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qwimchii · 1 year

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 1) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 17.7𝘬 (crying TT)

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨��𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

note: the year is circa 1908 and 10 years after the spanish-american war (1898). reader has long hair bc i felt like that was historically accurate... hope that's ok <3

header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

you had heard the whispers on the horizon.

the whole town buzzed with a sort of energy—a swirling mass of dusty brown and gurgling in your stomach.

anxiety. you saw it on passerby faces through Daddy’s saloon, the bouncing knee of your mama under the table while you said grace at dinner. she never bounced her knee. it was a strict habit she trained you out of from a young age. claimed that it wasn’t proper for a young, unmarried lady like yourself.

that morning, when you stood over the wash bin in front of the dusty mirror, you wiped at your face with an old washcloth and smoothed the lines of your face like your mama taught you.

Ghost was coming to town.

no matter how you brushed your hair, the dust climbing through the desert coated it in a thin, particulate grime. Mama tightened your corset as you shoved your toes into leather heeled boots.

“remember yourself, girl,” she spoke lowly. “remember your manners. behave for once and don’t embarrass your daddy.”

you only rolled your eyes at her hissed warnings. you had met with Daddy’s business partners over several dinners where you put on your best show to pour them a glass of Daddy’s fancy bourbon all the way from kentucky.

these were the rules: you don’t speak to them unless spoken to, and you let them touch you however they please.

you shuddered, stomach curling at the thought of the last dinner. Mr. Turner’s wrinkled hand had slid up your thigh and you twisted away in reflex, accidentally knocking a bottle of bourbon onto the floor that shattered and soaked the hem of his wife’s fancy dress.

she had screamed at you and your daddy’s face had gone red, sending you a look of warning. Mama barely spared you a glance as she pulled you down to the floor to clean it up, pinching the skin of your arm in frustration.

you couldn’t tell if it felt worse to have Mr. Turner’s hand squeezing at your thigh or to be at your knees in front of him.

the strings of your corset pulled tight and you bit back a gasp as Mama tied it deftly with the practiced curl of her rough hands. you put on your best blouse and tucked it into a navy skirt that flowed into a blue, watery circle round your ankles. looking into the mirror, you thought your mama looked so much more poised and ready than you.

with a shaky exhale, you turned to her and she slapped at your face. you winced at the sting it left on your cheek.

“you’ll be fine.”

you felt far from it, trailing after her as the orange sun bled through the grimey windows, a blanket of dust settling on them in the windy evening. you had scrubbed them only yesterday.

settling yourself behind the expanse of Daddy’s bar, you smoothed over the dark wood. the saloon was eerily empty and quiet, a silent omen of Ghost’s arrival approaching. he had sent word only a few days ago. he had urgent business with Daddy and he was coming. now.

as you shuffled through Daddy’s whiskey collection, rearranging and wiping bottles down, you remembered the legends that alcoholics brought in every other week. another story on Ghost—the masked iron harbinger of death and justice. he wasn’t a sheriff, a good and honorable christian, or a vigilante. he was a bounty hunter, a cold-hearted gunslinger with a nasty sore spot for bourbon, money, and women. someone who disappeared without a trace, shooting out runaway criminals, bringing back carcasses for an extra dime.

he wasn’t even human.

a ghost. or so you heard.

you combed through the alcoholic contents, anxiously placing them and replacing them. your mama would be calling you to dinner any second and lead you to the table, Daddy at the head and Ghost at the other, right next to your spot where his hand would be on your thigh, eyes burning into the curve of your cheek.

swallowing, you leaned against the bar top. you wanted to run away. you didn’t know how much longer you could go—how many more business partners Daddy would work with to expand his saloon chain. how much longer until he would be selling his daughter’s honor for a bigger investment…

the familiar click and chime of the saloon doors swinging open came from behind. you crossed your arms and didn’t turn to see who it was. you knew Mama would’ve had your head for being so rude.

“saloon’s closed,” you called out, “Daddy’s got business with—”

“Ghost.”

you stiffened and uncrossed your arms to peer over your shoulder.

there, at the entrance of the saloon, stood a broad and tall figure, hips thick and laden with a gun holster. he hooked his fingers on his belt, embroidered silver buckle glimmering in the red hours of the evenings. his backlit silhouette stark against the sunset made it hard to make out anything else, but you were sure when you saw the shine of his red mask and the wide berth of his black Stetson, a silver skull and crossbones clasped to its brim.

Daddy’s got business with Ghost.

you were frozen. the casual way his thick gloved hand settled on his revolver sent tremors through you.

“you’re supposed to be at dinner with Daddy,” you said, throat tight, and he trudged forward, boots heavy on the wood floorboards. he walked with a heady weight, and as he neared, you could make out the darkness of his eyes piercing through his skull mask.

“wanted bourbon.”

you stared at him for a long moment. he sat at a barstool, all his weight and broadness settled over the bartop. whatever trance you were in broke when he tipped his head at you in question—or impatience, you couldn’t discern. probably the latter.

you fumbled for a kentucky bourbon. you had done this a million times over at the saloon, but the crackle of the air and his gaze following your every move had your hands wobbling. the shaky clink of the bourbon bottle against the glass grappled with the silence of the room. suddenly, you felt hyper aware of the looseness of your blouse when you bent to pour his bourbon. you didn’t dare look up into his gaze.

“you scared of me?” his accent was foreign and grating and sent shivers down your spine. you should’ve been hollering for your mama at this point, but you felt rooted to the spot.

shakily, you exhaled. “no.”

when you pulled back, you watched in amazement as he pulled up the bottom of his black mask, revealing a canvas of pale skin, dark stubble, and a strong jawline that pulled into a tight frown on his lips. a litter of scars shone silver in the light when he tipped back to drain the glass of bourbon.

when he placed the empty glass back on the table, he reached into the inner pocket of his black trench coat and pulled out a cigarette. you flinched when his heavy gaze ran over you.

“light me up, lovely?”

you nodded dumbly, reaching for the lighter under the countertop and held it out to him. he looked up at you, unmoving, and you blinked in confusion before his gloved hand gripped your wrist with a tightness.

he moved your hand with his own, thumbing over the sparkwheel till the flame jumped to life and leaned his mouth forward to tip his cigarette into the flame.

your whole body felt light and fiery—like you were floating a bit off the ground, shoulders drawn with a tightness. a sharp exhale left you when he finally released you, the skin of your wrist tingling in the memory of his leather grip.

smoke clouded your eyes in a haze and you blinked rapidly, quickly wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. he huffed, corners of his lips twitching, a dark gleam in his eye. his rested his hand against the countertop, smoke trailing up in the room and you watched his lips part like he was about to say something—

Mama strode into the room, freezing at the entrance of the back door behind the counter. you had never seen her so tense, her eyes moving from you, to the hulking man smoking a cigarette.

“welcome, sir,” she greeted and he only nodded, pulling his mask back down as he snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray.

it was like you remembered yourself in that moment, that the man across from you was Ghost, the bounty hunter, the murderer, and the devil. you shuffled away into her side when Ghost stood. her arm was tight when it circled your waist, and you mustered all your strength not to shake. Mama’s gaze was on him but Ghost was only staring at you.

you stared at the floor instead.

“this way, sir,” she said, gate polite and posture poised as she led you and Ghost to the dining room through the back of the saloon’s supply and storage to the other side of the building where he was supposed to enter.

his footsteps were heavy behind you and the hair on your neck prickled. you scurried forward but it was like you could feel his warm breath down your back.

when you found Daddy, it was almost a crushing relief to see the sweeping calm on his half-lidded face at the dinner table. he was so charming, you were sure he could use his business skills to weasel out of this. like he had a million times before.

Mama’s steaming food was laid out over the table—buttered chicken, thick mashed potatoes, greasy green beans with bacon bits. you tried to move to sit on the opposite side of the table, far away from Ghost, but your daddy’s eyes pinned you with a warning and you grimaced, sitting carefully next to him. Ghost’s gaze burned your face.

“Ghost,” Daddy greeted, “pleasure to see you again.”

he only grunted, mask pulled tight over his features. you couldn’t see anything but the dark swirl of his eyes. he didn’t even take off his hat at the table.

you glanced at your mother’s face by Daddy but her eyes were intent, focused on Ghost. she didn’t seem to care at all. you shifted in your seat. you knew Ghost was a very special guest, but not even special guests were above Mama’s rules.

“what brings you to our small town?”

Mama nudged you under the table with her foot, and you kept yourself from rolling your eyes, standing to serve Ghost food. you carefully dished it on his plate neatly, just like Mama taught you, but he didn’t even spare the food a glance.

“i was at your saloon in jackson county.” you froze briefly. jackson county is a long way from the west. he must’ve traveled day and night to reach your small town embedded in tumbleweeds and dust.

his head tipped thoughtfully so you couldn’t see his eyes anymore under the width of his hat. “it’s a nice place. good kentucky bourbon.”

Daddy smiled but his eyes narrowed. you were about to dump a spoonful of mashed potatoes on Ghost’s plate but he gripped your wrist lightly.

“i’m alright,” he said low, and your spine prickled. there was a warning in it, so you sat back in your seat, leaning to the furthest edge away from him. you dreaded the moment his gloved palm would glide up your thigh.

“why are you here, Ghost?” Daddy asked again, his hand reaching down below the table. you imagined it resting on the holster, revolver lodged against his hip.

Ghost leaned forward.

“first, you tell me why I saw Turner’s boys loitering around jackson county.”

Daddy went pale in a way you’ve never seen before and Mama shifted uncomfortably. her knee was bouncing again.

“nearly got my head shot off. had to comb my way through texas to lose ‘em.” Ghost’s eyes narrowed in the dimness of the dining room.

“you know how i feel about the Turner boys, Henry.”

you shivered at his low tone. what the hell was going on?

there was a calculated thickness in Daddy’s voice. it blanketed all the desperation in his clenched jaw. “i needed investors, Ghost. Turner was the highest bidder.”

“do you need a reminder of who built your business from scratch in the first place?”

your brows raised. Daddy did business with Ghost?

“no i remember. i also remember how you high-tailed it out of here when the Turner boys showed up five years ago.”

you jumped in your seat when Daddy stood and placed his revolver on the dinner table. Mama gasped and murmured something like disapproval that Daddy ignored. it gleamed in the low light and your jaw clamped.

“i’m not afraid of you, Ghost. Turner’s protecting me now.”

Ghost’s silence was deadly, his hulking form too relaxed, but you could see his hand twitch where it lay on his holster. was this going to lead to a shootout?

you tried to convey your silent question in the way that you peered into the curve of his mask but his eyes were dead set on Daddy.

“Turner is protecting you now?”

“yes.”

Ghost stared up at your daddy for a long time before his gaze traveled to you. you reached deep inside you to muster the courage and stare unflinchingly back.

“i want my money back, Henry.” it was a low deadly whisper, his eyes never leaving you. Daddy balked.

“you know i can’t do that.”

“but you can. and i want my money back or i can take something much more precious.”

his gloved hand came up to stroke at your cheek and you bit back a hiss, biting down on your lower lip. Mama stood now, clutching at Daddy’s arm.

“you won’t, you devil!” she cried and Ghost gripped firmly at your jaw, razor eyes digging into you. a tight hand around his wrist, you tried to pry him off but he was too strong. he wouldn’t budge. a traitorous tear spilled from the corner of your eye. Ghost brushed it away with his thumb.

“you have no honor,” your Daddy whispered and Ghost went lax. you pushed his hand away and pressed yourself to the back of your chair in a ball.

a new boiling anger built in you. you were being used again as another part in Daddy’s business transactions.

“you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?” he chewed out the words and you shuddered, holding your breath to keep down the sobs that threatened to push up into your lungs.

“i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.” Ghost stood at the table, revolver in hand. he cocked the gun and Mama shrieked.

“this is a fair trade. give me my investment back or i’ll take her instead.” the barrel of his revolver slowly swung from Daddy to you. in his black suit in bloody mask, Ghost truly did look like the devil. you wanted to shake, to cry and scream and sob, but only a venomous anger spread through you.

what did Ghost know about fairness?

“if i go it’s on my terms,” you hissed under your breath and Ghost’s eyes swiveled to you. Mama began to shout in protest but he pointed the revolver dead above her browline and your Daddy hissed, picking up his own revolver and cocking it.

“what’re your terms, lovely?” he asked in a low tone.

“you leave my Mama and Daddy alone.” with a harsh swallow, you wiped at the tears on your cheeks. “i can ride a horse. i can shoot well ‘cause Daddy taught me. i know how to pour a glass and tend a bar. i can read and write. i know good manners and i can talk smart when i need it.

Ghost’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked down on you, sitting as straight as you possibly could at the dinner table. your Daddy’s revolver was trained on Ghost now.

“i won’t get in the way. take me instead of the money.”

Ghost blinked. “what’re my terms?”

you hesitated, voice cracked wide open. “you…you’ll own me.”

his eyes narrowed. “body and soul?”

you nodded slowly, feeling your anger deflate as your mama began to sob.

“body and soul.” you screwed your eyes shut, head dipping forward. the devil.

“Henry?”

your Daddy looked weakly at Ghost, his shoulders falling. he looked meek and small and not even half the smart man you thought he was. his revolver clattered to the dinner table in defeat and you didn’t spare him a glance when you stood from the dinner table to trudge up the stairs and pack your things, the food sprawled across the dinner table cold and forgotten.

you didn’t have time to think about what you needed or what to say goodbye to. the stuffed bear your daddy got you for your tenth birthday lay discarded among your bedsheets. old letters from the girls in town were strewn off your desk as you dug for stationary. you stopped midway when you realized there was no way Ghost would let you write your parents on the move through the west.

was this your new life? confined to bounty hunting and running from foes? living as a ghost?

you shivered, shoving blouses and skirts and a canteen on your nightstand into a knapsack. you pulled out the drawer of your dresser and dug under more clothes to find a revolver and pack of ammo. Mama would beat you if she ever knew it was there and that’s why you always kept it hidden.

you loaded up the cylinder, pushing the bullets into each chamber and ramming the cylinder back in place.

“gearing up to kill me?”

you froze and looked over your shoulder to find Ghost crowding your doorway. for someone of his stature, he moved too quietly. usually, you would be embarrassed at the mess dispersed across the floor, your undergarments at a pile by his dusty boots.

but you just narrowed your eyes, ignoring him as you carded through your room, collecting random essentials. matches, money, your sharpest letter opener, and in a last second grab, your journal.

he watched all your movements with an eerie silence.

“i’m not planning on keeping you forever.” he stepped forward till he was just a short arm length from your back. his voice was cold.

“your daddy’ll try and kill me first, then he’ll cough up the money eventually. it’s a temporary trade off.”

“i’m not one of your business transactions,” you snapped, and he blinked at you.

“‘course not.”

his words weren’t convincing. you tried to squeeze past him but his outstretched arm blocked your path. you almost snapped at him again but shrunk back when his steady eyes pinned you down. he crowded you back until you blindly hit the dresser.

your neck craned up. he was so much bigger than you.

the swell of his chest with each breath almost brushed against you, and you squirmed under his intense gaze.

“you offered yourself up to me,” he said, calculated. “why?”

you swallowed down the anxious gurgling in your stomach. “you wouldn’t believe me.”

“tell me anyway.”

“i hate it here.”

he cocked his head at you. “the rich girl wants to become a bounty hunter?”

you frowned, raising the revolver and digging it into his stomach. “don’t think that i could?”

he gave you a long look before tipping his hat and stepping back. “didn’t say that, lovely.”

you whispered it under your breath. “devil.”

the grip on his holster tightened. “maybe. but i know how to be a gentleman.”

he picked up the knapsack on your bed, despite your grumble of protest, and slung it over his shoulder.

“don’t worry. i’ll take real good care of you, princess.”

you could only imagine a smug smirk hidden by the shroud of his mask as he walked out your bedroom.

it was surreal watching the tears stream down Mama’s face as she cupped your face in her hands. facing them now, you searched your daddy’s eyes for an ounce of anger or fight.

just give him the money, you wanted to scream at your daddy, but he stared straight through you and the hands that clutched at your face.

Ghost watched from a distance, arms curled over his chest, leaning against a fence post that his black stallion was tied to, leisurely grazing at the dry tufts of grass. your horse, Sugar, stamped in the dirt nearby, kicking up dust. Ghost’s dark gaze pierced you even at a distance.

Daddy could never out gun Ghost even if he tried.

you startled when Mama pulled you into a tight hug. she hissed low and angry, “you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?” she pinched at the skin of your arm. “you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.”

she brushed hair away from your face, sweeping away the dust on the crown of your head. “okay?”

you nodded, swallowing, throat bone dry.

“you’ll be fine.”

those were her final words when your daddy led you to your horse and let you clamber up into your saddle. Ghost looked at you expectantly from over his shoulder as your daddy patted your knee.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.”

no you’re not.

you looked into his charming face, a twisted look on his lips. his eyes were tired.

“goodbye, Daddy.”

you took one look over the small town and the dust that blew through it. Ghost turned his horse into the dying light of the day and you dug the heel of your boot into the flank of your mare, tightening the reins, and took off after Ghost. soon, your mama and daddy become a dot in the horizon, and you almost suppressed a smile.

you weren’t sure how long you rode. it felt like hours, dust kicking up in a big cloud after the pair of you into the dark night. you only stopped every hour or so to let the horses rest up, drink, feed and you were off again. you should’ve been tired but you were so high with exhilaration, lungs burning with exertion from the long ride, that you almost didn’t catch Ghost’s call to rest drifting over the wind rushing in your ears.

your chest was put through the wringer, panting as you slid off your horse.

“good girl, Sugar.” you slapped at her dapple gray shoulder. she snorted, tossing her mane anxiously.

as you traveled further into…wherever you were, the cacti and low brush built up into bushes and weedy looking trees. into a forest.

Ghost lit the lantern strung up on his saddle bags and gave you a sharp, wordless look before leading his horse by the reins further into the woods. you followed him, head on a swivel at the unfamiliar surroundings.

you were used to the big, brown, orange flat canvas of your small town. the green grass underfoot was unusual and the trees cast long, distorting shadows. you startled, stopping short when you heard an foreign call from the woods. Sugar huffed nervously, big nostrils twitching as she stamped her hoof.

“it’s a coyote,” Ghost grumbled, not stopping for your shenanigans. you scurried after him, hyper aware of the encompassing darkness around you and what may be lurking beyond it.

soon, a big structure obstructing the woods came into view and Ghost lifted his lantern to reveal a small wooden cabin. by the side, he tied up his black stallion on a fence post next to a hay feeder and water bin. when he stared at you, unmoving, you quickly followed suit and fumbled to unsaddle Sugar, carrying your knapsack inside and following after his heavy footsteps.

you’re like a lost puppy, a voice grumbled in annoyance. he’s always ten steps in front of you.

you shook away the thought and stepped into the cabin, watching Ghost as he lit the oil lamps littered around the room. there was a miniscule kitchen pressed in the corner, a desk by your side, and a bed on the other. the bed was small. very small.

you cleared your throat. “where are we?”

Ghost didn’t pause to acknowledge you, shucking his trench coat and rolling up the sleeves of his black suit, exposing the skin of his forearms. for a long moment, as he rummaged through a bag, you thought he would ignore you. but your silent stare was relentless.

“border of southern california.”

your brows rose. you weren’t sure how far that was from home, or how you could possibly find your way back.

“and this cabin…?”

he paused to give you a brief look. “you ask a lot of questions.” his voice was pinched with annoyance.

“you don’t talk enough,” you shot back, tensing up. if you were going to be dragged around by this man for months, you thought you at least deserved to know where you were. or what the hell was going on.

he grumbled under his breath. “s’my safe house. we’re stayin’ for the night.”

the night. you nodded, feeling meek, remembering what Mama said. smoothing a hand over your chest, you shifted between feet in the doorway.

you can do this.

Ghost had his back turned to you, pouring his canteen of water into a pot and pouring a bag of something else in it that came out in a pebbled rush. for the devil himself, at least he knew how to cook.

“you gonna sit?”

feeling embarrassed, you moved to sit on the bed, the old mattress sagging under your weight. you kept smooth a hand over your blouse, carding a hand through your hair, till you got tired of it and wove them into messy braids and undid them again.

Ghost huffed, moving from the kitchen to the desk, putting his hat down. you stared.

“relax. no need to be so worked up.”

you nodded. “right.”

his eyes bore holes into you, and you took that as your que, swallowing as you began to unbutton the clasp at the top of your blouse. you paused when Ghost’s breath tapered, turning sharply away.

his accent thickened. “what are you doing?”

“i-i thought—”

“you thought wrong.” his words were cutting.

maybe you should’ve felt relief but you only squirmed in confusion. “body and soul?” you mumbled weakly, and he slowly turned back to you.

you fumbled with your hands awkwardly.

“i don’t bed rich, prissy girls,” he grinded out and you almost balked in defense, but you thought better of it from the way his grip tightened on his holster.

but you couldn’t hold your tongue long enough—

“who do you bed then? whores?” your brow arched against your will as you tilted your head. his eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

“careful, princess.” he grabbed something from a cabinet in the kitchen. “i’m the one who’s keeping you alive.”

a gloved hand held out a plate of some dried fruit and biscuits. a piece of jerky as well. you held your stomach.

you hadn’t touched a morsel of your mama’s food over that tense dinner, which seemed like years ago, and you were too nervous for Ghost’s arrival to eat lunch either. swallowing, you reached a hand out and Ghost pulled the plate back from your grasp.

you almost hissed at him.

“i thought you said you knew manners?”

biting your lip, you sat up straighter and politely crossed an ankle over the other, smoothing your hands over your lap.

“may i please have some food, sir?”

his voice sounded uncharacteristically smug. “you’re a good listener.”

you snatched the plate from him, his words thrumming low in your stomach. kicking off your boots and neatly lining them up by the nightstand, you politely curled your legs to the side and smoothed down your skirt to eat. Mama never let you eat on the bed, but you had snuck up meals some late nights. you almost felt giddy—as if you were breaking the rules when you were eight years old again.

Ghost watched you eat in silence before getting his own plate. the same thrill from that evening soared in your stomach when he tugged up his black mask to reveal his strong jawline and pinkish mouth. you noticed a silvery scar on his upper lip.

“did your father make you do that stuff?” you paused mid-bite of your biscuit, slowly chewing.

you swallowed. “what stuff?”

the twist of his lips seemed like exasperation. “going to bed with strangers.”

you flinched, and it was like an icy cold reminder that Ghost was a stranger—just as much as your daddy’s business partners.

“no.”

Ghost cocked his head. “that so?”

you nodded. “Daddy just had touchy customers.”

you quickly rephrased, putting down the plate on your lap. “but i can if you need me to. for your customers, you know.”

you knew you would need to be of use to Ghost in the coming months, if tonight didn’t go according to plan. the thought spurred on your heart, a looming dread clambering up your spine.

Ghost mouth twisted. “i don’t need you in that way.”

you blinked, frowning. “how do you need me then?”

“just….” he was frowning deeply now. “just do what you’re doing now.”

“what’s that?”

“bein’ polite.” he shrugged, putting down his empty plate. you felt disappointed when he tugged back down the mask. “bein’ a good girl.”

the funny thing is, being polite and a good girl was probably one of the things you were worst at in Mama’s eyes, but looking at Ghost, and the way he brandished his gun over the dinner table like a toy… your manners weren’t too bad at all.

you wondered when was the last time he stepped in a church.

finishing the last bits of dinner, Ghost excused himself to disappear into the woods, and you took the moment of privacy to quickly change into a nightgown, conscious of the way it exposed your collarbones and chest.

you also took the moment to plan out the night, searching into your knapsack to find the familiar handle of your revolver. you tested the weight of it in your hand, before putting it back into the sack. if Ghost was a gentleman, as he attested, he would let you sleep on the bed. that means he would, most likely, sleep on the floor. and if he didn’t… you would just have to convince him that he needed to.

you closed your eyes to imagine leaning over your bed at night, the slow swell of his chest as you aimed the revolver right at his heart and pulled the trigger. three times.

you shivered violently, a chill passing over you.

“cold?”

you stiffened when Ghost stepped back into the cabin, pulling the door shut behind him. you nodded, but the movement felt restrained, fists balled as you crossed them over your chest.

“mhmm.”

he jerked his head to the bed.

“take the bed. i’ll be sleepin’ outside.”

you balked, fist clenching and unclenching.

“but…what about Mr. Turner’s men?”

he turned still, hand twitching at his holster.

“they won’t find us for days. don’t worry about them.”

“but…” Ghost moved to grab his saddlebag.

“i’m scared,” you whispered, and he paused, peering at you through the mask. you gave him a meek look. it’s wasn’t a complete lie. you’ve been half-scared since he walked into Daddy’s saloon unannounced.

he sighed, long and hard. “alright, princess.” he pulled out a balled up blanket from his saddlebag and laid it on the floor, and you went lax with relief, lifting the covers of the bed to slide into them.

you stiffened again when you realized the sheets smelled of him—sweet bourbon, cigarettes, and an earthy musk like mud and woods. cheek nestled into the pillow, you watched him unbutton his vest, pull off his holster, and undo his bolo tie, placing them on the desk neatly.

you half-expected him to take off his mask, too, but he made no move towards it as turned off the oil lamps in the room. a bit disappointed, you turned to the wall once the room was shrouded with darkness.

quiet shuffling ensued, until there was a complete silence and his even breaths in the dark. it would’ve been easy to let sleep overtake you if the spike of your heavy heart wasn’t thrumming in your throat and a biting fear wasn’t corded in the back of your brain.

it took a conscious reminder to remember the large lump of man on the floor was a murderer. a cold-blooded one, too. he was a rich bounty hunter and hunting was his sport. he was a killer. he wasn’t here to feed you or take care of you. he was as sinful as they came.

you slowly shifted in the bed, reaching down into the knapsack on the floor by the bed. you groped until you felt a familiar cold, embroidered handle.

you wait till he falls asleep and you kill him, you hear me?

your mama’s voice rang in your ears as you sat up on the edge of the bed. Ghost was flat on the ground, a blanket drawn up to his waist, arms crossed over his chest. your breath hitched in the dark.

you put three bullets in that devil’s heart and you run back to us.

you stopped short at that, poisonous questions blooming in your head. it was dangerous, hesitating in the dark like this, looming over one of the most dangerous men in the west who had just, essentially, stolen you, with a loaded gun in your hand.

but your head was running away from you—how would you get home from here? did you have the supplies needed? you didn’t have the tracking skills Ghost evidently showed on your ride to the cabin, nor expertise in medical emergencies. did you even want to go home?

you stared at the side of Ghost’s mask, its red a cool blue gleam in the dark.

you could live the life of a gunslinger like Ghost—a merciless bounty hunter who murdered for money. you could imagine it, even now. shootouts with outlaws and playing friends with sheriffs to get big payouts. but… it would be under the pretense of being Ghost’s property.

you shuddered at the thought. as long as you were by Ghost’s side, you would be his captive. a precious pawn in a trade off—a hostage to use against your daddy and Turner. just another business transaction and you to take advantage of.

a small click in the dark seized you from your thoughts. Ghost’s black eyes peered up at you. cursing in surprise, your clammy hands dropped the revolver, and it clattered to the floor. you fumbled around for it and hugged it to your stomach, heart beating out of your throat.

he rested the revolver in his hand leisurely against his chest. too leisurely.

a bead of sweat slid down your temple when you realized he just cocked his gun. you didn’t remember him taking it out of his holster when he placed it on the desk.

always ten steps ahead of you.

“gearing up to kill me?”

your mouth opened and closed, failing to shape out words. his gaze narrowed.

“m’scared remember?” was all you could choke out, a shiver gripping you intensely. you tried to play it off with a careless shrug, but you knew he couldn’t possibly fall for that.

your skin felt cold but his stare was hot.

“scared of what? the dark? the coyotes outside, Tuner’s boys?” his voice was dangerously soft. “...or me?”

you almost whimpered. “i’m not scared of you.”

the fabric of his mask stretched and the crumple at his eyes let you know he was smiling. it was more threatening than anything.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me…” he rested his revolver on the floor and he shifted onto his side to face you fully. “...and let’s say you didn’t just try to kill me.”

you grimaced under his piercing stare. “put down the gun, lovely.”

you complied and he practically purred. “you still scared?”

shaking your head slowly, your knee betrayed you and began to bounce.

“let’s say you’re not scared of me, and you didn’t try to kill me, but you’re scared of the dark and the coyotes…” you balked when he opened the covers of his makeshift bed to you. “come here.”

you stayed rooted to the spot, knee freezing mid-bounce. his arms were open, mask twinkling in the moonlight, but you knew in his unflinching gaze that he was being very serious.

“come here,” he commanded, and you stood stiffly, shuffling forward to crawl into the blankets. his strong arm hooked around your waist and you muffled a squeak when he pulled you down.

you were pulled into his broad chest, warm and strong at your back and you almost melted if it weren’t for the fact that the man behind you was a cold-blooded murderer and the devil reincarnated.

his gloved hands crept beneath your shoulders around to your throat and pressed to the flying pulse of your neck. he hummed low in your ear, mask brushing the shell of it. the smell of smoke, woody musk, and bourbon filled your nose.

“sure you’re not scared, lovely?”

your jaw clenched. “yes.”

“really?”

his hand crept down from your throat to your collarbone and a loud gasp escaped you when he firmly pressed a palm to the flesh just above your breast. you knew he felt your heart’s fast thrum through the cotton of your nightgown.

“why’s your heart beatin’ so fast then?”

when the silence permitted, he offered you, “nervous?” his voice dropped an octave, low and throaty. “ever lie like this with a man before?”

you were as stiff as a board, a foreign warmth brewing in you that made your skin prickle and crawl, spluttering unintelligible sounds, when suddenly, he released you and you scrambled out of the sheets back onto the bed, pressing yourself to the wall.

he huffed a series of breaths that sounded like quiet laughter. you were just about to kill him. what was so funny about that?

like he heard your thoughts, he turned onto his back and crossed his arms again.

“would be concerned if you didn’t at least try to kill me.” Ghost closed his eyes. “you gonna try and run if i sleep?”

you stared at the side of his face. “no.”

he nodded. “good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.”

like you, you thought weakly, burrowing yourself back into the covers, face heating up when the smell of him against the pillow filled your head again.

your plans had just gone more than horribly wrong. with a heartfelt apology to your mama ringing heavy in your mind, twisting in the sheets, you tried to let sleep take you.

you barely slept that night. tossing and turning in the sheets, you listened for the sinister calls of wildlife just beyond the cabin, and the slow breaths from the floor. though a primal sense inside you let you know that Ghost probably wasn’t sleeping.

but you don’t remember when the sun came up, its first burning embers casting a thin glow in the room. you must’ve fallen asleep at some point because Ghost is gone in the morning, room eerily quiet and empty.

you take the moment to redress in your corset, loose white button up, a buckskin split skirt with fringe, pulling on your boots as you shove everything back into your knapsack. groping around for a familiar embroidered handle, you pause when you realize your revolver has gone amiss.

you sling the knapsack over your shoulder and find Ghost perched down by a fire outside, stoking at its flames. he’s back in his expensive full attire, black suit fresh in the morning light. he only spares you a glance over his shoulder before continuing to stir something in a pot hung up over the fire.

you dropped your knapsack to the ground.

“where’s my revolver?”

he scooped up a spoonful of the stuff into two bowls and grabs something from his bag. he waves your revolver in the air with one hand wordlessly.

“revolver privileges revoked.”

“why?” you knew why, but you wanted to hear it nonetheless.

standing to his full height, he turned and gave you a look under the mask that you could only imagine as disapproval. he didn’t give you an answer.

