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hansolmates · 4 years

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the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For fuck’s sake—”

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

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

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

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

“Done and done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve been seeing red for days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trouble in paradise?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh… hot?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Favorite movie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which means?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss kiss kiss!”

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

“Kiss him before I do!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?”

“That’s the one.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What movie?”

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

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

“Jung Hoseok!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Already out the door, bossman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you say something?”

“I said, I’m sorry.”

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

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.”

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content.

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic.

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body.

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.”

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!”

“You were worried?”

“Shut up.”

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp.

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.”

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter.

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.”

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.”

“But still.”

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?”

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting.

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.”

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?”

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.”

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.”

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu.

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind.

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads.

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid.

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.”

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.”

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table.

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions.

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.”

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip.

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.”

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com.

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly.

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.”

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day.

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé.

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.”

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.”

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.”

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.”

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.”

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?”

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?”

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.”

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.”

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.”

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.”

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand.

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.”

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers.

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,” the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.”

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.”

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger.

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.”

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.”

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed.

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother.

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house.

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.”

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.”

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!”

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.”

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues.

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting.

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say?

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.”

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something.

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why.

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom.

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him.

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree.

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye.

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder.

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much.

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store.

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked.

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months.

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm.

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face.

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.”

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band.

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry.

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band.

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.”

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?”

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.”

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.”

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!”

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?”

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.”

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.”

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that.

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.”

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?”

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable.

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone.

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.”

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right?

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!! Can i disown a first cousin??

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor.

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner.

“Shoot.”

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.”

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.”

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?”

What?

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.”

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?”

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.”

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?”

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge.

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed.

“What, like fake moan into the wall?”

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.”

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both.

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!”

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes.

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?”

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.”

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.”

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables.

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time.

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.”

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!”

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.”

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion.

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard.

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.”

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs.

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.”

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed.

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck.

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts.

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw.

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more.

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make yourself feel good.”

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.”

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body.

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,”

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal.

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand.

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why.

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.”

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you.

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies.

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch.

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club.

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?”

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles.

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.”

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?”

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs.

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.”

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom.

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.”

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway.

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”.

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route.

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.”

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!”

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.”

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently.

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.”

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks.

“You say that like it’s not possible!”

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.”

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast.

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake.

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room.

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out.

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.”

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.”

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca.

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”

“What’s up?”

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.”

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.”

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.”

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.”

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.”

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?”

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners.

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.”

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!”

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.”

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail.

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.”

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.”

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face.

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute?

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses.

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin.

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes.

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap.

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.”

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.”

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game.

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.”

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!”

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back.

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were.

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.”

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?”

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?”

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. .

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering.

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh.

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his.

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.”

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket.

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed.

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings.

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was.

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it.

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you.

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually.

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much?

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful.

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you?

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday. Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel.

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.”

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?”

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.”

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.”

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked.

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use.

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat.

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!”

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold.

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him.

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right.

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.”

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it.

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.”

“I don’t deserve your trust.”

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug.

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this.

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest.

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.”

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced.

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?”

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side.

“Long version or short version?”

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.”

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!”

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.”

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.”

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant.

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.”

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!”

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.”

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him.

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up.

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?”

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.”

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.”

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air.

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.”

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!”

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away.

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.”

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.”

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.”

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?”

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?”

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.”

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.”

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you.

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right.

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee.

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?”

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.”

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal.

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions.

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.”

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.”

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.”

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.”

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.”

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.”

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.”

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.”

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?”

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.”

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye.

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?��

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.”

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.”

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?”

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.”

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.”

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.”

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!”

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream.

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?”

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings.

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?”

“Yep,” Jungkook pops.

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?”

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag.

“Hit us with your best shot.”

#jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jeongguk #jungkook fluff #kpop #kpop fic #jjk #bts x reader #how did i manage to write this

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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

Text

Little Shit:

Part 1: Wrapped Around A Finger

This is for week 96 of @wackydrabbles prompt: I can't -- I have a deadline. Prompt will be in bold.

Okay, so I couldnt fit all of this into the 2000 word limit and had to break it up and didn't have the heart to cut.

@kingliam2019 you made a request for a Little Shit story on New Year’s Eve and it only took 5 months to come up with something, so this one is for you.

If you're unfamiliar with the Little Shit series (because it has been over a year since I wrote anything for it) Nikolas is Liam and Riley's 5 year old mischievous son who just can't help from wreaking havoc, especially toward Drake. He enjoys getting a rise out of him even if he does love his Uncle ... for the most part.

Warning: Crude Language. Mention of Covid and vaccinations.

Word count: 1928

-----------------------

Returning from the stables one afternoon, Drake was stopped at the palace door by security -- again -- for not wearing the required mask to enter.

“Mr. Walker, I’m afraid you need to have a mask on before I can allow you inside. I have to tell you this every day.”

“That because I fucking live here,” Drake grumbled as he snagged the offered surgical mask from the guard.

“Not in the common areas, Mr. Walker.”

“You know this whole virus thing is just a conspiracy and Liam is using it to control all of us, right? He’s gone mad. This shit’s never gonna end.”

“I understand, sir.” The guard waited patiently as Drake begrudgingly slipped the mask over his face. “Perhaps, though, there is an alternative, one where you wouldn’t have to wear one anymore. They’re offering free vaccines in room 105 today. If you get the shot, you won’t need to wear a mask when you come inside,” the guard cajoled.

Drake let out a humorless laugh.“I’m sure that’s exactly what Liam wants: make a guinea pig out of me. Pump me full of that radioactive shit and in five years I’ll have a tail growing out of my face. No thanks.” Drake disregarded the information and moved past the man.

“But, sir .. .they’re giving away bottles of whiskey to the first 100 recipients. Last I heard, they were close to reaching that number. Top of the line stuff too.”

Drake turned on the heel of his work boots, glaring back, before asking skeptically. “Whiskey? They’re giving away alcohol to get this damn shot?” The guard nodded in response.

“Glenfiddich -- 1955, I believe. The King paid for it himself.”

Drake’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s a $90,000 bottle! And they’re just giving them away if you get this shot?”

“I … um … yes. His Majesty wants to reward those who are doing their part to create a healthier and safer Cordonia. He won’t rest until every last citizen is vaccinated from this dreaded virus. We can all fight this … together. What do you say, Mr. Walker? Will you help stop the spread?”

“For a $90,000 bottle of whiskey? Hell yeah! I’ll grow two tails out my heads for -- hold on a damn minute …” Drake burrowed his eyes into the guard who was sweating bullets, desperate for him to leave. “Where the hell is Nikolas at? This whole thing reeks of him..” Drake’s eyes began darting around the perimeter in a feverish search for the little prince’s battery operated car. “That little shit is blackmailing you, isn’t he? I should have known.”

The guard straightened and answered in a solemn tone, “I’m a serious professional, Mr. Walker. And I take your accusations of being anything but, demeaning to the loyalty and oath I’ve given to the Crown. How dare you stand there --”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” Drake ran a hand down his weary face in frustration. “It’s just that kid is the bane of my existence. I’ve had a long, hard day at work and I’m in no mood for his fucking stunts.”

The guard waved him off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ve heard all about the stuff he’s pulled on you.” He leaned in closer and spoke in a hushed tone, “Between you and me, he’s a little pain in my ass too; always coming down here acting like he runs this place. If you ever need help teaching that kid a lesson, I’d be happy to help.”

Drake arched a brow. “Loyalty to the crown, huh?” The man regarded that retort with an awkward shrug. “Yeah, he needs his ass busted, that’s for sure. Liam thinks he just needs a little more love. I’d like to show him the Bianca F. Walker way of love.” He slammed his hands together.

The guard chuckled. “I’m with you on that. He needs something done; he’s out of control … Anyway, you should probably head on up there and get your shot -- and whiskey -- before they’re all out. I wish I’d have waited to get mine until today.”

Twisting his face in doubt, Drake walked around the corner and leaned up against the wall as he pulled out his phone. Something just didn’t feel right, and he determined the safest thing to do was shoot off a quick text to his best friend.

Drake: Liam, are you really giving away Glenfiddich, 1955, to get the Covid vaccine?

He waited a brief moment until a response came through; he looked down at his phone and read:

Liam: Yes.

Drake: Is that all you have to say about that?

Liam: Yes.

Liam: I am in meeting for Cordonia.

Drake tilted his head to the side and scratched at it as he stared at the odd message. He typed out another response.

Drake: What kind of meeting for Cordonia? And with who?

Liam: Top secret. Can't tell you.

Drake: Uh-huh. Where’s Nikolas?

Liam: With Riley and baby in Vallteria

Liam: Shit. Valtoria

Drake: What’s the capital of the United States?

Liam: Damn it Drake I’m in a meeting!

Drake: Then hurry up and answer

Liam: Washington D.C.

Drake: Who shot me at the costume ball?

Liam: You son of a bitch. IM IN A MEETING!

Drake let out a heavy groan and decided to just call Riley. He knew without a doubt Nikolas took Liam’s phone again. If he called Riley, though, there was no way the boy could pretend he was her.

Picking up almost instantly, Riley answered cheerfully, “Hello. Queen Riley speaking.”

“Riley, it’s Drake. I was just wondering if you and Liam were really giving away whiskey for getting this shot? Sounds a little fishy to me.”

There was a moment of silence, then a clicking noise, followed by a long beep, before Riley replied. “Yes. We. Are. Giving. Away …. Whiskey. Get.The.Shot.Drake.”

“The hell is wrong with your voice?”

“I.Am.In.Valtoria.”

“Riley, why the fuck are you enunciating every word?”

“I. Have. A. Cold. And. Must.Talk.Slow. Nikolas.Is.With.Me. And. I. Must. Get ... Going. Bye. Drake ...You. Ass. Hole.”

Drake rolled his eyes and slipped the phone in his back pocket. “He’s got her phone, too. Damn that evil-ass kid.” He hesitantly made his way down to room 105; it wouldn’t hurt anything just to open the door and see if there was anything legit about this. As he approached, a lovely lady he knew from the kitchen exited with a big smile on her aging face and a bottle she cradled in her arms; he recognized it almost instantly as the Glenfiddich.

“Miss Milly,” Drake greeting kindly and held the door open for her. “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

“Oh, you.” She laughed bashfully in her grandmotherly voice as she stepped into the corridor. “You’re always flirting with me, Drake. One of these days, I’m going to make you take me out on a date, buy me dinner, and give me a peck on the cheek at the end of the night.”

Drake smiled back fondly at her. “You just tell me when, Miss Milly, and I’m there.” He motioned to the bottle in her hand. “Say … couldn’t help but notice that bottle of whiskey you’re carrying around; where’d you get that at? That brand doesn’t come cheap.”

“Ohhh, I know. But I heard they were giving shots in that room right there.” She pointed with a crooked finger. “And they said I was the 99th person to stop by, and gave this to me after getting my shot. I couldn’t believe my luck. And they only have one bottle left. I can finally put my grandson through college.”

“That’s great! And you said there is still one more bottle left?”

She nodded her head. “Yes. But you better hurry. One of the chefs is on his way here for a shot as well.”

Drake hurriedly kissed her on the cheek and opened the door. Thank you, Miss Milly!” He stepped inside, then stopped and whipped his head back out the door. “Milly, wait. Have you seen Prince Nikolas today?”

“Yes, he left with the Queen after breakfast this morning. I believe they mentioned going to Valtoria.”

Drake rubbed his hands together anxiously and thanked her. He’d known the cook for years, she’s the sweetest person he knew. There was no way she would cover for Nikolas, and Drake couldn’t imagine the boy would have any dirt to hold over her head.

When the door shut, Nikolas grinned mischievously from a dark alcove where he was parked in his black 12V Mercedes Benz S63. “This is the day I’ve been waiting for.”

He set his laptop and both parents' phones in the passenger seat and slowly pulled out. He paid $100 to Milly and asked her to put the bottle back in his father’s liquor cabinet and rolled a few paces to room 105.

======

After filling out medical forms, the palace doctor ushered Drake behind a curtain where a long rectangular table and folding chair sat. Taking the seat, Drake watched the doctor slip on a pair of gloves and pull a small tube of lube out of his lab coat pocket. Drake furrowed his brows in confusion. “Heh. What’s the lube for?” he chuckled lightly. “I’m just here for a shot, man. Nothing else is going in me.”

“Just relax, Mr. Walker. It’s all part of the process.” A squirt of clear liquid was squeezed onto the doctor's two gloved fingers as he held them up. “On your medical forms you denied having a physical exam in the past year. I just need to do a quick exam and check for rectal polyps.”

Drake started laughing in amusement, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve got to be shittin' me. So let me get this straight. I can’t get a shot until you stick your fingers in my ass to check for ‘polyps?’ Yeah, that’s happening. What a bunch of horse malarky.”

The doctor let out an annoyed huff. “I see you didn’t read over the information forms. They never do,’ he mumbled. “Look, if you want me to wait here all day while you figure out what to do, I can’t -- I have a deadline to finish here. Now if you’ll move along, I have another patient waiting; you’re free to go.”

And Drake knew he was. But that expensive bottle of Glenfiddich was calling his name. He glanced over to that one last beautiful bottle sitting atop a desk on the far side of the room, calling his name. Selling it for even half of what it was worth would afford him enough to move the hell out of the palace and get the freedom from Nik he desired. Rubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin, Drake's timid gaze turned from the bottle to the doctor. He could handle a finger or two in ass for a few seconds if t made him $90,000 richer.

“Okay. What do I need to do?”

Nikolas quietly typed on the keyboard of his laptop from the opposite side of the curtain. The images from the hidden cameras plastered on the wall where Drake was seated popped into view on his screen. Feeding a link to, and overriding the broadcast feed at the CBC, Nik crouched down low and waited with little beady eyes for the exam to begin. “Perfect ...Okay, Doc, let’s see if you can get a hole in one.”

----------

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#Little Shit #Drake Walker #Liam x mc #trr #trr fanfiction

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fishnets-fingers · 3 years

Text

Six Months - Part Three

Summary - Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together?

a/n - Please like and reblog. This part is filthy. If you have any request that I can add to this story, please leave a message. This is becoming a slow burn.

Word Count - 5472

Warnings - smut. fluff. just two idiots that won’t admit that they like the other.

Masterpost (find previous parts here)

“You did what?!?” Susan cackled.

“What was I supposed to do? I ran away and avoided him. Thank god there was this little girl that kept him plenty distracted. Imagine if I went up to him and was all ‘Hi, Harry! I saw a picture of you and rubbed one out in your honour last night.” Layla says in an exasperated tone.

“You know, a lot of men are into that. It strokes their egos a bit,” Grace responds.

Ramya and Heidi are still wheezing at Layla’s expense. Layla was on her “friend catch up” monthly video call. They talk more but sometimes deadlines, the pain of scheduling a call with three (now four) different time zones, and life gets in the way. So, they have a rule: no matter what you spend at least fifteen minutes of every month catching up. The five actually met during their undergraduate. It’s funny because none of the five remember how they became friends. Things just happen to fall into place and the next thing they know, they all started having lunch together. They all went their separate paths for their Masters.

“I think you should ask him out,” Ramya says.

“I think not. I’m older than him. He’s only twenty. You know, I’d rather be with someone more mature.”

“Nonsense. You are two years older than him. Calm down. ‘Sides all men are babies. Giant babies. Trust me. Jake is four years older than me and I’m waay more responsible,” Grace says. Grace moved in with Jake a few months ago.

“I agree with Ramya and Grace. I think you go for it,” Heidi says. “It’s about time you start dating. You need to get laid.”

“Yeees, do ittt! Virgin no more.” Susan says.

“That’s true. I really do need to have sex ASAP. I’ve never been on that date, other than that blind date weird thing that Suz set me up. Which we will never talk about.I’ve never been in a relationship. What if something goes wrong? He lives next door, that’s messed up. I’m not allowed to date. My mum would KILL ME.”

“Lails, your mum is an ocean away. In another continent. She’s not gonna catch you and ground you.” Ramya says.

“I’m sure your Uncle and Aunt won’t mind. They are super progressive, right? Come on, Lails. Live a little for once in your life.” Says Heidi.

“I don’t know if I’m relationship material. I don’t even want romance,” Layla says defensively.

“Not this again. Bitch, you have the nicest body. Tits and ass to DIE for. I’d fuck your shit up if I wasn’t in a commited relationship. You have a heart of gold, you are funny and intelligent. What more could anyone want? You are a total package whore. Accept it.” Grace says.

“I know you always go back to your parents’ marriage and I’m sorry that it happened to you.No kid should ever have to go through that. But you are not your mom or your dad. Just think about it huh? You don’t need to ask him out right now. Maybe not even him, someone else might swoop you off of your feet -”

Ramya interrupts Susan. “Exactly. Anything can happen in six months. Never say never.”

“You guys are really annoying. Fine. I’ll think about it. It’s annoying to have therapists as friends.”

“Says another therapist,” Heidi says. They all crack up.

“So, Ramya, give us some tea about your new girlfriend. Who would send over deserts with a note that said ‘Girlfriend? Tick yes or no.’ She’s smooth, bitch. I haven’t even met her but I think I’m in love with her. ”

Just like that the girls talk about anything and everything under the sun. They laugh, they give each other some advice and some much needed pep talks.

///

Around seven. They wrap it up. Layla heads downstairs and puts together a cute floral arrangement to take to Anne as she promised. Her Aunt and Uncle were reheating the leftovers from brunch for dinner.

“Whatcha doing?” Abi asks.

“Oh. I’m putting this bouquet for Anne. I promised I’d bring over one earlier.” Layla says without looking at them. Measuring some paper to cut up to wrap the flowers in.

“Abi and I got talking. We want you to go explore without really asking for our permission, I know that’s the drill at home but you are with us, and we think you should have a house key. This way you can come and go as you please. Plus we’ll be at work five days of the week, we really don’t want you to feel lonely or trapped. Do us a favour and leave us a note when you are going somewhere?”

“Are you serious?” Layla says, her eyes wide open.

“I know your parents are super over protective of you but we want you to have all the freedom a twenty two year old can have. Carry a pepper spray with you at all times. You know how to use your keys, in case of emergencies, right?” Vansath asks and Layla nods.

“I also know how to kick someone in the nuts, if need be.” Layla says with a smirk on her face. Abi laughs.

“Is that so, tough guy? Let’s see you grab this key from me then.” Her Uncle says as he raises his arms, with the house key, above his head and stands on his toes.

“Come on, not fair. Your legs alone are twice the size of me, Layla whines as she jumps around trying to reach for it. After a couple of jumps, she tackles her Uncle to the ground and wrestles the key from him. Her Aunt was hunched over howling at the sight in front of her.

Layla stands back up with the keys in her hand. “Victory!”

“Ugh. You knocked the wind out of me. Christ. At this rate, I don't think I can use you as my replacement dumbbells anymore. I miss those days, when you were tiny.” Her Uncle stands up and adjusts his clothes.

“Okay, curfew is at midnight-”

“Midnight?” Layla interrupts Abi.

“What? You think that’s too early?”

“Quite the opposite. I don’t have a social life, let alone one that could keep me away from home till midnight.”

Vasanth laughs. “Okay. Then on the rare chance that you do make friends and stay out late you let us know when you will be back, before 9:00 pm, okay? I want you to share your location with us if it extends beyond midnight.”

“Okay. Deal. I don’t think I’ll ever use that but sure.”

“Do you wanna learn how to drive here? You already have a license back home. It’s all automatic here, so it’ll be super easy.” Her Aunt says.

“Nah. You know me, I like walking. Plus, it feels good to be driven around by someone. I’ll walk for now, if the need arises, I’ll ask you two.”

She goes back to finishing her bouquet. When she’s done, Layla combs her hair and lets it down straight. She was still wearing her pink floral top and blue ankle length jeans. She descends down the stairs.

“Here, kutti. Take this over to Anne’s.” Her Uncle hands her a casserole dish filled with some leftovers. She walks over to Anne’s house and knocks on the door.

“Come on in, Layla.” Anne steps aside to let her in.

“Umm.. do you want me to leave my footwear at the door?”

“No need for that.” Anne smiles as she looks down to her feet.

“Oh, sorry. It was just easier to slip into,” she says sheepishly as she looks down at her feet that were in her Uncle’s bright yellow crocs. “These are for you,” she gives Anne the bouquet and the leftovers.

“Thank you so much. They look beautiful. Here, make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’m gonna go put this in the fridge and get a vase.”

Layla sits and looks around the house. It’s very cozy, there were some pictures on the bookshelves. She moves closer to it and inspects them. There were a few of Anne when she was a child, with her family, presumably. A few of Harry, one of him perched on the hood of a vintage car, wearing some light brown shorts and an oversized billowy white button up, with the Amalfi Coast in the background. It looks pretty recent too. One particular picture that stands out is a tiny Harry with a giant hairy black spider on his palm, he has the biggest smile on his face and is looking directly at the camera. It makes Layla smile for some reason.

“He’s the bug catcher of our house, you know. He’s so unphased by them. I on the other hand, particularly do not fancy them,” Anne says, making Layla jump a little.

“Same. Don’t like creepy crawlies, either. You have such a lovely home.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Did you travel a lot? Must be pretty convenient to travel around Europe living in London.”

“Oh yeah, my ex husband and I were very particular about travel. The three of us went all around Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Moscow. What about you?”

“Never even travelled to the northern part of India. I have been to a lot of places in the five southern states though. This is my first time out of the country.”

“Hmmm. Where are my manners? Would you like a cup of tea, Layla?”

“Oh no, I don’t want to impose. I should get going.”

“Nonsense. I insist. Wouldn’t be very British of me to let you go without a good cuppa.” She leads Layla into the kitchen.

“Do you have some green tea? I don’t drink coffee or tea with milk in it. I stick to milk or water.”

Anne looks through her cupboards. “Aha! Peach flavoured green tea. That’s a good habit you have there. People your age really run on coffee. Harry for example, he has to have a cup of black coffee everyday.”

“Oh. Never really cared for it, to be honest. I found myself being more awake and alert with limited hours of sleep compared to my friends who had to have coffee every hour to not fall asleep.”

“That’s good.” Anne pours some hot water from the kettle into two mugs and puts a tea bag into each and hands one over to Layla.

“If you don’t mind me asking. What made you take a break now? I’m sure most of your peers are itching to get a job,” Anne says as she sits down next to her on the island.

“Oh, uh….”

“I’m sorry, it’s invasive. You don’t have to answer it.”

“No no, it’s not that. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s like my whole life, I’ve always wanted to do what’s next. I’ve always thought about the future. Never really blew off steam, I guess. I finished my masters, without putting in an effort at all. In fact, I aced it. I felt like a cheat. I published a few papers, had some internships. Whatever free time I had, I sold my paintings online. It started to feel like a part time job, that whatever pleasure I got from any sort of craft just vanished. Classic example of the overjustification effect, if I’d say so myself. After I saw my final transcripts, I was just blank. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do. My mind was blank. If I were to put my education to good use, I’d say I’ve hit a wall. Burnout. I wanted some sort of an escape and here I am.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.” Anne reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze.

Layla smiles at her. “So, tell me a little bit about your job. How exciting is the life of a specialist nurse?”

Anne and Layla talk for a good forty minutes. Anne asks Layla to stay over dinner with her and Harry, but she declines. She tells Anne that she still feels a bit jet lagged and wants to turn in early. Which wasn’t a total lie, she was a bit tired but she mostly didn’t want to face Harry. Speaking of him, Layla wondered where he was.

“I’ll be sure to write down my calamari recipe and give it to you, Anne. Thank you for tea; it was delicious,” Layla says as Anne opens the door for her.

“Thank you for the flowers and food, honey. It was nice talking with you today. I’ve always wanted a daughter. Harry is a great listener but it’s just different with having a girl around the house. Oh almost forgot, here’s Harry’s number.” Anne fishes out her phone, unlocks it and gives it to Layla. “I know you’ll be alone when your folks are at work, feel free to call him to hang out.”

“Thank you but I don’t wanna take up his time. I’m sure he has stuff to do and wouldn’t wanna walk around town with me.”

“Nonsense. He’s free most of the time. I wish he was here tonight. He would have given you his number himself. He needs a friend. Who knows, it’ll do you both some good to spend some time together.”

“Take it, Layla. At least for an emergency.”

“Okay.” Layla texts his number to her from Anne’s phone. They both say goodnight and she walks home.

“Hey!” Her Aunt and Uncle say. She finds them Aunt and Uncle curled up in the love seat watching some TV, and Cluedo on the coffee table.

“What’s all this?” Layla says pointing to the board game.

“We thought we could play before we all went to bed. Go have some dinner and join us.” Her Aunt says.

She scarfs down dinner and comes back into the living room.

“Alright, which one of you is ready to weep?” Layla says and cracks her knuckles.

“Oi, who said anything about you winning?”

“That’s right. Get ready to lose for the first time in Cluedo, Lails,” says her Aunt.

An hour or so later, the three climb up the stairs to go to bed.

“I still can’t believe you won. Again, that too.”

“It’s not my fault, you two can’t put two and two together.” Layla laughs.

“Honestly, you win every single time we play Cluedo. Even when you were little. Do you cheat?” her Uncle says.

“Nope. I just pay more attention.”

They say their goodnights and head into their rooms. Layla takes a shower and puts on an oversized Panic! At The Disco t-shirt and a pair of white panties. It falls almost mid thigh. She catches a second wind as she’s moisturising her legs. She sighs and puts on a green facemask, puts her hair up in a bun, starts picking out some songs on Spotify and makes a playlist and starts jamming out as she unpacks a few of her things, she didn’t get to last night.

////

Harry pulls up outside of Phoebe’s apartment. He met her during January, when he was out dancing in a club in Raleigh when Mitch and Sarah came to visit. They were dancing the night away. Phoebe came up to him and started dancing with him, one thing led to another and his dick ended up in her mouth that night in the bathroom. They ran into each other a few months ago and exchanged numbers. They established a good friends with benefits system. They both text each other when they need to get off. Never stay over. It was exclusively sex. Nothing about Phoebe interested him. He sighs and contemplates going up to her apartment. He pulls out his phone and looks at the text ‘you free? a bit needy today ;)’ Fuck it. He hasn’t had sex in weeks and he needed to blow off his load tonight.

He sighs again and gets out of the car and buzzes in. “Come right up, Harry,” she says through the intercom.

He climbs up to the second floor and knocks on her door. “Come on in, Harry.”

He walks in to find her standing completely naked next to her couch. “Like what you see?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” he mutters as he starts undoing his pants as he walks towards her.

“Let me take care of that,” Phoebe says and swats his hand away. She cups him through his pants and his breathing hitches.

She kneels down before him and takes his dick out of his boxers. “Mmmm,” she says as she takes his length into her mouth. She starts bobbing up and down. Harry starts panting and cards his fingers through her blonde hair as he makes a makeshift ponytail.

“Ah,” Harry says as she takes his balls into her mouth and starts pumping him with her hand.

“I’m gonna come, Phoebe.” She moves her mouth back to him and suckles hard. “Ahhh.”

He comes and Phoebe gets up immediately. Drool and come on her chin. She wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“How’d you like that, gorgeous?” Phoebe says and she pulls his face down to kiss him.

“Your mouth doesn’t disappoint”, Harry says and cups her breast. He snakes his hand down to her entrance and finds her wet. She gets his boxers and pants off. Harry kicks them aside.

Phoebe feels him smirk against her. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been wet all day. Now come on, stick it in me.”

She saunters towards the bed and gets on all fours at the foot of the bed and wiggles her ass at him. Harry stands behind her and gives himself a few pumps. He puts on a condom and lines himself and pushes into her without a warning. He winds her hair up and pulls on her head a bit and with his other hand steadies himself by gripping on to her hip. He pounds into her relentlessly.

“Oh, Ohh, god… I think I’m gonna come, baby.” Phoebe screams.

She comes all over him and Harry pulls out of her. “Heey,” she whines in protest.

“Baby? Phoebe, we have rules. No nicknames,” Harry says.

“Sorry it was a heat of the moment thing.”

“Let me make it up. I can suck you off again,” she adds. Harry sighs and sits on her bed. Phoebe immediately gets down on her knees and licks the underside of his shaft.

Harry leans back on his forearms, throws his head back and closes his eyes. Phoebe deep throats him and moans around his dick. He writhes a little bit. Harry’s mind wanders to Layla. The way she smiled when they met, her cute little dance, the way her Power Rangers shorts clung to her ass. The curve off her ass. The swell of her breasts. Her face. Her warm hands. Her abdomen. Her smile. He wonders what she would look like when she’s under him, this makes him grip the sheets harder and he moans.

He then suddenly remembers her acting weird and avoiding him till they left. Oh, good, what if she saw him looking at her through his window. He didn’t really watch her in a pervy way. He was only privy to a few moments, they were all completely harmless. He’s not a jerk. He’s not a pervert. Is he? But he is though, the kind of an asshole that would picture her when another woman is going to town on his di-

“Umm. Harry.” Phoebe says.

This breaks him out of his trance. He props himself up and looks at her and his now flaccid dick.

“Sorry,” he says as he gets up.

“No. It’s okay, it happens to the best of us. I could just pump you for a bit.”

“No, that’s alright. My mind’s a bit scattered. I’m a little stressed out.” He adds, not wanting to hurt her. “I’m gonna use the restroom.” He gathers his boxers and his pants and walks into the bathroom. He uses the restroom, puts his clothes on, and steps to her sink and splashes some water on his face.

You shouldn’t have come here tonight.

He sighs and comes out the bathroom to find Phoebe with a robe sitting on her bed.

“ You sure, I can’t tempt you to stay for another round or two. You could go on for hours, Harry.”

“Yeah, I’m not really in the mood anymore, Phoebe. Sorry. I’m going to go.” He starts walking towards the door.

“Alright. See you tomorrow?” Phoebe smiles coyly at him.

“Umm. I don’t know about that, might be busy. I think you should find someone else, Phoebe.”

“Okay, who is she?”

“Who is who?” Harry says as he laces up his shoes.

“Whoever you are seeing?”

“I’m not seeing anyone right now. Just busy that’s all. Letting you know I won’t be available that much anymore.”

“Alright. It was nice knowing you. I’m gonna miss that cock of yours.” She says and shuts the door.

////

Harry gets into his car and drives around town for a bit. He needed to clear his head. He parks in his garage and takes a deep breath. He knows two things for sure. One is to apologise the next time he sees Layla, for making her feel uncomfortable in any way. Second, is that he had a huge crush on her. He gets out of the car and walks into the house.

His mum is curled up on the couch with a blanket and the TV is on. He turns the TV off and wakes his mum up.

“Hey, you fell asleep in front of the TV. Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

“What time is it?”

“Quarter past ten.” He leads his mother upstairs and tucks her into bed.

“H,” Anne says.

“Hmm..” He responds by turning to face her.

