miss Matthew’s arrival?
No, you tell yourself. There’s no way you could miss him. Matthew Tkachuk is not the kind of person who goes unnoticed, even in a crowded club like this. He’s the kind of guy who walks into a room and makes heads turn, who laughs so loudly you can hear him over any DJ set. You’d know if he was here.
Still, a small part of your brain—a part that isn’t totally soaked in alcohol—reminds you of tonight’s mission. You try to channel your inner teenager, that reckless, carefree girl who did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And right now, what you want is to dance. And maybe make out with someone. Or eat a greasy cheeseburger. The list is long, okay?
It’s in this haze of euphoria that you notice him—a man with a slicked-back ponytail that’s trying too hard to be edgy but just comes off as greasy. He slides up next to you, his cologne almost as overpowering as his confidence. You give him a half-hearted smile, not really paying attention, too busy reveling in your own carefree abandon.
“Hey,” he shouts over the music, leaning in too close, his breath warm against your ear. “You want something to really get the night going?”
You blink, trying to focus on his words through the fog of alcohol. His hand is outstretched, palm up, and there, sitting innocuously in the center, are two little pills. Your mind stumbles, trying to catch up with the situation. Pills? Like, drugs? The room seems to tilt slightly, the strobe lights throwing everything into sharp, disorienting relief.
The room seems to spin faster as you stare down at the tiny pills in the man's hand. They look so innocent, like candy, but you know better. Your brain, soaked in alcohol and barely clinging to reality, tries to do the math. Pills equal bad. Very bad. But you're also floating on a cloud of recklessness, and there's a small voice in your head whispering that maybe, just maybe, these little white ovals could make the night even crazier.
You can't quite decide if that's what you want or if you're just drunk enough to think it's what you want. Your vision blurs, the man’s face morphing into a smudge of colors and cologne. He leans in closer, his greasy ponytail brushing your cheek like a wet mop. “Come on,” he urges, his voice slicing through the booming bass, “just one, for old time’s sake.”
Old times? You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen this guy in your life. But then again, you’re also pretty sure you saw a unicorn prancing through the dance floor five minutes ago, so who knows what’s real at this point?
Just as you're about to reach for the pills—because why not?—you feel a hand grip your arm, firm and unmistakable. You whirl around, nearly losing your balance, and there he is: Matthew Tkachuk, your knight in a tight-fitting black tee that clings to his shoulders like a second skin. Even in your drunken haze, you can tell he’s pissed. Like, really pissed.
You’d seen him mad before, like that time when someone cut him off on the Deerfoot trail and he laid on the horn for so long that you thought it would get stuck that way—or, that one time when a ref made a call that had him throwing his helmet at the glass, shattering it. This feels so different, especially since he just got here.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matthew’s voice is like a thunderclap over the music, his eyes narrowing at the greasy-haired guy who suddenly looks a lot less confident. There’s something about Matthew when he’s angry—a fierce, protective energy that’s as magnetic as it is intimidating. He’s not the tallest guy in the room, but he doesn’t need to be. He’s Matthew Tkachuk, for god’s sake.
You blink, trying to process the scene. This isn’t the carefree, dancing-like-you’re-on-fire vibe you were going for. This is… something else entirely. The man with the pills tries to pull a sneer, but it’s more of a grimace. “Hey, man, just offering her a good time,” he slurs, attempting to puff up his chest in a way that’s more pathetic than threatening.
Matthew’s grip on your arm tightens, and you can feel the tension radiating off him like a furnace. “Yeah, well, she’s not interested,” he snaps, stepping between you and the guy, effectively cutting off your view of the man’s greasy face.
And for a moment, you’re glad. You’re glad Matthew’s here, glad he’s taking charge, glad he’s keeping you from making a possibly life-altering mistake. But then, that little rebellious streak in you flares up. Who is he to tell you what to do? You’re a grown-ass woman, a bona fide adult, remember? You don’t need a babysitter.
You yank your arm out of Matthew’s grasp, wobbling slightly as you do so. “I can handle myself,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. It sounds stronger in your head, but the words come out slurred and weak. Matthew’s eyes flicker with something—concern, frustration, maybe a mix of both.
“Yeah, it sure looks like it,” he says dryly, and even in your intoxicated state, you can catch the sarcasm. You want to snap back, say something witty and sharp, but your brain is moving in slow motion, and the words get tangled in your throat.
The greasy-haired guy takes a step back, clearly not wanting to get into it with Matthew. “Whatever, man. Just trying to help,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Who even are you, anyway?”
Matthew steps forward, blocking your view of Ponytail Guy entirely. The energy in the air shifts from fun and carefree to something sharp and heavy. The club’s lights seem harsher now, flashing in sync with the tension bubbling between them. Matthew is all broad shoulders and clenched fists, the muscles in his neck taut like he’s seconds away from doing something reckless.
And as for you? You’re swaying slightly, blinking like you’re trying to remember where you are—or maybe why you’re here in the first place. The tequila haze is doing you no favors, and all you can focus on is how intensely Matthew is glaring at Ponytail Guy. It’s like watching a lion size up a gazelle, except you’re the one caught in the crossfire.
“Who am I?” Matthew’s voice drops, low and dangerous, a tone you’ve only ever heard him use when talking about losing a game he should’ve won. “I’m the guy who’s about to ruin your night if you don’t get the hell away from her.”
Oh, god. Oh, no. You can already feel this heading toward disaster, but your reaction time is slower than usual. The alcohol has turned your brain into mush, and you’re having a hard time deciding whether you’re more turned on by Matthew’s sudden intensity or mortified by the scene unfolding in front of you.
Ponytail Guy, to his credit (or lack thereof), doesn’t back down. “Relax, man,” he sneers, taking a step forward like he’s trying to prove something. “She’s not your property.”
It’s a bold move, considering the sheer size difference between him and Matthew. And judging by the dark look in Matthew’s eyes, you’re not sure this is going to end well for Mr. Ponytail.
You should probably intervene. You should definitely say something, do something to diffuse the tension before Matthew decks this guy in the middle of the club. But you’re still trying to figure out why the room keeps spinning, and why your feet feel like they’re glued to the floor.
“I’m not anyone’s property,” you slur, finally finding your voice. It’s not as commanding as you intended—it’s more of a drunken mumble, but hey, you’re trying. Matthew glances back at you, his expression softening for a split second before snapping back to hardened fury as he turns toward the guy again.
The guy doesn’t seem to take the hint. “She said she can handle herself,” he repeats, puffing out his chest like some budget version of an alpha male. “Why don’t you back off?”
There’s a pause, and for a split second, you think maybe—just maybe—Matthew’s going to back down, let it go, and this whole thing will blow over without anyone throwing hands.
But then, Matthew steps forward, closing the gap between him and the guy with a terrifying calm. “Listen carefully,” he says, his voice so low you can barely hear it over the pulsing music. “If you don’t walk away in the next five seconds, I’m going to make sure you regret ever coming here.”
Okay. Yep. This is escalating.
Your drunken mind is slow to react, but you know one thing for sure—this is not going to end well if it keeps going. You need to say something, anything to stop this from turning into a full-blown fight in the middle of the club.
“Matty, come on,” you say, stumbling a little as you step forward, reaching out to grab his arm. Your fingers barely graze his sleeve before you lose your balance and fall right into him. Smooth. So smooth. “Let’s just—let’s just go get a drink or… or something.”
Matthew catches you with ease, his hand steady on your waist as he looks down at you. “You’re drunk,” he mutters, his voice softer now. “You don’t need more drinks.”
You blink up at him, trying to focus on his face, but everything’s a little fuzzy. He’s so close—close enough that you can smell his cologne, a mix of something woodsy and clean, like he just stepped out of a forest after a fresh rain. God, why does he always smell so good?
“I’m not that drunk,” you protest weakly, even though you totally are. The tequila haze is thick, clouding your judgment, and you’re still thinking about those little pills in Ponytail Guy’s hand. It would be so easy to take one. Just one. You’d feel amazing, right? Invincible, even.
But Matthew’s grip tightens slightly on your waist, grounding you. “Let’s get out of here,” he says firmly, his eyes flicking back toward Ponytail Guy, who’s still lingering like a bad smell. “Before I do something stupid.”
Ponytail Guy seems to get the message this time. He mutters something under his breath—something about how you’re not worth the trouble—and slinks off into the crowd, disappearing in a sea of bodies and strobe lights.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room still feels like it’s spinning, and your head is buzzing, but you’re suddenly grateful that Matthew’s here. Even if he’s being overprotective, even if you’re still mad that he’s acting like your personal bodyguard.
Matthew keeps his arm around your waist as he leads you out of the club, guiding you through the sweaty, writhing crowd. The cool night air hits you like a splash of cold water when you step outside, and you sway slightly, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. The bass from the club still thrums in your chest, an echo of the chaos inside, but out here, the world feels quieter, slower.
“Okay, you’re definitely done for the night,” Matthew mutters, more to himself than to you, as he helps you toward a bench near the entrance. You plop down, the wooden slats cool against the backs of your legs. Your head tilts back, and you look up at the sky, where the city lights drown out most of the stars. The world is spinning, a slow, lazy carousel, and you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself.
Matthew kneels in front of you, his hands firm on your knees as he tries to get your attention. “Hey,” he says softly, and even in your drunken haze, you can feel the concern radiating off him. “You okay?”
You open your eyes and blink down at him, the edges of his face blurring slightly as you struggle to focus. He looks so serious, so worried, and it tugs at something deep inside you. You don’t want him to worry. Matthew’s supposed to be your fun, carefree partner in crime, not your babysitter.
“I’m fine,” you slur, trying to wave him off, but your hand misses the mark and flops uselessly against his shoulder. “Just… spinning. Everything’s spinning.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” he replies dryly, his brow furrowing as he studies you. “Let’s get you home.”
Home. The word sounds nice, comforting, but also distant. Like it’s miles away instead of just a short walk. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Matthew’s chest, and he stiffens for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you steady.
His heartbeat is strong and steady against your ear, a comforting rhythm that contrasts with the chaotic whirl in your head. He smells so good, like fresh pine and clean linen, and you take a deep breath, trying to anchor yourself to him, to the solidness of his presence.
“You’re so nice, Matty,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Like, really nice. And hot. Why are you so hot?”
You feel his chest rumble with a quiet laugh, but there’s a tension in the way he holds you, like he’s trying to keep his composure. “You’re drunk,” he says gently, one hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Let’s focus on getting you home, okay?”
