#i can draw on my phone but my phone is sized really awkward and holding it that way to draw causes more pain

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Happy Holidaze: Electric Boogaloo║ ⒸⓄⓁⓁⒺⒸⓉⒾⓄⓃⓈ

| HAPPY HOLIDAZE: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO | part of the A Weight Off Your Shoulders collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x plus sized!fem!neighbor (Roxy)

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 7.2k | CONTENT: age gap (Joel mid 40s, neighbor late 20s), awkward conversations, angst, fluff, holiday hijinx, Tommy is a charming menace, feelings feelings feelings oh my god so many feelings

| SYNOPSIS: After a less than stellar first meeting with Sarah, you're left to wonder if you and Joel can work beyond the little bubble the two of you have been in.

✧this is the sixth installment of a oneshot collection✧ ✧◦◦║ Part 1 ║ Part 2 ║ Part 3 ║ Part 4 ║ Part 5 ║ ◦◦✧

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me she was flying in early!” you hiss under your breath.

Joel’s hands are up and out in surrender. “Baby, I just picked her up this morning. I didn’t want you worryin’ about her gettin’ here a little early. I know how nervous you’ve been about meetin’ her.”

“Oh, yeah, screaming into the house about you wrecking my dress is such a great first impression, Joel! I’m sssoooo glad you spared my nerves and didn’t tell me she was here!”

You jump back from Joel like two wrong ends of a magnet when Sarah saunters into the kitchen. “It’s okay, guys. You don’t have to whisper. I know Santa isn’t real. Secret’s out,” she laughs.

“And you’re lucky for it, too. Know your bad ass would be gettin’ coal,” Joel shoots back with a smirk.

“I dunno, dad, ruining your friend’s dress kinda seems like naughty list behavior to me,” she lobs back.

You feel incredibly out of place in their easy back and forth. At least Joel had time to prepare for the idea of meeting your parents. You try to keep your irritation in check, but the less than stellar first impression you feel like you’ve made so far makes your stomach drop.

“I-It’s fine. I was.. Just joking about the dress. It’s fine,” you stammer.

“Oh, absolutely not. Clothes are expensive. It wouldn’t be very neighborly of him to not right his wrong,” she tuts. She is barely holding back a smarmy grin at Joel who just rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath.

The heat rises up your chest and spreads to your neck. In a panic you’d taken the route of “just the friendly neighbor next door” for an introduction, and you suppose it’s not that believable of a cover - especially where mysteriously ruined dresses are concerned. Joel’s phone rings, and he grumbles about having to take the call.

“Behave,” he warns with a jutted finger at Sarah, drawing out each syllable in a stern caution to not give you too much grief in his absence. She mimes a halo above her head, and he mutters “jesus fucking christ” under his breath on his way out. With one last apologetic look, he slips into the living room, leaving you and Sarah alone once more.

“Soooo, you’re home early, huh? What a… nice surprise!” you fumble.

She curls her lips inward, but the lift at the corners of her mouth is an unmistakable, tickled pink grin. “Yep, finished all my on campus finals, so I figured there’s no point hanging around when I could be home. Just have a paper to submit for an online class, but luckily dad’s got wifi,” she quips.

“Yeah, that’s– yeah, that makes sense,” you agree.

“So you and my dad have an open door policy, huh? I was wondering why he kept leaving the patio door unlocked all the time.”

“Uummm, open door? No. No, I uh… no,” you stammer.

She doesn’t press it further, but she doesn’t really have to when you’re being such a bumbling idiot about everything. Your stomach starts to churn when you catch her giving you a sly once over. She was probably going to tell Joel he was way out of your league in more ways than one the second you left.

With no point in delaying the inevitable, you make some awkward comment about “just wanted to stop by for a minute” and “it was nice to meet you” before shuffling out the door. You felt puny and inept, woefully out of place in Joel’s family life. You shoot him a text, some lie about having a work call to get on, and hope he doesn’t try to come over.

It’s a few minutes later when he sends you a reply.

Hey, sorry about that. Tommy acts like he can’t handle one fucking day being supervisor.

You weren’t there when I got off the phone. Sarah said you had to go quick. Everything okay?

You sigh and swallow back the warm lump in your throat.

 yeah just have a work call

sorry i couldnt say bye before i left

The bubbles pop up on your screen, and you hold your breath waiting for his response to come through.

You still upset with me? I didn’t think you’d come over during work hours. Thought I had more time to give you the heads up. Didn’t want you worrying about it.

Your breath comes a little shaky. You push all the overwhelming feelings down and type out your text.

no i was just caught off guard is all. wish i couldve made a better impression :(

He predictably replies with reassurances that you made a perfectly fine first introduction and how much Sarah has been enjoying giving him shit about you. You don’t push it and just respond okay.

Sure wish you could play hookey and come do some Christmas shopping with us today.

You lie and say you wish you could but are swamped with meetings the rest of the day. You don’t take the first full breath in hours until you hear Joel’s truck start up and leave. The buzzing static feeling in your lips starts to fade with more regulated breaths. This isn’t how you’d imagined things going. You’d been stewing in feelings and worries about how you might not fit so easily into Joel’s life once it broadened past just the two of you. You kept meaning to work up the nerve to talk to him about it, but you always felt silly at the last minute and pulled back.

Direct communication hadn’t exactly been a strength for either of you, and relying so much on a silent understanding of one another and the feelings involved wasn’t going to cut it anymore. You hadn’t even broached the topic of whether or not you wanted to start using terms like “girlfriend and boyfriend” or “partner” or whatever else. You aren’t even sure all of what he’s told Sarah about you and the nature of your relationship. The closest you’d gotten to putting a label on things was when you’d both rambled back and forth about being mine and yours when he ate you out in the parking lot after the dinner date.

You don’t text or call Joel for the rest of the day like you normally would because Joel hasn’t texted or called like he normally would. You understand of course he’s spending time with his child that lives out of state for a good chunk of the year and is probably focused on her, and you wouldn’t dream of begrudging her of that one-on-one time with him. Still, it stirred up more questions for you about how and where you fit into the scheme of things.

You weren’t used to sharing most of Joel’s time and attention, but neither was Sarah. He’d admitted before that he never really had a steady girlfriend pretty much ever, and you weren’t about to be the stereotypical younger girlfriend who showed up out of nowhere, pouting and demanding to be top priority. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt and make you a little jealous that Sarah would always be his number one priority, though. 

It’s just what parents are supposed to do, right? And a single dad, no less. They’d spent so much of their lives coexisting that you felt a bit like a splinter in the groove as you tried to shove your way into a space that you didn’t belong to, that was never meant for you to occupy.

Sarah was younger than you, but not by a whole lot. Although you were on the upswing since your bad breakup, you didn’t much feel like a professional working adult who was rapidly approaching their 30s. Sarah seemed to have her shit together, but that wasn’t much of a surprise considering she had someone like Joel in her corner to cheer her on and support her in any way she needed.

From what he had told you in passing or through stories shared, she had a good head on her shoulders, was gorgeous, and in her prime of life, ready to take on the world. She had taken a few gap years in between graduating high school before she opted to attend higher education. She wanted to take some time to consider what academic path she’d like to pursue before taking out a bunch of loans. Smart, smart girl.

You sigh and rub at the gripping headache at the base of your skull that’s starting to throb from all the overthinking. You don’t want to see Joel right now or even risk talking over the phone for fear that whatever over the top melodrama you were needlessly stewing in would bubble up and spill over. If Sarah wasn’t already telling him he could do way better than the likes of you, an emotional outburst would probably be enough to convince him that this entire thing was a fluke. You send Joel a partially truthful text saying that you’re heading to bed early because of a migraine and will talk to him later. By the time you crawl into bed, he still hasn’t responded.

You avoid Joel like the plague for the next couple of days. He’d called the morning after your migraine to check on you, and you chalked it up to a stressful end of the fourth quarter prep work for the looming Tax Day just a few months out. He believed you because why wouldn’t he? You’d never lied to him like this before, avoided him like this.

You tell yourself you’re just giving Joel and Sarah some much needed catching up time, just giving them room to breathe and settle back into their dynamic without having some awkward third wheel like you tagging along and imposing on a good thing.

But in reality, you were just scared. Old habits die hard. You can’t keep drowning in your own thoughts like this. It’s a crippling torment just looping the same anxieties over and over again in your mind. You need to put on a brave face and talk with Joel. If Sarah was there, you’d have to just suck up the embarrassing first meeting and move on.

It wasn’t doing anybody any good to avoid all of it. Even if you felt like you were leaving yourself wide open for hurt or rejection or disappointment, Joel deserved you at least trying. He deserved for you to get out of your comfort zone and give it a shot no matter how much your gut turned and pinched.

You make your way over and slide the patio glass door open. For some reason you’re almost surprised that it’s still unlocked for you, that Joel still wants you. Muffled music and voices from the TV float into the kitchen. Based on the exaggerated sound effects and hyperbolic commentary of what can only be some trashy reality TV show, you’re pretty confident it’s not Joel in the living room. You inhale a big pull of air and follow the sound.

“Hey,” you greet softly, a nervous wave to a sprawled out Sarah.

Her head snaps up from the pillow, phone in hand dropping to her chest when she sees you. “Oh, hey!”

She doesn’t seem cagey or reserved. The first of what you hope is an encouraging sign. “Is Jo–Is your dad home?” you correct yourself quickly.

Sarah props herself up on her elbows and grins. “Yeah, he’s upstairs. Said he was gonna take a shower in a little bit.” Right on cue, the sound of rushing water drifts through the walls and ceiling.

“Oh. Okay. I, um, I can just come back lat–”

“You can hang if you want?” she interrupts. There’s a more entreating slant in her tone and body language as she sits up fully. She mutes the TV and gestures to the empty end of the couch.

Fuck.

“Oh, thanks,” is the feeble reply you manage.

She perks up at your concession to stay. You must look like a rigid board as you sit down. Your entire body is tense, and you can’t quite get it out of “fight, flight, or freeze mode.”

“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want anything?” she calls over her shoulder, already halfway to the kitchen. You really, really wish she meant something with enough ethanol to be dangerous next to an open flame, but you just tell her a bottle of water would be great. She returns in less than a minute with a can of soda for herself and a bottle of water for you. You immediately open it just to give your hands something to do other than shake.

You attempt a casual sip but feel more rigid than the Tin Man before he was baptized in WD-40 by Dorothy. A little bit of it dribbles down your chin, and you swipe it away before Sarah can watch you struggle to even drink like a normal human being. She finishes another big gulp of her soda and sets it off to the side, settling her gaze directly onto you again. Her legs are tucked underneath her, head propped up by her elbow on the back of the couch. Comfortable. Confident. Focused. You give an awkward smile and take another sip of water.

“Sssoooo, are you and my dad, like, a thing?”

You sputter into your drink but manage to finish your sip without coughing it up everywhere.

A sly grin curves her mouth like she had uncovered a not-so-secret secret.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. He got all weird and giggly when I asked him about you.”

“You-You asked him? About us? I mean, about me?” The wry smile lobbed your way spoke loud and clear: girl, come the fuck on. “I, uh, I mean, how’d you- why’d you think to even ask him about us-about me?” Wow, great job on playing it cool.“Oh, you mean other than him smiling like an idiot at his phone but hides the screen before I can see who he’s texting? Or other than him practically slobbering over you taking your trash cans out yesterday, watching you from the window like a creep? Or–” “Okay, okay,” you giggle nervously. “I, uh … okay.” “So, how long have you been dating?” She didn’t seem upset at all. In fact, she was in classic “girls night gossip” sitting position. “Dating? Uummmmm,” you trail off. “Friends with benefits?” she volunteers with a soft grimace.

Your whole face screws up with frenzied denial and mortification that the conversation has taken such a hard left. “Look, I get it. This is sorta awkward. I’m not trying to jump your shit. I just.. I do want to make sure my dad is, I dunno… not setting himself up for a broken heart or something,” she admits. You want to tell her that Joel is definitely the better of your pairing and would be just fine if things had to split off between the two of you, but you hold your tongue and let her finish. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie and say I was thrilled when I confirmed you weren’t much older than I am. My dad is successful enough, with the family business and everything, and it wouldn’t be the first time a younger chick has tried to set herself up in a ‘comfortable living situation’, or whatever.” Sarah’s words stung a bit, but you appreciated her blunt honesty instead of just hating on you silently.

“How’d you—”

“I figured out you were younger on my own,” she interjects with the answer to your unfinished question. She was clearly proud of her sleuthing skills.

“Oh… so….”

“I cannot begin to explain to you the level of embarrassment of having all your dormmates hear your dad say ‘bricked up’ over speakerphone,” she winces.

“Oh no,” you giggle, pressing your hand against your mouth to stifle it.

“Yeah,” she gripes with a conspiratorial laugh. “Coming from the same man who warned me not to get ‘too crunk’ at frat parties? Dead giveaway he had somebody on the younger side giving him some crazy intel.”

You wrinkle your nose imagining how it would’ve been to hear your mom or dad say “crunk” OR “bricked up.” 

Sarah laughs pointedly in recognition. “Yeah! EXACTLY!”

“Sorry about that. Totally my fault,” you confess. “And I’m- I don’t care about his money or anything like that. I’m not looking for that.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t think it’s like that,” she assures you with a dismissive wave. “I mean, you sound pretty nice. I’ve been wanting to meet you, honestly. And, my dad is..” She peered up at the ceiling in search of the right combination of words. She smiles and looks back at you with soft eyes. “I knew something was up like a few weeks before the semester started when I was taking my little mini trip with my friends,” she explained. “He sounded, like, happy. Like, actually happy. Not just trying to sound happy so I wouldn’t feel bad about leaving him all by himself back home.”

You smile a little knowing that even then he’d been affected by you just as you’d been by him.

“And then he actually mentioned you one of the next times I called, said you were helping him with finance stuff because you’re an accountant, and that made me feel way better.”

“What do you mean? Made you feel better that I was helping him or that I was an accountant?” you ask.

“Oh, I guess it’s sorta both? But mostly that you were an accountant. That’s kinda, like – I dunno – it adds 10 years or something to your age, like, mentally to me. So I knew you weren’t just some regular 20 something that bounced from thing to thing.”

The way Sarah said “that just bounced from thing to thing” should’ve had the subtitles “that just bounced from sugar daddy dick to sugar daddy dick” emblazoned in the air.

“Hey, what’s wrong with being an accountant?” you rebut.

Sarah’s hand covers over her mouth with a choked cackle. “Fuck, that sounded SO rude. I swear to god I didn’t mean it like that! Ugh, oh my god, let me try that again.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead with some well-earned embarrassment. A small part of you is grateful to not be the only one fumbling with basic social etiquette and conversation.

“What I should have said was that you being an accountant meant you were smart and, like, had your shit together. And then you helping dad with saving money for his business and getting it organized better, it let me know I didn’t have to worry about you, like, taking advantage of him or something.”

Hm, that was better, but you’re still not thrilled with her first hot take.

“No, definitely not. He’s a good guy. He’s helped me out a lot, too, since I moved here.”

“Yeah, why did you move back here? He got super weird when I asked,” she says, leaning forward with interest.

Dammit. Well, you were already in this deep, and Joel was apparently still marinating his entire body in water like a fucking fish. Might as well just get it out.

“I caught my fiance cheating on me, so I called off the wedding and moved back home.”

Her browline notched upward. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a humorless laugh. “Just packed everything up and left. Never looked back.”

Her lips jut up and out with a frown dipping on either side of her mouth. “And that’s when you met my dad.”

“And that’s when I met Joel,” you confirm. “And that’s also when I realized my ex cheating on me was actually a blessing in disguise. Because as much as it hurt and turned my entire world upside down, it’s the reason I came back home and met your dad in the first place. And meeting him has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat and command yourself to not cry like an idiot in front of her.

She nods her head and wears an easy grin. “Yeah, I think he wouldn’t say no to sending the guy some flowers as a thank you for fumbling you so bad and sending you directly his way.”

A sharp exhale mixes with a laugh. You can picture it now. “Probably hand deliver them so he could beat his ass first, though,” you joke.

Sarah’s head tips back as she chortles in agreement. “Oh my god, yes. Totally.”

“What’s all the commotion in here?”

You both turn to see Joel ambling into the living room. You hadn’t even heard the water cut off. He glances between the two of you like he’s gauging the mood in the room, and his shoulders sag a little in relief when he picks up on the levity.

“She tellin’ you embarrassing stories about me?” he charges.

“All your stories are embarrassing, dad, because they’re about you,” she mocks.

“Not gonna think it’s funny when you gotta explain to your friends that you can’t go out because you’re grounded,” comes his fake threat.

“Oh please, I almost want to keep going just to see you try to enforce that,” she snorts. She pops up from the couch with her half drunk soda and passes Joel with a soft pat on his shoulder. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you value your alone time too much to keep me locked up here with you 24/7.” She saunters away and leaves Joel with his mouth dropped open in a stunned silence. Footsteps creak up the stairs. A soft click of a door. Joel finally turns to you all pink and flustered.

You suddenly remember what you came here for in the first place.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hey,” he parrots with a soft grin.

His body crowds yours in a flash, taking advantage of the aforementioned and suggestive “alone time.” His nose drags up the column of your throat, and you just breathe each other in for a moment. “Missed you,” he mumbles against your temple where he makes lazy passes with his lips. You clutch him tighter and bury your head into him. “Missed you, too.”

You draw back enough to make eye contact. “We need to talk — no, not like that,” you add in a hasty reassurance when his face flashes concern. “Just need to clarify a few things I’ve been putting off.”

You let Joel guide you onto the couch next to him. You decide it’s best to just be honest about everything, even if it’s not particularly flattering or easy to say. You tell him about how you don’t want to elbow your way into his family life. You tell him all the things that make you nervous, about how you were upset that you’d made an idiot of yourself in front of Sarah. You tell him all the things you and Sarah had just discussed not even 15 minutes ago. You feel like you’ve been stringing one word right into the next, all in one breath, by the time you finish spilling your guts to him.

You finally say your last piece and wait for whatever happens next. Joel snatches you against him into a hungry kiss, tongue licking and rolling against yours. You grab fistfuls of his t-shirt to hoist yourself closer. His eyes dance, wild and fierce, when he pauses for a moment.

“You belong here because you belong with me, and it really is that simple.”

You give him a nod of understanding when he raises an eyebrow.

“I wanna shout from the fuckin’ rooftops that you’re mine. I want to knock on every damn door in this entire neighborhood just to tell people that I managed to pull the most amazing, beautiful, smart woman on the planet. I wanna tell anybody who’ll listen that you’re my girl, and I’m the luckiest son of a bitch to walk this earth.”

“Show me,” you rasp.

His pupils blow wide at your invitation. He’s ushering you out the patio door with a manic call over his shoulder to Sarah that he’ll “be back in a minute”. You barely make it through your door before you’re tearing at each other’s clothes and stripping yourselves bare as you clamber to the bedroom. Your mouth is on him before he can take control of the situation, and he hisses when you swallow him down to the root. You work him until he’s stiff in your mouth, spearing into your throat. His breathing stutters when you drag his hands to the back of your head, urging him to fuck your throat.

He makes a few deep but slow passes to test your reflex, and then his cock is disappearing down your throat in a series of rough jerks. Spit bubbles and smears everywhere, but you couldn’t care less. You want him to make a mess of you. You want him to know that he’s free to use you like this, to take any part of you he wants however he wants. He pulls himself from the pitch of your throat and gasps. 

“Get on your hands and knees now,” he growls.

You whimper and position yourself how he ordered. You’ve not completely found your bearings when Joel is behind you and cupping your leaking wet slit. “Fuck–so goddamn wet,” he groans. “You gonna let me fuck you raw? Gonna get stretched out on my cock with nothing in between it and your needy little pussy?”

Your eyes flutter shut, and your body is already reacting to the idea of it. “Please, Joel. Please! I need you so bad.”

He eases himself into your core, pacing himself as he’s pulled in and swallowed up by your eager hole. You moan in unison when he finally bottoms out. He starts rocking into you in much the same way he took your throat: fast, heavy, and savage. He drapes himself over your back but never slows his hips. Your belly hangs and sways, making a loud slapping sound every time Joel pistons into you. A feral growl rips from his throat when he grabs two large handfuls of your belly and fucks harder.

“Fuckin’—love fuckin’ you so hard— goddamn — your fuckin’— belly slaps all over,” he grits out. “Make your entire–hhnnggg shit—entire ass shake when I—fuck you this hard.”

“Keep going, keep going,” you beg. The hot tendril licking up your spine draws tighter and hotter. Joel releases one hand from your belly and uses the flat of it to slap your clit. Your entire body locks up as you start to come. You collapse onto the bed just as Joel pulls out and presses a hand down into you while hot white ropes paint your ass and back. His ragged groans turn whiny as he empties himself all over you.

He flops beside you onto his back and catches his breath. “Wanted to–last longer–than that,” he pants.

You wheeze a laugh and sling an arm over his middle. Your eyes grow heavy, your heart light. The soft sweep of a wet cloth across your back rouses you. You exhale a dreamy sigh as Joel cleans you up and settles back into bed with you, dragging a blanket around the two of you. You snuggle up close, tucking your head under his chin, and feel nothing but peace and belonging.

“Got a lotta papers over there about pressure points, massage oils, and muscle groups. Looks pretty erotic to me,” he probes.

A lazy smile forms along the line of your mouth. “Hhhmmm, yeah, it can be, I guess. It’s mostly focused on tension release, but there’s a few parts about tantric massage,” you hum.

“Mmmm, sounds like somebody’s been busy.”

“Yeah, I’ve been taking some online classes for at home massage. It’s a Christmas present for my boyfriend.”

Joel chuckles and rubs his hands up and down your back. “Boyfriend, huh? You think he might get his gift a little early this year if he’s been real nice?”

You tilt your head back and smile. “I’m a pretty good girlfriend, so I think he’s got a decent chance.”

“You are a pretty good girlfriend, I gotta say,” he agrees with a twinkle in his eye.

Joel had taken you up on the early access to his Christmas gift no fewer than 4 times already. Your entire house smelled like lavender, and you have been doused in so much oil the past week you feel like an honorary slip n slide. Joel of course introduced his own techniques –  like pouring a bunch of oil all over your chest so he could titty fuck you – and made an absolute mess of you, himself, and any surface area in a 5 foot radius of your bed. It had been a blur of fucking and snuggling ever since your little breakthrough moment, and you swear Joel was just making up situations where he could refer to you as his girlfriend.

It felt lighter and freer again. Communication efforts on both your ends had been a bit bumpy at first, but you’d manage to speak candidly about Christmas plans without any hesitation or anxiety. You opted to let Joel have his brother over and spend Christmas with just him and Sarah. You felt more comfortable giving them that space, and Joel admitted he felt like he wouldn’t have to worry about the two of them harassing you about the relationship. It was good, but all of this labeling and talking was something new – too new to risk with a mouthy brother and an even mouthier daughter. He’d be so happy you understood he wanted you to share Christmas together without the interference and pressure from his heckling family.

So when you’re sitting cozied up watching holiday movies on Christmas morning, the doorbell takes you by surprise. You check your phone, but Joel hasn’t texted anything other than from earlier that morning. The doorbell rings again, accompanied by a loud knocking.

You spring up and rush to the door. You only ever considered it could be Joel on the other side, so your disheveled, pajama wearing self didn’t think much of your appearance until Sarah and a man who looked an awful lot like Joel stood waiting on your porch. You weren’t prepared for any sort of human interaction, at least not this early in the day, and you silently blink at your surprise guests.

“Hey. Uncle Tommy wanted to meet you, and my dad said he wasn’t going to invite you over because we were gonna harass you. So anyway, we snuck over here when he went to the bathroom just now,” Sarah chirps.

“Oh boy. Hi, Tommy. Nice to meet you.” You shoot him a shy smile and gesture for them both to come inside.

“Nice to meet you, sugar. Been dyin’ to see who has my big brother all worked up on site every day,” he drawls. He winks at you, and you almost laugh at how insanely charming he is. He gave Joel a run for his money.

“You should come over to the house and do Christmas with us,” Sarah pipes up.

“Oh, I’m not sure Joel would—”

“Looks like you can see for yourself what the big guy’s got to say,” Tommy cuts in with a snicker. You follow his pointer finger until you see Joel stomping across your yard and up your porch.

“Goddammit, you morons!” he shouts through the door.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and open the door. “Sorry, invitation only,” you joke. He looks flustered and aggravated, glaring over your head at Tommy and Sarah. They pay him no mind and busy themselves inspecting the graham cracker gingerbread houses that were still sitting out. 

“Got us a real Picasso with this one,” he rags. He pokes at the tip of the toothpick nipple Joel had crafted you. He presses a finger into Joel’s house, and an entire section of it collapses. “Damn, got some poorly constructed shit over here, though. Just hope whoever slapped this thing together ain’t out in the real world buildin’ anything.”

Sarah erupts into thunderous laughter.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you both,” he growls.

“Hey.” A gentle hand over his chest draws his attention back to you. “It’s alright. I’m okay.”

His eyes search yours for any hint of discomfort or apprehension. You know he will only find warmth and amusement. Sarah announces that you’re joining them for Christmas back at the house, and Joel once again scours your expression, your words, your movements for anything other than an enthusiastic agreement. He doesn’t relax when you get dressed and walk back to his house together. He doesn’t relax when you settle into the couch next to him and watch Sarah open her gifts. He doesn’t even relax when you’re laughing along with all the little volleys of insults between the three of them.

He holds onto that worry - the anxiety that his daughter or his brother are going to put their foot in their mouths and say something that makes you feel like you don’t belong – up until Tommy misses the fourth marshmallow in a row being fired from Sarah’s marshmallow blaster. It’s then that you’re curled up into him, hand resting on his thigh, and give Tommy shit about missing so many times in a row.

“I can’t believe a horse had to be boiled down into a gelatin just to end up the marshmallow that some jackass can’t even catch when it’s launched directly at his mouth,” you quip.

Tommy and Sarah howl with laughter. You turn to look at Joel, proud of your heckling, and plant a big kiss onto his mouth. He chuckles against your lips and finally lets go, kissing you back tenderly.