“I have a twenty four hour shift tomorrow. I’ll be gone by ten. I also gave Layla your number today, when she dropped by earlier in the evening.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes, if she asks for your help, you make sure to do it, okay. It’ll be nice to know that you will have some company, when I’m off working at the hospital.”

“Alright, goodnight mum.”

“Goodnight, honey.”

Harry turns on the lights as he walks into his room and gets distracted from the flickering bright lights coming from Layla’s window. He looks to see her singing something in an unfamiliar language, there’s music coming from the speakers, she was wearing only a big black t shirt, her hair was up in a bun, she was shaking her bum and was shimmying to whatever was playing in the background. Harry smiles. She was absolutely adorable. He reaches over his desk to shut his blinds when Layla turns around and sees him mid shimmy.

Their eyes are locked on each other. His green to her dark brown. His face his beet red and hers green because of her face mask. Harry is frozen.

////

Layla’s eyes pop out of her face. She swears they would fall out of her skull, if it could. She scampers to the window and pulls the curtains to close.

“You fucking idiot,” she smacks her forehead as she sinks to the floor.

////

“You couldn’t close the blinds a little bit sooner huh Harry. She saw you creeping before and again tonight,” mutters to himself as he walked into his bathroom.

After a shower, Harry settles into bed.

You are gonna apologise for scaring her first thing tomorrow.

////

Layla wakes up around six the next morning. Puts on her Yoga pants and a matching sports bra. She takes a crop top with her and walks downstairs to the garage to get a Yoga mat.

Her uncle was already lifting some weights in there. They nod at each other. It was too early to talk to someone.

She goes out to the backyard, rolls her mat and starts with some suryanamaskars.

An hour or so later she’s done. She mops her face with her crop top and puts it on. She rolls up the mat and goes to put it back in the garage.

She walks into the kitchen to find her Uncle making them some breakfast. She drinks a big glass of water.

“ Do you mind if I went to the community park for a walk?”

“Nope. Go on. Take the pike loop, you’ll want to see it. Don’t take too long though. We both have to leave the house a little after nine.”

Layla nods and puts on her sports shoes.

“You have your phone with you?” Her Uncle yells from the kitchen.

“Yup. Bye.”

////

She walks for about forty minutes. The trail was lined with these tall green trees on both sides. There were a few people who were walking, running, and jogging. She has a podcast playing in her AirPods. Her legs feel a bit tired. She contemplates turning around. She sees Harry slowing down his run. He’s heading back home. He sees Layla and smiles.

Oh fuck me, Layla thinks to herself. Events of last night and the night before come rushing in.

She smiles back at him. Harry approaches her. He’s wearing some blue running shorts and some white sleeveless T-shirt. He has his headphones on and they disappear into his shorts. He was laced with sweat and has the faintest stubble on his face.

“Hi,” he says. His voice deep and raspy, like he just woke up.

“Hi. I was about to turn back home.” Layla says as she puts her Airpods into the case.

“Alright. Do you wanna walk back together?” He says and pulls out his headphones and tucks them into his pocket.

“Sure why not. “

They both walk in silence for a few moments. Layla could feel the awkward energy surrounding the two of them. Harry clears his throat and turns to her

“I’m sorry.” They both say at the same time.

“Sorry. Go ahead,” Harry says.

“ Why are you apologising?” Layla says confused.

“No. I’m sorry for yesterday and I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable during brunch. I don’t really make it a habit to look into other’s windo-“

“ Uncomfortable? Harry, you didn’t make me uncomfortable during brunch. If anything I should be saying sorry to you for last night and … and-“

“Then why did you walk away and then avoid me the entire time?”

“Umm… I'm sorry but I really don’t know how to put this in any other way. I was scrolling through my explore page on Saturday and a picture popped up on the grid. It was a picture of some in a maid outfit, which says more about my me and my algorithm than-“

“Wait? What?!?”

“I think I stumbled on to your page. With an OnlyFans linked to the bio. “

“How did you figure out it was me? I don’t post my face on there.”

“I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t click on the link by the way. If that makes you feel any better. You threw your arm around your mum and I saw the tattoo, the mermaid. There was a picture with the mermaid tattoo on display.”

“How did you know it was me? I blur out a few of my tattoos or completely edit others away.”

“Well… that tattoo was a bit… odd? The tail started way lower than her hips. How many people make that artistic choice. Plus the shape of your arm.”

“Oh. Ugh. Good guess?” Harry says as he scratches the back of his head.

The two keep walking. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone. Not your mum. Not my folks. Plus, it’s your life. You can do whatever you want with it. It’s not my place to judge.”

“Thanks? I don’t know. I don’t really go out telling people for obvious reasons. Mum wouldn’t have cared. She knows-“

“Really?!? Anne does?”

“Yup. Told her a month after I started. Look, it’s just a way to save up some money for college. I don’t want to end up in debt for the rest of my life. I make quite a bit of money, if I say so myself. I just post really suggestive pictures. I don’t whip it out for the world or anything.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Layla laughs.

“So, that’s why you avoided me for the rest of the day?”

“Hmm.. I was beyond mortified. Wanted the ground to swallow me whole.”

“I thought it was something I did. I was worried. I was going to come over to your place to apologise.”

“Your were? That’s soo sweet. What a gentleman?” Layla nudges Harry’s arm.

“I am nothing if not gentlemanly.” Harry bows.

Layla laughs. “Okay, okay. What was that about making a habit about looking into other people’s windows?”

“You caught on to that, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Last night wasn’t the only time I saw you through your window.”

Layla looks up at him, her eyebrows were scrunched together.

“What I mean is,” Harry says. “ I saw you get into bed on Friday. Not in a creepy way. I got up for a wee and wanted to get my phone from my desk before I went to bed. It was not even a second. The second time I was editing some pictures on my laptop on my desk when you caught my eye. I looked up from my screen to see you dancing around with your clothes. I immediately took my laptop and went to bed. Then last night, I was getting home from after… after a drive and the music and singing caught my eye. I was about to close my blinds when you turned around. Again, they were all accidents. I’m not a perv or anything.”

“Fuck me. I’m mortified. Next time I do something stupid I’m gonna draw the curtains. I’m sorry about last night.”

“Don’t be. You were absolutely adorable,” Harry says immediately.

Layla’s can feel her face becoming hot.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable last night. Again, they were all accidents. I’m not a creep.”

“Don’t worry about it. As you said, you weren’t watching me watching me. It was all harmless right? It’s not like you saw me take my clothes off.”

Harry blushes profusely.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Layla says.

“Nah. So what was that move that you were doing last night?” Harry laughs.

“Shut up.” Layla smacks his arm. “I don’t even know to be honest. It was my slut song. It’s in Tamil. I just put on a face mask and I was unpacking whatever was left, and the song just came on. It’s a crime not to get into the zone when it’s on.”

“Maybe you could play it for me this afternoon.”

“What do you mean?” Layla says. They exit the park and start walking towards their houses.

“Err… it’s a beautiful sunny day. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste. You didn’t get to see the lake now. How about we go for a picnic in the afternoon by the lake?”

“I don’t know.” Layla says as she twiddles her fingers.

“Come one. It’ll be fun. That is if you don’t have anything already planned out.” Harry’s dimples pop out.

“Sure. A picnic by the pound with a friend sounds great,” Layla says. She immediately regrets that she said friends.

Harry’s smile falters a little. “Yeah. Friend picnic. Fun.”

“Alright, I’ll bring some sandwiches.”

“ I’ll bring the drinks and dessert. Text me when you are done getting ready.”

“You know that I have your number?”

“Hmm. Mum told me last night.”

“Okay. See you in a couple of hours.” They both go their separate ways when they approach their houses.

////

Harry walks into his house. Why didn’t he say it was a date? He feels stupid. Maybe she is not even into guys. If she wants to be friends, Harry can be her friend. Hell , he’ll be whatever Layla wants him to be.

////

“Alright, bye, Lails.” Vasanth says.

“Bye, kutti. Any plans for the day?” Her aunt asks.

“Yeah, I’m going on a picnic with Harry in the afternoon. I didn’t get to see the lake during the walk. I thought it’ll be fun.”

“Oooh. Like a date?” Abi says.

“What is this about a date now?” Her uncle says.

“Oh my god. It’s not like that. It’s just a picnic between friends.”

“Okay.”

They both leave and Layla closes the door.

“A picnic by the lake with a friend!” Layla repeats what she said to Harry earlier. She gently bangs her head on the door.

“I wish I hadn’t said that. I’m such a fool.” Layla says as she walks up to her room to sort out her outfit for the picnic.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fics #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #onlyfans!harry #indian!oc #harry styles series #harry styles x oc #one direction #please leave tags if you reblog #come say hi #six months #fishnets fingers

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thatdeaniegirlsworld · 3 years

Text

Sexual Tension-Roman Reigns

It was supposed to be a casual night out with friends, until he showed up.

He catches your eyes from across the room, smirking at you as he cockily walked over to you. "Did that boyfriend of yours finally let you out for the night?" Roman asks you, and you roll your eyes.

"He's not my boyfriend." You tell him, and the bartender hands him a drink.

"Is that why he's staring?" He asks, and you turn your head to see that he was in fact, staring.

"He's just a friend." You tell Roman, who chuckles lightly. "What?"

"If that's what it takes to be friends with you, maybe you should upgrade." He says, and you roll your eyes at him again.

"Is that so?" You ask him, and he scoots closer to you.

"Don't tempt me, baby girl. You have no idea what I'm capable of." He tells you before venturing off.

"You two are something else." Carmella tells you when you walk back over to your table.

"He's an ass." You tell her, and she shakes her head at you. "What?"

"Oh come on, you can cut the sexual tension with a knife." She says as yall sit down at the table.

"Who has sexual tension?" Corey asks. "Roman, and Y/N?"

Carmella laughs, nodding her head. "Will you two stop? There's nothing there."

"Y/N, I love you sweetheart, but that tension is so fucking thick." Nia says, and you roll your eyes looking over at Roman who was looking at you.

"If she says there isn't any tension, then there isn't any. So stop pestering her." Baron says, and you roll your eyes again. He was so in love with you, it was insane.

"How about you all shut up about it, and we take some shots?" You ask, and they all start cheering.

***

The following week, Roman had somehow got your number and wouldn't stop texting you about the dumbest little things.

You were currently at a local coffee shop, working on your article when he walked in. He approaches your table, and sits down across from you. "Busy here, Reigns." You tell him, and look up.

"Oh come on, just five minutes?" He asks, and you sigh, setting down your pen. He smirks when he sees he has won momentarily. "So, how's your day?"

"Fine." You tell him, shrugging your shoulders.

"Just fine?" He asks, and you nod your head. "Anything I can do to make it better?"

"Very cliche, but no. I have a deadline, and really need to get this done." You say, breathing out in frustration.

"What is it you're working on?" He asks, walking around to slide into the booth next to you.

"Oh, it's nothing, really." You tell him, but he's already looking over the pages.

"Wow, this is really good." He says, sounding surprised. "Your writing style is unique."

"Really? You think so?" You ask him, and he turns to look at you, nodding his head. "Well, thanks."

"You really are just full of surprises, aren't you?" He asks, and you look into his eyes, shrugging your shoulders.

He places one hand on your right thigh, patting it before sliding it up, and down. When he notices that you don't move his hand, he leans in closer to you. "What else are you hiding?" He whispers, his lips inches from yours.

"Hey, there you are!" Baron yells, making Roman squeeze his eyes shut, and pull away from you. "Sorry, did I interrupt?"

Roman stares a hole through him before grabbing his keys, and saying nothing as he walks out of the coffee shop.

***

You were back at the club again, sitting at a table with your friends, looking to see if Roman would show. "Looking for Roman, huh?" Alexa asks you, and you laugh knowing you got caught.

"Uh, yeah actually." You tell her, and she goes to say something else when he walks in at that moment. He quickly scans the room before meeting your eyes, and he smirks at you.

"Go talk to him." Alexa says, and you shake your head. "Come on, what's the harm?"

"I'm actually going to use the bathroom, I'll be back." You tell her, and make your way there when Baron stops you as you're about to go in.

"Y/N. Listen, there's something I need to tell you. I've liked you for a while, and I wanted to see if you'd like to go out sometime?"

"I appreciate the gesture, but I'm just not looking for anything at the moment. You're a good friend." You tell him, and disappointment flashes over his face.

"It's Roman, isn't it? The dude doesn't know personal space, Y/N." He scoffs.

"First of all, it doesn't matter who I'm spending my time with. That is MY decision, and I will not have you or any man tell me what's best for me."

"Fine, be a dumb bitch then. Because once he fucks you, he'll never call you again. Especially with someone of your weight." He says, and your jaw drops.

"What the fuck did you just say to her?" Roman appears out of the dark room. Baron looks like he just shit himself. "Are you seriously that insecure that you're targeting her weight, which by the way, is not a problem, to try and win here?"

"Fuck off, Roman. Everyone knows how you are. You'll fuck her, then leave her crying for weeks because you don't show any affection towards her. She's stupid for even being affected by you."

"And now you want to name call?" Roman asks him, and grabs him by the collar. "You have exactly thirty seconds to get the fuck out of here before I do something I'll regret." He let's go of Baron, who walks off.

"Thank you. I didn't need you to do all of that, but thank you." You tell him, and he steps closer to you. "He's right though, I mean I could lose him few pounds."

"No, don't do that. Don't let him in that brilliant head or yours. He's just insecure. He was upset that you turned him down." He says, and takes your hand, pulling you into a private bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up."

He sits you down on the counter, and you hand him some wipes from your purse to fix up your face. "You dont have to do all this, Roman. Go back to your boys." You tell him, and he throws the wipes away.

"If I didn't want to he here, I wouldn't be." He says, and steps closer to you. His thumb brushing over your cheek, and he leans in, brushing his nose against yours before closing the distance.

His lips were soft against yours, and you grab the back of his neck. He wraps your legs around his waist as he pulls you closer to him.

He pulls away, slowly, resting his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." He says.

"Really?" You ask him, and he nods. "Then do it again." He looks at you before connecting your lips again. You tug at the roots of his hair, and he groans into your mouth before pulling away again.

"If I keep going then I won't he able to stop." He tells you, and you pull him closer to you.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" You ask him, and he stares at you.

"I'm not sure you're aware of what you're asking for, baby girl." He says with a chuckle.

"Please?" You ask him, and he pulls you from the counter.

"My place or yours?" He asks as you reach his car.

"Yours." You tell him, and he smirks before pulling out of the parking lot.

***

"Holy fuck your place is huge." You tell him as you pull in his driveway. He shakes his head at you before leading you inside.

"Follow me." He says as he makes his way upstairs, and into his bedroom, which is filled with books.

"Wow." You gasp, as you take a look around. "You have so many."

"Mhm." He says, his hands on your waist. "What's your favorite?"

"Book? I have a lot of favorite books." You tell him, and reach out to grab one.

"Tell me about one or your favorite books." He whispers before placing his lips on your neck. You stumble over words as you try to talk to him while his lips were all over your neck. His hand trails up your inner thigh before rubbing you over your lace panties.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, and he continues to tease you. "What do you want, baby girl?" He whispers in your ear.

"You. I need you to touch me, please." You bed, and his fingers move your panties to the side.

"You're so wet for me." He says as he finds your clit, rubbing it in circles. You gasp at the contact, and he bites down onto your neck. "Feel good baby?"

"So good." You tell him, and your knees start to grow weak as he held your body to his. He slides his fingers down to your hole, inserting two fingers inside. "Fuck."

"You're so tight." He groans, his thumb finding your clit again. "You're already squeezing my fingers. Need to cum already?"

"Please." You beg. "It's been so long."

"You want my tongue?" He asks, and you nod your head. "Words, baby."

"Yes." You tell him, and he removes his fingers from you, picking you up, and taking you to the bed.

He bunches your dress up, removing your panties before pressing his tongue to your clit. You moan loudly, and he slides his two fingers inside of you. "Fuck, Roman."

"That's it baby, scream my name." He says, and your back begins to arch.

"I'm not going to last long." You pant, and look down at him. The sight, knocking you over the edge as you grab onto his hair, and ride his tongue as you ride out your high. "Fuck."

He pulls you to stand, pulling your dress over your head, and he starts to unbutton his shirt, peeling it off his body. He had a massive tribal tattoo. "Samoan." He answers the question you were asking mentally.

You sit up on your knees, tracing over it, and you see his goosebumps rise from the effect. "I'd like to learn about it one day." You tell him, and he nods at you.

He throws his belt to the ground before pulling off his pants, and you look at the bulge in his pants. "Not going to run off now, are you?" He asks, and you shake your head. "Good."

He grabs the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss, and you dip your hand into his boxers, grabbing his length. He pulls his boxers all the way down, and you begin to pump him. "You going to wrap those pretty lips around me, baby girl?" He asks you.

You lay down on your stomach while he was on his knees, and you lick up the base of his cock. You swirl your tongue around the head before taking him all the way in your mouth. He tenses, and grabs onto your hair as you begin to bob your head up, and down. "Fuckin perfect." He groans, and you moan onto his cock, making him grip your hair even tighter.

You reach down to cup his balls in your hand while you take him as far as you can get, choking on him. "Such a good girl." He groans, and you pull off for air. He grabs you by your chin, pulling you up so that he can kiss you again before pushing you back onto the mattress.

"Fuck, I think I'm out of condoms." He curses.

"It's okay, I'm on the pill." You tell him, and be nods before bending down to kiss you again.

"You want me to fill you up with my cum, don't you baby?" He asks, and you nod at him. He sits up, dragging his cock up, and down your folds before pushing in. You gasp at the size, and he pushes all the way in.

"Hoky fuck." You groan, and look at his biceps that were on either side of your head. Jesus.

"You are so fucking tight baby girl." He groans, bending down to kiss you again.

"Move, daddy." You tell him, and watch as his eyes flick to almost a solid black. You bite your lip when he pulls out, and slams into you.

"Oh no you don't. Let daddy hear you, baby." He says, pulling your lip from your teeth.

"Go faster then." You taunt him, and he raises his eyebrows at you. He sits back, grabbing your hips, pulling out, and slamming back into you over and over.

"This what you wanted? Hmm?" He asks, his thrusts picking up speed. "Daddy's little slut is just greedy, isn't she?"

You reach for his hand, wrapping it around your throat, and he realizes this, laughing. "Dirty fucking girl."

"You mad about it?" You ask him, and surprise him by pulling him toward you to flip the two of you over. You sink down onto him, and ride his cock.

"Fuck, who are you?" He gasps, his hand still wrapped around your throat. "That's it, ride daddy's cock baby."

"You like that?" You ask him, bending down to kiss him. His hand comes down hard on your ass, and you moan against his lips.

"You really think you're in control right now, don't you?" He asks, and you shrug your shoulders. He quickly flips you over, throwing one of your legs over his shoulders, going deeper. You moan loudly, and he smirks down at you. "That's what I fucking thought."

"Roman." You whine, he moves to bite down on your neck. "Fuck. You feel so good."

He moves up to suck on your earlobe, driving you insane. "My girl. Aren't you baby?"

"Yes." You breathe out, and he kisses down your neck again until he takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

"Now, look at daddy while you cum all over his cock." He tells you, and you whimper at the words. "Be a good girl for me, and cum."

"I'm go-" you can't finish, as your orgasm rips through you, and he rests his forehead against yours.

"That's it. Good girl." He groans as he fucks you through your high.

"Fill me daddy." You tell him, and he thrusts into you fast, his head in the crook of your head, and shoulder.

"Fuck, Y/N." He groans, and you feel him cum inside you. "God damn." He pulls his head back to look at you before kissing you softly. "You are something else."

"I hope that's a good thing." You tell him, giggling.

"Trust me, it's a good thing. How am I supposed to stay away from you now?" He asks, and you kiss him again.

"You don't." You tell him, and by the look in his eyes, you can tell that he won't.

Tags: @omg-im-such-a-masochist

@galens-mistress

@drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

@wickedsunfire

#romanreignssmut #romanreignsxreader

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gizkasparadise · 4 years

Text

kdrama rec/review: mystic pop up bar

KDRAMA AND CDRAMA MASTER LIST OF REVIEWS

Series: mystic pop up bar Episodes: NOT ENOUGH 12 Genres: urban fantasy, urban horror lite, found family!!!, friendship, mystery, comedy, supernatural, warm fuzzies despite an alarming amount of death Spoilers in the Rec: minor ones/for the set-up If You Like, You’ll Like: hotel del luna (although it has a very different feel), early bleach (manga), found families, being human (uk & us versions), those moments in shows where you’re like OH MAN HOW ARE THEY GETTING OUT OF THIS and then they do. because friendship.

Rank: 10/10

I went into this with low expectations. it sounded like it was trying to bank on hotel del luna, but i was still down to watch a ghost version of leverage or whatever this turned out to be. figured it’d be decent to watch but not AMAZING.

the first ep gave me that impression. by the second ep i was hooked. and by the third ep this was one of my favorite shows of all time

PREMISE

during the joseon era, a shaman named weol ju went and fucked up a perfectly good sacred tree. as punishment, she now has to resolve the grudges of 100,000 humans or go to hell. as a shaman, she can accomplish this by plying them with alcohol and entering their dreams (well the alcohol part might just be her artistic signature).

time to start a bar!

in the current day, 500 years later, weol ju owns and runs mystic pop up bar, where she learns about her customers’ grudges. and apparently has sound business strategy, as she serves like 4 people a day but still has enough overhead to craft these 4 people bespoke meals that speak to their inner tragedy. and also sandwiches.

helping her is chief gwi, a ghost cop who’s been reassigned to her bar to help weol ju accomplish her quota. because time’s running out--weol ju now has less than a month to solve her 10 remaining grudges.

enter bambi kang bae. a regular human who works a regular customer service job, kang bae has one terrible power: anytime someone touches him (or he touches them), they want to confess their deepest, darkest secrets. kang bae is understandably not comfortable around people (but desperately wants to be around people. my poor fucking heart) and incredibly lonely.

when his and weol ju’s paths cross, she makes him an offer: he helps her out with her remaining grudges, and in return she’ll remove his powers.

deal!

MAIN CHARACTERS

weol ju

a 500+ year old shaman who is paying for her sins on earth because she went out on a limb :| . begins the series angry and ends the series angry, because it turns out angry people can still be kind, which is great to see with a female protagonist. how close she’s cutting it to the deadline on her quota speaks strongly to sixth-year senior vibes. wears modern versions of hanboks which are all v. cool and on moments of aching realization wednesdays she wears pink.

will steal your shit and look you straight in the eyes as she walks backwards into hell.

gwi/gui

a former ghost cop who’s been reassigned to help weol ju run the mystic pop up bar. he’s a lot more chill than weol ju and has the vibe of someone who forgets keys at home. while at the bar, he does a lot of the prep work, and is sometimes asked by yeom to help catch nearby, evil spirits.

he’s actually like a hardcore warrior, but you forget it because he wears goggles to cut onions and dresses like someone who would be the spokesperson for microwaveable fish sticks. team dad. fanboy of romantic serial e-novels.

han kang bae

a baby.

in a truly amazing narrative move, kang bae works customer service at a market by day and solves grudges at a bar by night. is a sweet, simple boy who just wants to help people and is SO EXCITED to have new friends in weol ju and gwi. you want to give him a hug BUT YOU CAN’T. human carebear

even the yellow collar of his customer service uniform makes a heart:

SOME SUPPORT CHARACTERS SELECTED BY HOW MUCH THEY ARE MY FAVORITES

kang yeo ri

lmao you know it’s going to be good when a character is introduced dropping a dude straight to the ground. yeo rin is a bodyguard mild spoiler turned security guard for the market where kang bae works. she could beat the shit out of you and you’d thank her. has no luck in dating. rocks a suit. sobs at movies about gout

yeom, the grim reaper

your friendly neighborhood grim reaper. yeom very much screams middle management, and works in the same “district” that weol ju and gwi have their pop up bar in. sometimes they’re at odds with one another (because weol ju has about the same amount of respect for the rules that an untrained puppy has for new carpet), but they’re still friends. gwi sometimes works with him to catch evil spirits, buddy-cop style. loves noodles.

yeomra-daewang

god of the underworld. in charge of handing out punishments and determining the fates of those sent to the afterlife. forgets who she’s texting. appreciates true love but is also aggressively annoyed by it. take your fucking scroll and go

samsin

probably the character with the most name recognition. samsin (or samsin granny) is the goddess of mothers and children, and in the show the focus is more on children. loves karaoke, basic bitch coffee, and claw games. gives out too many sexy tiger dreams.

kim wong hyun

he gave them the heebie jeebies. he had nothing else to give

ringtones.

they’re their own character. check out those motifs.

Drawbacks

if i had any, it’s that the first episode undersells the rest of the series. and even the first ep isn’t bad

12 episodes is not enough :(

Reasons to Watch.

i love the little details: that the supernatural characters have ring tones that correspond to their role (ex: the god of the underworld’s are screams; i believe the grim reaper’s are a shaman’s bells?, gwi has SPOILERS), or that the food special of the day connects or reflects with the person they’re helping. themes/significant moments are represented by the colors characters are wearing. im a nerd for this stuff

there are some dramatic reveals about who characters are and how they relate to one another, but like. dynamics barely (or don’t at all) change, and that’s due to how strong/familial they are already? and the show’s built up to it and it all feels really earned A+

i HATE monster of the week formats, but the ones in this show are integrated with the main characters’ backstories and also propel the major arcs forward. and it’s wholesome when the grudges are solved

i like that you think you saw a full scene in the flashbacks, but then a few eps later the flashback gets extended. idk it’s a cool narrative device

the romance is wonderful all-around

the pacing was great. i wish one of the Reveals was introduced earlier just so we could have more moments with it, but everything was cohesive/wrapped up nicely

all the characters have their own unique relationships to one another. kang bae + weol ju have their own dynamic, weol ju +gwi, gwi + kang bae, and so on. it was nice to see that none of the main trio were satellite characters

Final Thoughts.

they’re a team, god damn it ;;;;;;

#mystic pop up bar #hwang jung eum #yook sungjae #choi won young #kdrama #gizka does kdrama #!my post #i love it and them :(

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katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part eight Word count: ±2900 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part eight summary: Zoë might have accepted the boys help, that doesn’t mean they get along. If the hostility between them isn’t enough, Sam and Dean have some unresolved issues of their own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

A little less than an hour later, Sam, Dean and Zoë are sharing a table in In-N-Out. All three scheduled in some time to trade their business suits for their everyday clothes. The boys are comfortable in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and dusty old shoes, while Zoë looks like a totally different person now that she left her black pumps, blazer and dress pants in her hotel room. She’s wearing her hair down, her blown locks playfully curled up after last night’s shower. Her grey shirt has the famous Pink Floyd logo on it; a ray entering a triangle and breaks off into a rainbow when it exits. The brand new biker jacket hangs over the back of the bench while she plays with the loose tie of her All Stars shoe, wiggling her foot rhythmically.

U2’s Beautiful Day is playing in the background. It fits, considering the clear blue sky and warm sun outside. Satisfied, Dean and Zoë devour their burgers while Sam has settled for a milkshake, since they don’t have salads at this restaurant. Stunned and a little disgusted, he watches how Zoë intends to break the world record, tailed by Dean. The younger Winchester stares at them both, as the huntress swallows the last bite of the massive Animal Burger and starts on an additional cheeseburger she ordered. Apparently, Zoë doesn’t feel the need to hold back, despite having company, but then again, she wouldn’t change her demeanor for anyone.

Dean doesn’t even notice her manners as he shares her appetite. He’s more annoyed that she finished her burger before he did. He looks up for a moment as she licks the sauce from her fingers after finishing, then continues eating even faster than he did a moment ago.

“Dude! Seriously, a food race?” Sam chuckles. “Wholth?” Dean says with his mouth full. He swallows his bite, which apparently was a little bigger than he anticipated. He coughs and hits his chest with his fist, Zoë can’t help to laugh when she sees tears appear in his eyes. “What are you? Fuckin’ five years old?” she grins. “I wasn’t racing you,” he mutters hoarse. “Oh, you so were.” She sniggers, dipping one of Dean’s fries in mayonnaise. “Are you gonna eat that?” Obviously enjoying herself, she waits for his reaction. He watches her move the fry to her mouth with a look of shock and repugnance on his features. How dare she? Zoë chews on the snack provokingly. as expected he goes for the counter attack. “Don’t touch my fucking food,” he warns, pulling his portion of fries to his side of the table, clearly annoyed with his colleague stealing. “And I wasn’t racing you, ‘cause if I did, you would be many burger lengths behind, woman.” “That’s what’s bugging you the most, isn’t it? Dean Winchester just got defeated by a girl,” she nags. “I can take you with ease,” he claims, confidently. She laughs in return.“You wouldn’t stand a chance.” “Wanna bet?” “Knock it off, you two.” Sam breaks it up and looks from one to the other. “Now, could we concentrate on the case? We all got better things to do.” “I have better things to do. You on the other hand just have an unhealthy obsession with helping me,” she corrects, as she drinks from her milkshake through the straw. “Whatever,” Sam counters with a huff. “Let’s focus here. We’re dealing with a frustrated child spirit most likely on a killing spree.” “Yeah, but how the hell is she still here? I already burned her bones,” Zoë brings to mind. “She must be connected to some kind of object then, are you sure you burned everything?” Dean checks.

Zoë slightly tilts her head and glares at him with an attitude. Is he fucking kidding? “We’re sure, I was there with her,” Sam confirms, jumping in before the huntress can snap at his brother. “Nothing more romantic than a night at the graveyard,” Dean comments with a little grin, earning a death stare from Sam, and so he continues seriously. “We need to figure out what’s keeping her here before she goes all Mike Tyson again.” “She probably targets the people who are directly or indirectly responsible for her death. I don’t think she’ll rest until she kills every single one of them unless we do something about it,” Zoë speaks up. “So, who could be her next target?” Sam wonders. “It could be anyone, but the biggest candidates for a one way ticket to the land of the dead are probably Mrs. Shire and her son, maybe even Mrs. Dawlson,” Zoë realizes. “Who?” Sam and Dean question at the same time. “Her teacher at Elementary School. She knew about the abuse,” she informs, sipping her shake.