“eat,” he commanded, handing a bowl to you.

you looked into the bowl to find a watery soup of beans and a dry biscuit half soaked in the liquid. not your finest meal but you were grateful for it.

you eyed Ghost’s broad stature sitting on a log by the fire. he must’ve soaked the beans last night in that pot of water. if you, after last night’s events, weren’t going to try and kill him, or run away, you could at least play nice. for your revolver mostly.

you politely sat next to him on the log, curling your legs to the side and hooking one ankle over the other. taking small bites, you ate with the best manners you could muster without a table in front of you.

you felt Ghost’s gaze burning a question into your cheek, but you ignored it, feigning innocence.

you cleared your throat, nodding. “thank you for the food.”

he scoffed. “it’ll take a lot more to get your revolver back than that.”

you glared at him as he stood to resaddle his horse and tie his saddlebag down. finishing your food in a couple more quick bites, you moved to do the same, but stopped short when Ghost untied the reins of Sugar to bind her to his stallion.

“what’re you doing?”

Ghost gave you a meaningful look but said nothing, heaving himself up onto the stallion. huffing with frustration, you grabbed the bridle of his horse who whinied in surprise.

“what are you doing with my horse?”

Ghost cocked his head at you. “you’re stayin’ here, princess.”

what?

“what?”

“food’s in the pantry. take what you want. don’t wander more than a quarter of a mile from the cabin, you’ll get lost. i’ll be back before sunset.”

he began to turn his stallion away from you, but you held fast on the bridle, jerking its head back towards you. the horse huffed and stomped in retaliation.

“where are you going?”

Ghost just stared at you. “into town.”

you took a sharp breath, racking in your head. “i’ll run away.”

his tone was cold. “on foot? you’re not that stupid.”

“i will. i don’t care. you’ll never get your money if i’m dead of starvation… or…” you shuddered, “coyotes.”

he took you in for a long moment. “these were your terms, lovely.”

you ignored him. “i’m useful. i am. i’m useful for…” you trailed off. “business.”

“i know what you’re useful for.” his eyes narrowed. “you’re most useful right here, in this camp, far away from my business.”

that blow landed right in your gut. “i’ll build a big fire,” you whispered, “and it’ll alert Turner’s men. they’ll find me and bring me back to my daddy.”

he turned away. “do you really want them to find you? when they’ll do lord knows what to a young lady like you?”

every bit of the fight burning in you deflated, snuffed by his sharp words and harrowing logic. you felt small and defeated as you watched Ghost spur his horse on, Sugar trailing after them. a miserable feeling bloomed in your stomach.

is this what your daddy felt like last night at the dinner table?

“i’ll be back before sunset,” he called over his shoulder and took off into the early morning light in a cloud of dust.

time alone went slower than you could possibly imagine. you don’t remember the last time you were alone like this—your mama always hovering over your shoulder, or the girls in town spurring you to embroider and scrapbook with them, or maybe go shopping, even when you’d rather tend to the saloon and make an extra buck when you sang an a pretty song for the alcoholics.

your hands ached to do something, so you laid back in the afternoon sun and whittled at a branch with your letter opener.

once you got tired of that, you began writing aimless entries in your journal with Ghost’s quill and ink on the desk, then, addressing your daddy and mama in a futile letter, vented that Ghost had run off into town for business. what business, you itched to know.

later, you stretched back on the bed in your full attire and boots, which Mama would sorely disapprove of, and blinked away the sun that streamed through the greasy window panes. lids drooping, you found yourself falling into a deep slumber.

you awoke with a start, sweat pooling under your back, blouse sticking to your skin. the sun was settling lazily into the horizon, far into the hours after noon. it was darker than before, a blue tinge across the sky like it was on the verge of storming.

with a lazy sweep of your vision across the cabin, everything untouched, you knew Ghost was still out doing business. of which you, apparently, had no use.

you stretched out over your head and froze when you heard something—a clicking rustle outside the cabin. you strained your hearing, going completely still.

then, you heard distant voices chattering.

dropping to the floor with a silent thud, you peered out the front of the window by the edge of the bed. four men stood by their horses, poking at the pot of beans outside with his boot. you silently cursed when one overturned the watery beans over the dying embers.

a man looked up at the cabin and you immediately ducked, panicking when you heard quick, heavy footsteps nail up the steps to the cabin. you scrambled backwards under the bed and pressed yourself into a ball into the furthest corner of the cabin.

one man stepped inside carefully, and you watched his feet slowly pan across the room in a circle. the warmth drained from your face when you heard the cock of a safety.

who were these people? you racked your brain for answers. Ghost said Turner’s men wouldn’t find you for days. maybe weary travelers looking for a place to stay for the night? good samaritans who could help you escape Ghost?

and never return to your family, a voice in your head added quietly. you silenced it.

he stood by the desk and listened to him rummage over it. you winced—all your letters and writings were still strewn across the desk.

“Charles!” he called. then, abruptly, he neared the bed and reached down for your knapsack on the floor. you clasped a hand to your mouth. he pulled away, your knapsack going with him.

“she was here.”

your blood ran cold. Turner’s men had arrived earlier than Ghost expected.

a second man, Charles, you presumed, stepped into the cabin. more rummaging—probably the first man holding up the letters and your belongings for Charles to see.

“they went to town. says so in the letters.”

Charles huffed and turned on his heel back out the cabin.

“let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.”

an icy drip went down your back.

low, raucous laughter and hoots ensued, and you heard more shuffling and the snorts of horses and the stamping of hooves that slowly faded into silence again. only the leaves rustling in the wind and pitched bird calls filled the cabin.

your heart was still beating out of your chest.

Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that shook you to your core. you wanted to run after them, to beg them to bring you back to your parents without harm, maybe bribing them with an extra sum your daddy could give them, but you knew it was futile.

you weren’t ever going back home, and you sure as hell weren’t letting Turner’s men lay their hands on you.

heaving yourself out from under the bed, you looked up at the darkening sky. a gray film was growing over it, blanketing the sun from view. a boom of thunder roiled in the distance.

you needed to move fast, somehow, to warn Ghost about Turner’s men coming for him in town. you cursed yourself for writing those letters in the first place—now, Ghost could be in danger because of you.

not that you cared much. but that devil was the closest thing to protection right now against your parents and Turner. except maybe yourself.

you picked up the knapsack that was thrown haphazardly on the floor and pulled out all your extra clothing and baggage. with only a canteen of water, and the leftover food from the pantry, the letter opener, and a box of matches, you trailed after the hoofprints left by Turner’s men, hurrying as the storm approached quickly overhead.

you were dripping with sweat by the time you reached the edge of town. buckling over to clasp at your knees, you held your chest as you leaned against a tree.

you did it. you tracked those men through low brush and the deep, muddy hoofprints they left behind, some bushes snagged by charging through the forest at an alarming rate.

you did it. you only hoped that Turner’s men hadn’t found Ghost before you did.

the sky was still a murky gray—you had no idea what time it was, no idea if the sun had begun setting yet. you paled at the thought of Ghost riding back to find the cabin empty, your belongings strewn across the place, cabinets empty of supplies. you felt more sick at the thought of finding the devil in a dim alleyway, three bullets in his heart.

pushing forward, you entered the busy throng of the town, its twinkling lights and loud raucous contenting with the brewing storm overhead. men had holsters strung with guns, ammo slung over their torsos like a fancy sash.

some tipped their stetson to you as you walked the cobble streets, wiping the sweat and humidity from your brow. you ignored them to the best of your ability, shuffling along faster when a group of drunks meandered close to you.

sweetheart, they called, and you, in a dizzying panic, pushed into the nearest building, its doors swinging open to a rowdy, rowdy crowd of even more drunks. some smiled at your entrance, but most were too enthralled in their card games, betting, and bourbon to care.

you took the moment to search the snaking crowd for a familiar red mask, but you found nothing. this didn’t feel much like Ghost’s scene anyway.

shoulders sinking, you were about to step back out onto the crowded streets, where a light drizzle was pooling, when a redhead with braids rushed passed you in a tizzy.

she almost dumped a tray full of bourbons onto you. squeaking, she steadied herself against you, and apologized in a thick drawl.

“sorry, sweetheart! didn’t see you there—” she paused, narrowing her eyes at you. immediately, you reeled back.

you really wished you had a revolver slung in your holster in that moment, because you didn’t think to realize that anybody could be one of Turner’s men.

“you…” she cocked her head and you stiffened. “you’re the new hire, aren't ‘cha!”

you blinked in shock, voice cracking. “what?”

“glad you showed up early.” she gave you an approving nod and nudged you with her shoulder. “extra trays of bourbon are in the back. you wouldn’t mind passing them out would you?”

“i-” she was gone in a flash, disappearing into the messy crowd.

you should’ve left at that moment, taking the opportunity to disappear yourself, but instead, you thought this an opportunity to get close and personal with each customer. perhaps Ghost took off his mask for business—you knew you could recognize him by his expensive black suit and the stature he carried. the low timber of his voice, and the dark swirl in his eyes.

shivering, a drift came through and you rubbed at your bare neck. you quickly moved to man the bar. an easiness settled over you at the familiarity of it, grabbing bottles of bourbon and whiskey, pouring them neatly into bar glasses on black trays. you teetered from person to person, tray balanced in your palm as you peered into the face of each man, and even woman, hunkered down at a table to get a glimpse of their profile.

tray after empty tray, you couldn’t find the man you were looking for, no matter how many more entered. soon enough, you bumped into the redhead with braids again and she gave you a cocksure smile.

“sure you’re a new hire?” she laughed loud, cheeks red, slapping at your back. “why don’t you go help across the way at our quieter location? you know where business—” she winked, “—gets done.”

you just nodded aimlessly, too overwhelmed to question it, and she beamed. “don’t worry. it’s more beginner friendly.”

you exited the saloon with the point of her hand to a quainter location on the other side of the street. a thick rain was coming down now. rushing into the parallel saloon, it was half as loud as the other, which your ears thanked, and a thick smoke hazed the room. groups of men donned in fancy suits sat at tables strewn across the room, discussing in low voices with fat cigars between their lips.

your eyes swiveled around the room, craning your neck to peer into the furthest corner of the saloon, but still, no red mask. deflating, you jolted when a barmaid gripped at your shoulder.

“new hire?” she looked disgruntled, eyes narrowing in judgment. you took note of her attire, eerily similar to your own, with a fine cotton blouse and buckskin skirt. now, you understood who the redhead may have confused you for: a fancy barmaid for the gentleman’s club across the way.

she appeared frustrated at your lackluster response. “can you sing?”

you balked at that but said yes nonetheless. your mother had taught you, much to your chagrin.

she nodded. “good. men were asking for a performance. i know it’s your first night, but could you give them a bone to chew on?”

“i guess so,” you spluttered, and she barely batted an eye, already pushing you to the raised platform by the bar. a man already sat with a guitar, peering at you expectantly when you stepped onto the platform.

turning to face the audience, you felt the blood drain from your cheeks. you hadn’t sung in front of an audience this big since your school’s talent show. clearing your throat, you flashed the crowd your prettiest smile, and clasped your hands in front of you politely. the establishment quieted, save for a few low whistles, and you began to sing along for a softer rendition of the fast-paced song to the slow strum of the guitarist.

my love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,

though he’s promised to quit it, just for my sake.

he ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,

with a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone.

it was the only song you could remember in the moment—one the girls and you would sing wildly in the evenings after church over loud laughter and iced tea.

my love has a gun, and that gun he can use,

but he’s quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;

and he’s sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,

and there’s no more cow punching, and that’s what I hope.

your eyes searched the crowd and you held back a gasp when you met eyes with a familiar red mask. he stood near the back of the club, bracing his forearm against a wooden beam. swallowing hard, you continued.

my love has a gun that has gone to the bad,

which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;

for the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,

and it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.

his eyes pierced you, and you couldn’t suppress the slithering shiver that crawled down your spine. you wished he was closer—right at the edge of the platform so you could look down into his brown eyes, and maybe, try to discern what he was thinking under that blood red mask.

now all you young maidens, where’er you reside,

beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;

he’ll court you and pet you and leave you and go

in the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.

the room clapped and hollered when you finished, and you couldn’t suppress the smile that stretched your cheeks as you curtsied clumsily, gaze on Ghost. he tipped his hat to you, and a loud laugh clambered into your throat. it morphed into a blood curdling scream when a revolver fired and Ghost crumpled to the floor.

the club scrambled in a panic with loud wails, the assailant disappearing into the throng as you clawed your way to the man. he was clutching at his stomach, half-fallen against the wooden beam.

“Ghost!”

a strangled noise strained against your throat. falling to your knees beside him, you pulled away his hand from his stomach, and you paled at the sight of the dark red coating his glove, sleeve, suit. it pooled underneath him.

quickly, you grabbed his bloodied arm and pulled it around your shoulder. there was no way you could heft his weight but you were going to try anyway.

“c’mon,” you coaxed impatiently, as he scrambled up the side of the wooden pole, trying to support his weight. a string of curses left his lips.

“you’ve got a pretty voice,” he rasped, and you almost wanted to drop his weight entirely.

“not important,” you groaned, taking slow steps out the saloon with his body strung over yours. with every step, you grimaced with effort, huffing heavily.

there was an even greater panic in the streets than in the club—a heavy, pouring onslaught coming down like a beating drum. across the way, the other saloon was being ripped apart by several men, upturning tables and firing their guns at the ceiling to clear out the place. Turner’s men.

you pulled Ghost in the opposite direction, appreciative of his black attire in the dark night, the debilitating rain, and the ensuing chaos. you tipped his hat further over that tell-tale mask. he grumbled something by your ear.

“what?” you shouted over the mix of shouts and rush of rain, stumbling when a man hurrying past clipped your shoulder.

his voice lifted. “don’t need your help.”

you rolled your eyes, head on a swivel. lodged between two buildings was an alleyway. a throng of Turner’s men overturned more establishments ahead. you made a beeline for the cramped space.

“you’ll die.”

he huffed when you pressed him against the wall, clutching at the blood seeping from his stomach.

“no i won’t.”

you shot him a glare.

“ghosts can’t die,” he said, sounding high and delirious. he slid further down the wall, a pitched laugh escaping him.

now you knew he was really at his last wits. you racked your brain for answers. you didn’t know medical knowledge, you didn’t see an infirmary on the way here, and even if you did, you wouldn’t put it past them to turn you over to Turner’s men in an instant.

you almost screamed in frustration, tearing off the sleeve of your blouse to wrap around his middle. your hands fumbled clumsily, and Ghost must’ve at least come back to half his senses because he pushed your hands away and expertly knotted the thing despite his thick gloves. his head slumped forward into your shoulder, as if the action was so taxing, breath growing shallow against your exposed collarbone.

you slapped at the side of his face.

“do you know anyone who can get help?” you probed, unable to conceal the desperation in your voice, “anyone at all?”

he sounded smug. “people can’t help ghosts.”

you groaned, pushing his head back against the wall. he peered at you lazily, eyes half-lidded.

“if you don’t tell me something, i will rip that mask clean off your face.” that must’ve stirred something in him because his eyes flashed.

“i did not track Turner’s men for miles to find you just for you to die.” you pressed on. “they found the cabin and these stupid journal entries where i wrote that you were in the town. they didn’t know i was there and went after you. i had to warn you so i tracked them and—” he hissed when you pressed your fingers into his wound to make sure he was still conscious. “—this happened.

he huffed. “stupid girl.”

you could only nod pitifully, before squeaking in surprise when Ghost used your shoulders and the wall as leverage to lift himself.

“take me down this alleyway, then turn left.”

you immediately obeyed and half-dragged him in the direction of his rasped instructions, ending up in front of the back door of a leather crafts store. the streets were slowly emptying by the minute and every second outside in the line of gunfire felt a gaping vulnerability on your back, so you didn’t question his command to open the back door unannounced.

you also weren’t surprised to see the long snout of a rifle stuck in your face the second the door swung open. a woman in a checkered blouse and loose breeches squared her shoulders and jabbed the gun forward so it almost hit your chin where rain coalesced in a steam, falling to your boots.

“who in the devil are you?” she spat, low and deadly. she carefully eyed the man slumping against you.

a strangled warble left Ghost’s mouth, and he lifted a hand to toss off his hat. the mask must’ve been a point of recognition for her because she gasped and lurched forward, hefting up the other side of his body.

“what the hell are you doin’ here, Ghost?” she demanded, helping you carry him behind the counter of the store into the back room. she pushed off all the strewn materials at the table in the center of the room with one strong sweep, and you laid back Ghost on the surface, his eyes closed.

muffling a cry, you pressed your fingers to the pulse point in his neck. to your relief, it was throbbing, albeit weakly.

“business,” was all he mumbled in response and the woman shooed you from his side with an impatient wave of her hand.

you stepped back to the edge of the room, feeling your senses clouded with panic. you looked down to the blood covering your hands. out the window, there was more shouting, gunshots, and a building far down the street went up in flames. your breath hitched till suddenly you couldn’t breathe anymore. clawing at your throat, you slid down the wall, fighting the strain in your chest that seemed to close your airway.

you watched the woman cut through his vest and make quick work on the bullet wound, pliers in hand.

“you.”

she might’ve been shouting at you but it barely registered in your mind.

“get your useless behind off the ground and help me for god’s sake!”

you just stared at her and she groaned in frustration. “some girl you have here, Ghost,” she grumbled and the weak grunt that left him brought you back to life.

you stood, steeling yourself, wiping the blood against your front. you felt calm. dangerously calm as you neared Ghost’s side. his eyes were screwed shut and you resisted gagging at the sight of her pliers fishing through his gaping wound for a bullet.

“what do you need?” your voice was weak and quiet. it didn’t even sound like your own. she shot you an impatient look.

“water. from the tap over there. and a needle and thread in that cabinet.”

you moved like you were floating off the ground, light and airy. like you weren’t really there, but you found your hands filling a bowl with water at the kitchen sink and grabbing a case of needles and a spool of black thread from a cabinet overhead.

by her side again, she unclasped the red mask from Ghost’s face and you stared unflinchingly with a hitch of breath. before pulling it from his face, she cocked her head at you.

“look away,” she snarled and you just nodded, stepping back from the table till you couldn’t see Ghost’s profile anymore. couldn’t even see the slow swell of his chest to let you know he was still alive.

you had to escape the room. you walked back out into the main storeroom and grated your hands through your hair, pacing. you picked up the rifle left on the glass casing over a showcase of different leather crafts, cocking it, just in case Turner’s men came barreling through the door.

when you put back down the rifle, you gasped at the sticky, bloody imprint it left on the handle. looking into a mirror by the entrance of the store, you shuddered at your image.

blood crusted your arms, like you had dipped your arms into a vat of it, and red fingerprints littered your throat and tinged your frayed hair. the front of your half-torn blouse was smeared in it too.

your hands shook uncontrollably, so you picked up the rifle’s heaviness again to still you, and sat, leaning against the glass showcase, muzzle aimed at the front door. you sat there for a long time, breath shallow and grating, till the shouts and gunshots outside subsided, and the billiard parlor down the street crumbled under the weight of flames.

you awoke for a second time with a start, the woman’s hand shaking your shoulder lightly. you rolled your shoulders, neck impossibly stiff from your weird sleeping position on the floor. it was no longer dark outside, the lightest tones of pink and blood-soaked orange rising with dawn.

had you really only been napping in Ghost’s cabin half a day prior?

the woman sat beside you, pushing a warm mug into your hand. she didn’t pull her rifle from you, which you were endlessly grateful for, because you just hugged it closer to your chest, its cold metal and cured wood easing your nerves.

“tea.” she nodded to the steaming cup.

“is Ghost okay?” your voice cracked from disuse and she gave you a weak look.

“for now.”

you just nodded, taking a sip of the stuff and wincing when it burned your tongue. chamomile. Mama used to make it too.

the woman cleared her throat, drawing up her blonde hair into a messy bun. “sorry about the shouting. i’m not used to foreign company.”

you shrugged, itching at the dried blood on your neck as you took another sip of tea.

“i’m Kate.” she held out a hand to you. “Kate Laswell.”

you shook her hand slowly, grateful she didn’t cringe away from the blood staining your own. you gave her your name in return and her brow raised.

“Ghost’s girl, huh?”

you felt too tired to be confused. “i guess so.”

“well i just know the boys would love to meet ‘ya.”

you allowed yourself a sliver of confusion. “the boys?”

“‘course,” she said with a smile, “one-four-one.”

you almost dropped the mug in your hand. “one-four-one?” you repeated weakly and she gave you a cheery nod.

you’d heard of them before. you heard too much about them before. she rubbed your shoulder comfortingly.

“they should be here any minute now.”

great. you were soaked with blood, clothes and hair tattered with sweat. as if she read your thoughts, Kate stood and outstretched a hand to you, pointing to the back room.

“i’ve got a tub filled in the back for you. and some extra clothes.”

you took her outstretched hand gratefully, allowing her to pull you up and lead you through the storage space where Ghost lay stretched out, half-naked, and maskless. you noticed her rush to flank your side and obscure the view of his bare, sleeping face from you. deciding not to fight it, the gentle hand on your back led you down a narrow hallway to an even narrower bathroom with a tub about as big as a barrel.

you didn’t mind it after the events of the night, Kate politely closing the door behind you, as you stripped yourself bare and scrubbed the blood away in the tub. slowly, you settled in its lukewarm water in a ball and rocked there, choking back sobs in the privacy of the tight room.

once all your tears were wrung dry, you emerged from the tub, drying yourself and your hair before redressing in your corset, drawers, chemise, and a linen bell sleeve blouse Kate lent you. tucking them into your unruined item—the fringed buckskin split skirt—you pulled your boots on and smoothed the lines of your face in the mirror. like your mama taught you.

when you opened the door of the bathroom, low murmurs and new voices floated down the narrow hall.

“she isn’t supposed to be here, cap’.”

a low husky voice grunted back, “i know that.”

a third man with an even stranger accent than the first two chimed in loudly, “she risked ‘er life for Ghost! Simon said she tracked ‘em for two and a half miles just to warn him about the Turner boys.”

you assumed it was Kate shushing him.

the low, husky voice returned. “it’s not up to us, Soap. she’s Ghost’s now.”

you crept slowly up the hallway, searching for Ghost’s body stretched out on the table, but he wasn’t there. in his place were three men, leaning against the table, deep in conversation with Kate.

you stopped short in the entrance till one of the men, a stout one, thickly corded with muscle, and an unusual looking hairstyle—like the ones you saw in the school books about iroquois from the east—beamed at you.

he shushed a bronze-skinned man at his shoulder, who turned his gaze to you. the third bearded man with thick chops and broad shoulders fell silent, as did Kate, and suddenly, the whole room’s attention was trained on you.

you slowly walked into the room, discomforted by the thick silence. you resisted fumbling at your skirt nervously. the man with a mohawk let out a low whistle and the bearded man swatted at his face while the youngest man stepped forward to politely offer his hand, taking off his hat to press to his chest.

his face was pinched with a stoic look. “i’m Kyle Garrick. pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

your lips parted in surprise when he touched his lips to the back of your extended hand, and you politely curtsied in response, a blush touching your cheeks.

the man with a mohawk stepped in behind him to give you a smug look.

“i’m Soap,” was all he offered. he clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “and this is Gaz. no one calls him Kyle.”

Kyle rolled his eyes in retaliation and released your hand, looking apologetic. you couldn’t help but softly smile as they began to quarrel and the bearded man reached out his hand this time to shake it firmly.

“John Price,” he said with a nod, voice husky. he jerked his head in Soap’s direction. “that’s Johnny Mactavish.”

you murmured a quiet thank you as Kate comfortingly patted your back.

“so this is one-four-one?” you mumbled aloud with raised brows. Soap and Gaz stopped mid-quarrel to peer at you. John shrugged.

“more or less.”

manners be damned, you fidgeted with your skirt. one-four-one was a legendary gunslinger group—on the run from the scarce law of the west, gambling, bounty hunting, and dueling for riches. you had no idea Ghost had friendly ties with them.

“where’s Ghost?”

John smirked at you, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “out.”

nodding, you felt an anxiety roll through you. out could mean anything with Ghost, you learned in your short time with him.

where are you, Ghost? a meek voice in you called out. smoothing a hand over your chest, you steadied yourself as Kate offered you a small plate of breakfast. a piece of cornbread on the side of a bowl of chili that you kept down easily, despite the nervous gurgling of your stomach.

“Turner’s men,” you began softly to Kate, putting down the empty plate, but you still drew in the attention of the other three men, “they’re gone?”

she nodded sullenly, and Soap added, “not without a fight. upturned half the town with them…” his eyes went dark, voice tinged with something violent. “...and left a couple dozen dead bodies.”

John knuckled his shoulder gently. “we’ll get ‘em back, Soap.” he said it like it should be comforting, but there was a deadliness in it that made you shudder.

Soap winked at you. “aye. we’ll kill all those Turner boys if we have to. we already took down half of ‘em yesterday.”

undoubtedly, you knew it was a promise. Kate said quietly, “neighbors said they gunned down a couple of ‘em before they fled town.”

your brows rose. “there were others fighting?”

Kyle shrugged. “it’s the west, ma’am. people’re itchin’ to break the law.”

you thought back to the assailant last night—how he high-tailed it after popping a shot.

“so the man who shot Ghost last night?”

Kyle shrugged again. “probably a drunk lookin’ for trouble. happens all the time in these parts.”

you tried to hide the look of horror curling into your face, something akin to disgust, but Soap, ever-observant, took amusement in it immediately.

“that scare ye, princess?” he leaned against the table, closer to your face, and your frown deepened.

“don’t call me that.” it sounded wrong coming from him.

John grabbed the scruff of his neck and Soap twisted, complaining loudly in his hold. “knock it off, would you? poor girl’s had a rough night.”

you gave John a grateful look. still, you were relieved to know Ghost was only shot by a drunk rather than found and almost killed by one of Turner’s boys. you assumed you got real lucky last night. or maybe unlucky since the drunk’s poor shot happened to pick out Ghost of all people at the club.

“what was Ghost doing in the town last night?” you piqued, and Soap went quiet. the whole room did. sheepish, you watched their gazes slide across the room, avoiding your own.

Soap shot out, “do we tell her?”

Kate hissed in response, scolding him with a tight grip on his ear, and Kyle smacked at the back of his head. you assumed Soap just let a vital piece of information slip from the way John’s mouth twisted.

“tell me what?” you pressed and Kate shooed you out the room, taking your arm in hers.

“help me out with somethin’ else, girlie, and i’ll answer half the questions you ask.”

half the questions, you ruminated with a bitter taste in your mouth. she led you out the door of the leather crafts shop before a word of protest could leave your mouth, and into the bright mid-morning light. shops littered down the street had owners stationed out in front, sweeping up debris, shattered glass, and shoving trash into sacks. Kate tipped her stetson to each one as you passed, and they would nod back in a way that forebode something ominous.

“these are the neighbors,” Kate explained in a low, smart tone. “and this is our town.”

you remembered what Ghost said to your daddy over dinner two nights ago.

i protected you. this was my territory. i had men in your town and i made sure no bandits came near your saloons and i made sure none left alive. then, you went to work with Turner instead.

“and you protect them for a price?” you asked.

she smiled lightly. “a small one.”

your daddy must’ve had an unlucky price to pay if his daughter was the bargaining chip.

“is this the only town you protect?”

Kate laughed at that, patting your hand on her arm gently. “heavens, no. Ghost’s got all kinds of investments from the west to east. he isn’t home much lately because of it.”

your brows raised. “that’s a lot of land to cover.”

“we’ve got a lot of friends from down south to help.”

you cocked your head at her as you turned the corner, making your way past the saloon from last night. the redhead with braids was mopping up the floor of the torn-up saloon, and when you caught her eye, her gaze sliding from you to the woman beside you, she paled.

“friends?”

Kate winked at you. “mexicans. a blessing from the spanish-american war.” when you just blinked at her, she elaborated.

“the boys enlisted in the british regiment to fight the spanish alongside patriots and texan mexicans. i played dress-up as a man to fight in the war.”

your brows raised and she gave you a sly look. “even had a female companion to play the part.”

she continued on. “when the war ended, one-four-one just never left—made friends with lots of boys down in texas. now, they do all sorts of work with us.”

“who?”

“los vaqueros.” the cowboys. you had heard of them too.

you should’ve been scared, connecting the dots, the blood-ties and relationships fused on the battlefield that didn’t break even ten years after the war. these people were dangerous. but in a way, you contemplated, your daddy was too. working with one-four-one, protected by los vaqueros, and bargaining with an enemy, Turner.

and you didn’t even know it.

you wondered if your mama did. thinking of the hardness in her face, and the back-breaking rigidness of her lifestyle, you assumed she carried that weight too.

Kate peered at the edge of your face, catching your eye. “you gonna run away yet?”

you gave her a long look, answering her as truthfully as you could. “no.”

she nodded. “good. because if you do, we may just have to kill you.”

eerily, you were reminded of Ghost two nights ago in the cabin, his arms crossed over his chest and half-asleep despite your attempt to kill him.

good. there’s a lot more dangerous things in the desert than coyotes, princess.

“you sound like Ghost,” you remarked with a grimace, and the long laugh that left Kate was airy and full of menace.

apparently helping out Kate meant running errands, restocking on preserves, fresh foods, and medical supplies. she kindly let you pick out your own stetson hat—a gus style, with three sloping dimples, cream-colored, and a leather brown cord tied round the base in a fashionable bow. your mama would’ve had your head for wearing something so manly, but turning it in your hands, the smooth velvet soft against your palms, your heart swelled at the thought of it being your own.

you would’ve paid for it if you didn’t carelessly lose your knapsack in the chaos last night, tending saloons and singing for drunkards. sighing at the cash register, you deeply lamented its loss and tugged the snug hat onto your head.

one-four-one wasn’t there when you returned to the leather crafts shop. Kate had given you a soft smile, saying they were out on business again. you had a sneaking suspicion that business meant shoot outs over encroached territory and fixing worsening investments.

as you prepared for dinner, it was uncanny to think that you were laying food out over the table where Ghost almost bled out the night before.

sure enough, just before the red crinkles of sunset, one-four-one meandered into the room for dinner, hats left by the hook at the door. you waited expectantly for a tall, broad, black suit and red mask to enter the room, but only deflated with disappointment. Soap shot you a knowing look that you pointedly ignored as the table joined hands to murmur a quick grace before digging in.

you could barely touch the food on your plate. any method you used to get under the boy’s skin about what business meant was quickly parried in clever ways that frustrated you more than your conversations with Kate. it was especially frustrating because you were beginning to think that business may circle around topics about you.

you couldn’t weasel any more information out of them except that John, Gaz, and Soap had rode north to a nearby town they had business in.

you were beginning to hate that word, you thought decidedly, trudging down the narrow hall to a spare bedroom Kate provided to you for the night. one-four-one would descend into the cool basement space with the preserves to their own quarters. you wanted to follow them, to peek down and see what was in there, but Kate was hot on your trail, and you knew they were probably hiding something else about business down there. especially since Kate would be sleeping down there as well.

that left you on the upper floor—which you contemplated with a frown because running away now would be easier than ever. except for the fact that you didn’t have a horse, gun, money, your knapsack, or anything at all in fact. unless you could scrounge around the kitchen a bit.

creeping from your designated room down the hall, you bit back any morsel of regret bleeding into your mouth as you entered the back room. one-four-one had shown you kindness, but technically, they had also kidnapped you and were forcing you to stay in their home. albeit, on your terms, according to Ghost. but you didn’t value the word of a kidnapper very much. even if, in the moment of your capture, you had wanted to leave home and never return again.

oh—and you were being used as a hostage in a business transaction.

that thought spurred you forward blindly, and you rummaged around the kitchen as quietly as you possibly could, pocketing matches, a box of ammo, and a small bunch of rope beneath the kitchen sink. sliding the knife drawer open, you inspected each one carefully, watching the blade glint in the moonlight, before picking up a small one you hoped would go missing without notice.