“Okay, new rule. No making out on the couch,” Sarah carps.

“Shutup and open up the rest of your shit,” Joel gripes.

“Well unless your frenching partner brought me something, I already opened everything.”

You shrug and mutter “oopsie” in a feigned apology for the lack of gift.

“Wow, I can’t believe my stepmom didn’t get me anything for Christmas,” Sarah deadpans. You groan a laugh and shove your head into your hands. You can’t even pretend it’s not absolutely hilarious and cringeworthy. “Sarah, you are a fucking PAIN IN MY ASS,” Joel snips.

You, Sarah, and Tommy all share a good laugh over her comment and Joel’s subsequent reaction, and you feel like the entire rest of the day is spent being overwhelmed with joy and silliness. By the time Tommy heads out, you feel like this is the hundredth Christmas you’ve spent with Joel and his family. It’s all mirth and warmth and affinity.

Sarah is yawning and stretching as the day rolls on. “Okay, I’m gonna go nap for a little bit. Please no stuffing anybody’s stockings while I’m upstairs, alright?”

“Jesus fucking christ, Sarah,” Joel snaps.

She ignores him and sings out a loud reimagining of a Christmas classic that echoes down the hallway as she heads to her room.

“‘Tis the season to be cuffing, fa la la la la la lallaalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” “What the fuck does that even mean? That don’t even make any sense, Sarah!” Joel’s exasperation was incredibly amusing.

“If you don’t know what cuffing means, just ask my stepmom,” Sarah calls down before shutting her door with a cackle.

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, completely out of his depth trying to keep Sarah from making tongue in cheek remarks. “I know you’re sort of annoyed right now, but oh my god, Joel, I kinda adore her already,” you titter. “Last thing I need is you two teaming up against me,” he huffs and laughs, relaxing a little at your good-natured reception to Sarah’s teasing. Joel shifts his weight back and forth for a moment, staring at you like he wanted to ask something. “It means linking up, Joel. Like, being in a relationship,” you answer his unasked question. “Ohh, alright. Yeah, I was wondering. Weirdest fuckin’ slang nowdays. ‘Cuffing’?” he scoffs. “I’m just here to help interpret,” you giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You just keep your ass parked right there for a minute. I’m gonna go grab your present.”

You’d actually forgotten about a present from Joel. When he returns with a decent sized box, your curiosity runs wild. You unwrap it carefully when he tells you it’s breakable. The tissue paper parts, and you’re staring at a lawn gnome. Specifically, you’re staring at the exact garden gnome you’d seen in the airplane catalog during your weekend getaway. It was the banker passing for an accountant garden ornament that Joel had teased you about endlessly for wanting.

“What the hell?” you breathe.

“It’s the accountant gnome you wanted. From our trip? Remember?”

“Yeah, of course I remember, Joel. I– You actually remembered that? And got this for me?” You didn’t have crying over a garden gnome on your Christmas Day bingo card, but here we are.

“You never wanna to spend money on anything, and so I got it for you since you liked it so much,” he explains. He shrugs like it’s obvious and no big deal.

It wasn’t some grand gesture or crazy expensive gift in your hands, and yet it was probably the most meaningful and thoughtful gift you’d ever received. Joel, who listened to all your little comments. Joel, who took inventory of the things you said and the way you react. Joel, who sees you for who you are and celebrates every last detail from massive to miniscule.

Joel, the man you love.

“I’m in love with you,” you whisper.

His breath catches. His hand grips tighter around your arm and back. Time feels syrupy and slow as he stares at you with an incredulous expression that morphs into a slap happy smile. “I love you,” he whispers back. 

He watches your face, drinks in every little tick and lift and change, and breaks into an ear to ear grin. “I love you,” he says again.

“I love you, Joel,” you sniff. “I know it’s so soon, but I can’t help it.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s too soon or not because I wanna be with you. I love you. I’ve loved you for a while now,” he says in a hush.

You embrace and melt into each other’s mouths. It’s a captivating thing, thrumming with the frenetic energy of two people burnt up with the fire for one another. You only pull away when the gnome starts to press into your torsos from where it rests in your lap. Joel takes your hand and stands, pulling you up with him.

“I wanna show you somethin’.” He sounds shy, unsure maybe. He takes the gnome and hold it as you walk hand in hand up the stairs. He stops outside a closed door near the end of the hallway and guides you inside. It’s too dark with the door closed to make anything out. A light flickers on with the flip of a switch, and your eyes adjust to the layout of what looks to be a home office. It’s not heavily furnished, but all the necessities are there to signal it as a workspace.

“Baby, I was gonna wait to ask you, but I don’t think I can wait anymore,” he starts.

He walks you to the desk and sets the gnome on an empty space in the shelf above it. “I think it would look real good right here, lookin’ at it with the window behind it and all.” He laughs under his breath to himself. “But if you’d rather it be someplace else, I guess I could accept it bein’ in the front lawn.”

You shake your head. “I’m not following?”

The heavy look he pins you with makes your knees feel wobbly. “I want this to be your office, darlin’. I-I want for this to be your workspace. I cleared it out and got it set up a bit, but we can make it into whatever you want.”

“I still don’t—”

“I want you to move in with me,” he bids. “I want you to live with me. I want to–I wanna live together.”

Once it clicks, there’s no hesitation. “Yeah,” you agree.

“Yeah?” he repeats, voice notching up in excitement.

You shake your head yes and find your way back into each other’s arms.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” he asserts.

You find yourselves wound together in his bed – your bed? – unwilling to be apart now that you’ve so decidedly melded into a single, solitary unit. You’re drifting off for at least the sixth time when Joel pipes up again.

“Here, I got one for ya. Just made up a new slang term. 'Gonna have a quickie with my thickie.'” He wiggles his eyebrows and gropes at your ass, just to stick the landing of his peak cringe dad humor.

“What is wrong with you?” you snicker. “Your dad jokes are ten times worse since Sarah got back. It’s like her presence gave you a power-up or something.” “I’m not hearin’ a no?” he grinned against your neck.

“You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to get in my pants.”

“Alright, get ready for some holiday themed pick ups.” He clears his throat theatrically, and you are already trying not to break.

“Santa ain’t the only one who needs to unload his sack,” he purrs into your ear. “I’m calling the fucking cops,” you mutter, trying desperately to not let your amused hum turn into a laugh. “Your left leg is Thanksgiving, and your right leg is New Year’s Eve. Can I spend Christmas with you in between?” “Huh? Spend Chris– Oh my god. Longest and most confusing eating a pussy joke ever,” you groan. “Santa ain’t the only thing coming tonight?” “That doesn’t even work anymore, Joel. It’s not Christmas Eve.” You can’t help but let out a tiny tittering laugh. “Your name must be winter because you’ll be coming soon.” “Again, doesn’t work. Winter started, like, last week. And now you can never be mad at Sarah for her awful puns because I see exactly who she got that from.” You were in a full blown fit of giggles over his crude dad jokes that weren’t quite hitting the mark. Joel was laughing at himself, trying to stick the landing on at least one joke. “Wanna see my North Pole?” You both had to cover your faces to keep from laughing too loud.

“Okay, alright alright. Christmas ones ain’t doin’ it for ya. How about New Year’s?” he suggests.

“I swear to god, Joel, if you say something about watching your balls drop or something about getting stroked at midnight…”

His whole body shakes with laughter at being called out so accurately and quickly. “Alright, I’ll cut the stupid puns, but you hafta promise to be my midnight kiss.”

“Always,” you vow.

You don’t get a chance to decipher the fleeting look of something wishful across Joel’s face before he’s pulling you in for another kiss.

I cannot believe I actually managed to finish this two parter before the year was up. It is probably riddled with errors, but fuck it lmao. I hope you all enjoyed this next part of their story!

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

[sourcherrymag]

four poems by anastasia kimm (she/her)

bondage

When I was young

I had committed myself to christianity

in a pledge to my deteriorating

self:

 I had no lashes

—   thought they could

put me back together again;

I sat and drew dots on my arm

 my carnal desires

had exhibited themselves.

I was eating raw meat in the dirt

when I was a devout vegetarian-

 where you sit in family gatherings

and there is a cross

above the mantelpiece

 when you settle back home

and flick through gore videos

 (and the slicing of skin

is the slicing of meat)

 and you let your lover whip you

and you cry

and you can’t explain why

 if it’s catharsis or pain?

 and when you wear shoes a size too small

and when you cut your own hair

and when you don’t wear a bra

 and you pray that they would relinquish you

 sorely dissatisfied

and an ever sorer loser-

I certainly don’t lose at games

 so I draw dots on my legs

—   and I get so annoyed 

because they bleed-

 and you are me because I said so

and I say so

and I crack the whip

and we are both crying

and we don’t know why

and nobody talks about it

 ego fuck

 I like buying things I can’t afford

—   if I’m dressed expensively

I can live it

 I won’t have enough money to buy food

which will make me skinny

thankfully

 everyday I go home

I wash my hands and face twice

and slather myself in whipped cream

 as it melts off in the gross summer heat

I wrap myself in bed sheets

into a gripped, sticky cocoon

 my routines maybe not normal;

in the morning

I measure my fringe

and cut off the stragglers.

 There’s always stragglers!

(I figured that one out 

in 2009)

 sometimes my way of living

makes me a little insecure.

people like to ask me what I do

when I’m not working

 so I tell them I watch tv

and listen to radio operas.

 I’m not going to make any new connections

sure, it’s alright, but it’s tiring

god awful so boring

and if it doesn’t happen instantly

it won’t happen at all

 so I’m going to stop wearing glasses

I think I’ve seen enough

 it’s a real pain being burdened

by your own existence,

you know!

 I start fist fights in the mirror everyday

(that’s another part of my routine)

if I break the fourth wall again

landlords gonna kick me out

 I don’t think any amount of money

in the world would satiate me

 when I’ve got none left

I make fun of men in bars

 are you getting married yet?

 no, I’m boring, jobless, awkward, pasty,

an OCD maniac,

twenty

and ready to mingle.

 I’m going to sell all my belongings online

I’m going to become an ebay monk

 I’m gonna count my vegetables

—   I’ll do it in rhyme

 I’m destroying all my ego fuck

 kate moss

 I must assert this notion

of whatever you’ve

plastered onto me:

 I would hope I don’t have so bad

a reputation

that you would laugh at me.

 I’m not pretentious

I just like going on walks

and taking photographs,

like most young women do

except I’ve made a statement

to start spending money on it

 I don’t drink caffeine anymore

I keep myself up

I writhe alone in my room

…to bad music

 when I eat chocolate,

it’s by a gross impulse;

it always bulges over

like a fat man’s beer belly

 I don’t read the news,

—   most times it’s forced on me,

I’m not interested in news

not interested in feet

 I care about wars

I care about the rising cost of living

I make myself furious

thinking I can’t afford

trinkets

 who cares if you shave anymore?

dropping acid

and holding signs aren’t

political statements anymore

 go back to the 60’s!

 with your notions you’ve made of me

I’m going to eat pasta 

out the kitchen sink

 I’m going to eat it through

and then I’m going to throw up

 I want to look like kate moss!

 —   nobody can write poetry anymore!

 I picked up a book

(if I’m not writing it nobody can)

it was full of text messages

(I miss you but I can’t write about it anymore)

I’ve never seen such shit writing

(I’m so shit at writing)

 that I’m writing words on the ceiling;

it’s really is a shame

I have terrible eyesight

 —   I have no idea what I’ve written!

 telephone

 I exist to put aside my passions:

pick up the phone

always speak in the same tone

 and I swear it’s the last time!

 but I always make a fool of myself

(again)

 what’s the use in pretending

when my heart breaks at its seams

 every time I’m struck blind

by another cupid’s evil eyes

 —   you’ll never be mine!

not in the same way I am yours

 and I fall apart every time

I’m the last to hang up

 -

 I never give up

I am the dual knife

that stabs and receives

 and for every time you don’t see me

I am cursed to dig deeper

 and one day you’ll find a dart in your side

and one day you’ll wish you never asked why

Anastasia Kimm is a creative writing student based in Nottingham, UK. She writes mostly poetry, sometimes short fiction, and one day perhaps a novel. 

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Oh my god i just found you're writing and I'm obssessed. First of all, I'm in love with your edgy!karl series. Seriously, it's amazing. Second of all, I had a little idea that you can take as a request if you'd like. I was thinking edgy!dream/clay but with a shy innocent girl. And a hint of some fear play kink? Like she's all cute and he's so edgy shes scared and intimidated by him when they meet and it turns him on knowing shes both scared of him AND attracted to him at the same time so he uses it against her(consensually of course)

can we call him alt!dream? ;) also,,, i rly like this request...

𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), fighting, smoking, language, oral (fm. receiving), fear play, asphyxiation, sight size kink & praise, dominance

The movie theatre dimmed, the beginning credits of the film reeling as a montage of a city played in the background. You settled back in your seat, accepting the fact that you had been stood up, determined not to let it ruin the movie you had already paid for. That’s right; instead of treating yourself to a new pair of shoes or a set of notebooks, you agreed to meet up with a sleazy guy from class after weeks of him pleading.

You sighed slightly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you realized you hadn’t even wanted to see the film and had only agreed because he suggested it. Someone moved into a seat near you, his legs stretching as he slumped down, purely due to his towering height. You stiffened, crossing your legs to inch away from him at the sight of his various tattoos peeking out from beneath his dark corduroy jacket.

He carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, revealing an eyebrow ring as he swept his bangs off his forehead momentarily. You tore your eyes from him as you noticed the cigarette balanced behind his ear. Even with the seat between the two, you could smell the smoke on his clothes mixing with the faintest hint of vanilla.

You folded your hands in your lap as you noticed him give you a once over. He reached towards you, making you flinch slightly before you realized he was holding out his bag of candy to you. “Want a jellybean? You look upset,” he motioned, voice low as he whispered.

You shook your head quickly, muttering a thank you and playing with your fingers. He shrugged, watching you for a second more before turning back to the movie. He tucked his arm behind his head, chewing on his lip as if debating whether he should keep talking to you or just let you be. You weren’t really sure which outcome you preferred.

On one hand, he fit every one of your guilty pleasure fantasies, while on the other, he terrified the hell out of you. It was more of an intimidating feeling, residing in the way each of his movements caught your attention and the way you could barely keep your eyes off his grungy appearance. Your mind drifted from the plot of the movie and towards the images of his tattooed hands wrapping around your throat and giving you a reason to be scared.

“You here alone?” He asked, popping another jellybean in his mouth. The action made you think of your grandpa waning himself off of tobacco when you were younger. Those jellybeans were blue and a flavor of comfort for you now, while the man before you seemed to only fish for the red ones.

You nodded hesitantly. “I got stood up,” you mumbled, making him shake his softly. “What about you? Are you here alone?” You wondered where you had gathered the courage to talk to him, his demeanor making you want to run, but his voice was a symphony to your ears in the darkness of the movie house, drawing you closer with each of his lulling words.

He wet his lips. “So far,” he answered. He stuck out his large hand for you to shake, his skin was coarse against yours as his finger reached to brush against your wrist. “I’m Clay,” he added, his name rolling into your mind and nestling itself into your memory just due to the tone of his voice. After you gave him your name his mouth curled into a soft smirk. “It’s nice to meet you,” he remarked. You blushed for an unknown reason, thankful for the darkness to mask your emotions.

Someone entered the theatre, marching up to Clay and leaning down to his ear. “Dream, we have to go now,” the guy whispered into his ear, just loud enough that you could hear him. Clay's face twisted into an annoyed expression while the guy turned to leave.

Clay straightened his jacket on his shoulders. “Not to seem to forward, but can I get your number?” He queried. You raised your eyebrows at him, basking in the fact that despite his friend’s agitation, Clay was taking his sweet time making his move on you.

As if you were acting on instinct, you grabbed a pen from your bag as he held his hand out to you again. You found a bare spot on his skin and wrote your number as clearly as you could manage with your shaking hands at the way his eyes watched you alluringly. Without thinking, you blew on the ink, trying to keep it from smearing. You froze, realizing what you were doing as he bit back a smirk.

He was completely eating up your awkwardness.

He reluctantly took his hand back, being pulled up by his friend. “I’ll call you,” he whispered on his way out, heat rushing to your ears.

The movie ended shortly after he left, sending you back out onto the city streets and away from your cocoon where you had forgotten about the sleazy classmate and let thoughts of Clay weasel their way into your nerves. As you stepped through the doors, your phone began to ring, kick-starting your heart at the thought of it being Clay. Instead, it was a friend of yours asking how your date had gone. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled a piece of gum out of your purse.

Her ramblings went deaf on your ears as a car violently pulled up to an alleyway a block from you. You squinted as you moved closer, your apartment being in that direction anyway. A few men got from the car and that’s when Clay stepped into view from behind one of the buildings, flicking his cigarette to the ground and snubbing it out with the toe of his heavy boots as he watched them get out. You could see your number still written on his hand, mixing with his tattoos.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking tiredly at the group of men that had come from the car as his friends began to shout at them. Clay chewed on his lip, looking around and away from the conversation before his gaze met yours. His eyes widened slightly before he turned back, an attempt to keep the attention away from you.

One of the car members grabbed for Clay’s jacket, yanking him closer as if to get him to pay mind to the man talking. Clay sent him a cocky grin, towering over him. With his normal height and his boots, he had at least a foot on the guy. One of Clay’s friends separated the two, breaking the groups into a brawl while shouting was accompanied with fists and elbow jabs.

You turned, walking in another direction as briskly as you could without bringing attention to yourself and the group of boys in the alleyway. Little did you know, Clay was watching you leave and kicking himself for it.

The next day, your mind was racing with Clay’s whereabouts. He seemed like he had his opponents under control, but what if one of them had brought a knife or another weapon? It wasn’t unusual for boys in the city to butt heads like they were, but the fact that you’d let one nearly pick you up the night before was boggling.

You gripped the strap of your bag as you crossed the street, stepping onto the sidewalk and adjusting your skirt. You kept your head down as you passed various people coming and going from their apartments before your ears picked up on a familiar voice. You picked your eyes up, spotting Clay and a small group of guys walking together. He popped a jellybean in his mouth after chiming into their conversation.

You held your breath as they neared you and that’s when you noticed his bruised face and scraped knuckles. Your number was faded on his skin, but still apparent on the back of his hand. He smiled at you, breaking off from his group and walking backward to match your pace. You bit back a smile. “Glad to see you’re okay,” you mumbled, barely able to make eye contact with him. His friends called out for him and he waved them off, walking in line with you.

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, sorry. I would have called last night but…” he made a gesture to his torso as he trailed off. “I broke a rib. I didn’t really… I don’t.” He laughed sheepishly as you raised your eyebrows. “I’m fine. It’s good,” he brushed.

You picked your gaze off the pavement finally, focusing on his discolored black eye and busted lip. He didn’t seem to be too hurt, but he wore his wounds well. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” He asked, voice changing slightly. You drew in a sharp breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before it could get further knotted in the wind. A few people narrowed their eyes at the two of you and you wondered how you looked together. What kind of juxtaposition it was; his tall, dark figure looking like death in Doc Martens while you barely passed his shoulder in height with your less intimidating color scheme.

You debated how to answer him. Your eyes flickered to his dangly earring; a silver ankh. He ate another jellybean. “I was at first. I’m still kind of weary of you, I guess,” you muttered, making a smile bite into his features.

Clay ran his fingers through his hair, which you were beginning to believe was a habit when he was coming up with what to say. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

You shook your head. A blush crept to your cheeks. “No, I kind of like it,” you mumbled, barely audible enough for him to hear. His hand slipped into yours and you could feel your chest tighten.

“You like being scared of me?” His voice was dripping with allure, making you bite your tongue in a flushed embarrassment. “You just keep getting better and better,” he teased, making your ears burn.

You weren’t sure how you ended up there, but God, were you thankful for Clay’s hands as they kneaded your ass, his lips pressing against yours. He ground his hips against yours, moaning into your mouth as your nails sank into his tattooed skin. His tongue pressed past your lips, his large hand moving to fist in the sheets beside you before dragging up your shirt to grip your breast.

You breathlessly moaned as he broke your kiss, lips trailing down your body as he sat back on his knees, dragging your underwear off as your shirt was also discarded to the floor. He looped his arms around your thighs, bringing you closer to his mouth as his concentrated stare shifted to your eyes before he buried himself between your legs, your body tensing as a groan ripped through your body. Your fingers carded through his soft blond hair, tugging slightly in appraisal as he pulled away from you.

Clay looked up at you again, slowly pressing one of his long fingers into you, you moaned his name, reaching one of your hands up to grip at the headboard above you. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He asked, voice deep with lust as his breath fanned against your wet core. He pushed another finger into you as you nodded. He pressed his lips to your thigh. “I can’t believe you’re scared of me,” he mocked, making you whimper as his fingers pulsed against your sweet spot.

He pressed his lips to your core again, tongue teasing at your nerves as you caught your lips between your teeth. You moved your knee further up his arm for a better angle, driving him deeper. He pulled away, his fingers speeding up. “So needy,” he chuckled, the sound enough to send you over the edge if you really thought about it.

“Clay, please. I want you,” you whined softly, your thighs threatening to close around his head. His eyes sparkled devilishly, leaning away from you before tugging your legs towards him. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, jaw tensing as you moaned around him.

He grabbed your hips, flipping your body and pushing your shoulders into the mattress. You heard him unbuckling his belt and your fingers knitted into the sheets beneath you. He pulled you back by the shoulders, hand moving to hold onto your neck. “Maybe I should give you something to be scared of,” he chided, making a shiver run up your spine as he pushed your thighs apart driving himself up into you. You were sure you would tear in half at the sheer size of him, but you bit back your whimpers at the pleasuring pain.

One of your hands moved to grip onto his arm as he thrust into you, his teeth threatening to dig into your shoulder as you moaned. His other hand moved to tease at your nerves, his determination to summon your orgasm sending your head reeling. You tilted back your head, resting against his shoulder as his hand tightened around your throat.

He let go of you, dipping you against the mattress again as his fist knotted in your hair. He steadied himself, leaning on one of his arms beside your head. Your hand wrapped around his wrist as he thrusted into you at an ungodly pace, lips hovering beside your ear as he grunted your name and how good you felt.

You pushed your hips up against him turning your head enough that he pressed his lips against yours, the vibrations from his moans sending heat throughout your body. Clay’s tongue slipped into your mouth roughly, tasting your whimpers and lust. His teeth dragged against your lip as you felt him throb inside of you.

He pushed your shoulder back, moving you on your side as your leg curled around. At the new angle, he could drive himself deeper into you; dark green eyes focused on yours as his warmed breath cascaded over your chest. His hand moved to your jaw, running his thumb against your burning lips as his sights were almost hungrily looking upon you. Your breathing became shallow as he smirked at you, moving his hand to your throat again.

He leaned down, slowing his pace to drag in and out of you as his lips were close to your ear. He applied pressure, your breath hitching in your throat. “So pretty. Good girl, taking me so well,” he praised, making you moan as he kissed you again before speeding up his thrusts. You moaned out his name again, finishing as your eyes fluttered shut. He chuckled darkly, pounding into you harder. “Fuck,” he hissed, lips pressing to the skin behind your ears, digging his face into your hair as he chased his high.

He exhaled, breath blanketing your skin before he kissed your shoulder, cheek, and finally your lips in a quiet appraisal. You pulled him into the spot beside you. He ran his fingers through his hair as you curled against his side, his other hand brushing softly against your arm. You knotted your fingers with his, brushing your thumb against where your faded number rested. “Didn’t you just break a rib?” You asked, finally noticing the slide bruising on his side.

Clay chuckled softly. “Yeah, I think I was running on adrenaline until a second ago,” he groaned.

Dream Tag List: (to join, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake

[scuttling]

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

[wornoutmouse]

Look I wrote this for my friend but i popped the hell off with this one so if you don’t mind reading a name inbetween a few dialogue points pls read

You ran hurriedly through the halls of the school as the third bell finally rang. You had overslept and had barely made it onto the bus. Skidding to a stop, you slow down when you get to the door, catching your breath before entering. Just as you annoyingly expected, eyes dart towards you as soon as you entered, effectively catching the teacher’s attention.

 “This is the second time you are late young lady, one more time and I will have no choice but to write you up.” You smile awkwardly, “Sorry Miss, it won’t happen again.”  Ms. Bustier clicks her tongue disapprovingly as she watched her student walk to her seat, head hanging low. You sit down in your chair with a soft sigh as Ms. Bustier spoke about today’s lesson.

For the most part, you pay attention to the lesson being taught, that is until your attention is being interrupted by a pencil poking your side. From your peripheral vision, you see fluffy blond hair swaying gently to get your attention. You mutter under your breath, swiping the pencil with your hand, “Quit it Adrien I’m already in trouble.” The boy huffs but the playful aura still hung around making your skin buzz with excitement.

 Shifting in your seat, you squint your eyes at the smartboard, writing down notes every so often. Looking down once again, you notice a small piece of paper folded, You look at Adrien who boredly watched your teacher speak. Opening the paper you roll your eyes at the note inside. 

A - Late again are you Miss Mia? One more time and I might have to wake you up myself

Nibbling the tip of your pencil you write a note back, crumpling the paper before tossing it at Adrien’s head with a smirk.

You- Well maybe I wouldn’t have been so tired if you hadn’t interrupted my study time with your modeling rants

The paper is tossed back at your head, catching in your curly hair, making Adrien snort.

A- Well I can think of other ways to keep you up at night...

You cough loudly at the message, eyes darting at Adrien’s laid-back figure. You scribble down a quick snarky reply with shaking hands. You go to pass the paper but the sound of a throat clearing interrupts you. You turn to your left and are forced to look up, gulping when you notice your teacher’s signature white blazer. She holds her hand out and you reluctantly place the ball of paper in her hand.

“While I will not embarrass you by reading out your hidden messages, I will embarrass you by writing you up for detention.” Sputtering, you point an accusing finger at the smug boy behind you, “He started it first I was just..” You are hushed by a firm hand on your shoulder, “Well if that’s the case, both you and Adrien can join each other at study hall.” Adrien groans behind you and you throw a glare his way, one that he responds with a teasing wink. The sound of the bell ringing grimly reminds you of the dreadful time awaiting you in study hall after school.