Dean seems confused. After all, he knows Zoë only arrived here last night. “How do you even know that?” “Because I had a fucking chat with her, asshat,” she claims, snappy. Dean bites his tongue and shakes his head slightly, letting a silent sigh slip from his lips. This woman is unbelievable. If it wasn’t for Sammy being so dead set on helping the bitch, he would get the hell out of dodge. Ignoring her comment, he picks up a few fries and stuffs his mouth full, not noticing the exchange of looks between Zoë and Sam. As soon as the youngest Winchester makes eye contact, he knows she didn’t talk to Mrs. Dawlson; she saw something in one of her flashbacks. “There could be a dozen more possible victims we don’t know about,” Sam states, quickly filling the void before it becomes noticeable. “True, but to figure out who might be next, we need to find more info on what happened to Laura,” she declares. “We already know what happened to her. Her dad abused her till death followed, nothing to add to that,” Sam says. “No, I mean after that.” Zoë leans forward, snitching another fry from the hunter across from her, who snaps his head up to her, staring her down and wondering where she got the nerve to steal his food twice. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that no one found out about this murder yet? Because that what it was; murder. Her father killed her. Child services should have been all over this, especially with another minor in the household. Laura was buried without a conviction, while she obviously did not die of natural causes,” the smart woman brings to mind. “Why is that?” “I mean, the system is flawed. Maybe they missed it?” Sam suggests. “No, I don’t believe that. She must have been a mess, considering what her victims look like,” she ponders. Both boys nod as a sign of agreement; she has a point. Dean rubs his chin as he thinks. Then his facial expression changes, the metaphorical light bulb switching on in his brain. He glances up at the woman opposite of him, who watches him questioning.

“Dr. Hughes”, he says out of the blue. “I know that name,” Zoë realizes, trying to remember where she has heard it before. “It’s the doc from the morgue that we talked to,” he fills in. “He did the slicing on Shire’s dead body and also mentioned Ronald was a friend of his. I thought he responded weird when Sam mentioned the Hobbit dude.” “Is the Methodist Medical Center the only dead men’s storage in town?” Zoë asks the whizkid on Dean’s right. “Not sure. Let me check.” Sam takes out his laptop and sets it up on the table. As he works the computer, Zoë continues their brainstorming session.

“One way or the other, we need to get our hands on Laura’s death report and we need to figure out who wrote it. I’m guessing someone covered for Shire,” she speaks up. “How is that even possible these days, with all the paperwork and the forensics?” Sam rubs his temple, taking in Zoë for a second, but then returns his gaze to the laptop screen in front of him. “You think we’re the only ones who lie and deceive?” Zoë returns, smartly.

“We need to talk to more people. Someone who was there and experienced the abuse first hand and might know more about the cover-up. The Shire dude’s wife maybe?” Dean suggests. “We can’t turn up on her doorstep and confront her. If she doesn’t know her husband possibly erased evidence, it’s just gonna bring a shit ton of drama and a hell of alot explaining to do when she starts asking questions,” Zoë makes clear.

She forks her fingers through her hair and checks her phone for the time; shit. It’s almost 1 PM. Frustrated about the many blank pages of this case, she sighs, pulling at the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. There’s so much about this job that doesn’t add up. “I don’t get how she could still be here. There was nothing left of her remains,” she sighs. “There has to be an explanation for that,” Sam ponders, as he stares at the address on display. “Anyway, there are no other morgues in town besides the one at the hospital on W. Kingshighway.”

“I tell you what.” With a neat throw Zoë tosses her empty plastic cup into the garbage can across the aisle. “Sam, you keep an eye on the Shire family. Dean’s gonna have a chat with Dr. Hughes, see if you can get some info on the death report. I’m gonna tail the teacher for a while,” she decides. Sam nods approvingly before his brother can object. He folds down the laptop screen and gets up. “Sounds good to me.” “Make sure you keep your eyes open, that little pain in the ass manages to beat up grown ups without the people next door noticing,” Zoë warns as she picks up her helmet from the bench. “You think this is our first rodeo?” Dean responds with a scoff. “You didn’t see me coming the other night in Rochester,” she counters sassy.

As she passes him she pets his shoulder, the one she put a bullet in only two nights ago. Dean flinches when a dim pain shoots through his arm again. That fucking b-- Before he can call her names, she exits the fast food restaurant, probably expecting the Winchesters to follow like obedient dogs. Stunned, he watches her walk over to her motorcycle, huffing in disbelief. First she doesn’t want their help, and now she’s giving out orders like she rules the fucking world. He didn’t think it could be possible, but his detest for her just grew to an all time high.

“Mark my words, one of these days I’m gonna shoot her down,” he announces frustrated. “Ahuh,” Sam responds, cynicism on his tongue as he puts the laptop in his backpack. “Just make sure you don’t pull a gun on her in public, will you?” “Can’t make any promises.” His brother huffs. “Anyway, you can have the car if you drop me off at the hospital. Let’s get this over with so that we can put some distance between us and the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Sam’s lips form a constricted smile, luckily his brother doesn’t notice. He has to admit that he’s enjoying the fact that his big brother is being told what to do by a girl, while normally he only takes orders from one person and one person only; their dad. What he finds interesting, however, is that despite a few muttered objections, Dean actually follows through with it.

“And you know what’s the fun part about all this?” Sam nags as they exit In-N-Out. “What?” Dean responds, annoyed, scanning the parking lot in order to spot Zoë’s Road King. “You have to dress like a penguin again.” The younger Winchester grins as he opens the door to the passenger’s seat.

His brother stares at him over the top of the car, realizing he’s going undercover as the FBI Agent Young once more. “Ah, come on! Can’t we trade?” he asks desperately. Sam laughs and sits down. “No way, dude.” Dean does the same and closes the door, complaining. “Man, I hate suits.” “You think I’m comfortable in one during these temperatures?” Sam returns. “Sam, even if I’d be freezing my ass off, I will never be at ease in that ridiculous outfit,” Dean states while turning the ignition, allowing Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynyrd to play on the cassette deck.

“I’m not trading places. I can work some stuff out while I’m guarding the house,” Sam explains, looking outside the window, squinting his eyes to protect them from the sun. “What stuff?” Dean questions, making sure it’s not just some lame excuse. Sam looks aside and hesitates for a moment, but then tells him anyway. “I want to call some friends of Dad,” he admits.

He feels Dean’s piercing gaze, but doesn’t look up. It’s only a matter of seconds before Dean pops the first question. “Why?” Dean asks sternly. “Why?! I don’t know about you, Dean, but I wanna find him,” Sam returns defensive. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter; as if he doesn’t want to find Dad. Seriously? “So do I, but I don’t think it’s wise to start calling random hunters to ask where he is, Sam.” “I won’t call ‘random’ hunters. I’ll call a few old friends, and why the hell not?” his brother questions. “Because Dad doesn’t want to be found,” the oldest of the two claims. “How could you possibly know that, Dean?! Seriously, do you have some kind of telepathic connection with the guy or what?” Sam reacts. “Hey, you’re the psychic one, not me,” Dean counters. “If Dad wants us involved in his hunt, he will contact us one way or the other. You know that.” “No, I don’t! I haven’t heard a word from him since I left for Stanford. I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man,” the younger brother argues. “You were the one who fucking left, Sam. And let me tell you somethin’,” Dean pauses to enforce his words. “I trust him because he’s a damn good hunter.” “He’s human! He makes mistakes just like anyone else, only this time you won’t be around to back him up. It’s not some monster that he’s hunting, this is the monster! The one that killed Mom, that killed Jess!” Sam adds up. “You think I don’t realize that?” The car stops at a traffic light and Dean turns to him, his piercing green eyes judging his brother, the same way John so often has. “Of course I’d rather be backing him up right now, but he decided to do this alone and I accept that.” “Why the hell, though? Just because he says so?” Sam huffs, shaking his head disappointed. “Hell yes, because he says so!” his brother snaps. “He leads this mission, and we stick to the orders he gives us. It’s about fucking time you show him the respect he deserves.” “He has to earn that first,” the younger Winchester responds. “He earned that a long time ago. Every time he protected you, protected us. Everything that we were taught, all the skills that we’ve learned. You were so caught up in the illusion that school was gonna work out, that when he objected because he didn’t want you to be on your own, you cut all ties,” Dean barks at him as he accelerates faster than necessary. “Why the hell do you want to find him so bad if you hate his guts, huh?” “I don’t hate his guts,” Sam says, his voice a lot less hostile than a moment ago.

Dean takes his eyes off the road again and glances at the passenger, noticing the defeated expression on Sammy’s face. Annoyed with himself he looks ahead again, shutting his eyes for a second when a pang of guilt distinguishes the anger in a matter of seconds. He meant to give his little brother a reality check, but all he did was hurt him. “Sam, I get you want answers. But calling his friends isn’t the way to do it. We just gotta be patient.”

His brother's jaw clenches and he looks away, not denying nor confirming that Dean is right and that he himself will listen. It doesn’t matter anyway; there’s no way he can turn his brother’s mind around. And Dean claims Sam is the one who is like their old man? Just now he was sure to sit next to a younger version of Dad.

He can't agree with the reasoning behind Dean’s actions, though. His older brother dragged him out of school to find Dad and now that it’s coming down to that, he doesn’t want to go out on a search. Sam on the other hand, he has to find him. Not only does he have some unresolved issues with his father, John is also the only hunter who has been tracking the thing that ruined their lives. He is the key to finding answers. It’s all he can think of; hunting down the bastard that killed Mom and Jessica.

Without saying another word, Dean drives his Impala to their motel, convinced he made his point, even though he hurt his brother’s feelings to get the message across. But Sam isn’t going to let go, neither will he trade places with Dean on their jobs. During his hours of watching the Shire family, he’s gonna make those calls and he is going to find their father. Whether Dean likes it, or not.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter nine here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural OFC series #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Sam fanfiction #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dark!Supernatural #supernatur #spn #stss #1x02 in bad waters #Zoë Sullivan #Kate Huntington

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Don't Strauss Too Much (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: Back on my Crygi clownery! A big thank you to the lovely @sportcox who helped me brainstorm this title <3

Summary: Gigi needs a tutor, and Crystal is happy to help her out.

Gigi Goode is going to throw herself off a cliff.

She’s been staring at her flashcards from yesterday’s music theory lecture for what feels like forever now, and she’s still no closer to memorizing the information she needs to know for her quiz on Friday than when she got here.

She and Nicky are sitting in the corner of their favourite cafe, notebooks and highlighters sprawled out on the table among cups of coffee and various sweet treats. Normally, the cozy atmosphere always puts Gigi into a good mood, but today she’s far too stressed to enjoy the experience. She has a week to memorize a whole chapter’s worth of material. So far she’s wasted most of her time just staring blankly at her notes.

“What kind of demon professor gives a quiz on a Friday, anyway?” She complains.

Besides her, Nicky laughs. “Take a break if you’re so upset about it.”

“That’s not how it works,” Gigi mumbles, even as she closes her folder and takes a sip of her iced coffee. She slumps back into her seat. “Music theory is gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

“I don’t even understand why you’re taking it,” Nicky says, tapping her pen against her teeth distractedly.

“I needed the credit,” Gigi explains in a monotone. “I thought it would be easy, but Professor Visage doesn’t even give us completion credit for homework.”

“Oh, the horror,” Nicky smirks at her. “Imagine, Stanford professors not giving you full credit just because you turned your work in.”

“Shut up,” Gigi pouts. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Can’t you just drop?” Nicky steals a bite of Gigi’s tiramisu, giggling when the other girl swats her away. “Hey, I’m helping, I deserve some of your cake.”

“I can’t,” Gigi says, rolling her eyes at Nicky’s antics. “Missed the deadline.”

“Just get a tutor then,” Nicky suggests. “Isn’t that Crystal girl you like also taking it? You said she was doing well last time.”

Gigi very nearly chokes on a macaroon.

“How… do you even remember that?” She gets out, coughing.

“As if I could forget. That’s all you talked about the entire two hours we hung out. You were all, ‘Crystal’s so good at theory’ and ‘Visage likes her so much’ and ‘if she weren’t so pretty I could be able to hate her.’” Nicky teases. “Besides, you know I love to play matchmaker.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s not happening. I can’t even talk to her, let alone survive a tutoring session with that girl.” Gigi says.

“Okay, well, it’s not like you have any other options.” Nicky is unimpressed.

“Then I’d better just accept that I’ll bomb this quiz.” Gigi pops another macaroon into her mouth in self-pity.

“No, not on my watch.” Nicky insists. “Just message her, it’s not that hard!”

“Absolutely not,” Gigi says. She reopens her folder, looking glumly down at the index cards tucked into the pocket. “Like I said, I’d rather fail.”

She’s too busy staring down at the material in front of her to notice when Nicky grabs her phone until it’s too late. “Hey!”

Nicky just cackles, angling her body so that Gigi can’t interrupt her typing. “If you don’t have the guts, I’ll do it for you.”

“Nicolette Doll, I’ll kill you,” Gigi says, trying to grab at her phone.

Gigi glares at her friend, calculating about a hundred ways to dispose of her body. She has half a mind to drive her dessert fork into the blonde’s neck in an attempt to stop her from going through with this. Gigi bats at Nicky’s arms, attempting to wrestle the device away from her.

It’s no use. Nicky’s grip is strong, and Gigi watches with growing horror as the blonde types Crystal’s Instagram handle into the explore page. Nicky doesn’t even need to type the full name; Crystal pops up into her recent searches as soon as she inputs the first few letters.

In usual circumstances, Gigi would at least be embarrassed, but right now she’s more horrified at the prospect of messaging Crystal Methyd.

Crystal, the girl who she’s been crushing on since the very first music theory lecture. Crystal, who’s probably the reason she’s barely pulling a big fat D in the class in the first place, since, as it turns out, staring at the pretty Latina sitting in the front row isn’t a very effective learning strategy.

“Nicky,” Gigi says, trying a different approach. “I’ll do the dishes for a week.”

“Too late!” Nicky grins at her, far too proud of herself. She hands the phone back to Gigi. “Your welcome.”

Gigi stares down at her phone screen, blinking dumbly at it.

Hey! This is Gigi from music theory. I needed a tutor and was wondering if you might wanna help?

Gigi’s gaze darts from Nicky to the screen, and then back again.

“I hate you,” She decides, puffing out a breath at the end of the sentence. “Why am I friends with you?”

“You’ll be thanking me soon enough.” Nicky shrugs. “Oh! Look, she’s typing!”

Gigi feels a rush of dizzying panic at Nicky’s narration. She snatches her phone closer to her chest, doing her best impression of a chipmunk with a peanut. A glance down confirms, yes, Crystal really is typing out a response. Now that Crystal’s already seen it, it’s too late to unsend the message. God, she’s probably weirded out by the random request. Why did Gigi think bringing this up with Nicky was a good idea?

“Uh-uh, I don’t trust you anymore,” She scolds, voice only shaking a bit, as Nicky tries to peek over her shoulder. “You can sit there and if you’re lucky I’ll fill you in.”

Nicky huffs, pouting. “Putain.”

Gigi’s about to retort when Crystal’s typing icon disappears, and a message replaces it.

hi gigi :) of course!

Gigi fights the dumb smile that’s threatening to burst across her cheeks, hyper-aware of the fact that Nicky’s watching her intently. She can feel the french girl’s gaze on her, practically burning a hole through her ponytail and skull.

Crystal typed the message in lowercase— Gigi’s not sure why she finds that so endearing, but the detail lodges itself in her brain and Gigi files it under the mental list she’s begun to keep this semester. Little things about Crystal: she likes big earrings, her laugh sounds like liquid sunshine, her hair is a different colour every other week. And now, the newest addition, she types in lowercase.

The smiley face Crystal sent peers up at her.

Her phone pings again. how does tuesday sound? maybe at 3pm?

“Bitch, what’s happening?” Nicky asks, craning her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of their exchange.

A flash of annoyance shoots through Gigi. For some reason, she feels very protective of this little exchange. Nicky’s well-meaning, she knows, but she’s not quite ready to share Crystal yet. It feels kind of exciting to know that this… well, whatever this is, is just between the two of them.

“Nothing so far,” She says. Nicky seems to accept the answer, going back to reading a section in her textbook.

Sounds good. We can work in the Lane reading room if that works for you?

The response comes almost immediately. totally, yeah! see you then

Gigi tries not to feel disappointed at the lack of a smiley face this time around. Keyword: she tries to. But it’s hard to read the signs over a couple of text messages, and she re-reads the last text she sent. Did she do something wrong? Was it too formal? What does Gigi respond, now that she isn’t sure if Crystal just texts everyone smiley faces, or if the girl is flirting with her?

Gigi grabs a chocolate chip cookie and takes a bite, stalling. There are two chunks of chocolate in the mouthful. Gigi takes that as a good sign and decides to go for it.

Looking forward to it! See you then <3

She regrets adding on the heart as soon as she presses send, but there’s no way to take the message back now. Gigi settles on stuffing her face with the rest of the cookie in regret.

She waits a few excruciating seconds, but no response comes. Fuck, she shouldn’t have added that heart. Crystal must think she’s totally creepy. Gigi flips her phone facedown on the table and picks up those flashcards again.

Nicky sees her make like she’s going to continue studying and lets out a snort. “Good luck, girl.”

“Nice to know you have faith in me,” Gigi shoots back, chewing at her bottom lip.

Nicky’s right, though. She doesn’t get anything done for the rest of the half-hour they’re there, her mind too full of thoughts about study dates and smiley faces to focus on anything else.

***

“Ugh!” Gigi tosses another dress aside, falling back onto her bed dramatically. “Why is this so hard?”

Nicky looks up from her phone. “You’re the one that’s making it complicated.”

Gigi throws a pillow in her general direction and the blonde shrieks as it hits her. The impact makes her fall out the beanbag she’s currently sitting on with a loud thump.

“Merde, okay, I’ll help!”

“Thanks.” Gigi flashes a cheeky smile at her.

Nicky puts her phone down and contemplates murdering her friend. “What do you have so far?”

“Uh,” Gigi holds up a tweed dress. “This?”

Nicky can’t help it: a snort escapes her. “What are you, Blair Waldorf? That’s way too fancy.”

“Alright then, uh,” Gigi fishes around for a bit, before showing Nicky a floral two-piece. “What about this one?”

“Hell no, a set looks way too put together.” Nicky shakes her head. “You wanna creep her out?”

Ten minutes and half of Gigi’s closet later, they’ve finally settled on a winning combination: a leather jacket and Gigi’s favourite pair of jeans.

Nicky insists that she doesn’t need a bra under her mini cardigan, so Gigi rolls with it.

A little part of her is glad that Nicky’s so passionate about Gigi flashing Crystal her nipples: at least she will have someone to blame when this all ends in a train wreck because she’s coming on way too strong.

Also, the mental image of Crystal getting flustered— well, Gigi would be lying if she said it wasn’t convincing.

Gigi’s alarm goes off and she grabs her phone, groaning at the time. “Shit, I’m gonna have to power-walk there.”

“I’ll see you after then,” Nicky says, winking at her. “Have fun with your little crush!”

As it turns out, Gigi didn’t have anything to worry about, because Crystal is late. Gigi takes a seat by the windows, spreading out her stuff. She tries not to think too much about the girl she’s currently waiting for, occupying herself instead with watching the people outside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!” A voice says. Gigi turns and comes face to face with Crystal. The girl slides into the seat next to Gigi, her smile a little sheepish. “Art History is on the other side of campus. I guess I didn’t give myself enough time to get here.”

“Oh, uh,” Gigi flounders, not sure where to look. Is it weird to look into Crystal’s eyes? That feels a bit too intimate. She settles for focusing on moving her pencil case from her left to her right. Crystal’s looking expectantly at her, and she swallows hard, trying to clear her mind of Crystal’s tanned skin and cute freckles.

“No worries!” Her voice comes out weirdly high-pitched and she cringes inwardly.

Crystal doesn’t seem to notice her strange behaviour, flashing her another sunny grin. “Okay! Is there a specific section you want help with?”

Right. Tutoring. That’s why Crystal is here. Not so Gigi can stare at her, and certainly not to get to know Gigi or anything like that. Gigi can’t help the pang of disappointment that she gets at the reminder. Part of her forgot this is strictly a school-related thing. Gigi suddenly feels stupid for overthinking her outfit and draws her jacket closer to herself. Hopefully Crystal doesn’t notice how dressed-up she is today, because Gigi doesn’t know if she’ll be able to survive that embarrassment.

“I’ve been having trouble with secondary dominants,” Gigi says, pulling out her workbook.

“Okay, yeah, I can help you with those!” Crystal grabs a pen. She leans over, tracing the chords with it. “Can I write on this?”

“Huh?” Gigi asks stupidly, cheeks warming. Crystal’s shoulder is pressed against hers, and although it’s perfectly innocent, Gigi’s still hyper-aware of the way her skin feels too warm from the contact. She tries to stay perfectly still, not wanting to spook the other girl into moving away from her position. “Oh, uh, go ahead, totally. That’s fine.”

“Right, great, so let’s use this question,” Crystal says, marking something down on the book.

She’s close enough to Gigi now that her perfume envelopes the space around them. She smells like honey and coconut, a warm mixture that Gigi finds comforting. A curl slips over Crystal’s shoulder, and the girl bats it away. Gigi almost melts at how cute the action is.

This week Crystal’s hair is a muted matcha colour, and Gigi thinks that it suits her. It’s the prettiest she’s ever seen Crystal. Then again, she thinks that every time Crystal walks into class with a new colour, so maybe it’s less of a testament to the colour itself and more to how utterly head-over-heels Gigi is.

“The key signature is A Major, and this chord starts on a C. So you can count down a fifth from C, and you get F, which means that the chord is an F Dominant Seventh,” Crystal explains. “Do you know what the next step is?”

“Um,” Gigi says eloquently, brought back from her daydream by the question. How long did she zone out for?

“Sorry,” Crystal says, tapping her pen on the workbook rapidly. “I lost you, didn’t I?”

“No, it’s okay, just,” Gigi chews at her lip nervously, then immediately regrets it because she definitely has lipstick on her teeth now. “Can you go over it again?”

Crystal nods. She takes a sharp inhale like she’s going to say something, but seems to change her mind, instead offering Gigi a reassuring smile. “Of course, yeah.”

Gigi shifts awkwardly in her seat at the action, unsure what Crystal’s thinking. She’s about to ask, or say something when Crystal jumps into the explanation again. Gigi tries her very hardest to pay attention this time, but she still finds herself staring at Crystal’s lips. They’re coated with a glittery red gloss, and they look so shiny and plump that Gigi really, really wants to kiss them.

“Wanna try one on your own now?” Crystal asks.

Gigi blinks. “What?”

Crystal sets her pen down, eyebrows raised. “Did you get any of that?”

“I, uh,” Gigi stammers, trying to find some way to save the situation. Her cheeks warm, and the realization that she’s blushing makes her even more flustered. “Sorry, I’m just really out of it.”

Crystal offers her a sympathetic smile, patting Gigi on the arm comfortingly. “Hey, you’ll be fine, okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m just worried, I guess.” That’s not it at all, but Crystal doesn’t need to know that.

“I won’t let you fail, promise,” Crystal says with a wink. Gigi can’t help but giggle at the action, and Crystal pokes her playfully. “You got this!”

“Thanks,” Gigi mutters, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth through a soft smile.

There’s a slight pause, both girls regarding each other with a hint of shyness. Gigi swallows thickly, eyes flicking around Crystal’s face. Her breath is coming quicker now, and she feels a bit lightheaded.

Crystal has picked up her pen again, nervously clicking it under the table. The sound is threatening to overpower Gigi’s already scattered thoughts. Gigi’s hand goes to cover hers out of instinct, to stop the rhythmic clicks. The back of Crystal’s hand is soft, and Gigi’s fingers loop lightly around her wrist, feeling the fuzz brush against her fingertips. Crystal stops clicking the pen, but Gigi doesn’t remove her hand.

Crystal takes another sharp inhale in, and Gigi thinks the girl is going to shake her hand loose. Nothing happens, though, and for the second time, Crystal seems to swallow her words.

Gigi’s mouth feels sticky, and she runs her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to get rid of the feeling. Crystal presses her lips together at the sight, and Gigi feels a wave of adrenaline so strong it almost knocks her flat. Every fibre in Gigi’s body wants to crash herself against Crystal. She wants to feel the lip gloss slathered on the other girl’s lips on her own, and to drape her arms over Crystal’s shoulders. Her clammy hands twitch as if they might truly act on the desire without Gigi’s approval, and she balls them into fists to suppress the urge.

“You look pretty today,” Crystal says, more air than sound to her words.

Gigi hums. “So do you. You always do.”

Another few moments of stillness. Gigi finds it surprisingly comfortable, existing in Crystal’s space. She focuses on the rise and fall of Crystal’s chest, subconsciously mirroring the pattern with her own breathing.

Crystal’s the braver of the two.

She makes the first move, flipping over their hands so that hers is on top and using that to tug the redhead closer to her. Gigi slides obediently forward in her seat, her legs slotting around Crystal’s. Crystal walks her fingers up Gigi’s arm, raising goosebumps as she gets higher and higher. A chill runs through Gigi’s body, and she regrets not wearing a bra for the second time today. She shifts, straightening her spine, and immediately has to bite back a whimper when she feels her nipples brushing against the knit of her cardigan. By the smirk on Crystal’s face, the moment hasn’t gone unnoticed. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and Gigi feels her throat close when Crystal’s hand brushes her cheek.

Fucking tease, Gigi wants to say, or maybe scream. Hurry up and kiss me.

But Gigi doesn’t, she just sits there and tracks Crystal’s movements with her eyes, and shivers when Crystal tucks a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, agonizingly slow.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Crystal asks, tilting her head in faux innocence.

Gigi bristles and feels her hands jerk impatiently in her lap. “Yes, fuck.”

But Crystal doesn’t let her get it that easily. She shakes her head, curls bouncing gently around her face. “No, say it.”

Gigi splutters something in between a curse and a laugh. The absolute nerve of this bitch. She doesn’t bother saying it again, just rolls her eyes lightly and leans in. Her patience has worn thin, and Crystal’s lips are too inviting to not feel them on hers right this moment.

Crystal ducks away and Gigi is left hanging there for a second, confused, before she opens her eyes with an annoyed huff. “You-”

“Say it,” Crystal repeats. The corners of her lips turn up slightly like she’s fighting a smile. Her hand goes to cup Gigi’s chin. “Wanna hear you say it, Geeg.”

Gigi literally feels her vision cloud over for a split second at the nickname.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but her blood is buzzing in her body and she swears everything has gone a bit fuzzy around the edges. In any normal circumstance, Gigi would probably be over this little game of cat and mouse. She could just kiss someone else. But this is Crystal Methyd in front of her, and that’s enough to make her decide to shelve her pride for now.

She wets her lips and whispers what Crystal wants to hear. “I want you to kiss me.”

Crystal narrows her eyes at Gigi, and for one terrible moment, Gigi thinks Crystal is going to find another excuse to deny her, that she’s going to pull away and tell her that this has all been some kind of cruel power play. But then Crystal’s closing the remaining distance between them, and Gigi takes a sharp shock of air in and has to blow the breath out in one great big rush because Crystal is finally, finally kissing her. It’s tender and soft, a bit more elementary school than anything, and it’s perfect.

Crystal pulls away before Gigi can slide even closer, and she whines unashamedly, shuddering out a shaky breath. Crystal’s hand brushes against Gigi’s chest as she lets it fall, and Gigi’s breath catches. This girl is going to be the death of her.

“Been waiting to do that for a while,” Gigi admits, still a bit breathless.

“I know,” Crystal says. There’s a pretty blush adorning the highs of her cheeks, still visible when she continues. “I was wondering when you’d work up the nerve to talk to me. You stare at me every class.”

“Bitch! I wasn’t that obvious,” Gigi defends.

Crystal just blinks at her. “No, you were obvious as fuck.”

“Oh.” Gigi feels heat blooming on her cheeks.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I know that?” Crystal prompts. Gigi still looks a little confused, so she continues. “I only noticed because I was watching you, too.”

“You liked me and didn’t make a move?” Gigi exclaims, hitting Crystal on the arm playfully.

“It was more fun to watch you struggle,” Crystal says, waggling her eyebrows.

“You suck.”

“If I kiss you again will you forgive me?” Crystal pulls an exaggerated sad face, clasping her hands together.

Gigi just snorts and closes the distance. Their lips mesh together softly, just as dizzying as the first kiss, and when she pulls away Gigi can still feel Crystal’s gloss on her lips. She smacks them together, trying to blend her own lipstick with the bright red goop.

“So. Do you think you can try a problem now, Miss Goode?” Crystal grins mischievously at Gigi.

“I don’t know, you’re quite distracting,” Gigi counters, a smile pulling at her lips.

Crystal just hums, pointing at a row of questions. “If you get three of those right in a row, I’ll kiss you some more.”

“On my own?” Gigi really would rather go on kissing Crystal.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, we can make it a game!” Crystal sounds hopeful enough that Gigi finds herself wanting to keep her happy. “Please?”

“What, now you’re the one begging?” Gigi teases.

She picks up her pencil, getting to work. Something about this new studying strategy is more effective than anything she’s tried before, and before long, thanks to Crystal’s teaching (and the kisses peppered between each problem set,) Secondary Dominants make perfect sense.

Come test day, Gigi sits right next to Crystal, in the front row, and makes a respectable 82.

If Professor Visage notices the hand-holding and stolen glances they exchange in the following lectures, she doesn’t mention it. The professor just seems grateful that Gigi’s finally absorbing the content for once. And as for the extent of her knowledge of why Gigi is suddenly so motivated to come into her class every day, well, Visage’s knowing smile says it all.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #crygi #nicky doll #lesbian au #college au #fluff #mumu #concrit welcome #s12

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chelsfic · 4 years

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Princess (for @1zashreena1) - Diego Jimenez x Reader - Starz Power Fanfic

I wrote this fic for @1zashreena1, my spirit guide in all things Maurice Compte. Happy months-early birthday, dear! Hope this *very* explicit fic isn’t too weird between friends!?

Warning: Pure Smut.

“How much did he just charge us?!?”

You stare at your friend, agog at the figure the bartender just charged her for two drinks. You are definitely a long way from home, that’s for sure.

“Relax,” she waves you off and hands you your glass, “It’s your birthday!”

“But you realize we could buy like...four pitchers at Margarita’s for the price of these two tiny drinks, right?” Yeah, the whole idea had been to come into the city and pretend to be rich and glamorous for one night--but you know Lisa’s job doesn’t pay her much and you don’t want to bankrupt her for your birthday...at least not this early in the evening. “Well, I’m getting the next round!”

She nods and turns back to the dance floor, eyes glittering like a predatory cat as she watches the dancers sway, gyrate and generally commit public indecencies. You smirk and let your eyes roam as well. You might be letting your natural sass make you a little contrary, but you have to admit you love this. The music--so loud you can feel it pulsing in your bones, the contagious energy of the crowd...you don’t even care that you stick out like a sore thumb among all these supermodel thin girls and--frankly--out of this world hot guys. You have no clue how Lisa managed to get you into the most elite club in New York for your birthday but...you’re going to make the most of it.

“Should we show these skinny bitches how to dance?”

Here’s the thing: when it comes to confidence? You outshine everyone else on this dance floor. This is your night! You take Lisa’s hand and lead her out into the throng and the two of you move with the music like you were born with silver spoons and not a care in the world other than having a good time. Monday you’ll go back to work, back to daydreams and deadlines, but tonight is yours and you’re not going to waste it.