“stealing my things again?”

you jumped out of your skin with a shriek, and mindlessly turned to the source of sound, brandishing your knife at the intruding form shrouded in shadow. he caught your wrist easily, stepping forward to press you back against the kitchen counter and your heart dropped to your stomach.

dark eyes and a red mask. his hat was off and the black fabric beneath his mask was pulled up enough so you could see his jaw, the soft pink of his mouth and the silvery scar on his upper lip.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, dropping the knife. it clattered to the floor and he tilted his head almost curiously.

for a long moment you just stared in silence, his knee firm between your thighs and broad stature lingering over you, gloved hand tight on your wrist. you searched his eyes, reaching up a hand to brush at his jaw, but he immediately stepped out of your proximity.

“brought you something.” he nodded outside and you looked out the kitchen window to see your dappled gray mare, Sugar, tied to the fence post at the front of the leather crafts store by his black stallion. breath hitching, you pressed your hand to the glass.

“thank you,” you whispered, looking back at him. wordlessly, he turned from you to peel off his black trench coat.

when you noticed him wince, you immediately moved forward to help him out of his coat, laying it out over the table. mumbling a word of gratitude, he sat gingerly in a seat and leaned down to undo his boots. watching him struggle from the tenderness of his wound, you sighed, pushing his hands away to neatly kneel in front of him and smooth over your skirt. then, you carefully helped him pull them off.

“don’t need your help,” he grumbled from above, and you suppressed a smirk. you almost missed his grumpy remarks.

“that so?”

putting down his second boot by his feet, you looked up at him, heart jumping to your throat from the half-lidded look behind his mask. the gloved hand that rested on his thigh by your cheek twitched. you remembered its appearance yesterday—soaked in blood. his blood.

closing your eyes, you nuzzled your cheek into the hand, his palm cupping your face gently before moving down to stroke at your braid. he let out a low throaty sound when you looked up at him from where you kneeled, cheek pressed against his thigh, the fine worsted wool of his dress pants velvet on your skin.

“do you know what you do to a man?” he asked, voice soft. you only hummed back in sing-song question, eyes half-lidded, content where you leaned against the strength of his thigh.

“i searched half the plain for your horse. she got lost in the fray when i got shot.” his hand moved from your braid to your throat, stroking in time with the lulling pulse of your heart, leather cool on your hot skin.

“found her back at the cabin, sniffing around for you. the place was totally upturned, and all the food in my cabinets was gone.” he snickered lightly. “you thief.”

you smiled at that, gripping his wrist weakly.

“i like it when you talk,” you admitted, mesmerized by the slow way his soft lips shaped deep, grating words in that thick foreign accent.

you watched the bob of his bare throat swallow with a hunger pooling in your stomach.

“you should be afraid of me,” he whispered, gently pressing his thumb to your lower lip, “you were afraid of me.”

you couldn’t remember a time when you were afraid of Ghost—only a nervous anticipation crawling across your skin at his proximity. maybe you were never afraid in the first place. maybe you told yourself that you were afraid of him, out of your own unease, when the fear was something that you actually craved.

“i am afraid,” you said. his grip on your chin tightened. “but not of you.”

“who then?” he demanded, voice silky.

“Turner. his men.” an invulnerable shiver went through you. “they said the first man to lay hands on me gets dibs.”

you felt his thigh stiffen beneath you. “i won't let them touch you.”

you swallowed thickly, peering up at him. a dark, sinister voice inside you purred out.

i want you to touch me.

he cocked his head at you, asking a silent question.

i want only you to touch me.

he voiced it. “what do you want?” his hand moved to stroke at your cheek, your brow, your hair.

you never had the luxury of pondering the question. your path was always laid out before you by your mama and daddy. there was no choice. only lingering, bitter feelings of resentment as you fought yourself to believe that tending Daddy’s saloon and entertaining businessmen was the life you wanted.

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

your face heated with shame. “i want you.”

Ghost went very still. you couldn’t even hear his breaths in the darkness. “you’re sure?”

you nodded against his thigh. “mhmm. want you.”

“i’m the devil,” he murmured, sounding sullen, but you just shook your head.

“you’re Simon,” you corrected, and he flinched beneath you.

letting out a low curse, you didn’t even fight it when he scooped you up in his arms, and pressed you back against the kitchen counters, mask pressed to your hair, warm body against yours. your hand trailed up to press gently at the bullet wound buried beneath his black vest and button up. his hissed at the pressure but didn’t stop you as you moved to unbutton his vest.

“i want to see,” you explained softly, unfastening the thing completely. he tossed the vest onto the table, his holster following it, as you began unbuttoning his dress shirt, splaying out a hand over his warm chest.

he was littered with scars—big and small, and you desperately tried to memorize the placement of each one as you revealed more of his pale skin, inch by inch, till his shirt hung loose at his waist. your eyes swept over the naked expanse of his toned torso and the white bandage soaked through with blood that clutched at the right side of his stomach.

slowly, you unwrapped it till the old dressings fell from his skin and a long line of puckered pink skin punctured through with a dark thread was revealed. you steadied your breath, brushing a hand over it. Ghost shifted overhead, leaning his weight onto the counter behind you.

“does it hurt?”

you couldn’t see his face, but his voice was wrung through in your ear. “no.”

the corner of your mouth twitched. “didn’t take you for a liar, Ghost.”

he just grunted in response. you smoothed your hands over the warmth of his torso.

“let me take care of you?” you offered, and his breath went shallow. you didn’t even know how to take care of someone. you had no idea what you were doing. but you offered anyway.

you could feel him smile into your hair, nose pressed to your ear. “always so polite, princess.”

you felt him tug your hair loose of its braid, and you took in a sharp breath as it fell in waves around your shoulders. he pulled off his gloves quickly, taking a handful of it, pressing the softness of your hair to his cheek. you shuddered.

“you won’t do a thing tonight, lovely,” he commanded lowly, and you nodded, hands clutching at his chest as he circled his strong arms around you. forehead pressed to yours, you looked up through his mask to find his rich brown eyes on you. his warm breath hit your lips.

he tilted his head in a gesture down the hall. “want you on that bed now.”

you complied immediately, taking him in your hand, going down the hall with one of his hands burning straight through the fabric at where he tightly gripped at your hip. crowding you into the room, and the door sealed tight behind you, he turned you by your hips, and gently pulled back your hair to expose your neck to him. you gasped when the soft wetness of his mouth kissed over it gently, his arm curling around you to pull you flush together.

a steady heat pooled in your stomach, and you squirmed in his hold.

“Ghost…” you begged, not even knowing what you were begging for. he hummed against your skin, undoing the clasp of your holster, then your skirt. you felt embarrassed by your clunky attire, kicking off your boots, hiding your face into his bare chest as he slid the article off your legs.

“don’t hide,” he warned in a light tone, expertly taking apart the back of your blouse to leave you only in your undergarments. the look behind his mask was dark and domineering, leaving you shaking in his hold. he smoothed a bare hand over your shoulder and arm, lifting the inside of your wrist to press a kiss there, before he was kissing up your arm in a hot trail.

when he reached your jaw, a foreign and breathy noise left your throat. his eyes snapped back up to yours, pausing his ministrations as you blushed deeply. you didn’t know what those sounds meant—only that they left you feeling utterly sinful for being so exposed to an older man, unmarried, and so innocent.

you swallowed when Ghost’s hands went to the back of your corset, undoing its clasps blindly as he pressed more kisses to your neck, your cheek, and the corner of your lips. you squeaked, screwing your eyes shut and found yourself disappointed when he paused again.

panting, your brows pinched in confusion. Ghost was leaning a bit back now, looking down at you with an imperceptible expression.

“what? why’d you stop?” you whispered, scared to break the moment, but he unabashedly cut through the quiet of the room. “How much do you know about going to bed with someone?”

you squeaked again, stupidly looking around the room as if your mama may have been hiding in the wardrobe. the look on Ghost’s face twisted into pure amusement, much to your chagrin, and you cursed yourself for the complete absence of confidence in you—like it had all run dry with your cheek pressed to his thigh under the dinner table.

“i know…” you fumbled for a word, “...a lot. so much.”

Ghost huffed, taking one of your hands pressed to your chest and sliding it down, past his belt, to the front of his pants. you yelped when he closed your hand around something hard, something throbbing.

“you know what this is then?”

you nodded dumbly.

“really?” you had no idea.

you nodded again, and he laughed lowly, cupping a hand around the back of your neck to kiss your cheek softly, his cool mask brushing your skin.

he unclasped the top of your corset, and you jolted when pulled it slowly from your torso. the cold air of the room bit at your skin and you wrapped your arms over your chest. grumbling in disapproval, he let the thing clatter to the floor and untangled your arms from your chest, pushing you back onto the bed.

“don’t worry, lovely,” he slew sloppy, wet kisses over your breast and stomach, lightly nipping at the chub there, and a loud sound flew from your mouth from the ministration, your back arching in response. “i can teach you everything.”

a large palm slid over your stomach, keeping you pinned there with a dark look, black eyes pitched in a silver from the moonlight. “would you like that, lovely?”

you nodded wildly, clutching at his hand splayed over your tummy.

“please, Simon,” you called softly, and a guttural sound left the back of his throat as he hooked a thumb beneath the waist of your lacey drawers and pulled them down, letting them pool around your knees for a moment as he leaned down over you to placing a comforting kiss to your shoulder.

then, you were bare, splayed out in the moonlight beneath his muscled stature. you squirmed in his hold, pressing your thighs together around his arm, but he pried them apart easily, baring your most sensitive parts to him. your whole body flushed when his eyes honed in on the throbbing between your legs, humming deeply. you yelped as he greedily tugged you to the edge of the bed, gingerly settling on his knees on the floor in front of you.

“your wound—” you cried out in surprise, but you were cut short when he buried his nose between your legs and breathed in deeply.

“Simon,” you called, voice breathy and panting, like you’d just run a far distance, and your hips jolting up against your will. there was a strange deep coiling in your stomach—a growing ache you felt like you needed to relieve with a crazy thirst.

he wrapped two strong arms round your thighs to pin your squirming hips down, nosing around the soft folds and plushness of your inner thighs.

“patience,” he said, voice soft, and you keened, unsure what to do with your hands clenching and fumbling around the sheets. catching your wrists, he pinned them down to the bed along with your thighs.

you felt the strange primal need to beg—to plead for his forgiveness, your whole body alight from the way he held your body in a bind, baring yourself to him.

“please,” you whimpered, unsatisfied with the way he continued to kiss and bite at your thighs, licking over them and periodically sucking the skin into his mouth. you canted your hips up, moaning when you found a delicious bout of friction against his turned jaw.

with a grunt of disapproval, he pinned you roughly back down to the bed.

“greedy are we, pretty thing?”

biting your lip, you didn’t feel an ounce of shame as you nodded. you needed that friction again. you didn’t know why, but you felt like you needed to grind against something desperately, just to relieve that sore aching inside you.

humming, Ghost lowered his mouth between your legs, eyes on yours as he gently blew cold air over the throbbing heat of you. you whined at that, hips trying to buck up, but he was just too strong.

“hurts,” you admitted in a whimper, and his eyes darkened.

“what hurts?”

you squirmed, whimpering helplessly, face flushing. “there.”

“where?” he asked, his lips twisted in a smug way.

you threw your head back, chest pushing up into the air with a frustrated whine.

“here?” he offered, his tongue coming out to lap over the throbbing thing between your legs. at that you gasped with a jolt, chasing his tongue. “this pretty little cunt aching?”

“yes,” you gasped, his tongue coming down to caress your core again and again, till it was lapping at it, almost playing with it.

the feeling was intense, nothing like you’d ever felt before. it bloomed like a fire in your throat, quenching the intense ache in your stomach, but every time he pulled away, the ache only grew stronger and stronger, like you needed to chase the pleasure with even more pleasure.

it was torture. you didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer.

the sight of him between your legs was so sinful, so wrong for a man to be lapping at you in such a forbidden place. but that intense feeling hung over everything in a foggy haze, blanketing any sense of foreboding shame that rang in the back of your brain.

there was only Ghost now—pinning your wrists and thighs to the bed, tongue rubbing strong circles into your fleshy pink skin.

when he pulled back, you almost cried out in frustration but he pinned you with a dark look of warning, releasing your wrists to bring a thumb to your cunt. he rubbed at in fast circles and a breathy moan escaped you, arching against the sheets.

he cooed. “so sensitive. you never touch yourself before, pretty thing?”

you choked out a reply. “no—it’s,” you gasped when his tongue came down to lap at your entrance, drawing teasing patterns over it, hooking inside then drawing out.

“sinful.” you finished with a drawl and he pushed his tongue inside, fucking you out of your wits with the wet muscle.

he hummed inside you, the tremors traveling all the way up to the place where he was rubbing with his thumb. you clutched at his hand, willing it to move faster, and he complied immediately. your body lost a fiber of control with every passing second.

“you look like you’re enjoying it, though,” he spoke against you with a smug look. you barely heard him, a foreign sensation building in you so fast, the words of warning died in your throat.

“you like getting fucked out with my tongue? my thumb on your clit?”

“you like being my good little whore, pretty thing?”

“say my name, princess.”

his low, gruff words went straight to the blooming heat in your stomach, traveling straight to your cunt, and exploding out to your swollen clit as you chanted his name.

Simon, Simon, Simon.

every throbbing wave gripped you with an intensity, clenching around his tongue in delicious rolls of pleasure that had you squirming in the sheets, unable to keep still as he pulled you through a slew of ecstasy.

Simon.

colors exploded behind your eyelids, jaw slack, you slowly laxed into the bed, melting as the sweet noises in your throat eventually subsided.

there was a lulling stillness in the room as your senses slowly came back to you, and you realized Ghost was speaking in a throaty, cracked murmur to you, voice raw and overused.

“good girl,” he praised, and you looked up at him, leaning into his palm as he affectionately rubbed at your cheek, clambering over you to press a kiss to your ear, the tip of your nose.

his warm breath against your lips had you jolting to life, slapping a hand over his mouth with a gasp. he jolted against you and you scrambled up straighter, seized by what you had just done.

you, naked and bare on the bed, and he, shirt unbuttoned and jaw splashed with your slick. a question burned in the dark eyes behind his mask but you just made haste to cover your body with the sheets, scurrying out of his hold.

he called your name out, voice dark and pinched. he reached for you, but you held up a hand.

“don’t,” you warned, gripped with such a burning shame that tears filled your eyes. you quickly wiped at them relentlessly, but more reappeared in their stead, and you drew the covers around your shoulders, unable to contain the shaking that wracked your body.

burying your face in your hands, thoughts convulsed wildly in your head. what have you done? what would your mama think? your daddy?

you whimpered. what would the lord think?

you shook so hard you barely noticed the black button up sleeve that Ghost wrapped around your shoulders, taking the sleeves to loosely tie them around your neck. he settled a fair distance from you, eyes full and glinting.

“alright, pretty girl?” he asked gingerly when your sobbing subsided.

you sniffled, voice strained and throaty. “no.”

you gave him a miserable look. “we’re not married.”

he tilted his head, mouth opening and closing. his hand clenched at the sheets then relaxed again.

“i don’t wanna be a whore,” you cried, feeling dumb as you wiped at the tears coming down your cheeks in an onslaught.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. “is this because i called you a—”

“no!” you shouted immediately, then lowered your voice with a quick apology.

he slid to your side, flush against you and warm through the sheets. he pressed his mask to your hair.

“no one’ll think you’re a whore,” he mumbled, playing with your hair in his fingers, “you’re mine already.”

there was a deadpanned simplicity in his voice that made it easy to believe.

he took your tear-stained face in his hands. “besides, you’re too polite, princess. even in all that cowboy get-up.”

staring into his masked face, you nodded, chewing what he was feeding you slowly. he angled your face gently. when his lips made a slow descent to yours, you squeaked with a jolt and tried to scurry out of his hold, but he held fast, grunting with effort.

“what now?” he asked, exasperation flitting through his eyes, clenching at his jaw.

“i don’t kiss before a date—s’not proper!” you shot back with twice as much ire, and his eyes went wide before a huff of laughter escaped him.

“that so?”

you rolled your eyes. “yes.”

he hummed low, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “so proper, princess.”

you suppressed a laugh, trying to conceal your giggle with a frustrated huff, but Ghost didn’t fall for it as he drew you into arms, easily man-handling you into his desired position beneath the sheets before he slid into them behind you, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

you were pulled into a soft wall of warmth and bowing strength, curling around you in a sleepy hold. you couldn’t fight it even if you tried. he shifted against you, and you gasped when you felt something hard digging into the fleshy curve of your backside.

shooting a curious look over your shoulder, Ghost only offered you a lazy blink.

“don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he mumbled, drawing you in closer.

“but—”

“i don’t talk about those kinds of things before a date,” he said under his breath, and you could only laugh, relishing the way his lips curled into a smile against your hair.

an easy silence filtered into the room and you reached back behind you to grip at his shoulder, his neck, his skin. you took a deep breath. he was real. he was alive.

he slid his arms around your sides as a bind over your stomach, and you clutched weakly at the muscle of his arms smothering you.

“i thought you were going to die,” you ruminated softly, feeling a natural force pulling down on your eyelids.

“ghosts don’t die,” he reminded you, his lips against your neck.

“devils don’t either,” you said, and he grunted in disapproval.

“you think i’m the devil, lovely?” his fingers stroked at your cheek. you leaned into his touch thoughtfully.

“maybe,” you answered in a truthful nod. “i don’t mind it though. i can make you good.”

his laugh was mirthless. “doubt you can, princess.”

you swallowed hard and closed your eyes. “you won’t ransom me back to my daddy, will you?”

you took his silence as a warning, an uneasy toil rolling through you. shifting in his arms, you turned to face him, the fabric of his mask pulled back down over his jaw, heavy gaze bearing down on you, half-lidded and sleepy. he just pulled you flush against his chest so you couldn’t see his masked face anymore, only the sounds of his deep, steady breaths in your ear that dragged you into a restless sleep.

p.s.: to any history buffs out there, i know that technically there was no actual british regiment in the spanish-american war but let's pretend that there was for the sake of plot holessss

...also imagining Gaz talk in a thick southern drawl was so funny to me he's so adorable

anyways hoped you enjoyed this long, self-indulgent chapter! more coming soon :]

5K notes · View notes

cinnaminsvga · 6 months

Text

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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irndad · 1 year

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Hi hun! I just love love love your pieces <3

As for Carmy prompts - could we have some hurt to comfort when Carmen doesn't show up for a date? It's ok if you dont wanna do it or i requested incorrectly, but if you do, i cant wait to read!!!!! Thank you so much mwah mwah mwah

I’m not thaaaaaat sure how I feel about this and it’s so long but your request was so sweet I had to!!! Ily <3333

wc:1.1k

There’s so fucking much in his ear. Fak’s screaming whatever bullshit he’s sure will help absolutely nothing, Richie’s harassing Sydney and Tina’s trying to keep them all in line and will of that goddamn chaos, he shouldn’t be able to make out anything.

Prepping this whole thing, the opening, Richie biting his head off for fucking sending him to the best kitchen in the city- it’s all a bit fucking much.

He barely hears the door open (she has a key, because of course she does) and he doesn’t even look over his shoulder as he calls out her name.

“Hey, baby,” he yells back towards the entrance. It feels good, chopping the vegetables. It’s actually one of her favorite dishes that he’s making, and something inside him preens that he gets to feed her tonight. Everything feels illustrious under her gaze. He remembers the first time he’d cooked for her, how her watchful gaze felt a bit like sunlight; equal parts burning and doused in light.

She’d said she liked his hands, then. Said he looked pretty with a knife and a cutting board. “Will you try this sauce for me?”

He hears her heels click, the soft thud of her purse landing on the couch. It’s a slow saunter she does to him, but he’s razor focused- what does it need, garlic? Oregano?

It only breaks when he sees her. And she looks gorgeous. Wearing a black dress with a cowl neck, shimmery eyeshadow that catches and dances in the low light of the kitchen, a crimson lipstick neatly applied to her beautiful pout.

She smells like vanilla, and Carmen has the privilege of knowing what real, rich, Madagascar vanilla smells like. He’d loved the scent so much that he’d bought her a perfume made from it, and there’s a warmth blooming in his chest when he realizes that she’s wearing it.

Wordlessly, she opens her mouth and leans forward to try the sauce covered wooden spoon he’d raised to her lips.

Even when she’s in front of him, he can’t believe she’s someone he knows. That she’s wasting her time with someone like him.

“Jesus Christ you look beautiful,” he says without thinking, and he kisses her quick. It’s true. She’s a vision, plucked out of an old movie shot on grainy film, warm to the touch film.

He abandons the spoon and the sauce without much fanfare, a rough, calloused hand meeting her soft warm cheek.

“Thanks, Carmen.” she says, but her doe-eyes deny the joy she typically exudes in his presence. It’s his proudest achievement, how she glows around him. She’s tight lipped, smile betraying her words.

“What’s wrong? Is it the sauce? I know it’s a mess in here, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d see it-“

“No! No, seriously, it’s okay, honey.” She tries to insist but it really doesn’t work. He moves the pot off the burner and twists himself completely to face her, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. He tries not to let it sting, how she stiffens for a moment before softening again.

“What happened?” He asks again.

“It’s the first,” she says, a rueful grin on her pretty lips, before gesturing down at her outfit, and oh.

The dinner. The fucking dinner that he’d promised her. His sweet girl, who waited up every night, who dutifully tasted every recipe, who soothed him on nights where nightmares stole his sleep-

“Fuck,” he says, more to himself than her, but god, he can’t stop looking at her, “Fuck! God, I’m such an asshole, I’m so sorry-“ he insists, suddenly so grateful that she’s letting him touch her, even more aware of every point of contact with the sudden fear that it could escape in a moment’s notice.

“Y’know, Carm, if you could’ve just told me that would’ve been one thing? But I left the reservation, and this was the one night we both had off!”

“I know, baby, fuck, I forgot-“

She backs away from him, and there’s a sick feeling in his stomach. Sitting on the chair he keeps by the stove (he put it there for her, because she loved watching him) she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“It’s just not fair, Carm. To either of us. If you don’t have time for this-“

“I have time for this! I have time. Don’t say things like that.”

“Carmy, I’m not trying to hurt you. You know that’s the last thing I want.”

And it is. It’s the last thing she wants, and Carmen fucking knows it. Knows that three months in he’s supposed to have brought her flowers and taken her out and done more than cook for her and spend hours in his shitty apartment, and lately she’s been asking if he has time for being in a relationship.

And maybe he doesn’t, but fuck it if he doesn’t feel like he can breathe around her. This was the point of the dinner- take her out, be a boyfriend. Have her wait a little while on him. Show her he’s worth it.

Instead he fucking missed it, stayed home and made sauce no one would even eat.

“I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing her hand and lacing it through his own. It always shocks him, how it fits his own. “Okay? I’m so, so fuckin’ sorry. Tell me what I can do. Tell me, cos I’ll do just about fuckin’ anything to get you to stop saying shit like that.”

Her voice comes out small.

“I was alone, Carm. They kept trying to take my order and you weren’t there, and eventually I had to leave.“

She looks up at him, eyes sparkling and kind and Carmen. She looks beautiful, and if he wasn’t with her, he’d see her in the street and hate whatever fuck was lucky enough to be who she got dressed up for.

“I am so, so sorry. It’s just with the stove, and Fak, and Richie fucking calling me to bitch me out every thirty seconds,” she reaches her delicate fingers to brush his cheek with concern, “I should’ve remembered. It’s just about the only thing this week worth remembering. And you look…stunning, I should’ve been there. I should’ve. Please.”

Her expression softens and he loves the sight of her, warm and kind and lovely in both form and temperance. She’s so patient with him, responds with kindness- a gift.

She brushes her soft lips on his cheek and he tries to savor the sensation, note how warm and wonderful it is to have her form pressed against his, how her arms knot themselves around his waist.

“I know you’re stressed, babe,” she murmurs against his cheek, eyes shut, “tell you what. Why don’t you make me something better than what that place could’ve, huh?”

After he kisses her for so long that excess is no longer the right terminology, he makes her the best pasta she’s ever had in her goddamn life.

It’s better this way, anyway. She’s gorgeous in a way that’s just his to look at tonight.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x You #carmy berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear x reader

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eddiesxangel · 9 months

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Could you do a smutty Eddie Munson fic where he’s your older brother’s bsf?

maybe reader has had a crush on Eddie for a while and when she finally decides to move on and date someone Eddie gets jealous?

What Eddie Doesn’t Know | Eddie x f!reader

AN: I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it took a while to complete. Thank you for the request; I haven’t been inspired by anything non-Christmas-themed in a while. I was literally barking at the trope.

wc: 7.1k oops

Cw: f!reader, reader is 19 and in collage and Eddie is 22 and a full time mechanic, reader goes by a nickname, jealous Eddie, jealous reader, angst, cheating (on the reader but not by Eddie), smut (pet names, oral, dirty talk, p in v), the fluffy ending!

Pathetic. That was how you felt at this moment in time. Here you were at your college homecoming party, and all you could do was be a wallflower, watching in self-pity as the love of your life. ( who doesn’t know is the love of your life) is pressed up on some girl in the back of the room.

"What are you doin' here, Tink?" you pop out of your daze to see your older brother, Adam, addressing you.

Did your parents name you Tink? No. Were you so obsessed with Peter Pan as a child you demanded to go by Tinkerbell? Yes. The nickname kinds just stuck.

"I go here?" You sass him back.

"This party is for upperclassmen only. How did you get in?" Adam was only three years older.

"Eddie's here, and he doesn't even attend school..." You gave him a pointed look.

"Yeah, cuz he is my best friend... like I said, how did you get in?"

"It's a house party, not Studio 54... I walked in."

"I'm going to kill Cory," He mumbled under his breath. Cory was supposed to be manning the door.

"Yeah, you should definitely get better security, all I had to do was let him feel up my tits, and we walked right on in..."

The Neanderthal didn't actually touch you, but the look on Adam's face when you let Adam believe he did? Priceless. You only lied so Adam would leave you alone.

What actually happened was you, Nancy, and Robin scaled the fence and got in through the back door.

"Cory!" Before you knew it, Adam was out of your hair, and you were back to being a wallflower….

"Tink there you are! You wanna continue to mope in the corner, or do you wanna get out of here?" your two best friends/roomies, Robin and her girlfriend Nancy, approach you.

"I guess let's just go." you sigh.

You can no longer bear the sight of Eddie, the boy you've been crushing on since the sixth grade, and your older brother’s best friend, leading the random girl up the stairs hand in hand.

Your stomach lurched at the thought of her hands running all over his body, how he would be on her, kissing her... inside of her. He didn't even know you were here... You should have gone up to him, maybe said hello. Perhaps he would have seen the ridiculous amount of effort you put into your ensemble just to catch his eye. But your efforts were lacking because, to him, you're always going to be Adam's annoying little sister.

You knew you had to get over this, but how could you? He has been in your life for fifteen years and always will be. Adam and Eddie have been friends for as long as you can remember. Your brother stuck by him throughout Eddie's family struggles. Your parents even took him in for a few weeks before CPS found his uncle took over full custody. He was basically your big brother, too, until your pesky teenage hormones started to kick in, and boom! You've been head over heels ever since.

''Good, let's get some greasy burgers and fries to end the night, ok?" Robin smiled.

In the 24-hour diner on campus, you were sitting at your regular booth with the girls across from you, eating your feelings, trying not to think about what Eddie was doing with that girl.

"So that party was a bust, huh?" Nancy spoke first.

"Yeah, totally... probably because Adam's house hosted." You giggled.

"Not to mention Eddie still didn't see you -OUCH." Robin looked over at Nancy, who was giving her a look of distaste. "Sorry, I meant he is an idiot, and you need to get over him! There are plenty of eligible guys on campus who you could date!"

"Even though my girlfriend is being is harsh, she is right, Tink. It's been so long, and you'll kill yourself over this if you keep this up."

"Ugh, I know! Do you think I'm a masochist or something? I hate to break it to you, but I do not enjoy this. I hate it. I hate that he is the one I think about every day when I wake up. I hate it when I go to sleep; he is the last person on my mind. He takes over my thoughts, and I don't know how to stop it!" You shove a fry into your mouth so you can take a breather.

"What if we found you a new guy? Someone to take your mind off Eddie?" Nancy perked up at her idea.

You heard the diner doorbells chime from behind you.

"I don't know..." Putting all your time and energy into someone new seemed like a lot of emotional work you wanted to avoid going through.

"Yes! Oh my god, Tink, you have to. It's the only way you'll get over him!"

"Get over who?" The silky, sweet voice of a male came from behind you.

You and the girls froze as Eddie, your brother, and a few other guys approached the table.

"No one." You mumbled, trying to fight off the blood rushing across your chest and cheeks.

"You can tell us, Tink! Who are we fighting?" Eddie laughed.

"Tink? What kind of stupid name is that?" one of Adam's jerk friends spoke.

"Excuse me?" you turn to see the guy you've never met.

You heard Adam burst out laughing with the rest of them, but not Eddie.

"Hey man, not cool!" Eddie stood up for you.

And there went the butterflies in your stomach. Eddie was always your protector. Even as kids, when Adam picked on you, he always stood up for you. Even if you weren't around, Eddie always put Adam in his place when it came to you.

You saw, out of the corner of your eye, Eddie shifted his weight down so he could sit beside you. Then, you felt a protective arm wrap around your shoulder.

Fuck. This shit right here is why you can never get over Eddie Munson.

You dared to look up; there he was in all his glory. The way the fluorescent light from above had cast down on him made him look like an angel. He smiled at you, but not before you noticed the dishevelled sex hair he tried to fix and the small amount of pink lipstick that stained the skin on his neck that he didn't quite get off. And the smell… sickly sweet perfume that was definitely not his signature musk.

You quickly turn your head back to your plate because you think you're about to puke up everything you just ingested…

"You, if you don't leave us alone." Robin piped up. She saw the look of pure disappointment in your eyes. You didn't need Eddie to rub in the fact that he hooked up with someone, especially since now he is smelling like a cheap hooker.

Robin and Nancy thought it was incredibly rude of your brother to flaunt Eddie in front of you like this. Of course, he knew your mega super infinity crush on his best friend. Yet here he is with his drunk-ass buddies, antagonizing you about the guy you needed to get over.

"Woah, Birdie, take it easy; we are just saying hello," Adam chimed in.

“You said hello at the party. Now leave!” You gritted through your teeth.

“You were at the party?” Eddie asked. His voice hitched high. High enough, it was embarrassingly so. Thankfully, his friends were too drunk and hungry to realize. A deep blush crossed his face when he saw you noticed the tone in his voice change. You just have a slight nod and continue to play with the food on your plate.

That’s why you were so dressed up. Eddie thought you looked so pretty, too pretty to be sad about some looser in a diner at one in the morning.

"Do we have a problem here?" A voice none of you recognized came from the booth beside you.

You all look over and see a cute guy with blonde hair and blue eyes wearing your school's rugby jersey. He was so not your type, but you can still admire beauty for what it is. He was a jock; that was clear as he stood up. He was big, more significant than your brother and Eddie, that's for sure.

"Nah, man, it's cool. This is my little sister and her friends." Adam slurs. Clearly, he had more shots since he left you to find Cory.

"I don't care who you are. You're clearly bothering them."

"It's okay, they were just leaving," Nancy said confidently.

"Whatever, let's go, guys," Adam commanded the pac, but Eddie lingered. He didn't like this blondie guy. He didn't like the way he was looking at you.

"Ed, come on!'

Eddie got up and slowly made his way to his friends.

"I'm Jesse," Eddie heard the musclehead speak, and he cringed internally. Something wasn't right. The feelings of anger and protectiveness were filling his mind.

Eddie looked back again and saw you smelling at the stranger as he reached out to shake your hand before sitting beside you.

What kind of freak is alone in a diner at 1:15 am? Eddie thought.

But it didn't seem to phase you or the girls; you were all blinded by his shiny hair and pearly white smile.

Eddie walked out and felt like he wanted to punch something. He needed to get away. He needed to know what the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he feeling this way? Why were you the one causing him distress? You were just Tink? Or so Eddie thought.