You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes wide and earnest. “No, seriously. You’re like… you’re like a hot lumberjack or something. All rugged and… and strong.”
Matthew’s lips twitch into a smile, but his eyes are still filled with that soft concern. “I think you’re mixing me up with someone else. I’m not that rugged.”
“You are,” you insist, your fingers fumbling to grip his shirt. The fabric is soft under your fingertips, and you run your hand down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath. “You’re… you’re like… if a grizzly bear was also a teddy bear.”
He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “That makes no sense.”
“It does,” you argue, though your voice is thick and sluggish. “’Cause you’re big and strong, but also… also soft and warm. Like, I just wanna hug you forever.”
You press yourself closer to him, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His skin is warm, and you can feel the faint prickle of stubble against your cheek. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you sigh contentedly, your body relaxing into him.
“Come on,” Matthew says, his voice a little strained now as he tries to coax you to your feet. “Let’s get you home.”
But you don’t want to move. You’re too comfortable here, wrapped up in his scent, his warmth. It’s like being swaddled in a blanket made of pure safety and affection. Why would you want to leave that?
“Nooo,” you whine, your arms tightening around his neck. “Wanna stay here. With you.”
Matthew sighs, though there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “You can stay with me, but let’s at least get you up.”
He stands, pulling you up with him, and you stagger slightly, your legs unsteady. He keeps a firm grip on you, one arm around your waist as he starts guiding you down the street. The city is a blur of neon lights and passing cars, and you lean heavily into him, your head lolling against his shoulder.
“Okay, but do you know how hot you are?” you ask, your voice soft and dreamy. “Like, I’m pretty sure you’re the hottest guy in Calgary. And Miami, or… wherever it is you’re playing now.”
“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, though there’s a faint blush creeping up his neck. “And talking nonsense.”
“I’m not,” you insist, pouting up at him. “You’re so sexy. And nice. And I bet you’re really good at kissing.”
Matthew clears his throat, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Let’s not talk about that right now.”
“Why not?” you press, your eyes half-lidded as you gaze up at him. “’Cause I bet you’re amazing at it. Like… like you know exactly what to do with your hands and your tongue and…” Your voice trails off into a giggle as you try to imagine it, but your thoughts are too jumbled to form a clear picture.
Matthew doesn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he focuses on getting you down the street. You don’t notice the tension in his shoulders, too lost in your drunken haze to pick up on the way he’s fighting to keep his composure. All you can think about is how close he is, how solid and warm he feels next to you.
Matthew unlocks the door to your apartment with one hand, the other still holding you steady against his side. The hallway is dim, the faint hum of the city outside seeping through the walls, and the familiar smell of your home—clean linen and a hint of vanilla—greets you as you step inside. But you’re too lost in the comforting haze of alcohol and the warmth of Matthew’s body to notice much else.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” you mumble, your words slurring together as you nuzzle closer to his neck. “Like, really amazing. And hot. So, so fucking hot.”
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he guides you through the living room and toward your bedroom. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his voice, like he’s trying to keep his emotions in check.
Your head spins as you lean heavily into him, your body swaying with the remnants of the alcohol coursing through your system. The room seems to tilt slightly, and you cling to Matthew, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
He helps you sit on the edge of your bed, kneeling down in front of you as he starts to untie the laces of your shoes. The motion is gentle, almost tender, and you watch him through half-lidded eyes, your vision blurry and unfocused. But even in your drunken haze, you can see the concentration on his face, the way his brows knit together as he works to loosen the knots.
“You’re… you’re the best, Matty,” you mumble, your voice thick with affection. Your words come out slurred, but the sentiment behind them is clear. “So good to me. Always so good.”
Matthew lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s something strained in the sound, like he’s trying to hold back a flood of emotions. “Just trying to make sure you don’t sleep in your shoes,” he says, his voice low and calm as he pulls off your first sneaker, setting it aside before moving on to the next.
Your head lolls to the side as you watch him, your gaze tracing the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. He’s so close, so solid and warm, and you feel an overwhelming surge of affection well up inside you. It’s like a tidal wave, crashing over you and drowning out everything else.
“You’re too good to me,” you murmur, your fingers trailing down the side of his face, clumsily brushing against the stubble on his cheek. The texture sends a shiver through you, a spark of electricity that ignites something deep in your chest. “I don’t deserve you, Matty.”
Matthew’s hands still for a moment, the laces of your shoe halfway undone. He looks up at you, his expression soft but serious, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your heart squeeze. “You deserve the world,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid of saying it too loud. “And more.”
Your chest tightens at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. It’s like he’s seeing right through you, straight to the core of who you are, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. You’re not used to being seen like this, not used to someone looking at you with such raw, unfiltered care.
He keeps moving, finishing with your shoes and gently lifting your legs onto the bed, his touch careful and precise. He doesn’t respond to your words, but there’s a tenderness in his actions that speaks louder than any reply. He’s taking care of you, making sure you’re comfortable, and that’s all you can ask for right now.
“Let’s get you ready for bed,” he says softly, his voice soothing as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”
You let him lift the fabric over your head, your arms limp and uncooperative, but he’s patient, guiding you through the motions with practiced ease. You’re left in your underwear, feeling oddly vulnerable but also safe in his presence. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no discomfort—just pure, unadulterated care.
He’s trying to focus, to keep things as platonic as possible, but your touch, your words—they’re making it difficult. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for your pajamas, and you can’t help but notice the way his breath hitches when your fingers brush against his.
“Matty, you’re so warm,” you mumble, your voice thick and slurred. You cling to his arm, burying your face in the crook of his elbow. “And soft. Like… like a big, comfy pillow.”
His chuckle is soft, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to keep himself from reacting too much. “That’s a new one,” he says, his voice a little strained as he helps you into your pajamas. “Never been compared to a pillow before.”
You giggle, your fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt as you try to pull him closer. “But you are! So warm and nice. And you smell so good…”
He’s trying so hard to keep things light, but your words are cutting through his defenses, making him acutely aware of every little touch, every breath you take. He knows you���re drunk, knows you won’t remember half of this in the morning, but that doesn’t stop the way his heart clenches in his chest at your every compliment.
“Let’s get you into bed, okay?” he says softly, brushing your hair back from your face with gentle fingers. “You need to sleep this off.”
But you’re not ready to sleep, not yet. There’s too much you want to say, too much you’ve been keeping bottled up. The alcohol has loosened your tongue, and you find yourself blurting out things you’d never have the courage to say otherwise.
“I love this shirt,” you mumble, nuzzling into the fabric as he helps you pull it over your head. “Smells like you. No matter how much I wash it, always smells like you…”
He freezes, his hands stilling on your shoulders as your words sink in. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You blink up at him, your vision blurry but your heart full of unspoken emotions. “It’s yours,” you admit, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I took it before you moved away. Couldn’t… couldn’t stand the thought of not having you with me, so I… I took it.”
The room feels like it’s holding its breath, the air thick with the weight of your confession. Matthew’s grip on your shoulders tightens slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re joking, but all he sees is the raw honesty in your gaze.
“Yeah, it is,” he says, his voice rough. “I thought I lost it.”
His hands tighten on your shoulders, a grounding touch as he steadies himself. He can’t dwell on that now, not with you looking at him like that—soft, bleary-eyed, and so heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he helps you finish pulling the shirt over your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Your arms flop uselessly as he tugs the shirt down, your drunken limbs not cooperating, but Matthew’s hands are steady, guiding you with a gentleness that makes your heart swell.
“Matty…” you mumble, your voice trailing off as he helps you stand, one arm wrapped securely around your waist. The world tilts slightly, and you grip his shirt, your fingers curling into the soft fabric as you try to steady yourself.
“I’ve got you,” he reassures, his voice a steady murmur against your ear. He’s so close, so solid, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves, soothing the edges of your spinning thoughts.
He leads you to the bathroom, each step slow and careful as he supports your weight. The cool tiles under your bare feet send a shiver up your spine, and you lean more heavily into him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His scent wraps around you like a blanket, and you close your eyes, savoring the comfort of his presence.
Matthew lifts you up onto the counter with ease, standing between your legs. His fingers brush your cheek, tilting your face up so you can meet his gaze, and even through the fog in your mind, you can see the worry etched in the lines of his face.
“I’m just going to help you clean up, okay?” he says softly, his thumb stroking your cheek in a soothing rhythm. “Then you can get some sleep.”
You nod, the motion making your head spin, but you don’t care. All you want is to be close to him, to feel his hands on you, gentle and caring. You let your eyes flutter closed as he reaches for a makeup wipe, the cool cloth sliding over your skin as he carefully removes the remnants of the night. “God, why do you even wear all this gunk anyway?” he mutters, more to himself than anything.
Matthew’s fingers move with such tenderness, tracing over your skin with the makeup wipe, and you can’t help but giggle softly as the cool cloth sweeps across your cheek. The sensation is oddly comforting, like he’s erasing more than just makeup—he’s wiping away the stress, the insecurities, the fear that’s been knotted in your chest for far too long.
You blink up at him, watching through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrow in concentration. His touch is so delicate, so reverent, like you’re something fragile that he needs to take care of. The thought makes warmth bloom in your chest, spreading through your veins until it tingles in your fingertips. You can’t resist reaching out, your hand finding his on your face, and you let your thumb rub along the edge of his wrist. The soft, steady thrum of his pulse under your fingertips makes you sigh, content and drowsy.
"You're so... nice," you slur, even though you’ve said it about a million times tonight. "Like, really nice. And strong. And... you smell good."
Matthew doesn’t say anything, just hums softly in acknowledgment as he moves on to brushing your teeth. He grabs your toothbrush, carefully squeezing the toothpaste onto it like he’s done this a thousand times before. The bristles hit your teeth, and you wrinkle your nose, the minty taste sharp against your tongue. You attempt to brush, but your hand is wobbly, barely cooperating, and soon enough, Matthew’s hand covers yours, guiding the motion in slow, methodical circles.
You close your eyes, letting him take over, and your mind drifts again, this time to all the little things you’ve never said, all the feelings you’ve buried because they’re too big, too scary to voice. But now, with him here, being so sweet and careful, the words come tumbling out before you can stop them.
“I think about you all the time, you know,” you confess, your voice muffled by the toothbrush still in your mouth. “Like, all the time. It’s... it’s stupid. But I do.”