You’re working up a sweat, rolling your hips with the music and not giving a damn if you look silly, just losing yourself in the dance.

“Hey!” Lisa leans close and has to yell into your ear to be heard, “There’s a Latino sex god checking you out right now!”

You roll your eyes at her and scoff, “What are you talking about, Lisa?”

“Look! Casually!” she nods her chin over your shoulder and you do a little not-so-casual spin to glance behind you. Okay, yes, there is a staggeringly beautiful man a few feet away who’s currently being worshiped by three female dance partners. Your mouth actually drops open in shock as you look at him and you have to consciously close it while your eyes rake over his body. He is a well-built man. Tall, broad, muscles straining against his black button-down shirt and suit jacket. He’s digging his fingers into one of the girl’s hips and his hands are absolutely huge. You slowly raise your gaze to take in his stubbled jaw, full, smirking lips, wide cheekbones and bottomless, brown eyes. Brown eyes that--yup--are staring right back at you.

You spin back around and collide into Lisa’s arms.

“Okay!” you yell. “He’s definitely looking over here.”

This guy has three supermodels hanging off of him and he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you up.

“Okay, okay, girl,” Lisa launches into her life coach voice and you groan. “This is your night, remember? You need to go fucking get down on that dick.”

“Jesus!” you laugh and shake your head at her, but you’re already glancing back over your shoulder. He’s still staring and now his lips are curled up in a grin. He raises a hand and crooks his finger at you. Oh, he thinks you’re at his beck and call, huh? You turn back to Lisa and dip down low, jutting out your ass and throwing your wild curls over your shoulder as you slowly, slowly roll upright.

“He’s gonna have to earn it!” you yell and Lisa is shaking her head in disbelief.

“You’re something else!” she exclaims.

You throw yourself back into the dance in earnest, but this time it’s different. This time you’re putting on a show. You dip, roll, gyrate and sway, all the while locking eyes with the dark haired stranger across the dance floor. He tries beckoning you over again and you shake your head with a smug grin, crooking your finger back at him. You’re setting the rules tonight. He actually breaks into a full smile at your boldness and you nearly swoon over the dimples in his cheeks.

He finally breaks away from his gaggle of admirers and makes his way toward you. You play it cool, like you couldn’t care less if he wants to dance with you, but inside you’ve got some serious butterflies. The butterflies only ramp up when you notice the two stern, bodyguard-types who break away from the wall and seem to track his movements as he walks over to you. Shit. Who is this guy?

He strolls up to you, inserting himself into your dance space and planting his greedy hands on your hips. His fingers dig into your flesh and the touch sets you on fire. He’s a good head taller than you and he has to lean down to rumble into your ear, “Bonita! You’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?”

You smirk up at him and tilt your chin past his shoulder, indicating the dejected groupies still lingering behind him, “I don’t like to share!”

He laughs, letting his hands wander to your backside, squeezing your ass as he grinds his hips against yours.

“You think you can handle me all by yourself?” he asks with a cocky head tilt.

You reach up your hands and thread them through his hair, dragging your manicured nails over his scalp, his neck, his chest, lower still.

“I’m a big girl,” you quip. “I’ll manage. What’s your name?”

“Diego,” he answers and his dark eyes are fixed on the contour of your bust in the tight dress you’re wearing. It takes him a minute to formulate his next words, “What’s your name, bonita?”

You grab him by the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling his face down to yours and whispering your name in his ear. When you draw back he takes the opportunity to grab your face, locking his lips on yours and capturing you in a searing, intense kiss. His hands reach down to cup your butt and lift you onto your tiptoes as he deepens the kiss. The rest of the club falls away and it’s just you and Diego. You let your hands wander over his body, running down his chest, teasing the waistband of his tailored pants and trailing back to make your way up to his strong, muscled shoulders. But you stop short when your hand brushes against the cold metal handgun sticking out of the back of his pants under the jacket.

Your breath catches and you pull away from the kiss. You feel a warning creep down your spine as you lock eyes with him and he grins, amused at your sudden qualms.

He leans his forehead against yours and growls against your lips, “You don’t know who I am, little girl?”

Your eyes shift to the two body guards lurking nearby and then back to Diego. You shake your head slowly and answer, “Somebody dangerous, I bet.”

Diego’s eyes glint with unhinged humor. He nods his head, running his hands firmly up and down your sides, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your dress. He’s bold. And used to taking what he wants.

“Si, bonita. I’m dangerous. You still think you can handle me?”

What the fuck. It’s your birthday.

You drag your own firm hands over his body, lingering over his abdomen and then plunging downward to hold him through his pants.

“Diego,” you hiss, giving him the faintest squeeze, “do you think you can handle me?”

***

You feel a little guilty ditching Lisa but in the end she’s the one urging you to seize the night.

“I’ll be fine, girl! My friend just texted me she’s at another club--we’re gonna meet up. Go get that dick! Happy birthday!” she practically shouts the last part and you slap her arm.

You glance over your shoulder where Diego is looking less than patient waiting with his entourage.

“Okay, but listen. Here’s the address I’ll be. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow--”

“I’ll bust in the place myself, I got you!”

****

Diego leaves the guards behind as you enter the elevator. If you hadn’t already been clued in by his style, clothes, bodyguards and vehicle--well, the outlandishly high class penthouse he lives in really solidifies how out of your element you are. Diego isn’t just wealthy. He’s wealthy and powerful... and used to getting what he wants when he wants it. You’re feeling a little overwhelmed in your knock-off dress, comparing what he has to your own modest apartment back in Pennsylvania...and feeling just the tiniest bit inferior. But you hold your head up as you stride across the marble floor, entering the penthouse like visiting royalty. Something tells you Diego’s attracted to your confidence and you’ll be damned if you’ll let him intimidate you.

“Nice place,” you comment dryly, affecting disinterest while your eyes widen at the view from the floor to ceiling windows.

“Thanks,” he remarks casually before practically jumping you. His hands are everywhere he’s kissing every inch of your face like he can’t get enough. You let out a breathy moan as he inches his fingers under the short hem of your skirt and brushes your inner thighs. His beard rasps against your cheek as he growls, “I’m going to fuck you on every surface.”

He works his fingers between your thighs, rubbing you through your panties with firm, punishing strokes as he grinds his erection against your stomach. For a moment you want to surrender entirely and let this man do whatever the fuck he wants with you. You think about the cool metal of his gun and wonder what it would feel like ground against your clit. This man is doing things to your brain.

But you come to your senses and place a calming hand on his wrist, cursing yourself mentally but instinctively knowing that you need to assert yourself here.

“That sounds like fun,” you say in a firm voice, removing his hand from between your thighs and straightening your dress. “But when I sleep with a man for the first time I expect to be treated like a princess. That means you’ll be taking me to your bed.”

Diego growls in frustration, wrapping his arms around you and molding you against his body. But you can see the look of respect in his eyes even as filthy words fall from his mouth, “Of course, Princess. But after I’ve fucked you to your satisfaction you’re gonna get on your knees for me and beg me to put my cock in your mouth.”

Rather than answer him you simply cup his cheeks in your hands and drag another kiss from his lips. The burn of his stubble on your face is delicious as your tongues clash. Diego pulls away first, his eyes are almost black with lust and his lips are swollen from kissing. This cocky, dangerous, powerful man is coming completely undone for you.

He takes your hand in his and leads you up the stairs to his bedroom. It’s a huge room with minimal decor, which is what you expected based on the rest of the penthouse. His bed is gigantic and covered in a silky black coverlet that probably costs as much as your whole bedroom set. You run your hand over the soft fabric and perch on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed daintily. Diego stalks toward you like a predator. You can see the calculations running behind his gaze. He’s not used to women like you. Assertive, strong, no nonsense. For once he’s the one feeling as if he needs to make an impression.

He drops to his knees before you and wraps his hands around your high-heeled foot.

“Well, Cinderella,” he smirks up at you, slowly removing the shoe and letting it drop to the floor. He wraps his hands around your little foot and drags his fingers up your calf. “Are you ready for your prince?”

Your breath is coming hot and heavy as his hands inch further up your legs. You try for a smug smirk but when he delves his fingers between your thighs again you let out an undignified moan.

“N-never saw a Prince Charming like you before, Diego,” you pant, falling back on your elbows as his long fingers creep under the fabric of your panties and slip between your folds.

“No, Princess,” he smirks, dipping one finger inside you without warning. “I think I’m more like the villain.”

He’s on his knees for you but his touch is a reminder of the man he is. He is not gentle. He pumps his fingers into you with brutal force, delighting in the little squeaks and mewls that fall from your lips whenever he slams your pussy especially hard. And his words. His voice. You’ve never been more turned on.

“You like that, Princess? Huh? You like when I fuck you with my fingers? Oh, bonita, you are tight, girl. You don’t know what's coming for you, huh? Are you gonna take my cock like a good girl, huh?”

You’re writhing on the edge of the bed, desperately trying to grind your clit against the heel of his palm and making needy, pitiful noises that are entirely embarrassing, but you don’t give a fuck.

You try to wrest back control, sitting up suddenly and grabbing the hem of your dress, pulling it off in one motion and (thank god) not getting stuck with it half-way up your body.

You look down at Diego kneeling at your feet, still fully dressed and his expression rabid with desire. You smile and stroke your fingers through his hair. You let your hand cup the back of his head and pull him forward until his face is hovering over your pussy and you can feel his hot breath ghosting against you.

“I want to take your cock, Diego. But first show me how much you want me.”

He flashes a crooked grin up at you before dipping down between your legs and drawing his wicked tongue through your folds. You let out a hoarse whimper but Diego is relentless. He presses his flattened tongue to your clit, licking and circling the sensitive bundle while dragging the rough stubble on his chin over your sensitive skin. You fist your fingers in his short hair and cry out for him no to stop. Keep going. Keep going. But just as your thighs are starting to clamp down around his head with the force of your coming orgasm, Diego rips himself away and stands up to stalk around the side of the bed. You scramble back towards the headboard, eyes fixed on him as he removes his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest and shoulder muscles.

He comes up to the side of the bed, looming over you with a wild look in his eyes.

“I’m in control now, baby,” he hisses, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants and underwear fall to the floor.

Your eyes fall to the massive erection jutting between his legs and you actually whimper in anticipation.

He stands there staring at you, waiting. When you don’t get it he reaches out and smacks the side of your thigh with his open palm, “Who’s in control now, baby girl?”

You know you’re out of your depth now and everything about this man screams danger, but you find yourself nodding and panting with need, “You’re in control, Diego!”

He turns to his nightstand, grabbing a condom from the drawer and deftly slipping it over his cock. He climbs up on the bed, crawling between your open legs and rubbing himself through your folds. He catches your eyes and leans down to press a surprisingly soft kiss to your lips as he plunges inside you. He wasn’t boasting before. You’ve never had anyone this big, he stretches you to your limit. When he finally seats himself fully you cry out at the pleasant, burning pain of being so thoroughly filled.

He brings his hands up to your face and runs his fingers through your hair. You look up at him and see the muscles in his jaw clenching and his eyelids fluttering as he holds himself back.

“You good, Princess?” he asks with a grunt that sends twinges straight to your core. Watching this man lose his self possession for you, because of you...it’s something you could see yourself becoming addicted to very quickly.

You nod up at him, “I’m good, Diego. I’m good.”

You are. You want to experience this man unleashed and unhinged. You want to know what he means when he says he’ll fuck you to your satisfaction. You don’t have to wait long. At your words he lets out a moan and starts brutally pounding into you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lays sloppy kisses along your tender skin as his cock grinds into you over and over again. His hands are everywhere--but mostly your tits and ass, let’s be honest.

He rears back his head and looks down at you with those dark, unreadable eyes and he orders, “Come, Princess. Come like a good girl for Diego.”

You want to hold out just to spite him, but he’s already edged you so close with his lips and tongue that his words are all it takes to crash you into your orgasm. You tremble and clench around his rigid cock as you ride the waves of your pleasure. All the while Diego is grunting and slamming into you with abandon, taking what he wants. When his orgasm follows shortly after he goes rigid for a second, clenching his fingers on your hips to hold you still as he presses into you with bruising force.

“Ahh,” he cries, falling forward and nearly smothering you with his solid body. His skin is slick with sweat and he’s sticky against you. You can feel his cock softening inside you, sending fluttering sensations through your core. He pulls out rather abruptly and you give a little cry of protest. You watch him remove the condom and drop it over the side of the bed before he crawls back over to you and collapses at your side.

“You did well, Princess,” he praises you, cupping his massive hand around the side of your head and threading his fingers through your curls.

“So did you, Mr. Villain,” you laugh, still a little out of breath.

He pulls back and lays flat on his back, breathing heavily, “Now. I think there was something mentioned about you on your knees?”

#diego jimenez #diego jimenez x reader #diego jimenez imagine #starz power #starz power diego jimenez #maurice compte #smut #pure pure smut #chelsfic

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garazza · 4 years

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Action Comics #1023 Review

“The House of Kent: Part 2″

Action Comics #1022 “House of Kent: Part 1″ Review

Hoo-boy.

I actually appreciate this recap page, I really do, but it just rubs me the wrong way. I’m not sure if it’s the content of the recap that pisses me off or if it’s for the fact that they literally just took a page from the previous issue and slapped in some new dialogue (see Bendis’ Man of Steel mini for this to be taken to the extreme).

Most likely the latter, but there’s a good argument for the former because reading objective statements about what Bendis has done tends to do that. I guess what they could be going for is for something similar to when Svengoolie comes back from commercial break and it’s a still from the movie with Sven’s face superimposed somewhere and he makes a quip about the movie before it starts back up again.

But I digress. It fills me in on what’s been happening in the book and that’s what I needed it to do.

The art really goes down in quality since last issue. Romita, Jr.’s pencils aren’t as good, Janson’s inks are heavier and a lot more boring, and Anderson’s colors are bland and flat and not as lively. There are a few good spots and I’ll point them out, but they’re infrequent, and overall, the quality of the art is much more similar to the art in the Metropolis Doom arc than it is to last issue. This leads me to believe that editorial only gave the art team enough time over the pandemic-induced break in publishing to produce one good issue before forcing them back into a deadline where Romita, Jr.’s work is not as good and tends to suffer.

Red Cloud attacks and attempts to kill Jimmy Olsen instead of Lois Lane to send an even greater message to her and Clark.

For those of you that don’t know, the Invisible Mafia speak in code to avoid detection by Superman’s super-hearing and meet in areas surround by lead to hide from his supervision. In the beginning of this confrontation, no one says anything that Superman would respond to if he hasn’t already tuned it out, which is why Lois says out loud her nickname for her husband to get his attention.

It’s a sign of affection for them and could be utilized for such a scenario, but I don’t see why she had to say his nickname over anything else to get his attention. Maybe because since he revealed his identity to the world his real name is being said a lot more often in non-criminal ways, so he doesn’t respond to it as much as he has in the past. I’m not sure if I’m trying to come up with a rational excuse for what is actually a writer’s weird and out-of-character creative choice or if it’s what an actually competent writer intended for a discerning reader to infer and get joy from a successful analysis.

Regardless, it’s what got Superman’s attention at the end of Superman segment in the last issue. I don’t think what was supposed to be conveyed with those panels last issue was accurately conveyed by the art. Either Romita, Jr. didn’t sufficiently depict (but still beautifully rendered) what Bendis had directed him to draw, or Bendis had poorly directed Romita, Jr. in what he wanted him to draw. With this added context, however, these panels do make a lot more sense, but only with the added context. Without it, the scene is a little unclear.

You can clearly see the change in art with the two issues side by side like this. This issue, the art just doesn’t look as good. It’s just kinda blegh. It accomplishes what it needs to convey the story, but in a very boring and unspectacular way.

Also, this panel is very Harry Potter to me. Superman’s more subdued face is similar to that of book!Dumbledore in Goblet of Fire, but the almost hyperbolic dialogue is more akin to that of movie!Dumbledore. It’s very dissonant.

I really want to hate the humor of this panel, but it’s just so fun, so I won’t.

This is a really cool panel, one of the few standout moments, but I have issues.

First, I may have enjoyed the humor in the last panel, but Bendis’ attempt at humor with Jon here just makes me want to cringe. Whenever Bendis makes Jon talk, it just pisses me off and makes me want to stop reading.

Second, I see what they were going for with the glowing eyes, but this is some more of that dissonance between the art and the writing. It actually looks quite menacing, but the dialogue has a more humorous tone. Also, the actual effect for the glow is just two red circles, making their eyes look more like flashlights than radiating energy. I also want you to keep this moment in the back of your minds, I’ll refer back to it in a second.

I think the dissonance is the result of the Bendis-speak, where some of the characters are quippy, but other characters are playing the situation straight and are reacting accordingly to the incorrect behavior. There’s nothing wrong with a superhero comic being light-hearted, but it just doesn’t quite fit here. All the right ingredients are present, but they’re not all in the right proportions.

Another panel I really like. The smoke and its color are really well done, especially in contrast to the all black silhouettes except for their back logos of the Supers.

The eye glow effect looks much better here. It’s simple yet powerful.

I don’t know how important this revelation is actually supposed to be, so I’ll defer to the depiction of the comic instead of playing the fool and acting upset about something I’m ignorant about simply because I’m not a fan of the writer.

This moment is cool and all, but I don’t think Conner has super-breath. He doesn’t actually have the powers of Superman, he uses his tactile telekinesis to mimic some of the powers of Superman.

The “extreme high-velocity super-speed” was this issue’s first indication that Bendis might not know anything about this character he has stewardship over, but that can just be chalked up to Superman not remembering the powers of Conner. We don’t know the upper limit of Conner’s tactile telekinetic flight, nor should we care, it’s supposed to be a fun line.

The second indication is that Conner is shown to have heat vision when his eyes glow alongside Clark and Jon’s. He only has heat vision when he wears special goggles or a visor. Again, he doesn’t have all the powers of Superman. Tactile telekinesis only covers so much of Superman’s powers. But this can be forgiven because it is a pretty cool image.

“Once Is Chance, Twice is Coincidence, Third Time Is A Pattern.” This panel is the third instance of Bendis’ lack of understanding of Conner’s character. If this was the only instance, this would be fine, but it’s not. The moment is cool, but it’s a bridge too far.

Refer to my review of the first issue for more of Bendis not knowing anything about Conner.

EDIT: Thanks to @thebartallenblog for pointing out to me that Conner does in fact start developing more Kryptonian powers outside of his tactile telekinesis in the 2003 Teen Titans book by Geoff Johns, so Bendis does in fact know more about the character than I give him credit for, which is more than I can say for myself in this instance.

Also, this moment goes on for way too long, almost two entire pages. Beautiful, the art of decompression and wasting reader’s time and money.

“Should I super-inhale?” Shut up, Bendis.

Also, why is Red Cloud is so fixated on Superman’s family instead of just Superman. Does the Invisible Mafia have something against his family as well? It was my understanding that they have it out for him specifically, anything that is ancillary to him is extraneous and not worth their time.

“Hey! It’s not my favorite super-move on a good day.” Then why the fuck did you even make him suggest it, Bendis?

I don’t know if loved ones referring to Lois as Ma is something Bendis has been trying to push as a character quirk or if it’s some sort of weird one-off. Either way, I don’t like it. It’s not bad in of itself, don’t get me wrong, it’s just not my thing and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Again, I’m not sure how significant Jimmy figuring out Red Cloud's identity is supposed to be to the plot and the narrative, but this seems to be a bit of lampshading from a writer who literally has no right to be lampshading.

Couldn’t give a shit about the plot, I’m just here to nitpick. Next.

Feels a bit janky in the art department, but the dialogue is surprisingly in character. They all feel like they have their actual voices. It’s a nice little moment.

I would address all the instances of Bendis making Jon talk, but that would make this longer than it already is, so I’ll only do it when it’s particularly egregious.

Red Cloud comes back and attacks not!Jon and I couldn’t care less. Kill the bitch. Please.

The next two pages are a lot of nothing, just a boat load of Bendis-speak.

I’m pretty sure this played out a lot differently and more humorously in Bendis’ head when he wrote it down and Romita, Jr.’s art makes it all the more funny but for all the wrong reasons.

Who’s his partner? Officer Tomasi?

You know when I said that one panel with Lois, Clark, and Jimmy was written really in-character? This panel with Conner and Jon is the exact opposite of that.

Red Cloud and Ms. Leone have a fun back and forth for two pages. It’s a good example of Bendis-speak working well.

“Black Label Club?” One meta-reference is enough, but two is stupid. I actaully feel a little conflicted nitpicking this, but Black Label is in such a weird place right now, so why reference it?

But “Clark Kent walked into a bar...” is a pretty bad ass line, very John Wick.

A very cool sequence, but it’s full of Bendis-speak and very decompressed.

Why the fake-out of the Superfamily executing a gangland-style shooting with Jon being the one pulling the trigger? I get it’s a story beat the narrative is supposed to hit, but still.

The reveal is pretty funny, shrinking the club, so it’s a little forgivable, but the set up and the pay off don’t quite match. It’s just another example of that dissonance I’ve been mentioning.

I know that “supersons” line was put there by Bendis as a deliberate dig at his detractors, so I’m not going to take the bait and get pissed. Nice try, big guy.

All in all, this issue was not as bad as I initially thought. It’s series of some really big highs and lows.

#superman #superboy #conner kent #jon kent #lois lane #jimmy olsen #red cloud #robinson goode #ms. leone #invisible mafia #brainiac 5 #clark kent #action comics #brian michael bendis

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bangtan-dreamland · 4 years

Text

the crying closet

Prompt: “I work at this library and for the past couple nights I’ve had to kick you out of the crying closet at closing time. Normally I wouldn’t pry, but do you want to talk about it?”

Pairing: knj x reader

Word Count: 5.2K

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Just some cursing!! okay and maybe the horrendous format and the unimaginative title lmao

Genre: Fluff, a smidge of angst, meet-cute, college!au

AN: A big thank you to our lovely @mygsii for reading and telling me that this is cute and fluffy!!! I will hold on to her words and hope that someone smiles reading this ^^

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

today was nOT your day. or week. or month now that you think about it

usually you have your shit together. there are a lot of reasons to. for one, you’re a scholar student! you’re smart! and hardworking! even if you have your moments of dumbassness you somehow still manage to stay afloat. you never get a grade below 90 and that’s already with the highest your professor giving is 96. It may take you minutes before the deadline bUT you always, ALWAYS manage to pass your stuff! and yeah you may have a procrastination problem but you’re workING on that SO

actually nevermind it’s a miracle you have your shit together most days

which

this month has really tested now that you remember it all

to start, the dreaded group project. the semester just started, and your professors are already giving you students sO MUCH WORK TO DO which okAY fine you’re used to that how would you get your grades if you don’t give them things to grade on

BUT A GROUP PROJECT??? YOU DON’T KNOW EVEN KNOW MOST OF THESE PEOPLE NOT EVEN THEIR NAMES

AND YOUR PROFESSOR WANTED YOU TO WORK WITH THEM

okay, okay you thought you could handle this

nevermind your bad history with group projects people in college are mature right thEY HAVE TO BE RIGHT at least please be mature enough to help in a group project for their own fuCKING grades

wELL JOKES ON YOU

it started off well enough you made a group chat added them in

made introductions

it was awkward but whatever people normally are when they’re new to each other right

BUT

then you start talking about dividing the work and they’re all ‘cOOL YEAH WE KNOW WE GOT IT’

so you’re like ‘oh! okay! I trust you guys then’

BUT THEN DAYS PASS AND YOU FIND OUT

they still

haven’t

even

fucking

started

you’d never considered murder as a viable option to remove stress but you were very much considering it then

especially when they made the most ridiculous excuses

like getting sick (you literally saw her post about gOING TO A LUNCH WITH HER FRIENDS what the fuck even did she not remember you know her account wHAT A BITCH)

or getting swamped with other schoolwork (you saw him on a date with his girlfriend the fuck was he talking about ‘schoolwork’ your ass)

or the worst- his grandma died and he was away on her funeral (you don’t even know how he thought that was a reasonable excuse like literally you see him in cLASS)

so then you had to do the project all by yourself

really considered just telling the professor that you wanted to work alone

bUT NO!!!!

apparently you’re too soft or whatever,,,

plus your professor said you can’t

you think it’s because he knows your classmates will fail if you don’t do their share of the work

but it’s not like you can say that to your teacher or you’d get

wait do colleges have detention they don’t they have strikes right

aNYWAYS

so you did the project alone!!! AND YOU COMPLETED IT!!! amazing!!!!

BUT THE FUCKING KICKER WAS THAT

because of all the stress and sleep you lost over the project

gUESS WHO FLUNKED HER QUIZ

which!!!

okay so it may seem important or anything

but your professor was only giving 3 quizzes this semester

THREE

THAT MADE UP FOR LIKE 40% OF YOUR GRADE FOR WRITTEN OUTPUTS

AND YOU FLUNKED!!! IT!!!!!

just remembering it makes you want to scream honestly

and now!!! that it’s almost exams week!!!!

you were called to the office to say that your scholarship is in trouble!!!!

because apparently the quiz added with other stuff you missed because of all the things you’ve been busy doing hAS LOWERED YOUR POSSIBLE GRADES TO JUST ABOVE THE LINE

that’s already if you acE THE EXAms

if you don’t????

well

goodbye scholarship

lastly

your parents called

...

need there be more explanation

you won’t even go into detail about your string of bad luck experiences

coming to a class late, missing notes from your bag, a missent email, even in your fucking part time job you can’t catch a break something will go wrong and you just

you want to cry just thinking about it really…

you’ve been trying

sO HARD!!!

you’re not exactly the nicest or kindest person sURE

but you don’t think you deserve this

maybe you really are just going through an unlucky streak

right now even though you should be studying for exams you opened your book and started crying 3 minutes in when you couldn’t focus because of how stressed you were

which isn’t good because

college books are fucking expensive

so here you are currently

in your school’s crying closet

which is just a set of stalls that have plushie animals

honestly though not even the plushies are helping you feel better

really you don’t know if anything will

you startle when you hear a male’s voice ring through the intercom

“Attention, to all students still remaining… we’ll be closing the library in around ten minutes, kindly put the books in the carts or check them out.”

wow. was it really eight o’clock already??? had you really spent four hours just crying your heart out???

apparently you did

you listen to the reluctant groans and sighs, students chattering as they all started leaving

anD YOU WOULD TOO you honestly would come out and leave

but god you feel too embarrassed to even take a step outside

you’re just gonna wait until they’re all gone yEP

you close the door veeeery softly, sniffle and rock yourself on your knees

but like

you must have been more tired than you thought

because the next thing you know is there’s someone talking to you and you didn’t notice them AT ALL

“Good evening- you’ve been here a long time. Are you… okay? Wait- shit, sorry, that was insensitive.”

you sniffle because uh duh why else would you be in the crying closet if you were okay

there’s a long period of silence and you wonder if whoever it is went away

when

you hear whoever it is clear their throat before speaking again

“I… see you sometimes come in here,” he reveals and you feel more and more like you just want to lock the door and nEVER come out

“Oh.”

“It isn’t that I’m ridiculing you or something, so don’t even start thinking about that for a moment. Just…” you hear him give a frustrated sigh before he continues speaking, voice softer. “Maybe it’s weird, but… I want to help. You’re here almost every day so I assume you have something heavy in your life going on right now, and… I can’t promise that I’ll be able to empathize with you, but I can listen.” you can hear the wry smile on his face even as he speaks. “And if you’re worried about me knowing your secrets, I will promise you that I don’t even know your name, and we can keep it like that. Though you could probably easily know mine since I’m a stable fixture here. Kim Namjoon.”

“Wow,” you sniffle. “That sounded like it came straight from a novel.”

he laughs. it helps break the tension, you’re pretty happy he took your joke well.

“You’re not the first to say that to me,” he jokes, before his voice turns serious again. “But I’m serious about it, you know.”

you think over your choices. what else did you have? it’s not like you could just keep crying everyday over how stressed you were over the exams, and then get stressed because you couldn’t study because you’re crying

and for some reason you trust this man. which seriously stranger danger but you know that he wouldn’t hurt you that way. for some reason.

and. truthfully. you would appreciate a sympathetic ear at the moment.

so you start speaking

now look

let’s rewind a bit

Namjoon doesn’t usually do this for anyone else

lord knows he’s not as good at calming down crying girls than he is being a librarian

but

it’s almost been a full week

A WEEK

since you started using the crying closet almost exclusively and that won’t do because other students!!! need to use them too!!!!

and if it were any other utilities there’d be a riot

but

the crying closet has multiple stalls and the students who use them are sympathetic to each other

because if you use the closet you’ve really got to have it bad

and you’ve been using this particular stall for like a week straight now even if no one’s exactly seen who you are they all still feel bad for you

which Namjoon is really curious about

since

he knows you

well

not in a personal “we’re friends” or even “we’re acquaintances and we talk sometimes”

he means like he sees you a lot in the library

you’re always walking in with the most determined aura he’s seen!

like you’re on the way to write up an essay on how to destroy people

or something like that

you always seem so put together that Namjoon

maybe

admires you a little more than he should

but you always seem like you’re too busy to give anyone your time and he never has any time either

being a librarian isn’t just standing and reading books behind the counter like it is in novels okay

not to mention the size of the library he manages

LIKE HAVE YOU SEEN THE AMOUNT OF BOOKSHELVES THERE ARE

not to mention tHE AMOUNT OF STUDENTS THAT USE THE LIBRARY

no he doesn’t just do them all by himself but s t i l l

wait he’s getting off point

so he’s never talked to you

he doesn’t think you even know he exists beside being librarian A

BUT he remembers a lot of little things about you

like the way you like to fiddle with your hair when you’re thinking

or when you take one too many books that he doesn’t think you actually need for your class just for entertainment value

but then you never read it and just return it

or the way you always go to what he has deemed ‘your spot’ by now

perfect spot hidden by the corners where there’s enough light but at the same time hidden away by the bookshelves so there’s privacy

there’s also the other little things you do he notices

the way you’re always on your laptop or phone for one, typing or doing something probably important (the truth is that you’re either on your social media or reading fanfiction but he doesn’t learn that until later on)

or- if you find reading something boring or dry you slouch a little, until your chin is resting on the table and your arms are outstretched and you’re halfway stretching on the table yourself with the cUTEST LITTLE POUT ON YOUR MOUTH AND A FURROW ON YOUR FACE that honestly he’d like to kiss away-

ahem

anyway

the point is that he likes you but you never seem like you’re interested in anything other than your books

he’s never even seen anyone come up and talk to you

it’s like you have this wall that keeps you away from everyone else!!!

so the fact that you ever even went to a crying stall is a big surprise for him

and he would have approached you the first night but you already snapped at someone for asking after you and he doesn’t want to get your wRATH

… but

it’s been almost a week and the stalls really are in hot demand

he’s decided he has to talk to you tonight

maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll confide in him and he can strike a friendship with you!!!

or at least just talk with you

when he remembers that Namjoon steels his courage

and

when he sees you head straight for your stall again early afternoon

he gives himself one final chance

but then

it’s closing time and you still aren’t out

oh god what if you fell asleep inside he has to lock the library he’d be locking you iN THE LIBRARY

so he can do this

he knocks gently on the door

for a long time

so you understand he’s not going away

he doesn’t just want to start speaking to you out of nowhere he god you’d probably feel like strangling him

no answer

bUT he does hear someone shift and the sniffles stop (which have been a bit loud considering the two of you are the only ones left in the library)

he coughs and starts speaking

wait what does he say he can’t just tell you he wants out of the stall

“Good evening- you’ve been here a long time now. Are you… okay? Wait- shit, sorry, that was insensitive.”

wow nice way to go Joon you kILLED IT

in a bad, messy, horRENDOUS WAY

so he starts to tell you about why he came over

and

honestly

while he hadn’t come talk to you for anything other than coaxing you out of the stall

he’s surprised to find you’re pretty cute, if not a bit blunt

and really stressed which is a given

he didn’t think you would honestly he thought you’d be sharp and snide to him

but

as it turns out, you’ve just had a really bad two weeks

he can’t help but feel for you because he can relate to everything you’ve been going through

he won’t go into detail but doing a thesis on your own alongside keeping high grades fucking sucks and it doesn’t help that he’s a perfectionist

but back to you

the two of you have spent about what seems to be half an hour now

twenty minutes in you finished telling him about your recent problems

(“I kind of want to just self-explode or something. maybe throw myself out a window.”)