Jesse turned out to be really cool. You exchanged numbers, and he asked you to go to the movies next Friday. You hadn’t been on a date in forever; you had been so hung up on Eddie that any other guy seemed uninteresting. But this time, you were determined that Jesse would be the one to break the cycle. He was much different than you’re generally into, but you have some of the same interests, like movies and music, so you thought you’d go for it.

Jesse picked you up, bought the tickets, and insisted on buying the snacks and drinks. He held your hand and then slowly made his way to wrap his arm around your shoulder. It gave you butterflies you hadn’t felt from anyone else. Before you knew it, you willingly leaned in to make out with him in the back of the theatre.

You were so focused on Jesse that you didn’t notice Eddie was also on a date in the same theatre. But Eddie noticed you. He was seething the whole time. He didn’t pay any attention to his date or the movie. He hogged the popcorn and munched away as he watched you giggle and flirt with the blockhead jock. Eddie didn’t care that he had pissed off his date. He hardly said two words to her when they parted ways, not even offering to drive her home.

He didn’t want to go out with her but had hooked up with her at the party and felt terrible about it then. Now, he can’t even remember her name or why he went upstairs with her in the first place.

You were there, at the party, but he didn’t see you. Now he sees you everywhere, and it’s pissing him off. Why were you on his mind all of the time? For the past week, why have his dreams been consumed by you and you alone? Why did he want to hold you, be with you, talk to you, dare he say… kiss you? You were Adam’s little sister. Well, not so little anymore. You were a late bloomer, but boy, did you bloom.

Eddie hated how the blonde meathead’s hand rested too low on your back. His hands grazed your skirt a little too closely. Eddie wanted to jump the guy, but he couldn’t. He was twice his size. He would be pulverized, and that would be mortifying in front of you. You wouldn’t want him like that anyway, even if he did win in a fight over you!

What the fuck was Eddie thinking? He wasn't… that's the problem. He's now thinking about getting into a physical altercation over you. He isn't able to sleep now without thinking about you. He needed to get his head on straight and quit fucking around. He hoped that if he just focused on the cars at work, this little thing would go away on its own. Maybe he can't remember that he had slipped and hit his head? Yeah, that's it. He hit his head, and now his brain is just confused. He didn't like you like that! This will all go away by tomorrow.

Wrong.

Eddie was plagued with thoughts of you. He caught himself in numerous daydreams about you while doing mindless tuneups and tire changes at the shop. It was getting out of hand; it’s been another week, and he still can’t get you off his mind… Eddie needed to be proactive. The guys were starting to give him shit about it too. They knew he was focused on a girl. They could sense it.

There was another party tonight that Adam mentioned. He will go home and get cleaned up. Then he will go to the party, he will find a nice pretty girl who will let him bury himself inside her, to forget about his thoughts of splitting your open with his cock, and this will all be over.

You walked into the party hand in hand with Jesse. He was starting to make waves in your life, being only two weeks, but still. He would walk you to your classes and help you study in the library. He would walk you home and kiss you goodbye like the perfect gentleman. He hadn't tried making any advances as of yet. The two of you had only made it to first base. Maybe tonight you would get lucky? You felt ready.

“You want something to drink?” Jesse guided you to the kitchen.

The house was hot and sticky; you were worried about your hair getting frizzy. You worked so hard on it to look good for Jesse. He even complimented it when he picked you up. Forever the gentleman.

“Whatever they have is good.” You smiled up at him.

As the two of you walked into the packed kitchen, you tried to squeeze your way around but got stuck in the crowd. It was much easier for Jesse to get by just with his size alone.

“Excuse me,” you repeated three times, but no one was budging.

“You should be a little bit more assertive,” the voice behind you said. It sent a shiver down your spine.

As you turned, you saw Eddie smirking down at you. He was drunk. You could see that and smell it.

“Hi, Eddie.” You smiled meekly before you felt the weight of Jesse’s arm wrap around you, passing you your drink.

“There you are,” Jesse smiled. "Who's this?"

"That's just Eddie...Eddie, Jesse. Jesse, Eddie." You introduced awkwardly.

Just Eddie. The words stung.

"How do the two of you know each other?" Jesse gestures between the two of you.

"Brothers best friend." You smile.

"That's all I am to you? You wound me, Tink."

The fuck was that supposed to mean?

"Eddie, man! I got us two hotties over by the pool. Let's go!" In comes your obnoxious brother with perfect timing, as always.

"I guess I'll see you around." Eddie sighed.

"Nice meeting you, man." Jesse stuck out his hand.

"Whatever." Eddie brushed him off and left with Adam.

"I'm sorry about him. That was very rude. I don't?- He's usually not like that?"

"It's okay; I can tell a jealous guy when I see one." Jesse shrugged.

You almost spat out your drink. "Jealous?!"

"Oh, it's clear as day, honey."

"No... there is no way. He's never and will never like me... like that." It broke your heart to say that out loud. Your chest felt so heavy as the words came out of your mouth.

As the rest of the night went on, you and Eddie tried avoiding one another like the plague. Those words about him being jealous were swimming around in your head for most of the night, and Eddie was trying to avoid his feelings by being with another girl, but not one stood out to him.

Adam tried getting lucky but struck out when Eddie refused to go with the friend.

"What the fuck is your problem, man? She was like a solid eight out of ten."

"I wasn't into it..." Eddie's eyes found you, and he couldn't break his gaze. You were curled up in the blockhead's lap, sitting by the fire pit, all cozy and giggly. What he would give to have you in his arms like that.

"Oh fuck, not you now." Adam groaned in frustration, seeing where Eddie's googly eyes were directed.

"Huh?" Eddie said absentmindedly, not really paying attention.

"You can't be serious?! That's my little sister, dude; come on!" Adam was always one for the dramatics; that's why he and Edie got on so well.

"Woah, man, I never said anything about your sister."

"Well, it sure is clear by the way you're making heart eyes at her."

"Yeah, right," Eddie scoffed.

"Trust me, dude, it's that same way she looks at you." Adman shook his head. He thought he would be clear of this. That this would never happen, and yet here it is, happening.

"Wait, what? What do you mean?-"

"She's been in love with you since she was twelve... come one like you didn't know?"

"No way, you smoked too much tonight, so something? Maybe my stuff is off?"

"She likes you, dude. Never fucking shuts up about you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't think it was relevant... I was never going to allow her to be with you! You serious? It's Tink, she's so...ew. You're so above that."

"She's not new," Eddie snapped. He hated how hard Adam had always been on you.

"Whatever, man, too late now. About time she has moved on."

Eddie stood up and walked out of the party without a word. He heard Adam call out, but he ignored him completely. He needed to process what Adam told him. He needed to sober up so he could think clearly. He needed to either make you his or find a way to get over you... and fast.

That night of the party, you didn't end up getting lucky. You tried making advances, but you inevitably were shot down. He said he didn't want your first time to be when you both had been drinking and in some random bathroom. So you accepted it, even though your horny gremlin was starting to come back to life. But what did happen was he asked you to make it official with him, and you said yes!

Tonight, you had to leave the apartment for your roommate's sake. It was their anniversary, and you told them you could have the place to themselves for a romantic evening. When you told Jesse, your new boyfriend, you needed a place to crash, he offered you his bed. You would go to your classes and then return to his for your first sleeepover as a couple. You were so excited!

Jesse ended class at one in the afternoon that day, and you ended at five, so it worked out perfectly. Luckily enough for you, your professor for your last lecture was ill, so they cancelled class that day. You thought it would be fun to surprise him by showing up early.

When you got to his house, his roommate let you in and said he was in his room with his friend Connor. So when you knocked on the door and walked in a few seconds later, you did not expect to see the two men in bed, naked...

You screamed and covered your eyes, absolutely mortified that you had walked in on them. You were so unbelievably hurt that you had been deceived. Why would he ask you to be exclusive if he was sleeping around?! And on the night when you thought you would get to have sex with your new boyfriend.

You did not give Jesse any time to explain himself as he tried to get out of the tangled sheets and arms of the other man. You heard your name being called out, but you ran out of there like a bat out of hell.

Tears stung your cheeks as the cold autumn air began to settle in. The rumble of the dark clouds was also looking quite ominous.

Just your luck. Of course, you would find your boyfriend in the arms of another man, and of course, the universe would make you walk him in the rain. How poetic.

A crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, and that's when the rain came down in buckets. At least it could cover up your tears. You continued walking, but you couldn't think of a place to go? You could not ruin your roommate's night. There is no way Adam would let you stay in his frat house, not that you would want to anyway, and your friends from the class went home for the weekend. Shit... maybe you could spend the majority of the night in the diner and then just walk home really late once they were defiantly sleeping. But your clothes were soaked and---

“Tink, what’s wrong?” you were snapped out of your thoughts by none other than the man who was the cause of this whole mess.

Eddie rolled down the work van window. He was covered in motor oil and dirty from working all day. His muscles ached, and he badly needed a hot shower, but now all he could focus on was you and why you were upset.

“Leave me alone, Eddie.” He hadn’t ever heard you speak to him like this?

“Tink, come on, it’s a literal thunder storm. Let me take you home.”

“Can’t, girls are having date night… told them to have the place to themselves.” You continued to walk as the chill from the rain was beginning to seep through to your bones. Your teeth betray you as the chatter starts.

“Where were you supposed to be right now?”

“None of your business!”

“Tink, don’t make me pull over!”

“Screw you, Eddie!”

“That’s it.” Eddie parked the car and got out. “You’re coming with me.” Eddie picked you up over his shoulder, and you let out a screech.

“Eddie! Put me down, you caveman!” You screamed. If anyone saw you, it looked like you were being kidnapped and taken into a murder van.

“No, can do Tink. I’m taking you home to warm you up. Then you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on.” He commanded. And if you weren’t so mad, you’d say you were a little turned on by his voice.

You hear the car door open before he plops you into the passenger seat.

“Get in” he points to your legs hanging out of the car.

“Make me.” you shiver.

“You’re being such a child! Let me help you.”

“Fine!” You swing your legs into the van, and Eddie slams the door closed, making you wince.

The car ride was quiet besides the radio and your chattering teeth. You tried to wrap your arms around yourself, but it was of no help. Your t-shirt and jeans clung to you like a second skin, and the car heater was only blowing cool air. You swore you thought your nipples could cut glass.

Eddie said nothing as he tugged you over on the bench seat and wrapped a warm arm around you. You broke out into another chill, but this time, you weren't sure if it was from the rain or from Eddie.

Even though Eddie was self-conscious of smelling like motor oil and body odour, he was more worried about you catching hypothermia.

Once you were inside Eddie's warm apartment, he noticed how your body was on display. You would be the clear winner if you were in a wet t-shirt contest, that's for sure. Eddi's eyes were wide with desire, but he returned to reality when you asked if you could use his shower to warm up.

Eddie nodded absentmindedly as he thought about you being naked in his shower.

"Uh, you mind if I borrow a towel and some dry clothes? I have mine, but they got soaked through my overnight bag..."

"Yeah! Uh- I mean, sure, yeah, whatever..."

You blushed slightly at Eddie, trying to play it cool. He ran to his bedroom and returned with a handful of different fabrics. You took them and then headed into the bathroom.

The hot water defrosted your bones, and when you stepped into Eddie's clothes, his sent hit you like a tidal wave. You brought the old black corroded coffin band tee that he had from high school up to your nose and inhaled deeply. You felt immediate comfort being here, with Eddie, wearing his clothes.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in the towel, Eddie couldn't help but smile at the sight of you.

"Not a word," you warn.

Eddie mock zipped his lips, then gestured to the couch for you to sit beside him.

"Sorry about being a pain earlier; you caught me at a really, really bad time."

"It's okay, Tink, you're here with me now; that's all that matters." Eddie let the towel around your head fall back so he could see your natural hair. "You wanna tell me what happened? I've never seen you so upset."

"You shook your head no, "It's too embarrassing."

"Come on, it's me we are talking about here."

You paused for a deep breath and decided to just lay it all out on the table... how much worse could it get, right?

“You remember Jesse, right?” Eddie could feel his fist tightening, but he said nothing while nodding his head with a tight lip. What the fuck did he do to you? “Well, he asked me to be his girlfriends no less than a week ago, and I was supposed to spend the night at his place… but I went over early and found him in bed with… someone.” Eddie went to say something but realized you weren’t finished and let you continue.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?! I finally get a boyfriend, and the moment I want to actually sleep with someone who isn’t you, they are in the arms of someone else! Am I really that undesirable?! I was practically throwing myself at him, and it turns out he was fucking his “friend” the whole time.”

You had missed your slip-up, but Eddie hadn't. Eddie didn’t hear anything after “I want to sleep with someone who isn’t you,”

So Adam was right…

“Eddie? Eddddiiieee?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face to try and get back his attention.

Great, so now you’re undesirable AND boring.

“Sorry what?”

“Forget it… you don’t wanna hear about my pitty party. I’ll call a cab and head back to… oh shit, I can’t even go home!”

“Stay here.”

“Eddie, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Yes. Stay. Take my bed; I’ll take the couch.”

“Eddie, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not, Tink?” He brushed a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, and those pesky butterflies erupted within your core.

“Because…” because I’m in love with you and don’t know if I can hold back my feelings any longer.

“Exactly, you can’t come up with one. Let me take care of you.” Eddie’s voice dropped an octave.

A chill travelled down your spine. His touch is electric. Any time you’re with Eddie, your body feels like it’s been recharged.

As you gaze into Eddie’s eyes, this undeniable magnetic pull connects you. Was he leaning in? Or were you? Maybe it was the both of you? There was little to no space between you. Never in a million years did you think you would be sitting here, alone with Eddie in his apartment.

“I should get cleaned up,” Eddie whispered. He was so close you could taste the spearmint Nicorette gum he had been chewing. It took everything in his power to pull away. He wanted to kiss you so very badly, but he got a whiff of himself, and he needed to wash up. I would be unfair to you.

“Oh, okay,” you breathed in, and Eddie slid back.

“You can make yourself at home, okay? Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’ll be 10 minutes.”

Eddie was freaking out in the shower, and you were freaking out in the kitchen. While Eddie scrubbed his skin so hard he thought he would scrub it off completely, you went to the fridge to find anything to help calm your nerves.

There wasn’t anything in the fridge, but the freezer, on the other hand... Bingo. You poured yourself a shot of vodka and almost threw up, but you held it together with a chaser of orange juice. You took one more for good measure and then made your way back to the couch. As you waited for your liquid courage to kick in, you flicked around on the TV but didn’t really pay much attention. Your thoughts were swimming with questions and possible scenarios that could play out this evening.

You were taken away from your inner thoughts when Eddie exited the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. You tried not to make it obvious, but the alcohol clouded your awareness of your face.

“Sorry, I left my clothes in the bedroom” he saw you eye fucking him and gave a little smirk.

“It’s okay. Totally okay.” you sighed.

The sight of his wet, bare torso makes your heart race, his flesh covered in goosebumps, his nipples perked, and his hair soaked yet still so sexy. Your stomach simultaneously flip-flopped. And as for your pussy… well, she got a little excited at the heavenly sight in front of you.

“Yeah,” You wanna see more, Tink? Eddie thought to himself.

“Yeah.” You sighed before he disappeared into his bedroom.

Minutes later, Eddie returned, and the two of you acted as if nothing happened. Neither of you willing to break the tension first. So you both sat silently, watching some random TV movie while you prayed to come up with something to discuss. You wanted to talk so badly with him.

“This couch is pretty lumpy; it wouldn’t be fair to make you sleep on it.” You felt terrible that he offered his bed. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Nope. No way.” Eddie shook his head.

“Eddie.” You huffed.

“Tink,” he mocked back.

“You need a good sleep! You work a strenuous job…And my back can take it.”

I bet your back could take it, Eddie thought.

“You calling me old, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart, your stomach did a flip-flop again.

“No.” You snicker at his accusation.

“I don’t think I believe you” Eddie’s tone dropped again.

“Well, I’m not letting up”

“Neither am I; you’re sleeping in my bed whether I’m on it or not.

“Oh...”

“Yeah, oh.” Eddie sat back and the both of you finished the movie in silence.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but Eddie shook your shoulder awake.

“Come on Tinkerbell we are going to bed.” You think you hear Eddie whisper.

Were you dreaming? Did Eddie just tell you the two of you were going to bed?

“Mmm?”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, remember? Don’t think you’re getting out of this so easily.”

“Okay, Eddie, “ you agreed in your sleepy haze.

You feel his arm wrap under yours as he helps you off the couch.

“There you go.” Eddie coos as he places you down gently.

The moment your head hits the pillow, you’re suddenly wide awake. You’re in Eddie’s bed. Eddie is getting in next to you.

“Figured we would compromise.” He slid next to you but over the covers with a throw blanket.

“Thanks for letting me stay… and giving me a shoulder to cry on.” You cringed with embarrassment at the last part.

“Thanks for letting me stay… and giving me a shoulder to cry on.” You cringed with embarrassment at the last part. “You seem to always be there for me…” you turn to your side to face Eddie.

“I’ll always be there for you, Tink, whether you like it or not…” Eddie also turns so he is facing you.

“Eddie.” Your breath hitched.

“Yes Tink.”

Fuck are you really going to spill your guts to him here and now?

“I… I wanna-need to tell you something.” You close your eyes, not daring to look at him.

“I think I might have an idea.”

“You-what?” Eyes still closed

You feel the bed shift and feel Eddie's warm breath fan your lips.

“Do you trust me?” Eddie whispered.

You aren’t brave enough to speak. So you tentatively nod your head yes.

“Do you trust me, Tink? I need you to say it.” He asked once more.

You slowly opened your eyes and bravely opened your mouth. “Yes, Ed’s, I trust you.”

A slight smile graces Eddie’s before you watch him lean in with a pucker.

Your heart skipped a beat the moment his lips touched yours.

Holy shit.

Eddie Munson was kissing you. Eddie Munson, your older brother's best friend, who you’ve been in love with for seven years, is now kissing you… in his bed… late at night… with no one else around. It was like fireworks were going off. It was everything you ever wanted and more.

It was all you had ever dreamed of, and now he was blowing your expectations out of the water. You had to have more. You needed this to last forever.

Your hands moved up to cup his face. His cheeks were rough with stubble, contrasting his soft plush lips. Eddie shifted closer to you. You could feel his body through the thick blankets that separated the two of you, but you wanted to be closer to him. You threw the blankets and all caution to the wind when you shifted to wrap your legs around him.

Eddie rolled so he was on top of you. To your surprise, you felt his firm cock pressed to your thigh, which made you moan softly.

“Fucking hell, Tink”

“Eddie, please, I need you.”

“Didn’t take you long to beg,” he chuckled darkly.

“Well, it took you long enough to see me.”

Eddie gazed into your eyes like he was looking at you for the first time. Like really seeing you. He muttered your name, your real name, for the first time, and you couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your face before you strained your neck to take his lips once more.

Eddie’s strong hands grazed your waist and settled on your hips, pinning you down to the mattress. His weight is entirely on you now. Your knees hitched up, and you opened your hips more to give him more room.

“Eddie,” you gasped into his mouth. Eddie ground his hips into yours, and you let out another soft moan.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You, it’s always been you.” You confessed.

Eddie didn’t say anything in reply but instead worked his fingers to the waistband of his sweatpants that you dawned.

“This okay?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you rushed. You’ve waited too long for this moment.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

“Don’t be mean,” You shove the pants off your ankles and go for your shirt.

“Wait… let me.” Eddie sat up so you could as well. His hands brushed the hem and slowly pulled the shirt he let you borrow off of you.

He took in your naked frame in front of him.

Shit, you weren’t wearing your panties this whole time? They must have been soaked as well from the rain. Eddie thought.

Eddie saw you shy away as you sat there naked in front of the boy you loved as he took you all in.

It didn’t take long before Eddie’s hands roamed your skin, finding your breasts.

“You’re so soft.” Eddie moaned into your neck as he took in the fact that you now smelled like him. He sent all over you; he was feral. He needed to claim you as his own. How could he be so blind all these years? You were perfect; you were everything he ever wanted.

“Do you like soft?”

“Very much so.”

Eddie melted into you once more as he travelled down your body, kissing and nipping at every inch. You softly moaned when he flicked your nipples with his tongue, and you really moaned when he reached your wet pussy.

How Eddie loved the noises he was pulling from you. He would do anything to make you sing for him.

“You like that baby? You want me to touch you… here?” His index finger grazed your wet slit.

“Yes” you replied quickly, a little too quickly.

“Good, I don’t know what I would have done if you said no.”

You giggled, but it was cut off by the feeling of Eddie’s fingertips grazing your clit.

You’d daydreamed countless times about how his fingers would feel while you watched him while he and your brother jammed in your garage.

He circled your clit before dipping his head down to kiss your lower lips. Reality hit you once again. Eddie was eating you out. Eddie was eating you out like a man starved, in fact. How was he so good at this? Scratch that you didn’t want to know. Your thoughts slowed down as Eddie’s thick fingers entered your wet hole.

“Eddie!” You yelled with pleasure.

“Oh yes, sweetheart, say my name.”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you replayed like a mantra.

As his fingers grazed that spot that only you managed to find when you were alone in your bed, exploring your body. You fell apart in his hands.

“Your pussy grips me so good, god I can’t wait to fuck you.”

“Please, Eddie,” you begged in your blissed-out daze.

“Let me hear it again,” he smirked.

“I need you, please. I want your cock so badly."

“Mmmmmm, as you wish.” he pulled back so he could strip. You watched as his tight muscles flexed as he pulled off his shirt, then scrunched as he bent over to take off his bottoms.

His cock sprung out of their confines, and your breath hitched for what you thought was at least the fourth time that night.

You’ve imagined what it would look like, but none of the times ever did you imagine he was this hung. No wonder he was so confident and cocky around women. It was long, thick, and straight. No curvatures, just pure rod.

“I don’t think that’s going to fit,” you blurt out, not thinking.

“Don’t worry, Baby. It’ll fit.” he slunk back down on you, peppering your lips with more sensual kisses. His fingers travelled down to your pussy, stretching you out again, only this time, he used 3 fingers to make sure you were nice and ready.

“Please, I’m ready” You ground your pussy into Eddie’s hand.

Eddie reached over into his drawer, pulled out a condom, and slipped it over his shaft as quickly as possible. Seemed that he was just as eager as you.

Eddie kissed you hard as his cock slipped past your wet folds and inside, splitting you open. The wonderful burn of his cock burying itself inside of you. What could you say? It had been a while, and Eddie was the biggest you’ve ever had.

“Slowly,” you guided Eddie as he rocked his hips, giving you time to adjust.

“God, you’re so tight”

“Mmmphmm”

“Your noises are so pretty.” Eddie tucked a piece of fallen hair behind your ear.

Eddie took your breath away as he looked into your eyes. He was being so soft and gentle with you as if you could break.

“Eddie, please.”

“I got you, Princess”

Eddie rocked his hips with more emphasis; his body was moulding into yours. As his cock grazed your tight walls, you felt your body was brought to life.

“Oh fuck” your words slipped, not even realizing you were speaking.

“Come’on baby, let me hear you”

“You’re making me feel so good, Eddie!”

“More, tell me who you belong to.”

“ You! always been you, Eddie, please, I wanna come. Please make me cum on your cock.”

“Good girl. You’re being so good, f’me” Eddie's hips slapped into the backs of your thighs, and he plummeted into you, making you cry out in pleasure.

Eddie grabbed the backs of your knees and pushed them back to your shoulders, only making the angle more delicious as he fucked you. He watched as his cock disappeared into your wanton pussy. He watched as you clenched down on his cock, and he almost lost it as he tried not to cum right then and there.

“Fuck me, Tink! Your pussy is too good,” he gritted through his teeth, trying to keep the pace without blowing his load.

“Eddie!” Your body was on fire as his cock continuously hit your g spot. Your lower belly tingled as the feeling of your orgasm built up again.

“You close, baby?”

“Yes”

“Cum for me.”

“More, I need more.”

Eddie slipped his hand between you and gently circled your clit once again.

You moan, cockdrunk as your body begins to spasm around Eddie’s cock.

“Yes, that’s it, come on baby. Keep cuming. That’s my girl.”

Your eyes roll back into your head, and you clamp your jaw. Every muscle tightens and clenches as your second orgasm rips through you.

“Good girl. Good fuckin girl.” Eddie praises as he empties himself into the condom.

After a few moments of the two of you catching your breath and Eddie discarding the used condom, you break the silence.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you chuckled in disbelief.

“Adam is going to kill me,” Eddie laughed.

“Good, I’ve been meaning to get him back. You roll over to snuggle in his arms.

“And to think you were supposed to be in another man’s bed tonight.” Eddie hated that idea.

“At least I ended up in the right man’s bed.”

Part 2

Tagging those who seemed interested: @lofaewrites @lavendermunson @imyourdaninow @itsfreakingbats @allthingsjoeq

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson angst #older brothers best friend x reader #request #TJ’s mailbox #jealous!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munons x angst #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x f!reader

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jobean12-blog · 6 months

Text

Aftermath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 2,318

Summary: Bucky has kept you safe for as long as he's had you but the first time you don't follow his orders is definitey going to be the last.

Author's Note: These new pics are giving lots of mob/mafia vibes and I love it! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some angst in the beginning and illusions to violence, mentions of a gun, Bucky is soft and there are lots of fluffy moments but he's pissed you didn't listen and he needs you.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily when Nat doesn’t pick up the phone. She only called you two minutes ago. Right after she sent you a text telling you she needed to talk. Under any other circumstances you would never leave your perch at the bar. Never leave the safety of Bucky’s club and go against his orders.

However, your best friend needs you. She just had a bad break up and things are still rocky so any time she calls you were sure to be there for her. So here you are, standing on the sidewalk outside Bucky’s nightclub, phone pressed to your ear and your foot tapping rapidly against the concrete.

Bucky told you about the heavy tension building between him and a rival boss trying to impede on his territory. He told you that your safety was his first priority. That’s why you were with him at his club right now. He didn’t want you out of his sight.

But you were only just right outside the door…

You’ll try Nat one more time then go back inside and wait for Bucky like he asked.

The phone starts ringing and you hold your breath, hoping she’ll answer. Just as you hear her voice on the other end a car pulls up at the curb and with one glance the occupants have you swiftly turning on your heel and heading back toward the doors of the club.

“Nat,” you say quietly. “Are you ok?”

“I’m having a rough night,” she sighs. “I need your opinion on something.”

“Of course.”

You’re walking at a brisk clip, realizing that during your musings you had wandered farther from the door than you intended to.

Nat is still talking but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears starts to drown out any other sounds.

Four men get out of the car, none of which you recognize. You need to get inside quickly. One of them, carrying a baseball bat, twirls it lazily in his hand as he saunters closer, looking you over appreciatively.

Apprehension shoots up your spine, intuition guaranteeing that they’re here to start trouble.

“Nat I have to go. Call Bucky.”

She starts to reply but you hang up before she can, hoping she heard the trepidation in your voice and does as you asked.

Before you can reach the entrance, two of them lunge in front of you and block your progress.

“Where are you goin’ so fast beautiful?” One of the men asks.

“Excuse me,” you say.

A third man circles up behind you.

“Let me by,” you tell them.

The man holding the baseball bat ignores you.

“You belong to Barnes don’t you?”

Your suspicions are right. These are bad men and they are definitely looking to cause some trouble for your husband. And you.

You shrink back on purpose, appealing to their inflated arrogance and hoping they will underestimate you.

“Please. Just let me go.”

The man with the bat laughs as he runs the coarse wood along your bare calf.

“Think your man will miss you?”

Before the bat reaches your thigh you smack it away. Even though the attempt is most likely useless you’re hoping to pass more time. One of the men behind you snakes a hand around your elbow and yanks you toward him.

“Get in the fucking car baby,” he sneers. “It’s for your own good.”

The fourth man, still in the car, pushes open the back door and lets out a whistle.

“Come on gorgeous. I’ll keep you warm for Barnes.”

You take a deep breath as they propel you toward the car and only put up a small amount of resistance. As soon as you sense they are under the false impression that you’re coming willingly, the hand on your elbow weakens and you act.

With sharp and quick movements you reach for the baseball bat now dangling loosely from the leader’s hands and grab it, swinging it in a large arc to buy yourself some room.

Two of the men jump back, having been caught off guard, but it connects with the leader’s rib cage and he let’s out a vile curse, falling to his knees.

You back up as the other two men approach. Unfortunately, it’s in the direction away from the doors.

“He should have locked this one up,” the man closest to you laughs. “She’s full of fire.”

“And I’m going to enjoy that,” he leader says as he stands, still holding his ribs.

You bring the bat down hard as he lunges for you, but he dodges the weapon and barrels himself closer until he can wrap a strong arm around your waist.

The bat is ripped from your hands and your back is plastered against the man’s chest, his hand creeping up between your breasts to wrap around your throat.

He squeezes hard, tight enough to cut of your air and reflectively your fingers claw and try to pry his hand away.

You try to focus, getting ready to go limp and convince him you’re out cold, so you can somehow disable him.

Just as you’re about to put your plan into action the front door of the club flies open, hitting the side of the brick building with enough force to crack the metal.

Through your dimming eyesight, you can make out several men, including Bucky, before his ferocious growl of denial echoes through the air around you.

It startles the man choking you enough that he eases up on the pressure, allowing you to suck in precious oxygen.

Guns are drawn just before your knees hit the concrete and your stomach twists with renewed fear.

“Bucky,” you whisper, getting to your feet and stepping closer to him.

His haunted gaze makes you swallow hard and you can see the emotional battle written all over his handsome features. With his long finger poised on the trigger, he clearly wants to end the man who had his hands on you.

Without a word he tears his attention away from you, indicting your captor with a nod of his head.

“Steve.”

Steve, his own gun held in a tight grasp, moves in front of Bucky and toward the other man.

“He doesn’t go anywhere,” Bucky seethes.

The other two men from the rival group, still outside of the car, lower their weapons, watching with no emotion as Steve wrestles their leader to the ground with the gun to his head.

Finally, they let out a string of curses and hop back into the car, leaving their ‘friend’ behind as they peel away from the curb.

Bucky motions to Clint and Sam. “Follow them. This ends tonight.”

As Clint and Sam rush off to follow Bucky’s order he slowly saunters forward, the open collar of his shirt blowing wider in the light breeze.

He picks up the bat with a nonchalance that contradicts the tightness of his body and swings it deftly in his metal hand. When his fingers close around the handle you hear the wood crack under the pressure.

Bucky comes to a stop directly over the left-behind leader, and his gaze meets yours for a brief, heavy second, before he raises the bat high and brings it down with enough force to make you gasp.

Your heart races out of control, breathing shallow in your ears. The bat connects with the sidewalk next to the man’s head, sending shards of wood in every direction.

Your relief is short lived.

Bucky crouches down and looks the cowering man straight in his eyes.

“You. Are a dead man.”

Slowly and purposefully he rises to his feet and holds his hand out for you. You swallow the hard lump in your throat and place your fingers in his. In a split second you’re swept into his arms and tugged against his hard chest.

He drags you toward his car and tucks you into the passenger seat, buckling your belt and then slamming the door shut.

Through the closed window you can still hear him shout to Steve. “You know where to take him. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The silence stretches long and thin through the car and you can almost feel Bucky’s rage. You open your mouth to speak but promptly shut it when you hear his huff of warning.

He hates the feeling of fear so instead he welcomes the anger, focusing on it, wishing it’s enough to block out the image of you being choked, your feet scraping at the ground and hands clawing at your neck.

If he dwells on it too long his whole word will collapse and he has to get you home. To safety.

At the reminder of what he saw as he walked out of the club, his grip tightens on the leather steering wheel, almost making the car swerve.

When he pulls up in front of your house he checks his surroundings before driving in through the gated driveway. He looks to you, a silent demand to wait, before he gets out of the car and does another sweep of the area.

Once he deems it safe he opens your door and helps you out of the car.

When you’re safely inside the house he leaves you standing just inside the door, inside the large and opulent foyer, as he flies around the nearby rooms and checks every window and lock.