 When you get thereAdrien is already there and waves you over to him. You narrow your eyes at him but sit next to him anyway. “Aww don’t look at me like that Mi, it’s not my fault you aren’t stealthy enough to pass a simple note in class.” You roll your eyes, “Well if you weren’t tossing notes like a child, we wouldn’t be here either.” Adrien laughs loudly earning a sharp look from the detention monitor. 

He mutters a silent apology as you busy yourself with a notepad and pencil. The study hall is silent and boring and 11 minutes feel like 11 hours as the clock ticks by. Adrien watches your small scribbles turn into different shapes and sizes. Before long, he notices you drawing a rather familiar face. “Whatcha drawing?” You shrug, watching your pencil make the shape of cat-like ears.

You continue drawing, briefly recognizing Adrien’s body heat as he watches over your shoulder. “You like Chat Noir huh?” Your precise pencil strokes outline the lean frame of one of Paris’s heros. While it is undoubtedly Chart Noir in a heroic setting, the way his eyes slant a little more than his mask allows and the way one of his hands rested on his chest did give way to a more seductive undertone. 

“Yeah, I think he’s pretty hot not gonna lie.” Adrien hums, the feeling of his short breaths blowing against your shoulder makes you shiver. “Really? Well, he can’t be hotter than I can he?” Adrien fluffs his hair pompously as he stretches his body lazily. “I don’t know maybe a little.” Adrien sticks his tongue out at you.

Your monitor stands up and walks towards the door before turning around, “Listen you two, I am going to get lunch, and I better see you two here when I come back or you’ll get worse than detention.” The teacher fixes you both with a long look before leaving. “They are a little stiff in the ass.” You chuckle resting your head on your palm. Adrien slouches in his chair to play on his phone, giving you the perfect opportunity to observe him. Your friend is attractive, that is something you’ve come to terms with a long time ago, hiding your crush away deep in your mind. 

“You like to stare at me when you think?” His tenor voice startles you out of thought and you realize you now have his full attention. Your face is warm and for once you are glad you couldn’t visibly blush. 

“Hey, Adrien? What did you mean by that last message you passed me in class?” You tried to pass the question off as casual but you could feel your heart racing as the room filled with daunting silence. “What do you think I meant?” 

Suddenly Adrien felt too close and the room felt smaller. When you made eye contact with him, his eyes were slanted just like Chat Noirs on your drawing. “You tell me.” You said boldly. Adrien pondered for a while, green eyes observing your features, going from your eyes, down your nose before finally resting on your plump lips. “Well, I think it meant exactly what it said.” Adrien placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh in his palm. “So tell me why you like Cat Noir?” You stare at nothing, unable to compute the absurd request that came seemingly out of nowhere.

“What?” Adrian’s hand doesn’t stop moving on your thigh, heating your skin through your jeans. “Come on Mi, humor me for a moment.” You hum softly in an attempt at calming your heart rate. “Well, I like how he seems to enjoy what he does,  saving people...” As you speak Adrien takes the time to scoot closer to you paying a sparing glance at the door your teacher left out of a moment ago. “What would you do if you met him?” His hands got closer to your inner thigh fiddling with your belt loops.

The urge to clench your legs together was immediate as the fire within you grew stronger. “I would thank him for his service and-” Adrien shushes you with the sound of your belt clinking a loose. “Let me rephrase, what do you want him to do to you?” Before you had comprehended your predicament, Adrien’s hand had found itself inside your pants.

You were sitting rigidly in your chair, lips parted in a silent exhale. Slender fingers focused themselves on your swelling bud, pressing soft circles on it in an effort to coax it out of its hood. Noting your tensed posture, Adrien tries to distract you. He’ll admit even to himself that this was a bold move on his part and he was surprised you hadn’t pushed him off at this point. “I can stop if you want me to?” You feel his fingers stop their ministrations and you quickly grab his wrist. “No!”

His concerned demeanor is quickly wiped away by a broad smirk as his fingers resumed their task. “Okay then.” He places a kiss on your shoulder through your shirt making you shiver. “You didn’t answer my question.” You nod and try to speak in a stable manner. “I would want him to- oh god!” Adrien’s fingers began to work overtime as they went down to your lips, now wet with your arousal. “I would want him to touch me there! Please.” 

Lips latched lazily on your skin, sucking hard enough for you to feel it but not hard enough for marks to be left behind. “Where is’ there’ Mia? Use your words.” Your back arched in your chair when you felt his slick index finger playfully dip inside of you before returning to your clit.  “Adrien~” Your soft moans were audible now, and every small whimper made his cock ache at the thought of being the cause of your sweet noises. Adrien mockingly hummed, “Oh I see now.”

“You want him to fuck that pretty pussy of yours don’t you?”  You make a strange noise that is a mix of surprise and a moan. You’d never think words like those could leave Adrien’s mouth. “Y-Yes!”  Adrien nodded moving to use both hands now, it was an awkward position but it was worth it seeing you fall apart by his hands. “I bet you think of him at night, kissing you slowly, while his hands roam your body.”  Adrien sinks his teeth in your shoulder blade making you jerk as a particularly hard burst of pleasure racks your body. “You look so damn sexy like this kitty cat.’

You lean forward, holding yourself up by your desk as Adrien’s fingers move faster on your clit. “I can feel how fast your heart is beating, you gonna cum?” The teasing tone in his voice ignited the smallest ounce of competitiveness within you. You grit your teeth and shake your head, “Don’t get so full of yourself Agreste.” Your eyes clenched shut at the feeling of a finger finally entering you. Adrien looked at you with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t a fan when you got competitive, especially when you were obviously bluffing.

There was a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin as your orgasm got closer. Adrien focused on the way your walls quivered around his finger. Your choked-back moans cut the air as he pumps his finger faster. Your wetness was dripping onto your underwear and around his palm making squelching noises. “Are you sure you aren’t going to cum?” Adrien whispered close to your ear taking glee when a tremor passed down your spine. Your orgasm was too damn close for him to stop so you decide to swallow your pride just this once. “F-faster, Adrien, I’m close.” Those were indeed the wrong words to say. Adrien slowed his finger down to slow pumps while his thumb pressed harshly on your clit. He laughed as he could practically feel it throbbing, “I thought you said you weren’t going to cum?” You try to grind down on his hand, bucking slightly as his rough palm stimulated your sensitive lips. “Don’t be an ass ah-fuck!”

You grip the edge of your desk as you finally cum on his hand. Your eyelids flutter and Adrien marvels that the feeling of your cunt that was squeezing him so tightly he could neither tell if it was pulling him in or pushing him out. 

You grunt as he removes his finger, when you look over at him, he is preoccupied with pulling his cock out while licking his fingers clean of your cum. Adrien whimpered around his fingers as his other hand jerked his cock sharply “Ah, you taste better than I thought.” Your eyes travel down his chest to meet his junior. It was thick and surprisingly long. You couldn’t help but feel sorrow for the angry red it was at the tip. But the vein traveling up the side made your mouth water.

His hips bucked to meet his hand desperately. Curses left his soft lips as he tossed his head back in pleasure. A deep warmth flooded your gut from the vibrant imagery of him fucking you with it. “Mia-ah shit.” You raise your head up to meet his eyes, your heart skipping a beat at how the green of his eyes was almost completely drowned by his pupils. “It’s not fair if I helped you get you off, but you won’t help me.” You scootch forward a little bit, swallowing your saliva, “What do you want me to do?” Adrien spread his legs with his hands holding the sides of his chair, “Come on Mi, I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’ve already gone dumb?” 

A hand comes on your shoulder and gently coaxes you down to your knees. You feel small as Adrien peers down at you,  gaze disrupted as his cock begins twitching in front of you. Nervousness enters your head as you quickly come to the realization of how large his dick actually was. “What, are you afraid Mia? Or do I need to get you into the mood?”  Adrien sits up straighter, “Claws out.”  Your tilt your head curious as he combs his fingers through his hair, revealing...cat ears? The sight of a green glow slithering around his body was almost as unnerving as the sight of his outfit changing right before you. 

In little as no time flat, Paris’s neighborhood hero sat in front of you in all his leather glory. His eyes seemed even greener than before, and his personality seemed to change right before you. “Adrien you’re Chat Noir!?” The blond shrugs nonchalantly, gripping his cock and slapping it against your cheek. “Mi I am all for the formalities, but I am so close to fucking your brains out right now, that I think it would be in your best interest to start sucking.” While still being conscious of your hairstyle, Adrien...Noir, pulls your head closer to his groin.

You resist the urge to scrunch your face at the feeling of precum being smeared on your mouth and chin. This resistance only makes Noir chuckle, “Stick your tongue out for me.”  As if it was routine, you do as he says and moan softly from the feeling of his tip tapping your warm muscle. “So fucking perfect for me.”  The praise makes you clench and gives you the courage to open your mouth wider. You suck on his member making him release a pleased growl. His hand laid limply on the back of your head as you take the lead.

The salty taste while slightly unpleasant, wholly addictive. Feeling your growing comfort, Adrien begins thrusting to meet your mouth. The tip of his cock goes all the way to the back of your throat making you choke before dragging back but the sounds of you struggling doesn’t dissuade him. The feeling of your tongue grazing over his vein just before your throat constricted around him drove him wild. Your tiny whimpers made his balls vibrate as he moved faster.

You place your hands on his thighs in order to stable yourself as his thrusts got more brutal. Slob collected around your mouth before dripping down your chin and finally collected by his balls every time they hit your jaw. “Fuck I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum!” Adrien’s voice pitched higher as his claws scratched into the wooden chair of his seat. His head tossed back violently as his thrusts became sloppy, legs shaking. Loud sobs left his mouth as you bright him closer to the edge each thrust is accentuated by filthy words. “Your mouth is so. fucking. Tight. Fuck Mia!”

You felt cum shoot down your throat as Adrien holds your head painfully against this crotch. He weakly thrusts into your mouth a few more times before realizing you. Gasping for air, you wipe your mouth of saliva and look up at Adrien as he catches his breath.  Rough hands grip your chin making you look up at him. “You looked wrecked Mi.” Adrien laughs as he wipes cum off the corner of your mouth.  You stand up wobbly and albeit a bit light-headed, Adrien stands with you and kisses your lips, enjoying the taste of himself in your mouth.

“We are going to finish this later.” Before your brain could even prompt you to ask, the bell rings signaling that detention was over. Adrien deactivates his miraculous before grabbing his backpack and leaving detention hall.

[hansolmates]

here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k  a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits​ / @chillingtae​​ for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.” 

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.” 

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband. 

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend. 

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes. 

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?” 

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers. 

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.” 

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds. 

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy.  It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons. 

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?” 

“As if you care.” 

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.” 

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan. 

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.” 

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night. 

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.” 

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.” 

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid. 

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.” 

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.” 

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.” 

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?” 

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin. 

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.” 

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop. 

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?” 

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?” 

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.” 

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.” 

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says. 

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.” 

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.” 

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table. 

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!” 

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.” 

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?” 

“Don’t ask questions.” 

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.” 

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?” 

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders. 

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility. 

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow. 

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted. 

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon? 

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through. 

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date. 

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist. 

“How was the walk over?” 

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.” 

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours. 

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is. 

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill. 

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?” 

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat. 

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?” 

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.” 

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?” 

“It… was mildly cute.” 

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.” 

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning. 

“Is that why you never hung out with us?” 

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.” 

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.” 

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself. 

“So what’s the plan?” 

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.” 

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?” 

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon. 

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth. 

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.” 

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.” 

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass. 

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.” 

Oh, this is going to be interesting. 

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple. 

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place. 

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?” 

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says. 

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.” 

“I do like Valorant.” 

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.” 

“He’s ripped as hell.” 

“I am ripped as hell.” 

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.” 

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry." 

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.” 

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.” 

“Okay yes one bad example—” 

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.” 

“See? It’s a mutual decision.” 

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!" 

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now." 

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.” 

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair. 

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.” 

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace. 

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish. 

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!” 

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.” 

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!” 

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.” 

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?” 

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.” 

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.” 

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.” 

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin. 

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her. 

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.” 

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.” 

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something. 

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?” 

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head. 

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile. 

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—” 

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.” 

“Right,” you answer reluctantly. 

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.” 

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.” 

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.” 

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.” 

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks. 

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?” 

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store. 

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.” 

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?” 

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.” 

“But, Namjoon got us a table—” 

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.” 

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.” 

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.” 

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.” 

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes. 

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard. 

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork. 

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips. 

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket. 

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?” 

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream. 

“Pray tell.” 

“She’s jealous of you.” 

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.” 

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.” 

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.” 

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.” 

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.” 

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?” 

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—” 

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that? 

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it. 

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon. 

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words,  “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.” 

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside. 

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.” 

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist. 

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place. 

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly. 

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.” 

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around. 

“We’re in Vegas, baby!” 

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!” 

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it. 

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?” 

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger. 

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.” 

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.” 

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same. 

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent. 

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you. 

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton. 

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.” 

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.” 

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then? 

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.” 

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.” 

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.” 

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks. 

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?” 

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick. 

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.” 

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.” 

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.” 

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.” 

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.” 

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink. 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.” 

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.” 

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini. 

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area. 

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place. 

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.” 

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side. 

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.” 

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.” 

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.” 

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on. 

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one. 

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy. 

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.” 

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for. 

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.” 

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified. 

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?” 

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?” 

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating. 

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week. 

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes. 

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double. 

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?” 

“But this is different!” 

“But Doyeon’s family!” 

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party. 

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.” 

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.” 

“Deal.” 

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body. 

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.” 

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?” 

“Yeah, I will.” 

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.” 

“Excuse me—” 

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.” 

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?” 

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.” 

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.” 

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive? 

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.” 

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features. 

“Is it something urgent?” 

“Well, no but—” 

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.” 

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline. 

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest. 

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.” 

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting. 

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food. 

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?” 

He shrugs, “Looked around.” 

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this. 

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time. 

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products. 

“I wanna come!” 

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.” 

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?” 

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.” 

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.” 

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom. 

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design. 

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too. 

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height. 

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel. 

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean. 

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.” 

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in. 

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.” 

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.” 

“Then more kisses?” 

“Then more kisses.” 

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?” 

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!” 

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college… 

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u 

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious 

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two. 

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button. 

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.” 

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”  

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u 

You: lool, why do u look constipated 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile 

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest. 

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge. 

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.” 

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind. 

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin. 

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.” 

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator. 

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet. 

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.” 

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?” 

“Because it’s tradition!” 

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?” 

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.” 

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down. 

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite. 

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure. 

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down. 

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better. 

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!” 

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship? 

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle. 

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you. 

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?” 

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family. 

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different. 

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.  

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together. 

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room. 

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes. 

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?” 

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!” 

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?” 

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods. 

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor. 

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down. 

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?” 

 “Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway. 

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy. 

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process. 

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!” 

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons. 

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice. 

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.” 

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you. 

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.” 

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words. 

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.” 

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double. 

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon. 

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you? 

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist. 

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.” 

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.” 

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?” 

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook. 

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.” 

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips. 

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.” 

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.” 

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.” 

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face. 

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands,  “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.” 

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you. 

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.” 

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs. 

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.” 

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt,  a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash. 

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—” 

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?” 

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back! 

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you. 

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment. 

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips. 

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer. 

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.” 

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.” 

“Thanks, Jungkookie.” 

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible. 

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket. 

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown. 

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her. 

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.” 

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?” 

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?” 

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her. 

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.” 

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something. 

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago. 

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this. 

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful. 

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning. 

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone. 

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week. 

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged. 

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine. 

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready. 

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?” 

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?” 

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.” 

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings. 

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name. 

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent 

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.  

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain. 

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.” 

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—” 

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?” 

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding. 

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.” 

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.” 

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!” 

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?” 

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.” 

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.” 

“You’ll have to get through me, first.” 

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress. 

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.” 

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.” 

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin. 

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.” 

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.” 

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground. 

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”  

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision. 

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel. 

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.” 

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.” 

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t.  Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”  

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle. 

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?” 

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?” 

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now. 

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.” 

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations. 

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie. 

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon. 

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family. 

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online. 

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend. 

Or? 

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs? 

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter. 

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.” 

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.” 

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric. 

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon. 

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself. 

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…” 

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.” 

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.” 

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.” 

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.” 

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips. 

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline. 

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.” 

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair. 

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.” 

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.  

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?” 

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs. 

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.” 

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now. 

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.” 

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.” 

[captain-kinda-trash]

Hi! I wanted to request some headcannons for rottmnt boys with a reader who gives great hugs and gets a plush hoodie this winter, so hugging them feels like hugging a teddy bear now

Of course!! Thank you so much for the request!!

Teddy Bear (ROTTMNT Headcanons)

This was what I had in mind while writing 🤔🤔⬇

Leo

Let's just be clear about one thing

Leo LOVES your hugs

CANNOT get enough of them

Long night of fighting for justice? Huggies

Gets into an argument with Donnie? More huggies

Hell, even walking past you in the lair, he'll do little grabby hands and act like a whiny baby until he gets his daily hugs 🙄 😩

But then you get a super soft, super fluffy, super warm sweatshirt?

Dead

He's dead

You're basically like a human heater for this cold-blooded blue boy

Since you've gotten it, you can hardly stop wearing it, because it's the most comfortable thing ever-

And Leo has gotten even more excuses to hug you

"Leo, im cooking!"

"bUT YOUR SOO COMFFYYY 🥴"

Will, without a doubt ask you to carry his lazy ass, just because he wants to snuggle into your sweatshirt

And don't even get me STARTED on movie nights with him

Because what begins as a cold-blooded turtle hanging onto your arm like a baby koala

Ends up being Leo curled up in your lap or somehow wrapped around you with this hot sweater

So while he's practically purring with comfort, you are sweating like a dog

Not to mention, this bitch is just heavy

like 200+ pounds of straight muscle, so I hope you don't have to use the restroom any time soon because it's going to take a while to pry this big baby off of you

I'd also like to mention, that you don't need to tell him not to steal your hoodie

because he’s gonna do it anyways 😎💙

You discovered this one day, when you slipped the article off to bake with Mikey

After a nice batch of cookies was made, your jacket was gone and you began parading around the lair to find it 

Only to see Leo, snuggled in his bed and playing on his phone, with your hoodie practically swallowing him whole

If he hadn’t looked so comfortable, you would have been angrier, and just settled for scolding him playfully for stealing it

it was hell trying to pry it off of him,  though...

This turtle knows how to wrestle and he will not hesitate to kick your ass over this fluffy sweatshirt 😤

These two things (hugs and your hoodie) combined just make Leo melt into a puddle, and he couldn’t be happier to have all of your teddy bear hugs :>

Mikey

um, have you met this turtle?

KING of hugs

It’s so great how both of you share the same energy

Though he’s more cold-blooded, like Donnie, he needs all of the hugs

It’s just your thing

With Raph, you have fist bumps, Leo, you’ve got a cool handshake, Donnie is more for high-fives 

And for Mikey, it’s hugs 

He practically tackles you to the ground in tight hugs whenever you get home from school/work and come to the lair, like a happy little puppy

Speaking of puppies…

That’s what he says your hoodie feels like whenever it first arrives in the mail.

Immediately, you throw it on, and Mikey is all over it, petting the soft fabric and squealing in excitement 

Can he please wear it?? 🥺

Little Mikey didn’t even have to ask before you shed the hoodie and let him try it on

And OH

MY

FLUFFY...

The amount of cuteness that this turtle radiates when he’s smiling like an idiot and flapping the oversized arms around is just-

He vows to get his own since it’s so warm and comfortable

But he’s very respectful and gives it back to you

Only to attack you in another hug and lift you off of the ground because you look so adorable

“You’re like a little teddy bear!” *excited squeal!*

Mikey 100% respects your space so if you’re ever snuggling, he’s instantly aware of your getting sweaty or uncomfortable and will let up or loosen his arms

Winter days?

Snuggles all day and night

when Mikey (politely) asks to wear your jacket, he’ll throw it on and give you piggyback rides around the lair, because we love fun

And for Christmas, you get him his own, and he’s IN LOVE 

Sweater buddies 

He gets one in his favorite color and little ears on the hood and once a week, when they need to be thrown in the washer, you’ll keep him warm while he waits.

(Leo gets jealous of all the attention you’re giving Mikey >:o)

Donnie

we all know that Don isn’t the biggest on physical affection

If he wants a hug, usually he’d be the one to initiate, which is totally cool, since usually he’s forced into a hug by his brothers (secretly loves it tho)

He does enjoy your hugs, though he can be a bit awkward and stiff with them at first

If he’s feeling down, needs to be warmed up a bit, he’ll immediately seek your comfort

Even out of his brothers, you’re secretly his favorite 

Sure he loves Dr. Delicate Touch, but sometimes Donnie would rather go to someone who isn’t very pushy with solutions, and is willing to listen

And we can also all agree that he has an immaculate fashion taste ✨💜

When he sees the fluffy sweater draped over your arm, he’s immediately running over, analyzing the fabrics, and rushing to get you to try it on

Why? Fashion show 

Loves the warmth of your hoodie

And I because “it’s so soofff”

Donnie’s blood runs the coldest out of all of his brothers and he has the most sensitive shell, so he just adores your sweater

Is definitely contemplating on getting one for himself, though he wouldn’t tell you at first, because you might think he’s trying to copy your awesome style, and that would just destroy his massive ego 😩💅

He enjoys it when you sit in his lab with him, maybe rested against his side with your hoodie on, as you play on your phone/read/draw

Also up for snuggles when it’s extra chilly in the Lair, or when his brothers aren’t around, because once again, damaged ego

Movie marathons?

Hell yeah

Donnie will always make sure your comfortable before he gets comfortable on the couch, so you won’t shift around while watching the movie

He’s also very vulnerable when he takes his battle shell off, and in more ways than one

You know he’s got real, strong trust when he does so and will let you carefully hug him from behind with your hoodie on, since it’s so soft

Donnie will also snatch your massive jacket if he gets the chance, and disappear into his lab for days with it on

And he’ll never tell a soul this…

But he loves it the most, because it smells like you, 💜

so it’s like having you right beside him while you’re gone, or when he’s busy building something 

Also, tries to use his classic and sarcastic charm when it comes to asking for your hoodie back

“Come on Don, it’s cold outside! I need it!”

“But would you take it from such a luxurious face as this?” 😏

“😒”

“Right, giving it back-“

He totally gets his own hoodie, by the way

Purple (obviously)

But it just isn’t the same as your own, so Donnie might just have yours on and then wrap his own around his waist

Yep

He sure does love his teddy bear 💜

Raph

Okay but Raph is an actual teddy bear-

A big, mom-friend, weapon-wielding teddy bear

He LOVES giving hugs, and most would recognize this, seeing the various pictures and instances where he pulls all three of his brothers in for a great big group hug ❤

He's constantly reminding himself that you are much much more prone to injuries than his brothers, so he holds you like a little baby when he hugs you

(Unless he gets super excited or has a really rough night, so just be aware that you might be restricted of breathing privileges in that case-)

Usually so gentle 🥺

Just picks you up and wraps those huge freaking arms around you like giant pillows

And he LOSES HIS SHIT when you come back with this fluffy ass hoodie

Has this infatuation with petting the fur and running his fingers over it

He has never felt something so soft in his entire life 😩❤

And then when he hugs you with it on-

aUGGGH ❤❤

"Why are you a like big teddy bear?!"

"Buddy, you're just getting a taste of my own world-"

Poor Raph, being the size he is and having such a spiky shell, can't just wear your hoodie like his brothers :(

I mean, sure he could take it so easily

But he doesn't want to disrespect your things, or make you upset, because this man is The Gentleman™

So, rather than asking to wear it, he'll ask to spend more time with you

Not just for the hoodie ofc, but because of your sweet gentleness and warmth

Better quit your job babe, because your new occupation?

Raph's cuddle buddy

He refuses to let you become uncomfortable, makes sure there are the right amount of pillows, blankets, and room for you to move around while you snuggle together etc.

Raph is also a heavy sleeper, so once he gets comfy and warm enough, he'll probably doze off and trap you in his big "arm cage"

Really, his nature is pure and gentle and everything you could ever imagine when it comes to hugging his little teddy bear ❤🐢

@getacactus @turtle-babe83

Hope you enjoyed this little ditty! I LOVED writing these!! 💜💜

[noteguk]

i was wondering how bad influence! jk and oc started interacting? like what made them start talking

[ ! ] this dabble is a prequel to “bad influence”

— words; 1.6k

~

Your professor was looking at you with expectation, the small piece of paper hanging between his fingers like the sword of Damocles over your head. You were staring at him in silence for a few seconds now, and the whole situation was starting to get awkward. 

“So,” he pressed on, dangling the paper in front of your eyes. On it, the name and phone number of one of your classmates. “What do you say?” 

When he asked you to stay after class, you expected it would be something related to tutoring. Your professor had mentioned it in passing a few times before, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when he told you he had found you someone who really needed your assistance. You were beaming with joy for precisely a minute and twenty one seconds until he revealed the name of your student. 

Jeon Jungkook. 

Before you had any chance to muster an excuse for why you couldn’t — under any circumstance — get close to someone like that, even less tutor him, your professor already had his card up his sleeve. “It’ll be good for your curriculum.” 

And you said yes in a heartbeat. 

~

Jungkook was predictable. You knew that he would be late (after all, his cringy bad boy persona would never allow him to follow one single rule in his life), you just didn’t know it would be almost two-hours-late. By the point that you saw that hurricane in human form walking into the library, you had already finished your homework for the entire week. 

He had the nerve to smirk at you, and you swore an oath to yourself that you wouldn’t present him with the irritation he was expecting. And you didn’t — with all the patience and kind-heartedness that your parents had pushed down your throat your entire life, you put on your best commercial smile and greeted him like he was just in time. 