(“I don’t think that’s going to solve your problems, just create more of them.”)

(“THANK you for pointing that out Namjoon isn’t it funny I actually believed that would work for me.”)

anyway afterwards you fell silent and he really didn’t want to push you

but then he hears you sniffle again

“Aren’t you going to tell me off?”

“What for?”

he hears you huff, and it’s easy to imagine the pout on your face he really does want to kiss it away more than ever now

“Well,” you start, before pausing. “I mean when I think about it it isn’t really that bad, right? Everyone goes through something like this. Group projects and all that bad luck. I’ve just been having a little bit more, but. I’m already falling apart.”

he frowns, even more when he hears you scoff at yourself.

“Don’t say that,” he chides you. “It’s not about if it’s that bad compared to other people. It doesn’t affect them. It affects you. If you feel bad about it and you want to cry, it isn’t anyone’s business but yours. Besides. This is that bad, because this- these problems you’re going through threaten things important to you.”

… did he say the right thing because hE CAN HEAR YOU CRYING AGAIN SHIT-

for a few moments he hears you crying, though he can sense you slowly get yourself together as your sniffles die down

then he hears the door creak open slowly and his heart goes to his chest.

he sees you tearily look up at him, your eyes red and raw from crying.

you hastily look down, self-conscious about the fact that really yOU’RE A MESS

your hair is a mess your clothes are a mess yoUR DAMN FACE IS A MESS

why did you just open the door oh god

for a moment you just keep your eyes on the ground before you hastily try to fix your appearance

“Um,” you start, timid. “Thank you for hearing me out. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he tells you, before smiling a little. “Okay, I had to at first but then I wanted to.”

as he says this you see him patiently offer you a hand. you blush.

“I don’t think you need to walk me to the library entrance,” you mumble, but you take his hand anyway.

“I,” he pauses. “You said you’ve been stressed out, between studying at the library and studying at home so… I want to bring you someplace else.”

“Only if it’s okay with you, of course,” he amends quickly. “And by someplace else I just mean the park.”

you look at him surprised, but then hesitantly start walking with him. “Okay,” you acquiesce because really you’ll take anything just to be able to feel relief again. not to mention there are cameras all along the way plus one of those small police stations near the park, which you remember is also still a hot place for dates

… right? right

the two of you walk out of the library- Namjoon already did all the things he’s supposed to do before closing up, leaving confronting you for last which turns out to be a good thing

he hands you a bottle of water too- which really helps clear your headache

gOD CRYING SUCKS HELL also you should remember to bring water if you ever go into a crying fit

you’re going off into a tangent but seeing as you start feeling better already you deem the tangent important and remind yourself to note it down later

anyway as Namjoon tells you he leads you to the park near your university.

though truthfully told it’s not… exactly a park. parks mean grass and trees and wide open space

but the city officials went for cEMENT AND FAKE LIGHT UP FLOWErs and building it by a bridge going down to near the river

the only sAVING thing about the park is that the trees are real and there are plenty of seats

aLSO there’s the fact that when it’s nighttime the flowers look kinda pretty

alongside the artifical waterfall they built.

anyways the two of you arrive there- surprisingly enough there are still a few people left

you thought you’d only feel tired if you came here

but surprisingly the fresh air and the cold night is helping you feel better

just a little

and then Namjoon tugs you over- he talks to one of the vendors still selling

it doesn’t take longer than a minute for him to get the two of you soup, specifically pares

you take a sip- not only is it just the right temperature bUT IT’S ALSO FUCKING DELICIOUS

another thing you’ve forgotten while crying- you’re really hungry

“I’m glad to see you’re smiling again,” Namjoon comments and ahahahah the soup is really hot isn’t it your cheeks are too warm right now

you nOISILY eat your food because otherWISE YOU’D HAVE TO TALK and damn it why is it that he even approached you

oh right you were hogging the damn stall

“I come here often during this time to relax, when there’s not much people around,” he tells you suddenly. you raise an eyebrow at him because why tell you that? you’re not that close and it sounds like a little thing he likes to keep to himself

“It’s the closest I can get to quiet amidst nature,” he continues. “It helps that there’s a river.”

he points at it- the river is pretty at this time of the night, with the sparkling lights reflected on it.

“When I get stressed I usually take a rock lying around, pretend it’s one of my problems, then throw it. Maybe skip it across the river.”

“And does it help?” you ask. Namjoon hums.

“For me it does. I know it doesn’t work for everyone… but I want you to try anyway. Maybe it will work for you too.”

at this point the two of you have finished your meals. although with you you’ve finished three servings. wHAT, you’re hungry okay??

anyway Namjoon leads you to the edge of the river- you’d be wary in any other situation but for one the two of you are still in the very visible sight of other people PLUS Namjoon hasn’t done anything bad to you so far and has been very kind and you trust him a little

he picks up a stone- you copy him, and then he just. quietly (okay there’s a hint of real frustration under it but if you aren’t yelling to get your problems off your chest is it even anything sO) throws the stone.

or so you think

because that damn stone skips all the way to the other side of the river which mind you is a huge thing because the river is aBOUT FIFTY METERS WIDE.

you look at the stone disappearing in the distance with huge, disbelieving eyes, then back to namjoon- who’s grinning silly at your expression and just.

“How,” you squint.

he giggles. you pout. look at the stone in your hands.

“I’m going to fucking make it.”

your first try: it sinks straight into the water. you say nothing bECAUSE IT’S THE FIRST ONE

then the second

third

fourth

fifth

you’re at what has to be either your ninth or tenth stone- at this point your record has to be 3 bounces aND STILL SO FAR from the damn edge you aren’t even halfway!!!

you pout, long and hard- Namjoon by your side has to bite his lips to keep himself from grinning way too wide. you’re really too cute. he doesn’t know how he ever thought you were intimidating!!

“Namjoon,” you almost whine but you don’t!!! you don’t whine at all and there’s nothing to whine about in your current situation!!! “How the fuck do you skip it across?”

“Practice, mostly,” he tells you. “That and I throw it as hard as I can- wait.”

Namjoon walks closer- you tense up when you fEEL HIM RIGHT BEHIND YOU oh god cute guy toO CLOSE

but Namjoon does nothing- asks “may I?” and you nod

“Pose like you’re going to throw the stone,” he tells you calmly. liar. you can’t hear it but Namjoon’s heart is beating like c r a z y you’re so close he could tilt his head downwards and he’d be burying his head in your hair and smell your shampoo!!

which smells really nice bUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT

you tilt back a little- stretch your arm back- okay, so mAYBE your arm is trembling a little you’re vERY VERY NERVOUS OKAY

but then

you feel Namjoon gently touch your arm- correcting your posture until

well

you actually can’t think that much

beside, you know

NAMJOON’S HANDS ON YOUR ARMS

more than that he adjusts your whole stance with his hand and oH GOD THE LIGHT TOUCHES ON YOUR BODY HOW IS THAT FAIR

thirsting!!! after other people!!!! is much easier when they don’t pull this shit!!!!!! thirsting is safer from a distance!!!

“You can throw it now.”

oh god you’re thirsting over Kim Namjoon

KIM NAMJOON THIS NERDY LIBRARIAN

“Y/N?”

uahsjdkasda

why did your brain make you realize that at this moment goOD GOD

you jUMP when you feel someone’s hand on your shoulder- oh wait it’s Namjoon

“You can throw the stone now,” he repeats, a grin on his face aND OKAY DUMB MOMENT

you internally scream in your head but outwardly you nod, immediately just throw the stone as hard as you can bECAUSE YOU CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST BLANKED OUT ON HIM

did he see you blush oh god you’d never live it down

here comes surprise number two

you should’ve listened to Namjoon’s instructions fully because

you may have thrown the stone but

you didn’t throw the stone towards and across the river

yOU THREW IT IN THE RIVER

guess what happens if you just throw a stone tilted downwards

if you guessed splash ring ding ding yOU WERE RIGHT

here you are

your clothes mildly wet

just the front

bUT STILL

if there was an option for the ground to swallow you right now you’d go for it hONESTLY

instead you drop to your knees and let out a long loud groan becAUSE YOU JUST CANNOT DEAL WITH LIFE OKAY

“That was so bad I don’t even know what to say,” you bemoan.

you hear him stifle a giggle, you pout again.

BUT THEN

you feel something warm and soft on your shoulder, then wrapped around you-

you look up aND SEE NAMJOON GAVE YOU HIS SWEATER WHAT EVEN-

“You can’t go home in wet clothes,” he explains, dimpled smile- holy shit he has dimples you never noticed that but wow they’re adorable!!!! “Though there isn’t exactly a place to change around here, but… the jacket will help shield you and your clothes from the cold.”

you sigh

okay yeah this evening has been down and then up and then down

“Let’s get you home,” he tells you, before pausing a little. “I, um- do you mind if I walk you to your car?”

you hesitate- but then acquiesce. “Okay,” you tell him.

walking back to your car- you’re surprised to find it’s ten o’clock already

had the two of you been at the park that long???

the passing cold air makes your hands a bit numb- the sweater is bIG on you but you rolled the sleeves up to your wrist at least because you cAN’T OPEN THE DOOR OR DRIVE IF THEY’RE COVERED CAN YOU

anyway you probably should’ve done that when you’re inside the car not walking to it yet

you decide to tough it out anyway it’s just a few minutes walk

you fiddle with your hair- your hands are itching to move but the silence is so damn awkward and your hands are cold too-

but

“May I?” Namjoon asks- you look at him, raise an eyebrow because what for? but he just looks at your hand- oh

you shrug and try not to show you’re blushing

Namjoon’s hand is- well, you’d like to say it’s warm. but it’s not. it isn’t like he’d been wearing gloves or anything, so both your hands are cold and a little clammy when you clasp hands together.

but the way it fucking makes your heart jump?

yeah

honestly you’d like to wax poetry about the moment right now- walking hand in hand!!! with this guy you may or may not find really cute and hot!!!! in the middle of the night!!!!!!

but let’s be real head empty no thoughts

except the way your heart beats one, two, a little too fast

arriving to your car suddenly feels all too soon

you don’t release your hands yet when you stop

it’s only when you’re about to get in that you reluctantly let your hands fall apart from each other

suddenly you miss his hands at least they were a little warm around the end (and okay it made you feel aLL WARM INSIDE too but shush)

“Have a safe trip home,” he tells you. you offer him a small smile.

“I will! Sorry for- um, earlier. And thank you. You didn’t have to,” you tell him, but he only smiles back at your words.

“I told you, I wanted to.”

you nod- suddenly scrambling for words. You didn’t want to go home yet, but.

“If you ever want to destress you can go back to the river.”

you blink.

“Are you sure? Isn’t that kind of like your special place?”

he really has the cutest dimples bUT wow he’s also hot as fuck, especially with what you dare hope to be a fliRTY SMILE.

“I don’t mind sharing it if it’s you I’m sharing with.”

oof

“Okay! Goodnight Namjoon! See you tomorrow!!”

your face is bright r e d

hightail it out of there fast

you can see him still grinning widely in the rear mirror and hnghhhh why are you also smiling so widely sheesh

the ride back is quiet

it’s only when you get home that you realize one thing though-

you’re still wearing his sweater

you foRGOT TO GIVE IT BACK

oh my god you also forgot he paid for your food yOU WERE SO OUT OF IT YOU DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE

you facepalm

wait you shouldn’t give the sweater back if it’s wet you have to wash it first

okay okay

you decide to bring him coffee tomorrow Namjoon seems like the type of person to drink coffee

(also it’s a good way to start a conversation with him bUT THAT’S ONLY A WHAT IF AND NOT YOUR MAIN GOAL OKAY)

okay!!!

you take a shower first, change your clothes, then decide to wash the sweater-

when

you see a small piece of paper fall out

‘if you need help with the exams, I’m free for tutoring in the morning from 10 a.m.. you can repay me by buying me food at the park after - kim namjoon’

you look at the other side

‘also, here’s my number in case you need it’

you stare at the string of numbers next to it-

that smooth motherfucker

‘I hope you know how to teach advanced calculus, because otherwise I’m not buying you food’

it doesn’t even take a full minute for the reply to come through

‘I’ll see you tomorrow at ten then for our date’

'*study date'

'though I suppose we can do the first too after exams if you're okay with it'

okay, so maybe this month is not quite yet the worst

and if things go right? maybe the next few months will be your best yet

#bangtanscenery #btswritersnet #bangtanhq #bts x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #bts fic #bts imagines #bts scenarios

78 notes · View notes

capo-cedes · 3 years

Text

Fishy Business [2]

INVOLVED: Mercedes D’onofrio, Nicholas D’onofrio, & Al Mazomonie TIME FRAME: LOCATION: -; New York City, New York NOTES: Nicholas returns with Mercedes like he promised Al.

Mercedes sat in the living room, head tilted as she watched Freddie. Her mouth was stuffed with food, and she chewed hungrily as she measured the guy up. Something was off with him, the lack of eye contact showed her that. She shrugged and licked her lips stuffing more food into her mouth. A Cuban sandwich happened to be her craving of choice during her final stages of pregnancy and luckily for her there was an amazing spot that Freddie would not hesitate to retrieve it from. Shifting on the couch she adjusted the silk robe over her large bump and moved her eyes back to the massive tv. She wasn’t a woman for clothes before but pregnancy only added to her laziness.

Nicholas entered the mansion with the step and cadence of a man on a mission. He pushed the front closed, the slam rattling even the sturdiness of the home to its frame. The staff seem to have a sick sense of his mood and it’s target. They all were tight lipped as he walked toward the stairs, yet the quick glances and eye darts towards the living room made him switch course, moving through the house to the large room overlooking the waterfront. He made a beeline for the couch, reaching down he picked up the remote and shut the television off. His eyes slid absently over his wife’s bodyguard, then moved back to Red. “Babe, I need you to go get dressed. We have to make a run.” He tried to keep the command out of his voice, despite leaving little room for disobedience. Turning he looked to Freddie. “Get the cars ready. We leave in 15 minutes.”

Mercedes licked her full lips and she ate the last piece of her sandwich. When the tv turned off abruptly she looked up to see her husband and she furrowed her brows at his words. “Go where?” She questioned him taking him in and his demeanor. “What’s wrong?” She asked next. As Freddie moved without a second thought she looked at him in shock, observing his fast pace. Since when did he take direct orders from her husband without at least questioning it with her sublimely. She sat her plate aside watching one of the maids grab it and she used the couch's arm rest to slide to the edge of it and then pull herself up.

Nicholas turned back to face Mercedes, leaning down he sat the remote control on the coffee table. “We have to go talk to the Don.” He said, standing up straight. “I’ll send for some clothes if you would like. We can’t be late Red.”

“Why?” Mercedes asked her hand instinctively moving to her large rounded stomach. “What happened?” she asked him with wide eyes. They were on Al’s shit list right now and she knew that so anything involving him must be deadly serious. “Answer me” she growled, she’d blame her hormones for this one “what’s the issue?” she asked him as she slowly but surely moved towards some stairs so that she could change into actual clothes.

Nicholas hissed, shaking his head. “What do you mean why? You know why.” He said aggravation clearly in his voice. “The Don wants to see us. Period. Does there really need to be another reason. He spared me this long Mercedes do you really think that’s going to continue?” Nicholas eyed her as she bared her teeth, “You seem nervous? Did you have something you wanted to tell me?” He asked in a deadpan tone,

Mercedes tilted her head at Samuel and she looked down at his feet before she looked back up at his face. The statement he made was cryptic and she looked to see Freddie who returned to them both to announce that the car was ready. Mercedes looked at Nicholas again before she said “I have to change” excusing herself in the process and ignoring his last comment. When it hit her she turned back around and looked at Freddie, hand gripping her robe in her hand “you told him” she breathed angrily. Her features creased so much so she resembled a literal monster. “Freddie” she growled so loudly her voice echoed in the space. She looked at Nicholas, her chest rising and falling. “Nicky” she said trying to reason with him knowing it was too late as she dropped the robe down to the ground.

“Red, we don’t have time for this.” NIcholas said, as stubborn curiosity, ate away at the self imposed deadline he had given to Al. He nodded, his thanks to Freddie once he returned, still looking down at Mercedes, who had yet to move. His scowl deepened even after she’d agreed to dress, it wasn’t lost on him that she’d left his last question unanswered. Yeah, truth was a rare commodity in their line of business, but what was the purpose for keeping something this serious a secret. The accusations she threw at Freddie was a knife to his head. He stepped in front of the man almost protectively. “Nicky what?” he growled. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?” He barked, advancing on Mercedes. “A fucking 500K bounty?” He towered over her, “what is going on?”

Even as her husband obscured her line of vision, her dark eyes burned holes into him and right into Freddie. Nicholas advanced her, barking his disdain with every word that left him and it made her swallow a huge lump in her throat. She’d never get used to his iron fist no matter how many months turned into years for them. She always wanted him to be soft and gentle with her, more so now than ever, even if she didn’t always give him the same courtesy. “I had it under control” she lied to him, her eyes moving to his. “I can handle this. I don’t need you people getting into an uproar or trying to defend me. Why would you tell Al? I am Mercedes Francis” she said before she sighed “D’onofrio” she corrected. “No one can touch me, I just need to drop this precious cargo” she reasoned, her hands moving to her stomach. “And then I can march up and down the streets until someone dares…”

“Mercedes!” Nicholas yelled, wanting her stream of nonsense to end. “It was an afterthought, a shot in the dark. I need to smooth things over with him. And this just came up. What were you even thinking? Someone is threatening our family.” He shook with a tight held rage. “You and our son are at risk and you didn’t even trust me enough to come to me.” Nicholas drew back and exhaled, hard. “No, you’re right Francis.” He said in a dead tone. “Don’t change it up now. All that pride, you're safe because your daddy will protect you. Now go get dressed. The boss wants to see us ASAP”.

Mercedes' neck rolled back as he raised his voice at her. As he went on to express how he felt about the entire situation she was in she swallowed hard again. He was right, even if she didn’t admit it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, it was the fact that she truly didn’t want to explain to them what she’d done to cause this. As he commanded her to go get dressed for Al, she picked her long robe back up. A small pout sporting her face and she moved to leave Nicholas and Freddie alone. Despite wanting to fight back like she was known to do she opted for waddling away in silence.

Nicholas’ eyes followed Mercedes as she moved out of sight. Her request for a new different life ringing hollow in his ears. Actions. Do what you might, they always speak louder than words. And his wife’s actions were those of a Capo. She felt she was above it all. Nothing could touch her. She was Al’s protege. And he was her bitch. “Freddie… I appreciate your coming to me. She might not want to admit it, but you’ve most likely saved her life.” Nicholas turned to meet the man’s face, “It’s true. Even if she won’t show it.”

Freddie watched Red leave and he looked at Nicholas as he spoke to him directly now. The man looked down and then he looked up nodding his head at the man’s words. He betrayed the one person he was supposed to give all of his loyalty to. He might have saved her life, but his actions could’ve ended his. Perhaps convincing her later that it was out of concern for the child would sway her not to proceed with his inevitable demise.

XXX

Mercedes looked up at the large estate as they approached, cars moving in a single file between the massive gates and guards. Her heart thumped against her chest rapidly, both of her hands splayed against her stomach in the sink tight dress. She exhaled slowly, there was a tremble there rather Nicholas or anyone else noticed. As the car came to a stop she shuddered and leaned down picking up her massive Birkin bag.

Nicholas cracked his knuckles, eyes glued to the outside world as it slid by. His body was tense even in the confines of the armored cars. To many unknowns, to many variables. The utter chaos of the informationless vacuum, too much for him to process. As they came to a stop in front of Al’s estate he looked over at Mercedes, the light of the sunset setting about her. She would be beautiful if he wasn’t so damn upset with her. Who was he kidding. He reached over brushing her hair away from her face and ran his fingers down the nape of her neck. “Be honest with him so we can keep you both safe.” He said, seconds before the car door opened.

Mercedes blinked hard at Nicholas' words and she pulled away from him, offering Freddie her hand despite her disdain. Once she was on her feet, she stood before her father’s massive lawn. Like a child, she coward into a small lamb knowing that the man to be nothing less than a lion. She walked towards the door looking to the servants as they opened the front doors to her. She stepped inside and smiled thoughtfully to herself, gipping onto her purse for dear life as she waddled into the spot she knew of him to be in. “Don” she spoke to him in a more respectful manner.

Al watched as Mercedes was led to him, they were late by a literal minute so his face showed his rage. Never mind that, just seeing her in her current state made his blood boil. She was so heavily pregnant, that if she sneezed he was sure she could give birth that very second. However, she chose to live her life on the edge of an abyss and in the wake of that was tons of people that would still have to pay even if she fell in the dark pits. She acknowledged him in a manner that caused him to squint at her. “Sit” he commanded, she was a child of his but he in this moment didn’t see her as such. “Hand your purse over” he told her knowingly. She’d never kill him or try, he knew that but Al liked to play games every now and again.

Nicholas let his hand slip and fall to the seat as Red brushed him. The cold shoulder didn’t really bother him currently, it was to be expected. He stepped from the other door, buttoning his jacket, as he moved. Surveying everything and one sharp eye that gave off the appearance of calm, indifference when he felt anything but. He took the steps behind his wife, noting the well hidden tension in her back. There was nothing for it, she’d made a bed he couldn’t get her out of. Once in the house, he stopped and let her proceed taking up a potion, behind her chair, on her left. And looked on watching as Al took command of the situation.

Mercedes sat down lowering herself in a chair, the man’s next words made her brows rise. It was so insulting to say the least, in her opinion. However, she handed her bag over to one of his soldiers before she looked back at him.

“What did you do?” Al asked simply to her with a head tilt. He picked his glass up and took a sip before he sat it back down, growling to himself. “I just can’t understand why you can’t stay out of trouble?” he said, his voice booming. He ran his hands against his jet black hair as he walked around the room.

Mercedes watched Al and she licked her lips gently “I don’t know what I did” she told a bit of a lie it was, leaving her lips. She lowered her head as he began to pace the room and shrunk even more under his scrutiny. “Don, I try very hard to do whatever is necessary for the family’s sake. It is never my intentions to cause conflict, harm, or chaos” she spoke.

Nicholas’ eyes stayed focused and Al. He didn’t know who was the more unpredictable at this moment, however disconnecting his wife from her bag, swung the favor squarely over to Al. There was no subtly when he began his questions. Not that any was to be expected. There would be no cat and mouse like the Don had briefly performed with him early. His eyes moved to meet his wife’s face as she said she didn’t know what she’d done. He grimaced, how much could a person do to forget what heinous action would cause someone to want to retaliate against them? He pondered, seriously. He thought he knew what Red was capable of. Now it seemed as if he didn’t know the half.

“Bullshit” Al retorted and as she went along to kiss his ass he shook his head, growling again. “Who wants you dead and why Mercedes? What did you do and don’t tell me you don’t know. Each evil ass thing you’ve ever done in your life is etched into the stone wall that is your head” he breathed as he moved for her. “Speak!” he fussed harshly as he snatched her face up in his hand towering over her.

Mercedes looked up at her father again as he spoke, calling her bluff. He moved over to her as he continued to reign down his killer tongue. When he grabbed her face her bottom lip quivered only slightly “Russian Mafia” she cried to him, knowingly. “Stephen wasn’t who I thought he was. He was dangling gems in both our faces, me killing him cost a lot of people a lot of money” she spoke up her hands moving for the seats arm rest. “I am sorry, he would have stopped at nothing to harm Nicholas daddy” she said tears rolling down her face.

Al’s voice rolled like thunder. His words lighting strikes cutting a path through lies with ease. Nicholas stood firm, his right hand literally holding the left in place as Al’s finger dug into Mercedes' face. Wrong as she was for withholding this information, it took a force of pure will for him not to intervene. He hissed long and deep when she said the Russian Mafia. He didn’t fear them but they were a multi headed hydra that would prove hard to kill. “What?” tumbled from his mouth, taken by his inclusion. “Wait? Did you know he had ties to the Russian Mafia? Damnit. How long have you known about this bounty?” He asked, stepping into her field of vision.

Al gazed upon Mercedes as she finally revealed how much deep shit they were all in thanks to her. He shook his head angrily and lashed out the only way he knew how, wrapping his hand around her throat came to him second nature. He squeezed as he said “have you lost your damn mind?” loudly. “Aim” he commanded the men pointing at Nicholas knowingly as he tugged the woman forward by her neck. “When will you learn?” he shouted, voice echoing through the house.

Mercedes watched Al as his face grew increasingly monstrous, the older man wrapped his hand around her throat which was nothing she was unfamiliar with. However, she would never forwardly accept his need to abuse the people around him out of anger. As he gripped grew and he tugged her forehead her hands moved to his, her nails digging into his digits as she tried to inhale. “D-daddy” she said in a strangled cry as he slid her from her seat during their tussle.

In what seemed like a flash, Al’s hand slipped from Red’s face to her throat. Death would rule for any other man, woman or even child but this wasn’t anybody it was Boss Mazomonie, the click of guns didn’t really register, “Please.” Nicholas said, hand raised in surrender. “The baby Al please. Please let her go. Please.” He begged. Repeatedly.

“I am tired of cleaning up your messes” Al said to Mercedes even as she tried with all her might to release herself from him. Nicholas' words fell on deaf ears as he gazed upon her face, he could watch the life slip from her eyes and he wouldn’t lose a wake of sleep. Not in this case. However, the baby. Despite her face changing colors he squeezed a little harder before he released her, letting the marble ground be her security blanket. He ran his hands down his suit jacket and fixed his tie a bit before he looked at Nicholas.

Mercedes' eyes rolled to the back of her head as she tried to guide her fingers between her neck and his hand. That was useless however, Al was meaning to kill her today that was obvious. Even with a burning chest she figured she owed their child a fight, of some sorts. However Al did let her go and she hit the ground with a thumb, exhaling loudly as she groaned out. A loud sob left her as she rested on her side, perched up on one elbow she said “I am sorry” loud enough for the man to hear, loud sobs leaving her.

Nicholas waited, mumbled pleas leaving his mouth. Finally Al let Mercedes go. Hands still raised he went down to his knee, hand resting gently on her back. He pleas of please, gone drowned out by the sobs of sorry coming from Red. Bile rose in his chest, he was so angry he felt physically sick.

Al sighed heavily he hated seeing her there on the ground, however he ruled everything even his household with an iron fist. “Lower your weapons” he told the men, he ran his hand down his mouth and moved for his glass. “I think it best that you two go home and stay put until I can fix this and give you the go ahead you can move. Have I made myself clear?” he asked them both.

Despite knowing how the man operated on a daily basis, it truly broke Mercedes heart to know that he had chosen to be so violent with her. She guessed she deserved it, it wasn’t like she ever showed people mercy. She sniffled hard, cursing her hormones, she was such a big softy now. She heard his words and nodded her head at him “yes” she breathed as she pulled herself upright on the ground and wiped her soaked face with her hand, tears still falling.

Nicholas nodded, “Thank Boss.” He said, quietly moving to stand steadying Mercedes as they both rose. The same green eyes roamed the room. For the second time today, guns had been aimed at him. Only this time, it was worse. Helplessness was something he'd all but forgotten. Being unable to protect what was his, a distant memory. Or at least it had been. Counting off the face, he didn’t take his hands off Mercedes back, his step purposeful, his click of heels on the marble drowning out the sound of his wife’s sniffles.

Freddie grabbed Mercedes purse from one of Al’s men, he stood there and he watched on in horror. He assumed killing the man would not have been worth whatever came next but that didn’t mean he didn’t picture it. He glared at Al for a moment before he walked off towards the exit. Mercedes continued to dry her tears even as Nicholas helped her out of the man’s home, she continued to cry silently to herself. In her defense truly, she was protecting the man she was in love with. But she guessed that didn’t take away from the obvious. Once out of the door, she pat her face dry with her hands moving alongside Freddie as well towards the trucks.

The doors to the truck were immediately opened once the trio emerged from the mansion. Nicholas stepped off the curb, waited for Mercedes to be tucked away into the back of the Hummer. He reached for the oversized bag in Freddie’s hand and passed it into Mercedes, closing the as soon as she accepted the offering. He stood back faced the estate and looked at Freddie With his mouth barely moving, “How many times?” He asked, unbuttoning the front of his jacket.

Freddie assisted Mercedes into the truck easily before he stood back waiting for Nicholas to enter. He handed the bag over to the man and tucked his hands before him patiently. Mercedes sat down quietly accepting the purse from Nicholas and resting it on the floor near her feet. She sat with her hands at her side before she gently rubbed her neck with her red painted fingertips. Freddie looked at Nicholas and said “often since they were children, if you pushed him to that point there were consequences always. Unless the Mrs. had the opportunity to intervene” knowingly. It was no secret Al could put a beating on the children when they got in line and it had carried over into their adulthood. The man had a temper no matter the victim of the lashing.

Nicholas eyed the dark tent of the window behind which Red was seated. He felt helpless. A feeling that only made him more dangerous. His jaw clenched and he nodded stiffly to the bodyguard. “Thank you.” He said, swiftly moving, to the driver side, and sliding in beside his wife. He looked out the window as the car began to move. “Are-” He started to ask then let his voice fall away. He reached over and took her hand holding it tightly in his own.

Freddie nodded and climbed in up front after Nicholas. Mercedes didn’t look at the man as he moved in the car with her. When he grabbed her hand, she finally turned her head, dropping her other from her neck. “I’m okay” she lied to him as the cars began to move.