He pauses, his hand stilling for just a moment, and you blink up at him, your gaze fuzzy but earnest. His eyes meet yours, and even through the haze of alcohol, you can see the way his expression softens, something tender and raw flickering across his face.
“I know,” he says quietly, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I think about you too.”
The admission settles over you like a warm blanket, comforting and soft, and you can’t help the dopey smile that stretches across your face. “Good,” you mumble, your words slurring together as the toothbrush is finally taken from your mouth. “’Cause I’m crazy about you, Matty. Like, really crazy. Like... I wanna marry you, crazy.”
Matthew’s breath catches in his throat as your words hang in the air, the room suddenly feeling too small, too warm, like the very walls are leaning in to listen. “I wanna marry you, crazy,” you’ve just said, and the words are like a punch to his gut—equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
He forces himself to focus, to stay grounded in the moment, because you’re here, drunk and vulnerable, and he can’t afford to lose his head, even if his heart is racing like it’s trying to break free from his chest.
You’re still smiling up at him, your eyes droopy but sparkling with the kind of affection that only comes when the alcohol strips away every last ounce of inhibition. He can’t help but smile back, his heart squeezing at how utterly adorable you look, all soft and pliant, just a little messy around the edges.
“Marry me, huh?” he teases, trying to keep his voice light as he puts away the toothbrush and reaches for the hairbrush. “Didn’t know you were planning on proposing tonight.”
You giggle, a sound so sweet it sends a shiver down his spine. “Mmmm, maybe…” you mumble, swaying slightly as you lean forward, your hands finding purchase on his chest. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and you let out a contented sigh. “You’d say yes, right? You… you love me, right?”
The question is so simple, so innocent, and yet it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. Matthew swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry, and he’s thankful you’re too drunk to notice the way his hands tremble slightly as he starts to brush your hair.
He feels like his heart might burst from the sheer force of how much he adores you, and he has to blink back the sudden sting of tears that threaten to well up. You’re so open, so honest in this state, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. He doesn’t deserve this—doesn’t deserve you—but God, he wants you so badly it hurts.
The brush catches on a small tangle, and you whimper, the sound so pitiful that it pulls him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, quickly working the knot out with his fingers before continuing. He can feel you relaxing more and more with each stroke, your body leaning into his as if you’re trying to meld into him.
You’re so beautiful to him, even like this—especially like this. Hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy from the alcohol. You’re vulnerable, open in a way that makes Matthew’s throat tighten. He’s never seen you like this, not really, and he’s terrified that if he blinks, you’ll disappear, or worse, that this version of you will be gone by morning.
He’s trying so hard to keep things platonic, to not let his feelings slip through, but every brush of your fingers against his skin, every slurred word of affection, makes it harder to keep the walls up.
His thumb brushes against your cheek again, and he can’t help but smile at the way you nuzzle into his hand, like a cat seeking warmth. “You’re gonna feel so embarrassed in the morning,” he murmurs, voice low and fond. “But you’re lucky I’m such a good friend, huh?”
You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes his chest tighten. “I’m not embarrassed,” you say, words slurred but insistent. “I’m just being honest. You’re amazing, Matty. The best friend ever.”
He chuckles, a soft sound that rumbles in his chest, and he can’t help but shake his head. “Yeah, well, I try,” he says lightly, though his heart is heavy. “Let’s get you to bed, alright?”
You whine, a soft sound that tugs at his heartstrings. “Don’t wanna sleep yet,” you mumble, your hands fisting in his shirt. “Wanna stay with you. Wanna… talk.”
Matthew sighs, but it’s more fond exasperation than anything else. “You can talk to me all you want tomorrow,” he says gently. “Right now, you need to rest.”
But you’re not having it. Your grip on his shirt tightens, and you look up at him with those big, glassy eyes that make his resolve waver. “Please, Matty,” you whisper, voice so soft and pleading it makes his heart clench painfully. “Just… stay with me a little longer. Please?”
And damn it, how can he say no to that? How can he say no to you, when you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded in the spinning world around you?
“Alright,” he relents, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a little bit, okay? Then you really need to sleep.”
You nod eagerly, a bright smile spreading across your face, and he can’t help but mirror it, his own smile soft and adoring. He guides you back to the bed, helping you sit down gently, and you tug him down beside you, your hands still clutching his shirt like a lifeline.
You can feel the world spinning in slow, lazy circles as you nuzzle into Matthew’s shoulder, your hands weaving through his messy curls. They’re soft and unruly, just like you imagined. You’ve always wanted to do this, to run your fingers through his hair and tell him he looks like some sort of Disney prince that got lost on his way to a ball.
“I love your hair,” you mumble into his shoulder, your words slurring slightly as the alcohol works its magic. “’S..so fluffy, like a… like a golden retriever.”
Matthew laughs, the sound vibrating against your cheek where it rests on his shoulder, and you smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the sound. You’ve always loved his laugh—how it’s deep and rich, like dark chocolate, and makes your heart do weird, fluttery things that you’re definitely not thinking about right now. Nope, not at all.
“You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. If anything, he sounds amused, fond even, like he’s secretly enjoying this, watching you unravel and spill your guts like you’re auditioning for some tragic role in a romance movie.
You let out a contented sigh, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you turn your head slightly to look up at him. He’s so close, his face just inches from yours, and you can see every detail—the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the way his lips quirk up at the corners, and that stupid little dimple that only shows up when he’s genuinely smiling. It’s not fair how pretty he is. It’s not fair that he gets to be your best friend and also make your heart do that weird, fluttery thing you’re definitely not thinking about.
“Why are you so pretty?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not fair. You should be illegal.”
Matthew’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see the faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck. “Pretty?” he repeats, his voice a little strained, like he’s not sure if you’re serious or just really, really drunk. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me pretty before.”
“Well, they should,” you insist, your fingers curling tighter in his hair as if to emphasize your point. “You’re like… like a prince or something. A really hot prince who’s also really nice and sweet and—”
Matthew clears his throat, his face turning a deeper shade of red, and you giggle, the sound light and airy. You don’t know why he’s so embarrassed. It’s not like you’re saying anything that isn’t true. He is pretty. And nice. And sweet. And also really, really hot, which you’re definitely not thinking about right now. Nope, not at all.
“Okay, okay,” he says, cutting you off before you can go on another drunken tangent. “I think that’s enough compliments for one night.”
You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that you know drives him crazy because he’s always telling you to stop doing it. “But I’m not done,” you protest, your voice whiny and petulant. “You’re… you’re the best, Matty. The best friend ever. And I just… I just love you so much.”
The words are out before you can stop them, and you immediately feel a flush creeping up your cheeks, hot and mortifying. Did you really just say that? Did you really just blurt out your deepest, darkest secret like it’s no big deal? God, you’re an idiot. A drunk, stupid idiot who can’t keep her mouth shut.
Matthew is silent, his gaze soft as he watches you, and you can feel your heart racing in your chest, the thump-thump-thump almost deafening in the quiet room. You want to crawl under a rock and die, or maybe just pass out and pretend this never happened. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.
But before you can make your escape, Matthew reaches up, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he tilts your head up to look at him. His thumb brushes against your skin, soft and warm, and you shiver at the touch, your breath catching in your throat.
“I love you too,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right? You’re my best friend, and I… I care about you a lot.”
You blink up at him, your vision swimming slightly as you try to process his words. He loves you. He cares about you. But… does he love you like you love him? Does he feel that weird, fluttery thing in his chest when you’re around, or is that just a you problem?
Before you can ask, Matthew is guiding you back down onto the bed, his touch gentle as he tucks you in, pulling the covers up around your shoulders. You’re too tired to protest, your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy, and you let out a soft sigh, your head sinking into the pillow.
“Sleep, okay?” Matthew murmurs, his hand brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. “We can talk more in the morning.”
You want to argue, to tell him that you’re not done, that there’s so much more you need to say, but your body has other plans, and before you know it, you’re drifting off, the sound of Matthew’s steady breathing lulling you to sleep.
As you drift off, you can feel his hand resting on your head, his thumb brushing softly against your temple. The last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under is his voice, quiet and filled with something you can’t quite place.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, crazy girl,” he whispers, and then everything fades into darkness, his touch the only thing anchoring you to the world.
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THE BITTER END | SPN 15x18 DESPAIR: About that Destiel moment in 15x18
Oh boy…the scene that sailed a thousand memes (and counting)…the scene that made us all go feral in the midst of a contentious presidential elections in one of the most disruptive, chaotic years in recent memory (2020 you son of a bitch)
Now i am super late with this since it’s nearly been 4 years since this was aired live on TV and posted like crazy all over the internet BUT…y’all Destiel shippers got robbed. Not just with this scene but the whole Destiel ship in general - just done so dirty.
I started watching this show on and off back in 2021 and I finally got to finish over the summer this year (2024) taking my sweet time, even rewatching certain episodes (for some fanfic writing 😁). I went into this to settle the debate for myself - is this Destiel stuff legit? Or was it taken out of context? Misconstrued.
No. It really wasn’t. They (the powers behind SPN) tried it, tried to pull the wool over people’s heads, with certain fans chiming in (the destiel haters, the homophobes, the anti-mishas, etc.) but no. The SPN showrunners fucked all this up.
From the beginning….
So it’s 15x18 despair - we’re in the last act - shit’s popping off, everything’s going tits up - Billie is trying to hunt Dean down, calling him chaos incarnate. Dean & Cas get trapped in a room with no apparent means of escape or defense - probably should’ve headed for the exit - but I guess since it’s the 3rd to last episode and the execs clearly want things to go back to the status quo 🙄 now’s as good a time as any to cash in on that plot thread from last season and kill Castiel once and for all 😭 (as 1 person pointed out, given the prior context they probably could've just waited Billie out, since them being trapped in that room - Cas was the one that blocked the door anyhow - but I get it SPN showrunners you wanted to get rid of Cas somehow - what a mess)
If you haven’t watched it - here’s where I gasp and scoff in disbelief - please watch it https://youtu.be/l_r9GZeQl1w?si=uVox8PlXByYEYKci
youtube
Basically Cas tells Dean he’s the greatest guy he’s ever known, that he fights for love and that Cas lurves Dean 😭 and he’s not the bad things enemies say Dean is. That he’s more than the worst parts of himself - oh Cas.
This was Castiel’s one moment of true happiness - telling the one person whom he adores more than anyone or anything else in the entire universe - that he is loved by Castiel himself.