“Well, now that you’re here, let’s start with the basics and go over some defense cells.” You tugged the heavy Immunology book towards you, quickly flipping the pages towards the chapter that you had chosen for that first session. Jungkook had already taken his typical slouched position on the chair next to you, looking like he was about to slide down to the carpeted floor. “I’d like to know how familiar you are with it, though. Can you start by telling me about the types of lymphocytes?” 

He chuckled, running one hand through his hair. “I have no idea what that shit is.”

You took a deep breath and ignored the irritation that was building up on your stomach. You didn’t know how someone could be so indifferent about everything. “Well... that’s why I’m here,” you managed to keep your voice cheerful. 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re here because you wanna get paid, princess. No need to play the Good Samaritan.”

You thought about telling him that you weren’t getting paid, but the idea wasn’t the best one. He’d probably mock you even more for wasting your Friday afternoon tutoring in the name of your curriculum. Not that he knew the importance of that, anyways. 

“This is some bullshit.” Jungkook rested his head on his crossed arms, lying over the table, pushing away your pens and notebooks as he did so. His black hair fell over his features as he grouchily mumbled out, “I don’t even know why I chose this class, it has nothing to do with my major.”

You were surprised that he was even majoring in something, instead of just frequenting the campus as an excuse to meet girls. “Well, I can't answer that for you, can I?” You asked, tapping on his book’s hardcover. That little antibody drawing was staring at you in a silent mockery, wondering if you’d be able to make him study — or even care about anything. “But I can help you with the rest. Now, come on. Types of lymphocytes.”

His eyebrows came down to form a confused frown. Jungkook would’ve probably given you the same reaction if you had just called his mother all the filthy names you could think of. “You’re really trying to teach me?” He asked. “Like, for real?” 

You sighed. The time you taught your little cousin how to read was less frustrating than that. “It’s kind of my job as a tutor, you know.”

Jungkook rose from his position and leaned back against the chair, his arms crossing before his chest. Beneath them, his strong pecs stressed against the fabric of his white shirt, but you refused to look. “You know that you can just pretend to teach me, I can pretend to learn, and you’re gonna get your credits anyways, right?” He asked as if you were the stupidest person he had ever met. “You don’t need to actually put in the effort, princess. Especially since I don’t give any fucks about immunology.” 

If he called you that stupid pet name one more time, you swore you were going to knock him out. “Well, I’m already here, I’d rather do things right.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes. “God, you’re so booooring,” he groaned. “Don't you have some charity work to do or something?” 

“I’m doing it right now.” You smiled. “I can see that you’re really trying to fail this class, don’t get me wrong. But I’m just trying to do my job—“

“Boooooring,” he sang, louder than the librarian would ever allow if she was close enough to hear him. Jungkook looked back at you, his eyes narrowed. You couldn’t really tell if he was disgusted or just annoyed. “Why do you even care? It’s just some stupid class, it doesn’t even matter. I’ll tell the professor you taught me everything and we can both go home.” 

“I can’t do that,” you said, firm. 

“Why not?” 

“First of all, because that’s wrong,” you told him. Just as you were about to say that, also, his unavoidable horrible grades would make clear that he hadn’t learned shit (which would make you look like a clown instead of a tutor), his laugh ruptured your sentence. 

“Oh, come on. You’re kidding me.” He smiled brightly — not a tender one, of course, but one full of perverse mockery. You had never met someone as condescending as Jungkook, and he was managing to push every single button inside you. “That’s wrong? What are you, six?” 

You frowned. “You’re the child here, just trying to find a easy way out instead of putting in the eff—“ 

“What are your dreams, princess?” He interrupted again, leaning his head to the side. You really, really, really hated him. “Wait, no, let me guess. A family, a suburban house, and a dog? A nine to five? Something like that? Having your husband cheat with the babysitter before you’re forty?”

Some part of you knew that he was just trying to make you so angry that you would give up on tutoring him. Jungkook didn’t know that you wouldn’t throw away your obligations so quickly, but he was able to make you mad enough to get an answer. “What are yours?” you spat, kindness long forgotten. “Remaining unemployed, talentless, mentally trapped in your twenties, and fucking desperate milfs for money until you die from an early overdose?” 

If your priest had heard you talk like that, he would most surely faint. 

Jungkook, however, didn’t seem so horrified. In fact, his disgusted smile quickly morphed into a diverted one, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Uh,” he mumbled. “Interesting.”

The shame from your previous outburst was starting to weigh down on you, but you managed to keep it undercover. “What?” 

“Didn’t know you had a mouth on you,” he said, clearly entertained. In a way, you were glad that he hadn’t taken your words to heart, because he could probably snap you in half if he was feeling like it. “You’re always so shy and shit. I thought you were going to cry.” 

“I’m not shy,” you spoke, defensive. You had gotten close to shedding a couple tears, but he didn’t need to know that. You hated confrontation. “I just don’t wanna talk to people like you unless I’m obligated to.” 

He raised his eyebrows — a silent threat. “People like me?”

There was a second of hesitation from your part that Jungkook didn’t miss. “Yes.” You couldn’t hold his piercing gaze. As much as Jungkook was annoying the shit out of you, you didn’t actually want to have a full-blown argument with him. Especially on university grounds. “People who can’t even tell me about lymphocytes. Now, are you done with your victimization session? Can we start, or do you wanna tell me more about how you’re burning college money and you are so superior because of it?” 

He chuckled and looked you up and down — actually looked at you. Weirdly enough, it felt like the first time that Jungkook was actually seeing you, and not the empty shell of a stereotype that he had built for you in his peanut-sized brain. “You’re really trying here, aren’t you?” He asked. 

You didn’t know if he was talking about the tutoring session anymore, but you decided not to bite. “Is that a sin now?” And, before he could say anything else, you added, “Page 124. Come on. Unlike you, I don’t have all day to sit around doing nothing.” 

He smirked. “You’re more fun than you look, princess.” 

And, for the first time, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t predictable — he actually opened the book on the page you told him to. 

~

One hour later, he was already dozing off, a small puddle of saliva accumulating on top of his chaotic notes. Still, you counted that as a victory. 

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

[johnsamericano]

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥 •2•

Hi hi! I'm back with another chapter. This one might not be as good(?, it's a really fluffy chapter so bear with me.

warnings: sugar daddy jae, he's a big baby, tooth rotting, kinda long.

sugar rush m.list.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv @sunny-nyu @nanascupid @silent-potato

“Sir, there’s a girl asking to see you.”

“Hey, I’m not a girl!” He chuckled as his finger pressed the button to communicate with his secretary.

“Hey, I’m not a girl!” He chuckled as his finger pressed the button to communicate with his secretary.

“Hey, I’m not a girl!” He chuckled as his finger pressed the button to communicate with his secretary.

“Let her in.”

Only a few seconds later, your head was peeking through his door.

“I brought you coffee.” You extended your hand out, showing him the carton containing two iced drinks. “Are you busy?”

“Not at all, come in.” You sat on the elegant, individual sofa in front of him, his desk serving as a separation. “Are you here to spy on me? Don't you trust me with your father's case?” He pouted, typing something in his keyboard while your palms started sweating.

How could you not trust the man with the highest case winning index in the whole country?

Briefly, after your encounter with the other lawyer, you'd googled him as well as his company. Because of his incredibly high fees, he didn't have many clients, but those few who had enough money to cost him were almost assured to be on the winning side. So then, why hadn't an excellent lawyer like him popped up when you'd first looked for popular firms? Simple, he wasn't popular.

Just like a hidden gem, only a few had the pleasure to know Yoonoh, and you felt beyond grateful for paying that stupid membership weeks ago.

“No, no!” You were quick to defend yourself, frantically shaking your hands to support your previous statement. “Just wanted to be of help.”

Truth to be told, after receiving your first weekly allowance, an unsettling feeling had been squeezing your heart ever since. Call it guilt or whatever, but it didn't set right to be receiving si much help from him when you hadn't had the chance to do anything in return. The least you could do was trying to be polite.

“You shouldn't be spending your money on me. I'm the one supposed to spoil you, remember?” He grabbed the plastic container by the lid, sipping the bitter liquid with an amused smile. “But thank you.”

“I paid my rent yesterday.” You blurted out, trying to avoid the uncomfortable silence threatening to settle between the two of you. “And I still have money left to save for my father's hospital bills, maybe even buy a present for my aunt.”

He admired how noble you were, making sure those around you had enough before even thinking to do something for yourself.

“I have a party this Friday, would you like to attend with me?” Your presence wasn't required as it wasn't a big event, but by the look in your eyes, he knew you were itching to do something in return for his kindness.

“Yes, of course!” Your orbs sparkled with excitement, finally feeling yourself useful.

“If you don't mind waiting, we can go buy something for you to wear right after I finish with this.” For what seemed like the tenth time in less than ten minutes, small beads of sweat rolled down the back of your neck. Thank God he wasn't able to see them. “Oh, come on, don't give me that look!”

“You’ve already done so much for me. I can buy the clothes myself, don't worry.” With a deep sigh, Yoonoh rose from his chair, taking long strides to surround the desk separating you. “W-what are you doing?” Now kneeling on the floor beneath you, his face was dangerously close to yours, coffee breath crashing against your nose.

“Using mind control to convince you to let me take you out.” He stared at you for a couple more seconds before saying: “Is it working?”

“I think your mind control is broken.” You whisper, unable to hold back the small giggles bubbling at the back of your throat.

“How about now?” He batted his eyelashes, trying to act cute despite his bold features. You shook your head.

Just as you thought it was over, his hand went up to cup your jaw, his thumb drawing uneven figures on the ticklish skin.

“How about now?” He repeated. You stammered, unsure of what to say. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” Aware of your awkwardness and the rising heat in your cheeks, he stood up, walking back to his chair. “But I do want to get you something, would you let me?”

With your mind busy and your guard low, you nodded, unaware of the silly smile on his face.

“I have a few novels on my shelf in case you want something to kill time.”

“Thank you.” You moved to the huge bookshelf facing his desk, grateful your face wasn't visible anymore.

The books were ordered by genre and size, starting from the biggest law-related textbooks to pocket-sized novels, ending with the smallest one he had. The little prince.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Yoonoh didn't seem to be the type to read that kind of heartbreaking yet beautiful book. Nonetheless, as many said, you can't judge a book by its cover.

An hour or two later, you were halfway into the first book of flowers in the attic, immersed in the small world the author had created. Yoonoh had finished his work a few minutes before, but distracting you when you were reading so vividly, seemed like a crime. He enjoyed the way your eyebrows would knit together every time something shocking happened, clearly too immersed in the novel to notice his intense gaze.

“Y/n...” He whispered once he noticed you were starting a new chapter. You blinked twice, hands clutching the book tightly as you noticed he had finished his work. “You can take it home, don't worry.”

“Sure?” He flashed his pretty dimples as his eyes turned into half-moons.

“You can come back for the rest of the saga when you finish this one. Take as many books as you please, I’ve already read them all.”

“Thank you.” Another act of kindness you had no way of returning. His favors just seemed to be piling up before you could even return any. “Would you like to have dinner with me today? I'm a great cook, or so did my father said.” You blurted out quickly, twisting your hands nervously as you waited for an answer.

“I’d love to. But I might have to attend some work calls if you don't mind.”

“I don't, maybe I'll even have time to bake a cake while you're at it.” God, how bad he wanted to take a picture of that adorably nervous smile.

“Great, so it's settled. Dinner at your place after we go shopping.” He had already put his blazer on, offering his arm to guide you out. With shaky fingers and sweaty armpits, you grabbed it, walking by his side with his secretary’s gazed glued on you. So much for a girl, huh?

Once seated in his car, with the book resting on your lap, you allowed yourself to relax. Yoonoh wasn't a bad person, on the contrary, he was very kind, so there was no use in keeping your guard up when he was around.

“Ready to roll?” You cringed at his use of slang, making him drop his head back to laugh. “What? Isn't it a thing you cool young adults say?”

“Maybe twenty years ago, Yoonoh.” It was the very first time you used his name so informally, and, oh how good it felt to hear you saying it?

“Fine, I won't use it anymore.” He poked your arm like a little child, and for a moment, you wondered if he was actually more than a decade older.

Several bad jokes, two dresses, and a quick stop at the grocery store later, you arrived at your apartment. Yoonoh held everything while you entered the passcode, struggling not to drop a can of vegetables that was starting to bend the edge of the paper bag.

“Ready, hand me something.” You both entered with your hands packed with different things. You went to your room to leave the new dresses while Yoonoh set the paper bags down on the kitchen counter.

“So...” He clapped loudly. “What are we cooking?”

“I bought the ingredients for lasagna. Is that okay with you?” He nodded, lips pressed and dimples in display. “Alright, let's do this.”

It would've been of great help if Yoonoh had told you he didn't know how to cook. But of course, part of the fault was yours for not noticing when he tried to add ketchup to the recipe.

“I burnt it.” He looked at the semi-carbonized pasta with disgust, feeling ashamed of having ruined your dish. “Let’s just throw it away and order something.” He was about to touch the hot container until your grip on his wrist halted his movements.

“We just pulled it out of the oven.” You shook your head in disbelief at the man standing in front of you.

“Sorry.”

Despite Yoonoh’s endless complaining, you ate the lasagna. The flavor wasn't that bad when you scratched off the burnt parts, especially when accompanied by a cold glass of wine.

“It’s not that bad.” You repeated over and over again. A phone call interrupted him from self-pitying any further. “Go on, take it.” You continued eating while he spoke in the living room.

It wasn't until a couple of minutes later that you realized he was whisper yelling at whoever was on the other line. It was your first time seeing him angry, and you didn't like it one bit. The way his face turned completely stoic, his eyes cold as his hand rested on his hip. Sweet, caring, Yoonoh was gone.

“I told you I needed it for today.” He said through gritted teeth. “You better get it before I arrive back at the office, or you can find yourself another job.” Even after he hung up, Yoonoh stood in the middle of the shared area, clutching his phone so tightly, it seemed like it would break any minute.

You wanted to ask if everything was alright, if he needed any help, but most importantly, if the things he needed were related to your father's case, but all the words stuck to your throat like insects in a spider web.

“I need to go.” He simply said, not even bothering to fake a smile. “Thank you for dinner, I'll see you on Friday.” With his free hand, he grabbed the coat hanging from his chair and left, slamming the door on his way out.

Was that the real Yoonoh?

A shiver ran down your spine. What had you gotten into? From what you'd seen, it was only about time he would show his true self to you as well.

All the trust you'd built up during the day, had crumbled down in a matter of seconds. The worst part? You didn't even feel entitled to be scared, not after all he'd done for you.

‘Just keep your distance.’ You repeated like a mantra as you got ready for bed, leaving the book you'd borrowed right where he'd left it, afraid it would burn your fingertips even with the slightest touch.

(...)

The week wasn't nearly as long as you'd wanted it to be, and soon enough, you were struggling to zip the dress you'd bought days ago. Your makeup was done, and Yoonoh had texted you he was on his way, yet, you'd been fighting with the zipper for at least ten minutes. Your fingers were cramping, and the clock was ticking.

Just when you'd finally started to drag the small piece of metal, the doorbell startled you, causing you to let go of it.

“Fuck!” Have you ever felt so desperate that tears start pricking your eyes? Well, that was the exact case happening at the moment.

You opened the door with the salty water collecting at the corner of your eyes, surprising Yoonoh, who was wearing his best dimply smile.

“What’s wrong?” He had a bouquet poorly hidden behind his back, probably to apologize for the night he abruptly left and almost knocked down your door.

“I-I can't zip up my dress.” Your voice came out shaky, giving away the emotions burning your gut. Thankfully, Yoonoh didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he didn't mention it.

“I’ll help you.” He, not-so-discretely, put down the bouquet, gently turning you around to your discomfort. His cold hands touched your back as he dragged the zip up, noticing how tense you were but deciding not to comment on it. “Oh! You haven't moved the book from where I left it.”

“I haven't had time to read.” He hummed, crouching to reach for the bouquet and hand it to you. “Thank you.”

“It’s my way of apologizing for the fit I threw a couple of days ago.” A fit? That was one way to call it.

“It’s okay.” You lied as you pushed the corners of your lips to form a credible smile. “Let’s get going.”

The flowers were left on the kitchen counter before you left. The ride in the elevator was awfully quiet, and Yoonoh had no idea what had happened. You were so chatty the last time he saw you, so of course, he was taken aback by the sudden change.

“It’s not going to take long, so we can head out for some drinks later if you'd like...” You nodded, for you knew speaking would only expose your discomfort. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah! Just nervous about the party, that's all.”

You stood by Yoonoh’s side for the rest of the evening, smiling and nodding at his acquaintances’ comments. At one point in the evening, a man, not much older than you, approached you both with a wide smile.

“Dude, I hadn't seen you in ages. Stop sending your workers and come see me yourself.” They hugged. Why were they hugging?

“Y/n, this is my brother, Sungchan.” The man with puppy-like eyes embraced you tightly, almost as if welcoming you to his family. “Sungchan, this is y/n, my girlfriend.” He said it so naturally, it’d take a detective to figure out the truth about your relationship.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I'm sorry for your father. But don't worry, we'll take those bastards down.”

“I’m not following...” You blinked repeatedly, eyes going back and forth between Yoonoh and his brother.

“Sungchan is a doctor. I asked him to look at your father's case for further evidence. My assistant was supposed to pick up the report the day we had dinner, but she forgot to drop by. Now we’re a day behind schedule.” The dark cloud surrounding him seemed to be slowly dissipating as you heard his explanation. “This is an important case, and I want to be as meticulous as possible.”

Thank you didn't seem the right thing to say at the moment, at least not with Sungchan standing there, so you simply grabbed his hand, squeezing it to let him know how grateful you were.

To your surprise, he didn't even flinch as he locked your hands together, causing a small giggle from Sungchan.

“Okay, love birds, I'll get going.” He waved you goodbye, making his way to another table where his friend waited for him.

“Can we talk?” You whispered in his ear, afraid one of the numerous attendants would hear you.

“Sure.” Without letting go of your hand, he drove you to a small, private garden just outside the ballroom. “Are you gonna tell me what's wrong now?” His thumb caressed your knuckles with gentle strokes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What for?”

“I pushed you away at the minimum trouble when you were only helping me.” He hummed as if he already knew about it. “And it will probably happen again, so please, be patient with me. I'm going through-” Your face collided against his chest as his arms draped over your shoulders, squeezing you tightly.

“Call me reckless, but I've wanted to do this for a while.” Your hands hung at the sides of your torso, unsure what to do next. “You can push me away, I'll understand...”

Instead, your palm found its place in his back, rubbing up and down the designer jacket. Your hair started turning messy from the night breeze, some strands striking Yoonoh’s chin as his embrace only grew tighter.

“Let’s get out of here.” He mumbled, crawling the back of your head with his hand. “Sungchan can deal with my father's friends.”

“Are you sure?” His hum vibrated through his chest, making you giggle at the odd feeling.

Once seated in his car, his hand found yours like a magnet, the warmth emanating from it comfortably enveloping your skin.

The calmness of the atmosphere was interrupted by a call from his brother, who seemed to be anxiously explaining something through the phone.

“Just tell him I had a work emergency.” With that said, he hung up, placing his hand back again on top of yours. “Sorry, he said it was urgent.”

“It’s okay.” An unsettling feeling pinched your stomach, but you decided to dismiss it, immersed in the chilly weather of the dark streets.

You arrived at the river, where Yoonoh asked you to wait for him while he bought a couple of beers. It was a sight to see, both of you clad in fancy clothes, barefoot and chugging down can after can.

“I think I like being with you.” You declared, mind fuzzy from the alcohol intake.

“I think I like it too.” The tips of his ears were rosy, revealing he was as intoxicated as you, maybe even more.

“Would you like to visit my father with me tomorrow?” The words flew out of your mouth before you could even realize. Afraid you'd killed the mood, you tried to excuse yourself, only to be interrupted by his lips grazing your ear, placing a timid kiss on your lobe.

“I’d love to.” It was the sweetest peck, no ulterior motives behind it, just pure affection.

“Are we going too fast?” In your drunken state, what you had felt like a real relationship, not a simple agreement. And this sure felt like a first date.

“We’re moving at our own pace, I believe.” He dropped his head on your shoulder, pressing against it to relieve the dizziness clouding his mind. “Are you okay with that? Maybe you don't want to be with an old creep like me, and I'd totally get it. Just don't let me get my hopes up if that's the case.”

“You might be old, but definitely not a creep.” Your fingers combed through his abundant hair as your mind wandered into the future, grateful for the fact that he wouldn't become bald soon. “Or are you?”

“I don't think so.” Anyone who walked by would've seen a couple of goofs, too intoxicated to talk without slurring the words, but you were living in your own, comfy bubble. “I should get you home before it gets too late. Come on, I'll call a driver.” He tried getting on his feet to no avail, stumbling back a little before falling back on his ass.

“My apartment is nearby. You can stay for the night.” You grabbed both pairs of shoes as his arm surrounded your shoulder for assistance. “If you keep supporting your whole weight on me, we're both gonna fall.” People on the street shot you a couple of funny looks, which was understandable since it wasn't usual to see two drunk idiots walking barefoot in the middle of the night.

“How long till-” Hiccup. “-we get there?” His stare seemed to worsen with every step. “God, I think I might throw up.”

“Stop acting like a teenager, we're almost there.”

As soon as you arrived at the small apartment, you sat him down on the little step where you changed your shoes. You left both pairs on the rack, proceeding to put on slippers to enter the house.

“Don’t leave me here!” He whined, stomping his feet like a little kid.

“Just wait for a second!” His attitude was starting to get on your nerves to the point where you couldn't feel the effects of the beer anymore.

You grabbed a rag from the kitchen cabinet and dampened it under the sink. Yoonoh was half asleep when you walked back to him.

“My head hurts.” He mumbled as you sat in front of him, placing his left foot on your lap. “What are you doing?”

“I don't have any slippers that will fit you, and I don't want your dirty feet making my house dirty.” With utmost delicacy, you wiped away the dirt from his toes, noticing the small scratches caused by the gravel he walked on.

He touched your hair while you finished with his other foot, tangling the strands with fascination.

“Done, get up.”

He followed your indications as you guided him to your room, where you laid him down on his side in case he threw up.

“Are we visiting your father tomorrow?” He asked while snuggling under the covers.

“Sure.” You cleared his forehead from the strands falling in it, grazing the soft skin of his forehead. “Sweet dreams, gigantic baby.”

[chaoticpuff17]

When the Chips are Down

part 13

masterlist

Namjoon calmed down, if only by a  little now that both mom and baby were confirmed to be healthy and safe. He was still nervous about every ache and pain she had, but he hovered a little less. He was also more affectionate after their night together and the revelations the following morning. It was as though she’d given him the greenlight for him to smother her in every bit of affection he’d been holding himself back from. In a way it was like the first weeks of their marriage all over again. He brought her flowers, spent his evenings home with her. He ate breakfast with her every morning as if they were a normal happy couple. It was oddly idyllic.

Though that didn’t last long as her due date creeped closer and closer until it finally came and went setting everyone on edge again. 

Miss In was convinced that it was a bad omen and was doing everything in her power to try to induce labor. She tried everything from encouraging her to take more walks or serving spicy foods in the hope that they would help bring on labor. Y/N herself was no less anxious for the pregnancy to be over. Her back ached. Her ankles were swollen, and her little girl had taken to sitting very low and uncomfortably in her belly. The more uncomfortable she was, the crankier she became, and the crankier she was, the more on edge Namjoon became. 

The pair were sitting in the library simply waiting for any sign of the baby coming when Namjoon received a call on his cell. 

“What?” he barked, drawing Y/N’s attention from her book. She didn’t normally pay too much attention to his phone calls, but then again, they very rarely provoked such a strong reaction from him. Namjoon liked to keep most of his business out of the house and way from her. “Take him to the clinic. Is the girl secured? Good. Keep her there and make sure she doesn’t leave.” there was a pause as whoever was on the other side of the line spoke. “I don’t care if you have to put him in a headlock and force him to go. He needs to get checked out.” 

The call ended abruptly, and it was clear that whatever had happened had put Namjoon in a foul mood. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, setting her book aside. 

“Taehyung’s been stabbed.” 

“Stabbed?” 

“Aerie, his fiancee, managed to stab him in the thigh. Jimin is getting him to the clinic to get it looked at.” 

“She stabbed him?” she asked, pleasantly surprised by the news. From what she had heard. The poor girl didn’t get much freedom under Taehyung’s care. She hadn’t met the woman herself, but she liked her more and more by the second. 

“You stabbed me.” Namjoon reminded her grumpily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“I wasn’t aiming for you.” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “Do you need to go take care of that?” she asked, noticing how antsy he seemed.

“No.” he sighed, leaning back in his chair with a groan. “You could go into labor at any time now.” 

“I’m a week past due.” she huffed, glaring down at her belly. Their baby girl refused to make this easy on either of them, and it was incredibly frustrating. “I don’t think this little girl is going to decide to come within the hour it’s going to take you to check on Taehyung.” 

“She could.” he responded with a wry but tired smile. “She’s stubborn like her mother.”

“Yes, because it’s completely possible for me to go into labor and have the baby all within an hour.” she was clearly unimpressed, but Namjoon grinned. 

“She could. She could take after you and keep us both on our toes, and you haven’t been feeling well.”  

“Go.” she leaned back with a groan. “It’s better than you hovering. Your presence is not magical. She’s going to come when she’s going to come, and I’ll be in just as much discomfort when you get back.” she raised a brow waiting for Namjoon to move or say something, but he didn’t. “If there’s any hint of a possibility of labor, I’m sure Miss In or whatever babysitter you have on duty will call you.”  

Namjoon was going to protest, but his phone rang again drawing both of their attention. Everyone knew that Namjoon had taken time off for the baby. Getting two calls within a span of five minutes couldn’t be good.

 “What?” he growled, already on edge from Taehyung’s call. “What!” he barked, shooting upright, clenching the phone in his hand so hard that Y/N was almost afraid that he would break it. “What do you mean she’s gone?” 

“Namjoon?” 