Nicholas squeezed her hand, “No you’re not.” He countered, face still watching the New York landscape change. “You should have told me.” He exhaled, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Ignoring it was working for a time” Mercedes confessed sadly. “I want the baby safe, I don’t really care about me” she let slip.

What she said made no sense. Nicholas turned to face her. He watched her in the almost darkness for a few moments, then moved close to her, placing one arm around her form and his other hand on her stomach. “Okay…” He said, the desire to discuss this further could wait for a moment. So he swallowed her destructive comment, under a deep sigh.

“I mean it Nicholas. I have a bunch of SD cards with videos of me I’ve made for him just in case” she pointed out to the man. She practically eulogized her life to the unborn child over a dozen times in secret. “I just wanted to pretend that everything was okay and stay in this blissful moment for a while longer. I’m sure after I have the baby they’ll find me to do their job. I’ve accepted that. I just need him safe” she breathed. “I still have work to do, his nursery isn’t done and I have to get him here safely” she listed off. “If they want me bad enough they’ll come get me and there’s nothing anyone can do, you know how this goes, promise me he comes first for you too” she breathed out softly, her eyes looking straight ahead the entire time.

Nicholas tried to console his wife, but she opened her mouth. Handing out details better left unspoken. .He slithered away from her and corded into himself, arms folded over his chest. He looked like a king cobra ready to strike. Wave after wave of anger, hatred and hurt a mass rolled into a mase of emotions, he didn’t have words to utter. Most of the imes in this state of mind, he’d end up with it’s target at his feet. Al’s daughter… “You’ve planted yourself in my life. And for what? To dig a damn hole and crawl into it as soon as possible. I could have just stayed with Sara for this shit.” He growled. Turning away from her bodily, the tastiest of groveling still bitter on his tongue. “Don’t worry. My son does mean more to me than anything. Apparently he’s all I have.” He said scornfully.

At Nicholas' words Mercedes turned her head and looked at him, his words were both shocking and appalling however to show that would be what was expected, right? She licked her red painted lips and her fingertips brushed against her neck again. The men in her life, all three of then, were starting to really really piss her off. She looked away as the man concluded his very disgusting response and she nodded her head at him. “Right” she said simply in response to him as she shifted in her seat, eyes moving to the back of Freddie’s head.

Pure angry heat and icy cold met in the space between Nicholas and Red. The two fronts wiped into a thunderstorm of raw emotional turmoil. He snorted harshly at her dry tone. “Right?” He barked back, whipping his head around to look at her again. “That pissed you off?” He questioned, mock in his tone. “Oh… that shit made you feel a way? You are fucking incredibale you know that. Do you know how many…” He asked, gritting his teeth painfully. He couldn’t even finish his words. “You didn’t say shit? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You should’ve stayed with Sara?” Mercedes replies back to him eyes blazing red as she gazed at him hard. “Who the fuck says that?” She argued. “You heartless bastard… I’d do anything to stay with you, to be here!” She argued. “I am hoping for the best and preparing for the worst, why can’t you see that?” She growled, both hurt and upset. “Nicholas…” she said shaking her head as she looked away from him. “I didn’t know how to admit my fuck up to you, to Al, to the family… okay” she breathed truthfully.

“Oh that upset you.” Nicholas argued, “I am here. You’re not! Why? With your plans, you shouldn’t be here in a few weeks anyway. You’re running -taking the cowards way out. I hate this defeatist attitude of yours. I pegged you for a lot of things but someone who just shows your soft underbelly isn’t one of them.” He looked at her wildly, “You fucking made videos for my son? Nah, you need to come up with a better answer for the shit you're telling me right now. You act like you haven’t fucked up before. Bull to the shit.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes looking away from Nicholas. “You aren’t understanding me…” she said to him simply. “Just in case, yes, because I need him to know the real woman that I was if something happens” she said, getting teary eyed. “You don’t know how it feels you aren’t his mother!” She stressed. “You haven’t carried him. This isn’t easy for me! I’m scared!” She barked angrily at him. “I didn’t know what else to do” she said as she wiped a stray tear away.

“It didn’t sound like you were saying just in case to me.” Nicholas stressed. “So make this make sense to me!” Her tears didn’t register with him. He was too heated to hear or really see her. “You open your mouth. You talk to me. You tell me what the fuck is going on. That’s what you do. You know what… nevermind.” Nicholas said, sitting back hard against the seat.

Mercedes didn’t even know what he was saying at this point of time. She laid it all on the table bare with her soul for him. What didn’t he get? She inhaled sharply at him and released a loud breath of air, cheeks puffed out as more tears streamed down. She was so damn tired, she thought to herself as she looked out the window bitterly.

#thread.#samcedes rp #thread: fishy business 2

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mininky · 5 years

Text

Love is for the birds baby!

Summary: You refuse to believe in love. It’s a concept created by big corporations like hallmark to get sad saps like you to buy their shit. But it’s all fake. You’re convinced of that at least until a series of events with a certain tattoo artist who you loved to hate makes you question everything you’ve ever known.

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Yoongi x (fem) reader

Genre/Warnings: Romance, slow burn, fluff, comedy, smut warnings include: unsafe sex (always wear a condom), oral sex (male & fem receiving), multiple orgasms, spanking, light breath play, mentions of squirting. Non smut warnings for lots of cussing. Lots.

Word Count: 13.3K

A/N: A special shout out to @mzpandylu for inspiring me with such odd dialogue. Also challenge accepted, a quivering starfish is mentioned.

Love is a completely abstract and intangible concept to you, at least romantic love is. There are many forms of love. Familial love is a concept you sort of understand, let's just say that your home life wasn't the greatest but you do at least understand the concept. Platonic love you completely understand. But romantic love? You very secretly yearn to understand it, desperately trying to figure out how the fuck some people get so lucky that the spark happens. You've dated, sure. But try as you might none of them have ever made your head spin or your heart sing. Lust you get. You've had plenty of flings and even some longer relationships, but love? Love is for the birds baby.

You refuse, absolutely refuse, to admit that you have in any way shape or form an interest in this bizarre concept that is the investment and endeavor of romantic love. You've carefully hidden away all of your fanfics and all of your shojo mangas and all of the things that others would say is honestly completely normal to keep questions at bay. You know that your friends are interested in love, and unlike you they have no shame in admitting it. They talk about it all the time. They fall in 'love' with each man they date. But you're convinced that's not love. It's something more than like, sure you'll give them that but you're sure that it'll all end eventually. Love isn't sustainable because it's all a lie. Maybe you're too romantic at being romantic, perhaps you've just been suckered into all these stories into believing that a whirlwind romance is possible until one day the crushing realization that it wasn't possible occurred. That the sparks of electricity and burning hot embers of passion aren't sustainable and aren't indicative of love.

You were twenty, he was twenty-one. The two of you had been dating mutually for three years at that point, a lifetime in college years. Billy Johnson. Fucking Billy. He was smart and funny and he actually knew what a clit was, and he kissed you under the night stars and made you feel like you were in love. Maybe you were, but you like to think that the feelings you felt weren't actually that strong. It made the fallout easier. Which brings you to the fallout, that realization that romantic love is all a big corporate lie to sell shitty grocery store roses and cute snuggly teddy bears and dime back novels to sad sops like you. A marketing ploy. Not a reality. Fuck Plato for being the first to sell the idea of soulmates, and fuck Billy too. Billy Johnson was a cruel heartless asshole who fucked your best friend. And in one day you lost two loves, one romantic and one platonic. In turn, you gained a distinct hatred for romantic concepts and a world-weary view on relationships, waiting for the other shoe to drop every time you encountered someone new.

You dated again after that, but now at the young age of twenty-six, you've decided that it's time to give up. Or maybe you gave up after Billy. You can't say you've ever actually given it a real try after that if you're being honest. You know when to call it quits. You refuse, absolutely refuse, to be a corporate sellout. And your feelings are in no way shape or form reflective of the animosity at being broken up with by Johny last week because you were too 'sarcastic' in the middle of your vacation to Busan. Too sarcastic your ass. You'll show that motherfucker sarcastic. God, sorry, you're getting off track here. Where were you again?

Ah yes, love is for apparently everyone that isn't you. So you'll just be a cat lady. An affection earned entirely by ear scritches and feeding them. A reward system that makes sense. You take care of them and they tolerate you. Now that you understand. That makes sense. Why in the ever loving fuck would you try romance again when instead you can have a mutually beneficial understanding with something as cute as a cat that can't tell you 'I think you're a bitch' in a language you understand? Fuck Johnny, and Billy. And every other man for that matter.

You're ruminating in anger as you order your coffee, eyes staring straight into the young and timid barista as you slap down the change. Poor kid, it's not his fault but today you just hate the world. You try to smile but you're pretty sure that just scares him more if the way his eyes go large and round in fear is anything to go by. Christ, you need to work on your people skills. And you're totally not thinking that because of that dick weasel who you've decided will no longer be named.

Normally once you get your caffeine fix you're in a much better mood, but today the only thing you want to do is karate chop your own throat. Or maybe just play Red Dead Redemption 2 and kill a bunch of people in a completely legal way. Not online though, you really don't need another 13-year-old boy slurring about how much girls suck unless you want to unleash the crazy bitch inside of you to the point of no return. But unfortunately, you have bills to pay. Caffeine fixes to afford. Student loans to pretend you'll someday actually pay off except interest is a bitch. Which means going to work. Normally something you love, but today you're really not in the mood to edit another shitty sci-fi story where the physics of breasts go beyond the dudebro fedora lover that wrote the shitty thing.

Be an editor they said. You love books they said. You'll be great they said. They hadn't warned you that being an editor at a major publishing house still meant reading through a painful amount of crap writing that you would, in turn, make all pretty and nice and somewhat more presentable garbage for public consumption with no acknowledgment or credit for all the hours you spent trying not to bash your screen in with your face. At least you were close enough to walk to work.

You grab your piping hot venti quad shot vanilla latte (with soy) as you go back out into the frigid air. Your eyes are cast down on the pavement, trying not to bump into too many of the zombie state morning foot traffic as you make your way into the office. At least you have an office of your own, a salvation of peace and quiet away from prying eyes that allows you to wallow in self-pity safely. The rest of the day goes by in a blur, your normally somewhat antisocial personality becomes far more present as you hide away from even your beloved breakroom coffee pot to avoid too many interactions. You just knew that you would end up running into Susan. Nice gal, but she talks way too much and she set you up with Johnny no wait, the douche canoe. You forgot he must never be named again. The last thing you need is her bringing up how he dumped in you in the middle of your vacation.

You're also the last one to leave tonight. For someone who didn't really want to step foot into the building, you sure do seem to be having a hard time getting out of here. But there are deadlines to meet and your vacation meant that there's a pileup of work that needs to be done. That and you really don't feel like going into your empty apartment to binge watch on Netflix while you host another internal pity party.

By the time you're finally out the door and into the freezing winter night, you can feel exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. Or that might just be the joint pain that this super shitty winter is causing. That's another thing the world lied about, joint pain isn't just for old people. It's apparently also for future cat spinsters who hate everything no matter their current age. Your head is stuck on the last chapter you were editing, trying to make sense of how exactly you might be able to convince the author to scrap the whole damn thing politely as your nose picks up on the smell of a cigarette wafting over. Your stomach rumbles, brain shutting off as fingers twitch. God, it's been two years since you stopped smoking but it smells so painfully fucking good right now.

Your face whips up as you see the small trail of smoke wafting over to you. It's the guy from the tattoo shop, Min fucking Yoongi. You should've known. The guy is hot you'll give him that. Eyes just sharp enough to give him that bad boy image when paired with his full sleeve tattoos and the crawling cherry blossoms on his neck. The chronic scowl that says 'try me' in a way that oddly makes him hotter. Hair that looks like he spends way too much time on usually. Today however he's decked out in a beanie and black leather jacket with pants just tight enough to make you wish he would turn around and walk away. But in the last year since you've unfortunately gotten to know him you know that he's every bit as snarky, bitchy, and firey as you. He's also as much bite as he is bark, although so far you've never been the one he's pointed his bite at.

"(Y/N), I see you were working late again." He takes a lazy drag on his cigarette, eyes staring straight through you as his lips quirk up into a smirk.

"Yoongi." Your eyes narrow in on his, fingers twitching at your side as you bite down the incessant desire to beg for a cigarette. You won’t break, especially not in front of him. Just because you’ve had a series of bad days doesn’t mean you actually need that cigarette.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you? You seem even bitchier than normal. I guess this cold snap we're having is because the ice queen decided to control your body."

"Har-har-har little man." He bristles at the jab and you can't help but cackle internally at your small victory (pun completely intended.) "No for your information the world is a cruel, evil bitch and yet again I fell for its corporate seductions and evil capitalist ploys."

"Right, I'm going to nod my head and pretend I understood what that meant just so you don't kill me. Hey, so are you ever going to get that tattoo or not?"

You reach into the trenches of your memory, recalling months ago on a particularly good day when you told this same tiny Satan that you wanted to get a tattoo. He had seemed oddly impressed that you wanted a snake on your upper thigh and all was well until he told you that he pictured you wanting some shitty positive statement, most likely placed on your collarbone or ribcage and adorned with little doves or a dreamcatcher or some other shit. Bleh. That's when he first learned that you are possibly insane and most certainly a bit of a bitch. It's all been downhill with him since, each run in turning into a battle of insults.

He stubs out the little remaining part of his Marlboro before gesturing to the warm shop. "I've got an opening to do a consult if you wanna talk about it more."

Perhaps this is it, maybe this is what you need to do. Something different. Something that doesn't include your usual routine of wake up, caffeinate, work, work, work, and Netflix binge all in between minor anxiety driven breakdowns. Besides, it's just a consult, not the actual tattoo. "How do I know this isn't an elaborate plan to eventually see me half naked?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes as he opens the door to the shop, glaring at you as he speaks slowly. "You might be hot, but I have a feeling you'd be the type of girl to try to peg me with no lube. I prefer cuddling. Trust me, I'm not interested in getting you naked and seeing where it goes." You're thrown for a loop at that one, shuffling slowly behind him as your brain tries to make sense of it. You know you should be offended that he seriously thinks you wouldn't use lube, but Yoongi likes cuddling? The guy who scowls at life itself? The guy who you've watched physically throw out a neo-nazi who wanted a tattoo? The same guy who rides a motorcycle and refuses sugar in his coffee because he likes it as bitter as his very soul? Man, life is really fucking weird.

You follow behind him tentatively, shocked to hear rather calm hip hop station on. Maybe you stereotype too much but you pegged him (pun not intended this time) as a Lamb of God kind of guy, definitely not a Dean and PH-1 fan. He takes you over to his office, gesturing at a free seat before he sits down at his desk. Every surface is covered with intricate artwork. From Japanese style tattoos to Sailor Jerry flash pieces to pops of dystopian Disney paintings. "So, you still thinking about doing the same thing?"

"Yeah. Red Belly black snake. I'm thinking upper thigh/hip area." You stand up and move your coat to the side to point to the area.

"That's a good sized piece. Have you thought about adding anything more to it? Maybe some hyacinths on the left and right of the snake, I'm thinking in maybe a pale pink so it doesn't offset the red in the snake too much."

"You know what a hyacinth is?" You snort slightly, glaring back at him when he leans onto his elbows to shoot a look that he's probably hoping will kill you.

"I'm a tattoo artist. Do you know how many fucking flowers I have to draw every day? Swear to god I should open up a flower shop next door and make a killing with my amazing arrangements." This time you give a full-blown laugh, shocked to hear him mirroring quietly. In all the time you've kinda sorta known him you've never heard him laugh. It's nice, deep, and the gummy smile he gives has your heart doing little flip flops that you absolutely refuse to analyze.

You take just a beat too long to look at him, your head tilted slightly as you mentally murder the lone butterfly that has survived all of the anger you've culminated in the last few years. "How about a peony instead? I think it would look better."

"We can do that. With the size you're looking for and all the color work I'd guess that we're looking at at least 6 hours if we want to make sure it's done right. We can split it into two three hours sessions. I charge $200 an hour so you're looking at at least $1200, but you might want to be thinking to around the $1600 range just to be safe. I also require a $300 deposit usually just for a consult and another $300 later but I figure I can always hound you if you don't come in." He opens up his computer, clicking away for a moment before adding, "I have enough time to get started this Friday night if you want? At 8:00."

"Gee thanks for the trust. Yeah that all sounds good, I'm down."

He nods quickly, hands grabbing at some paper as he starts making drafting up some rough sketches. You try not to invade his space as you look over the paper, brain desperately searching for a small talk topic. God, you've always been bad at this. "So...how long have you been a tattoo artist?"

"Well I started my apprenticeship right out of high school at 18 so 10 years total, but as an actual artist only about 8 years." Interesting, so that would make him two years older than you. For some reason, you feel a need to put that in one of your mental files. "What exactly do you do at that giant office building down the street?"

"I work for a publishing house in there as one of their many editors."

Yoongi snorts, nodding his head as he keeps sketching away. "Yeah, I can see you working with books. Your creative insults suddenly make so much more sense."

"I'll take that as a compliment." You lean back into your chair, taking in your surroundings a little more closely before focusing unabashedly at the man before you. His tattoos are on full display now that he's taken off his jacket. Almost all are black and white with small splashes of reds and pinks laced mostly on his neck where cherry blossoms fall delicately off a branch. His eyes are cast in complete concentration, lower lip bitten as he works. There's something painfully sexy about the image. You almost want to burn it into your brain to use for late night consumption.

You aren't sure how long the two of you sit there in silence, but it's comfortable. There's something soothing about listening to the way his markers glide over the paper as soft music, buzzing tattoo guns, and chatter filters in fuzzily through the closed door. You can feel yourself finally start to relax, all of the earlier rage and grudges held at the world slipping away momentarily as you enter a near-meditative state just watching him work.

Finally, he glances up, a smile on his face as he pushes the paper over the desk to you. It's beautiful, a little rough around the edges without the finishing touches but it's better than anything you thought of. "Wow, Yoongi this looks great."

"It's just a rough drawing. I still need to work on some of the other touches but if you're good with that I'll get started on making the transfer later this week."

"Yeah..." You words are quiet as you look at the picture, elation growing in your heart. You might turn into a cat lady, but at least you'll be a badass one. "Okay, so seriously though do you want me to put down the deposit now? I have no problem with that."

"Nah, don't sweat it. Oh, but I do need your full name and number to actually book it. And don't give me some shit about this being a ploy for your number." You roll your eyes before giving him the information. Standing up slowly when he opens up the office door and leads you back out to light snowfall. "Alright, see you this Friday (y/n)."

"See you Yoongi. Thanks again." As you turn back to send a smile something painfully familiar stirs in your brain when he flashes that gummy smile and sends you on your way.

---------------Friday----------------

By the time Friday rolls around you've been through a whole litany of emotions. You're of course excited about the tattoo, that's not the problem. No the source of all evils is Min Yoongi. Sexy. Witty. Can handle your sarcasm. Enjoys cuddling. He's plagued your thoughts, gummy smiles invading your daydreams and inky tattoos hovering over you at night. It's been a long time since you've actually crushed on anyone. Dating as an adult is an entirely different experience. Usually, you know someone who knows them or met them on tinder and you're just praying that they aren't a secret serial killer and that you share enough interests to talk in between getting railed while praying for an orgasm. At least, that's been your shitty experiences anyway. You know that it isn't always the case considering that just about all of your friends have gotten magically engaged or married recently. But Yoongi? There's something about him that stirs up all of your previously assumed dead thoughts on love. All of the secret romantic pinings combines with lust in a painful swirl but luckily the thoughts you have of him are usually fleeting.

You step forward into the tattoo shop after grabbing a bite to eat, two warm cocoas in your hand as you try not to freak out that the big event is finally here and you'll be face to face with tiny, sexy, tattooed satan yet again. The man behind the counter looks over at you, and you can't help but wonder for a moment if being really good looking is a requirement to work here. Deep dimples, sunkissed skin, glasses perched on his nose.

"Hi, do you have an appointment?" You shake your head yes, staring at the floor for a moment before finally squeaking out that you're there to see Yoongi.

"Ay, (Y/N)'s here!" He shouts out towards Yoongi's office and you see him strolling out just a moment later.

"Jesus Joon, you've been spending too much time around Hobi. I think the whole shop could hear you." Yoongi steps around the desk eyeing the other cup before you hand it out to him.

"It's just cocoa, I didn't lace it. This time. Also, it's made with soy milk." You can hear the man called Joon laughing in the background as Yoongi slowly grabs the cup and squints at it before taking a tentative sip.

He gives a small nod that you assume is to signify satisfaction before he starts walking over to a curtained-off section in the back. "You ready to get started?"

"Yep, all ready!" You take a sip of the cocoa and sit down on the tattoo chair slowly.

"Alright, just check over this transfer and let me know what you think before you undress so I can put it on." You look over the image, heart warming up slightly at the brush of his fingers before you finally nod a silent affirmation. "I need words babe, is it good or not?"

You can feel yourself bristle at the tone, sighing wearily before you finally bite out, "Yes, babe, it's perfect."

"Cool. I'll leave you to get undressed, I'll be back in just a moment." The one shitty thing about the placement of your tattoo is that it will require not only pants to come off but underwear too. Before nerves can take over you strip quickly, laying back down on your side before you can think about it too much. Getting undressed faster than you can sneeze was probably a bad idea though because now you're forced to just sit there with your ass cheeks freezing and mind shutting down while you wait for him to come back. After a minute you hear him announcing that he's coming in before opening up the curtain.

Your eyes are trained on the floors. Jesus, you wish you could get your tiles to glisten the way their's does. They must mop a thousand times a day, you can't even see a speck of dirt in the grout. The sound of him clearing his throat has you jolting a bit before turning around to glare at the sound of his laughter. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just going to disinfect the area and put the transfer on then I'll have you take a look and let me know what you think of the placement." You decide to go mute apparently as your only response is a feeble thumbs up before quickly turning to resume your ever so interesting study on what floor cleaner they use. Probably Fabuloso.

You force yourself to stay stock still when you feel his warm hands on your hip as he cleans the area and peels the transfer on before he gives a light tap to your thigh. "Alright, take a look." With all the grace of a hospice patient you slowly swing your legs off and walk over to the mirror, trying to not pay attention to the fact that you're awkwardly half naked in front of arguably the hottest man who's admitted he enjoys cuddling before you finally relax at the sight of the transfer. "Man, this is going to look rad. Alright little satan, do your thing!"

"Little Satan? Really? What happened to all your usual creative bitchiness? What was it you called me that one time?"

"Oh! Degenerate Malfoy with a nicotine problem? Or was it wannabe colon inspector?"

"Neither actually, it wasn't even something you called me now that I remember it. You once told me 'Ah I see the fuck up fairy decided to mess with my life and force me to see you yet again.' That's a good one by the way, I've used it a few times."

"Glad I could help, but I wish I could copyright it so you could pay me the rights to use it." You try not to get too nervous as you hear him slip on his gloves and the needle buzzing ominously behind you. The pain won't be that bad right? "Relax, you'll be fine." His voice for once isn't laced with sarcasm. It seems that even the formidable Yoongi has a professional voice that he employs occasionally.

After what feels like ages filled with anxiety-ridden thoughts you feel the needle prodding away, moving quickly while leaving tingling and ever slight burning sensations in its wake. It does hurt, but not to the point of being unbearable. "See it's not so bad, scaredy cat." You resist the urge to turn around and pummel him in his annoyingly handsome face.

"If you weren't tattooing me right now I'd choke you out."

"Kinky, but I prefer a chick to at least buy me a drink first."

"Already did jackass, the cocoa remember."

"Huh, you did didn't you. Okay, well it's still off the table for you. You'd probably keep going until I actually died."

"Hell misses it's little satan though, I'd just be helping you reunite with all your friends."

"Do you have a snarky remark for everything princess?"

"Nah, depends on the day and the person. You're a special one Min Yoongi, something about you makes me want to bludgeon things."

"Oh, what a sweet compliment. Isn't that how people feel when things are too cute too?" You don't even need to look over to know that he's smirking as you flip him off.

"Or annoying." The rest of the three hours the two of you spend going back and forth with each other to the point that some of the other artists passing by started to call out their two cents in. By the time you're done, you have the outline complete and some of the black shaded in. The rest will be done in just two weeks time at his next opening.

-------------2 weeks later-----------

Oddly enough for once, you haven't seen Yoongi outside during his normal smoke break time when you leave work for the last couple of weeks. You also haven't seen him getting his normal disgusting black coffee either. Not that you've been looking for him. Okay...so maybe you have. There's just something about him other than the really good looks you like. In one sense it's almost like walking on a blade the entire time you're with him, never sure when he's going to make a jab. On the other hand, he's also easy to talk to. In a way where everything is oddly comfortable even with this underlying lurking sexual tension. Or maybe that's just in your head. Maybe there's no sexual tension and it's just been so long since you last had a good lay (the dingleberry boy who shall not be named was terrible) that you're starting to hallucinate. Which is a rather real possibility.

This time when you walk in with another cocoa it's with far fewer nerves. No, you're ready for the battlefield and only tremble ever so slightly when you have to face him with a bare ass in his face.

"Alright sunshine, let's finish this bad boy up." Is all he states before he gets right into it, ever the professional. By the time he's finished, you're 110% positive that you were just imagining the sexual tension because his eyes don't even wander as you check the tattoo in the mirror. Which is a good thing right? Because you're supposed to be on your fast track to nundom not trying to bag the super hot tattoo artist who works near you.

There's a bizarre sinking feeling in your heart though when you realize the tattoo is done and you won't be able to see him for extended periods of time on such a good excuse. An expensive excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. Now, however, with your beautiful, intricate, and very sore skin you'll have to go back to happenstance run-ins. You think that maybe, just maybe, if the somewhat hollow looking smile he gives you when you leave is anything to go by that he doesn't really want it to end either. But that's probably just the few embers of hope remaining in you that needs to be crushed out.

--------1 month later---------

You've spent another night overworking yourself. This time there wasn't really a good reason to either. You're not only on schedule but way ahead and yet you've decided to just keep busting through work until dusk begins to fall and the shitty flickering streetlights by you turn on. Almost every night for the past few weeks you've been working longer days and as much as you hate to admit it it's to try to keep yourself from wallowing too much at night about your impending lonely doom. Tonight will be different though. Tonight you'll ruminate and bask in the fucked up world with your dear old friend Irene as she's finally decided to have a night away from her obnoxiously good looking fiance Taehyung. She might not be able to relate to your doom and gloom sentiments on life but she's always a good friend for a pick me up.

You set off in the opposite direction of your usual route, winding through the chilly streets until you get to your favorite bar that serves oddly impressively delicious fried chicken. The moment you step in you notice Irene sitting at one of the few tables at the place, glaring at a man who clearly can't take a hint. Marching over you grab the seat across from her before biting off a 'Jesus how much aftershave do you use? Did you put in on your asshole too or something?' Knowing he's now outnumbered, and out bitched, the two of you watch the man leave without protest.

"You know you really should be careful. People are crazy, aren't you ever afraid that you might get hurt or something?"

You shrug nonchalantly before sighing at the doe eyes she gives you. "Irene, I love you but I'm not curtailing my inner bitch just because some douche might murder me. There are countless absurd ways I could die, if I have to check myself in fear of that then I just let all those asshats continue being menaces to society without being put in their shitty sad places."

"So what you're like a superwoman with a bad attitude only you save the world one dick at a time with well-timed insults?" You know that voice, you know that voice all too well. Your ears perk up and your jaw drops open as you whip around to come eye to eye with Yoongi. For one whole month, you haven't seen him even with perfectly timed coffee runs around his smoke breaks. Not that you learned his habitual schedule or anything. Nope. Nothing like that at all. Just coincidence is all. And you just happened to notice he wasn't there. That's all.

"Yoongi!" You hate the way your voice goes up an octave, excitement making your voice quiver like a little puppy reuniting with their owner after a short separation. You can already feel the heat bursting on your cheeks as his head tilts, eyes watching you carefully before he cracks a lazy smile.

"Um, (y/n), who is this guy? Do I need to mace him or something?" Irene whispers to you, but just loud enough that as Yoongi steps closer he can hear her.

"Please don't mace me. I promise, I only bite if you're into that."

"Hey, watch it, mister. She's a taken woman." Reluctantly you wave your hand over the free seat to invite him over before looking back at Irene. "Irene this is Yoongi, Yoongi this is Irene. Yoongi did my tattoo for me."

"Oh, you got a tattoo? Can I see it?"

"We'll definitely get a free round of drinks if you show it off, that's for sure." You can't help but smack Yoongi's shoulder, shocked at the sturdiness of it. Considering how slight he looks you really didn't think that he worked out but now your mind is starting to wander.

"Yeah well, kind of can't show you in public considering I have to take my pants off. Oh! But I do have some pictures!" You pull out your phone, swiping through until you find one and turning it to show her.

"Wow, that looks like it hurt. It looks great though you did a good job..." Irene pauses, eyes going wide with panic before she finally adds, "Yoongi."

"Thanks." He almost looks shy and you can feel your heart breaking. Yeah, typical to have the hot dude fall for your friend and not you.

"Did you order drinks yet?" At the shake of Irene's head, you're grateful to have an excuse to flee to the bar not rushing to grab the bartenders attention and face falling slightly when he sidles up next to you immediately. The world is a cruel place. You want them to take their time and they're there immediately. You want them there right away and suddenly so do seventy other people. Luck. Or murphy's law maybe. Whatever.

You huff out a sigh before plastering a smile on your face, "Two cranberry vodkas, please. Tall and stiff." The bartender nods as you slap down a twenty, praying that perhaps he'll at least make the drinks slowly but oh no this man must be one of those bartenders that enters fucking speed competitions because he's sliding both drinks over before you can fucking blink. Unbelievable. The service at this place is just too good and it's making you twitch slightly in irritation.

Trying not to huff, you grab the two drinks and make your way back to your table. Heart sinking even more at the sound of Yoongi being strangely amicable to Irene. This was not the night you wanted at all. You wanted to get drunk and hang out with Irene and forget about how shitty boys are, not have glaring reminders everywhere about how the capitalist ploy that is romance will suffocate you to death. Okay so maybe you're being a little melodramatic. A lot. Whatever. It's your pity party, you can cry if you want to.

When you finally sit back down and hand Irene her drink you can't help but guzzle yours back right away, ignoring the acidic burn in your throat and the quirked eyebrow from Yoongi.

"So...(y/n)...any new boys after Johnny?" Irene refuses to look you in the eyes as she asks, smart enough to sit just out of reach from your possible rage.

"I refuse to fall victim to the bullshit masquerade we call love yet again. I've called it quits. I'm just going to be a spinster with a million cats who will inevitably be forgotten until my landlord finds that mittens, my favorite cat, has eaten my left asscheek for sustenance after my untimely death."