The confession that triggers Castiel’s demise to go with the empty, takes Billie with him and before Dean can process the massive TRUTH BOMB Castiel just dumped on him, Castiel is gone.
Despair indeed.
They made too many fucking cuts to this scene, at least for Jensen’s coverage. Like if you don’t want Dean to reciprocate…fine. Don’t. But let him fucking respond! Let him use his words. Castiel just told Dean he was in love with him, that is one of the BIGGEST things you can say to somebody in your life. EVER. Especially on TV. And yes it was in love, like romantically. Not platonically because why make such a fucking fuss over fucking platonic friendship! There’s always been a tension between these 2 characters, it hung over between them since season 4. They just made it into a joke, never expecting to get the traction it did over the years. They even tried writing Cas off the show for good back in season 7. But they got stuck with Cas and never really made proper use of him. They literally just waited until the last minute to get rid of him in a way that couldn’t get the show cancelled until that decision had already been made by the network. to make things worse - COVID happened
So don’t tell me the confession doesn’t merit a response, either for or against on Dean’s part - whether he returns Castiel’s affection or not is another story but dammit let Dean speak! How could you not? Cowards!
And Would it be so terrible if Dean did feel something MORE than friendship for the only other individual that has stood by him for so many years? Like really? A relationship doesn’t demand sex (but let’s be honest, Cas probably wanted to fuck the shit outta Dean 🤣) it’s whatever the people in the relationship want! Dean isn’t young by the time s15 rolls around. Older people tend to just want someone to come home to, settle down with. Companionship. Cas fits that to a fucking T. When Dean dreamed of a future, Cas was right there with him (and Sam, cuz Dean always wants his family close as much as he can, given how he grew up).
Couldn’t find a gif of Dean talking about taking some time off after all the craziness of the hunting they do but I’m not crazy I know he wanted it.
The team behind SPN could have finished Dean’s narrative beautifully as man who was driven by fear all his life and opens himself up to a relationship he never saw coming but when the time came he didn’t run because he grew to love more than fear (and choose to live a life of peace after stuck in one of violence for so many years).
This is why Hollywood is shit! Great beginnings, shitty endings. But in this case, it was because they consistently chose NOT to indulge in queer-like narratives with enough care (aside from some other problematic stuff like the treatment towards women being more negative than positive, the inconsistent writing for characters and plot, etc.)
BUT not when it’s the main character 😡 Charlie can be gay AF but not Dean, seriously? That’s fucked. Like at least let him fucking explore/consider it. So people stop watching it who gives AF?! I never even watched the show when it was on air for 15 years, tons of people didn’t. There are still people out there watching SPN for the first time today! People who started but stopped because it’s a show that ran WAAAY longer than any other normally does.
Idk who made it so that Dean couldn’t explore his sexuality or fucked up the Destiel of it all but they SUUUUUUUUCK! You really shat the bed! at least explore it cuz at the end of the day, it may not work out. Gay relationships aren’t that different from straight relationships in that sometimes it just doesn’t work out BECAUSE we’re ALL people. And who knows maybe they could’ve been happy but we’re not allowed to know that canonically because Destiel was never given a CHANCE!
I mean if it was REALLY that big a deal – why introduce it? By making these little suggestions that (in a way that's funny but why would Dean be queer be haha funny - no that's not okay, queerness shouldn't be a joke) furthermore we’re talking about a show on basic cable - all it would’ve taken was fucking hand-holding or the same routine of staring into each other’s eyes like they’d been doing for 12 fucking years already! Just not shying away from the queerness that time. Legend of Korra did it. That 1 Disney show did it (i don’t remember the name). No kissing would’ve been necessary - nice, wishful thinking but not necessary if the kissing became an issue (but seriously it was 2020 man but ofc - that is a year where a pandemic that required social distancing decided to kick in during the final arc of this show) - just so we’re all clear COVID cock blocked Destiel lol jk 🤣
All those times they had Dean & Cas stare into each other's eyes – the forces at work – showrunners, writers, directors AND editors & the network who is showing this to audiences – if its such a big fucking deal - Don't leave it in. By leaving it in, you're allowing people to make assumptions about the relationship – it happens literally every time in every story ever told. You put 2 people in a scene and they're not family (though not always the case) or JUST friends (explicitly proven) there's a chance SOMEONE is gonna wanna ship them no matter how likely it is (OR NOT) they'll hookup or become a couple. That's just how it is. So don't fan the flames and then turn it around on fans that they're wrong, crazy or misinterpreting. If Wincest can exist, so can Destiel and any other ship. That being said, y’all Destiel shippers were ROBBED but I don’t need to tell you that.
I don’t think the relationship would’ve been perfect or smooth sailing - their friendship as it was on the show sure wasn’t. And Dean wasn’t the only one with issues - Cas had some bad qualities too - the angel liked to lie and for a while there he was extremely averse to conflict. And Dean…he gets real fucking angry 😬 not a good mix for a relationship- hell even a friendship.
But the two had a profound bond, with a great deal of affection for one another and that’s what got them through betrayal, fights, amnesia, curses, apocalypses, and all the ugliness in between. They could’ve made it. Or they could’ve just had Cas and Dean stay friends - but we’ll never know since Cas was pretty much omitted after 15x18 - there were references - like only 2 though 😒
Really SPN? 😒😔 so lazy. But sure, go ahead, blame COVID. It’s not like phones exist. It’s not like the actor couldn’t have just recorded Castiel’s voice nope. Totally not an option 🤦🏾♀️ same goes for the other characters - Jody, Donna, Eileen - you know all the other characters Sam & Dean cared about but sure - fuck ‘em too. Status quo is the only thing that matters - SMH.
#supernatural#dean winchester#castiel#deancas#destiel#supernatural season 15#the destiel meme#destiel confession#spn final season#spnfandom#spn 15x18
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ok so… i’m totally obsessing over Newt from TMR rn but i’m not sure if u still write for him🤧 but if u do i was thinking maybe something like during bonfire night the reader has had too many special drinks from Gally, accidentally confesses to Newt and lists everything she loves about him and then Newt gets all flustered and stuff (he’s so cute omg) but the reader is too drunk to go back to their own hammock so then Newt carries reader to their hammock but ends up sharing a hammock and then the reader doesn’t remember anything the next morning and then i’ll let u decide the rest😭
gally's special brew as a plot device >> it will always be famous to me
masterlist
In roughly thirty seconds, you’re going to reach a milestone you never thought possible. You’ve been waiting for this for a while now, counting down the days and hours and minutes like you were going to find yourself anywhere other than right here when your self-imposed timer went off. All you’ve got to remember the date is a memory, but given the fact that you only recall so many of those, it was easier to place than one would expect.
An alarm goes off across the Glade, ear-piercing klaxons rattling off of the high stone walls surrounding you. The rest of the boys around you start to amble towards the source of the noise, the Box newly arrived from who knows where, but you stay put for the time being, just breathing in the moment.
One blond boy next to you, your closest friend and favorite person here, nudges you in the leg with his foot. You’re both sitting in the unruly grass, ignoring the press of the green strands against your arms and calves. You have a habit of always wanting to keep him within reach.
“Why aren’t you racing towards the Box?” He asks.
You tilt your head to the side, staring up at the sky. Robin’s egg blue dappled with clouds, it’s the only pocket of space outside the Walls that you’ll likely ever know. “Today marks one year since I showed up here for the first time.”
Newt whistles through his teeth. “Shoot, already? Feels like time has flown. I swore you came up just last month.”
“No, I’ve been keeping count. Twelve months and I’m still here.”
Newt winces. He made a promise to you at the very start that he would get you out in six months, then, when that deadline came and went, he lengthened it to a year. The oath was only sworn because you were nervous about this place when you were still a Greenie and unused to the idea of living and dying here in endless repetition. You’re no happier about that fact now, but you are more used to it, at least.
“Well,” he starts off, “maybe you’re still here, yeah, but Minho and the other Runners are getting closer to finding a way out, I swear. Minho says they’re this close to having mapped the whole thing, then we’ll have an escape route for certain. Just give it another year. You won’t even notice the time passing, I promise.”
It’s kind of Newt to try to distract you again, even though you both know by this point that it’s useless. Minho is getting closer to traveling every pathway of the Maze, yes, but what Newt isn’t mentioning is how little the Keeper of the Runners actually is to finding something useful. Whenever you ask Minho what he’s learned about how to get out of here, he only ever comes up with a blank slate.
Still, harping on that doesn’t exactly make for a good time, so you’ll let yourself play along with Newt’s idea of your inevitable escape from this place for now. He’s losing hope even faster than you, even if he doesn’t tell anyone. It would be good to keep up the pretense.
You eye his leg, the one with the limp, and nod. “Yeah, next year for sure.”
Newt sits in silence for a moment or two longer, then stands up carefully, offering a hand to you. “Come on, then. We’ve got a Greenie to stare at and stuff to unpack from the Box, no time for musing. Besides, we’ve all got to get ready for the bonfire later tonight.”
You accept his offer of help, and when you’re on your feet once more, your smile is back. “I forgot about the bonfire! Oh, that’ll make everything better. Always does.”
Newt grins. “You’re just saying that because it’s the one time a month Alby will let all of us get proper wasted and skip work for the afternoon.”
“Of course I am,” you laugh, “I want to have fun! Is that such a terrible thing?”
Newt slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as the two of you walk lopsidedly over to the Box opening. The other Gladers have already crowded around the opening, but there’s enough space for the two of you to peer in at the befuddled newcomer inside if you squeeze past a few Track-Hoes.
“No,” he murmurs later, once you’ve almost forgotten what you were talking about, “I don’t think it is.”
Damn right. You’ve looked forward to each Bonfire Night of your full year here with just as much excitement as everyone else. The soaring flames, the delighted shrieks and shouts of your friends, plus Gally’s special brew, everything about the celebration is a joy to behold. You can watch Gally kick the asses of people who should have known better to challenge him, or observe the Greenie as he tries to figure out his name.
Or, better yet, you can sit in a circle of your friends and tell jokes that get progressively worse as the lot of you get progressively more tipsy and tired. The night wears on, the stars burn themselves out above you just trying to catch a glimpse of your magnificently roaring fire, and all is well, as much as it can be around here.
At some point, you look up and you’re sitting alone with Newt towards the outskirts of the gathering. You don’t remember quite when that happened, but you’ve refilled your glass enough times that the memory loss sort of makes sense. Does anything here, though? No, not at all. Not ever.