“Of course.” he sighed, standing up. “I’ll be right there. Is her tracker online?” 

“Namjoon?” she asked again, growing more concerned. She knew from personal experience that running did not have pleasant consequences here. 

“We’ll get her back, Hobi. Don’t worry.” 

That sent a cold bolt of fear down her spine. She had assumed that it was Aerie that had run. It would make sense after just having stabbed Taehyung, but hearing Hoseok’s name changed everything. If Hoseok was calling about a runaway, then Iyla was probably involved. She’d told her sister to run. She was proud of her sister for trying, but she hated to think of what would happen if she was caught. 

“Namjoon!” she demanded, voice rising shrilly as he hung up the phone. “What’s going on?” 

“Your sister is just as foolish and stubborn as you.” he growled, striding toward the door. 

“Is she alright?” 

“She dug the chip from her arm and ran off.” he laughed, the sound harsh and grating with no real humor to it. His gaze on her was dark and brooding a clear indicator that he was positively fuming. “So no, I don’t think she’s alright. She certainly won’t be when Hoseok gets his hands on her.” 

“Namjoon!” she gasped, standing from her own chair. “You promised she wouldn’t be hurt. You promised.” 

“I won’t be held responsible for the consequences of your brat of a sister’s actions. Whatever Hoseok has planned as a punishment, I stand behind it.” she opened her mouth to protest, but Namjoon was swift to cut her off. “I won’t allow my brothers to go through what you put me through, even if the woman in question is your sister.” 

He wasn’t blind. He could see how upset this had made her, but there were rules in his kingdom that not even she could be an exception too. Her sister certainly wasn’t going to be an exception even if it upset her. 

With a sigh, Namjoon crossed the room back to her, pressing a kiss to her hair before leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll be home soon. Try not to worry.” 

“How can I not worry? You’re hunting down my little sister like an animal.” 

“I have Tae to check on, your sister to find, and Hoseok to calm down. I don’t need anything to happen to you.” She took a step back, refusing to look at him, her jaw clenched. “I’ll call Jungkook to stay with you.” 

“If anything happens to Iya…” 

“She’ll be safe and sound at home where she belongs soon enough.” 

He turned to leave again only to be stopped in his tracks by what she said next. “Did you really think she wouldn’t try?” she called after him. “Can you blame her? None of us asked for this.” 

“Whether you asked for it or not, jagi, this is your home, your family, and abandoning your family is unacceptable.” 

He strode off leaving Y/N alone in the library her mind whirling with the possibilities. If there was any deity watching over them, Iyla would be able to get away safely, but their family seemed to be particularly forsaken in recent years. She could hope that Iyla would be able to get, to stay away, and if that wasn’t going to be possible, she at least hoped that her sister would be alright when they caught her. She knew full well though that no one was going to update her on what was going on. No one ever kept her updated on Namjoon’s business, and she had a hunch that this would qualify as Namjoon’s business. 

“Miran!” she called striding out of the library. 

Almost immediately the shy maid popped up as if from nowhere. She was her silent shadow in the estate running to get her whatever she needed and reporting on her to Miss In and by extension Namjoon.

“Yes, buin?” 

“I need you to tell me the moment that Namjoon comes back home.” 

The maid nodded quickly. She was a mousy girl, but she was endearing and very eager to please. “Is there anything else I can do for you, buin? Miss In says you should take a walk today.” 

“She’s said that every day for the past week.” 

“Well we can’t argue with Miss In.” a new voice chimed in bringing their attention to Jungkook who stood at the other end of the hall with a wide smile.

“Kookie.” she breathed out a sigh of relief. If there were any of Namjoon’s people she could get to tell her what was going on, it was Jungkook. She moved as quickly as she could, practically throwing herself into the younger man’s arms. This was the first time she’d seen him since she’d been back, something about him being out on assignment, and it was good to see him. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, noona.” he laughed, tightening his arms around her. “It’s good to have you home.” He pulled back observing her bump. “You got big, noona.” 

“It’s rude to comment on a lady’s size, Kookie.”  she playfully scolded, but took his hand and pressed it to her belly where the baby was moving. “That’s your niece, who refuses to come out.” 

“A niece?” his eyes were wide, excited. “Hyung doesn’t tell me anything.” he whined.

“He doesn’t tell me anything either.” she scoffed bitterly. “Have you heard anything? Do you know what’s happening with Iyla?” 

Jungkook shook his head. “I know that Taehyung hyung is fine. He’ll recover, but Aerie is going to be in serious trouble when he gets home. But Namjoon and Hobi hyung are looking for Iyla now.” 

She sighed disappointedly. “You’ll tell me if you hear anything else?” 

“I don’t think hyung wants you to know.” he shook his head sadly. “She’ll be okay, noona. Iyla is tough, like you.” 

“She shouldn’t have to be like me.” 

“I’m sorry, noona.” there was a moment of awkward silence as neither of them quite knew what to say now. Jungkook couldn’t tell her anything, and even if he could, there was no new information to share. “Why don’t we take a walk?” 

“Alright.” she sighed, taking the arm that Jungkook offered. Everyone had been very careful with her especially for the past week. She was having trouble moving because of the swollen ankles and the discomfort they caused, so she was appreciative of the extra support even if it was frustrating. 

They walked for a while, catching up, asking and answering questions about the baby, but there was an unspoken tension. Neither of them knew what was going on outside of the estate. It had her worried, and no matter what Jungkook tried, he couldn’t get her mind off of it. It seemed like nothing would, until the first pain hit. 

“Noona?” Jungkook asked frantically hovering over her has she hissed in pain half bent over. “Noona, what’s wrong?” 

Another pain hit, sending Jungkook into a frenzy as she cried out. “Get Miran. Get Miss In.” she demanded, clutching her belly. 

“Noona?” 

“Jungkook.” She snapped, looking at him with wide nervous eyes. “The baby’s coming. I need you to get help.” 

He nodded resolutely, helping her to the patio so she could sit before dashing into the house to get help followed by the sound of Y/N crying out in pain. 

part 14

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Arcade - Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆  Just a silly thing I wrote about an arcade employee being baffled while Komaeda clears out all the machines lol ミ☆ I’ve been feeling kind of down about my writing so i just wanted to do something fun. It’s not very good haha. I’m tired and i can’t write good asjfkakd

Night shift at the arcade is usually pretty quiet. Most people start leaving around dinner time and while there are usually still some hardcore gamers lurking around until the AM, most of them only come in on Friday’s or weekends. So the job is usually easy breezy, most nights you lean up on the counter and browse the internet on your phone until your shift ends.

Tonight though, you have been acutely watching as this guy moves from machine to machine. Absolutely clearing them out. You’ve never seen anything like it. Presently, you are crouched behind a claw machine filled with Hello Kitty plushies as this guy slips two bucks into the Big Bass Wheel cabinet. Your eyes drift over to the last cabinet he used, the Wizard of Oz coin pusher. It is empty , you have never seen that happen in the whole time you’ve worked here. You weren’t even sure it could happen.

The guy spins the wheel, it spins and spins and spins. Jackpot. Your eyes narrow, a jackpot isn’t too uncommon, it honestly isn’t even worth that many tickets, but then he nonchalantly slides in another two dollars and hits jackpot again . This is starting to get suspicious.

The machine is spitting out tickets now, so many tickets. Even the guy looks surprised, you are definitely surprised. Two jackpots is not worth that many tickets, but they just keep coming and coming. Machine fault? Must be. The guy looks almost resigned at this point, sighing unhappily as the tickets keep spewing out, like they’re wasting his time and not like this was a superhuman feat of luck. Then, the machine starts smoking.

“Shit!” You hiss, jumping up from your hiding place behind the claw machine and dashing over to the guy before anything catches on fire. You’ve caught him by surprise, he probably didn’t realise you were following him around, “out of the way, please!”

He ducks out of the way, pulling his armfuls worth of tickets along with him as you switch the arcade cabinet off at the wall. The machinery inside stops whirring and the smoke calms down. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, you’ve never seen a machine fault this badly before, you were probably going to need to file an indecent report. What a pain.

“You okay?” You ask the guy. He is a lot taller up close, and the shock of messy white hair on his head only makes him seem taller. He sways like a palm tree in the breeze, clutching onto his massive wad of tickets for dear life.

“I’m sorry. I broke your machine.”

Oh...his voice is softer than you had expected it would be. The lights from a nearby Daytona cabinet are reflecting in his green eyes. You swallow, “You didn't break anything, machine fault, it happens sometimes.”

His eyes drift away from you and over to the cabinet, the smoke has stopped now, it doesn't look like there was too much damage, but he looks very upset about it anyway.

“Hey, seriously, dont worry about it.” You give him an awkward pat on his forearm, “The machines in here are really old, stuff like this happens all the time.”

“Oh...ah…” He bites his lip, “If you’re sure…”

You smile, “Yeah, don't even sweat it. You can keep the tickets by the way, once they're out of the machine it's a nightmare to get them back in again, so consider it an apology for almost setting you on fire.”

He laughs weakly, “Thank you.”

“Hey, uh…” You start, not so subtle eyeing his ticket collection. A decent chunk of it was from that Big Bass Wheel malfunction, an already exorbitant number was won legit. More than you had ever seen anyone win before, “are you a cabinet master?”

“A...what?”

“Like, you know all the sweet spots on the machines. Technically not cheating, but not entirely legal either.”

His eyes widen, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You shake your head at him, “You just won a lot of tickets is all. I’ve never seen someone win that many tickets.”

“I’m just really lucky. It’s all i'm good at, honestly.” He’s fiddling with the tickets in his arms, “My friend’s birthday is coming up and i'm trying to win her that Sailor Moon statue.”

It is true that there is a coveted Sailor Moon statue amongst the arcade’s prize collection. It’s huge, beautifully painted and according to your boss, incredibly rare . It’s been sitting there on the shelf for god knows how long, still tight in it’s shrinkwrap. Generally the most any player is able to afford is three or four sticky hands and a glow in the dark spider ring, but this guy is getting tantalisingly close.

You cross your arms and smirk at him, “You’re really that lucky?”

“Most of the time.”

“Okay then. You’re going to play Monster Drop next, it's the hardest cabinet we have.” You start heading over to the machine in the back of the arcade, it’s huge, you always forget how huge it is. The guy is diligently following behind you, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself seem smaller. The pile of tickets in his arms rustling as he walks, “I’ve never seen anyone get a monster jackpot on this thing. Also my boss filled it with a bunch of different sized balls, so it's basically impossible to get a standard jackpot too, even after practicing at other arcades.”

“Hm. Is that really fair?”

You shrug a shoulder, “Nope. It’s big and loud, so lots of people want to play it and Boss doesn't want too many people winning. there's a catch though, raise the difficulty and you also raise the ticket payout. So if you manage to beat it, you'll be able to afford Sailor Moon.”

The current ticket payout is displayed in flashing red lights, 72,483 . With every failed attempt at hitting the monster jackpot the payout just gets higher and higher, those tantalising numbers draw in more kids hoping to be the one who gets lucky. A number that big means the cabinet has never been won, a smart arcade goer knows that a number like that means stay away.

“How do I play?” He asks, dropping his ticket collection on the ground at his feet.

“Ah, it’s deceptively simple.” You grab his hand and tug him over to the machine, gesturing up at where the balls drop down from, “You just need to press the button to let out a ball, and that’s literally it. The base of the machine spins around to make it harder to get the balls in. Monster jackpot is in the middle, so you would think a straight drop down would jackpot you every time but-”

He smirks wryly, “it’s never that easy is it?”

“Of course not! We’d never make any money if it was.”

He laughs to himself, pulling another coin out of his pocket and clinking it into the machine, “Ah, only one turn?”

You hold up a finger, “Just the one.”

He laughs again, “Brutal.”

“Very.” You take a step back to give him room to familiarise himself with the machine. Most people like to observe it from a few angles, take some time, watch at least one cycle before using up their one shot, “Good luck.”

He turns to you and smiles, “Thanks, but like i said, this is the one thing i'm good at.” He pushes the button, he isn't even looking at the machine, the rotating base hasn't even finished half a cycle. This guy is ballsy.

Despite his gumption, the ball falls a little short of the monster jackpot, “Aw, bad luck-” you start saying, but then it starts bouncing. Once off the base, three times off the sides, up high into the air and then plonk . Straight into the monster jackpot. All you can do is stare. Not only did he get the jackpot, he got it in a rigged machine while he wasn't even looking .

He laughs politely, the sound barely audible of the cabinet’s furious ringing bells and sirens signalling an impossible feat just happened here, everyone look! The tickets have started dispensing, with over 70k to print, it's going to be a long wait, “Jeez, that was scary. I almost thought my luck had run out there!”

He looks completely relaxed as he starts folding the fresh tickets into the neatest pile he can manage, “Are you a god or something?”

“Huh?” He says, blinking down at you, “That’s such a strange thing to ask me.”

“You just beat Monster Drop without looking . I’ve seen professional cabinet masters come in here and still lose after examining the machine for a good two hours!”

“Oh, no need to be impressed. I didn't actually do anything.” He smiles sadly and continues collecting his tickets, “It’s not really much of a talent, but i suppose it comes in handy sometimes.”

You clap a palm to your forehead, unable to believe what you are hearing, “You’re going to have enough tickets for the Sailor Moon statue and enough leftover for like...unlimited sticky hands.”

He taps a finger to his lips, “Oh! I would like some sticky hands.”

“How many?”

His brow creases as he considers it, “Three or four, i guess.”

“Three or-” you start laughing, “Buddy, i could pour the whole box into your bag if you wanted.”

“I don't think i need that many sticky hands, but it's very kind of you to offer.”

“We also have glow in the dark spider rings, and a robust selection of slinkies. Oh! If you really want to splurge we have a pair of slippers that resemble a character from Rick and Morty.”

He grimaces, “I would prefer the slinkies.”

You hear the arcade cabinet’s ticket dispenser finally come to a stop, and despite his good natured effort to collect the tickets in a neat pile, they are still all bunched up around his ankles. You are about to ask him another question when you quickly realise that the Monster Drop machine is now also smoking.

He sighs, “I should have known.”

You don't have time to look into that comment, you are too busy scrambling around to the back of the machine so you can turn the power off at the wall. Much like last time, you catch it before anything actually catches on fire. This has been a very eventful day.

“Hey, uh-” you start awkwardly, pulling yourself up from the ground and moving to help the guy contend with his ticket pile, “I finish in like half an hour...if you need help carrying your miscellaneous arcade prizes back to your car or whatever…”

He blinks at you as you both reach the prize counter and deposit the monstrous ticket collection onto the bench, “I should be okay on my own...but if you want to come I wouldn't mind, though I can’t guarantee I won’t set anything else on fire…” he chuckles nervously and you give him a quizzical look.

You do want to go with him, you aren't sure if it’s just a morbid curiosity about his luck with the arcade machines, or a fascination with the soft halo of white hair falling into his eyes, but you want to get to know him better, “I’ll come with you. You don’t have anywhere near enough fingers for all the glow in the dark spider rings I’m about to give you.” You say as you round the counter and start organising his tickets into more manageable piles.

He smiles, “that does sound like a good idea. I don’t want to drop any of my brand new sticky hands, after all.” He leans forward on the counter, blinking up at you. He’s got really pretty eyelashes, “I’m Nagito Komaeda, in case you were wondering.”

You laugh, “Nice to meet you, Nagito. Now give me 20 minutes to count all your damn tickets.”

[rouiyan]

𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌, <3 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

synopsis: in which the worst christmas ever takes a turn for the better (and it rhymes!)

✧ idol!lee jeno x (fem.) reader ✧ best friends to lovers

✧ genres : fluff →  ᵃⁿᵍˢᵗ →  FLUFF ✧ word count : 2.8k ✧ disclaimers : none

✧ author’s note — an impulsively written fic, done in a single one-hour-long sitting, and therefore isn't structured very well and has two or three potential plot holes. was the og christmas special but then 'this shirt of his' decided it wanted to go from 300 words to >10k so there's that. merry early christmas !!

"oh dear, that was not a look," jeno hopes the sarcasm in his voice masks his fear. he's a second too slow when he pulls the photo away from your sight, you've already seen the garish fit, blue jeans with an odd cut and the equally blue long-sleeve paired with thick rimmed glasses and matted hair. haechan steals the photo from behind jeno's back and shoves it your way, a mischievous plot already forming in mind. to his delight, jeno's face grows in horror as he watches you grin excitedly at the picture in your hands. "aww, you were so awkward back then. this one's one of my favorites," jeno flushes deeply at your words, there is not a thing in him that can help it. unearthing the photo albums from their trainee days wasn't his idea. rather, it was yours, also making it so he couldn't help it.

"i think we're done for today," he hurriedly shuts the album in front of him without realizing you were still holding onto the photo. you look as if you were to complain and he's also a second away from opening it up again just to dissipate the frown on your face. instead, you say something a little more horrifying, "then can i keep this one? i like it-"

"no!" he retraces as fast as he'd exclaimed, "i mean- wait, why?"

renjun fakes vomits in the background as you reach up to pat down some of jeno's wild hairs. he's just as sick of this as haechan and the others. rolling his eyes, he watches the scene unfold before him like some monotonous kdrama, the male lead always ends up with the female lead anyways. hand back at your side, you let a giggle erupt from your bearings. jeno's face heats up a little more. "why are you so embarrassed, jen? it's not like i didn't know you back then."

the boy in front of you drags a hand across his neck in attempt to cool down the feverish feeling. "i- i know, it's just-" it's just i've liked you since back then. "i don't know," i've always known that i liked you. "it's nothing, really." what you think of me means the world to me.

jeno blinks once and you're one step closer to him. he debates never blinking again if it means never missing your actions. your hand is warm against his as you slip the picture into his palm, closing his fingers around it. jeno takes note of how your voice is also warm, "then keep it, i don't want it if you're not comfortable with me having it."

the picture lays on his bedside table as he stirs in the dark. the winter is cold and his blankets, though thick and abundant, do nothing to warm his heart, something he knows from experience only your presence can alleviate. 

jeno is more than eager to toss his blankets aside and go back to gaming but he remembers the text you'd sent after you'd gotten back to your place. something like sleep early <3 though he really only remembers the '<3' part for sure. funny enough, that's the one thing that keeps him up all night.

jeno counts one minute this time, only one minute after he'd pressed the 'post' button, until he sees your username and accompanying profile picture pop up in his notifications. the nct instagram account is for all the members' use but he knows that you only follow it to like his posts exclusively. it's totally not as if he'd checked each and every post to see which ones you liked. jeno beams and punches a subtle fist into the air under the counter. unluckily for him, haechan notices. "what, she liked your post again? you know, she liked mine too."

maybe it's actually a lucky happenstance that haechan had noticed. "what?! no, she didn't." jeno dives back into the depths of his phone and scrolls through to find his friend's christmas selfie. haechan only chuckles beside him and upon hearing this, jeno looks up with a slight twitch of his lip, "so you're kidding." taking his empty cereal bowl in both hands, haechan's smile only grows snarkier as he slips off the stool. he claps a hand onto jeno's shoulder, "chin up lover boy, we all know she's only got eyes for you."

jeno clips down a smile as he returns to his own cereal, the flakes now soggy and the milk now gray. he downs it all in three gulps, sets the bowl back on the counter, spoon clattering, and reverts his eyes back onto his phone just in time to see an incoming text from you lighting the lockscreen. merry christmas! i think i might have time to come over later today, like late late. ask the others if that's fine with them. he doesn't ask, he already knows it's fine when he replies not a second afterwards yeah sure, merry christmas to you too, he pauses, taking a breather before sending the next, extremely risky, text, see you later <3.

slamming his phone face down on the counter and jolting upright, the stool almost toppling over, he grabs the bowl with such force that has jaemin in the living room popping his head in to check if he's okay. evidently, he's not. jeno scrubs at the dishes with acute fervor in hopes to mask the embarrassment and oncoming wave of doubt that's sure to overcome him if he doesn't preoccupy his mind with other things. jaemin is just about screaming over the sound of the fifty or so dishes that have been left unwashed for weeks on end. "jeno! jeno, what are you doing?!"

the clanking of tableware ceases. jeno reroutes his mind to focus on tapping his toes as fast as he can as he veers in the direction of jaemin's voice, eyes frantic. the kitchen is silent, save for the gush of water from the sink behind him, though his voice is unnecessarily loud and unnaturally high when he speaks, "i'm washing the dishes."

"yes, i can see, but like- why are-"

he's is cut off by the sound of a ping from jeno's phone on the counter. jaemin is reaching over to check the notification for him when jeno's eyes widen even further and he yanks off the pink rubber dishwashing gloves with a resounding snap and dives for his phone before jaemin can even lay a finger on it. bewildered, jaemin gives a simple, "oh," in realization as he draws back.

you're gonna love my gift, jeno. i just know you will <3

and the dishes stay unwashed. at least they got a good rinse.

late, late turns out to be even later than precedented, for you at least, though you're sure that most the boys are still awake at 2:12 in the morning. it isn't christmas anymore but you lack the attentiveness to care in the state that you are in right now, pressing the buzzer just outside their door rather aggressively and panting in equal fashion. you slump into yourself as your mind glosses over the past day and how horridly it had panned out to be. frustration curls and lashes within your actions and you want nothing more than to just drop their gifts off and leave. 

crouching with both arms still planted taut on the bike, your frustrations seems to take on a path of their own, emitting echoing sobs from your being. the tears slide fast onto the floor beneath with nothing to obstruct their merry way. there, they accommodate each other to form a puddle of sorts, one that you stare intently at as it only seems to grow in size with every hiccup of a sob you give.

startled by the opening of the door in front of you, it's as if you've forgotten why you're here in the first place but upon seeing the boy at the door, your best friend who, by the look of it has been up playing games with heavy bags under his eyes, you don't bother to collect yourself or even conceal your tears. 

"y/n, why are you-" he stops, he can't help the laugh that so naturally comes to him. it really is only natural when the sight before him is so dismally absurd. you have indeed come bearing gifts. one of your arms, or the elbow of it, has a giant bag looped around it, the contents of a dozen or so wrapped oblongs threatening to overflow. both hands situated soundly on the giant bike before you, your whole configuration making it slightly difficult to fit comfortably in the narrow hallway. staring up at him, first confoundingly, you mull over the situation at hand yourself and, in the midst of the tears, you start to laugh as well.

you stand, stretching out the joints in your knees as you shove the bag into his arms and then almost run the bike into his balls, shaking your head in amusement and carelessness as he gives a yelp and a jump of surprise. he takes the bag in his arms and moves to let you in, though his eyes never part from you. simply, there is much that he wants to ask but he doesn't until you are safely put upon his bed and he is safely knelt before you, hands in your lap and also clasped in your hold.

"wanna tell me?" jeno's voice is soft, and comes in waves that both surge and surf your emotions. a lopsided and unmeaning smile graces the left corner of your lips, "tell you what, exactly?"

"the bike, for starters," he leaves a pause for you to chuckle, then goes on, "the time, why you were crying in the hallway...should i go on?" you fiddle with his fingers, his own tracing across your knuckles. the smile your expression stretches a little wider and a little more forlorn. "the bike...you said the chain or something broke on yours-"

"i've could just went to go get it fixed, y/n."

"i know, i know but then there was that one day where you were going on about some bike that you wanted to try out and i kinda just committed it to memory and bought it."

"i- i'm- but that was-" he's having difficulty computing the necessary words to encompass his enthrallment, "that was like four months ago."

"yeah and i was going to go pick it up after work today except…" you lick your lips to suppress another laugh. what had you so troubled just a few minutes ago now seems like a distant memory, "except i got fired," jeno's mouth hangs open, "so i went home first to cry and then i got to the shop like three minutes before it closed and then got into an argument with an employee there and then went home to cry again and then fell asleep and then woke up and remembered i had to get it to you before the end of the day but it was already almost two in the morning so i just said, 'fuck it, imma just go and see what happens,' and, well, here i am." you let it all simmer before closing it up, "that pretty much sums it all up for you, huh."

jeno's lips are slow to crease upwards as he processes all the information. he takes his hands from yours, also slowly, and instead places them on either side of your head. you beam down at him, cheeks flaming and lifting into a mirroring, and this time genuine, smile. he gives your head a little shake back and forth, in disbelief and incredulity all at once, "all that on christmas day?"

the way he pampers you never fails to get your heart pumping and adrenaline running tens of thousands of miles per hour. a smile so wide, your teeth even make an appearance, "all that on christmas day."

"well," both his hands are now on both your knees. he looks up at you with pondering eyes and in his room, only lit by the standing lamp in the corner, simply the sight of him is enough to take your breath away. jeno's thumbs run up and down the beginnings of your shins when his lips part with realization and you follow his gaze to the nightstand where, under his phone and a few other discarded items, lies the picture you'd only been able to catch a glimpse of the other day, yesterday. he stares at it for a little before bringing it to your lap to stare at it a little more. then, he turns it over to you, "will it make you feel better if i give you this?"

taking it from him, jeno has no idea how your smile could get any wider, any prettier, but it does. both his hands are back on both your knees, kneading soft circles into the skin. he wishes you weren't wearing a skirt in such cold weather, though either way you look just as mesmerizing to him. the smallest of a chuckle topples past your lips, your pretty lips, and you look from the picture to him with your eyes, your loving eyes. "i mean," you take another glance at it, "how could it not? you were so cute back then."