Irene bawks, trying immediately to rush into lengthy reasoning as to why you shouldn't stop searching for love as Yoongi nearly falls off his chair laughing so hard. At the end of Irene's dialogue, Yoongi wipes away a stray tear before shooting you a gummy smile. The kind that makes you want to hate him less, but you refuse to. Because that's dangerous territory. Territory you've sworn to never cross again. "You don't actually mean all that bullshit right? Love is natural, it's needed. It's biologically ingrained in us to be social creatures and affectionate."

"Don't you judge me and mitten's life path!"

"You don't even have a cat!" Irene looks exasperated as she takes a sip of her drink, silently judging you. "Listen, I get it. You've been fucked over a million times by terrible guys. But that doesn't mean that the whole world is that way." At the withering look you send her Irene sighs, shaking her head but falling mute. You feel a little bad that yet again you've ruined the mood so you try to lighten it up a bit, reaching over to pinch her cheek lightly.

"Thanks, Irene. I'm sorry. I'm just...I don't know. I've been in a bit of a mood." You bit your tongue from further sarcasm at the pointed look she gives you. "Things haven't been so hot lately. I'll get over it. In like a decade. But you know that's better than never." You can feel Yoongi peering at you, analyzing you from the corner of your eye.

"Why though? Why are you so convinced that love is such a sham?" Yoongi's words don't seem to hold any judgment or his usual quiet hostility, instead just honest curiosity.

"Well if they don't cheat on me they always grow tired of me. I'm a bit too much of a bitch for my own good. I should really work on that." You shrug, staring at your almost empty glass as you try to shush the self-loathing thoughts that want to invade.

"I like that part about you though. You've got spunk doll, it ain't a bad thing. You just need to find a guy who can match it." He smirks at the way you go quiet before leaning slightly into you at the table. "I don't know, I think I'm up for the challenge if you are." He grabs a card from his pocket, placing it next to your cup as he stands up. "That's my cell on there. Text me sometime babe." You hate the way your brain shuts down, playing back the way he calls you babe until all senses fail.

"You should do it. You know he was asking about you the entire time you were getting drinks?" You feel your heart sink even further at the realization that you judged the situation too quickly before suddenly soaring at the idea that Min Yoongi asked you out on a date. You. Snarky, bitchy you found a match in hell. Capitalist ploys be damned! You'll at least find out if he's cocky for a reason. If you don't chicken out that is.

-----------------------------------

Later that night after all the alcohol has left your system and you're snuggled up under enough blankets to possibly suffocate you, you find yourself staring at your phone. You entered in his contact almost immediately after he left at the urging of Irene. Apprehension has held you back from actually sending anything though. Your fingers hover over the screen, bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you suck in a breath. What have you got to lose?

[You]: Hey...

[Yoongi]: (Y/N)?

[You]: Yeah

[Yoongi]: This is unusual. I'm used to quippy remarks. Don't tell me you've grown soft?

[You]: Fuck off. I'm just confused that's all.

[Yoongi]: What's there to be confused about? You're funny, you have no problem with giving it right back to me, and you have a fantastic ass

[You]: Well that was blunt

[Yoongi]: I'm an honest man [Yoongi]: So listen, about that date, I wanna take you out Sunday

[You]: That's in like a day from now

[Yoongi]: Yeah well I've wanted to take you out from the first time you told me off for smoking on the street. And that time you told me you were going to shove my tattoo needle up my ass solidified it.

[You]: You have some odd kinks sir

[Yoongi]: Is that a yes babe?

[You]: Hmmm....yeah I'll go

[Yoongi]: Great send me your address I'll pick you up at noon

[You]: You aren't going to chop me up in a million pieces and feed me to the fishes right?

[Yoongi]: No I prefer my women in one piece

You send over your address, butterflies swarming around as you squeal into a pillow before sending him a quick good night. You don't need to embarrass yourself by saying something off the wall as exhaustion starts to set in. Like "I want to kiss your face" or "Fuck me in your office." Yeah, that's not good pre-date material. You need to keep it kosher for now.

------------------------------------

You had spent all day Saturday cleaning to keep your nerves at bay. Not that you can really tell much in your closet after you ransacked it. And not that you can tell you went through all of that energy just to pick a simple oversized black hoodie and jeans. It's too cold to go all out anyway. You've been staring in the mirror, double checking your hair and makeup a thousand times as you hear the doorbell chime through the apartment. It's a good thing no one else is around to see you nearly trip over yourself as you slip on your shoes and answer the door. "Hi!"

Yoongi is wearing his usual black leather jackets, skin-tight black jeans, and cat-like smirk. "Hey. You ready?"

"Yeah, oh just let me grab a jacket." Pulling one off the rack you shut the door behind you, locking the door before shuffling behind Yoongi. Much to your surprise, he slows down until your right next to him, clasping his hand around yours and smiling as he silently leads you to his car.

"What, no motorcycle today?"

"Nah, I figured you'd strangle me and we'd crash. Dieing on the first date just seems tragic. We need to get on date number five at least." He shoots you a wink as he opens your door, shutting it lightly behind him as he jogs around to the other side.

"So...where exactly are you taking me?"

"You're a curious little thing today, aren't you? Well at first I was thinking something simple like coffee, but let's be honest that's overplayed and boring. So then I thought about going to an aquarium just so I could make a joke about feeding you to the fishes but then I thought nah too easy. So I spent more time than I'll tell you plotting. And I realized exactly where we needed to go. We're going to the river for a picnic. Something that's oddly ordinary and you'll secretly love but no dude's ever actually done for you. Am I right?"

You're at a loss. You certainly didn't expect him to think this through to this extent. Honestly, no guy has ever cared this much about a first date before. You figured that only existed in stories and movies at this point. "You're certainly right. Isn't it a little cold for a picnic though?"

"I have brought plenty of cocoa and jjigae to keep us warm, don't you worry your pretty little head about it." You can't help but fidget slightly, nerves boiling over until his hand rests soothingly on your thigh and you feel yourself melt. Or maybe boil over until you malfunction. But that's something to dwell on at a later time.

It doesn't take long after that until you pull up at the river. During springtime it's packed, everyone comes out to drink under the cherry blossoms, but right now it's serenely quiet. You're almost the only people in sight save the zealous runners and elderly couples strolling through on their daily walks. When you try to help set up the blanket and food Yoongi refuses, so instead you watch him meticulously lay everything out. Maybe this is a post-season Christmas movie because you swear you can feel your dead cold heart grow as you watch him. It's an oddly domestic feeling. Certainly romantic. Painfully sweet. And for once all of your usual bitter snarkiness has drowned it's self in the river to leave you a heart-eyed mess.

"Come on, come sit. I told you before, I don't bite unless you're into that."

"I'm into that, but right now I'd rather have cocoa and jjigae." You watch him pour out your drink as you sit down, carefully handing you the piping hot drink before pulling the still boiling soup out of the basket.

"Alright, so I figured that being you'd probably refuse to tell me too much out of wariness. So I propose that we play 21 questions. What's your favorite food?"

"Tofu, in all it's many forms. What's your favorite color?"

"Black, just like my coffee."

"And your soul." You duck as he tosses a napkin at your face, laughing at the gummy expression he sends your way.

"Aish. Okay, next question, what are your hobbies?"

"Reading and video games. Why'd you become a tattoo artist?"

"I love drawing, but I especially love the idea of a living canvas. It's just so interesting. Although I hate that I don't usually get to control the outcome of it, some people have god awful tattoo ideas. Most people actually. I'm at least booked enough now that I can refuse those ones without worrying about my bank account too much. Why are you so afraid of love?"

You weren't expecting that question. You figured he'd keep things easy but then again you should have known better. Of all the many ways you can describe the man before you easy isn't one of them. "Trust problems I guess. I didn't have the best home, parents kicked me out young and we haven't talked since so that's probably at the root of it all. I don't know though, never seen a shrink about it so that's just an educated guess. Add all the boys that I've dated either dumped me or cheated on me and it makes it tough to believe that love, especially romantic love is real. Why do you believe in it?"

"Because love is the very essence of humanity. The best way to fight a shitty system that tries to keep us all down is through love. It's not power or money or any of that other bullshit they tell us we need. It's love. We all just need someone who understands us. It doesn't need to be a ton of people, just one who really gets us and bam! Everything's good. Sometimes those people come and go, but that doesn't make the love you held for that time discounted. It just means that now you need to find someone else who understands you." He chooses his words carefully at first, but when he sees that you're held in rapt attention he grows passionate. Eyes blazing as if to dare you to disagree. And suddenly you're seeing the world through a different lens. Here you had been chalking romance up to marketing, which isn't entirely untrue but that's just one part of it. But love the way he sees it? To him, love isn't about marketing or money it's just about human connection. And suddenly you're starting to understand that abstract intangible concept. You also realize that what you were looking for wasn't love, but perfection. You didn't want to do all the work, you just wanted all the pieces to magically fall into place for you and gave up when expectations weren't instantly met. "Next question, why'd you say yes to this date?"

"Because you're hot." You roll his eyes at the exaggerated wink he sends you before eating a bit of the jjigae. "Okay so that was a part of it but mostly I was curious. You're this weird enigma Yoongi. At first, I thought I had you all figured out. Tough dude with tats and a motorcycle who probably has a slew of booty calls waiting for him. But then you said you liked to cuddle and I got curious. And then I realized that I didn't have the whole picture, just a glimpse. Why in the world did you ask me out? And for the love of god don't say 'dat ass.'"

"Okay but dat ass though." The way he laughs full heartedly, slapping his knees at the sight of your glare almost makes you not elbow him. Almost. But you have a reputation to uphold. "You've just got this thing about you. You're like a fortress. A puzzle. I guess that same idea of wanting to figure a person out is the same reason why I'm so attracted to you. You see at first glance you seem to be just brutally honest, but then when you look closer it's easy to see that you're vulnerable. Fragile. Callous due to a previous naivety that landed you in shit places by the sounds of it. I like that you have spirit, you aren't afraid to tell people to fuck off. But what I like most of all is under that there's this heart of gold. At least if your interaction with your friends is anything to go by you do." Fuck, you think you have something in your eye. It's definitely not your long extinct tear ducts learning how to work again. Nope.

You can feel his thumb brush a stray tear, hand cupping your face as you automatically nuzzle into the warmth before he clears his throat. "Next question-"

Before he can finish the question your lips are on his. They're chapped but still soft, plush under yours. And suddenly that tailwind romance you thought was all fake feels so real as a spark of electricity zaps you. Or maybe that's more carnal, but whatever it is it feels so right. As if his lips were made to be against yours. And when you feel him kiss back roughly, hands weaving through your hair as he pulls you in closer you know that he must be feeling the same thing. You're floating. High in the clouds. Weightless. The sound of someone running past finally has the two of you breaking apart slowly. "Right next question, can we do that again?"

This time there's a fire behind the kiss as your hands grab onto his jacket and his tongue slips into your mouth. This time you know it's more carnal. Burning bright. Passionate. Hungry. Needy. But before it can devolve into public debauchery you reluctantly pull back, blush creeping up your neck as you see his molten brown eyes focused on you in a way that clearly states that he is indeed as dangerous as he looks. At least if your definition of dangerous is sex right out in the open at a very public park anyway.

"My turn. What's your favorite music?"

The rest of the date goes by too quickly and you learn about everything Yoongi related and he learns everything about you. You're positive that you've never learned so much about a person on a first date, or hell even by the third. You've learned his birthday, his favorite music, all about his friends, how he actually co-owns the tattoo shop and how that all happened. You've learned about how he came from a poor family and how he makes sure to send a little bit each week to help out on top of the apartment he bought them. Suddenly the $200 an hour fee makes a whole lot more sense.

By the time you're pulling back into your apartment, the two of you have already planned a date for next Sunday. And as he puts the car in park you can't hope but wish that somehow it was already magically next week. But when he pulls you in for a heated kiss and presses his forehead against yours before sending you off you're too much on cloud nine to pay any attention. You'll have to add that Yoongi is certainly the best kisser you've ever known to your mental file.

-------------1 week later---------------

Well, it's official. You're nuts. You'd like to blame Yoongi but let's be honest, all you needed was a little help to push you over the ledge. Except the problem is that before you were very sure of life. Completely comfortable with anger, bitterness, and believing that everything inevitably fails. And in some sick twist of fate, his words have been playing back in your head over and over every single day for the last week. Before you thought it was all or nothing. Love was there or it wasn't. You get one shot at true love and if it fails then it never existed. Except now your world is flipped upside down.

Perfection is a fruitless endeavor. An impossible task. One with zero rewards. And what you've been looking for all this time is perfection. A perfect love. A whirlwind romance. But if it's perfect it's fake. It's all a lie. An elaborate performance. Which is mostly all you've ever gotten, granted usually in short-lived moments but sometimes longer. And when the curtains closed each time you thought, "this show wasn't a real show. I'll go to a better play next door." Except the play was still very much real. A part of you. A part of them. Which means that love is indeed real it's just not always very grand. But when it was there it was beautiful, you were just blind and ignorant in even the good moments. Unaware of the magic in small acts. But with Yoongi suddenly you want to see all the small acts. You want to not just see the show but be a part of it. Go behind the scenes with him. See how this plays out.

Which is completely fucking nuts. You're already talking about your entire worldview changing and the concept as something as obscure as falling in love with a man you barely know and have only been out on a date with once. It makes you afraid. It makes you feel free. It gives you options. It's like being able to use all of your senses at once for the first time. Except that's scary because there's too much coming at you at once. But it's equal parts exhilarating. You've been through every single possible emotion a person could have every day.

By the time your second date finally arrives, you're suddenly calm about it all. As if everything is right and the puzzle pieces to life are aligning and maybe just maybe you have a chance to see things differently. And while before you would have rather poked your eyes out than face rejection again this time you just want to see where this takes you. You aren't thinking so much about the end results, rather the journey.

Tonight Yoongi is taking you out to his favorite record store. While you don't own a record player you can certainly appreciate the aesthetics of vinyl. There's something oddly charming about them, even if it is ridiculously impractical in the modern world of space-saving technology and cramped apartments. Perhaps the impracticality of it is apart of the appeal, however. This time you aren't tripping over yourself to get to the door. But that's because you're standing right by it giving yourself a pep talk. Not that he needs to know that of course. After smoothing down your hair and doing a quick checklist in your head your pulling the door open.

This time he's wearing an oversized sweater but again the same tight black jeans. The man must have stock in them. Not that you blame him, it looks good after all. "You look great, babe." Heat blossoms on your face as his eyes scan you from head to toe, that signature lazy smile adorning his face before he takes your hand in his and leads you to his car.

"Still no motorcycle?"

"Nope, still don't trust that you won't freak out and kill me accidentally. Why? You seem oddly keen on the bike."

"It just looks fun that's all."

"It is. There's nothing better than a good ride, and you can take that any way you please." He winks at you, laughing when you scoff and punch his shoulder. If any other guy said that line you would have jumped out of the now moving vehicle, but for some reason when he says it you turn into putty. Maybe it's the charm of being absurdly good looking. Or that tattoos. The bad-boy charm. Or maybe it's because in all his infinite aloof glory he's just Yoongi. Comfortable and confident in his own skin without being sleazy.

The record store is quiet, playing a selection of upbeat jazz. Your brain is trying to figure out the tune until you finally snap your fingers and softly say, "Giant Steps!"

"You know jazz? Are you a secret Coltrane fan or something?" Yoongi is giving you that look. The look that says he's clearly analyzing you. Studying you. Dissecting your brain as you speak.

"Sort of. I dated this guy in college for years, he was a jazz major. His thesis was going to be on Giant Steps, it's been years since I've heard it though. Are you secretly into jazz, Min Yoongi?"

You watch him shake his head no as he scans the records before pulling one out. Outkast, ATliens. A great album, one that invokes nostalgia. He quickly puts the record under his arm before he continues searching. "Nah, I'm more of a blues guy myself. Nina Simone. Etta James. Bill Withers. The building blocks to all modern music. At least hip hop, R&B, and all the subgenres of rock."

"You know an awful lot about music considering you're a tattoo artist. What's the background story on that?" You peruse next to him as you speak, flicking through the music slowly.

"Once upon a time I wanted to be a rapper." There's something far off about his voice. As if he's reliving the memories. A gentle smile on his lips as he shakes his head as if to push them back into their little file in his brain to not be disturbed for some time. "But I had bills to pay. I'm not complaining though. I love music, adore it. But I love what I do too. It's almost like trying to pick between your two children. You might actually have a favorite, but it changes depending on the day."

"Let's hope you only have one kid then."

"Nah, I'm going to have a horde of mini Mins. Take over the world with them and overthrow capitalism. It's my diabolical plan to get housing prices back to normal and get student debt forgiveness."

"And how exactly do you plan to have this army of darkness? Polygamy? A sex cult?"

"God that just sounds exhausting. I can hardly keep up with you let alone more women. No, I think I'll actually stick with two children. You know, just so on tough days I can look at one and go 'ah yes today you didn't fuck up.'" You pray that he doesn't look over to see your cherry red face. He in a way made it sound like he's thought about children with you. Clearly, that's not what he means but now your mind is wandering. Mini mins. They'd be cute. Probably slightly evil but cute nevertheless. They might be born glaring though. Or smirking instead of crying.

"What happens when they both fuck up?"

"Then I've got you." Fuck, he was implying you. Holy shit. Holy shit. Act natural. Don't look at him. "Ooh look! They have a Frank Ocean Blonde vinyl. Unopened this bad boy is worth a few hundred. Man, I can't believe how cheap they're selling it for." He tucks it under his arm before cataloging through some more. For a short while the two of you work in silence, falling into a pattern that when you stare at one for just a little too long he's plucking it out of your hands and refusing to listen to you protest.

By the end of it all, the two of you are walking out with a dozen records after learning a wealth of information on all of Yoongi's favorite artists. You also learned that once upon a time his rap name was 'Suga.' Which led to you immediately and passionately singing Sugar by System of the Down quickly increasing in volume until he clamps his hand over your mouth and stares at you with the rage of a thousand suns. Totally worth it though. Especially when the dude behind the counter picks up where you left off.

Dinner goes by too quickly. You wish you could freeze time, force it to slow so you can languidly explore his world. It's with a heavy heart that you unbuckle your seat belt before leaning over and pulling him into a heated kiss. One that makes your head spin again and proves that the first date wasn't a series of flukes. Nope, Min Yoongi really does have a skilled tongue. When you pull away you can see stars in his eyes, his hair ruffled and cheeks red as he tries to even out his breathing. The most dangerous part about Yoongi is his duality. The way he can flit between sexy to cute and somewhere in between without trying.

------------2 months later----------

You've lost count on how many dates you've gone on at this point. He's taken you out on his bike finally to go stargazing. Out to plays and art galleries. Sometimes you've just stayed in and watched movies together. You have lunch together at least twice a week now, grabbing coffee together for a short reunion in the mornings after spending all night talking about everything and nothing over the phone. It's as if a time before Yoongi didn't exist. It's comfortable. Oddly easy.

It's to your chagrin and surprise that you learn that Yoongi wants to take things slow. He doesn't rush you into bed. He's the perfect gentleman. A punk Disney prince, albeit with a sharp tongue. No even after the third and fourth date when you try to heat things up he's quick to pull away and tell you that he doesn't want to rush things. Not with you, he says. He wants you to trust him first. He wants you to be truly comfortable first. He doesn't want you to think that he's only in it for that.

You get it. In fact, in a twist, it actually makes things hotter. But the build-up is getting almost painful now. The sexual tension mounting to epic proportions. Your poor vibrator would hate you if it wasn't inanimate. He wasn't lying about loving cuddling. He's also apparently a man of extreme patience because no matter how many times you've felt his hard dick against your ass mid-spooning he's refused to act on it. Or let you. It's left you more than slightly frustrated on multiple occasions. It also wasn't helpful that it, in turn, made you an awkward mess. In fact, you remember jokingly mentioning some gibberish about your starfish quivering to try and crack the tension and for a while you thought he would never let you live that terrible joke down. Starfish, really? What were you thinking?

What you belatedly realize though is that his master plan fucking works. Because somewhere along the way you started letting down your guards. Somewhere along all your dates, you find yourself falling. Allowing yourself to be human. Allowing yourself to stop fearing love. Allowing yourself to trust. Without fighting it. Without running. It's no longer terrifying. It's no longer something that gnaws at you in the chasm of anxiety.

And just shy of three months into dating Yoongi you realize that you love him. Love. Abstract. Intangible. Yet not. It's the way he looks at you. The way he holds your hands. The way he thinks about the things that make you tick. The way the two of you try to find joy in the tiniest of things. Marie Kondo would tell you that you've finally found something that sparks joy. But it's not just from him. No, even when he's not around you feel lighter. Freer. Happier. You're still sarcastic. A bit of a bitch. But this time it's no longer from a place of longheld bitterness and pain, rather it's from your twisted brand of humor.

This realization comes to you as you after hanging out with Yoongi's friends and coming back to his place to just chill and listen to his vinyls. When his thumb soothingly rubs your hand as you curl up into his chest. It's so natural. So right. "I love you." The words come out a soft sigh, muffled slightly into his chest but he hears them loud and clear.

Yoongi twists, pulling your face up to his. "Did you just say you love me?"

"Min Yoongi I love you." You don't expect to hear anything back. You aren't saying it for affirmation or reciprocation. You just want him to know.

"I don't think I've ever heard better words. Say it again." That gummy smile is back. The one that stirs up butterflies. The one that warms your soul. The one that you fell in love with.

You swing your legs over his lap, straddling him as you stare into his eyes. "I. Love. You."

"God, you don't know how bad I've wanted to hear that. I love you so fucking much. So much. Holy fuck. I want to kiss you, can I kiss-" Before he can finish the sentence your lips are on his. Soft and pliant under yours, a lingering taste of leftover chapstick and nicotine. It's captivating. Dizzying. It's so easy to get drunk off his lips. His taste. The soft groans that leave him. Tongues intertwine as his hands roam your body before landing on your ass with a firm squeeze. It's messy. Needy. Sloppy but full of passion. As if you're the only cure for each other. Each emotion lingering in the air. Your hips swivel down, grinding against his pants as one hand weaves into your hair to pull your neck back and attach his lips to there.

You can feel the small bruises blossoming already. Love bites and harsh sucks leave cherry blossoms along your neck, mirroring the pattern of his own tattoo. Quiet moans of need are spilling out, desire pooling into your panties each time his teeth scrape against you. "You, doll, are the hottest thing I've ever seen. I could worship you. Dedicate a temple to you. Can't wait to feel you. God, I want you so bad. I love you so fucking much." Each word spills out from him like a deep moan, reverberating through his chest and chewing them off at the end. A loud mewl of satisfaction leaves you. He loves you. He loves you. You're in love. Over the moon. How could you ever think that love wasn't for you? How could you ever give up? How could you honestly think that you were destined to be a spinster when a man like him wants you?

His hands claw at your shirt, quick to remove your bra and leave you partially bare. Even with the slight chill seeping in through his apartment you still feel feverish. Each time his calloused hands roam your skin you can feel your temperature increase. God, you've never wanted someone so much. It's almost an out of body experience. Sex elevated off the mortal plane. You swear you might cum just from him touching you at this rate. His lips brush against your nipples before biting down, one hand reaching back into your hair as you arch into the touch.

"Wanna touch you Yoongi. Wanna feel you." The words come out drunkenly. Wobbly. Laced with honey through your swollen lips. When his grip lets go of your hair you lean down to his neck, pressing kisses around his tattoo, tongue laving at the branch as your teeth scrape against his soft skin. The deep moans hiccuping out of him are music to your ears, urging you on as your grind against him. Desperate for friction. Desperate for release. Your hands toy at his shirt before finally breaking away to pry it over his head. Your eyes dance over his half-naked form, taking in the sight before you. Almost every square inch is covered, ink swirling around in intricate stories. God, you're about the fuck the hottest living canvas.

His chest is heaving, breathing uneven as the two of you make eye contact again before lips come crashing together and he's picking you up. Carrying you out of the living room and into his bedroom, stopping occasionally to push you against a wall just to latch onto your neck or chest. By the time you make it to the bed, you're sure that for the first time in your life you could actually forgo foreplay. You're so wet that you can feel it seeping through your underwear and leaving a mark on your jeans. He stumbles onto the bed, your head hitting the wall with a loud thwack that has both of you pausing for a moment. "Shit, are you okay?"

"Mmokay, take your pants off." You rub at the sore spot before reaching up to place a reassuring kiss on his lips. You hold your breath as you watch him strip, dick springing out proudly. Smeared with precum. Red. Throbbing and twitching. "You don't wear underwear?"

He looks almost bashful for a moment. "It's laundry day actually..." At the sound of your giggles, he takes the opportunity while you're disarmed to unbutton your pants, freeing you from your jeans and leaving you in just your flimsy lacy panties. The mood shifts back again when you see the hunger in his eyes. As if he's staring at a feast. "Christ, can't wait to taste this pussy. Make you cry my name." His hands are shaking slightly as he slowly pries your underwear off, eyes narrowing on the way your juices stick to your underwear finally tossing it off the side of the best.

"Please taste me, I need you. I can't wait."

"Who knew you'd be so needy? So quick to beg for my tongue?" That usual lazy smirk is back on his face as he looks at you, hands hooking around your thighs and pulling them over his shoulders. His tongue flattens against your sex before you can respond, a choked moan drowning out your words. Jesus, he's good with his tongue. It moves slowly, languidly against your dripping pussy. Rhythmically. Diving into your folds only to swirl up around your clit, sucking lightly and releasing with a soft pop before going back down all over again. It's when his tongue dips even lower, swirling around your puckered rim that you can feel your eyes roll back and breathing cut off. Two fingers slip into your dripping cunt with ease, scissoring to stretch you. The dual sensation of his tongue on your ass and fingers filling you up has you clenching. Spiraling. Bright white flashing behind your eyes as a silent scream tries to leave your throat. Toes curling, his name finally rolling off your tongue as you chase the sensation, your orgasm consuming your senses. It leaves you dizzy. Panting. A mewling, drenched mess under him.

Through fuzzy ears you can hear his low voice, "God how do you taste so good? Fuck, I could watch you all day baby girl."

His fingers move slowly as he watches you return to earth, twitching underneath him at the oversensitivity. You feel so sated, but at the same time, you want so much more. The look in his eyes makes you hungry all over again. You want him to feel just as good as you. You look up with hooded eyes, hand wrapping around his drooling cock as you speak. "I wanna taste you too Yoongi."

His adam's apple bobs, hands leaving your thighs as he pulls you into another messy kiss. It's almost all teeth and tongue this time, a thin line of saliva breaks apart when you separate. You shuffle off the bed slowly, knees gingerly falling to the floor before looking back up as your tongue swirls around his head before pulling back to lick a long stripe along his prominent vein. You pepper tiny kisses along his base, one hand cupping his balls gently as the other one twists around his base. You envelop his velvety length in your mouth, working slowly into a steady rhythm. Each sigh from him, soft moans of pleasure spurs you deeper. Jaw aching slightly as you try to take him deeper, using your hand to help stimulate the places you can't reach. His hands grip your hair tightly as he reaches past your molars, pulling you off of him with a loud pop. "Sorry love, I'm not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that and I really want to fuck you."

You gulp at the way he's watching you. As if he's a predator and you're his prey. A feast for the night. You wouldn't have it any other way. He helps guide you back onto the bed, twisting you onto all fours as his hands glide over your ass. "Best ass I've ever seen. God, I've had so many wet dreams over this ass." His hand comes down sharply, the sting bringing a wave of pleasure to ripple through you as it soothingly rubs over. Your thoughts are quickly brought back to the throbbing between your thighs as his cock rubs against your swollen clit. "Please, fuck. God." You're incoherent, words stringing together slowly.

"What's my name doll?"

"Yoongi, come on. Fuck me before I bite your head off!"

"Yeah yeah, we'll see how much sass you have left in you when I'm done." You wiggle your hips impatiently as you hear him spit into his palm, adding lubrication before he glides into you. "Holy shit." He stays still for a moment as you spasm around the intrusion. He's just thick enough to have you crying out in pleasure, just long enough to have you seeing stars as he sinks deeper.

"Oh, fuck. Move, please move." You push back, sinker further onto him as he stays still before his hands snake around your throat.

"God, you are so mouthy. And as much as I normally love hearing you talk back right now I really just wanna fuck you." He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, balls slapping into your clit in a way that has you seeing stars. Each movement is harsh, quick, with stamina and vigor you didn't foresee him having. The feeling of his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off just enough circulation to stutter your breathing, has you gasping and rutting underneath him. Fuck, was sex supposed to feel this good? In your fucked out state, you can barely make out the sound of him chuckling darkly behind you. "Look at you baby, already fucked out and I've barely started. Do you wanna cum again baby? Already?"

"Fuck, please. Don't stop!" Your high pitched begging has him drilling in deeper, his free hand moving off your ass and onto your clit in quick circular motions that has you clenching around him. This time your orgasm is earth-shattering. Loud. Wet. When his hand finally lets go of your throat you face plant into the pillow, legs shaking around him as he keeps moving.

"You're so beautiful when you cum, did you know that? My pretty baby girl, all fucked out on my cock. Now that's a sight I never want to stop seeing." Another loud smack to your ass has you sobbing into the pillow, moans spilling out as your release gushes around him. "Jesus, how is your pussy so fucking wet? Are you always this wet?"

"No. It's just for you Yoongi."

"That's right. This pussy is mine, isn't it? Say it, doll."

"This pussy is yours Yoongi, fuck. Hold on, I wanna ride you." He stutters, pausing before pulling out so the two of you can shuffle around. You smirk as you crawl over his lap, one hand holding onto his cock as the other grabs his arm while you sink down. You're sure you look a fucked out mess, but so does he. Sweat is making his fringe cling to his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, hickies covering his neck visible even over his tattoos.

You neck snaps back as you sink down completely, the new angle bringing him right to your g-spot and making your legs shake in overstimulation. You fall forward onto his chest, pulling him into another kiss as you circle your hips in small figure eights. You bite down on his lower lip, pulling it between your teeth as you reach behind you and gently roll his balls in your hand. You delight in the way he groans, eyes rolling back at the sensation. "Keep doing that and I'm not going to last (y/n)."

"That's the point. Come on, cum with me Yoongi." It doesn't take much in your overstimulated state to get right back to the point again. Hanging over the edge as you dip your hand down to circle your clit, relishing in the dulcet moans from him as the two of you climax together. His nose scrunches up, eyebrows furrowing as he grips at your hips as you ride him into his own orgasm right after your third. It doesn't take long before he twitches inside you, painting your insides white as you slow down. At the feeling of him coming to his own completion you slump forward, your head falling into the crook of his neck as his hands circle your waist.

"Wow. That might easily have been the best sex of my life."

"Yeah, that was, wow." Your breathing is still unsteady, legs shaking as you feel him soften inside you.

"Did you realize you squirted?"

"Ah, yeah. Sorry to break your heart but that's actually somewhat normal for me."