Your gaze follows him the entire time, trying desperately to draw him in and away from the rage. He staunchly defies it and after he feels satisfied the house is safe he takes you by the arm and leads you toward your shared master bedroom.

He walks to the nightstand and opens the drawer, reaching deep into the back to retrieve a gun.

“Bucky, please. Will you just talk to me?”

He can feel you standing close.

“You will stay in this room, with the door locked, until I come back. Anyone tries to get in that isn’t me, you shoot them. Understand?”

When your silence becomes too much he turns to you, keeping his eyes steady as he pleads.

“Tell me you’ll listen. That you understand.”

You take a deep inhale but still don’t speak.

“I’m waiting for my answer doll.”

You move closer and everything inside him tenses up.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

You lay a hand on his chest, immediately making him tremble from head to toe. His eyes close defensively as your hand moves higher and sneaks under the open buttons of his shirt then to his neck and finally into his hair.

Your lips press to his neck.

“Please Bucky. Don’t leave me. Stay.”

He shakes his head, unable to speak and it only makes you drag your lips higher, along his jaw until they hover just above his mouth.

A groan leaves his parted lips before he can stop it.

“I’m scared. I need you.”

Your lips brush over his, once, twice. The hand in his hair runs smoothly along the back of his neck and then coasts over his broad shoulder and down his chest.

“I have to go doll.”

His words are gritted and tortured before his name leaves your lips in a soft whisper.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“You know where I’m goin.’ Don’t make me say it.”

When he notices the glossiness of your eyes it strips him bare and he falls back a step, ready to fall to his knees for you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

He’s shouting now.

“If I hadn’t gotten to you in time? One minute later, baby. One fucking minute!”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for him.

“I know, I…”

“You would have been gone. How can you expect me to survive that.”

He breaks off, not able to put the horrifying thought into more words.

“Fuck. I’m so mad at you doll. So mad. But all I can think about is how I need to be inside you. Need to feel you wrapped around me. Feel you everywhere.”

You tightly grasp the lapel of his jacket and drag him closer. He comes easily. Willingly.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just thought I’d be outside for a second. Nat needed me…I never thought…”

Every word you speak continues to topple the reinforced barrier of anger he’s built. The only thing keeping it standing is that there’s still some physical space between you both.

But then you take a step closer and curl your fingers in the hem of your dress to draw it up over your head, the whole time letting your knuckles and hands brush along his heaving chest and every ounce of his self-control vanishes.

His heated gaze rakes over you and his hands fist at his sides.

You press yourself against him and deliberately untuck his shirt, slipping your hands underneath the lush fabric and running your fingernails up his rigid stomach. His muscles contract beneath your fingers.

“I need you baby doll. So badly.”

You unhook your bra and drop it to the floor, tingles racing over your skin as his jaw grinds with his devouring stare. You lower your hand to palm and squeeze his straining arousal.

“You can have me now Bucky. Now and always.”

His expression softens long enough for you to catch the brightness in his eyes and then his mouth is on yours, his hands frenzied as they grasp and smooth over every inch of your bare skin. He never breaks the kiss as he walks you backward toward the bed, letting you gently fall to the soft mattress before he settles himself between your spread legs.

“I can’t touch all of you at once and it drives me crazy,” he whispers against your lips as his hand slides down between your legs. “I need everything, always.”

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50 @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989

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eddiernunson · 10 months

Text

The Splash of Rain on the Roof | Eddie Munson x f!Reader | 18+

Thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing, always there for me, bestie.

Also to @bebe07011 for reading everything before I post and giving me feed back. Love ya.

Summary: you're best friends with Eddie Munson after moving to Hawkins, the new girl who ditches the cheerleaders for the Freaks. A year later, you've fallen head over heels for him, and you're convinced there's no way he has any interest in you. It finally seems confirmed when you find out (more or less) that he's into a fucking cheerleader. Your heart breaks.

Warnings: (idiots) best friends to lovers, dork!reader, virgin!eddie and virgin!reader (its cute, ok), kinda slow, no protection, creampie, praise/degradation, minor miscommunication trope, sleepy 5am writing, first I love yous

I have another one shot planned, it's about 3/4 done.

Word count: 11k

As any first day at Hawkins High in the middle of the semester goes, you had a fairly decent one. A cheerleader spotted you in her class and dragged you over to her table, a parade of jocks and cheerleaders surrounding it. You wondered if their insistence was genuine, and you let yourself believe it. Until their true colours were shown through a nasty gossip session.

For the most part, they all had kind things to say about one another. They encouraged each other and asked how your day was so far. Did it count as false advertising if fake friends show their real colours? If anything, you were grateful they were so quick about it. You barely had a chance to memorize their names when one of them broke out in an overdramatic bellow in disgust. Your interest piqued, nearly drowning in their dull conversations, no matter how polite.

You followed the curly haired boys’ line of sight across the cafeteria to a group of boys laughing louder than the rest of the school. They looked carefree and like they were enjoying themselves. You envied them. Your eyes switched back to your new supposed friends, afraid of what exactly was so worthy of their collective disgust.

Their immediate round of insults to the harmless group of boys left the worst taste in your mouth. After the three or four people had their say, you got up without another word.

“Wait! Where you going?” Called the girl who escorted you to the table.

“Anywhere but here.” You answered, having understood immediately what kind of group of people she associated herself with.

She had plenty more to say, but you didn’t hear another word. You were far too busy beelining for the gorgeous man who was at the head of said table. The moment you looked over to them, your vision tunneled. The complaints voiced by the table of Preps seemed to be an extension of their “freakiness”, or so they called it, which you deduced was just another word for “dork”.

Little did they know, you are also a dork.

So, the table you had just ditched watched in horror as you walked straight to the table and immediately sat down with them.

Turns out the gorgeous man was as kind as he was good-looking.

It’s been over a year since you started at Hawkins, over a year of friendship with Eddie Munson, said gorgeous man. What’s even worse, he’s better than you had expected him to be. As you settle into the Hellfire Club, adding your own adventurous characters, and contributing to inside jokes, you and Eddie end up closer than you had ever expected.

Unfortunate news is, he has you so far in the friend zone, you’re starting to wonder if even he knows you’re a girl. (With fantastic tits, which he never seems to even look at.)

You’ve spent plenty of nights in a pair of tiny shorts and an oversized top with no bra as you listen to music and smoke a joint with him, hoping over and over that he would just make a move because lord knows you weren’t gonna do it.

The pressure of his hand when it rests on your lower back, the way he curls your hair behind your ear, his breath down your neck when he hugs you, it all sets your skin on fire.

On one night you were terribly upset at your mom after having a fight with her, getting in your car to take the eight-minute drive to his house. You had arrived at his trailer uninvited plenty of times before, Eddie encouraged it once he realized the fights were a regular thing. Only this time, he wasn’t in the living-room watching a scary movie, or in his bedroom listening to records or making a new campaign.

He was in the shower.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He’s had plenty of showers while you were over. He’d be stupidly apologetic about it, but if you were to be honest with him, the smell of the body wash that lingered on him was too good to pass up. You grabbed a bag of chips and a soda from his fridge and a beer for him, figuring you’d meet him when he struts out in that low hanging towel. On your way to Eddie’s room, a noise like music hit your ears and the slick beer almost fell out of your hand.

“Uh, uh, oh shit…fuck—” You heard him, loud and clear, a noise you only imagined late at night in your own bedroom. You stood there frozen in the hallway, listening as he fucked his own fist. You listened as his breaths got faster, his whining higher pitched. But no sound could match the divine noise Eddie made as he finished. Your breath hitched then, drool pooling on your tongue as you pictured sticky white ropes all over the shower.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, your panties drenched just from listening to him. You wondered what would’ve happened if your hands were empty. When the shower turned off, your gut swooped, butterflies kicking in as you raced to look casual on his bed. You didn’t have much time to prepare, turning on some music and picking up one of his magazines. Shit, dirty magazine. You quickly adjusted to the next one over, featuring a Metal band on the cover.

As Eddie entered his room, you were laying on the bed looking casual as you could, hoping he didn’t pick up on your heavy breathing. If he did, he didn’t indicate it. As much as you tried, your breathing didn’t slow, your eyes zoned in on the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, lingering on his treasure trail. He greeted you absentmindedly, picking up a pair of sweats.

That night, you could do nothing but stammer through your sentences, chalking it up to stress from the fight with your mom. He offered you to sleep over, a normal habit you’ve developed, but the itch to slip your fingers down your pants was too much. If you had to face your mom just to get it figured out, so be it.

A switch flipped in you that day, it went from being a schoolgirl crush into a want, no, a need for him.

God, you wish he’d just get a clue…or that’d you get the nerve to make a move.

Something better than this torture.

After the third pat on his hand, Eddie finally looked up, wondering why Josh can’t take the hint. “What, what?” He asked, already annoyed at his day as it was. Fucking history teacher…

“New girl.” Josh gestured towards the jock/cheerleader table.

Eddie blinked, questioning why the hell he should be interested in this. The insistence on not just Josh’s face, but the rest of the group convinced Eddie, switching his glance over to the table. You stuck out like a sore thumb, not exactly dressed in their prep uniform. From this single glance, he could tell you were uncomfortable. In any case, neither were most cheerleaders on their first days. Oh well, he figured you would assimilate soon enough. Shame, with how pretty you were.

Soon enough, Eddie’s mood lightened up, amused by the witty banter his friends were spitting back and forth. Something Gareth said ended up being ridiculously funny, a feat that he’s familiar with, and it breaks the entire group into loud laughter, something that obviously disrupts the cafeteria. Eddie didn’t care, and neither did any of the other members of Hellfire. If no one would give them any decency, why the hell would they owe anyone else any?

As always, the laughter invited even more scrutiny. Eddie knew the reaction of the table you sat at, firing off insults surrounding the word freak. If they could just get original content, that would be great, Eddie thought as he looked back down to his notebook of campaign notes. He was in the middle of deciding which book he might need to check out for reference when Josh tapped his hand again, far more aggressively.

“What?” He snapped, but caught wind of what was so urgent immediately.

There you were, walking as if you were strutting a runway to his table. He thought he must’ve had it confused for a second, but after assessing the reaction of your previous table, it couldn’t have been less wrong. Eddie leaned over to the table to his friends, teeth gritted. “Be normal.”

After about ten minutes of awkward conversation, as a last resort you had asked what Eddie was working on. “Oh, the campaign for DnD.”

“Wait, you play DnD?” You asked.

Eddie wasn’t sure if this question was negative or positive. “Yeah, we’re a Dungeons and Dragons club.” Gareth answered for him.

“Oh sweet!” The answer stunned all of them. “Can I join?”

“You play Dungeons and Dragons?” Josh asked incredulously.

“Yeah, my dad taught me.” You replied.

“Drama room, Friday night at 7. Don’t be late.” Eddie said, finally making eye contact with you.

He regretted it from the moment he did. The beauty he saw from afar was only intensified by a hundred. You looked at the table with intrigue, much more interest than you ever showed at the jocks table. Eddie couldn’t believe how wrong he was to assume you would just assimilate with them. You were too good for them.

Wait, you were too good for his club as well, what the hell were you doing there?

If Eddie had any current quarrels with the universe, it was that you just kept getting better and better as he got to know you. He was prepared for your level one basic dwarf when you showed up with a level 59 Warlock. You kicked his boss’s ass, carrying the weight of all your co-adventurers.

From there, Eddie swore he must’ve gotten hit in the head somehow, because life just isn’t good for him, never has been. But with you, life is worth tolerating. From the start, he had fallen for you, and he still would have even if you did only have a level one dwarf.

As luck would have it, you would never turn down an offer to hang out with him. The first time he offered, butterflies sat in his gut until he walked up to your locker and offered for you to watch a movie at his house with him. You accepted graciously, asking if he minded you’d watch horror. Internally, Eddie fell to his knees. Externally, he nodded, keeping his eyes on what he called the prettiest damn eyes he’s ever seen.

He felt lucky you accepted his displays of affection with him, leaning heavily into his hugs and letting his legs intertwine with yours. His hair would stand up, your skin setting his on fire.

Lately, though, he could swear something is out to get him. As you started getting more comfortable being at his house so often, you started wearing smaller clothing. First, it started off with a pair of sweats and a messy bun. That tore Eddie farther apart than it should have. It turned into braless shirts and tiny shorts, and Eddie stared at the curve of your ass, usually half hard as you laid on his bed.

The first night he ran to the bathroom to jerk off to the outline of your nipple, he felt like shit, yet he wanted nothing more to mouth at it, to mark it his.

Eddie is so sure you’re innocent of it all, unaware of his lust and feelings for you. It started as feelings, but the lust has started to take over to the point where Eddie has to jerk off before you get there. He knows you’re going to bend over too much as you “help” him with making meals. As of late, the tiny pair of shorts barely conceals the outline of your cunt, something that tugs what could only be described as a whimper out of him, has been becoming all too much.

Eddie realizes he’s gonna have to ask you out.

After yet another unsuccessful Saturday night over at Eddie’s house– well, successful in terms of getting you out of your house but unsuccessful in the sense that Eddie just doesn’t seem to see you as a fucking girl– you trade your books to prepare for another boring lecture, watching across the hall as Gareth and Eddie seem to be in humorous conversation, judging on the laughter alone.

Eddie is nodding, appearing to agree exuberantly with what Gareth is saying to him. Might as well kill some time before class starts. You walk over, backpack on one shoulder as the weight from all of your books bounces off the back of one of your thighs. Just as you’re about to interrupt their conversation, Eddie makes eye contact with you. As a reflex, you break into a smile at his dimples. However, Eddie says one last thing to Gareth before walking away from their conversation.

You try not to take it personal. There are several jokes in Hellfire you have learned a long time ago to not take personally. However, this felt personal. Eddie doesn’t usually take part in the jokes at your expense. The boys give you enough crap for him anyways, and he gives them crap, and you give Eddie crap. It’s a wonderful circle of crap, really.

As soon as you approach Gareth, now alone, he gives you a half smile, clearly trying to dissipate from the awkward situation. “Hey,” Gareth greets you, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning onto his locker to seem “casual.”

“What was that about?” You get straight to the point, nodding towards where Eddie had just walked away.

Gareth stutters through his words, adjusting his arms between crossed and placing his hand on his locker. Oh, Gareth, ever so graceful. “I-I-He-he-he just-uh—”

“Gareth!” You interrupt him, knowing he could continue his stammering for a while unless you stop it. “Just tell me!” You shove his shoulder, annoyed already. What reason could Eddie possibly have for taking off like that?

“We were just talking about the girl he likes, is all.” Gareth admits sheepishly, his eyes flicking everywhere but you.

“Oh,” you answer, feeling crestfallen. A girl? Eddie likes a girl? And hasn’t even had the audacity to tell you about it? Were you not his best friend? Maybe he’s your best friend, but you’re not his. You shake off that annoying voice of doubt in your head, knowing on some level it’s irrational. Then why didn’t he tell me anything? “Oh, he’s…never even mentioned a girl around me…”

Gareth knows exactly why you’re crestfallen, your crush on Eddie not the most exact unknown fact in your group of friends. “I don’t know, he doesn’t talk about it a whole lot…” Gareth trails off, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. It wasn’t exactly a lie; Eddie doesn’t talk about his crush on you. He barely mentions it. The only reason anyone in Hellfire knows anything…is because they have eyes.

“Oh. Alright.” You have to get out of this conversation before the tears that crept up behind your eyes make an appearance. “I’ll see you at lunch?” You don’t even wait for a response, already turned around towards a bathroom to get your shit together.

Gareth feels guilty as shit when he sees the way you shuffle off to the bathroom, your sniffles louder than you even realize. In fact, Eddie was just telling Gareth he was finally gaining the courage to ask you out. Unfortunately, your brain has already eliminated this idea altogether.

Eddie sits in his usual spot for the lunch period, a foot parked on the edge of the table as he leans back with his arms crossed, observing his friends arguing yet again. Doesn’t really matter what they’re arguing about, never really does. They could be arguing about which album of a certain artist is better, which class of character is better to play, or even which teacher sucks the most in the school.

They’re all pointless, and Eddie always has a final say in who wins the argument. Being the leader has its perks.

Even as he seems casual, he checks his watch occasionally because you’re still not there yet. He looks forward to your presence at the table, to the way you indulge in their idiotic fights, if only for a second. It never fails to amuse him. Usually, as of late, you’ve been picking a side just to piss off Mike, and he still hasn’t seemed to catch on yet.

Right now, Dustin and Mike are arguing over the stupidest thing yet, something not even worth mentioning. Lucas is trying to give his input that this isn’t worth fighting over, but they’re talking over him. Eddie wonders how long he’s going to let them hash it out for.

Gareth rolls his eyes as he watches Eddie’s face lights up as you finally make your way across the cafeteria to the table. You greet the entire table, letting your bag fall to the floor as you rest your chin on your hand.

Dustin immediately attempts to instigate you into the fight. “Hey, can you tell Mike that—”

“No offense, Dustin, but I really don’t care.” You interrupt him, sounding tired. The whole table but Eddie laughs at your answer.

This allows the table to segue into a different conversation, something that everyone can care about. Eddie takes the opportunity to lean in. “Are you not hungry?” He asks lowly, noting the lack of cafeteria tray you have today.

You can barely look him in those gorgeous brown eyes, your heart dropped to your gut the moment you heard he likes someone else. “Not really. Lost my appetite.”

His brows furrow, watching you avoid his eyes and sink into yourself. This was so unlike you. Usually, you’re much surer of yourself, an aura of confidence even he finds himself envious of at times. “Are you okay?” He asks again.

You shrug your shoulders, not committing to a yes or no answer. You finally lay your eyes on him, and he’s staring past you across the cafeteria, you follow his eyeline…directly to the cheerleader’s table. A realization hits you and somehow your heart drops even lower.

He likes a fucking cheerleader.

You should’ve known his type would be a girl who jumps up and down in a tiny skirt. Maybe you should’ve joined the cheer squad then. Then at least you would’ve had a damn chance.

Somehow, you don’t even have the appetite to sit next to him anymore. “Listen, I have to ask for help in my chemistry class, it’s kicking my ass. Um…”

Eddie is about to protest but you’ve already picked up your bag and started jogging out the large door of the cafeteria. In fact, you missed the rest of the school day to fucking wallow in this stupid heartache. Your mom doesn’t pay enough attention to the school's phone calls to begin with.

As you leave the cafeteria, Eddie gives a questioning look to his fellow Hellfire mates. Hell, if they know. Gareth knows, but they’ve made a collective agreement not to meddle, as much as it pained Dustin. Eddie was just gearing up the confidence to ask if you’d want to hang out that weekend, which is where he was planning on making his move for the first time. He didn't know what was upsetting you, but he figured it was something to do with your homelife, as it usually does.

However, he couldn’t have seen the next week coming.

As Eddie goes through the motions of barely making attendance and handing in assignments with maybe a paragraph of some bullshit he spewed, he usually has your pretty face to look forward to. In his second period, his leg bounces as he waits for you to sit next to him in your usual seat so he can have an opportunity to ask the damn question he’s been meaning to. He's in class on time for once, just to watch your pretty face as you walk to the back corner to sit with him. One benefit of repeating senior year is that he gets to have class with you now. If you could only see his face as it fell as you walked into the classroom and took the immediate seat right by the front door.

After an hour of over thinking, Eddie finally convinces himself you simply just weren’t in the mood for conversation. The way you avoid the Hellfire table when you walk into the cafeteria that day seems to prove that theory right. Until over the following week he sees you having conversations with other members of Hellfire. Alright, that hurts.

One day, he calls your name as you’re at your locker, and he catches your eye contact before you run towards the front door.

What the hell did he do wrong?

In your 7th or 8th day of narrowly avoiding Eddie, you end up having to walk home in a light drizzle. Usually you have your car, but your mom insisted on needing it for the day. On the occasion that she needed the car, usually you would grab a ride from Eddie. Right now, that just wasn’t an option.

You start to feel bad for the first time since your avoidance started. You saw how Eddie’s face fell every time you made eye contact and walked the other way. No matter how much you’ve wanted to talk to him, you just can't let your feelings go.

You just need distance. If you give yourself enough time, the idea of having to leave him so he can have date-night with another girl won’t send you into a mental spiral. If you give yourself enough time, you could stand the idea of listening to him gush about her. As of right now, there’s no possible way any of that sounds doable to you.

As you got up this morning, the weather was bright and sunny, warm on your skin. You wore a layered skirt and a tank top. Unfortunately, the rain was picking up slowly, and you’re sure it's going to be pouring by the time you get home, still another mile or two away.

You walk on the sidewalk, arms crossed over one another to prevent from shivering as much as you can, narrowly avoiding the splashing from tires as cars pass by. While the rain picks up, your ears barely pick up on a vehicle slowing down right by you.

“Get in!” You hear a voice, recognizing it off the bat.

You look up to face him, nice and dry in his van that he has pulled over right next to you. You can barely see him through the rain. You shake your head, continuing your walk home.

“Sweetheart, get in! You’re gonna get sick! It’s starting to thunder!” Eddie argues, driving slowly as you continue to walk.

“No, I’m fine!” You answer, your chattering teeth giving away your iron clad position.

“Oh, for fucks—” You think Eddie has given up, your eyes on the ground as you trudge forward, until you see his scuffed-up shoes in your direct eyeline. His firm hands land on the soft flesh of your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey. What the fuck did I do?”

Your eyes look up to him in surprise. “Huh?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for the last week and a half!” He yells, mostly because the rain has picked up so goddamn much.

“I-I just need space.” You tell him, attempting to get out of his hold.

“Wait, what? Why?” Eddie asks. Your eyes blink rapidly as you peer up at him, his curly hair already soaked from the rain. “What do you mean, you need space?”

You gulp out of both tears and frustration. “I just need space, Eddie! I need some time… to get used to it.”

You might as well have been speaking in tongues. “Get used to what? What the hell are you talking about?”

The words bubble up in your thoughts and through your throat before you can stop them. “You made it extremely clear that you don’t see me as anything other than a friend, and now you have a crush on some girl!”

Eddie couldn’t register a single word you were saying. It made no sense to him. “What?”

“I have made a complete fool out of myself! I basically put myself on display just for you to look at some girl shaking her ass in a cheerleader uniform.” You chuckle, wiping some rain from your face as it drips cold down your cheeks. “Maybe I should’ve joined the squad, then I would’ve stood a chance.”

“Wait, wait.” Eddie is having trouble processing any of this. “Can you please go from the start, sweetheart?”

“Gareth told me you like someone.” You admit, your voice faltering. “After sending signals for God knows how long, I guess I finally realize I’ve been making a fool out of myself with you.” You sigh, giving him the saddest look he's ever seen from you. “I just need some time to get over you.”

The information finally all seems to add up for Eddie. “Wait, sweetheart, back up.” Eddie says a soft smile landing on his face as he understands. “You-you like me?”

“Uh, yeah?” You answer, the answer obvious.

“And you think I like some cheerleader?” Eddie asks, pulling you closer to him.

God, this is torture. “I mean, you do, don’t you?”

He laughs, loud and…joyful. “God, no.” He says, and you nearly melt at the half smirk now settled on his face.

It's your turn to be confused. “Huh?”

“The girl I like is you, you dumbass.”

Suddenly your heart is in your ears, and you can’t think passed that smile on his face. The glint in his eyes is new, the look in his eye driving you stupidly crazy. “Wait, Ed, don’t fuck with me here.”

The hands resting on your shoulders float up to the shine of your cheeks, framing your face. Rain is dripping off his bangs and he’s nearly struggling through it but doesn’t seem to care. Truth is, he does not. All he can see is the shine of your lips from the rain. “Baby, I’ve been wanting to kiss those lips since the moment I saw you.”

Your breath hitches, staring at those lips you’ve stared at so many times. “Then what's stopping you?”

Your lips meet in the middle, rain colliding with one side of your face as you tilt your head. He takes the lead right away, your skin on fire as you are barely able to believe that this is real, and that he’s really kissing you. Eddie nibbles on your bottom lip, you let out a small whimper in response. Your tongue eagerly reaches out to meet his, the collision feeling like velvet. Eddie’s hand spreads out on your face, his limber fingers something you’ve fantasized about several times.

You continue to make out in the rain, one of your hands finding their way in his soaked hair. One hand is placed on the small on your back, tugging your body right up against his. Another whimper escapes your mouth, Eddie opening his mouth and breathing heavily into yours in a knee-jerk reaction.

Eddie separates from you, placing his forehead against yours. “You wanna get in now?” A half chuckle passes his lips at the sheer stupidity of this major miscommunication.

“Please.”

Eddie opens the back door to his van, already a blanket and pillow on the floor thanks to his habits in his free time. As you climb in, you squeeze the water from your hair, suddenly realizing you’re actually quite cold. Eddie observes your shivering. “Cold, baby?”

“Freezing.” You admit, grabbing a blanket folded in the corner. He helps you get wrapped up, rubbing your arms quickly. “I don’t wanna stop kissing you, though.” Another admission comes out just as easily.

“You sure?” He asks, walking on his knees to meet you.

“Just kiss me.” You tell him grabbing him by the jacket.

He chuckles as he meets your lips, his face dipping down to meet yours again. You fall backwards to lie down, tugging on his jacket so he lands on you. He giggles as he lands on his forearm right next to your head, all teeth against your lips as he smiles into you. Your legs curl up around his torso, tugging him impossibly closer.

“You have no—” He sighs, kissing you in intervals. “…No idea how badly I’ve wanted to kiss these pretty lips of yours.”

Your heart flutters as you giggle into the kiss, the compliments he showers you in too much to believe. “Ed, I-I want you to touch me…” You sigh, the blanket slowly falling off your body.

“Uh, don’t know if you know this, but I…I’ve never…” Eddie stutters, sounding nervous.

You let out a small huff of laughter. “It…it’s okay, Eddie.” Your hands entangle into the wet curls on his head. “Neither have I.”

Eddie lets out an audible gulp from the simple implications. “I think we should get off the main road before we start getting too into it, baby.”

“Oh, ok.” You tell him, butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

He sits back up, a noticeable tent in his pants making you feel flustered. You thought you felt something against your thigh, but mentally, you couldn’t fathom that he was hard for you. He extends his hand out for you, you accept it gratefully as he helps you scoot back out of the back. The two of you scurry to your prospective seats, the rain now coming down so fast your hair is soaked from the mere seconds it took you to get there.

Eddie pushes his wet mop of a head of hair to the side as he laughs with you at the scenario you currently find yourselves in. As he starts the van, he gives you a cocky eyebrow raise, the heat from the air vents surprising you in a blast. His heavy foot placed on the gas pedal surprises you, your head swinging backwards at the force.

Without asking, you know exactly where Eddie is headed. The drive takes longer than average, your nerves racking sky high as his strong hand holds yours absentmindedly.

The rain continues its assault from the sky, a flash of lighting reflecting in the water as you pull up to the edge of Lovers’ Lake. As Eddie brakes, your head falls back onto the fabric covered headrest, eyes closing as you place his hand in yours in your lap. The heat of your arousal is radiating off you, your thumb absentmindedly smoothing over Eddie’s.

There’s nothing you’ve wanted more than to be sweaty with him on top of you, but now that it’s about to happen, the fact is nearly overwhelming. As you soak in the sound of the rain on the roof of the van, Eddie presses his hand where you have it on your upper thigh, putting pressure on it. An involuntary whimper escapes your throat, and as your lungs fill up with air Eddie leans in across the gap of the seats, a chuckle leaving those sweet lips as he nuzzles into your neck.

A sigh leaves your lips as you can feel his teeth start to nibble lightly, relaxing into it. He places his other arm over you, coming up to rub your torso as his tongue delicately laps along your jugular. “Ed…can we lie down?” You ask, your eyelids starting to feel heavy.

“You wanna climb, or you wanna get out?” On cue, a flash of lightning hits right on the lake. “Climb?”

“Climb.” You agree, giving him your sweetest smile.

“Ladies first?” Eddie asks, gesturing to the back.

You awkwardly place your knee on the middle console your hands having a rough landing on the blanket covered floor of the van as you start to crawl forward. Behind you, Eddie appreciates the view, how your pink, thin panties beautifully showcase the outline of your cunt, still soaked from the rain. Well the rain and your arousal, of course.

You turn around, one leg bent as you wait for Eddie to climb over. His hand moves to turn on the overhead light, then he slowly crawls his way to you, the look in his darkened eyes sending a thrill up your spine. By the time his body lines up with yours, you’re giggling out of nervousness, wondering where this energy came from.

He hovers over you, the wide smile on his face as he switches between your eyes sending your nerves up into the atmosphere. Your legs open for him, accepting him as he lays on top of you. His hair starts to fall over your face as he leans in, his mouth deliciously open as he kisses you some more.

“Ed.” You mumble, moving your hands to where they seem to favour, the collar of his leather jacket. “Take this off.”

He hums as he follows your order, sliding the jacket off his shoulders as he continues to kiss you. Well, his multi-tasking is a bit jagged, but you appreciate the effort, nonetheless. You admire his newly exposed arms sitting in his wet muscle shirt. He leans down to continue lapping at your neck again, adding more teeth to turn your neck purple, having stared at this part when you stretch out a kink or two from your neck.

You’re so turned on; you can feel it in your bones. “Eddie,” you whimper out, eyes closed as you give in to the way his tongue feels electric. “I need you to touch me, please.” You beg him, your pussy begging you for attention.

“Of course, baby,” Eddie gulps, and knowing him, you could hear his nerves.

“Hey,” you say, reaching out to hold his face. “I can help you, just reach out to touch me and I’ll tell you how to do it. I just need your fucking fingers on me, please.”

Eddie leans in, kissing gently along your jawline. “I know, maybe I just wanted to hear you beg.”

You roll your eyes, calling him out on his bluff. “Mmhmm. Just fucking touch me, Munson.”

Eddie’s hesitancy seemed to die right there, his unsteady fingers simply placed over the thin layer of your panties makes you gasp, just the light touch giving you some satisfaction. “You were saying?”

Eddie starts to lightly trace along the folds, noting how it dips right where your hole would be. Eddie can’t help but get harder as the heat from your pussy radiates. “Feels good…” you mutter, sighing lightly. “Just a little harder, please?”

“You want it harder, sweetheart?” He asks, you nod enthusiastically. “You sure?” You nod again, frustrated at his damn questions.

He puts pressure on his fingers, experimentally starting to circle them around. “Little higher, Ed.” You tell him as he just grazes your clit. He listens, moving his fingers a half of an inch higher and continuing. He moves his fingers just high enough, starting to circle perfectly on your clit. You moan out loud, letting out small gasps. “Right there, right there!”

“Oh my god.” Eddie mumbles to himself, watching your face crumple up as your legs fall more open. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you moan like this…fucking stunning.” Your moans grow louder, your thighs starting to tense. Eddie suddenly stops, and you whimper at the loss. You feel him start to move your panties aside. As soon as you realize what he’s doing, your head perks up, watching his face as he stares at your exposed pussy for the first time.

The heat in your pussy increases, tenfold, weeping just from his intense stare.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, mouth half open and his eyes don’t even blink. “Eddie?” You ask, starting to feel self-conscious.

“Wow…” he mutters, eyes finally locking with yours. “I knew your pussy would be pretty, I didn’t know it would be this ravishing.”

You gulp, feeling more wanted than you knew you ever could.

His fingers trace gently along your folds, just feeling your pussy. As he hears a whimper from you, a note of your impatience, he suddenly turns his hand upside down starting to touch with more pressure. “Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.” He whispers. “All…all this for me?”

You’re wet for him more than he knows, but your mouth can’t even communicate it, your brain having gone dumb from his touch alone.

He licks his lips, starting to rub at your folds purposely. “Look at this pretty little cunt, oh my god…wonder…” he doesn’t finish his thought, but when his long digit makes its way in you, you can deduce what he was thinking. He slides it in and out slowly, the length of his finger reaching much farther than yours ever have.