Newt’s grinning over at you, saying something that you have to focus extra hard to hear. “Are you lucid again?”
“Not entirely,” you beam up at him, “Have I had a lot to drink tonight?”
Newt grimaces. “Probably more than you should have. You’ll be regretting it tomorrow, I can promise you that. Sorry for not cutting you off earlier.”
You shake your head a little too wildly and have to pause for a moment to blink the stars out of your eyes before continuing. “No, that’s not your fault. You don’t have to watch out for me all the time.”
Something almost like hurt plays upon Newt’s features, mixing with the warm glow of the firelight, and it makes you rush to say something so he stops looking so unhappy. “Only if you don’t want to watch out for me, that is. I like having you around. Makes me feel better.”
“Really?” Newt asks, amused.
“Really,” you confirm happily. “You’re my favorite person here by far. Minho teases me about that a lot, actually. He says I should soldier up and just tell you that, but he can’t bully me anymore, because I’m talking about it right now, aren’t I? He’s right, though, I do like you. Oh– I was thinking, Newt, and– and I think I’m okay, staying in the Glade forever, if I’ve got you here with me. You’re the best thing about this place.”
You hadn’t meant to ramble on like that, but the words came easily enough from your throat, and Newt seemed like he really wanted to hear what you were saying, so you went ahead and let him.
Newt sits for a few minutes in stunned silence before clearing his throat a little too loudly. “Um. Well, I think you should get to bed. Like, now. I think you’re drunk.”
“No,” you protest, “well, I am drunk, yeah, but I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. I mean it, Newt. I really do.”
Newt’s expression softens. “I know you did, sweetheart. Let’s go to bed anyway, though. I think some rest would be good for you.”
“Alright,” you decide.
Newt stands up. You try to start walking back with him, but your feet refuse to cooperate on the uneven ground and you end up tripping more than you should. Eventually, Newt laughs quietly and picks you up, easily carrying you back to your hammock. He tries to set you down but you’re seized by the overwhelming panic that he’ll leave you here alone and you complain vehemently.
He’s still in a good temper, though (is it not wonderful to be needed?) and instead shifts so he’s lying down in his hammock instead, you on his stomach. You whisper goodnight to him and he says goodnight back, then a beat and a half later, did you really mean what you said? About me, that is? About how you–
You can’t really pick up what he’s saying, though. He was right about you needing rest, because the gentle swaying of the hammock and the soft beat of his heart under your head is just enough to send you off to sleep. Darkness pulls you under in an instant, and you’re rocked away to the tune of the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance and Newt still mumbling questions against the top of your head.
You can sense your hangover looming like dark clouds on the horizon, signaling a true storm of a day about to wreck you for good, but for now it’s just in the distance, not quite yours, not yet. The terrible feeling is warded off by an odd sense of calm and quiet. It’s warm now, warm and comfortable in your hammock, which is strange. Usually, you wake up cold on mornings in the Glade, but not today. It makes you want to snuggle down further, push off consciousness just a little longer.
Then your hand connects with something that isn’t one of your few allotted threadbare blankets or the knots of your hammock, something soft, like skin. A hand, one that isn’t yours. Your eyes fly open and– well, you don’t remember this, but you’re not exactly going to complain.
Newt is lying next to you, still asleep. You are curled up beside him, must have fallen asleep with your head on his chest. One of his hands is just touching yours, the other is cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him.
Immediately your brain splits into two warring factions. One half wants to run away quickly, figure out what happened and why you’re here. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, you know. Shuck, Alby would have a fit if he saw the two of you like this. Probably enough to throw you in the Slammer for a couple of hours.
The other part of yourself wants to stay here forever, to close your eyes and make Newt wake up first and handle it. You haven’t felt peace like this in a while. It’s just the two of you, soft and sweet and mostly folded over in sleep. Why should you disturb this? Disturb him? He’ll just be unhappy if you wake him and force him to realize that you’re here. Probably. Unless he’s the one who let you sleep in his hammock, which is more likely and far more terrifying.
Your issue is solved when Newt shifts slightly, rocking the hammock, and wakes up at last. You quickly shut your eyes and feign sleep, but judging by the movement of his chest as he laughs, you were caught in the act.
“I know you’re awake, Y/N.” He says.
You reluctantly open your eyes. “Maybe. By any chance, do you know why I’m here and not in my own hammock?”
You might just be kidding yourself, but you swear something almost like disappointment crosses Newt’s face. “You were pretty drunk last night,” he says at last, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
It’s a decent explanation, but that doesn’t explain why he’s looking at you like he really, really wants you to remember something about the events of the most recent Bonfire Night. “What did I do last night?” You ask slowly.
Newt shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything, trust me.”
“Then what did I say? You’re looking at me like you’re going crazy.”
Newt furrows his brows in a moment of indignation. “What? I’m not– I’m not looking at you like that. Anyway, you might have said a thing or two. Maybe.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “Newt, if you keep withholding information from me, I’m going to rock the hammock so much you fall on the ground. What happened?”
He has the audacity to laugh at your threat, as if you weren’t completely serious about it. “Alright, alright. You might have told me that you liked me.”
Your sense of terror, which had faded briefly after Newt woke up, is back in full force. “I did what?”
“You told me you liked me,” Newt repeats, “and I thought– well, you were drunk, so I thought you didn’t mean it, but–”
“I did mean it,” you whisper.
Newt’s eyes are wide when you dare to risk a glance back up at him. “Oh.”
That’s a bad oh. Has to be. You move to get up and try to run away before he can look at you like that anymore, but Newt tightens his grip around your waist, forcing you to lie back down. “Wait, wait. Don’t go. I like you too.”
Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “Have for a while. Minho teases me about that too, by the way. No wonder he seems so frustrated about it, he has to listen to both of us moping around even though we both like each other.”
You laugh. “That would be annoying, yes. He has to be happy now, though, we finally told each other about it.”
“That we did,” Newt says, and you can feel the upturned crescent of his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
Maybe you spent a whole year in the Glade without ever seeing rescue. Maybe another year will pass without anything, or maybe five, or ten. Maybe you’ll never leave at all. Still, you’ve got your reasons to be happy after all. They start with him.
maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @w1shes43, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver
#newt#newt imagines#newt x reader#newt oneshot#maze runner#maze runner imagines#maze runner x reader#maze runner oneshot#tmr#tmr imagines#tmr newt x reader#tmr newt oneshot#tmr x reader#tmr oneshot#tmr newt#tmr newt imagines#maze runner newt#maze runner newt imagines#maze runner newt x reader#maze runner newt oneshot
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Can I request? You don’t have to if you don’t want:)
Where the reader is to someone he was brought from the real world, and yuu is like still there, so like yuu and the reader, both get teleported from different parts of the real world and they get teleported into twisted wonderland together. However the reader doesn’t get acknowledged as much as yuu, because yuu is more out there and the reader kinda keeps to herself but the reader has a crush on mallus and she’s make it known to him. However, he has disregarded her feelings and practically made it obvious that he prefers yuu over the reader which breaks the reader’s heart, and let’s say the only person who knows about the reader or pay attention to the reader is Rook, and Rook talks to the reader as a best friend in a way. Let’s say during mallus’s overbot she takes a hit that was meant for yuu and she gets really really hurt. As she’s in pain yuu take the chance to defeat mallus, the reader starts to feel a bit woozy and this gains the attention of yuu and mallus and everyone around, but the reader disappear like the evaporate, a bit like how in Demon slayer when you defeat the demons in a more of flowery way. The plot twist is that the reader is not dead but, they return back to the point in the real world as if time had not changed, and at this point mallus is upset and tries to move on like yuu has but realises after a while how much he actually likes the reader’s attention and has feeling for the reader not yuu. He then becomes very distraught after the realisation and find ways to bring back the reader. you can ask me for part two if you want any more ideas I guess.
You can ignore this if you already busy. ☺️😊(sorry for the mistakes🥹)
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴A/N: BRUH why is this so good. I felt like I was reading a story more than a request when I read your ideas. I’m lowkey just adding my own head cannons onto this with a little bit of pazzah, pls tag me if you ever write this as a full story, part 2 and everything! ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ" I will probably not write a pt2 just because I am terrible at writing parts 2. Not completely happy with this one-I don’t think this is that fluffy with all the info/thoughts in my head, but I tried to flesh it out in my own way!
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Malleus x f!Reader (NOT YUU)
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴WC: 1.2k!
*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴Tags: bittersweet love, pinning, one sided love, miscommunication of feelings, fake!death, some dragon tendencies like possessiveness, got a good amount of mistakes in here so pls forgive me *cries*
It really wasn’t fair. You peered over the railing, looking out into the night. The fairy lights and moon shine against Yuu- short, chopped hair accenting their feminine features, an innocent like beauty, outgoing and extroverted unlike yourself. She was the main character here as she stood next to Malleus, quiet, ebony hair that drapes down his shoulders. He tucks a slimmer of her hair behind her ears.
Yuun affirmed that there was nothing between them. That she had no feelings- she didn’t even know his real name! And that was ridiculous, because how could she not see the regal air around him?
He doesn’t notice you; that because Yuu is perfect. She is the sun shining and you are the shadow that it casts.
Your confession came out of the blue. Yuu was feeling under the weather after diving deep into the ocean to search for some painting. You never really understood the details. What you understood is that Yuu acted rather delirious and needed sleep. Green pulses outside the balcony window, your heart races.
A light blush overtakes your cheeks as you see the firelights flicker outside the front door’s side window. You step outside, the cool porch tingling against your bare feet. He’s there, graceful and poised as ever compared to your bags and tangled hair. A squeak of the boards catch his, his eyes widen with the downturn of his lips, “Oh, Ramshackle other inhabitant,” he looks up towards the room Yuu is resting in, something stirs in your heart at his expression, “It seems as if your Prefect is fast in the realms of dreams.”
You nod your head, clutching the blanket closer to you. Head tingling, this is the closest you’ve been to him. Your first conversation and yet monotone comes out, “She is sick and needs sleep. Come another night to talk to her.”
He hums, a delicate finger holding his chin in thought. “Ahh…I pray that our nightly chats haven’t disturbed you.” He is about to turn around, to leave, you can see his foot already ready to pivot, “Tell her I will return when she recover- “
“I like you.”