"God that is so fucking hot." You laugh into his neck, exhaustion taking over as you sigh. "You know, the first time I ever saw you I knew. I just knew. You were all sass and fire, and I just knew that you were it. You were the one."

You wish you could reciprocate and say you thought the same thing when you first saw Yoongi, but you suppose it's better late than never. "I never would've guessed when I first met you that you liked cuddling, or saying such cheesy lines, or absolutely hated scary movies."

"Yeah, but you love that about me."

"Yeah. But I'm pretty sure I just love everything about you Min Yoongi."

"You know, when you say my full name like that I get oddly turned on. Do you think you're up for a round two in like, half an hour?"

You really should say no, you really just want to sleep. But just the thought has your mind spinning. Lord give you strength because you're going to need it, or at least better stamina, to last in survive this man.

You never would've guessed that love could feel so right. So natural. So normal. It isn't always a crazy spark. It isn't all fire and passion, even though it certainly has its moments. No, it's softer. Gentler. It grows and evolves with you. It changes. It takes work. And the two of you do somehow make it work. Even after moving in and trying to learn how to love someone when there's only one bathroom. Even after you get married and fall into a routine. Even after you get pregnant and go a smidge hormonally insane both times. Even on days when both of the kids drive you batty. Even when they leave home and leave you with an empty nest all over again. Because love is something beautiful. It's something innate within us all, it's just a matter of both parties wanting it enough. Working at it enough. And whenever anyone asks you what love means to you it was simple from that day forward. Min Yoongi.

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quickspinner · 5 years

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Hey Gorgeous - Under Your Skin 19

Links to previous parts at the bottom

Luka rolled his eyes to the sky and prayed for patience as Marinette’s panicked voice echoed from his phone. “L-luka I have ssso mmmmuch to d-do, I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I haven’t seen you in days and I know you’re not taking care of yourself. Gorgeous, put that shit down for five minutes and come downstairs and eat with me,” Luka said, voice gentle though his words were rough. “Or I’ll be miserable forever.”

“B-but—”

“Miserable, Marinette. Heartbroken.” He smirked. “You’ll waste more time arguing with me about it than you will coming down here to eat and drink, so get your adorable ass out of that workroom right now, because I’m fully prepared to waste your time all damn night if that’s what it takes.”

“You j-jerk,” she muttered, and hung up the phone.

Luka checked the time and sat down to wait, absolutely willing to call and bug her again if she didn’t come down. Marinette might be stubborn but he had an ace up his sleeve; as a model, Juleka had a pass to the design students’ building, and Luka was not above sending her up to march Marinette out here if that’s what it took, no matter what bribe it cost him.

Marinette was a beautiful disaster when she came outside, disheveled and tired and definitely grumpy.

“L-luka—” she began angrily, but Luka held up his hands to stop her.

“Bitch at me while you eat, Gorgeous, it’ll save time, because I’m not leaving until I know you’ve had some food and at least one bottle of water.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “You’ve gotta eat, babe,” he told her tenderly, and then grabbed her by the hand and tugged her to the picnic table. “Sorry it’s just pizza and salad,” he said regretfully, pushing her gently to sit. “I wish I could cook like you, but this is the best I could manage.”

“I l-like pizza,” she grumbled, sitting down and opening the box.

“Ugh.”

“Says the g-guy who once ate mmmayonnaise s-sandwiches for a year ssstraight.”

“Damnit, Evan,” Luka muttered. He sat down next to her, close enough that his leg pressed against hers and slipping his arm around her waist. “I know you’re stressed out,” he said, giving her a little squeeze. “I know you’re tired and deadlines suck, and it probably feels like nothing is going right even when you have everything under control. But you gotta take care of yourself, baby. If you don’t you’ll just end up more stressed out and more behind and things really will go wrong, so…” Luka pressed the bottle of water into her hand. “Eat. Hydrate. Make some time to take a break and go for a run, I know you need one, I can feel it.” He rubbed his hand lightly along the tight muscles of her back.

“I c-can’t believe you b-bullied me away from my work so you could give me a l-lecture,” Marinette said, mouth full.

“In my defense, your father would have my ass if I let you work yourself into the ground,” Luka pointed out, nudging her to turn away from him. He dug his fingers into her shoulders. “You’re practically made of stone at this point,” he muttered. “Why do they have to put you under so much fucking pressure…”

“It’s a mmmajor b-big d-deal for a f-first year to put work on the runway in the end-of-year show,” Marinette reminded him. “I c-can’t ssscrew this up.”

Luka snorted. “Yes, you can.”

Marinette twisted around to stare at him. Luka shrugged. “You can. Babe, you’re barely starting out. You have so long to make your mark on the world. It’s easy to get all caught up in this,” he gestured vaguely to the school at large, “It’s happened to me too. But the truth is, university is only the first step, and you’re only in your first year. Even if you bomb horribly, it’ll suck and I will fully be there to buy you ice cream and build you a blanket fort so you can cry it out, but it’s not the end of your career. You’re here to learn, and that includes learning how to handle a screw-up gracefully and pick yourself back up and move on.” He took her face in his hands and leaned in to look in her eyes. “It’s going to be okay. I believe you’ll kill it, I truly do, but if you don’t, then that’s okay too.” He kissed her nose and let her go. “Now turn around, finish eating, and let me see if I can loosen up these steel cables you have in your shoulders just a little bit. Then you can take a breath, and go back inside, and do your best.”

Marinette blinked at him for a moment. Then she silently turned and continued mechanically eating her pizza.

Luka bit his lip and worked on her shoulders, hoping he hadn’t made her mad. “I miss you,” he ventured softly.

“I mmmiss you t-too,” she replied with a sigh.

Luka leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and then her shoulder, and slipped his arms around her waist. He sighed with both pleasure and relief when she leaned back into him.

“I don’t actually like mayonnaise sandwiches,” he said quietly. “It’s kind of a long story, but...I did it for Jules. So there would be more lunchmeat for her. She was coming out of kind of a rough time and she wasn’t eating much. It scared me how thin she was, and I was just a kid, I couldn’t do much, but...it made me feel like I was helping. Mom and Jules and even Evan just think it was one of those weird whims kids get.” He sighed. “I’ve never told anybody the truth until now.”

Marinette sighed, and brought one hand up to rest on his arm. “I’m sssorry. I w-won’t tease you ab-bout it anymore.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Sorry, probably crappy timing to tell you about that.”

“I’m g-glad you d-did.”

Luka kissed her temple.

He could feel her relaxing in his arms as she slowly ate and drank, and was actually relieved when she turned in his arms and started to cry on his shoulder. She needed the release, and better like this, with him, than alone in the middle of the night where her projects would suffer. Luka just held her until she was finished. He pulled a moist towelette out of a pile he’d left on the table and helped her clean up her face a bit.

“Th-thanks, Luka,” she whispered. “Sssorry for being such a b-bitch.”

“I love you, baby,” he told her, and kissed her, not even minding that she tasted like pizza. “Ready to go back to the trenches?”

Marinette nodded, and gave him a weak smile. Luka kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow if I don’t hear from you or Alya that you’ve eaten. Set an alarm and make sure you’re drinking regularly, I know I don’t have to tell you how important that is. You can do this babe, but I want you to be alive and on your feet at the end of it.”

Marinette’s smile brightened a little. “If y-you insssist.”

@thethirdwheelfriend @mystery-5-5

#hey gorgeous #hey gorgeous 2 #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #campus delivery boy luka #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #ml fics #miraculous ladybug #quickspins

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once-upon-a-spemily · 5 years

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What You Really Need (2/2)

Summary: Hanna is sure (she’s sure!) that Spencer and Emily have slept together. Now she just needs them to admit it. And, preferably, fall deeply in love, while they’re at it.

Part 2 of the Hanna-POV-spemily-au. Part one is here

So Hanna like. Knows now. She knows Spencer and Emily have slept together. And she is, frankly, a little offended that neither of them have told her yet. She’s known Spencer since they were seven years old and she’s known Emily since they were both like eighteen so what the hell?

They’re two of her best friends, and if they had sex, they should’ve told her.

She decides to try and get it out of Spencer.

Emily is surprisingly stubborn. With Spencer, she can leverage their years of friendship.

She meets Spencer for coffee on one Sunday and waits approximately five minutes before asking, “so, any cute guys or girls lately?”

Spencer chokes on her coffee. “What?”

Hanna shrugs. “You stopped seeing Alex like, ages ago, and you haven’t told me anything about your current love life. So. What gives? Are you a nun, are you trying to friend-break-up with me? What’s going on?”

Spencer laughs. “Not a nun,” she says, and licks the excess coffee off of her stirrer. “Also not breaking up with you, sorry Han. You’re my forever friend.”

It makes Hanna’s heart so happy she almost forgets she’s supposed to be pissed that Spencer is keeping secrets.

“Okay, good,” she says. “But seriously, nothing?”

Spencer chews on the stick a moment before making a noncommittal noise. Hanna quirks an eyebrow. It works. Spencer lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Hanna, seriously? Do you need me to set up cameras in my bedroom?”

“Ew, no that’s sick,” Hanna says. “Just...keep me in the loop, okay?”

“You got it.”

So. That was a bust.

She doesn’t see Spencer and Emily together for a while. She doesn’t see them apart that much more.

Spencer’s got some big case, and lord knows Hanna’s client list only seems to grow each day. They’re all adults now, which blows, mostly, but hey, she gets to live alone with the love of her life and legally drink alcohol and eat cake whenever so. Perks?

When she does see them, apart of course, she can tell they’re both stressed. Emily’s patience is basically nonexistent and Spencer’s focus is never fully there. She’s always in her head, solving problems she can’t work on at the moment. Aria’s got deadlines upon deadlines, and is basically off the grid entirely.

Hanna’s casually looking at rental houses in the tropics because lord knows they all need to get away.

Her computer makes a small ping noise and a calendar notification pops up. They haven’t had a game night in months. They’re very overdue. She decides then and there that game night, next week, is the perfect remedy for all of their stress.

Emily brings someone to game night.

Hanna is short-circuiting.

Emily. Brings. Someone. To. Game. Night.

Someone named Sara Harvey who’s pretty but also looks a little feral and Hanna thought Emily meant bring a friend not bring a...whatever the fuck Sara is to her.

Hanna tries to be subtle about it but the first thing she does when Emily introduces the girl is to shoot Spencer a glance.

Spencer looks ten times more shocked than Hanna feels. She looks.

Shit. She looks like someone just kicked her in the chest.

Oh no.

Spencer recovers faster than Hanna does. She goes about the evening like. Fine. Hanna guesses.

She seems fine.

“Hey, Spence!” Emily calls from where she’s standing by the alcohol. “What’s your poison?”

Spencer casts a disinterested look at Emily. “I’m good, thanks.” And she goes back to talking to Aria.

Okay. Maybe ‘fine’ is a generous term.

For a second, Emily falters. She looks half-confused, half-sad, but she seems to brush it off and pours herself a drink.

It takes Hanna all of five minutes to realize that this game night is not going to relieve her stress. Aria is doing great, because she is utterly oblivious. Caleb is now on edge because he knows Hanna is. Spencer is being petty and, frankly, kind of bitchy, but in a way where you don’t realize she’s being a bitch until like a minute after she’s done talking.

Sara is. Weird. And Emily is visibly confused and frustrated by the whole thing.

She clearly has no idea why Spencer is so pissed off.

The room is full of tension, and maybe jealousy, and Hanna is trying to enjoy playing Hungry Hungry Hippos but it’s really, really hard.

They take a pause after Aria wins. Caleb goes to pick out the next game, and Hanna pretends she doesn’t see Spencer pour her next drink with a very liberal hand.

Hanna’s torn. She’s a little mortified, she’s a little angry at Spencer for being so careless, and she’s also a little heartbroken for her.

Caleb pulls out the scrabble box.

“No,” Hanna says quickly. “Hell no. I hate that game.”

She does. She always loses.

She also refuses to play with a tipsy, jealous Spencer. That’s a bad combination.

“What about Would You Rather?” Aria asks from her spot on the couch.

“No,” Hanna says firmly.

Aria lets out a sigh of impatience.

The next thing Caleb pulls out is Twister. Hanna’s heart catches in her throat. Jesus, they can’t really catch a break tonight, can they? Hanna can feel everyone getting impatient so she just swallows and nods.

“Sure.” She says. “Fine.”

Hanna sits the first round out to order pizzas, even though it’s a little late, but she still watches carefully.

It takes about a minute before everyone’s straining on the mat, Emily and Sara tangled around each other as they try to stay upright.

“Sorry,” Sara says.

“Don’t be,” Emily replies, in a tone that’s more than a little flirtatious and Hanna wants to gag.

Spencer tumbles not a second later. She gets up without a word and goes to pour herself another drink. She skips the wine and goes right for the tequila this time.

“Sit with me,” Hanna says, waving her over. Spencer does and Hanna rests her head on Spencer’s shoulder as they watch.

She wishes she could say something to comfort her. But she doesn’t want to make things more awkward than they already are.

The pizza arrives twenty minutes later and they stop playing for a little while. Sara leaves after they eat, claiming she has some work to do, and Hanna doesn’t really care, she’s just fine with the girl leaving. She’s weird.

They start playing twister again after dinner, and it’s way easier with four people than with five. That doesn’t stop Aria from falling in the first minute.

She’s short. She never does well at twister.

Hanna’s the next one out and it’s because Caleb tickles her, the cheater, even if he denies it. She knows she felt him tickling the back of her thigh.

Spencer gets right-foot-yellow on the next spin and that positions her...well. It positions her practically on all fours, face to face with Emily, mere inches a part as they try and retain their balance.

“Hi,” Spencer says. It’s the first word she’s said to Emily directly in over an hour.

Emily cocks her head and she smiles of all things. “Hi.”

Spencer blinks, slow and lazy, as she stares at Emily.

Hanna cannot believe they went from jealousy to this in like...three hours. What the hell?

Emily gets left-hand-blue and she’s trying to stretch past Spencer, but she can’t quite reach and she lets out this little noise and Spencer wobbles and then falls, and Emily falls immediately after.

“Dang it!” Emily says.

Spencer’s laughing, and Aria’s laughing, and Emily’s laughing, and fine, Hanna joins in too, because that was cute and also funny.

They wrap up twister and move onto pictionary.

At the end of the night, when everyone’s getting ready to go, Hanna notices Spencer and Emily standing together as they get on their coats.

“We’re good?” Spencer asks, ever so quietly.

Emily says something Hanna can’t hear, but based on the answering smile on Spencer’s face, they’re on their way to being okay

Thank god. Hanna doesn’t think she could survive another night like tonight.

Two weeks later, Hanna notices that Emily has unfollowed Sara on all social media.

Hanna scoffs. Yeah, there was no way that was ever going to be a serious thing.

Spring time means girls trip.

Spring time has always meant girls’ trip, and now, for the first time, Hanna gets to go with Aria, Emily, and Spencer all together.

She’d be worried about having Spencer and Emily in the same room, but the two of them shockingly behaved at Hanna’s birthday dinner so she thinks they’ll be fine. Probably. There’s still some weird tension but they’re like...civil now. So it’s fine.

Anyway. The place they booked is stunning. It’s this gorgeous house on the shore, overlooking white sand and clear blue water. It has it’s own private pool that has amazing views of the water, and everything is lush and green and sunny and tropical.

It’s already stocked with food and liquor and Hanna is already in love.

She claims the master bedroom, which opens right to a private balcony where you can jump right into the pool, basically, and no one argues with her.

“Okay!” Hanna calls once the others have claimed their bedrooms and put their suitcases away. “Everyone change into swimsuits now, and let’s start drinking!”

They’re all laughing at her, but they do as she says, at least.

Hanna takes a little bit longer because once she’s in her white bikini, with her sunglasses on, so what if she throws open the balcony doors and snaps a few pictures to send to Caleb. She’s hot, he’s her boyfriend, it’s like...practically her job to let him know!

“Hanna!” Emily calls her name from somewhere in the house. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?”

Hanna like. Really doesn’t want to do that. She’s busy. She gets an idea, and grins to herself. “Sorry, Em, my hands are full. Spencer, will get Emily’s back?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Hanna wonders if Spencer even heard her but then, out of nowhere, comes Spencer’s voice. “Yeah, I got it.”

Hanna smirks.

Hanna takes one more picture for Caleb and then goes back inside, winding her way through the house and outside to the pool. It’s an infinity pool, too. God she loves luxury.

She tries not to feel smug when she turns to see Emily sitting on one of the lounge chairs, with Spencer behind her, rubbing sunscreen into her back.

“Make sure it’s all soaked in!” Hanna practically sings.

Spencer shoots her a glare.

What? It’s not Hanna’s fault that Emily cares about her skin.

Hanna gets in the water - which is divine - and Emily and Spencer switch after a minute. Emily is trying very, very hard not to stare at Spencer, Hanna can tell.

Aria comes out a minute later, carrying a tray of gin and tonics, and finally. Vacation has begun.

They spend most of the day by the pool or in the pool, drinking gin and tonics and soaking up the sun. Once it starts to set, Emily towels off and ties a little wrap into a makeshift skirt around her waist before going into the kitchen to start prepping dinner.

Spencer floats around the water for a minute longer, makes a good show of it, and then towels off as well. Hanna tries not to grin as she watches Spencer go into the kitchen.

They’re actually tolerable on this trip. It’s amazing what a little bit of R&R will do.

“How’d you even find this place?” Aria asks.

Hanna shrugs and pushes herself up onto her elbows. She’s been out of the pool for a while, working on her tan. “Caleb,” she says simply. “He did some work on the resort’s site. They loved him. He even got us a discount.”

“Jesus, Hanna, you sure know how to pick em!”

Hanna grins.

Yeah, her boyfriend is great.

There’s a crashing sound from the kitchen, but instead of hearing Spencer cursing or anything, all Hanna hears is giggling and Emily shouting, “we’re fine! Keep relaxing!”

“I can’t believe you thought they slept together,” Aria says with a snort.

Hanna turns to stare at her, half-offended. “Excuse you.” She has half a mind to counter Aria’s argument but Spencer and Emily are right inside and they’re just starting to get back to normal and Hanna’s not going to be the one to ruin that. No way.

They finally get up to go inside when they can smell food, and Spencer and Emily are both moving around the kitchen in almost perfect sync, assembling dinner.

If nothing else, Hanna’s just really happy that all of her friends are such good friends. It’s her dream come true, really.

Their second day, they have a private surf lesson. It’s one of only a few scheduled activities they have, because Hanna prefers doing nothing on vacation.

Also, she really wanted to see her friends fall off the surfboard. Everyone knows it’s going to happen. And it’s going to be hilarious.

Their instructor is cute and Hanna is like 90% sure he and Aria will hook up before the vacation is over.

They start with their boards flat on the sand, learning the motions and the positions.

Emily’s done this before, because of course she has. Emily takes to water like...well, like a fish takes to water.

Hanna’s sitting on her ass at one point, watching the others, and Spencer’s got it, mostly, but her foot’s in the wrong position or something, so Emily hops off of her board and walks over, standing behind Spencer.

“Looking good,” Emily says. “But it’s a little more...here.” She reaches down, wrapping her fingers around Spencer’s ankle and pulling back. Then she stands up again and settles her hands on Spencer’s hips, shifting them so they’re parallel.

“Okay?” Spencer asks and yeah, her voice is a little strangled, Hanna notices.

“Yeah, you got it,” Emily says, and she does not, actually, take her hands off of Spencer’s hips yet. “You’ve got good form. Have you ever done this before?”

Spencer shakes her head. “No. I do tennis, and used to play field hockey and that’s about it.”

Emily hums a little and then shrugs, and then she releases Spencer, walking back to her board.

Hanna can’t believe Aria isn’t seeing this shit.

She can’t really dwell on it, though, because now they’re taking their boards down to the water to try this for real this time.

Aria wipes out first. The instructor helps her up out of the water, fetching her board for her. Hanna, unfortunately, is next.

People were not meant to stand on objects that aren’t attached to solid ground, she decides. This whole sport is stupid.

She comes up out of the water, and Spencer’s down too. Only Emily is left and Emily is like, good. Hanna reaches out for Spencer, grabbing her hand as they make their way to shore, but they both just kind of. Stop. And they stand in the shallows, boards under their arms and just watch Emily for a minute.

“Wow,” Spencer says. Hanna looks at her, looks at how bright Spencer looks, and how breathless she is and she smiles to herself.

“Yeah,” she says. “Wow.”

Emily finishes riding the wave, and starts paddling back to shore. She’s the only one of them that actually did something. Hanna starts clapping, and Emily blushes, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

“Seriously, Han?”

“You did great!”

“I almost fell off like, four times,” Emily says, rolling her eyes.

“Uh, hello, did you see us? You were amazing,” Hanna says.

“She’s right,” Spencer says, but she’s dead serious. “You looked great out there.”

“Oh,” Emily says, looking at Spencer now. She blinks and she smiles, then, all slow and surprised and content. “Thanks.”

Their third day is rainy. So they spend it inside drinking Tequila Sunrises and playing board games.

They have like, four days left, so Hanna isn’t too bothered, even if she’d rather rip out her hair than play scrabble again.

She drinks, she calls Caleb, she listens to the sound of the rain against the pool, against the roof, against the palm trees. It’s a good day.

Spencer wins at poker, again, and they order some food from the hotel to be brought to their guest house. One of the perks of staying on site.

They watch movies that night, still drinking, and when they all go to bed, Hanna cracks her bedroom door open so she can listen to the rain.

Hanna wakes up at midnight, and it’s still raining. The wind has picked up, too. It’s not enough to rattle the house, or anything, but it is enough to spray some rain onto her bed. She yawns, and debates putting up with it, but she gets another spray of rain in the face and untangles her legs from the sheets.

She pads across the floor, and closes the door to the balcony. Then, she turns around to go back to bed. Except. You know. Now she’s awake, and her head’s kind of killing her from all the tequila. It’s not quite a hangover, but it has the makings of a future hangover and Hanna so does not have time for that.

She decides to get some water before going back to bed.

She slides open her bedroom door and she. Well.

She hears it before she sees it.

“Spencer.”

Hanna’s mind is still half-asleep, so it takes a while to catch up to her eyes, which have adjusted to the light just enough to see that Spencer has Emily pressed against the kitchen counter and oh my god, they’re kissing.

They’re kissing and it’s...shit, it’s a lot, there are hands everywhere, and Spencer is trying (somewhat successfully) to tug Emily’s shirt down.

“Spencer, please,” and then there’s a moan, and Hanna yelps before she can help it because she does not need to see this!

They both freeze up and, thank god, detach from one another. They have the decency to look at least a little embarrassed and Hanna can’t help it. She can’t. She just can’t!

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she blurts.

Emily and Spencer trade a sheepish, and confused, look. “What?”

“You two!” Hanna huffs. She throws her hands in the air. “God, it took you two long enough!”

“Hanna–” Spencer starts, but Hanna holds up her hand, stopping her.

She crosses the kitchen, gets a glass. Pours water in it, and then she looks pointedly at both of them. “Carry on,” she says, and then she starts off towards the bedroom again.

Before she gets there, though, she pauses and she turns around, shooting them a glare. “I’m so fucking sick of this back and forth between the two of you and I know this isn’t the first time that this is happened so listen to me very, very carefully.”

“Okay?” Emily asks.

“When we get home, you two are going on a date, already. Okay? Just like,” she gestures vaguely at both of them. “Fucking suck it up and go on a real date. Jesus.”

She walks into her room, kicks the door closed, downs the water, and then she puts in earbuds before going to bed. She really doesn’t need to hear whatever happens next.

She really only half-expects them to listen to her, because they’ve been frustratingly stubborn up to this point.

She’s back at home, sketching out a new design for a client, and eating one of the ice cream bars that Caleb bought her as a concession for the fact that she was right about Spencer and Emily (thank you very much) when her phone beeps.

She looks down at the screen and nearly squeals.

Spencer has texted her a picture. Of her and Emily. All dressed up. At a fancy restaurant.

A real date.

She’s so happy she could die.

Instead, she just gets back to work.

They all get together at Aria’s place, for once, and Hanna actually doesn’t hate the fact that she doesn’t have to host. It’s a nice change of pace. Hanna doesn’t even have to worry about cleaning. She can’t remember the last time that happened.

She and Caleb get there a little late (definitely not Hanna’s fault or anything) but they’re still there before Emily or Spencer, so she figures they’re fine.

Hanna feels pretty fucking smug when Spencer and Emily have the nerve to show up together and don’t even try to hide it.

She loves winning.

“Hey!” Aria calls from her perch on the couch. “Welcome! There’s alcohol on the counter, feel free to help yourselves!”

Emily is saying hi to Caleb, and Spencer goes over to the alcohol, looking over the selection. “Babe!” she calls. “Whiskey?”

The entire world slows for a minute, and Hanna can feel her jaw dropping. Caleb is staring. Aria is staring.

Emily just nods. “Yeah. Thanks!” she says, as if nothing just happened.

Well. That’s one way to announce you’re dating.

Aria is at Emily’s side in a minute, demanding answers, demanding the whole story, and Hanna has never felt so vindicated in her entire life, thank you very much.

They do tell a version of the story (clearly with some missing details), but Hanna can at least piece together that she was right, and they definitely slept together before New Years. She has enough tact to not blurt it out in front of the whole room, but she is definitely going to tell both Caleb and Aria “I told you so” like a million times later.

A million. Exactly.

For the first time in ages, Hanna is able to enjoy a party without like, checking to see if Emily and Spencer are still glued to each other. She doesn’t have to. She knows they are. She drinks, and she chats to people, and she snuggles up against Caleb and just kind of...goes with the flow.

It’s pretty perfect.

As usual, everyone trickles out except for Hanna, Caleb, Spencer, and Emily. No, they stay to help Aria clean up.

Hanna is walking the living room with a trashbag, picking up crumpled napkins. Caleb is scrubbing some something that spilled on the floor hours ago and left a sticky residue.

Spencer is loading the dishwasher. Emily is cleaning up the bar area.

Or at least that’s what they’re supposed to be doing.

And Emily is, ostensibly, stacking cups and wiping down the counter. But Spencer is behind her, whispering in her ear and Emily is pressing back against her, smiling to herself. Hanna rolls her eyes and goes back to picking up trash.

Then she hears Emily’s breath hitch (like...all the way across the room. What the hell) and when she looks up again, Spencer’s hands are on Emily’s hips, one slipped under the hem of her shirt, rubbing small circles on the skin there, and Emily’s eyes are all dark. She says something that has Spencer squeezing her hips and okay, Hanna’s seen enough now.

“Yo!” she shouts, snapping to get their attention. “Get to work or get a room, just cause you two are official now doesn’t mean you can feel each other up in front of us, yeah?”

They both stare at her for a moment, and then they burst out laughing, Spencer removes her hands, but they still stay pressed together.

“Right,” Emily says. “Cause you and Caleb have never packed on the PDA.”

Hanna rolls her eyes. “PDA is one thing, foreplay is another!”

She’s just walking into a trap really, because Emily gets this slow, lazy grin on her face and she says, “oh, that’s not the foreplay.”

“Gross,” Hanna says, sticking out her tongue. She throws a wadded-up napkin at them. “Spence, take your girl home.”

Spencer quirks an eyebrow and takes Emily’s hand, pulling her away from the counter, towards the door. “Gladly.”

Hanna didn’t even realize they were done. They both call goodbye to Aria before disappearing out the front door.

She feels Caleb come up behind her, and he picks up the napkin that she threw.

“You were right,” he says. He kisses her temple quickly. “As usual.”

“Let’s be gross like them,” Hanna says, turning to face him so she can kiss him for real. “And let’s go home.”

Caleb laughs, but he takes her hand and she deposits the trash bag down the chute as they make their way out of the building.

Hanna gets the stomach flu. She gets the fucking stomach flu the day after her busiest week at work and she’s been dying emotionally week and now she’s dying physically.

She got it from Aria, too, so thanks for that.

In all fairness, she was the one who insisted on taking care of Aria so it’s probably her fault but still.

She’s driving home after her last, and biggest, meeting, and in the rearview mirror she can see that she’s white as a sheet. She’s sweating, but cold, and she feels like she’s about to pass out so she pulls off the interstate early.

Spencer’s place is closer than her own, so she pulls into Spencer’s parking lot and bangs on the door as loud as she can.

She really, really hopes Spencer’s home.

The door swings open, thank god, and Spencer’s there, her brows knit together.

“Hanna?”

“Hi,” she says, offering a weak smile. “Need to lay down. Maybe puke. Got a bucket?”

She stumbles into the house and Spencer grabs her arm, guiding her to the couch. Hanna squeezes her eyes shut and hears Spencer moving around the kitchen.

When she opens her eyes again there was an empty trashcan in front of her and a glass of water on the table. Spencer presses a hot washcloth to Hanna’s forehead and rubs circles on her back.

Hanna lets her eyes flutter closed and wraps her arms around herself.

She hears some feet shuffling and then, softly, someone says, “Is she okay?”

Hanna opens her eyes and sees Emily standing in the door to Spencer’s bedroom. She’s wearing one of Spencer’s old Stanford hoodies.

“I think she has whatever Aria had last week,” Spencer says. “Can you call Caleb? He should come get her. I don’t think she can get home.”

Emily nods and Hanna goes to lie down on the couch, Spencer still rubbing circles onto her back.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Didn’t realize Em was here.”

She feels Spencer shrug. “It’s fine. She’s here more often than not. No big.”

Hanna hums to herself. It is big, she wants to say. Love is always big. But she feels like crap and neither of them have even said the l word yet so she just closes her eyes and hopes Caleb comes to get her soon.

She and Caleb are having a picnic when she gets the text. From Spencer. She feels bad. Caleb’s brought her out to this gorgeous mountainside, and they’re overlooking this lake and he brought all of this fancy supplies so she doesn’t even have to sit in the dirt, and made like, real food, and she’s drinking wine and it’s perfect. But she can’t stop squirming with anticipation, wondering what the text says.

He nudges her. “Just look.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Han.”

She does, and nearly squeals.

“They moved in!”

There’s a picture there of Emily carrying boxes into Spencer’s house.

They’ve been together about seven months now, and it’s honestly a little overdue if you ask Hanna, because they started doing this dance almost a year ago.

She texts a quick little reply, mostly exclamation points, and then puts her phone away again, leaning into Caleb. She put her phone on silent, too.

It’s a good thing, because her attention is completely on him when, twenty minutes later, he pulls a box out of his pocket and presents her with the most gorgeous ring of all time.

Two years after Spencer moved to town, she proposes to Emily.

It’s not quite the “wedding in two years” estimation that Hanna had put out there, but it’s pretty damn close and she’ll take it.

She still takes the opportunity to tell Caleb, her husband, “I told you so” when it happens.

She still cries.

She still is the undisputed queen of matchmaking.

#spemily #spencer hastings #emily fields #pll #fics #hannas pov

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