Your breathing gains speed and depth, adding another finger and fucking you slow, yet perfect. “Eddie.” You moan, your slick dripping down your ass and onto the blanket. Eddie moves his fingers faster, looking at your face for your response. “F-faster!”

Eddie lets out a huff of laughter you don’t hear, too caught up in the pleasure. “Jus’ gonna…” He leans in, and his tongue flat against your clit yanks the first genuine moan out of you, the pleasure all encompassing.

“Just like that! Please, Eddie, so close, please!” You beg him, the orgasm sneaking on you as it hurtles toward you, just around the corner.

He switches up, still new to this whole thing, but he makes up for it by gripping onto the soft flesh of your thighs and starting to fuck his tongue into your weeping hole. His lips create a sort of suction around the length of your lips, and the heat that radiates into your thighs becomes too fucking much as your thighs close hard against his ears.

“Gonna…” it’s the only warning you can provide for him before your entire body tenses up, a primal moan leaving your lips. Eddie works you through your orgasm, holding your thighs held against his head and revelling in how you soak his lips. He’s pictured his nose against your pussy too many times to already be satisfied.

As you finally come down, Eddie is still fucking into you with his tongue, seemingly not giving up. You lift your head up, your thighs now loose as you peer at him. “Ed?” You ask, the sensitivity of your puffy lips causing your thighs to quiver a little bit. “Wh-what are you doing?”

His tongue leaves your cunt for only half a second. “’M not done yet.” It’s warbled, his hot breath right against you eliciting another whimper.

Your head falls hopelessly against the van floor, his thumb contacting your clit and tongue swirling against your walls, moaning into your pussy. As you’re still sensitive, the second orgasm starts brewing in your tummy quickly. “Eddie, it’s too much.” You say, attempting to squiggle your hips away from his relentless tongue. “Too-too much.”

“Mmm, ‘can do it.” He mumbles, doubling down on his pattern.

“Ed…Eddie!” You cum into his mouth, your torso involuntarily tensed as you raised, incoherent sounds leaving your lips as you wither beneath him.

As your thighs relax again, he licks a last few times, as if trying to collect all the slick covering your pussy. After one last time, he looks up to you, licking his lips as you recollect yourself. “Was that ok?” He asks, breathing heavily and sweating as if he just ran a marathon.

You give him a look of disbelief, eyes furrowing as you shake your head. “Was…was that okay?” You repeat back to him in astonishment. “Eddie that was…I-I it was… I don’t know who taught you to do that, but it wasn’t me, Jesus!”

He crawls up to you, smile on his face gloriously cocky. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh!” You confirm, your voice indicating that you’re stating the obvious.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says, mouth just hovering over yours.

“What a coincidence, been wanting you to do that for a while.” You smirk, switching your glance between his hypnotising eyes and his glossy pink lips. He finally leans in for a kiss, tongue reaching out to meet yours in a dance of straight up pleasure. “Ed…” You whine, bunching up the wet muscle shirt he’s wearing in your fists.

“Hmm?” He asks, slowly kissing you.

“I wanna help you.” You sheepishly admit, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Please?”

“Help?” Eddie asks, feigning ignorance in the meaning of your request.

“I wanna suck your cock, please, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a laugh in incredulity. “Holy shit, please.” It’s damn near a whine, music to your ears.

You giggle in response, finally the shoe on the other foot as you get to now hear those moans as a result of what you do to him, and not through his bathroom door. Experimentally, you reach down, feeling at the tent you’ve felt brush against your thigh as you made out with him. At the mere brush of your hand on the outline of his cock, he moans, and you bite your lip in anticipation.

One leg bends, using it to push and get him onto his back. You sit up, straddling him as you assess his astonished expression. As soon as you sit up, however, you notice the twitch of his cock right under your pussy. Your breath stutters at it, not realizing your bodies would line up this well. As if your brain knows what to do before even you do, your hips start rutting against him, alluring a moan in sync from the two of you.

“Oh my god,” Eddie whimpers, eyes rolling in the back of his head. If you could, you’d take a picture of him.

You giggle, attempting some ounce of self-discipline as you start to crawl down his body, already missing the twitch of his dick against your bare pussy. If just his dick against you feels this good, you wonder how great he would feel inside you, and you almost run out of patience.

No. You want this power: to be on your knees as he moans for you. Show some fucking discipline.

Your hands fumble as you undo the button on his jeans and Eddie lifts his hips as you move them down his legs. You want to tease him over his thin boxers, but the anticipation is too much, the need of the weight of what appears to be his thick cock on your tongue too great. You tug down his boxers, his cock popping out deliciously.

The look of pure lust you saw on Eddie is essentially copy and pasted onto you, your eyes darkening as you take in his length for the first time.

“Uh, baby?” He asks, watching as you’re stuck in some sort of trance.

“So pretty.” You mumble to the pink head, precum already pearling at the slit. Your tongue darts out, wanting a taste of the salt dressing it. You sigh in satisfaction, eyes closing as you wrap your hand around the base. Tentatively, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking gently.

“What a good mouth, oh my god.” He babbles, hands in his own hair in a haze.

If you could, you’d smile. Only knowing from a magazine with blowjob tips, you start to move your mouth up and down his length, barely able to take in half of it. Your mouth sucks harshly on him, moaning around him as slobber starts to gather at the base. As a way to get the spit off your hand, you rub it on to his cock almost in exact time as you continue sucking.

“Baby, baby, do that again.” He whines, his gasps audible. You follow his request immediately, moving your hand in tandem with your mouth. “Just like that, so good, thank-thank you.”

A sense of pride hits you, increasing your speed as his legs start to move aimlessly around under you. Your jaw starts to become sore, so you decide to experiment some more. You give one long lick from base to tip, chasing a vein that travels around his cock. At the skin around his base, you suck lightly, giggling as he lets out a deep moan. You recall one tip telling you not to neglect the balls, so you travel down to one, sucking on the ribbed skin empirically.

“Fuck—I—” Eddie stutters out between loud gasps of pleasure, eyes closed.

You lick under it, trying to get every inch of skin as your hand absentmindedly strokes him. Your tongue goes back for his now leakier tip, engulfing his cock to the furthest of the back of your throat you possibly can, your gag reflex choking on him.

“Choke on that fat cock, baby, fucking choke on it!”

His stern tone surprises you, yet still turns you on as you continue the choking, now on purpose. You slobber all over his cock, one hand travelling up to hold his hand.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so fucking close…” You double down on every action, his hand squeezing the life out of yours. “Gonna cum down your throat…fuck—”

Eddie lets out the greatest moan of all time, a salty thick substance shooting down your throat as you swallow it easily. You barely have a chance to taste it, too much coming too fast to keep track, attempting to swallow it all. His cock finally stops twitching in your mouth, and as your mouth leaves him, you leave a final sweet kiss on the bright red tip.

As you lift your head to assess him, you see the obvious way his chest breathes in and out, catching his breath. You bite your lip as his eyes stay closed, palm on his forehead as he recovers. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah?” You ask, having never given head before.

“Uh, yeah!” He says as if he’s stating the obvious, falling back on the blanket. “Mere.” He sits back up, grabbing you at the shirt and putting his lips on yours. You moan into his mouth, panting happily as his tongue makes contact with yours. “Fuck, did you swallow?” He asks, fabric of your thin tank top lifted by his hand on your bare skin.

“Mmhmm!” You confirm, giggling as he lets out a sigh of contentment.

Eddie lifts your shirt off, the light-yellow fabric see through from the rain. He throws it across the van, moving you onto your back with his hand supporting the small of it. As he lies down alongside you, mouth slowly moving against yours and a hand trails along your skin, setting it on fire, yet goosebumps appear on your skin in its wake. His hand reaches its destination, travelling under the wire of your bra and starting to play with your peaked nipple.

You whimper into his mouth as he plays with it, tugging on it and sending pleasure down your spine. Your hands leave from where they were stationed on his shoulders to your skirt, trying to move it down your hips. “No, no, let me.” Eddie laughs, his hand leaving your nipple and replacing your hands on your skirt.

He tugs both your skirt and panties down off your legs, moving down the length as he gets them off your feet. You giggle and take off your shoes with it, watching as Eddie finishes taking off his pants and shoes as well.

Eddie lands back between your legs, his eyes hungry, making you feel vulnerable. A single hand, ever ambitious, moves around your back to take your bra off. To your surprise, he takes it off single handedly, the bra snapping off your back as a cheshire grin of satisfaction makes its way onto Eddie's lips. Finally, you move your hands around his back to help him take off his muscle shirt, admiring as each tattoo is revealed, finally allowed to ogle him.

You bite your lip, admiring him in the low light of the van. Eddie falters for a second, gulping. “I…I don’t have a condom.” He admits sheepishly.

You giggle, smiling at him happily. “I don’t care about that, I just need you to fuck me, Ed.”

He smiles, leaning in for a sweet, lush kiss. “I…I have to tell you something.” He sighs, on all fours as he hovers over you.

Your stomach swoops nervously. “Um…okay.”

He lines himself up, the tip slight pressure against your hole. “Okay?”

You nod, now confused. Wasn’t he going to tell you someth-oh my god. He slowly enters you, the pain over taking the pleasure, but the feeling still phenomenal.

“So tight.” He grunts, arms still straight as he waits for you to adjust.

It starts to feel overwhelmingly better, Eddie pulsing inside you, you can feel every inch against your walls. “More.” You plead.

Eddie pushes in a bit more, a high whine leaving your lips. “You’re doing so well, baby, taking this big fat cock.”

“Cock feels…so good…” You sigh, eyes closing on their own accord. “Didn’t…didn’t you have something to say?”

He laughs, his cock twitching in tandem. “I do…”

“You’re inside me, and you’re still a tease?” You ask, humming as it turns to pleasure again. “More.”

Eddie pushes in a little bit more, licking his lips as he takes in your pleasure-stricken face. “A tease, eh?” He asks, wondering what you meant.

“Walking in with your chest still wet—” you whine, interrupting yourself, “the cut off sleeves you wear, mast-masturbating in the shower…more.”

“Just a little bit more baby.” You don’t know how he could be any deeper, you’re pretty sure he’s already at your cervix. “Wait…you heard me in the shower?”

You huff a breath of laughter, tightening around him. “Mmhmm. Sounded so fucking hot, I might’ve touched myself in your bed when I heard it.”

Eddie moves in a final time without your say-so, and you moan in surprise. “Sorry, baby, you just—you just took me by surprise. You touched yourself in my bed? When I was in the shower?”

“Only because I could hear you.” You admit, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer to you.

“You could hear me? I was so sure I was being quiet.” He admits, his breath hot against your skin as he lies directly against you.

“Not really.” You admit, biting your lip in embarrassment. “It was so fucking hot, Ed.”

Eddie sighs, peppering kisses against your skin. “Well, I was thinking of you and those thin pjs you wear, sweetheart, so I guess it was a mutual masturbation.”

“I wondered if that was working.” You admit, humour in your voice. Eddie shakes his head, everything suddenly making sense. He kisses you deeply, hips still stagnant as he allows you to get used to his girth.

“So, you had something you wanted to tell me, Eddie?” You ask, slowly caressing the side of his torso, lightly tracing the tattoos you come in contact with.

“Mmhm.” He hums, leaning down to kiss skin gently, any skin he could reach. “Thanks for remembering.”

You roll your eyes, starting to get antsy at his still hips. “Just tell me.”

“I’m telling you this, because it broke me to see your reaction after you thought I even liked someone else.” The heartache seems so far away now, especially since he’s currently balls deep inside you. “I don’t just like you, sweetheart.” He admits, his voice suddenly soft and sweet. “I’m in love with you. I have been in love with you for as long as I’ve known you, at least, I think…I don’t know. But I don’t want anyone else, never have, baby. I just. Want.” Unexpectedly, he lifts his lips, pulling a gasp. “You.” He bucks his hips once for emphasis, taking in the already fucked out look on your face as you take in everything he just gave you.

“Really?” You ask in a light whisper, breathing heavily. “You-you love me?”

“Mmhmm.” He affirms, his hips bucking out slowly yet again.

“I-I love you too, Ed.” You admit, your heart open and full, every part of you, full, as he slowly fucks into you.

The words take a minute to register, his hips stilling completely. It’s such a tease, the way his hips still after only mere seconds of starting their trek. You whimper as an answer, your hips lifting to silently request that he’d continue. “Ed?”

“Oh my god…” he mutters, slowly lapping his way down your neck. “I’m so crazy for you, baby, so fucking insane.”

“Can…you please move?” You request politely, legs tense at his hips as your cunt begs for more attention.

“Need this fat cock to fuck you good, don’t you, baby?” He manages out, voice with a hint of husk in it as he continues to kiss his way down your body. The dip of your collarbone, valley of your tits, biting at the areola, licking dirtily along the curve of your breast…as far as he could go without his cock leaving you. “Hmm? Just desperate for it, aren’t you?”

One side of you wants to ask him where he's come up with this, because it’s driving you absolutely wild. The other side doesn’t fucking care where he got it from, the pleasure from his delicate licks consuming you whole. At a loss for words, you nod your head.

He grunts as he bucks himself into you, this one harder than the last. “Oh? Can’t use your words, baby?”

You whine, feeling pathetic, and yet, ravishing in it. “I just want you to rail me, please, please, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” He asks, turning his lips into your neck again, muttering against your throat. “How bad?”

“Enough to think about you” you huff, heat floating to your cheeks, hesitant in saying it. Could he just…keep moving? Please?

His teeth graze your ear, nipping at it. “Wanna finish that sentence, love?” Eddie asks, his voice making your thighs clench together around his hips.

“Eddie, I've thought about you everytime I fucked my pussy with my fingers. I’ve thought about you fucking me more times than I can count.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t know how many times I’ve fucked my fist praying one day it would be you…whimpering and whining for me.”

“Then turn me into a fucking mess, Ed. Please.”

Finally, his lips leave your throat and he looks at you, his grin manic as those adorable dimples finally give you that look you’ve been craving for what feels like eons at this point. His hips move into action, fucking you at a force that pulls feral grunts out of your mouth, sounds you didn’t even know you had the capability of making.

“Baby, your pussy is so tight, just pulling me in.” He grunts, one hand curling its way into your hair, pulling lightly at the roots.

“Eddie, your cock feels so fucking good. Fucking—keep going—oh my god.”

Eddie is torn between moaning, grunting, and thoughts that are never finished. His hand, nimble and huge, trails up and down your torso, your legs, touching every inch he can. Finally, two of his fingers make their way to your clit, rubbing it with fervour. Your pussy clenches around his length as he continually bucks into you, the mix of sensations too much, and yet, everything you’ve ever wanted from him.

“Eddie, can you please do something for me?” You ask, reaching out to hold his face with both hands and giving him a sweet kiss.

He sighs into your kiss, tongue connecting with yours, and you feel dizzy and high in pleasure. “Anything, angel.”

“Want you to call me a slut.”

He leans in for another kiss, much dirtier and much needier. His hips rut into yours desperately. “Yeah? Dunno if you’ve really earned it…” he comments, teasing you.

You don’t realize he’s egging you on, desperate for him in ways you didn’t think you could be. Your mind goes to the thing it was fixated on when Eddie once held your face, hands petting two fingers absentmindedly. You grab at the same two fingers, nimble and long, and place them in your mouth, sucking as you wrap your tongue around them.

Eddie’s mouth opens, jaw slack as his tongue pokes out. A shine appears in his eyes, glazing over as they fixate on your mouth. Your mind might’ve been tricking you, but you swear his dick twitches inside you. His hips have stopped…again. “Oh shit, my dirty little slut.”

You nod your head enthusiastically, rutting your hips up again, silently begging for more. You moan around him, eyes hooded, Eddie blurring in your vision from the steep want. Your teeth graze his fingers lightly, lapping your tongue over it when he whines. Around his fingers you choke, your mouth hot and wet. Your mouth leaves his fingers for a moment, light shining in the spit glazing your mouth. “Baby I need you to fuck me. Please, Ed. Please.”

“Listen to this little slut beg for it. Can you beg some more? Hm? See that pretty little mouth beg, just for me.” His low rumble only spurring you on further.

Eddie knows you love what that husky voice is saying as your pussy pulses around him. “Hmm. Eddie, please, please fuck me. Need that cock so fucking bad. You have no idea how much you turn me on, your rings, your arms, fuck, that pretty fucking mouth, those gorgeous eyes, oh my fucking god. I have needed you to fuck me for this last year, please, Ed, just rail me until I can’t think.”

Your chest is heaving, eyes slowly assessing Eddie’s reaction. A smile slowly creeps on his face, until it’s a smirk that sends a shiver right through you. Your eyes dart back and forth between his, anticipating his next move, biting your lip. The first thing he does is lean down to give you a kiss, that can simply be described as romantic. His tongue reaches out to connect with yours, gliding together in a dance that you don’t think you’ll ever get over.

Honestly, you think, if his kiss ever bores you, the person to your left better beat your ass for taking for granted how fantastic these lips are.

After a moment of just his lips on yours, lying together so unified, you aren’t sure where he stops and you begin. Slowly, his kisses move from your lips, down the dip of your neck, and he licks slowly up to your ear. “Hmm. Fuck you until you can’t think? Baby, I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”

A moan leaves your throat, a hint of a whimper. His lips curl up more against your ear, a light laugh huffing against it.

Then, his hips get to work.

Every goddamn time Eddie stopped, every time he made you beg for him to keep going, whether it be silent or verbal, he makes up for it tenfold as soon as his hips start moving. He pushes up, using his hands to lift his body up and start fucking you at a relentless pace. Slowly, you recognize an annoying squeak fades in the background, the sound of the axel against his differential from his hips bucking wonderfully.

Not a word leaves your throat, the only sounds are small gasps falling from your lips, faster and faster as the pleasure impossibly grows within you. It feels like an aura of heat, radiating from your full pussy, and throughout your body.

“Feel good, baby? Feel that fat cock fucking you, good and full?” He grunts out from between gritted teeth.

You nod, whines leaving your throat, one shock at a time.

His hand on your hip tightens, nails digging into the doughy skin of your ass. “Hey, slut. I asked you a fucking question.”

“So good…so good…so fucking good…so fucking good. Ed-Eddie…I—” You’re cut off by your own shout, the way he hits hard, and deep, impossibly harder.

“Look at my cock-drunk little slut, taking this cock so well.” He mutters, voice deep and gasping for air. “Fuck, feels so good.”

Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him so his forehead lands on yours, harshly, but in a way that makes him grunt…almost…animalistic…

“Cum…cum in me…” it’s a struggle to get out, but once it does, you witness Eddie falter for just a second.

“R-really?”

“Please, please cum in me. Want it dripping out of me, please baby.”

His hand stutters in its movements, sliding up from your hips, to your neck, hands gently raising on the front. “Want me to cum in you?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Want me to claim you as yours?”

“Been…been yours since I sat down at—ah—your table, Ed.”

“That’s fucking right, you have, you’re all fucking—all fucking mine.”

His hip movements are a little more jagged, his breathing heavy and jagged. “Harder.”

He chuckles, hand tightening around your throat, a grunt leaving your throat at each fucking hit. “Fuck…gonna—”

He cuts himself off, his cum filling you up deliciously in spurts of hot, white, mess. You go over the edge with him, your orgasm hitting you in a way that will have you fucking skipping around the halls of the school. You whine his name, choked out past his ring-necklace wrapped around your neck.

His torso collapses on yours, covered in sweat in the thick of the van.

His hand leaves your neck, both wrapping themselves into your hair. You seem to finally catch your breath, almost gasping as his weight is the most comforting thing you’ve ever felt in your life. He’s laid on you several times before, but never this intimate, his breath mixing with yours, making you feel whole.

You giggle, a smile that takes over your face in every muscle, completely lighting up. As much as you try, you can’t hold it in. It floats down your face and into your body, every limb full of complete joy. Eddie twists his head into your neck, you feel the wide smile he makes, gorgeous laughter leaving his lips against you. His teeth nip at your neck, making you giggle harder, hands flying up to your face.

Eddie leans up his face to see yours, the lazy smile lopsided, a pretty shine in his eyes. It’s…new…and radiant. You giggle again as you look up at him, your hands landing on each side of his rosy, glowing, cheeks. His skin is hot and flushed, your thumbs slowly caressing his face.

He leans in for another kiss, gentle this time, making you feel all too dizzy. A sigh of utter contentment leaves your mouth, biting your lips anxiously. “Hi, love.” He mutters, a lithe finger moving a strand of hair that fell into your eye. “Doin’ good?”

You nod, shyly rubbing your head into his chest. “Very good.”

He laughs, tilting his head up to face the roof of the van, still sheltering you from the sturdy and never-ending rain. “Fuck, rain hasn’t stopped.”

“It’s pretty.” You comment, observing the pattern of the roof his van. “I love the sound.”

He hums, eyes raking you over as he leans into you. “Not as good as the sounds you make.”

You roll your eyes, hitting his arm gently. “Eddie.” You giggle, legs wrapping themselves around him. “What a line.”

His lips softly land on your cheek, giving you a final kiss. “Not a line, just the truth.” He whispers, hands now preparing himself to lift out of you.

“Wait.” You stop him, holding on to one of those strong arms of his. “I—I really don’t want you to leave yet, baby.”

A laugh escapes his throat, in utter disbelief if anything. “Oh, we have plenty of time for cock-warming, gorgeous, don’t you fucking worry.” He assures you. “I just thought we could go to my house, make out and watch a movie, ya know?”

“Mmhmm.” You answer, still moaning at the loss that was too much to handle. “I just wanted to…revel in it.”

“Oh, I love you so fucking much.” He sighs, grinning at you as he crawls to his clothes.

You lean up into your elbows, a symphony of giggles leaving your throat as he tosses your panties into your face. “Can we make out on your couch?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Eddie tells you, curly hair that’s already frazzled from the humidity even crazier from the tryst. “Hell, you can ride me, let’s get out of his van before we both catch a cold.”

You put on the skirt he hands to you. “Both?”

“Yep.” He nods, also throwing his jacket. “You walked a mile in the pouring rain with no jacket on. You’re gonna be a mess this weekend.”

Nodding, you agree with him. “I mean I’ll be a mess either way, no?”

Eddie shakes his head as he puts on his shirt, giving you a look you’ve been dying for him to shoot you. As if he’s so lucky to have caught you.

He’s wrong, you’re the lucky one. The two of you finally finish getting dressed, meeting in the middle in your cold, wet clothes. You crawl into his arms, nuzzling his chest as he places a kiss on your damp hair. “C’mon, let’s figure out how far we can get into Halloween before ripping each other’s clothes off again.”

You giggle, climbing into the passenger seat. If it was up to you, the tape wouldn’t even make it into the VCR.

Your hand intertwines with his on the way there, your whole body relaxing into the fabric seats. He can’t keep his eyes on the road, glancing at you every five seconds. It’s hard to believe only twelve hours ago you were in bed cocooned because your heart was aching so badly.

Now your heart aches in a completely different way, and it’s from not being able to comprehend that you could love and be loved in return just as much.

The next morning, Wayne walks into his trailer to see clothes scattered along the hall. You didn’t even make it to the couch.

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read your comments, replies, and reblogs. As always, reblogging is the best way to support your fic writers on tumblr.

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson friends to lovers

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btsgotjams27 · 1 year

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the back-up plan | jjk

summary: one drunken night leads to an agreement that if you and jungkook are still single by 30, you'd marry each other. the only thing is jungkook has been doing everything he can to keep you single.

💖 title: the back-up plan | one-shot 💖 pairing: jungkook x f!reader | 💖 genre/au: romance, fluff / friends to lovers(?) 💖 rating: SFW | 18+ | 💖 word count: 18.1k | 💖 playlist 💖 warnings: jungkook & reader are both 29, reader is a hopeless romantic (what else is new with my characters?), jungkook is always pining and head over heels in love, jungkook is sweet and in luvrrr but he’s bad at feelings and tells some terrible lies (don’t hate him—ok!!), reader has a skewed view of relationships and what's expected of her, jungkook calls her wifey, hot and seggsy neighbor!namjoon (yes, pls), shirtless namjoon (2x), kissing, hand-holding, some suggestive language, mentions of erotic art and positions, first dates, alcohol consumption, reader has her belly button pierced, talks of tattoos & getting them, mentions of needles, and idk some things may come off as cheesy??? but it's a romance story so idk take what you will, light angst (you should know me by now!!), jungkook gets a lil drunk (pls drink responsibly), jealous jk comes out, love confessions 💖 a/n: the plot is a bit ridiculous, but that's the point! it's fiction (lol), i hope y'all enjoy it for what it is. the idea came from a tweet I saw, but ofc, I can't find it! so thank you to whoever tweeted it! and, happy birthday to the loml, jeon jungkook (this was supposed to be out for his birthday, but my brain said no). i also have to thank holly (@alphabetboyluvr). i respect her so much as a writer and friend, and I was super scared to ask her to even look at my outline, but she's always so sweet and willing. i couldn't have done this without her help, her comments, and suggestions <3 (i'd also recommend listening to the playlist while reading :)) and as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts 💖

sunday.

Another day has passed, and it’s creeping closer to your birthday. They’re supposed to be joyous, celebratory occasions–and you love feeling special, showered with love and gifts. What more could a person want?

But you had a clear goal before hitting the big 3-0: get married–or at least be engaged to be married.

Most girlfriends your age were still having fun, enjoying life, and not ready to settle down. You’re unsure if your upbringing or society’s expectations distorted you, but you were fond of marriage and finding the one to spend your life with.

You also blamed the hopeless romantic in you when you dragged every one of your girlfriends with you to see the new romantic comedy, giggled, and kicked your feet when reading the latest best-selling romance novel.

The thing was, you were so close to getting engaged. You and your boyfriend, Theo, of eight months–well, ex-boyfriend–discussed it openly from the beginning of your relationship. And not even two weeks ago, he broke up with you out of the blue and gave no clear explanation.

You sat in bed debating whether to download your old dating apps again. Your birthday was in six days, and you knew you wouldn’t find a suitable mate before your birthday, but at least you could try, right?

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:27 PM Happy ‘almost 30th’ birthday.

You 11:28 PM 😭😭😭

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:28 PM Are you still crying over Theodore Boner?

You 11:29 PM It’s Bonner, not boner!

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:29 PM 🤣🤣🤣 You were saved from that one. Imagine having the last name Boner.

You rolled your eyes at the text from Jungkook, throwing your phone beside you as you curled under your duvet.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo Incoming Video Call

“What do you want, Kook?”

“You gotta admit, ____ Boner sounds awful,” Jungkook laughed as he pushed back in his recliner.

“I’m hanging up!” you threatened, getting ready to push the end button.

"No, no! I'm kidding. You would've made a great Mrs. Boner."

"Bye–Kook."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm done, I promise."

"I had a whole plan. What am I supposed to do now? My birthday is in six days," you groaned, covering your face with the duvet.

"You don't remember our agreement, do you?"

You brought the cover down. Curious about his comment. "What agreement?"

💖💖💖

Before this most recent one, your ex, Jimin, had broken up with you, and you were on the rebound, looking for a good time. Jungkook came to the rescue, saving you from your next mistake. He took you out for drinks, let you drown in your sorrows, and the two of you got pretty drunk. You could only remember bits and pieces of your conversation.

“Let’s get married if we’re still single by 30,” Jungkook suggests.

“You wanna marry me? But I’m such a mess.”

Your dating life, career, friends, and family were fine.

“Yeah, why not. We get along. You seem a little kinky in bed and make a mean spaghetti dish.”

“Is that all I’m good for? Sex and spaghetti?”

“That sounds like a bad porn film waiting to happen. No, but I'm serious. If we're still single, let’s get married.”

You wave him off. “Kook, you’re drunk. You’re just saying whatever.”

“Yeah, I'm drunk, but I'm serious about this.”

He gets up, looks around, sees a straw wrapper, and ties it around your finger. He's on one knee before you.

“____, will you marry me? Hypothetically, of course, if we’re both still single by 30.”

You shake your head at your loveable friend. It was hard to say no. How could you?

“You’re so dumb.”

“See. You can write that in your vows,” Jungkook jokes, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, you are pretty cute, and I can stand being around you,” you tease.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

You smack his arm. “Is this how you’re wooing your future wife?”

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I can’t believe how beautiful my future wife is.”

You’re unsure if it’s the alcohol making you susceptible and vulnerable to your good friend asking you to marry him or if it was because you were on the rebound. But what’s the harm? If you couldn’t find someone by 30, then you’d get to marry a good friend.

“That's more like it. Why yes, Jeon Jungkook. I will marry you if I'm still single by 30.”

💖💖💖

You let out a cackle. “Oh shit–I agreed to that?”

Jungkook pouts and nods. “Sure did.”

But Jungkook’s messing around, right? He was a good friend and comforted you in your time of need. There’s no way he’d want to spend the rest of his life with you. Plenty of suitable women were fawning over him, and now you’ve noticed you've never seen him with a girlfriend.

“You’re–you’re not serious, are you?” You stumble over your words, going into panic mode.

Why would Jeon Jungkook choose you, of all people, to want to marry? He could have anyone at any time.

No, you shook off the thought. You couldn’t lock him into a loveless marriage.

Jungkook licks his lips, tongue flicking his lip ring back and forth.

You shifted in bed and cleared your throat. “Aren’t you seeing that one girl?”

It wasn’t hard to notice when she practically hung onto him like a lovesick puppy.

Jungkook makes a face, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s nothing serious.”

You give him a blank expression. “Nothing serious? Kook, she’s practically foaming at the mouth and shooting heart eyes when you’re around.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That could be you, too.”

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him.

“Just saying,” he adds.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to get in the way if it is serious.” You surely didn’t want to become a homewrecker.

He waves his hand. “Oh, no, no, no. I don’t back down from promises I make.”

Your lips turn into a pout, and you tilt your head, wondering why he’d ditch Clingy Chloe and commit to a drunken promise. “What’s in it for you?”

He seems offended by your question, so he scoffs. “I mean, I’m just trying to save you from a future where you’re an old lady with 50 cats, collecting newspapers that pile up from the floor to the ceiling, and then you show up on an episode of Hoarders.”

You chuckle. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“You’re not?” he questions hesitantly.

“I mean, marriage is a pretty serious thing, and we’re friends getting married because we have no one else?” The sentiment seems ridiculous once you say it aloud.

“What? You don’t think I'll be a good husband?”

“No, I didn't say that. I think you’d be a great one, actually.”

“Then, what’s the problem? Don’t think you can handle me?” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes at your cocky friend. “I don’t know, Kook. What if I meet someone, or what if you meet someone?”

“You don’t think I can make you fall in love with me?” he asks, ignoring your question.

Your nose scrunches, and you laugh. “No.”

“Oh, well, that sounds like a challenge, and you’re lucky I love a little competition.”

He’s not going to let this go, is he?

You settle into the plush of your pillows. “Okay–tell you what, if you can make me fall in love with you within the week, I’ll consider marrying you.”

What would you have to lose? Being wined and dined by a cute guy? What girl would pass up this opportunity?

“Deal.”

💖💖💖

monday.

Your everyday routine consists of rolling out of bed, logging into work, checking your emails, and then sitting on the couch until you get a support ticket from someone who forgot their password for the umpteenth time.

It’s a great gig, and now you’re glad you went into the right field of work.

You’re on your random binge of rewatching The Fast and the Furious saga. Your friends always make fun of you, but you can’t help it. It’s a guilty pleasure of yours.

“You got some sexy legs. When do they open?” Roman says with a grin.

You burst out laughing. The dialogue is so bad, yet somehow, these movies keep getting made. You must be the target audience.

The doorbell rings and it’s 8:30 AM. Who is here this early? You didn’t buy anything online while you were drunk, did you?

You peek through the viewfinder, and it’s blocked by something yellow. You can’t see the delivery person’s face when you open the door.

“Special delivery for ___,” the person says in a deep voice.

“That’s me.”

And out from behind the flowers, Jeon Jungkook pops out. “Happy birthday week,” he says in a sing-song voice.

Your heart settles when you realize it's your friend or future husband. “What are you doing here?”