"you think so?" is what comes out of his mouth but truthfully, jeno has no idea what he's doing when he gets up upon both knees, now just a little under eye level with you. he has no idea what specific thoughts are spurring him on and he has not the slightest inclination of where this sudden courage is coming from. when lee jeno brings your forehead to his own, with a hand to the back of your neck, he is numbed to the mind and sustained solely on the thrum of his gut. driven by intuition, he doesn't render the flaming of your cheeks odd, nor does he take into account the second-long glance you give to his lips, the same lips that brush the bridge of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, the heights of your brow, before meeting your philtrums and then, ever-so-carefully, the pinks of your lips.

jeno is intoxicated by how you seem to move in tune with every string of his pent up desires. he doesn't give a second thought as to why, or even how, it happens; he just knows that it's because it's you, that if anyone else were to kiss him in the same way you were doing now, he'd be missing out on the very feeling that renders him speechless, dumbfounded, bewildered, awestruck, and lovestruck all at once. pulling back just a bit, your fingers graze over the line of his jaw as you mumble a soft, "merry christmas," into his lips. jeno paces himself to ensure he doesn't stumble over his words, "be mine?"

the second kiss answers the question he's been keeping to himself since he was fifteen.

you're awake when he falls asleep, a stupid smile still plastered on that face of his and you would've had enough mind to tease him about it later, were the same smile not on your own face. you're still awake about half an hour later when jeno stirs in his sleep, though instead of moving away from you, he only holds you tighter. however, you're asleep when he awakens a few hours later, a hand coming up to groggily rub at an eye as he reaches out for his phone only to realize that he doesn't need to check his messages. how could you have texted him when you're right there, in his arms?

he only checks his messages in the hour after you leave, and even then in his manager's car on the way to some filming site, jeno blushes, madly.

i forgot to say yes <3

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — ok i KNOW the fic kinda goes 📉📉 but i only really planned for the first two scenes and was like...now what — and just wrote whatever came to mind afterwards. i hope it's not too disappointing for my first off hiatus fic but whatever mans, i'm over it! anyways, i hope you still enjoyed some parts of it and i'll have you know, i'm very glad to be back. (WILL I STOP IT WITH THE BSF2L FICS? WILL I??), rouiyan.

[ruthiswriting]

heart line

mp100 | serirei, reigen arataka, serizawa katsuya, kageyama ‘mob’ shigeo, AU, 6k | on ao3

It doesn’t really matter, he reminds himself. He’s making a change, just like all of Reigen’s clients. What’s on his hands isn’t set in stone. He just has to make sure Reigen doesn’t see it— even if it might feel nice to have that steady attention, Reigen’s hands that are so much nicer than Serizawa’s folding around his. 

(or: Reigen starts offering palm readings as a service, leading to Serizawa having to confront his feelings for his boss.)

this is pretty fluffy, only real tw is some self deprecating depression thoughts from seri.

-

One day, when he comes into work, Serizawa sees Reigen industriously spreading a new poster on the wall, next to the monthly specials.

“Oi, Serizawa,” Reigen says, head half turning, first in acknowledgment, then in focused interest. “Come help me finish putting up this poster— I can’t get the last corner. Or well, I could,” he allows, stepping away from the wall as Serizawa approaches, “but I don’t want to get the step ladder out of the storage closet, it’s always such a damn pain to dig it out. You had really good timing, you know…”

Serizawa comes in at the same time every day, so he hardly thinks it counts as good timing, but he doesn’t say anything. Reigen passes over a thumbtack that he’s been holding between his teeth— a terrible habit, one that always makes Serizawa’s stomach start doing awful twists when he sees him doing it— and Serizawa takes it, stepping to the wall.

The poster’s half up already, it’s really just this one corner that’s a bit awkward to get to behind one of Reigen’s potted plants. He smooths the corner out, hesitant, and carefully pushes the tack in.

“A little up,” Reigen directs from behind him, and even though Serizawa can’t see him he can feel the way Reigen’s head tilts to look under Serizawa’s stretched arm. “It needs to be straightened out— ah, the other side’s falling out, can you get that too? Serizawa! The bookshelf, watch it.”

After a few more tweaks, Serizawa finally manages to pin it to the wall in a way that satisfies Reigen. Serizawa runs two fingers over the slightly wrinkled corner— he can’t remember if it was already slightly bent, and he swallows nervously. But if Reigen notices, he doesn’t say anything, humming appreciatively. “Right. This’ll be good, people will walk in and see it with the monthly specials.” He stops, hands drumming on his hips. “Unless it should go on the far wall, while they’re sitting during the consultation? It works well as an add on, so maybe if they see it there it’ll drive more sales…”

Serizawa’s slowly processing the actual contents of the poster as Reigen hems and haws to himself. The center of the poster’s occupied with a giant stock photo hand, with arrows helpfully pointing to different creases and hills in the flat palm. A nauseating array of colors pinwheel around it, making it difficult to look away from once your gaze has drifted to it. PALM READINGS, the banner across the top screams out. LEARN ABOUT YOUR LIFE, LOVE, AND FORTUNE. Then, explosions of price points decorate the bottom.

Belatedly, he realizes he saw Reigen working on the poster yesterday during a slow hour in the office— slowly dragging together clip art in a way that he found appealing. Serizawa had avoided asking questions, since Reigen would then want his opinion on the poster, and Serizawa didn’t have the slightest clue about anything to do with design. Now, he could actually understand the poster for what it was.

“No, better to leave it here,” Reigen decides, bringing Serizawa out of his reverie. “Now, I’ve just got to add it to the website.” He sighs, scratching his cheek. “Damn builder’s always so tedious to fiddle with.”

“I didn’t know you could read palms, Reigen-san,” Serizawa says, still staring at the poster.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I read a couple articles about it over the weekend,” Reigen says, starting back to his desk. Then he half turns back, adding, “when you get to my level, it’s easy to pick up this kind of stuff, you know— it’s good to buff out your skills, too. Sort of…” He spins a hand in the air as he thinks. “Expanding your resume.”

Serizawa nods. This makes sense to him. To Serizawa, Reigen’s never had much of a recognizable aura— or really, he thinks privately, any recognizable ability at all. But he has a very long list of clients, successful exorcisms, and the attention of the most powerful psychic that Serizawa knows, besides maybe the president. Not to mention the entirety of CLAW’s former 7th Division’s admiration and respect. All of those people can’t be wrong, Serizawa reasons, so it must just be something that he’s missing. Serizawa misses a lot of things. And as Reigen’s repeatedly told him, his powers are just more spiritual, so him picking up a new ability with some light reading seems perfectly reasonable. “One of my classmates talk about learning coding a lot, since that’s good to have on a resume,” he says. “So it’s kind of like that, maybe.”

“Well,” Reigen pulls a face as he drops into his desk chair. “That’s a different kind of resume.” He swivels to his computer. “While I’m updating the website, Serizawa, can you look at the client list for the day?”

Serizawa hastens to look at the digital calendar that Reigen’s set up on his phone. “There’s a consultation in the morning, at ten,” he says. “Two massages in the afternoon… An exorcism at four.” Serizawa will be gone by then. Kageyama will be assisting with that exorcism— Reigen’s marked that on the calendar too, although Serizawa’s not sure Mob’s once looked at the calendar Reigen constantly refers to.

Reigen’s practically rattling the keyboard with the force of his typing. “Plenty of down time today, then,” he said. “I’ll be able to get this set up no problem.”

“Reigen-san,” Serizawa begins, awkward. “Should I…” Reigen’s stopped his punitive typing to stare at him, which always makes Serizawa’s words begin to stutter. He clears his throat and tries again. “To better assist the clients. Should I learn about palmistry, too?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. Most of the questions he asks feel pointless as soon as he says them, and this one’s ridiculousness is heightened by the way Reigen frowns. “If you want to,” he says, tone implying he’s not sure why Serizawa would. “I was planning on handling it, since it’s mostly interfacing with the clients, and you’re still getting comfortable there, but I wouldn’t stop you.”

Serizawa can’t stop the way his shoulders sink, and hurriedly, Reigen adds, “you’re doing fine, Serizawa— I’m glad you’ve got the initiative to ask about it. But I know you’re busy with your studies, so I didn’t want to take up your time unnecessarily. You’re already a great asset to the business.”

Again, Serizawa wants to protest, to say that really he should be doing so much more for Reigen than brewing tea and exorcising stray ghosts. But he shouldn’t argue with his boss, so he just nods, swallowing all of his words.

It only takes a few days for someone to take Reigen up on new special— a jittery looking college student with spectacles twice the size of her eyes. She comes about a necklace that she inherited from her recently deceased grandmother. Serizawa can’t see anything on it, and Reigen smoothly steps in to handle it. As he shreds rock salt over it and kept up a stream of gentle questions about her grandmother, the girl’s eyes roams over the wall, and she asks about the palm reading. Within seconds, Reigen has the lights dimmed, incense candles in Serizawa’s hands that are apparently his responsibility to light.

Reigen sits on the edge of his seat, face serious as he looks down into her upturned palm. She watches him with wide eyes. “It’s not so much that your palms determine your fate,” he explains to her, voice taking on a knowing, mystic quality. “It’s more that they’re a microcosm of reality… The big’s encapsulated in the small.” He draws one of his fingers along a crease in her fingers, barely a ghosting pressure.

As Serizawa struggles with the candles, the match in his hand finally catches, and the light blooms across her face. The beginning of a blush is striping across her nose.

“This is your head line,” Reigen says. Then his finger moves across another web. “Your heart line. Your fate line. And your life line.” For this last designation, his finger curves across the base of her thumb and comes to rest against her wrist.

“The life line,” she says, eyes wide. “I heard once that if you have a short life line, that means that you’ll die young.”

Discreetly, Serizawa peeks at his own palm, but he can’t track what any of the mess of creases are supposed to be when transposed onto his own hand. “Not necessarily,” Reigen says, shaking his head. “Your life line has more to do with your vitality. If it’s short or shallow, that’s not necessarily bad, but it might mean you need to make a change.” Reigen’s mouth draws into a frown. “…Have you been feeling disconnected from the people around you?”

“That’s exactly it,” she says, voice a relieved rush. “It’s been so hard, ever my grandmother died…”

The conversation streams on past Serizawa. He watches as Reigen gives her advice, her hand still resting comfortably between Reigen’s long fingers.

The palm readings only happen occasionally, but Reigen seems satisfied enough with their performance— like he said, it’s a nice add on. But on days when someone asks for one, they cling to Serizawa’s mind the entire train ride to his night classes.

Regardless of Serizawa’s perception of Reigen’s aura, he proves himself as a natural when he sits down with a client for a palm reading. No matter what he says, they always gasp in shock at how accurately Reigen’s pinned down their life with just a few sentences. Then, he’s immediately pinwheeling into advice on how best to fix their relationships, their jobs, their life.

He doesn’t like it. The idea that, just by looking at his hands, someone can accurately judge everything inside of him. Reigen never says anything bad about the clients, of course, but he’s sure that he has to see it. All of Serizawa’s mistakes are surely reflected in the creases of his hand— and he’s made a lot of mistakes.

Serizawa spends a lot of time staring at his hands on the train. They’re square in shape, with short, blocked off fingers, and a tangled mess of lines and mounds— what Reigen calls the bumps of flesh on the client’s hands. He doesn’t know what any of it means. He doesn’t think it could be anything good.

It doesn’t really matter, he reminds himself. He’s making a change, just like all of Reigen’s clients. What’s on his hands isn’t set in stone. He just has to make sure Reigen doesn’t see it— even if it might feel nice to have that steady attention, Reigen’s hands that are so much nicer than Serizawa’s folding around his.

The train rumbles under his feet, and hurriedly Serizawa tucks his free hand under his armpit. Like if it hand is out of his sight, the obsessive thought might be too. It doesn’t stop his eyes from ghosting over everyone else’s hands, that all surely say much better things about them than Serizawa’s.

He’s not doing a good job of not thinking about the hands.

Mainly, he keeps thinking about Reigen’s, which doesn’t bode well for Serizawa’s attempts at professionalism.

Serizawa realized fairly early on that his feelings for Reigen exceeded the typical respect one should have for an employer. It even went past the gratitude that one should have for someone who saved Serizawa’s life— because genuinely, Serizawa thinks that Reigen saved his life by giving him this job, when Serizawa didn’t even have a high school education or any practical experience beyond being a reformed terrorist. Even if Serizawa’s managed to stop referring to every manual of business practice as inarguable law, enough of them reiterated the extreme inappropriateness of workplace relationships that Serizawa figured it was a rule he should stick with. Their cautions at power imbalances, lack of professionalism, and the inevitability of messy breakups bang around in Serizawa’s mind every time he looks at Reigen.

Of course, it’s not like Reigen would want anything to do with Serizawa even without these restrictions. Reigen’s a good, helpful person, and he saw that Serizawa was in a bad spot, and wanted to do something about it. That was all. So, it’s up to Serizawa to draw a professional boundary. If he maintains a distance, that’s better for both of them— Reigen won’t have to deal with Serizawa’s messy, inappropriate feelings, and Serizawa won’t get hurt.

But the palm readings make that so much harder than necessary.

Reigen has nice hands, and he takes full advantage of them in every moment. They accent every word that Reigen ever speaks, making his case for him before he’s even begun a sentence. And when Reigen’s hands are making an energetic arc across the room, Serizawa keeps finding his mind going back to the dim office— the candles flickering in the dark, the sweet heady scent of incense. Reigen’s hands comfortably enveloping his hands.

Not his hands, really. It’s only Serizawa’s hands in his flushed, distracted imagination. He wishes, very desperately, that Reigen wasn’t so dedicated to the atmosphere of his services, but if he’s being honest with himself, Serizawa probably would have the same problem if Reigen conducted palmistry under the boring office lights.

It’s just Serizawa’s embarrassing personal problem. It’s something he has to deal with on his own. Another misguided crush on his employer— except he’s so sure that Reigen would let him down gently it burns.

It’s a slow day in the office when Reigen says, tone casual, “Serizawa, let me read your palm.”

Serizawa’s pen jags across the paper. He’s doing homework, which he always feels guilty for, even though Reigen’s repeatedly told him it’s fine, even offering to help him with any assignments he’s having trouble with. Now, he’s punished for slacking on the job by way of an unfortunate ink splatter obscuring a section of his notes. Serizawa feels a static charge draw up around his ears, and he takes a deep breath as he settles the pen against the page. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Serizawa says.

“Why not?” Reigen’s half out of his chair before he’s distracted by a loose set of papers about to escape his desk. He pins them down with a half full mug of tea, then continues his circuit around the desk. “We don’t have a client until later this afternoon, and it’ll be fun— enlightening, even. It’s a good team building exercise.”

He’s pretty sure Reigen just wants to put off the paperwork that he’s been complaining about the whole morning. It’s given him too much time to let his eyes drift across the room and watch Serizawa, probably monitoring any possible mistakes in his work. The palmistry poster’s right behind Serizawa’s head at his desk, so maybe that’s what made him think of it. Regardless, Serizawa does not want Reigen to be enlightened by anything about Serizawa. He clenches his hands into fists and sticks them under the desk, like maybe Reigen will forget about it if he can’t see them.

All the excuses collecting in his brain don’t make it to his mouth in time, and Reigen’s leaning against Serizawa’s desk. “Come on, Serizawa,” he entreats him, voice wheedling. “Don’t you ever unwind? It’s not bad to have a little fun when it’s slow.”

Serizawa can’t think of something less fun than his crush learning all of his secret and not-so-secret inadequacies while holding his hand. Plus, he’s sure that there’s something better both of them could be doing— that’s another thing the self help books harp on, that you can always find something to do to improve your workplace. But he’s not good at telling Reigen no. And so, in a matter of seconds, Reigen’s setting up the office as Serizawa watches, arms locked at his side.

“You don’t have to waste the incense candles,” Serizawa mumbles as Reigen energetically lights a match.

“It’s not a waste,” Reigen says firmly. “Anyway, I do my best readings when there’s a proper atmosphere.”

Since there’s no way to get out of this, besides maybe running straight out of the office and never coming back, Serizawa sits down at the table where Reigen always ushers their clients and waits. Reigen draws the blinds shut and then sits across from him, wiggling forward in his chair.

Reigen’s thighs sandwich the low table between them, pressing close enough for their knees to touch. Even though he’d dreaded the low lighting before, Serizawa’s abruptly grateful for the fact that Reigen can’t see the way his face heats in the dark.

And then, Reigen’s hands are taking his.

His hands are cool, maybe even a little clammy. They rest calmly against Serizawa’s over-hot skin, and Serizawa’s sure Reigen can feel the way that his pulse is rampaging in his wrist. Even before the palm reading’s begun, Serizawa’s hands apparently have the ability to betray him. He tries to swallow his nerves, again, force it all down. He can control himself, even if he’s feeling scared and lovesick. He’s not the person that he used to be.

Serizawa’s reminding himself of all of this, when Reigen says, very seriously, voice a low murmur, “you’ve got nice hands, you know.”

“What?” Serizawa blurts. “No, I don’t.” And then he flinches, immediately berating himself for contradicting Reigen.

Reigen’s eyebrows rise up, vanishing under his bangs. “Sure you do,” he says, insistent. And then, he turns Serizawa’s palm flat, running one electric finger around the circumference. “Square palm— short fingers. You’ve got earth hands. Means you’re reliable, Serizawa.”

Even though his brain is buzzing with this much prolonged contact— Serizawa’s not exactly had a lot of people spend extended time touching his hands, much less Reigen touching his hands— this sentence manages to drag him a little closer to reality again. Reigen just meant that comment in the context of palmistry, of course. He’s probably said similar things to his clients, even if Serizawa can’t exactly remember him saying them in this moment. He breathes.

After waiting long enough to realize that Serizawa’s not going to say anything in response, Reigen returns to tracing the lines of his hands. “Look here,” he murmurs, moving one finger down the center of his palm. “You’ve got a pretty pronounced fate line.”

And Serizawa knows, immediately, that that can’t be right. He’s heard enough of Reigen’s explanations to his clients to have learned that a deep fate line means you have control over your life— that outside actors don’t control your fate. Serizawa can’t think of something less likely to be applied to him. He feels his face sink, watching Reigen’s hand move, back and forth, over his own.

Reigen’s lying to him. He probably doesn’t mean it in a bad way. He probably wants to boost Serizawa’s abysmal self image, because Reigen’s good hearted like that. But it stings that he’d tell Serizawa falsehoods just to make him feel better, against something that demonstrably isn’t true. It calls into question every other good thing Reigen’s said about him.

“Aren’t you going to ask what that means?” Reigen’s eyes move up to look at Serizawa, burning holes in him.

Serizawa sucks in a breath that ghosts over his teeth. “Reigen-san…” He swallows, throat clicking. Every noise he makes suddenly feels so loud and over important when they sitting this close, without even the hum of fluorescent lights to drown it out. “I don’t really know if that makes sense, from what I’ve heard you say to the clients.”

Reigen’s eyebrows work together. “Your fate line can change over the course of your life, you know,” he says slowly. “Just like how you can change. It’s just a reflection of you.”

Serizawa lets his hand drop— it’s only Reigen’s interlaced fingers against the back of his hand that keeps his hand from knocking against the table. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I don’t know, if I’ve changed enough to justify that.”

“You’ve made a lot of changes,” Reigen says, still insistently not letting go of his hand. His fingers interlace into a cradle, and Serizawa can feel the press of Reigen’s index finger on one knuckle. “You’re taking classes. You chose to leave a harmful situation, when it would’ve been easier to stay. You’re working here. Serizawa, you’re the one that’s taking charge of your life now.”

But even that’s a falsehood. Serizawa knows, deep in his bones, that he never would have left CLAW on his own. He never would have been able to see past the circumference of his umbrella and his own starry infatuation. The only reason he was able to leave at all was because of Kageyama, forcing him out of the fantasy he was living in, and Reigen, offering him a lifeline when Serizawa was sitting in the absolute rubble of his fake life.

“Serizawa.” Reigen’s voice is suddenly sharp. “Are you really going to doubt an expert spiritualist such as myself?”

“N— no, I didn’t mean—“

“Then accept it. You’re the only one in charge of your life. Let’s look at something else more interesting,” Reigen says, immediately shifting gears and ending the conversational thread. “Your heart line, it looks like it’s pretty—“

And this is something that Serizawa absolutely cannot handle. He yanks his hand out of Reigen’s before he can stop himself. “Reigen-san,” he said, voice climbing an octave. “I don’t know if that’s— appropriate.”

“Eh?” Reigen’s blinking at him.

“I mean,” he pulls his arms back, keeping whatever incriminating information is inscribed on his hands safely hidden. “Isn’t it bad to discuss… Relationships, in the workplace?”

Reigen tilts his head like Serizawa’s said something foreign. “It’s perfectly normal,” he says. “I help Mob with his relationships all the time.”

That’s obviously completely different, Serizawa wants to say, but the words won’t come. Suddenly, he’s seized with the idea— Reigen already knows exactly what he’s thinking and feeling. There’s probably a specific triangle of flesh on Serizawa’s hand that communicates, this person is in love with their superior, and Reigen’s seen it and knows. Serizawa feels the redness climbing all over his face. He can’t stop himself from looking down, palm turning up as he tries to find whatever betrayed him.

And immediately, Reigen’s grabbed his hand again. Serizawa feels his brain misfiring as Reigen yanks it closer. “Look,” Reigen says, eager. “Yours begins below your index finger, from the edge of your palm.” He indicates it, and Serizawa desperately wishes his heart would stop jackhammering in response. His pulse is loud enough to hurt his head, so surely Reigen can feel it pounding in his grip. “Means you’ve got a giving heart, Serizawa. It’s pretty short, so you’re introverted… But deep, so relationships are definitely important to you.”

“Aren’t they important to everyone?” Serizawa asks, floundering for any type of purchase in this conversation.

“Not necessarily,” Reigen says. “I mean, think about it— you’ve definitely met people who’ve put more work into relationships than others, haven’t you? But you value the people around you, so your hands reflect that. Maybe even…” His hand traces a crease, and he wiggles an eyebrow at Serizawa. “Value of a specific person? Someone you have in mind?”

Bone deep shame makes itself known from within Serizawa’s marrow. His fingers automatically curl inward, in an attempt to hide, and suddenly, without realizing, he’s holding the tips of Reigen’s fingers under his.

He expects Reigen to pull back, automatic, but Reigen doesn’t move at all. All Reigen does is go still, not meeting Serizawa’s eyes all of the sudden. His nose dips forward to look down at their hands, hovering above the table. It’s like he’s shy. Reigen is never shy.

“It’s a good thing, you know,” he says. “You’d be a good partner.”

He’s staring down at their hands, resting against the table, still not moving to pull his fingers away, or even to spread open Serizawa’s hand to continue his relentless assault of kind words. It’s like he’s perfectly content to rest there, long fingers trapped in Serizawa’s grip, which is probably too tight and not at all pleasant. Serizawa keeps waiting and waiting for Reigen to pull away, but he doesn’t.

Then, suddenly, the door to the office buzzes, signifying a walk in client. Reigen pinwheels away so dramatically he almost falls off his chair. A little pop of psychic energy spreads out from Serizawa’s feet, lifting everything in the office just an inch off the ground before it drops again. Serizawa stands, frantic, looking for something to do as Reigen hurriedly draws open the blinds.

It’s too late, though. The unexpected customer’s standing in the entrance, staring at both of them. “Um,” he begins, phone held lamely up. “I saw the sign outside, and I was wondering if I could ask about getting some spirit tags…”

Reigen recovers admirably, immediately pivoting into welcoming the customer and acting like it’s perfectly normal for both of them to sit around in the dark with only candles to see by. Serizawa guesses it’s not totally unreasonable— it is a psychic business, after all. You’d only know it was strange if you were a regular customer, and this man isn’t.

The only thing that betrays it as odd is the red blush that’s spread all over Reigen’s face, even staining his ears. It couldn’t be because of Serizawa, of course— it’s just that a customer caught him off guard. It has to be that.

Serizawa stares at the back of Reigen’s flushed neck, and wonders.

The rest of the day is tense.

It’s not exactly like Serizawa and Reigen sit side by side all day, but Reigen normally will get up and come see what Serizawa’s doing. He’ll hang over him as he supervises his work, or offer suggestions on whatever homework assignment he’s working on. In general, Reigen seems to dislike sitting still for long hours. He tends to pace about as he verbally puzzles through work problems to Serizawa, or Mob, or, probably, to an empty room. But after the palm reading, Reigen stays firmly confined to his desk, not saying anything at all as he still fidgets. Even when a client comes for an exorcism and he has to get up, Reigen maintains an exaggeratedly respectful distance between him and Serizawa.

The palm reading plays on repeat in Serizawa’s head, offering new mistakes for Serizawa to fixate on each time. The more they sit in silence, the more Serizawa’s completely sure that Reigen knows exactly how he feels. Why else would he suddenly become so shy? He wishes, fervently, that he’d just managed to keep it to act normally. Maybe if he hadn’t made such a fuss about the whole thing he wouldn’t have made Reigen uncomfortable. Now it’s even more obvious to Reigen where his feelings lie. It must disgust him, to have to deal with Serizawa’s sad, misaimed emotions— pathetically clinging to any basic kindness shown to him.

The whole afternoon, Reigen’s ears stay red as he works at his computer, only stealing glances at Serizawa when he thinks Serizawa can’t see.

He has to say something. He has to to apologize to Reigen for making everything so awkward. Maybe if he promises that he can control his feelings, that it won’t get in the way, things could go back to normal. Serizawa wishes the earth would swallow him whole. But it won’t— not without Serizawa splitting the earth open himself, at least. But if Serizawa wants to have any chance of reintegrating into normal society he has to deal with his feelings in an adult way.

Of course, Reigen beats him to bringing it up, as Serizawa’s dragging up the nerve to say something at the end of the day. He’s just stood, closing his laptop as he says, “Serizawa,” and pauses immediately, scratching the back of his neck. “You know, when you mentioned inappropriate workplace relationships—“

“I promise it won’t get in the way of anything,” Serizawa says in an explosive rush. “Please don’t fire me.”

Reigen stares at him, one hand still resting on the back of his neck. This is a look that Serizawa’s unfortunately gotten to know quite well. It’s the look that Reigen gives him when he’s said something unexpected. Serizawa’s begun to mentally mark it as a sign as conversational failure. “Pardon?”

Serizawa was really desperately hoping that Reigen wouldn’t make him actually say it, but that was looking less and less likely. “When you read my palm,” he stammers out, clutching onto the edge of his desk for dear life. “I know maybe not everything you saw was— appropriate, or maybe it showed something it shouldn’t, but I promise I won’t let it get in the way of working here. I can maintain professional boundaries, and… And…”

His voice trails as he dares to look back into Reigen’s face. It’s completely red again, naked surprise totally dominating his features. His hand’s gripping the back of his chair, like it’s stuck there. Reigen very rarely holds still, but in this moment, he’s completely frozen in place. By shock.