Malleus pauses and you can’t believe you were stupid enough to confess to him. You want to deny it, to explain how you fell in love with the way he walks, the charm of his voice through windowpane seals, the way you wish he looked at you like the way he looks at Yuu-
“I have read about this before, this type of confession,” he starts, and your stomach drops as he crosses his hands against his chest, “I cannot accept your feelings.” He looks up towards the balcony and it mortifies you.
So, you try to do your best, well the best you can with the insomnia caused by yourself and your big fat mouth.
Rook eats breakfast with you each day- him curating a balanced meal towards a heart-broken soul. He could read you so well.
“Why my petite ombre! All you need to do it become the beautiful sparrow everyone can’t help but want.” Rook says before heading off to class. He tussles the hair on your head, or fixing it? You couldn’t tell.
So, again, you try. A little more active, a little more talkative, a little more confident. If the sun cast shadows, then you were the flower peaking over the edge.
What you didn’t expect was Malleus to Overblot.
It’s scary. Yuu looks like the commander as she barks out orders with the rest of the NRC students fighting. Silver sending off another attack, pain etched on his face. Another attack blasts students away and you see Yuu fly among the rubble. You see another flash of light coming from the dragon’s breath-
You didn’t expect to take a hit for Yuu as well. But she is the sun, and you need the sun to live no matter how far in the shadows you are. She will save him.
You can’t see straight after the battle is over, that half the world is dark…blurry…like it doesn’t exist, like it's disappearing.
“(Y/N)! Oh god.” You hear Yuu from your right as she grips your hand. Everything feels so cold. You hear him shout towards Rook, oh he’s here also? “Why- why is she like this?”
You want to talk, and you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Yuu is crying, she has tears in her eyes, and you wonder why. Rook speaks this time, you’ve never seen him this discomposed, “I- I’ve never seen this before.”
“What do you mean!? She- she’s evaporating!” Yuu cries taking off her jacket trying to cover your arm. You don’t understand, as you twist out of Yuu’s jacket, she tries to stop you, “No, don’t move! Not until we figure this out.” But she’s too slow at explaining and with your blurry vision, you see your hand? Or half your hand as it dissipates into the air.
“(Y/N)…?” You don’t even have to see to know whose voice that is.
Malleus.
He kneels next to you, alongside Yuu and Rook, his bare hands touching against the wisps of what your hand was. He looks frightened. Can you even read expressions right when you can only see half a face?
You want to tell him not to worry, even though you are scared. That you're glad he is alive, that he was your first love, and you wish you could redo that night all over again. Something warm tingles against and suddenly stops. He must have done something wrong because you see pink and black hair- Lillia- tugging on his shoulder, shaking his head.
Love is bittersweet. There are no last goodbyes as you fade away.
You wake up on your bed. Your bed. The AC flowing, the faint hum of your earbuds against plush comforter, the city noise in the background.
You’re back…?
A weight on your palm as you turn against your side. It was there- your phone turned on and open to the home screen of Twisted Wonderland. You click on the screen…Nothing. Again, again, again! And nothing happens. It still just reads the logo.
Your mind is spiraling as you twist on your bed, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror by your nightstand, and everything stops at once. Your hair is shorter- by your chin. It was so long… you haven’t cut it since the day you woke up in Twisted Wonderland…
It wasn’t a dream…. was it?
.
.
.
.
“This won’t bring her back.”
The caldron bellows into an array of green and yellow swirling into one. Books litter the floor as chaos organized the room. He is one of the most powerful magicians in Twisted Wonderland.
Something was strange about that last night, the way you seemed so scared, different that how steady you presented yourself. The way your eyes stared at him seconds before you phased out of the existence of this realm. He adds a pinch of hazel dust and the green turns into a dark blue like your eyes. He shakes his head- unnecessary thoughts would be of no use to him.
Not until you returned.
#.wwrenwrites#twst x reader#twst headcanons#twisted wonderland#twst x you#malleus draconia#malleus x reader#reader is not Yuu#malleus x y/n
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Modern Aemond X Transreader Prompt
Plot: You and Aemond are in a casual relationship, but you yearn for something deeper and more meaningful, something Aemond seems either incapable of or unwilling to give. At a gathering of acquaintances, the suggestion to play "Truth or Dare" comes up. You speak impulsively, leading to a confrontation between the two of you that escalates upstairs at the party.
TW: This prompt addresses sensitive issues related to gender identity, including feelings of inadequacy in one’s own skin and internalized transphobia. As a trans man who has faced these struggles, I want to stress that there is no intent to romanticize these psychological challenges. If you’re experiencing something similar, please seek support/help. And remember, you are not alone, you are valid, and you are loved.
Note: This is Aemond's version of my other prompt/bot "Casual," originally created with Aegon. Many changes have been made to fit each character’s personality.
With all my heart,
Moon dust.
---
"I just don't get it. We do all these things together, so why does the word 'dating' seem so terrifyingly repulsive?" Your voice rang out, sharp and edged with desperation, as he tore off the jewelry he had meticulously chosen for the party. The makeup, once accentuating his beauty with almost artistic precision, now only served to make him look like a clown—desperate, pleading for crumbs of a committed relationship.
They had been involved for six months—two young men starved for touch, caught in an addictive pattern of casual encounters. Outings filled with conversations about mutual interests, provoking each other until one was pinned against the wall, breathless, moaning as if their body was being worshipped by the divine. You were at peace with this. Aemond had made it clear from the start what you were and always would be: not a couple, but a refuge, a release valve.
until you weren't anymore.
Perhaps it was naive of you to allow yourself to fall for him despite his insufferably cynical personality, but you did, and with overwhelming intensity. Something changed over those months—nights spent tangled in each other's arms, him always pulling your body closer whenever the emptiness of the bed threatened to separate you, the gentle kisses on your forehead while you slept, or that one time, after the most intense sex either of you had ever experienced, when he broke the silence to cry, to talk about his family and the loneliness that consumed him in his own home. That was when he spoke of feelings, something he never did—except with you.
It was a low blow.
Congratulations, you fell for the broken boy.
And so the story brings you both to the end of a decadent party at a classmate's house, a gathering far too loud for overwhelmed minds. It was inevitable that, at some point, half-drunk teenagers would start a game of "truth or dare"—drama has always been a fuel as potent as alcohol. Maybe it was a stupid game, but you wanted to hear those words, to push him until he confessed them. You wanted to hear so many unspoken truths. But you ruined everything. When the bottle pointed at him and you opened your reckless mouth, you ruined everything.
"Is it true what you said that night? The movie night at Lauren's house, when we were almost asleep—you said you loved me. Is that true?" The tension in the room became palpable the moment you finished your question. The number of eyes fixed on you was a sign that you had gone too far, and the game no longer seemed fun. Damn it. Fuck. Shit.
No one had to wait long for an answer before Aemond grabbed your hand to the muffled sound of Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." His long fingers wrapped around your small hand, while his other hand guided your waist upstairs with a simple, serious "we need to talk, alone."
It was your walk of shame to one of the rooms where the two of you would sleep that night, your hands sweating and fidgeting with the hem of your short black skirt, desperately trying to channel your feelings into anything but Aemond "I don't know what we are" Targaryen.
"It makes no sense to keep saying we're nothing. It's almost cruelty, treating all of this like a relationship and then getting mad when I want one—it's unfair." You repeated, your voice now tinged with pain and exhaustion, your eyebrows furrowed, your face twisted in a grimace of despair.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what?
"Because we're not in a relationship. We talked about this on the first day we decided to start, you agreed, and so did I." Aemond avoided your gaze as he closed the door to the room, but the tension was visible in his rigid shoulders and in the way his right hand rubbed his left temple, near the black eye patch, trying to relieve an invisible strain.
"I've changed, Aemond. I'm everything you need. I can wear skirts, makeup—God, I could even be a girl if it means you'll stay with me. I can forget about this whole trans thing, maybe it's just in my head, yeah? Silly me. Just stay with me, please, You love me, we both know that. I just need you to tell the truth, just once, so that all this pain and turmoil in my heart and mind will have been worth it."
But they aren't worth it.
"Look, I'll say this because you're right about one thing: I love you, {{user}}." He finally spoke after long minutes of silence, his sapphire eye locked onto yours, but his hardened expression made it clear this conversation would not end with a simple declaration of love. "But I could never love you in the way you want. I don't want a relationship right now with you. It doesn't matter if you feel like a woman or a man—that's not the point. Just not now."
"But you could, maybe in the future. I could wait." Your voice was almost pitiful, a desperate plea. Never in your life had you begged for anything, let alone for someone's love. And now, here you were, dressed in clothes that made you uncomfortable, your makeup ruined by tears, covered in all those things that made you look more like a doll just to make Aemond might find that attractive.
Look like a girl.
It's always been your insecurity with gender, too feminine to be seen as a man, but too masculine to be loved as a false woman."
Silly boy.
Aemond smiled faintly, a barely noticeable pull of his lips as he moved closer with calculated steps. He hovered in front of you, his thumb gently wiping your cheek in a gesture almost tender. God, you were pathetic, even to him.
"I never could, either, and that would make the wait even more painful. Do you understand? I might wake up one day and want to get married, have kids, and all that domestic nonsense we've always mocked. How can I guarantee I'll feel the same way in four years? I don't want you to wait. I don't want you to change. No one who truly loves you should ask that of you. This is probably where I have to end the mess we've made." He bent down slightly, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before whispering that he was sorry.
Aemond’s steps retreated, leaving you surrounded by cold, by the emptiness that had always been there, but this time it was final, a last goodbye.
"Someone will love you. Someone will love the man you are. But that someone won't be me. I'm sorry."
Four weeks.
And Aemond was now officially and openly dating a girl.
#house of the dragon#writing prompt#aemond targaryen#dialogue prompt#fanfic#fic prompt#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#hotd aemond#trans reader#mlm#writing dialogue#writing#story prompt#oneshot#ewan mitchell
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I don't want to get too caught up on semantics but I have to say I really feel like it's an unfair reading of the situation to call what Charles does in the Staircase Scene a "rejection."
I've already talked about how I think that scene's strength lies in the act of telling itself and Edwin's confession as the conclusion of his self-discovery arc. And I understand how the fact that that arc involved things like sexuality & attraction left it open to being viewed under a sort of romance-plot-specific lens, but evaluating the whole thing on that criteria still feels like a misrepresentation.