You notice two grocery bags on the ground next to him. He hands you the flowers and picks them up.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” He raises his eyebrow, scanning you from head to toe.

Real clothes and makeup don’t exist when you're working from home.

“Cute slippers,” he points out as you stare at your fluffy white bunny slippers.

You sigh, grabbing his arm to drag him into your apartment. As you��re about to close the door, you notice moving boxes outside the apartment next to yours. Hmm, someone new must be moving in.

“Is this what you look like underneath all that makeup?” he asks, making himself comfortable in your kitchen. The two bags are on the counter, and he’s going through the cupboards to find a vase.

“Top left above the sink,” you say.

He opens the cupboard, retrieving a clear vase.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting company. Otherwise, I would’ve put on some decent clothing.”

And a bra, you think as you cross your arms, covering your chest.

Jungkook shakes his head. “You look good in anything, and with or without makeup. You’ll be my future wifey, so there’s no need to look for good me. We can just be comfortable with each other, right?”

You purse your lips and raise an eyebrow. He’s serious about this, isn’t he? You suppose you wouldn’t mind playing along to see how far he would go.

A man ready and willing to commit to marriage? You must be living in your romantic film.

You nod. “Right, we’re friends, possibly moving onto more than friends–well, actually, straight to marriage,” you chuckle, "but I’ve always felt comfortable around you, Kook.”

He flashes a warm smile. “Good, then everything will be easy, peasy lemon squeezy.”

He’s cute, you think.

“I hope you like mimosas,” he says as he unloads the groceries from the bags.

Bread, eggs, bacon, strawberries, orange juice, and champagne.

“Are you making me breakfast?” you question, narrowing your eyes at the man in the yellow beanie and white Nike shirt.

“Consider it your birthday breakfast, wifey,” he jokes, peering in your cupboards for a pan.

“Right side next to the oven.”

“Ah, I gotta remember this if I’m gonna be cooking here more often.” He whistles, setting the pan on the stove.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Don’t you have to work today?”

“Nah–called in sick. It’s my wife’s birthday week. I have to shower her with all the love.” He wiggles his eyebrows and puckers his lips.

It’s funny to see Jeon Jungkook act this way. He’s always been playful and flirty the two years you’ve known him, but this must’ve been his way of pulling out all his cards of wooing a woman.

💖💖💖

“Breakfast is ready,” Jungkook yells from the kitchen.

A support ticket from work came through, distracting you from your movie and Jungkook.

“‘Kay! Almost done.” You recheck your work emails, ensuring everything is complete.

This time, you put on a bra, change into a decent shirt, and put on a skin tint and blush to make yourself look alive.

You stroll into the kitchen, and Jungkook perfectly displays the sunflowers on the counter and two delicious breakfast plates. The champagne flutes are filled to the brim and topped off with a beautifully sliced strawberry.

“Thanks, Kook. This looks so yummy.”

He flashes a smile. “Anytime.”

The two of you sit beside each other, digging into the breakfast spread.

“What’s that one movie you wanted to watch again?” Jungkook asks before he sips his mimosa.

Your mouth is full, and you chew quickly to answer him. “The one on Netflix?” He hums. “Wedding Season.”

“Sounds like the perfect movie for us to watch this week.”

“You’re into rom-coms?”

“I love ‘em.”

“Shut up. You’re teasing me now.”

“I don’t know why you never ask me to watch them, but you’ll ask the girls.”

You look down at your food before catching his gaze. “I didn’t think you’d be into them, so I never asked. And you don’t seem like the hopeless romantic type.”

“I mean, growing up, I wasn’t. My parents didn’t have a fairytale romance, so I didn’t believe in love for a long time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, someone must’ve changed your mind then?”

He hums, not wanting to admit who made it an exception.

You nudge his arm. “Are you gonna tell me, or will I have to pry it out of you?”

He chuckles, not saying a word.

You scoff. “You’re not gonna tell me? Keeping secrets from your wife already? Rude,” you tut.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies.

The two of you finish breakfast, and Jungkook insists on doing the dishes. You set your plate in the sink and clutch onto his arm, tiptoeing to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you.”

💖💖💖

tuesday.

You take the morning off to run errands for your upcoming birthday extravaganza. And you’re struggling to hit the lock button on your keypad while holding a heavy box of birthday decor.

When you finally hear the whirring of the lock and chime, you turn around, bumping into someone, dropping your box, and knocking over a handful of books.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” you say, quickly picking up as many books as possible, and he picks up your birthday decor.

The man reaches for the pink heart-shaped sunglasses and other pink-colored decor. “Someone must be celebrating big,” the man’s dimpled smile displayed.

Your fingers accidentally touch his when you switch his books for your decor. You clear your throat, trying not to ogle the man. “Um, yeah, it’s for my birthday.”

He perks up. “Oh?” He flashes a thin smile. “Happy birthday.”

A breath gets caught in your throat, and you struggle to get any words out. “Uh, my birthday is actually on Saturday,” you finally croak out. “But, you must be my new neighbor.”

“Yeah, I’m Namjoon. I just moved in this past weekend.”

Oh, this is bad. Really bad.

He’s tall, has beautiful tanned skin and blonde hair, and you could live in his dimples.

“It’s–it’s nice to meet you.”

“Sorry about bumping into you, and it’s nice to meet you too. I hope you have a good birthday,” he says before picking up one last book on the ground.

“Are you doing anything this weekend? You can come if you want.”

After you ask, you want to kick yourself in the bum. Inviting a man you just met. What if he’s a weirdo? But how can he be if he’s reading ‘A Bigger Message Conversations with David Hockney.’ You may have managed to peek at one of his books.

“Oh, no,” he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding! I’m inviting you, and you can’t say no to the birthday girl,” you tease, adjusting the box in your arms.

A low chuckle escaped his lips. “You’re right. It’d be messed up to say no to the birthday girl.”

“So, you’ll come?” you ask, and a smile grows from ear to ear.

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

The two of you exchange information before you leave to finish your errands. You’re beaming down the street while carrying your box of decor.

You didn’t expect to find someone cute and endearing so quickly. And you’re surprised he said yes to your party. Maybe he’s new in town and wants to make friends. It would be a good way for him to get acquainted, and a part of you hoped you’d keep bumping into him in the halls.

💖💖💖

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:27 AM Wanna do a movie night today? We could watch Wedding Season.

You 11:30 AM Sounds like a date.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:35 AM Is 6 okay? I can bring dinner too.

You 11:36 AM That sounds perfect.

It's six on the dot, and you hear a knock on your door. You suppose Jungkook is the type to show up right on time, which you greatly appreciate.

He holds a six-pack of beer and a pizza box when you open the door.

"Ready for movie night?"

It’s halfway through the film, and you’re enjoying it. You love the fake dating trope because you could always count on the two mains to fall for each other.

"Are you cold?" Jungkook asks when he sees you tuck your hands in between your thighs.

"Yeah, kind of."

"Come here."

He opens his arm to cuddle, and you blink expressionless at him. The most intimate thing you’ve done with him is hug him–a side hug.

He laughs when you don’t move. “What? Scared I’ll bite?”

“No—it’s just that cuddling is an intimate thing to do,” you admit.

Arms and legs become entangled. Bodies are warming up against each other. Possibilities of things progressing.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Do you have a throw blanket somewhere?” He looks around and sees a woven basket next to the couch. He grabs a white fluffy throw for you.

Jungkook gives you an out, and for that, you’re grateful.

“Thanks,” you say as you snuggle in the blanket.

He flashes a small smile. “No problem.”

Even though you rejected Jungkook’s invitation to cuddle, somehow, by the end of the movie, the two of you had fallen asleep—cuddling.

You didn’t pull away from him yet. You peered up at him, watching his chest rise and fall. Light snores escape his lips, and now and again, he puffs out a breath like a whale coming up for air, making you chuckle.

You rest your chin on his chest, giving yourself a few seconds to enjoy this before waking him up.

“Kook,” you whisper, gently shaking him. “Kook,” you repeat.

He hums, popping his head up while his eyes are still closed. He flutters them open and immediately sits up, wiping the drool that’s dried on his chin. He clears his throat. “Um—how long was I asleep for?”

You giggle. “We both fell asleep. I blame the beer,” you say, stretching your arms.

Jungkook can’t help but notice the shiny piece of jewelry hanging from your navel. “You have your belly button pierced?” he asks with a raised brow.

You quickly pull down your shirt. “It was a dumb thing I did when I turned 21.”

“It’s cute.”

You shy away from his comment. At times, you forget you have it.

“What else are you hiding, hm?” Jungkook asks.

You scoff. “Nothing. I only have my ears and my belly button pierced.”

“No tattoos?”

Tattoos are cool on other people, and you toyed with the idea of getting one. You were indecisive about what to get.

You shook your head no. “Maybe one day.”

“Get one for your 30th. I’ll go with you. I know a guy,” he teases, pointing out the ink on his skin.

“You gonna hold my hand the entire time?”

He grins. “Anything for the wifey.”

A tattoo, huh? You’ve always wanted to see how high your pain threshold was. “I’ll think about it.”

“Just let me know, and I’ll get an appointment with the guy I always go to. I only trust him.”

Jungkook stands, proceeding to clean up the mess you two made.

“Oh, no. Leave it. I’ll clean it up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s late. We should get some sleep.”

He looks at the clock. It’s nearly midnight, and he still needs to wash up.

You walk him to the door, holding it open for him to leave. “Kook?”

Jungkook turns to you. “Yeah?”

You’re unsure what comes over you, but you pull him in for a hug. Only this time, it doesn’t feel like a friendly hug. It takes a moment for him to register what’s happening, then he wraps his arms around you. Every ounce of his body presses against yours, and you fit perfectly into him like a puzzle piece. His fresh, clean scent invades your nose, and you wish it could linger for a bit longer while his hand snakes to the nape of your neck, fingers curling in your hair.

Why do you feel more vulnerable when sleeping next to him now than earlier? Is it because you’re awake and aware of your intentions? The question was, what were your intentions? Did you want this? Did you really want him?

You withdrew from the embrace, bidding him farewell. He gives a small wave before disappearing into the elevator.

As you enter your apartment and shut the door, you repeatedly knocked the back of your head against it, muttering, ‘fuck.’ You were playing along to see how far Jungkook would go before calling it quits, but you failed to see that maybe—just maybe you could be falling too.

Hoseok’s minding his business, eating his ramen when he sees his roommate walk in. Jungkook looks like he’s floating on cloud nine, beaming from ear to ear. There’s even a hop in his step. He twirls around, daintily sitting beside Hoseok.

Hoseok scans his friend, watching him as he breathes a happy sigh and stares into the distance.

“What’s going on with you?” He raises a brow and narrows his eyes.

Jungkook giggles and scrunches his shoulders. “I just came back from cuddling with ___,” he says as he continues in his reveries.

“Oh, boy. Everyone, can I please have your attention,” Hoseok cups his mouth into a megaphone, “Jeon Jungkook has officially gone off the deep end. He thinks being delulu is the solulu.”

Jungkook glares at his friend and kicks him under the table. “Yah–aren’t you supposed to be rooting for me?”

Hoseok slurps his noodles. “Of course, I’m rooting for you. You’re my best bud,” he says as he places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he pats Hoseok’s hand. “Now–be an even better friend, and let me raid your closet for ___’s party.”

Jungkook lies in bed; his bicep flexes when he moves his hand behind his head. He’s watching an array of colors flash across the vastness of his room. The northern lights and stars twirl and sparkle like the movements of butterflies and the ones milling around his stomach for days.

Is this what being in love feels like, he thinks. It’s like he’s living in the romance movies he’s watched. Boy meets girl, boy, and girl fall in love, and they live happily ever after.

This is it. This must be it. His chance to be with you–the one he’s fallen completely head over heels for.

If the Jungkook from four years ago were to see him today, he’d laugh and call him a simp, especially with how he’s at your beck and call.

But the Jungkook, from four years ago, was a cynic. He had no healthy or loving relationships around him until he met you through Hoseok. And, even though you were with someone at the time, he saw how kind and wonderful you were to your friends and could only imagine the kind of love you’d show toward someone special.

There were only a few more days until your party, and he was determined to make each day count.

wednesday.

Since Monday, Jungkook has surprised you every day with a gift. They were his attempts to make you fall in love with you, along with his random trips to your place.

Today’s gift was a pair of pink seashell earrings. Jungkook tells you he spent hours making it from clay, then baked them in the oven. You shook your head, wondering how he got an idea like this. Nonetheless, it was a sweet gift.

He texted throughout the day, leaving cute words of encouragement or sending TikToks of funny videos he’d find. Maybe this was his love language, taking the time out of his day to let you know he’s thinking about you.

As your day winds down, you’re scrolling through YouTube, and what catches your eye at 7 p.m.? Dessert videos.

And that’s your worst toxic trait—thinking you can bake. It always looks easy enough. If they can do it, so can you.

That is, until you’re in the kitchen, halfway through a recipe, and notice you’re out of sugar. The grocery store is too far and will close when you get there.

See what happens when you decide to bake? It always goes differently than you want.

You could call Jungkook to see if he has any or walk over to your new neighbor’s place. The latter was plausible since Namjoon was only a few feet away.

You shook off the nerves, flattened your apron, and lightly knocked on Namjoon’s door. You could hear shuffling as he unlocked it.

Your eyes widened, standing like a deer caught in headlights. Namjoon’s half-naked, black shorts hung dangerously low on his waist. His forehead is glistening with sweat.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” you ask while trying to keep your gaze in line with his and not ogling his chiseled body.

Shit—maybe he had company over.

He cards his hand through his platinum blonde hair, but a few pieces fall back, covering his eyes. “No, you’re good. I just finished working out. What’s up?” he asks. His hand holds the door open as he leans against it.

You’re dumbfounded, unable to form words again. It’s like a giant hairball stuck in your throat.

Namjoon’s brows raise, and he calls out to you.

“Oh, sorry!” you say. “I’m attempting to bake a cake but I'm out of sugar. I wanted to ask if you have any I can borrow.”

“I think I do,” he ponders as he steps back. “Come in. Come in.”

You step into a squeaky clean apartment. Didn’t he just move in? How does someone unpack so quickly? Or maybe he had little to begin with.

His apartment was like a museum, with pottery, sculptures, and art prints adorning his walls and shelves. But what catches your attention is the translucent, cylindrical coffee table. It doesn’t seem like anyone should be putting anything on it.

Namjoon stands beside you, holding a jar of sugar.

“Ah, thank you so much! Now my cake batter won’t go to waste.”

“Anything catch your fancy?” he asks.

Granted, this man is still half-naked, standing beside you. You’re trying not to go feral over how broad and built he is.

“This, actually,” you point to the glass coffee table.

“That’s probably one of my most prized possessions.”

“It looks expensive.” You’d later come to find out it was worth $1.2M after you did an internet search.

“It is,” he chuckles. “It’s on loan from a friend.”

“On loan?” you ask, turning to him. Your eyes narrow and lips thin. “Can I ask what you do for work?”

“I’m an art curator.”

That makes sense now, considering the expensive and extensive art collection.

“Oh—you’re so fancy,” you tease. “I don’t know shit about art.” You could stand before a painting and feel nothing while looking at it. Maybe you were just going in with the wrong mindset.

Namjoon chuckles. “You can always ask me questions,” he notes before walking away to put on a t-shirt.

You’re a bit disappointed that you can’t ogle him anymore.

“Well, I can’t ask you questions if you don’t take me to a museum,” you flirt, turning toward him.

He grins, showing off his pearly whites and dimple deeply etched into his left cheek. “Are you asking me to ask you out on a date?”

You can’t help but play dumb. “Oh no, of course not! I would like your expertise to guide me around a museum, and if we happen to eat afterward, then I don’t know—would you call that a date?”

Namjoon licks his lips and nods, impressed by your boldness. “Are you busy Friday night?”

The cake wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either. You’d have to keep perfecting it and maybe keep asking to ‘borrow’ some sugar from your neighbor.

You debated whether you should tell Jungkook about your date with Namjoon. It’s a harmless date; Jungkook would be off the hook if it goes well. Besides, it’s a silly agreement you two made up while drunk.

But, you’d sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow. There was one more day before the date anyway.

As you were sitting in bed, doing your nightly scrolling through social media. A video call comes through.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo Incoming Video Call

You're on your side when you answer his call. “Hey, Kook,” you say before covering a yawn.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, shuffling underneath his duvet.

Your eyes scan the screen, and you notice his bare shoulders and collarbone on display. You never realized his tattooed sleeve reached so high on his arm, scantily kissing the top of his shoulder.

You cleared your throat. "Yeah, about to call it a night. What's up?"

"I just wanted to call and see how your day was. I was busy at work, so I didn't get to text you," he says.

Now that you think about it, the last text you received from him was this morning. And since the start of your little agreement, Jungkook has been texting and calling more than usual.

"I worked, then attempted to bake a cake."

He props the phone against something as he lies on his side, and parts of his hair still look damp from a shower. And you hate how cuddly he looks while he’s in bed and how you can see how much he works out just from the outline of his arms.

And no—you aren’t thinking about anything else.

"How'd it turn out?"

You shook your head in disgust. "Not very good."

"Ah, I'm sure it was great."

"I'll stick to store-bought cake for now."

"Next time, we can do it together and fail."

He wants to do everything with you, huh?

You chuckle at his comment and then say what’s on your mind, "I never realized how far your tattoo sleeve went up."

He peers at his shoulder. "Oh yeah," he leans forward to show you, his bicep flexing as he moves.

"Cool guy."

He chuckles. "Hardly cool. Just bored," he says. "So, should I schedule you for your tattoo?"

Since the last conversation, you've been scrolling through Pinterest and Instagram to get some ideas.

"I think I want the birth flower for September."

Jungkook shows you his arm, pointing to his tiger lily tattoo. "This one is for the actual day of birth, but the flower for the month of September is pretty too. Have you thought about placement?"

"Mm, maybe on the back of my neck or the inside of my arm. What do you think?" You show him your arm, then the back of your neck.

"It would look great on the back of your neck. It could be a nice surprise when you have your hair up."

"Oh–I like that idea."

He props himself up on the side with a wide grin. "So, I'm booking your appointment?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, why not? We only live once, right?"

Turning 30 is making your confidence go up.

“Once you get one, you’ll want more. Trust me.”

“At least I’ll have a tattoo buddy for life,” you tease.

“Ah, see, I like the way you’re thinking. Well, I should let my wifey get to sleep,” he gives a small smile. He reaches for his phone, placing it on his chest. His other hand is behind his head as he watches you through the screen.

You hum in agreement. “Night.”

“Night.”

Daydreams are one thing, and when Jungkook lies in bed, he can't help but wonder.

Wonder how you’d look in his favorite t-shirt. Wonder which side of the bed you prefer. Wonder if you dream of him, too. Wonder what it’s like to be loved by you.

Jungkook doesn’t want to wonder anymore; he wants to make you his reality.

thursday.

The birthday festivities started early for you as you requested today and tomorrow off. There’s no way you’re spending your last few days of being 29 stuck at work.

Today’s agenda consisted of a pedicure. The toes have to look cute with your new heels, and as you’re ready to head out to your appointment, Jungkook is at your door when you open it.

You tilt your head, knitting your eyebrows together. “Did we have something planned?”

He shakes his head no and pouts. “No, I wanted to surprise you with another gift.”

He hands you a gift bag, and you take a small peek, reaching down to grab the gift. You pull out a peach-shaped heart bath bomb.

“Peach?” You raise a brow and give a smug grin. “What makes you think I like peach?”

Jungkook snorts. “Oh, pfft–I don’t know. Could it be all the candles or soap? Or how you always order any type of peach-flavored alcohol? Tea? Or–”

You suck in your lips, then give a thin smile. “Son of a peach.”

“Very cute. You’re also great at fruit puns. I’ll add that to the list of reasons why I like you,” he chuckles.

To be fair, everything in your apartment had a hint of peach–your candles, air freshener, hand soap, ChapStick, and not to mention a cupboard full of peach tea.

You chuckle. “Thanks, Kook. You didn’t have to.”

“I do if I’m trying to make you fall in love with me.”

You set the bath bomb back in its bag, then on the entryway table. You close the door behind you, forcing him to step back.

“You talk a lot about making me fall in love with you, but you’ve still failed to do so. It’s almost my birthday,” you tease.

What girl wouldn’t want gifts, but you thought he’d push a bit harder.

Jungkook smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He steps closer to you–close enough for you to smell his cologne. It’s a fresh, clean scent.

He’s inches away from you. Warmth is radiating off of him. Your heart is practically beating out of your chest. Your eyes are on his, then focus on his lip ring, then the freckle underneath his bottom lip. It’s the first time you’ve been close enough to notice it.

His eyes dart back and forth between yours. His tongue wets his lips, then plays with his ring. “I’m just getting started,” he says.

You close your eyes, fluttering them back open. There’s relief escaping your body once he backs away.

“So, what are we doing today?” he asks, stepping out of the way to let you lead.

“I have a pedicure appointment. Wanna come?” you ask. You wouldn’t mind having company around, and you’re curious how he’ll continue to sweep you off your feet.

You feel bad for the poor woman who has Jungkook in her seat, and you’re trying your best not to laugh as he’s squirming, clutching onto the armrests.

You clear your throat. “Is this your first pedicure?”

“What? No,” he counters, but he’s giggling non-stop, holding on for dear life.

“Sir–I need you to stop moving,” the woman warns.

You cover your mouth. Your shoulders are bouncing due to your giggles. “Kook, she hasn’t even done anything to you yet.”

“How the hell do women do this? This is torture.”

“Can’t handle a little torture?”

He perks up, shaking off the chills. The woman continues to scrub his feet with a pumice stone. He’s sucking in his lips, trying not to laugh and smile when she gets to the underside of his foot. Then his reflexes get the best of him, and he almost kicks her.

The woman gives him a blank expression but is professional and continues as fast as possible.

An hour later, Jungkook is coming out of the nail salon, sweating bullets from the endless torture of a pedicure.

You look at him and then his toes. “At least your toes are cute.” He let you choose the color, and you had to choose hot pink to match your birthday theme for this weekend.

He does the walk of shame in a pair of yellow flimsy flip-flops because he wasn’t prepared for a pedicure. You’ve been there, done that.

You link your arms to him when you catch up to him. “Hungry?”

Jungkook groans in delight. “You have to try this.”

He leans forward. A piece of his roasted chicken ravioli covered in pink sauce looks delectable. You open your mouth, devouring the pasta. You close your eyes, savoring it.

“See, what did I tell you?” He smiles, going back to his bowl of food. “How’s yours?”

You didn’t want to say you didn’t like it–but you hate it. “It’s good,” you smile and lie through your teeth.

You begin moving the ravioli around, pretending to make it look like you'll eat it.

Jungkook sets his fork down, pushing his bowl toward you. “Here, take mine.”

You look up at him. “What? No–I like my food,” you lie again, grabbing your bowl and clutching it closer to you.

He deadpans. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you don’t like something. Come on, I’ll finish your food, and you can have mine.”

You let go of your bowl. “Are you sure?”

Jungkook smiles warmly, his small dimple on display as he nods. He grabs your bowl and begins to eat it.

Your heart softens, and you’re enchanted by your friend/potential future husband, so it pains you to have this conversation. You tossed and turned the night before because you couldn’t bear the thought of locking your friend into something he'll regret later on.

“So, you might not have to marry me,” you say.

Jungkook looks up at you, tilting his head in confusion. “Damn, someone beat me to it?” he jokes.

You flash a thin smile and shake your head no. “Well, I have a crush on my new neighbor.”

He raises an eyebrow. “New neighbor?”

You nod. “Yeah, he just moved in.”

Jungkook nibbles on the inside of his mouth then continues to eat. “You barely know the guy, and you’re already tossing me aside?” He tuts, shaking his head.

“I’m–I’m not tossing you aside. You’re still an option, but I’m just saying if it works out with the new neighbor, then you’re off the hook. I'm sure there are better girls out there than me, Kook. You don’t want to be married to me.”

He sets his fork down, pushing his bowl forward. “Well, what can I say? You can’t see the guy?”

“So, you’re okay if I see him?”

Jungkook hesitates to answer. “Mm,” he hums with a nod.

“Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I be upset?” He shrugs. “I’m only a back-up.”

His answer gives you a sense of relief, but you also feel guilty about everything. “Should we end our little deal? That way, you don’t have to be stuck with me for the rest of your life. It seems silly now that we’re both sober and not drunk making promises like this.”

He hums and nods again. “You’re right. It does seem foolish.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "I'll go pay while you finish up."

You watch him get up and walk to the register. His demeanor changes as soon as you mention ending the deal.

Is he serious about this?

Honestly, you’re stumped by Jeon Jungkook and his intentions. If he did like you, why not ask you out like an average person? Why go through the trouble of marrying you? So that you could fulfill some silly goal you had for your life?

“I’ll walk you up,” Jungkook says as he turns off the car.

“It’s fine, Kook. You don’t have to,” you counter.

On the ride back, guilt has been eating you from the inside out. You’re unsure why you feel this way–maybe because you feel like a shitty friend. Saying one thing and then doing another.

But again, marriage is a serious thing for two people to consider.

Jungkook doesn’t waver in his decision and escorts you anyway. The silence is deafening in the elevator; the two of you stand at opposite sides, stealing glances. There’s an elephant in the room, but neither of you addresses it.

When the elevator doors open, you expel the caught breath in your throat. Jungkook follows a few steps behind you.

“Are we okay?” you ask, glancing at him before lowering your head.

He stuffs his hand in his pants pocket. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know. I feel like an ass because you’ve been such a good friend–especially after my breakups. And then this past week, you’ve been sweet and cute with all the little gifts and hangouts,” you pause to look at him.

His eyes are big and innocent, and his lips form a slight pout. He’s intently listening to your words.

“I’m trying to say I’ve enjoyed being with you this week, and I’m sorry how things turned out,” you manage to spit out.

Jungkook nibbles on his lip, showing off his pretty dimple. His eyes dart to yours as he flashes a thin smile. “Well, I’ll always be your back-up if this guy doesn’t work out.”

You breathe a sigh of relief that he can still joke about this situation. You close the distance between you, reaching up and draping your arms around his neck.

It takes a moment for him to return your hug, but he does–wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing you into him. He nuzzles in the crook of your shoulder, taking in your sweet scent and softness.

Your heart’s fluttering, your stomach is somersaulting and doing back-flips. Jungkook’s warmth is all-encompassing, encapsulating every fiber of your being. Neither of you let go, allowing this embrace to go longer than usual friends do.

When you pull away, your lips are so close to his. Close enough to explore what they taste like. Close enough to see how plush they are. Close enough to find out just how much you’d have to gasp for air afterward.

You almost want to give in. You almost want to see where this could go. You almost want him to make a move.

Jungkook whispers your name, and you hum, gazing into his eyes. “Are you sure about this? About the deal? You don’t want it anymore?”

You're becoming lost in the stars and galaxies contained in those doe eyes. Jungkook doesn’t lose focus, doesn’t break character, and doesn’t give you a chance to run away.

“This stops when you say so,” he utters softly.

He’s unrelenting, you think. He wants this, doesn’t he? He wants you.

So these next few words sting. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Jungkook doesn’t even realize when he’s outside his apartment complex. He sits in his car, zoning out. He’s so close to finally getting you, but now there’s someone else?

For two years, he’s been trying to buck up the courage and finally ask you out, and when he finally gets an opportunity, someone always swoops in and steals you away.

When he proposed the agreement, it was more of a joke, that is, until you agreed, and that’s when he knew he’d try whatever it took to get you to the altar.

A knock on Jungkook’s window breaks him from deep thought. He looks up to see his roommate, Hoseok.

He gestures for Jungkook to roll his window down. “Why do you look like you're on the verge of crying? Why don’t you go up to the apartment?”

Jungkook holds onto the steering wheel and groans as his head hits it a few times, muttering, ‘Stupid.’

Hoseok knits his eyebrows in confusion as he rubs his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, opening the car door.

Jungkook drags his feet through the threshold and drops his backpack on the floor. He continues walking sluggishly, plopping on the couch, still in a daze.

Hoseok blinks at his friend. “What’s going on?”

“You know how I was trying to make ____ fall in love with me this week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, she likes her new neighbor.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “There's a new guy already? I swear this girl must have some kind of bat signal that’s beaming up into the sky that attracts men the second she’s single.”

Jungkook drops his head back, then rubs his face. “What am I going to do?”

Hoseok shrugs. “Maybe tell her how serious you are about being with her.”

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t want to be with me?”

“So, you’re going to trap her in a marriage instead?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Make it make sense, my friend.”

Maybe that's what he wanted. It could be like an arranged marriage. Meet first, then fall in love.

“I know it sounds ridiculous!”

Hoseok rubs Jungkook’s shoulder. “This whole deal is ridiculous. Be honest with her, then she’ll have to choose between you and the new guy.”

He knows Hoseok is right. He should be honest and tell you how he feels.

Or he could get rid of the new guy, and the deal would be back on.

Decisions. Decisions.

friday.

Jungkook was determined to make this agreement work out in his favor. He wasn’t going to back down so easily.

He took off early from work, going straight to your favorite bakery to grab a cake. Thoughts are racing through his mind as he clutches the cake box and walks through the crowded street.

What if this was his last chance? What if this new guy was ‘the one’ for you? He couldn’t let you slip away again.

He’s even prepared a monologue. He’s mumbling it under his breath when he arrives at your door.

When the door opens, he doesn’t find you. Instead, he finds a half-naked man with broad shoulders and impeccable pecs.

Jungkook stands tall and puffs out his chest, back straight, when he sees this unknown man. His mouth is agape as he scans him from head to toe. Was this the guy you were talking about?

He clears his throat and stands his ground. “Oh, uh, who are you?”

“Hey, man. I’m Namjoon. ___’s neighbor,” he says.

“I’ll be right out!” you yell from the other room.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, and he’s trying to calm his nerves. There’s no way you were sleeping with this guy already, right? No, you can’t be, Jungkook shakes the thought from his head.

You sprint from the hallway, holding a shirt. With your clumsy ways, you spilled iced coffee on Namjoon’s shirt right before your date. You felt bad, so you offered to wash it for him.

“Namjoon, I’m so sorry! I’ve tried everything to get it out. I might have to buy you a new shirt–oh,” you gasp. “Hi, Jungkook.”

Jungkook walks in, setting the box down, and he doesn’t say anything else as he leans against the counter, watching you two.

Namjoon sucks in his lips, strolling to your side, looking at his stained shirt. “Don’t worry about it. It was time to get rid of that shirt anyway.” He gives a reassuring smile. “I’m gonna grab a new shirt, then we’ll be on our way?”

You hum. “See you soon.”

Jungkook’s eyes follow you and Namjoon as you bid him farewell. You lower your head and purse your lips when you approach Jungkook.

“Date night?” he asks, turning to you.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your date. Just wanted to drop off a cake I picked up for you,” he points to the box on the counter.

You see the bakery's name on the box, and it’s from your favorite place. You undo the tabs and unfold the box to reveal a heart-shaped cake with various shades of baby pink and blue, then sitting prettily on top is one of your favorite Sanrio characters: Cinnamoroll.

“Kook–you didn’t just pick this up.” A cake like this was ordered well in advance.

His eyebrows rise, and he gives a half-smile. He walks beside you. “Happy early birthday,” he says as his eyes flick to yours. “See you tomorrow.”

When the door shuts, you wince.

Namjoon has a brilliant mind, and that intimidates you. He's far too intelligent and reasonable for a hopeless romantic who lives in their daydreams and wants a ring on their finger by tomorrow.

The two of you come to a crowded spot in the museum. You look back and smile at Namjoon. He puts his hands on your waist, guiding you from behind. Your stomach somersaults from the affection, but you continue leading the way through the sea of people, trying not to focus on it.

An announcement reminds museum go-ers that they’ll be closing in 15 minutes.