Abruptly, Serizawa realizes he was wrong. Reigen hadn’t seen his feelings in the surface of his fingers. But if he didn’t know about it before, he definitely, definitely knows about it now.

For a split second, Serizawa’s certain the office will collapse around them— his powers going rampant one last time to spare him this complete embarrassment. But all that happens is the furniture trembles, once. Serizawa supposes, under the part of his brain that’s screaming for death, that it shows he’s made good progress on controlling his powers.

He stands robotically. “I should go,” he says.

“No— no,” Reigen suddenly blurts, and he unsticks himself from behind the desk, racing across the office after Serizawa. “Serizawa, wait—”

Serizawa trips over his chair in his rush to leave, which gives Reigen the time to grab his arm before he reaches the door. It would be very easy to pull free and continue his frantic path onto the street and into the horizon, but the feeling of Reigen’s fingers digging into the side of his arm totally arrests Serizawa. He freezes, staring down into Reigen’s still beet-red face.

Reigen’s face is twitching in some kind of worrisome motion— he really looks like he’s about to have some kind of seizure, especially when his complexion is still so totally red. But finally, he manages to speak. “Our heart lines might not be so different, you know,” he says, voice wobbling just a little from— nerves? That can’t be right. Unless Reigen’s so totally disgusted by him that he’s nervous to be around him, now. But he’s holding on so tightly. Like he doesn’t want Serizawa to go.

Serizawa’s eyes slide away, not wanting to look at Reigen dead on, but then Reigen tugs his arm, insistent, trying to get his attention again. “Obviously, the qualities that we have, and the ways that we love— hypothetically— are very different,” Reigen says, voice gaining volume. “But, maybe similar things are revealed if you look closely. Just… A little closer.”

And then he doesn’t say anything, staring wide eyed at Serizawa. He’s clearly waiting for something, as Serizawa’s brain shudders to put the pieces together past every instinct that’s screaming at him to escape. Serizawa can’t conceive of a person being more different from him than Reigen. Any kind of similarity seems like too much to imagine. A similarity of the heart line? Maybe, Reigen has some of the good qualities he’s superimposed onto Serizawa, and that’s what he means. Or maybe— maybe—

Before he can stop himself, Serizawa’s hand slides up to grab the one that Reigen’s got on his arms. This time Reigen’s hand is damp with sweat. So is Serizawa’s, and he can’t imagine that it’s a pleasant experience for Reigen. Still, Reigen spreads his fingers, interlacing Serizawa’s fingers with his as they fall to the side.

“Just a little closer,” Reigen says again, voice almost a whisper as he steps into Serizawa’s personal space. The gap between their bodies narrows, and then vanishes, Reigen’s torso pressing against Serizawa’s.

It seems, impossibly, to be what Reigen wants. So before he can stop himself, Serizawa dips his head and kisses Reigen.

Reigen’s body leans up and into Serizawa, his free hand reaching up to touch his face. Underneath the fireworks happening behind Serizawa’s eyelids, there’s a moment of terror at Reigen touching his face— like he’ll find some patchy place where Serizawa missed shaving, or the pockmarked memory of an acne scar, and abruptly snap out of whatever insanity’s fallen over him. But Reigen touches his cheek gently, so, so, gently, and the fingers encircling Serizawa’s only tighten.

He’s sure, from any objective standpoint, it’s not a very good kiss— Serizawa’s never kissed anyone before, so his skills are probably awful. But it also means it’s the best he’s ever had. He never wants to come up for air.

Eventually, though, their faces break apart. Reigen’s face is still twitching a little, but now it’s up into an almost manic smile. Serizawa’s starting to wonder if the blush across Reigen’s face will ever subside. “This is,” Reigen begins, and then stops.

Reigen’s words rarely stop, and the silence stretches on for a few uninterrupted seconds until Serizawa realizes that genuinely, Reigen’s lost for words. A laugh threatens to break loose from Serizawa’s chest, but he doesn’t want it to seem like he’s laughing at Reigen. He only wants to express that whatever Reigen’s feeling, Serizawa understands. Completely and totally. It’s something he feels confident of when typically, Serizawa feels confident of nothing. So he just smiles, hoping that maybe, Reigen will understand too.

“I should have gotten into palmistry earlier,” Reigen says finally, and at that Serizawa can’t suppress his laugh. “Clearly I should screw around reading articles on the weekend more.”

“This wasn’t the reason you learned about palmistry,” Serizawa says, laugh still making his voice shake.

“Hell no,” Reigen snorts. “I just wanted to find another way to make a quick buck.” Then, immediately, he adds, “and also help our clients find out important truths about themselves, and the universe, of course—”

“While making a quick buck,” Serizawa says. It feels too joking, too disrespectful, but then, Serizawa’s just kissed Reigen. Reigen’s kissed him back. Worrying about professionalism seems suddenly pointless.

Reigen raises an eyebrow at him. “Sassy. Just don’t say that to the clients, Serizawa.”

His hand’s still clinging to Serizawa, gently swinging between them. Impulsively, Serizawa brings the hand up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. Reigen’s breath pulls in, and Serizawa feels his face heat. He suddenly realizes that really, he has no idea what Reigen expects from this. They could be on completely different pages, Serizawa could be moving too fast, he could be doing everything all wrong.

But Reigen’s smiling at him. It’s a smile that he hasn’t seen before— totally unlike the dazzling grins that he gives his clients, and everyone he’s trying to convince to believe him. It feels different. The other smiles, Serizawa realizes, are something that Reigen puts on, in the same way that he puts on his tie in the morning. This one is real. This one is for Serizawa.

There’s a part of his stomach that’s still telling him this whole thing is a bad idea. Every chapter on workplace relationships he’s taken careful notes on is flashing on the back of his eyelids when he blinks. But, more and more, Serizawa’s realized that Spirits and Such is far from a typical office environment. Serizawa’s not a typical employee, and Reigen— wonderful, strange, perfect, Reigen— is not a typical boss.

When they walk out of the office, Reigen’s still holding his hand. Serizawa hopes, impossibly, that he never stops.

[cole-grey-writes]

Brown Hair Braided

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Character(s): Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Pairing(s): Stucky x Male Reader

Warning(s): tooth rotting fluff

Request: Hi king!! Your writing is amazing! I’d love to request a cuddly stucky x boyfriend reader. Bonus points for extra snuggly long haired Bucky and Steve and the reader playing with his hair.

A/n: WOW so sorry this took me a while to get up. I was busy with online classes and homework, all that shit. and if anyone is interested to know, i finished applying to my first college (yeah cutting it suuuper short but fuck im a procrastinator). I really hope you enjoy this fic. Keep sending in your requests, i really like writing for you guys!

You sit at the desk that sits in your bedroom, doing some last minute paperwork before the weekend. You’re startled from your focus and analytical thoughts when you get a frantic text from one of your boyfriends, Steve. You smile.

It's been a couple years since you had started going out with Steve but it still feels like you two were in the honeymoon phase. Steve brings a smile to your face at even the slightest mention of him. Although, you’re a little confused as to why Steve didn’t just call you. It’s what he usually prefers to converse with you while you are away from each other, Steve having told you it had something to do with liking to hear your voice. You chose not to dig further to spare Steve’s already tomato red face from exploding.

You turn away from your computer and small stack of papers, picking up your phone just as the screen lights up with another text.

Steve [5:23 p.m.]    Y/N Y/N Y/N

Steve [5:23 p.m.]    HEY

Steve [5:24 p.m.]    ANSWER

You snort, wondering what Steve seems so excited about.

You [5:24 p.m.]    what

Steve [5:23 p.m.]    BUCK IS COMING HOME

You’re immediately sitting up straight, smile spreading even wider. You now understand why Steve had chosen to text you, probably embarrassed to start loudly squealing over their boyfriend coming home while in his place of work.

Bucky was your other boyfriend, something you wouldn’t have believed if you were to bring it up with your past self. This is mostly due to the almost palpable tension between the two of you when you and Bucky officially met about a year prior.

You, Steve, Sam, and occasionally Natasha, had been trailing after Bucky all over Europe for a few months. Bucky must have been slowly rebuilding himself during that time because he had suddenly stopped running right before you were going to hit the four (4) month mark.

You didn’t understand where all the awkwardness had been coming from. For all you knew, you were just looking for Steve’s childhood best friend, one of the only people to still remain from Steve’s old life. That was, until Sam and Natasha started making offhand comments about how deep Steve and Bucky’s friendship seemed to run (you honestly didn’t and don’t blame either of them for the new wave of insecurities that flooded your mind, you and Steve having agreed to keep the relationship, which you started only a few weeks before the reveal of HYDRA’s secret operations inside SHIELD, you started a secret until you two became more comfortable).

Everything made sense after that. It was understandable that you and Bucky had a fragile relationship in the beginning. And it really was only in the beginning. It didn’t take long before you and Bucky started bonding over your shared love for Steve and it didn’t take long after that before something started forming between the three of.

You [5:25 p.m.]    !!!!!

You [5:26 p.m.]    OMG

You [5:26 p.m.]    REALLY?!?

Steve [5:26 p.m.]    YES!

Steve [5:26 p.m.]    we need to hurry he’s on the way home rn

You [5:26 p.m.]    oH UM

You [5:27 p.m.]    i’m home rn

You [5:27 p.m.]    i can set up everything here

Steve [5:27 p.m.]    good!!

Steve [5:27 p.m.]    i can get dinner and dessert on my way home

You [5:27 p.m.]    perfect

Steve [5:28 p.m.]    ok 123 brEAK

You snort at Steve’s comedic antics as you push yourself away from your desk and away from your work. You know that you'll have to finish those at some point before monday. You’ll most likely be doing it late sunday night due to the fact that you’re going to be completely preoccupied with your boyfriends all weekend because it's been a few weeks since all three of you have been together.

This is obviously due to your hectic work schedules, Steve stuck with what was left of SHIELD, unofficially of course, doing top secret secret agent missions. Bucky had joined him in that soon after he was cleared for it. You, on the other hand, have a very typical and boring office job, a job that has become very demanding as of late with your boss giving out extra paperwork around your floor.

But, you don’t have to worry about that at the moment, you remind yourself. That thought spurs you into moving around your apartment, an apartment that you’ve been sharing with your boyfriends for a couple of months now. You note this fact with a small surge of glee inside your head as you rush to your closet where you keep all your blankets at.

You pull out the blankets you have, which is quite a lot, a fact you’re slightly embarrassed to admit. You’ve accumulated a bunch of them throughout your entire life, some as gifts from your friends and family and others from your lack of self control during the fall and winter time of the blatant holiday themes are anything to go by. You’re pretty sure your old baby blankets are boxed up somewhere, likely under your bed.

You pile the load of blankets high in your arms, so much so that you can’t see where you’re going if you don’t walk sideways as you make your way towards the living room. The living room where everything is going to happen.

Dropping the mountain of blankets on the couch unceremoniously, you immediately start to arrange them all around the couch. You bunch and ball the blankets around the back of the couch, trying to form a cocoon out of them so that you, Steve, and Bucky can remain warm no matter where or how any of you sit while you watch movie after movie throughout the rest of the night.

Which reminds you, it’s not possible to have a movie night without any movies.

turning to the small movie rack that sits next to the TV, you waste no time at all in picking out any movies that catch your eye which are quite a few movies, a good number of which are Steve and Bucky’s favorites. You set the, rather large, stack of movies next to the couch blanket fort so they’re out and ready to pick through whenever.

You’re left with a small clean up after that. You clear off the coffee table for when Steve gets home with the food, picking up leftover coffee mugs (courtesy of Steve) and rinsing them before sticking them in the dishwasher for you to deal with later. Then, you move the books lying around the living room to the miniature bookshelf in your bedroom before gathering all the drawing paper and well used pencils (also courtesy of Steve) and placing those on the left bedside table, the side Steve likes to sleep on when he’s not in the middle.

You wander around the apartment after that, looking for anything else to clean while you wait for Steve to arrive. It takes less time than you think it should have, which is surprising, so surprising that you almost think someone is politely breaking in when you hear the sound of the door clicking open and closed.

You head out of your bedroom where you were perusing a book, something you could distract yourself with, when you heard. You walk into the kitchen to see Steve already unpacking the food, clearly having rushed home.

You’re not able to hold back your smile upon seeing your boyfriend for the first time in weeks. “Need any help?” you wonder, your appearance catching Steve’s attention. He turns towards you, it being quite obvious that Steve is as excited to see you as you are to see him if the wide smile that spreads across his face in seconds is anything to go by.

Steve pauses in his unpacking to lean towards as you approach him swiftly, so he can pull you into a warm kiss. You and Steve feel each other smile during the kiss, making you two smile even harder. “Help would be great,” Steve tells you after you separate. He resumes unpacking the food from the plastic bag it was put into.

You identify the logo on the bag now that you’re so close and it’s clear that the food is from Bucky’s favorite burger place. You take note of the food as you help Steve set everything out on the counter. There’s three (3) different to-go boxes, no doubt filled with favorite menu items. You also spot three (3) medium sized milkshakes sitting in the cup container.

“Dessert?”

“It’s in the fridge,” Steve informs you.

Making a sound of interest and curiosity, you ask, “What is it?”

Steve smirks and raises his eyebrows. “Went to the store and got one of those ice cream cakes Buck likes.”

“Well,” you start, “that will certainly be a nice treat for later.”

You and Steve share a smile as you both grab the food and milkshakes so you can bring it to the living room. The living room where you plan to have dinner and a show with your two wonderful super-soldier boyfriends.

Afterwards, you and Steve resign yourselves to standing around the kitchen, catching up on the last few weeks. You and Steve are ready to happily greet Bucky once the time comes that he opens the door.

It feels like time drags on and on while you two are waiting so you’re very much thankful when you finally hear the turning of the doorknob. You and Steve separate from where you had been wrapped around each other, turning and shouting Bucky’s name in excitement. Just as he walks through the door, Bucky is all bashful as soon as he sees his two boyfriends greet him with spread arms and wide smiles.

You look him up and down for the first time in quite awhile, Bucky just as gorgeous as he always was. He clearly showered and changed beforehand if the damp hair and sweatpants are anything to go by.

Bucky drops the gym bag, obviously filled with his dirty and possibly damaged suit, on the floor. He stretches his arms out, resting each hand on the back of your and Steve’s necks so he can pull you both in close to give each of you a kiss on the lips.

“Welcome home.”

“Welcome home indeed,” Bucky rumbles back, a heart-eye look sweeping across his face. You’re one of the two people on earth that gets to receive that look, not that you mean to brag or anything.

“I’ll take your bag and put it in our room,” Steve tells Bucky. Bucky thanks him before he pulls Steve into another kiss. It’s something you feel there’s going to be a lot of for the rest of the evening, which you look forward to.

Steve takes Bucky’s gym bag from him before walking off so he can do exactly as he said, leaving you and your other boyfriend by yourselves in the kitchen. Once Steve is out of reach, you feel Bucky’s hand move from the back of your neck to your waist, which allows him to pull you in close. He presses you against his chest so he can engage in a deep reunion kiss. It’s been a long time since you’ve last felt his lips against yours which is why you allow yourself to indulge.

You have to force yourself to take a step back. “Not that I'm not enjoying this, because I 100 percent am, but…” you trail off as you take Bucky’s hand in yours, ”we should go to the living room for your first surprise.”

“First surprise?” Bucky’s tone lilts in clear interest, eyebrows raising. It’s almost as if he’s joking but you’re able to tell that Bucky’s genuinely looking forward to what you and Steve have prepared for him.

“We haven’t seen each other properly in weeks. There’s a lot to catch up on.”

“Well, I am definitely looking forward to it. Lead the way, doll,” Bucky instructs you, causing you to chuckle before you turn away from him in order for him to lead him into the living room.

You present the done up living room with wide open arms and an enthusiastic ‘ta-da’ and it seems that if Bucky’s smile could get bigger, it probably would. He surveys your and Steve’s work before he turns back towards you and also Steve, who has just rejoined you and Bucky. “What do you think, Buck?”

“You know what I think, Stevie baby,” Bucky tells him, grabbing one of each of your and Steve’s hands. “I absolutely love it.”

Changing the subject a little, you say, “Well, pick a seat because none of us are moving for anything other than changing the movie and getting dessert.”

Bucky hums, his voice lifting up high at the end. “Dessert, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve dismisses before his boyfriend could get any ideas. “You have to finish your dinner first.”

Bucky nods eagerly, not in any way bothered by being withheld dessert, before he takes his seat in the middle of the couch. He clearly wants to have his boyfriends cuddled up on either side of him.

“So, what do you want to watch first?” you question while you scoot the pile of movies closer to Bucky, who doesn’t take any time at all to begin picking out the movie he wants. And as it turns out, it’s a horror movie called The Apparition.

While he takes it from the pile, Bucky comments, “Been awhile since I’ve seen one fo these.”

“Horror movie, huh?” Steve jokes. “Trying to be our knight in shining armor while we cower behind you in fear?” you laugh alongside your boyfriends.

You settle back on the couch once you’ve taken the movie from Bucky and put it in the DVD player, which begins to play shortly after. You and your boyfriends snuggle into each other’s sides, feet pulled close to your bodies as you all munch on your food.

Well, it’s more like Steve and Bucky are eating their food. At the moment, you were less interested in your food and more interested in Bucky. Your boyfriend was distracting in general, both of them were. But it’s the smooth brown waves of Bucky’s hair that’s distracting you specifically. It looks so soft, especially so after Bucky’s washed it, and you just want to run your fingers through it, play with it for hours.

Your eyes wander down to your wrist as you continue to think about your boyfriend’s long hair, eyes catching on the little black band around your wrist. It’s a hair tie, one that you and Steve always have wrapped around your wrists for this precise reason. For tying up Bucky’s hair when he needs or wants to. It’s a habit to keep hair ties on your person constantly, originating right around the time Bucky was cleared to go on missions. He had decided that he wanted to keep his hair long, at least for the time being, so as the length of Bucky’s hair grew larger so did the need for hair ties at any given time.

You glance between Bucky’s hair and the hair tie, your self control wearing thin. After only a few seconds, you’re not able to help yourself from reaching your hand out to your boyfriend’s beautiful brown hair. You weave your fingers through a few strands is all it takes for your desire to skyrocket.

Tangling both of your hands to Bucky’s hair, you feel him pause in his eating but you pay it no mind as you begin to languidly braid his hair. It’s not long before another pair of hands join yours. Looking over, you spot a giddy Steve on the other side of Bucky. It appears as if your thoughts have rubbed off on him because he grabs the other half of Bucky’s hair so he can braid it alongside you.

Bucky chuckles, clearly amused. “You two are ridiculous.” Although, you wonder if Bucky can really blame you.

“Your hair is really beautiful, though,” Steve adds. Bucky doesn’t say anything in response, not that it matters. The blush that highlights his cheeks for the next five minutes is telling enough.

You and Steve share knowing looks as you both continue to braid your boyfriend’s hair, permanent smiles stretching across your faces.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

[ageoldamateur]

Introduction to my OC (Full story release!)

I think I should at least try to post the entire story now that I finished writing it.

While this is my first story posted here and my very first G/T story I have ever written, I have to apologize anyway for the way this story is set out as I do not know enough about Tumblr to formulate them into the same style as other writers here (Canadian policy, I must apologize to keep my citizenship). I don’t know how to bold letters or put symbols up, so I will just write as I would normally.

Also, while this is the first introduction of my Tinysona until Pixie draws me, this does not mean that I will not change anything later when I grow more comfortable with my Tinysona.

TW: Pre-vore, Safe/Soft Vore

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

I guess I need to introduce myself, should I?

You can call me Spartan and 2 months ago, I was a normal person. Just about to turn 22, I was thin and healthy and should have been happy with my life.Then I meddled with magic and ended up as small as the average finger. However, that spell also granted me strength, agility, and endurance many times that of my previous self, which I believe is a good enough trade off. Still, I needed food and safety, so I went looking for a place before getting taken in by Rose, another human who seemed to be completely fine with having a tiny living with her. I will later find out why later...

Rose sat at the table, a large hardcover book sitting in front of her. One hand held her chin while the other lightly wrapped around Spartan, who was using her fingers as hand holds so that he could see the pages. This was the third book of the series and both of them were concentrating, leaving the air still in the morning rays.

Standing on Rose’s shoulder with one of her fingers pressing against his collarbone, Spartan finished the page and set his head down on the finger. He had only known Rose for 2 months now, but it felt like a lifetime. He only had to live a life alone and shrunken for a few days before he found comfort in Rose. Of course, he had scared the daylights out of her when he first got her attention, but the bruise faded the next day and he was able to talk to her as an equal after that.

Now, they lived as a couple, or as much as you can when one of the people was the size of a finger and thus couldn’t work a job or around the house. It infuriated him, but Spartan tried to make it up by working on her computer and organizing everything there while Rose did her job. There were only sparse moments where she would read with him, so he treasured them and hoped that she didn’t mind that he couldn’t handle the books she owned.

Spartan spared a glance towards Rose, her green eyes steadily following each line on the page. If he was regular size, he highly doubted he would have landed anyone like her and even now still wondered why she let him stay. Sure, he did some tasks around the house, but nothing she couldn’t do faster and more effectively than him. Maybe there was something he wasn’t seeing.

Looking back down, his eyes focused on the finger that was closest to his head. Spartan was no stranger to the weird impulses that he got (autism never made anyone normal), but he took some time to ponder what the impulse was before acting on it.

Rose just finished the last paragraph of the page when she felt a soft pressure on her finger that held Spartan. Confused, she glanced down, using her freed hand (the one not holding Spartan) to brush aside her hair. Sure enough, Spartan was gently biting the side of her finger; in no way close to hurt, but much life how a dog holds something in his mouth. Rose was close enough to notice how Spartan’s eyes were unfocused, a sign that he was dissociated from the world around him.

“Are you biting me?” Rose asked skeptically. Snapping back into the real world, Spartan quickly let go.

“No! No, I wasn't biting you. I was just resting my mouth on …” His excuse died on his lips as he realized that he really did not have one other than an impulse, which sounded as hollow as the one he just said. Rose just stared at him for a moment longer, Spartan blushing and looking away, then slightly shrugged and turned the page.

***later that same day***

Spartan woke up the phone and checked the time.

7:37. He still has over half an hour until he expects Rose to leave work. Perfect.

Spartan quickly unlocked it and picked his playlist: a collection of sea shanties and folk songs. While Rose knew about the playlist, he never played it for her; different music tastes were perfectly fine in a relationship as long as they understood what the other wanted to listen to. Spartan usually listened to the playlist while working or in this case when he was finished and wanted to belt out songs.

As he picked out a song to start the playlist on, he mentally checked the list again, even though the physical copy was lying on the table in the kitchen, marked by himself. He did all the preparations for Rose’s taxes, organized the cabinet and the food within, and made sure Rose’s makeup was up to date. He had also given Chilly some exercise even though that wasn’t part of his list; though the cat understood Spartan’s place in the household, it still didn’t stop the kitten from chasing him around the house whenever she got the zoomies.

Spartan finally settled on a classic; “Home Boys Home,” by the Skullduggers. Pressing play, the music blared out of the bluetooth speakers; not loud enough to cause a noise complaint, but probably too loud for his ears health. Spartan sprang onto the coffee table and began to sing at the same level of the music, arms singing by his side as he paced around and followed the music.

As the song changed, Spartan would take a moment to recall the lyrics, then bounced to the beat. He didn’t know how long he sang for (he knew almost all of them by heart), but he had eventually grown tired enough to sit on the table, hands behind him and legs outstretched. He couldn’t see the clock, but suspected Rose to arrive home at any moment. When he heard the door open, he would turn off his music.

Spartan felt the warmth before the teeth met his chest. He flinched out of fear, letting out a manly squeak as they gripped his torso and lifted him off the table. Rose held Spartan sideways in her mouth much like a cat would a fish she caught and flopped down on the couch, turning off the music with a tap on the phone.

“Jeepers, Rose! I didn’t hear you come home!” Spartan said, his free left arm keeping Rose’s lips from suffocating him. He wasn’t necessarily stuck, he was much stronger than he appeared to be, but he still didn’t know how much his augmented endurance could endure should Rose bite down. “When did you arrive?”

Rose loosened her mouth, letting go of Spartan so that he tumbled off her chin and landed on her chest. “About an hour ago, before you began to sing your songs. I had a short day today, but decided to climb in through the window cause I didn’t want to deal with Gabe’s smoking in the hallway again.

“You really didn’t notice me gathering snacks and getting ready for movie night?” She asked. Spartan blushed, noticing now that Rose’s arms and hands were full of treats. That would explain why he ended up in her mouth, though the way she did grab him (sideways so that his head wasn’t in her mouth) meant she would have had to have craned her neck at an awkward angle in order to grab him.

“Sorry Rose, I guess I was quite invested in my music.” Spartan said, stepping a little closer to her collarbone, if only to get away from the potential awkwardness of being sandwiched in her breasts. “What movie did you pick?”

Rose grinned and pointed towards the TV where the DVD was sitting. Spartan bounded over and took a glance. “A Sizable Matter”, directed by Rogers Phill <fictional, don’t need to look it up>. It was advertised as ‘safe and fun for the whole family with stunning action and a romance of unusual proportions’. Ratings appeared good, but Spartan knew not to trust those. Before he shrunk, he had seen the critically acclaimed “5th Element” and thought it was terrible and sexist in a modern standard.

But, this was another one of those times where he could hang out with Rose, so he popped it out and slid it into the player. He hopped back as Rose began working on some gummies. Spartan chose one for himself and began munching; he wasn’t much into sweets on the regular but hey, he could treat himself if he wanted to.

The movie was actually really good, alternating perspectives between the race of Giants and humans. The main character was known as a Shifter, which meant they could alternate between the size of a giant or a human. It was their duty to solve the conflict between the two races with the help of several side characters.