I don't think Edwin is saying "Love me" in that scene. Maybe he would've been asking for that, if this had all happened under different circumstances - and sure, generally, he'd presumably like that to happen - but it'd still be a kind of insane request for him to make right as he's being literally rescued from hell. (Especially since, even though the audience & Charles can both see the rescue as so in-character we might take it for granted, Edwin clearly didn't, if his consistently surprised confused & appalled reactions to Charles being there are anything to go by). I think he's feeling very loved already at that point, and I have a hard time believing desperation to simply have that reiterated is what drove him to speak up at such an inopportune moment.
I think what he's really saying there is "Hear me" - and as a listener and a confidant, Charles does anything but reject him. Maybe it's splitting hairs a bit, but if the distinction between "please don't turn me down" and "please understand the person in front of you" matters anywhere, it's in relation to Charles' response because he is so accepting of the confession as a confession. Not only does he take what Edwin tells him well, despite it being the sort of thing that might rock the foundation of the most important relationship in his existence, he also accepts the fact that Edwin is in such a vulnerable and worked up state that he has to do it right now despite it endangering them both. Charles would, truthfully, be totally justified in mostly ignoring it or passing over it quickly and inconclusively, insisting that this wasn't the time or place - but instead everything he says and does in that scene is geared toward giving Edwin's announcement the attention & understanding he needs so badly - and that includes responding with honesty about his own feelings, even if they might not otherwise be exactly what you'd want to hear after declaring your love for someone. Charles takes his time (perhaps foolishly, but certainly necessarily) and gives Edwin a response that is warm and familiar, while also being kind, affectionate, open, serious, and above all correspondingly worthy of the weight of the thing Edwin has just entrusted him with. That seems an awful lot to pass over simply because he doesn't also happen to be in love with him too.
Edwin's confession is so not a come-on that whether or not Charles reciprocates the romantic element is, at best, secondary to his overall reaction, and using that piece of it to call the whole thing a rejection feels like a very inaccurate shorthand to get in the habit of using as a summary of his role in the scene.
#dead boy detectives#charles rowland#edwin payne#the case of the very long stairway#sorry but i've seen the words rejection & friendzoned used and that just makes no sense to me as anything other than a joke#surely to reject is more than just admitting you don't feel exactly the same?#surprise surprise this turned out longer than i meant it to be. so im not even going near the fact that charles' actual words#can also be interpreted as leaving the door open for potential romantic developments in some future eventuality#that's a valid reading too but many have and others will make that point. it's just not the one that interested me here#like i never thought i'd be saying 'romance aside' about a love confession but i am just so captivated by the way this one plays out
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HELLO coming out of my cave to yell about how much I LOVE The Double (墨雨云间) bc I have no irl friends that love historical c-dramas :’) I’ve been hung up on this show for a few days after finishing it.
Overall 10/10 with a subjectively happy ending (I choose to believe the ending is happy) with really good acting. Wu Jinyan could never disappoint. The frontal camera angles threw me off quite a bit at first but I slowly started to appreciate this artistic choice.
Some spoilers ahead as usual!
Let’s dive into - the Plot. I read some of the original novel in the past but dropped it after a while. There are some differences - such as the novel using transmigration (Xue Fangfei entering Jiang Li’s body) as the main plot point, while the drama explicitly shows how Xue Fangfei’s journey with Jiang Li and how she eventually took over JL’s identity after her passing. Personally I prefer what the drama did as everything felt much more real and believable. This added a depth to the story that transmigration was unable to showcase. Plus, Wu Jinyan’s ability to showcase XFF’s pain and growth as she vows to exonerate JL (played by Yang Chaoyue) and herself was extremely captivating and I constantly wanted to root for her.
All the flashbacks with JL thanking XFF throughout the show had me sobbing in bed at 3am while watching.
Special mention to the king (played by Zeng Ke Liang) as well for not being a total fool - as seen in SO MANY other historical dramas. His friendship with Xiao Heng is rock solid, and seeing the ministers and other antagonists constantly underestimate it was sooo satisfying to watch. So if you hate cdramas with stupid monarchs, you'll be pleased to hear that there won't be any of that here.
Scenes of their friendship were really cute to watch too.
The romantic development between XFF and Xiao Heng (played by Wang Xingyue) was delightful to watch. I love couples that just understand each other. Without explicitly saying anything, without any grand confessions of love, both parties mutually knew each other’s feelings and constantly looked out for each other. The slow and gradual process of them falling for each other was paced out beautifully - XH’s gaze changes as he looks at her throughout the episodes, and XFF gets more and more playful around him. The script and their bantering ticks all the right boxes fkr me. He’s the only person that knows her real identity, she doesn’t need to hide in front of him. And this makes their relationship so much more special.
And I love that there was nothing like making stupid decisions in the name of love and protection while jeopardising the bigger picture. (eg. XH giving up the entire secret army the emperor trusted him with for XFF - turning out to be a hidden ploy) Both XFF and XH were on a quest for revenge and they are determined to get what they want without making any compromise. If at any point of the plot - they deviate from this and decide to do something foolish in order to protect the other, I would have seen it as out of character.
Bonus points for including an archery scene :D It’s one of my favourite overused tropes.
The overall camera work and style of The Double was shot so beautifully and in a rather interesting theatrical style. From JL’s death where she falls among the pear blossoms to Princess Wanning (played by Li Meng) ’s dancing and even the scenes where characters stare directly into the camera. The opening scenes were super dramatic and really set a heavy tone for the rest of the story.
While the staring into the camera took some getting used to, there are certain portions where Wanning’s expressions gave me goose bumps. Li Meng’s performance took me out - her Wanning was repulsive in the way she treated others, yet so broken from her past that I felt so much pain for her towards the end of the story. It was amazing.
There were even comedic elements that made some parts feel like a stage play. Like her cousin and his lackeys’ coordinated walk as they try to help her out from her room. And one of the minister’s love for theatre which was super on the nose I laughed out loud while watching it all play out. The style in which important plot points are presented is so unique and really sets this show apart from other cdramas I’ve watched.
Everyone in the cast was amazing in their roles. While Wang Xingyue is one of the younger cast members, the emotional depth in his performance as Xiao Heng gave off maturity and a temperament beyond his years. Seeing him goof around behind the scenes, and then watching him as Xiao Heng gave me whiplash - but in the best way possible.
Liang Yongqi was a truly despicable Shen Yurong - it got to a point where seeing him on screen made my skin crawl. Liu Xiening as Jiang Ruoyan was perfectly annoying - and I can't wait to see more from her as I've really liked her since she was in Gugudan.
I could probably go on and on about how much I love Wu Jinyan as Xue Fangfei and I’m so happy that they casted her because she was perfect. (Admittedly, I’m biased). But I think you can watch the show to experience everyone's brilliance for yourself. The casting and script pacing was great and all the different pieces fit together into this story perfectly.
Now let's talk about the somewhat controversial ending of The Double. Did our beloved Duke Su die in battle? Did they ever reunite? I choose to believe that he came back to her in the end and they got their happy ending. But Wang Xingyue's performance in that last battle - with the iconic scene of XFF's pendant in his mouth was breathtaking. Regardless, I do think the show could have done without causing the audience pain with this added arc of him going back to his duties - but I felt that it made sense.
Xiao Heng is someone who is deadly loyal to his country and to his king. He and XFF are not the kind to simply escape from the capital and its intrigues to live a happy life on their own. Both value their family and their country, they would never leave the capital to pursue their own happiness.
Also something I noticed - that made this scene so much more painful. At the start after XFF retrieves the pendant, Tong'er (her servant) tells her not to pawn off this pendant anymore. She replies with "there's no one worth trading this pendant for". And then she gives this pendant to XH before he goes off to battle at the end. Cries.
Abrupt end but I think this is most of the feels I have to get out already - I took a lot of screenshots and recordings while watching The Double (haven't felt the urge to do so in such a long time tbh) so there may be more posts from me while I continue yapping about how much I love this show and story adaptation.
smol life update: I’ve been working FT after graduation two years ago - but I was in a pretty bad environment and have decided to resign this year. So now I’m funemployed and trying to work through some health issues. Hope everyone has been well and thank you for reading this! ❤️❤️
#wuxia#wuxia hero#cdrama#chinese#The Double#墨雨云间#marriage of the di daughter#wu jinyan#wang xingyue#after rant#after rants#cdrama review
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I'm late, but what matters is posting the results, so hello!
Let's move on to placing them:
BIGGEST ITFS SUPPORTERS ON CANON!!!!!
RYOMEN "You finally got a role" SUKUNA
Also known as the one who is intimately aware of our couple's desires, desires and fears (after all, he shared a body with both of them), Sukuna is the main plot device when it comes to bringing Itafushi even closer together. It's thanks to your existence that ITFS started, isn't it? LOL.
He's a threat, he's a calamity, he's a bored old man, but most importantly, he's responsible for the line "congratulations, you've won a role" where he not only recognizes Yuji's new power, but also that our pookie pink haired girl is ready to save her sea urchin. After all, it's quite propitious for Yuji to save his soulmate in the domain called "pure and mutual love" LMAO!!!!
Fortunately, Sukuna comes in last place because he gave several traumas to ITFS, including murder, body snatching, mental and emotional manipulation, violence and a lot of anguish. He's a bad bitch we love to hate!
((I couldn't get any art from them that wasn't a ship T-T ))
3TH PLACE:
NOBARA "Boys are disgusting" KUGISAKI
It was a close battle with second place, but I confess that not even Nobara could compete against him T-T. Our beautiful queen full of thorns is the most common third wheel in the canon, being present in moments that helped in the growth of ITFS, such as their conversation after the exchange event (where we see Yuji blush and smile after Megumi praised him hihi) and when our boys take each other's hands as a sign of trust after the fight with Kechizu and Eso. She's also the queen who helps these two idiots notice their feelings in fanfics, so what better than third place for her!!!!
It's a shame we can't see her reaction when she hears the phrase "so start saving me, Itadori", but I bet she would scream something like "get a room, you two, gay idiots!".
Anyway, Nobara, know that you will always be famous and our boys will make you proud as they finish off Sukuna and ride off into the sunset T-T
2TH PLACE
YUTA "THIS IS PURE LOVE" OKKOTSU
Who but the main advocate of love to come second? Yuta has shown himself to be a huge supporter of itfs since his return to the post-Shibuya manga, from helping Yuji deal with his inner demons to agreeing to save him because he was someone important to Megumi (shoot me in the head if Megumi didn't ask Yuta save Yuji when he learned that his senpai would be the executioner).
He also had to watch from a box seat the dramatic ITFS meeting after the horrors in Shibuya, so he knows how serious Megumi and Yuji are about protecting each other. Yuta is also doing everything he can to make these two stay together, not taking long to jump against Sukuna to save Megumi and opening his beautiful domain of PURE AND MUTUAL LOVE!!!! Yes girls, Yuta is the last romantic on earth and he will be the key to our ITAFUSHI coming back to us T-T.
This boy is just not in first place, because first place belongs to him alone.
1st PLACE
SATORU "Personal feelings?" GOJO
THE HONORABLE!!!! MEGUMI'S FATHER!!! THE MOST ROMANTIC EVER!!!! SATORU GOJO TAKES FIRST PLACE!!!! He was the first to notice ITFS in the SECOND EPISODE and makes a point of always bringing these two boys even closer with his discreet (and some extravagant) plans. An example of this is his readiness to accept saving Yuji because it was a request from his dear son, going against the ENTIRE JUJUTSU WORLD just because he knows what it's like to love someone who is condemned to death (stsg tears run down my eyes).
He also placed the boys next to each other, supported their relationship, blessed them, and was willing to save his son so that none of them would suffer (someone shoot me).
YOUR FIRST PLACE IS DESERVED!!!! I'M SURE ITFS WILL BE THE HAPPY VERSION OF STSG AND WILL BE ABLE TO MAKE ITS SENSEI PROUD!!!!
Official results!
This is the end, but we'll give some honorable mentions.
- Toji Fushiguro (his VA said that Toji would find Yuji a bit annoying at first, but would soon like him too, which is understandable, since Yuji is fantastic)
- Choso (Anyone who loves Yuji will be loved by Choso)
- Nanami Kento (no explanation, I just feel it)
- Tsumiki Fushiguro (I don't need to see this to know your opinions)
- Grandpa Wasuke Itadori (HE WOULD LOVE MEGUMI, FIGHT ME IF YOU DON'T AGREE)
- Aoi Todo (He would always support Yuji, no matter how annoying his crush is)
- Gege Akutami (come on kitty, we all know you secretly love itfs and stsg and are cooking a beautiful and wonderful wedding for them, no need to be shy about it ;) )
#Thank you so much to everyone who participated in my poll!!!#I didn't expect so many people to like it#LOL!!!!#We are totally back itafushi nation#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#megumi fushiguro#jjk spoilers#fushiguro megumi#itafushi#itadori yuji#gojo satoru#fushiita#yuji itadori#satoru gojo#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna#nobara kugisaki#kugisaki nobara#yuta okkotsu#okkotsu yuta
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The Sign - Ep 7
First of all, as always, I will officially ignore all the cop stuff, the doctor discussing his patient's condition and giving his data without a court order, how a person with a mental disorder is treated, and the meme quotes from Paulo Coelho 🙃
(It's interesting that the Dr. Chewconcretemotherfucker treated both art Art and Tharn 🤔)
It never ceases to amaze me how much Phaya has NO control over his face and his behavior in Dr. ChUNT's presence lmao. And how all Tharn gives him is basic politeness, and how it must be apparent to anyone interested (including Dr. Changinghisnameisapublicservice) that Tharn, his heart, and his body belong to someone else. So what exactly is he trying to achieve? The only thing left for him is to actually end this relationship in a drastic way…
"So don't worry, I will see him to his bed" I bet your ass that you will Phaya! 😆 I'm 100% sure the only thing your bird brain registered is "I" and "Tharn" and "bed" 👍
Somehow, in this episode, Tharn was able to de-escalate the situation between Phaya and Dr. Chanceyougettharniszeroyoucunt (with just one sentence), and he was also able to confess why he was the way he was (it took him one sentence as well). This is what I wanted in last episode, but what we only got now to fit the plot… *sigh*
I really liked the scene of Phaya trying to explain himself to Tharn: he's freaking out, not controlling his emotions, grabbing Tharn's hands.. and those broken sentences, grimaces on his face, visible nervousness and distress. And how Tharn is worried about what he sees (that deep crease between his eyebrows), trying to hide his worry, comforting him. Phaya's line: "Just tell me you forgive me and all these symptoms would probably go away" floored me. That's some old romance novel shit, it gets me every time! 😍
Phaya and Tharn's conversation in the archive was great, making Phaya's position on being in a relationship clear. Tharn's reaction to what Phaya says and when he asks what would he do? Really nice, as Tharn shows mostly with his eyes how much it all affects him..
I love Phaya and how persistent he is, how he doesn't give up, how he treats all obstacles to his happy relationship with Tharn as something that simply needs to be overcome and that's it 😄
That's why he follows him like a dog, uses every opportunity to be with him and creates his own opportunities. Like inviting Tharn to his nest house to disarm him with his family, food and cat and ultimately WIN him.
Which of course works! Who would have guessed, Phaya actually has some game after all lmao
The scene at Phaya's house was so sweet! Tharn is so loving and gentle with the cat, immediately noticing Namami, unconsciously petting him just beacuse he is within his arm reach, which is what cat people do without thinking. I love how everyone just passed the cat between them lol
I liked Tharn having fun, being relaxed, the way Phaya shows him around his nest, the way he talks to him about himself. Tharn staring at the eagle painting…
Ohhh, and we have a perfect confession. As it should be, because Phaya is so serious when it comes to Tharn: it was long, honest, romantic without exaggeration or cringe. It's nice that Tharn didn't interrupt him and made an emotional confession himself.
I'm not surprised that Tharn gave in because everything had been building up to this point. The way he saw Phaya freaking out, the way Phaya kept pushing, the whole "love" atmosphere of their current case certainly made him think too. Tharn himself tells Phaya not to press him, suggesting that he doesn't have the strength to resist, because as Tongthai even said earlier, you can't "fall out of love." You can't just shut down your feelings and desires. And Tharn FEELS it and oh god how much he wants it. And what I think convinced him was that Phaya didn't dismiss his worries with the traditional "don't worry" or "everything will be fine" or worse, "you're exaggerating, it's just a delusion." No, Phaya took his fears upon himself, saying that HE would try not to leave THARN, taking the burden of keeping Phaya alive off Tharn's shoulders. "I'll do whatever it takes so that you won't be sad or lose me", because his life is his responsibility, not Tharn's.
What Phaya did was notice Tharn's worry, recognize it, take it upon himself, and let Tharn relax.
That's why I'm not surprised that Tharn allowed himself a moment of happiness, to reach for what he wants. Perhaps it's a moment of weakness that he will regret later, but come on, Tharn is not made of steel! He's just a cute lil' guy and he's in love and horny! 😭
Oh, but this confession had its beautiful moments:
"I really want to have you by my side in every day of my life"
"This is the best I can do, please don't force me"
"I promise not to leave you"
Love scene: YES. I love Phaya when, before they started, he takes a deep breath, as if he's finally at peace, because this is it, he FINALLY has everything he wants, everything is right with the world. And then he just go for it. I fucking love predatory, hungry Phaya. I love the pliant Tharn, how he's almost always with his back to Phaya in an act of sweet submission and ultimate trust. Phaya had moments as if he couldn't believe that they were together and when he realized that yes, this was really happening, he became even more passionate, as if he couldn't get enough of Tharn. It was incredibly hot.
There was a lot of heavy breathing, pulling on skin, tight embraces, intense caresses, hungry looks. And am I seeing things or there was a scene of Tharn nodding his consent and implication that Phaya was preparing him? 👀
Anyway, the scene was an intoxicating mix of Phaya and Tharn's fantasies: it was pretty, pink, emotional and hot.
When I finally see them together, I'm as happy as Phaya with a naked, tattooed, wet Tharn in the shower 😄💖🥳 everything is right with the world.
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They're already far but still far.
Majority of the posts I'm seeing about the new chapter is always about Loid's love for Yor. It's sweet and nice, I know. I'm just as happy. I respect everyone's cheer for our beloved ship. But, I simply don't see it the exact same way as many others do.
Of course I'm not pretending like I've forgotten that Loid spared Yuri or that he dodged Fiona's further questioning. It's just that Loid could have simply done that because Loid feels like he owes Yor something. Also, because Loid doesn't take Yor for granted, who is supposed to be someone to be used for mission's sake. Loid respects Yor, that's obvious. And perhaps he thinks it wouldn't be fair if he killed Yor's only family.
I'm not saying that it can't be love. My point is that it can be anything else other than love. It can be "trust" or "reliance", both of which can be applied on the situation. Wheeler said not to trust anyone but Loid trusts Yor when it comes to Anya. And this chapter, Loid had just put some reliance on Yor by asking for a favor. Their interaction in this chapter is definitely a big milestone but at the same time, still ways to go. I know that everything of this will lead them to love but not yet.
What I'm waiting is, for Loid and Yor to have some sort of intersecting point that will eventually lead things towards the romantic path.
Am I pertaining about jealousy? Not necessarily. Mutual hardship? Maybe. Lol it could be even Anya, since she is their matchmaker. Just any plot mechanism that will pull them both towards each other.
And since I'm already on LoiYor/TwiYor love game I'll just be putting my bet on who does first–
The first one to fall in love is Loid.
The first one to realize their feelings first is Yor.
The first one to confess... maybe Yor.
Loid have dealt with many women but Yor is nothing like them. Yor herself said that she's "abnormal" and Loid himself admitted that Yor throws him off balance. And even more than that, Yor brings out many sides of Loid and gently peeling her way to his heart. Loid will keep on thinking about her words and action and unconsciously will fall for her. Loid will probably have a hard time accepting but well... he can take care of himself with that anyway.
Yor is simple minded and quite slow at times. She is simple-minded most likely due to the fact that her assassin job makes her work in a simple manner. Of course she has to analyze the target but there's only one goal, that is, to kill. That comes with exceptions like during the Cruise liner arc but still, Yor doesn't deal with lots of mind games as Loid do. So when Yor finally falls in love too, it will be like a clear sound echoing within her heart. And Yor is a very honest person so eventually she'll try to talk it with Loid or more likely do a drunk confession.
That's all I have to share. My thoughts have been bothering me nonstop while I was taking a bath. Thanks for reading
#spy x family#spy x family spoilers#spy x family manga#spy x family analysis#spy x family rant#loid#yor#loiyor#twiyor#maybe now i can do my inventory#or maybe my wip fic#I'm not sure#mission 86
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