Both Spartan and Rose were invested, Spartan resting on Rose’s throat, only slightly distracted by her swallowing. Eventually, the movie reached a close, the Shifter and their friends having almost finalized a treaty before a full fledged war happened. However, the main villain triggered a trap that sparked the war to happen in earnest. Just as the Shifter and their allies were about to head off again, the movie ended.

“Oh, are you kidding me?!” Spartan shouted, falling off of Rose in the process of reacting to the abrupt ending of the movie. Rose didn’t react to the same effect, she wasn't as invested in films like Spartan; yet she did utter a grunt of annoyance.

Rose watched as Spartan fell off the couch, thudding onto the ground and lying there splayed right beside some fallen Gummy bears. “I don’t know about you, I really enjoyed the movie.”

“Same here, but my goodness, there needs to be a sequel made immediately!” Spartan said, grabbing one of the gummies and hugging it to his chest. “The Shifter was the best character! They were so wholesome and adorable; the moments where the movie decides to slow down and let us watch them just cuddle their friends were perfect breaks in between all of the combat scenes!”

“I agree,” Rose said, reaching down to grab the gummies around Spartan, “they were the ideal hero. Though if I am to be honest, I grabbed the movie because of one scene shown in the trailer.”

“What scene was that?” Spartan extended his arms towards Rose with the Gummy in hand.

Rose smiled. From the floor, Spartan suddenly got worried as he saw his friend from a very different perspective. “This one.” She said.

Her fingers reached past the extended Gummy and grabbed Spartan’s chest, wrapping gently around him. Popping the other Gummy bears into her mouth, she raised Spartan over her head and gave him a good view of the inside of throat. She swallows, Spartan watching as they disappear down her gullet. He dropped the one he was holding, it landing on her tongue and then joining the others in her stomach.

Spartan knew the scene of which she was referring to. A giant monster had nearly eaten one of the Shifters' friends much like the predicament he was in currently. However, Spartan assumed that no hero was going to be saving him from this maw.

With no more gummies to eat in her mouth, Rose closed her mouth and locked eyes with Spartan. She smiled at him and Spartan returned it, though a bit confused as to what was happening. She lowered him down towards her mouth, still smiling. Spartan closed his eyes.

And Rose gave him a kiss, her lips almost sucking his face off before she pulled him back. “Oh, don’t worry yourself, I won’t be doing anything to you. After all, you are the only man who has ever cared about me.” She set him down on the coffee table and let her arm hang off the couch.

Spartan, still a little confused at the sequence of events that had just happened, sat up and watched Rose settle down and cover her eyes with her right hand. He crossed his legs and listened as Rose spoke.

“Before you scared the living daylights out of me, I hated my life. My job felt like it was draining me of energy and there was only Chilly at my home which felt more like a burden than a blessing. I had no one who I felt like cared about my interests, checked to make sure I ate, and accompanied me when I went out. I honestly felt like there was no reason for my life.

“Then you appeared, asking for my help. And once I got over my shock of your appearance, I realized that I could help you, I had a purpose again. Now whenever I get home, I can look forward to hanging out with you to read my favourite book or play chess or just talk and chill. It was like having a boyfriend that never demanded sex or asked for favors. It was like a dream come true.

“In more ways than one…” Rose mumbled.

“You are into vore?”

Judging by the silence of Rose, Spartan thought right, though her example kind of gave it away as well. Spartan stood up and hopped back onto the couch, crawling onto Rose’s stomach. Rose raised her arm to look at him.

“Rose, I have been so blessed to have been able to meet you. It boggles me to think that if I didn’t cast this spell I would not have met you or even be able to get to know you. I wouldn’t have been able to know that you enjoy mystery and steampunk stories, or that your favourite colour to wear is red because it reminds you of Autumn. I wouldn’t know that you were mistaken for a boy all the way up till grade 11 and you learned how to cook from your older brother.” Spartan said, walking up towards her head.

“You said your life got a purpose once I entered it. Well, I didn’t know what I was missing until I began to live with you. I found that I was capable of love and was worthy of affection. I was allowed to be weird and helpful and now that I have learned that I have helped you? I feel like I have actually done something for you now.” Spartan allowed himself to fall forward onto Rose’s cheek, giving his giant friend a hug to the best of his abilities.

Rose closed her eyes, feeling the closure of her tiny friend. She allowed her mind to wander and thought about a scenario where she could have met Spartan when he was the same size as her. Rose probably would not have spared him a second glance at a man just going through the motions. But because of a happy little accident, she had a person who shared feelings with her sitting on her face.

“Soooo… this vore thing.”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing! Forget about it!” Rose said quickly, picking up Spartan and setting him down on the couch, sitting up as well.

“No, no, I am sorry if it is too awkward to talk about it!” Spartan said as he was set down. ‘It’s just… I also might be into it.”

Rose froze, mouth slightly opened. Spartan continued, “Of course, I have only used my imagination, so I have no clue if I would actually enjoy being swallowed, feeling the warmth of someone I love surrounding me.”

Spartan looked up at Rose, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “I never thought there would be a chance for me to make it a reality. Actually, that sounds quite selfish. I never thought I would be given the opportunity to experience it. Er, or that you would offer. Wait, you didn’t offer, I was just rambling, or am rambling, or just talking to myself-”

Rose poked him in the chest, pinning him down with her hand and her finger covering his mouth. It covered most of his face, leaving just one eye to lock in on hers as she leaned down towards him.

“You’re so lucky you are cute,” Rose said softly, “or else I would never be able to stand you.” Rose smiled and Spartan could see the warmth in it; despite the teasing, she really did care for him. Adjusting her grip, she picked up Spartan, holding him up towards her face.

She sighed, “I am actually going to do this, aren’t I?” she said more to herself, looking Spartan up and down. “Do you consent to being swallowed up by a hot and beautiful girl?”

Spartan looked around. “I don’t see one around, is she hiding?” He smiled at his joke as Rose scoffed. “I consent to be swallowed up by a hot, beautiful, intelligent, and amazing girl.” Spartan said slowly and clearly, locking eyes with Rose.

“Well, since I’m the only girl in the room, I hope that means me.” Rose said nonchalantly. Taking a steadying breath, she put Spartan into her mouth feet first. He fit without too much difficulty, squishing comfortably past her teeth as he was pushed all the way in.

Rose didn’t know what she expected to taste, but it certainly didn’t taste as exhilarating as the fics she had read led her to believe. Also, he was quite large now that he was in her mouth; normally she wouldn’t notice but because she didn’t dare chew, all she really did was move Spartan back and forth in her mouth.

Spartan was holding his breath just in case he realized that he couldn’t breath in there. Other than that, he absolutely enjoyed his time, rolling over and over again across the sticky surface, occasionally bumping into the teeth. He could feel that Rose was trying her best to get comfortable with him, but was struggling.

“Ugh, ‘ow ‘o ‘hey ‘ake it ‘ook so easy?” Rose said, opening her mouth to speak and give Spartan some fresh air. She let her tongue rest and felt her throat relax as well. Getting a spike of courage, she started to tilt her head back.

“That’s the same question I would expect some newly weds would ask.” Spartan said, his voice barely making it out of her mouth.

Rose snorted, then gagged as Spartan’s bare feet hit her tonsils. Still chuckling and coughing, Rose spat out Spartan into her hand and turned away to cough into her elbow. Spartan sat on Rose’s hand, curled up with his knees to his chest now that he was out of the warm environment.

“*cough* You really said that at the *cough* worst time, Spartan.” Rose said, starting to recover. She looked back at Spartan sitting in her hand, worrying that she had hurt him when she convulsed. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine, though I feel like I just got out of a nice warm hot tub.” Spartan said honestly. “I don’t know if you are comfortable with this yet, though. I might be too big for you to go all the way with, no offence.”

Spartan stood up on Rose’s hand, eyes towards the ground to hide his disappointment. “I did enjoy being in your mouth, though. It was exactly as I imagined it to be; warm, comfortable, and the closest I’ve been to you bef-”

Rose, in a surge of frustration, shoved Spartan not too gently up and then down, effectively overriding her natural gag reflex through sheer speed. She swallowed hard, feeling Spartan slide down with ease before catching her breath. Then she realized what she had just done.

“Oh heck… I really did just eat him,” Rose said softly, looking down at her stomach. She jumped up, rushing over towards the bathroom. Just as she opened the door, she heard Spartan.

“Rose? You sound panicked, is everything okay?” His voice was muffled, but clear enough to understand. The voice was definitely coming from her stomach and Rose could feel Spartan shifting around to get comfortable. Rose sighed, leaning up against the sink and looking at herself in the mirror.

“Yeah, I am feeling better now that I can hear you.” Rose paused. “How do you feel?”

Silence. “Like I am safe and secure. I feel like I am getting a full body hug. Though, the Gummy bears in here kind of ruin the moment…” Spartan said.

Rose laughed. “Sorry about that. Next time, I will make sure your cuddle buddies aren’t as sticky and sweet. I wasn’t exactly planning for this when I got home from work today.”

Rose closed her eyes, feeling Spartan’s movements and a surge of parental protection. She could feel his limbs against her abs and could picture him in her stomach. She had been looking at the entire idea of vore the wrong way; She felt more protector than predator and it was amazing.

“As much as I would love to stay like this forever, I feel like we should think about how I will be getting out; I don’t know how safe this is. I think it’s because of my heightened endurance from the spell that has allowed me to breath so far, but I don’t want to press it.”

“Well, I think there is only one way for you to exit,” Rose stated, leaning back over the sink.

“Technically, there are two…”

“Shut up.” Rose said, then tried to trigger her gag reflex. After a while of trying, Rose felt Spartan shift around and reach up and suddenly it became a lot easier. She deposited Spartan into the sink and turned on the faucet for him.

“That was an amazing experience, Rose,” Spartan said, sticking his head in the water. “I just hope that you enjoyed it as well.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Just got out of me and already jumped to the initiative in taking care of me.” She reached into the drawer beside the sink and pulled out a washcloth. She set it down next to Spartan, then stepped out of the room to give him some privacy.

“Well, did you? You asked me how I felt when I was in you.” Spartan said. There was a moment of silence as Rose thought about her answer. “I just realized how much of an innuendo this can be seen as. Should we pick a name for this experience? Something tamer?” Spartan added.

“Maybe later,” Rose sighed, putting her back on the wall and letting herself slide down until she was sitting on the floor. She rubbed her eyes, the memory of the experience still quite vivid in her mind. “To answer your question, I don’t really know yet.

“I went into it with an expectation, as most people do, and had those expectations quite subverted by reality. It was scary and surprising, but after I committed to it, it felt… comforting. I liked the feeling you gave me; it was as if I had hidden you away from the entirety of the world, all of the harm and hardships couldn’t reach you anymore.”

Rose rested her hands on her stomach, remembering Spartan cradled within her. “I already miss it, even though it hasn’t even been 2 minutes since you were there.”

“Well, you can always look forward to the next time those cravings hit.” Spartan said, strolling past the door wrapped up in the washcloth and viciously rubbing his hair. “Though, maybe without having eaten a ton of gummies beforehand. I think I have turned permanently sticky!”

Rose laughed, then scooped him up. “Come on, sticky boy, it’s almost 12. I need to get to sleep so that I can make it to work tomorrow.” She put him in his alcove, then disappeared into her room with Chilly.

Spartan got settled down and thought back on his day. He smiled. It was a pretty good day.

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

I think I need a break from vore, I don't know how I will top this for a while. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed my… interesting writing style compared to the other writers on this website.

[dal3ks]

the project

pairing: peter parker x female reader 

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut, cursing, teasing, coaxing, pet names, mentions to anatomy, marking, oral(receiving), both characters are of age! 

a/n: this was a fic i had posted on my main account @a-dorin​, but i am in the process of switching over content so that it is a strictly star wars account! just a disclaimer, i am not plagiarizing or stealing content, as this is my fic!

"today i have an exciting announcement," your chemistry teacher gushed, "since we are right on track for the unit, we will be taking a slight detour in our lesson plans. this whole week, we will be learning all about human chemistry!"

the class groaned, and you turned around to your best friend, nova, "how fucking lame."

she winked at you, "it'll be fun."

"so, to kick off this unit, we will be conducting a project on chemical reactions in the human body. i know you all have lab partners, but to make it fun, i will be drawing names out of a cup. everyone's name is on a slip of paper. i will begin drawing names right now, then we will discuss some of the parameters of the project," your teacher continued, a wide smile on his face.

drawing in a sigh, you glanced around the entirety of the room. m.j., one of your close friends, looked intrigued, as she was sitting next to your best friend, nova. flash looked disgusted, while peter and ned both grimaced to one another.

a part of you was hoping you would be paired up with your high school crush, peter parker. ever since the first semester of your freshman year, you had been attracted to him. he had bumped into you in the hallway between seventh and eighth period, knocking your coffee out of your hand. he apologized profusely, even handing you a ten dollar bill for the next coffee run. ever since then, you wanted to get to know the shy boy.

peter was guarded. extremely guarded. his awkward demeanor didn't help at all. anytime you asked him the simplest question, he got flustered, red-faced and stuttered. part of you wondered if it was because he just wasn't a people person, or if it was because he liked you. 

both of you guys had made small exchanges since that encounter, whether it was greeting one another in the hallway, sharing a seat on a bus ride, or giving one another snacks in class. since m.j. was within your friend group, you did get to see peter some, as they were mutual friends.

every girl at your high school adored peter. he was charismatic, charming, and was passionate about his friends and school. also, who was ever offered the opportunity to work alongside tony stark? that was another aspect you adored about peter. whenever you guys did chat, it was usually a vivid, funny story about peter's internship with stark industries. his stories made you laugh every time.

even though peter was short, he was taller than you. his floppy brown curls had all of the girls drooling. his smile was radiant, and his body was amazing. you had snuck glances during gym class. the boy was extremely fit. you figured it was due to his internship with stark industries, or maybe the boy just liked to work out. regardless, his body was extremely attractive.

"(y/n) (l/n)," your chemistry teachers voice rang out, snapping you out of your thoughts, "you will be paired with... peter parker."

you widened your eyes, surprised at what you were hearing. glancing over at peter, you realized he looked just as surprised as you were. even though the class had "random" partners, the chemistry teacher usually paired you up with your friends.

after the teacher finished assigning partners, he cleared his throat, "all right everyone! please sit next to your partner while i hand out the rubrics. m.j., can you please help me pass out the papers?"

peter slid into the seat next to you, clearing his throat, "well, i guess we're partners."

"i don't mind it one bit," you flashed him a wide smile.

"so i'm not entirely sure what this project is," peter mumbled, his eyes focused on the table.

m.j. handed us the rubrics, "i'm not sure if you listened to the entire lecture, dipshit. the project is over chemical reactions in the human body."

peter looked sheepish, "yeah, i got that part. but is there anything in the rubric that states that we need to do?"

"i'm sure it's all in the rubric," m.j. smiled sweetly.

you slid peter a rubric for the project, "hey, i'm really sorry if i'm not ned."

"it's cool," he shrugged, obviously in distress. ned was paired with nova, and they were already working on their project, taking notes.

"how about i give you my number?" you inquired, sliding your phone out of your hoodie pocket, "and you come over tonight so we can get a head start?"

"that sounds good," he nodded, taking your phone and typing the number into his phone, "how about i call you when i'm on my way?"

you smiled, eagerly taking the phone back, "that works. i'm home alone tonight, so even better."

peter blushed, just nodding, "i'll call you later then when i'm on my way."

the bell rang, signifying the end of the period. luckily chemistry was your last class of the day. you walked home, bubbly that peter was coming over tonight. once you arrived home, you took a hot shower, shaved your legs, put on lotion, and threw on some clothes. since it was fall, you opted for an over sized hoodie, paired with black leggings. you sprayed your favorite perfume, ensured your skin looked good, and threw on mascara.

once you were all ready, you straightened up your room. you made your bed, throwing some stuffed animals in the closet. peter never told you a time he would come over, but you assumed it would be later in the evening. by the time you finished cleaning the house, it was about seven thirty-eight. you sighed, a feeling of distress creeping over you. what if peter didn't want to come over? what if he stood you up?

a knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. you fluffed your hair, opening the door. there, stood peter, with a white paper bag in his hand, a two liter of cherry coke in the other, "hey, can i come in?"

"of course," he stepped in, setting his book bag near the door, "what did ya bring me?"

he smiled slightly, "oh, my aunt went down to this deli and picked us up some subs and this soda."

"well," you began, "i'm not too hungry right now. maybe we could start on our project, and eat later?"

"okay," he handed you the bag, "you probably know where to put this."

you took it from him, "yeah, the kitchen is just this way. follow me."

"your house is so nice," peter breathed as he followed you, his voice low.

"thank you," you placed the bag in the fridge, taking the two liter from his hand, "you can thank my dad for that. he remodeled the whole house."

"he did an excellent job," peter peered at the kitchen, his brown eyes taking in the granite island, "this looks like somewhere tony stark would live."

you giggled, "it's not that nice."

"it's nice," he nodded enthusiastically, "your dad must be a genius. like a interior design genius."

"honestly he had this idea for a while," you felt myself smile again, "he just acted on it and made it happen. do you wanna head up to my room?"

peter's eyes widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, "i mean, yeah, we can do that. for sure."

you had him follow you upstairs to your room, guiding him. once you were in the room, he marveled at all of the posters, polaroids, and lights plastered on the walls. you sat down on the floor, grabbing your laptop. peter sat down next to you, biting his lip anxiously.

"oh shit," he mumbled, "i forgot my laptop downstairs."

"don't worry about it," you placed your hand on top of his, "we just need to do a little bit of research anyways. i was thinking maybe we could just do an oral presentation? or we could do PowerPoint. whatever you wanna do."

"okay," you were sure peter's lip would start bleeding if he chewed it even more than he already was.

as you both locked eyes, you noticed that he had a slight cut on his right cheekbone. you frowned, feeling yourself instinctively place your hand on his cheek, the pad of your thumb gently caressing it. he flinched at your touch, but kept looking at you.

"what happened? you didn't have that earlier today in class." the words tumbled out of your mouth, and you immediately felt nosy for asking.

"oh," he stuttered, "i ran into the door frame at the apartment on my way over here. i guess i was a little excited."

"excited to see me?" you raised a brow, feeling heat rush into your cheeks. a blush spread into your cheeks, and you immediately wanted to cover up your face.

"well," peter shifted nervously, "i mean, i didn't want to be too late, and i heard how you were going to be alone so i didn't want you to be alone, and yeah. um, yeah, i was excited to see you tonight."

you scooted closer to him, and his shyness began to dissolve, as he allowed you to continue to hold his face. you could almost feel his waves of anxiety radiating off of him. he was extremely nervous but you didn't know what about.

"peter," your voice was soft, "are you okay?"

his eyes met yours, “i kinda want to tell you something."

"and that is?" you bit my lip.

"i like you, like a lot. i mean, god you're so beautiful. all of the guys at school talk about you and jesus. i probably act like a fucking idiot all the time around you but god i like you so much. i even ran into the door frame because i was so excited to see you. and maybe you don't like me either but i just can't help but be nervous. i just care about you so much. you're so beautiful. like really really beautiful." all of the words tumbling out of his mouth sounded sincere. his cheeks were burning crimson with embarrassment.

"peter," you murmured, your face dangerously close to his. his bottom lip was swollen from him biting it earlier, "i have feelings for you too."

peter sighed with relief, "that makes me so happy."

"what's our project about again?" your hands felt for your laptop, and you pulled it closer to you two.

"chemical reactions in humans," peter answered, not breaking his gaze away from mine, "i have an idea for research since we haven't found a specific topic yet."

"and that is?" you raised an inquisitive brow.

he scooped you into his arms, laying you on your back on the bed. his lips met yours, kissing you eagerly. you pressed your lips against his, kissing him back, surprised at his rush of confidence. his tongue entered your mouth, the kisses becoming more and more hungry. peter's callused hands roamed your body under your hoodie, making contact with your skin. you shivered, goosebumps covering your body.

peter pulled back for a second, "is this okay?"

kissing him gently, you gave an answer against his lips, "yes, this is more than okay. it's amazing."

his lips pressed against your neck, sucking slightly. you knew there would be hickeys in the morning. you ran your hands through his hair, tugging lightly. he pressed his body against yours, and you could feel his hard on through his joggers. as he kissed down your neck, you palmed him through the fabric. he groaned against your neck, whining slightly.

peter motioned you to sit up, and you obeyed. his gentle fingers slipped the hoodie off your top half. a part of you wondered if he had done this with any other girl before. he slipped off his own shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. you felt a slight wave of insecurity washing over you, you weren't as near as fit as he was.

peter seemed to sense the shift in your mood, kissing your chest, "stop. you're beautiful. god, i need all of you."

you undid the clasp on your lace nude bralette, letting it fall onto the floor beside the bed. peter widened his eyes, grasping each one of your breasts in his hands. he squeezed gently, unsure of what to do next. his eyes met yours, full of lust. his bottom lip was slightly swollen from the kissing, and his pupils were dilated.

his mouth latched onto your breasts, giving each one of them an equal amount of attention. you laced your fingers into his hair, tugging harder this time as peter sucked, kissed, and licked all over your chest and breasts. the actions were driving you crazy. you could feel how wet you were, even with your leggings still on. as peter continued, you let out a small moan.

"what princess?" peter's voice was husky, "tell me what you want."

"i want you," you whined, "i want you so bad."

"mmm," he hummed, "that's not specific enough, baby. tell me exactly what you want."

"i want your touch so bad," your voice was edged with desire.

"yeah?" his voice was low.

you nodded eagerly, "i need you to touch me."

"as you wish princess," his lips pressed against yours gently.

peter's lips trailed down your stomach, leaving sloppy kisses. he stopped at the waistband of your leggings, his fingers hooking the fabric. he slipped your leggings off, his cheeks tinged red at the sight of your black lace thong.

"are you sure you're ready for it, princess?" peter's eyes met yours.

you bit your lip, nodding. god, he was so hot like this. his fingers delicately took your thong off, casting it to the floor. he took a second to let his eyes roam your body, savoring every inch of it. you felt peter's tongue immediately connect itself to your clit, going in slow, circular motions. you gripped his head, pressing his face into your thighs. that only encouraged him, as he began to suck on your clit. he inserted a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out.

"god," he groaned, "you taste so good baby."

"you're going to make me cum," you moaned, your cheeks hot and jaw slack. even though you had received oral before, peter was by far the best you ever had.

his tongue slowly licked up, taking in all of your pussy. he fingered you, making a hook with his two fingers. you could feel tension building up in you, driving you crazy. your orgasm was coming soon, and peter showed no signs of slowing down. peter wanted nothing more to do this all night if he could.

"you're close aren't you?" peter's breath was hot, "c'mon princess, you're almost there."

he sucked on your clit, squeezing one of your breasts in his hand. his fingers pulled on your nipple, and you felt yourself come undone. your loud moans filled the room, and peter gripped your thighs to keep you on the bed. he licked you until your thighs stopped trembling. once he was finished, he glanced up at you, his cheeks flushed.

you took his hand, sucking on his two fingers. he bit his lip, letting out a small sigh, "i told you that you tasted good."

your eyes drifted down at the sight of his hard on through his joggers. your hand palmed him through the fabric, and pleasure washed over him.

"hey peter," you murmured, "did you bring any condoms?"

his face reddened, "no, i, um. i have some, but not with me."

your fingers latched themselves on the waistband of his joggers, slowly gliding down his legs. he was still hard, his skin hot and his face flushed. his breath hitched in his throat as you pulled down his boxers, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock.

"peter," your eyes met his, "please fuck me."

he almost came at the sound of your words, the innocence in your tone. he pushed you on your back, kissing you hungrily. you felt his tip on your clit, and you let out a small whine.

"what princess?" his voice made the room ten times hotter, "tell me what you want."

"i want you," you whined, your pleas desperate, "i need you to fuck me so bad."

his cock entered you, and you let out a moan of pleasure. peter started with slow, rhythmic strokes, and you could feel all of him as he did so. as he fucked you, you placed wet kisses all over his toned chest and neck.

"you feel so good," peter groaned, his ears burning red. his eyes met yours, and you felt another wave of pleasure wash over you.

peter's lips met yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. there was a slight sheen of sweat on his skin, along with yours. he intensified his pace, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as he fucked you senseless. his shyness was now stripped away from him, and you loved it. you loved this moment and everything going on between you so goddamn much.

"i'm gonna cum," peter moaned. he pulled out, finishing on your stomach.

his eyes met yours once again, and you both laid there, taking in the moment. peter's lips met yours for a gentle kiss.

"i'll go grab something to clean this up with," you murmured, about to get up.

"no, you stay here," peter instructed, "just tell me where the bathroom is and i will grab a towel or something."

you gave in, telling peter where the bathroom was. he slipped on his boxers and joggers, and then went to on the search for a towel. he came back, carefully cleaning you up.

hopping off you bed, you grabbed a hoodie, throwing it on, "that was amazing."

he gave you a cheeky smile, "i just wanted to conduct some research."

"and what conclusions did you draw?" you giggled as you searched for a new pair of underwear.

"that one," he began, "you taste good. two, you have a beautiful body. and three, i cannot wait to do that again, baby."

you slipped on new thong, then found a pair of joggers, "how about we just forget the project for the rest of the night then?"

peter scooped you into his arms on the bed, cuddling you, "i don't think that's a bad idea. it's not due for another two weeks anyways."

you pressed your lips against his shoulder, "we'll be alone for another few hours anyways."

"sounds like there's going to be a round two soon then," he chuckled, "by the way, i hope i wasn't bad or anything. it was kind of my first time doing stuff like that."

you felt yourself gasp, "there's no way."

"i was a virgin before tonight so," he murmured, slightly embarrassed.

"don't be shy about it," you gave him a chaste kiss, "it's not something to be ashamed of."

"well maybe i will become experienced enough tonight and we can do our project about human chemistry during sex," peter teased.

"in your dreams, geek," you rolled your eyes playfully, and you felt his lips gently brush against your cheek.

you felt yourself collapse into his arms, feeling a slight wave of exhaustion overwhelm you. his fingers traced your back under the hoodie, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, content to be in the arms of your boy.

if only you got to spend every night like this with peter.

******