“Should we head out soon?” you ask with disappointment. You thoroughly enjoyed hearing Namjoon talk even though you had nothing insightful to say about the numerous art pieces.

The corners of his mouth curve up. “But we have one more exhibit to see,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. He holds out his hand for yours.

You’re intrigued, so you don’t question and place your hand in his.

Everyone starts to file out toward the exit, but the two of you enter an exhibit hidden away in the back.

“Aren’t we going to get in trouble?” you ask.

He chuckles. “You’re cute,” he says before showing you his work ID and security badge.

“Oh,” you giggle. It makes sense. Namjoon did say he was an ‘art curator.’ He just never mentioned where he worked.

“Feel free to look around and tell me if anything catches your eye.”

You take your time, roaming around, going from piece to piece. Namjoon stays in place, waiting until you’ve found something. You tilt your head, examining the drawing.

[ frida castelli, milan ]

It's a woman. Her back is bare, and she's curling her hands into the bedsheets. The drawing is cut off right at the small of her back, and one can assume the rest. It's erotic–as this exhibit displays various works from modern artists.

Namjoon stands beside you. “Thoughts?”

Horny, you think, but considering this is your first date. You probably shouldn’t blurt it out.

“I like the position she's in,” you say, and Namjoon chokes on nothing. You cover your mouth and can’t help but laugh.

“I like that position too,” he adds.

You try to suppress your smile because now, you’re thinking about the two of you in that position.

"Should we keep looking?"

After a late-night dinner, you’re standing outside your door, not wanting to say goodbye to Namjoon. You’d invite him in, but tomorrow’s a big day, and you have an early wake-up call.

“I hope I was able to answer your questions,” Namjoon says, leaning his shoulder against the door, facing you.

You give him a small smile, looking at the floor, then back up at him. "I think you answered everything."

He hums and parts his lips. "Well, I have one question for you, if that's okay."

You nod.

"Can I give the birthday girl a kiss?"

You lick your lips. "It's not my birthday yet."

Namjoon steps forward, scanning your face. "You can consider it an early birthday present."

"Well, I won't say no to a birthday present."

Your heart is swooning over this tall, handsome man. He’s perfect. He's brilliant and well-spoken. Someone secure and confident, even emotionally available. You’d be a fool not to want this to go further.

Your gaze darts back and forth between his eyes and his lips, unsure how to respond. You've been wondering what they taste like all night and want to kiss the freckle underneath his lip. They look so rosy and pillowy, almost like kissing a cloud.

He softly presses his lips against yours. His big hands cup your face. His nose brushes against your cheek. His lips encapture your top lip, then your bottom. He lingers briefly before pulling away, his lips ghosting over yours, and you want to return for more–you’re not done.

“Do that again,” you whisper.

His breath is warm, and he smiles before going back in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Your hands are placed on his taut chest, fingers curling and tugging on his shirt. The butterflies in your stomach are yearning for a way out. The desire in you grows deeper. You’re breathless at this point, but you don’t care if you never breathe again.

First kisses always make you go weak in the knees, and you wish you could experience them over and over.

“Your lips are stained,” you notice when you pull away.

Namjoon chuckles; his thumb swipes at his bottom lip. “That’s okay.”

He moves in to kiss you again, but you stop him by putting your index finger to his lips. “The birthday girl should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

You render him speechless—he made the first move, but you’ll have the final say.

You bid goodbye to him, trying your best not to linger and give in to your urges. Peering through the viewfinder, you see him smiling and shaking his head before he closes the door to his place.

You’re grinning from ear to ear as your back is against the door. The date couldn’t have gone better–though you probably couldn’t write a dissertation on Modern Art in Korea, you appreciated that he took the time to explain what he loves and why he’s so passionate about it.

Maybe he could be the one.

It’s midnight when you’re under the covers and still glowing from your date with Namjoon.

You check your phone to see text messages from Jungkook.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 9:22 PM Hey! I found some cool birth flowers. Do you like any of these? [ 5 images attached ]

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 9:27 PM And my tattoo guy had a last-minute cancellation for Monday at 6 p.m. I’m gonna book you for it, okay?

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 10:05 PM I can go to hold your hand if you’d like.

KooKoo-Ca-Choo 11:11 PM I hope you had a good day. See you tomorrow, birthday girl.

This differed from how you wanted to celebrate your birthday week, especially not how you envisioned your friendship with Jungkook. Did you ruin it?

And that’s when your heart aches as you reflect on this past week. Jungkook has been so sweet, and you feel like the worst friend. Could he be into you, and you’re blind to notice?

But what about Namjoon? He’s undoubtedly checked off all the boxes you could want in a partner.

Plus, Jungkook’s just a back-up.

saturday.

The sun is peeking through, and the birds are chirping away. You’ve slept through your alarm because you’re still in dreamland.

You’re unsure who’s in bed with you. All you hear is a groan and shuffling as they reposition themselves. You peer over your shoulder, quickly turning away when they pull themselves closer to you. Then, as an arm comes into view, draping over you, you recognize the inked skin.

It’s Jungkook.

A buzz from your phone and a bang at the door awakens you. Missed notifications of calls and texts from Jenn, your best friend, flood your screen.

You sprint to the door, unlocking and opening it for her.

“Jesus Christ—I thought you were dead,” Jenn says after she brushes past you, setting several bags on your kitchen counter.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, babe,” she blinks, giving you the once-over. “You haven’t showered, have you?”

You shake your head no.

“Well, go! It’s your birthday, but we can’t wait all day for you.” She shoos you off to the bathroom.

When you’re out of the shower, Jenn’s sitting in front of your vanity, putting on her blush.

“So, how are you doing, babe? Still not over Theodore Boner?”

“Bonner,” you correct her.

You adjust your towel, tucking it securely. “There’s been some new developments,” you say, walking to your dresser.

Jenn slowly turns around. “Please don’t tell me you’re back with him? He was a walking red flag. Well, at the end of your relationship anyway.”

You press your lips together, shaking your head. “You know that time I was upset about my break-up with Jimin?”

Jenn hums and narrows her eyes.

“Jungkook and I went out and got pretty drunk.”

She leans forward. “Uh-huh.”

You cleared your throat. “I may have agreed that if Jungkook and I were still single by 30, we’d get married.” You turned around, opening the top drawer in search of cute underwear.

Jenn’s jaw drops. “You’re not going to marry Jeon Jungkook, are you?”

You laugh it off. “No, of course not! But he’s always been there for me after my break-ups.”

“Oh, how convenient that he also happens to be single by your 30th birthday,” she says dryly.

“Jungkook’s been a good friend, and if we were to get married, and that’s a big if, then honestly, I think we’d be pretty good together,” you explain.

You're not sure if you're attempting to persuade Jenn or yourself. You’re not going to lie. You’ve toyed with the idea this whole week.

“Why don’t you just date Jungkook then?” she asks, returning to add more blush to her cheeks.

You nibble on your bottom lip. “Err–well, because there’s a new guy.”

She whips her head back around. “I go on a solo trip, and you have not one but two guys who want to be with you?”

“Technically, I told Jungkook that if things work out with me and Namjoon, he doesn’t have to marry me.”

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah, he’s my new neighbor.”

“Shut up! Your neighbor?” Jenn stands, sprinting out your bedroom door. “Which apartment? I need to see this man.”

“Jenn!” You run after her, clutching her arm, trying to pull her back. “Stop it, will you? He’ll be at the party tonight.”

Jenn turns to you. “Babe–you have Jungkook and new neighbor guy vying for your attention? Sheesh. When can I be the main character?”

You grip your towel and drag her back to your room.

“At least tell me more juicy details,” she whines.

Jungkook checks himself out in the mirror. Hot pink usually is not part of his wardrobe color, but he does it in a heartbeat if it involves you and your silly antics.

He slips the hot pink denim jacket over his white shirt and matching pink cargo trousers. He adds a neon green necklace to finish off his look.

This outfit is Ken-esque, right? He sighs, wishing you could be the Barbie to his Ken.

His roommate, Hoseok, knocks on his door, breaking his focus. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Jungkook nibbles the inside of his cheek. This week’s been a rollercoaster of emotions for him. He was at an all-time high before you broke the news that you no longer need a back-up.

He’s gone back and forth, debating whether to fight for you or give up.

"I don't know yet," Jungkook responds. He glances at Hoseok through the mirror's reflection.

“Tell her how you feel. Be honest with her,” Hoseok says. He’s been telling Jungkook for two years now.

Jungkook turns around. “I can’t–” he pauses and huffs a breath, taking a seat on the bed.

Hoseok narrows his eyes and crosses his arms as he leans against the door frame. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve done too much shit by breaking up her relationships. She’ll never forgive me,” Jungkook explains.

Hoseok choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Remember Jimin and Theo?”

Hoseok hums.

Jungkook clears his throat. “I may or may not have told some harmless lies that ended up in them breaking up with her.”

Hoseok huffs out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell her right off the bat that you wanted to date her.”

“I’m an idiot, that’s why, and now it’s too late. She doesn’t want me. She wants the neighbor guy.”

Hoseok sits by his friend. “It’s either now or never. You can’t keep breaking up her relationships because you’re too scared to be in a real one with her. You don’t want to start it off that way.”

Jungkook flings himself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I know! I’ve just never done this before. I don’t know how to act. She’s the first person I’ve had actual feelings for.”

Hoseok blinks at his friend, ready to say something, but Jungkook interrupts him. “Don’t say shit about that–many people don’t meet the right person until later in life.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. “There’s no judgment from me, my friend. Just consider my words before anyone gets hurt.”

You swipe the lip tint across your bottom lip and repeat with the top. Glancing in the mirror, you adjust your dusty rose dress and tie your matching ribbon in your hair.

The theme for tonight's party is Barbie core, and individuals are encouraged to wear any shade of pink. You’re ridiculous, but you only turn 30 once–why not go all out?

Buckets of bubbly are filled with rosé bottles and floral ice cubes. Barbie-esque props, including heart-shaped sunglasses and cut-out foam lips, are ready to be used at the photo booth. You’ve spent too much time on Pinterest planning the perfect celebration.

It’s ten to seven and still too early for people to show, so you order a Malibu Barbie cocktail at the bar. Jin, the bartender, even tops off your drink with pink sanding sugar for this special occasion and throws in a little peach schnapps.

“There’s the birthday girl.”

When you turn around, you see Jungkook in a bright pink attire. Not every day you see him dressed in anything other than black or white, so you consider this a rare treat.

He offers you a warm hug, and you both act as if nothing has changed. It’s not like you’ve seen him every day as he’s dropped off gifts for you, or he willingly watched a rom-com and definitely hadn’t cuddled.

It’s like you’ve gone back to being just friends.

As you withdraw, you give him the once-over. “You look great in hot pink. I wish I got to see your matching toes.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I don’t think sandals would go with this outfit.”

You shake your head no.

“You look amazing,” he adds, taking your hand and making you twirl for him.

“Thanks, Kook,” you grin. Your hand lingers in his as he delicately caresses your skin. The back of your neck is warming up, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve made a mistake breaking off your deal.

“Ah, there’s our Barbie girl!” Jenn exclaims as she approaches you. Immediately, you let go of Jungkook’s hand.

“Hey!” you answer, rubbing the back of your neck. “What’s up? Did you need something?”

Jenn raises her brow at you and Jungkook. “I did, but you’re busy with Ken, so I’ll ask Hoseok to help me. Enjoy your night, babe.”

You take your drink and dash off with Jenn, telling Jungkook you’ll see him later. As you stroll behind her, you loop your arm around hers.

“Are you okay?” Jenn narrows her eyes, suppressing a smile.

You clear your throat. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It looks like you and loverboy were having a moment there before I interrupted,” she says, setting down the flower vase on the dessert table.

“He’s not my loverboy. I’m gonna start seeing Namjoon, remember?”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. Look–all I’m saying is you should give Jungkook a chance. Anyone could tell he’s head over heels in love with you.”

You choke on your drink. “What? How come no one’s ever told me?”

Jenn laughs. “I never put two and two together until you mentioned your little agreement with him this morning,” she pauses, cupping your face. “And my sweet, innocent Barbie girl, he shoots heart eyes whenever you’re around.” She holds your chin, turning you in Jungkook’s direction.

Jungkook is leaning on the bar, attempting to find the perfect stance to appear cool, but he has no idea what to do with himself. He peers in your direction, catching your gaze, and quickly turns away, waving down the bartender.

She continues, “You’ve been with so many knockoff Kens that you were blind to the real one. He’s a bit of a goofball, but he seems sweet, and like you mentioned today, he’s always around when you’re in need.”

What if your decision was a mistake? Would it be too late to change your mind? You were sure Jungkook had already moved on after being rejected.

You watch while Jungkook drinks something–you figure it's vodka. A shot for yourself seems enticing, simply to settle your anxieties.

Your birthday is supposed to be filled with joy, laughter, and celebration, not you being torn between two great guys.

The party is in full swing–the music’s blaring, friends laughing, chattering, drinking away. Everyone has arrived except for the one person you've been looking for: Namjoon.

You giggle when you scan the room and see Hoseok and Jungkook dancing in the corner. When your eyes catch him, he gestures for you to come dance, but you haven’t had enough alcohol to make a fool of yourself.

He sprints to you, grabbing your hand and dragging you along. “You need a drink before you dance, huh?”

Your lips thin, and you think, how does he know you so well?

You nod and follow him from behind. You stare blankly as his hands are loosely intertwined with yours. He’s leading you through the crowd, letting go once you’re at the bar’s counter.

“Do you still want that pink drink thingy you had earlier?”

“Surprise me,” you say.

“Two Pink Cadillacs, please,” he says to Jin.

As Jin gets to work on your drinks, Jungkook makes small talk to kill time.

“Are you having fun?” he asks, standing before you. He sways to the song's beat, grinning from ear to ear.

You’d have more fun if you weren’t thinking about him and Namjoon all night. Considering that Namjoon hasn’t even shown up yet, you appreciate that Jungkook’s a sweet and caring friend.

“I’ll be having more fun once I have this drink,” you say over the music.

“You’re not having fun with me?” he jokes, holding out his hand for yours, and of course, you take it.

He draws you to him, makes you twirl around, and then dips you. A slight squeal escapes your lips when you come back up.

Jungkook chuckles. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“No, I’m–I’m having a good time,” you answer his previous question.

“Are you sure? It looks like something’s on your mind,” Jungkook notes. "You can always talk to me, you know."

Even after breaking off your agreement, he's still willing to be a good friend to you. How'd you get so lucky with someone like him?

"I know," you smile, draping your arms around his neck.

"Two Pink Cadillacs."

You break away from him, grabbing your drink. The two of you sip on them, watching the crowd.

"Jungkook, one. Hot sexy neighbor, zero," Jenn whispers in your ear before walking away.

You clench your jaw and narrow your eyes at her. It’s been an hour, and Namjoon is still nowhere to be seen. Maybe something came up. Things happen. You get it.

"What's going on with Jenn?" he asks.

"Nothing," you reply as you move to stand before him. "You know how she is."

Jungkook takes another sip of his drink. “Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

Your eyes widen and flick to him. Have you been obvious about what’s on your mind?

“Yeah, of course–” you say before a hand slides on the small of your back. You turn to see the man who’s been MIA, Namjoon.

“Hey, birthday girl. I’m sorry I’m late! It was a lot harder to find a pink outfit than I thought,” Namjoon chuckles, then he sees that he may have interrupted something. “Oh–hey, man! Jungkook, right?”

Jungkook gives a small smile, and you mouth, ‘Sorry.’

“Can I steal you away for a second?” Namjoon asks, and you oblige.

Namjoon takes your hand, ready to drag you off, but you stop and return to Jungkook. “Can we talk later?”

He nods. “Yeah, of course. It’s your birthday. Go have fun. I’ll talk to you later.”

Jungkook looks on as you and Namjoon disappear. You laugh when he says something, and Jungkook can hear it–you always let out a tiny squeak, your shoulders bounce, and you cover up your mouth because you don't like how your teeth show when you laugh.

He rubs the back of his neck. He’ll have to find time to talk to you later.

Hoseok nudges Jungkook. “Who’s that?”

Jungkook sips his drink and inhales sharply. “Her neighbor.”

“They look pretty cozy to me,” Hoseok remarks. “Go say something before it’s too late.”

It’s already too late, Jungkook thinks. He’s lost you again. What’s the point if he tried with you and you didn’t want him?

He chugs the drink and orders another round for him and Hoseok. He might as well enjoy the booze while he can–at least it would get you off his mind.

Jungkook's vision is blurred, speech slurred. Even though he sees double, his gaze is still fixed on you and Namjoon, following you wherever you go: the photo booth, the bar, the dance floor. Namjoon’s hands haven’t left you, whether holding your hand or soft touches on the small of your back.

It should be him, he thinks, but he’s been turned down before. He couldn't imagine being rejected twice.

He leans on a high-top table, rhythmically tapping his fingers against it. A few of your friends drag you off to the photo booth for the umpteenth time tonight, and Namjoon is left waiting for you.

Jungkook waits and observes Namjoon, wondering why you’d choose Namjoon over him. He thinks he could take the guy in the boxing ring. He’s too big and sluggish to move as fast as Jungkook. Indeed, he could knock Namjoon out with his right hook. But if it’s not a physical thing you’re looking for, then it’s an intellectual thing.

He shakes off the self-deprecating thoughts. Why doesn’t he go over and chat the guy up? Get to know him. It won’t hurt to find out what kind of guy he is.

There's a queue of friends waiting to take individual shots with you, and you look over to check whether Namjoon is all right. You notice Jungkook approaching and breathe a sigh of comfort, knowing he'll keep Namjoon company.

Jungkook stands up tall when he’s beside Namjoon. “Lavish party, huh?”

Namjoon turns to him and chuckles. “Yeah, she went all out for her 30th.” He cracks his neck and adjusts his bright pink blazer.

“Since you’ll be around, you should get used to it. ___ throws parties like this all the time.”

“She does?” Namjoon’s eyes widened with concern.

Jungkook pouts and nods. “You think this is bad? Last year, she rented a private island, and everyone who attended had to buy a plane ticket to her party.”

Namjoon gulps.

“Man–and now that you guys are together. I'm wishing nothing but the best for you," Jungkook shakes his head. "The last guy was going through it.”

“Last guy? What happened to the last guy?”

Jungkook glances in your direction, then back to Namjoon. “Oh, you guys haven’t had that conversation yet?”

“What conversation?”

“Let’s just say there was a restraining order involved.”

There’s a look of relief on Namjoon’s face. “Man, that guy must’ve been a psycho.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Oh no, no, no. The restraining order was against her!”

Namjoon shifts his position, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Trust me, you don’t want to get on her bad side. Once, she took a bat to a neighbor’s car, thinking it was her boyfriend’s. Mind you, she was pretty drunk—and it was dark, but when she has an idea that you’re cheating on her, all hell breaks loose,” Jungkook tuts.

“Oh.”

Jungkook chuckles. “And don’t even get me started on her obsession with that one K-pop group, Seventeen. She practically has a shrine in her bedroom. Mingyu’s face is plastered on every square inch of her walls, and when they finally came on tour, she drained so much of her savings flying everywhere to see them—front row, I might add.”

Namjoon clears his throat. “I think I need a drink,” he says.

“But don’t worry, man, you’ll be fine!” Jungkook shouts as Namjoon walks away.

He lowers his head and rubs his face. He blames the alcohol for his stupidity. His string of lies is why you would never want to be with him.

Although Jungkook has spewed many lies to Namjoon, it doesn’t scare him off. The two of you are like two peas in a pod. And when he sees Namjoon jet off somewhere, Jungkook swoops in, hoping he’ll have a chance to talk to you before it’s too late.

“Hey!” Jungkook says out of breath. “Going home?”

“Yeah,” you beam a warm smile. “I’m pretty wiped.”

“I can take you home, and then maybe we can talk?”

You nod. “Mm, that sounds like a plan.”

You’ve always found it easy to talk to Jungkook. Even though he claims not to be good at chitchatting, he knows how to make you smile and laugh.

“Did you see Hoseok and Jenn trying to undress each other?” Jungkook chuckles.

“Jenn claims she thought Hoseok was a Ken doll,” you giggle. “I don’t know why they keep skirting around each other. They should date already.”

You two arrive outside your apartment. You unlock the keypad, leaving the door open. Turning back, you see Jungkook standing there. “Are you gonna come in or talk to me from out there?” you ask, shaking your head.

Jungkook walks through the door, closing it behind himself. He smooths down his pants and fixes the collar of his jacket. His gaze darts around the room as he prepares to say what’s on his mind.

“Can I change, and then we’ll talk?”

Jungkook nods, and you run off to your room.

With a heavy sigh, he takes a seat on the couch. He keeps shifting his weight, but nothing feels right. The sweat on his hands increases as the seconds pass by. He's never done it before, confessed his feelings.

Jungkook had rehearsed like he was up for a big audition but felt he’d stumble over his words and blurt out bleh-bleh-blahs.

You resurface a few seconds later, wearing an oversized t-shirt and what appears to be nothing underneath, but when you sit down, he catches a peek at your shorts.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, about us.”

You cocked your head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Us?”

A knock on the door interrupts you. Your eyebrows knitted together, wondering who it could be this late at night. When you open it, you find Namjoon.

“Hey! You left your phone at the restaurant,” he says. He acknowledges Jungkook as he steps in.

“Oh, thank you! Ah–don’t leave yet! I have something to give to you, too.” You dash to your room, leaving Jungkook and Namjoon.

There’s a moment before Jungkook breaks the silence. He turns to Namjoon. “That shirt she’s wearing is from her ex-boyfriend. She sleeps in it every night because she misses him.”

Namjoon’s lips thin, and he nods.

“Trust me–you should run while you can,” Jungkook says, shaking his head.

He points to the small Seventeen merch collection sitting on a shelf in your living room. “See. It’s cute and innocent until it’s not.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Namjoon says reluctantly as he turns away, trying to focus on other things until you return.

You leave your room with a bag, handing it to Namjoon. “I washed your shirt and bought you a new one too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” he reaches for the shirt, taking it out.

“I know, but I felt bad about ruining it.”

Namjoon chuckles. "I like how you're giving me a gift on your birthday."

You wave off his comment. "It's nothing. Thanks for returning my phone,” you say, walking him to the door. “I’ll see you later?”

He flashes a grin; his dimples etched deeply into those cheeks. You pull him down to kiss him on the cheek, barely catching the corner of his lips. You let it linger for a second longer, ensuring Jungkook can see it.

“Bye,” you whisper, closing the door behind him.

You stand with your back facing Jungkook. Clenching your jaw and your fists, you huff a breath. Turning around, you stare at the one person you thought was your friend.

“This is my ex-boyfriend’s shirt, and I sleep in it because I miss him?” you deadpan, folding your arms across your chest.

Your glare silences Jeon Jungkook, and his deer-in-the-headlights appearance implies guilt.

You scoff and shake your head in disbelief. “Have you been sabotaging all my relationships? Tell me the truth.”

You remember Jimin and Theo and how conveniently Jungkook had been there after each breakup.

There’s still no word from Jungkook. He’s playing with the invisible hair on his chin before he stands. “Yeah, but it’s only because—”

“Because what!” you exclaim. Never in a million years did you think you’d be yelling at a good friend. “Because you want to marry me? Why didn’t you just ask me out, Kook?”

The nickname causes his heart to ache. His eyes darted to the floor, then at you. “Because...”

You lean forward, waiting for his excuse, but he doesn’t give you one. You’re only met with silence.

“Because you’re the kind of guy who lies and manipulates to get what he wants? Didn’t really think you were that kind of person.”

“I’m not—”

“You are! If you cared about me, you wouldn’t go around spreading lies. And to think I was going to marry you? God–you must think I’m fucking stupid.”

"No, I don't think that at all—" he counters, taking a step toward you, and you take a step back.

Licking your lips, you play with your bottom lip. "I—I don't even know who you are anymore."

"I'm the same person you met two years ago," he says. Jungkook steps toward you again, reaching out for you.

"Don't touch me," you warn. "Don't you ever talk to me again," you say, avoiding his gaze. "You should go, Kook."

Jungkook walks past you. He makes his way to the door—and when it shuts, you flinch.

Approaching your 30s, you figured you’d be crying because you’re likely to have a mid-life crisis and not because one of your good friends has lied to you for the last couple of years.

Jungkook has misled you throughout the week. You don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.

Your heart aches from the pain. Why did this hurt more than a breakup? You trusted him, even considered marrying him and spending the rest of your life with him. How could you be so naive? Maybe it was your distorted perception of love and relationships, and that’s how you ended up in this situation.

Maybe it's your fault and no one else's.

sunday.

It’s early. Too early for Jungkook’s taste.

He’s been tossing and turning all night. Wishing he could redo the last two years. Wishing he could’ve been honest from the beginning. Wishing you didn’t hate him right now.

Picking up his phone, he grumbles after seeing the time—six in the morning. There’s no way you’re up, he thinks. And there’s no way you’ll pick up his call either.

He assumes you’ve blocked him—wants nothing to do with him and doesn’t blame you.

The expression on your face is ingrained in his memory, and the lies he told are on a continuous loop. How would he win you back—if you’d let him, that is.

It’s that point in the romantic movie where the love interest finds the courage to go for it. Jungkook has nothing else to lose at this point. It’s now or never.

With your favorite iced coffee and pastry in hand, he’s ready to beg for your forgiveness. Beg for another chance to make things right.

Three knocks strike your door. No answer.

He gives it another moment before doing it again.

And nothing.

He pulls out his phone, searching for your contact. It rings several times and goes to voicemail. At least you didn’t block him, he thinks.

Should he wait here all day? In hopes you’ll leave your apartment?

Unless Namjoon has seen you or knows your whereabouts.

Jungkook figures, why not? What does he have to lose? He’s already lost his dignity.

Another three knocks, only this time it’s on Namjoon’s door. A few moments later, the lock unlatches, and the door opens.

Namjoon’s eyes widened at the sight of Jungkook. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“Hey. Have you seen or heard from ___?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, man. I haven’t.”

The corners of Jungkook’s lips turn down, and he nods. “Fuck,” he mumbles, lowering his head. He turns on his heel, ready to leave.

“Hey, Jungkook?”

He turns back and hums.

“If you like her, be honest with her,” Namjoon says.

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “Did ___ tell you?”

Namjoon chuckles and shakes his head no. “I figured you were lying when you said she made everyone fly to a private island. She mentioned that she’s never flown before. So I put two and two together, and it was hard to ignore all the glares you gave me at the party.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, lowering his head. “I’m so sorry about all the lies I told you. None of them were true—except maybe the Mingyu thing. She does have an obsession with that guy.”

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry about coming between you two. But it’s no wonder she likes you. You have your head on straight, unlike me.”

A grin sweeps across Namjoon’s face. “It’s okay. I get it, man. I’ve been there before—not the lying, but I’ve been head over heels for someone. ___ is cool, and you seem like a good guy. Just…don’t give up on her, okay?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What about you guys?”

“Huh? Me and ___?” Jungkook hums. “We’ve been out on one date, and you’ve known her for…?

“Two years.”

“You have more history with her than I do.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell lies.”

Namjoon steps forward, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’d be a fool to give up now. Trust me, you don’t want to live with the what ifs and what could have been.”

“Um, here,” Jungkook says, handing Namjoon the iced coffee and pastry bag. “I don’t want it to go to waste.”

He bids Namjoon goodbye, and as he’s driving home, he stares off into space, pondering Namjoon’s words.

What if you never want to talk to him again? What if he loses you?

He only wanted his chance with you; whenever he gathered the courage to do so, someone always came into the picture before him. He’s realized how much his lies caused more harm than good. He was cheating his way into your heart, which is unfair to you and him.

You peek out when the elevator doors open, ensuring the coast is clear. You've seen the missed calls and texts but needed more time to be ready to face Jeon Jungkook. That's why you've been hiding out at Jenn's all day. But alas, you had to go home and face your fears.

Your door accidentally slams when you go in. Shit.

It’s not like Jungkook’s been waiting around for you, right? Though, you didn’t want to make it known that you were home.

Not even ten minutes after you’ve arrived, there’s a knock on your door. Peering through your viewfinder, you check if the coast is clear and unlock your door. You grab Namjoon's hand, pulling him into the apartment.

"Whoa–miss me that much?" he jokes, setting down the iced coffee and pastry bag.

"What's that?"

"Jungkook dropped it off this morning, but you weren't here. Have you been hiding?"

You lower your head. "Yes."

Namjoon licks his lips. “He’s in love with you, you know?”

You ignore the coffee and pastry bag and sit on the couch. “It’s a weird way to show that you like someone by lying and sabotage.”

“I think it’s cute,” Namjoon chuckles, sitting beside you.

Disbelief is written all over your face: eyes wide, brows lifted, jaw open, which only makes him laugh harder.

“You gotta give the guy some credit. He went out of his way to make sure you’d say single so he could finally have his chance with you. That sounds like dedication to me.”

“Is this a weird ‘guy code?’ Am I missing something?”

He shakes his head. “I get where he’s coming from. Does it suck that he lied instead of saying what he wanted? Yeah, but maybe he didn’t know how to say it because he feared he’d say nonsense in front of you. I know the feeling–where you like someone so much, you’re afraid of looking dumb.”

You ponder Namjoon’s words, sipping on your iced coffee. “You seem chatty. Does that mean you don’t go dumb around me?” you ask dryly.

Namjoon laughs. “I get butterflies and excitement every time I walk out my door, hoping I’d bump into you.”

“But?”

“But you should figure things out with Jungkook, and then we’ll go from there.”

It’s silly—the glow-in-the-dark stars that are plastered on your ceiling. Half of them threaten to fall, and the other half are stuck on so tight it’ll take off the paint.

“You’ve never had glow-in-the-dark stars before?” Jungkook asks. “Let’s get some.”

The only reason why they’re up there in the first place is because of him. Jungkook was comforting you after your breakup with Jimin.

You throw your duvet over your head, screaming into it. How could you have been so blind? So stupid? How are you supposed to face him again with your friend group? Or alone?

This past week was perfect—at least, you thought it was. But you’re second-guessing every interaction, every conversation, every laugh, every touch.

If you hadn’t met Namjoon, could you have fallen in love with Jungkook?

The more you thought about it, the more you hated that you were falling for him. Maybe Namjoon was just an excuse not to explore a relationship with Jungkook. Maybe you didn’t want to ruin your friendship, but then again, what did it matter because it’s been sabotaged by Jungkook himself?

How would you get out of this mess?

monday.

A notification ding shows up on your phone.

[ Tattoo appointment - 6 PM ]

Shit. You completely forgot about your tattoo.

You go through your text messages, finding the Instagram profile of Kai, who’s supposed to tattoo you. You frown when you see a cancellation fee and that the cancellation should’ve been done two days before the appointment. Now, you have to mentally prepare yourself for getting your first tattoo.

The recommendations on your YouTube only show videos of ‘how much does getting a tattoo hurt.’ You know the pain that goes into a needle puncturing your skin. The question was, how high was your pain threshold?

When you walk into the shop, a bell chimes. It’s in pristine condition, as one would expect from a tattoo parlor. You’re greeted by a girl dressed in a black latex v-neck top. A sunray heart tattoo sits right on her chest.

“Hi, I have an appointment with Kai.”

She clicks through her computer and beams a warm smile. “For ___?” You nod. “Is Jungkook coming too?” she asks.

“Oh no. I don’t think so.” Was he planning on getting something, too? You didn’t think he’d show after everything went down.

“Kai is finishing up with a client, and he’ll come get you when he’s ready.”

You flash a small smile, taking a seat in their lounge. You’re picking at your nail beds and bouncing your leg. You’re trying to focus on anything other than what will happen soon.

A light noise of whirring fills the room. You close your eyes, concentrating on your breathing. It’s a small tattoo. There’s nothing to be afraid of, you think.

A part of you wishes Jungkook was here to hold your hand like he said he would. It's dumb even to want him to be here. But after spending so much time with him this past week, you admit you miss him.

"I’m ready for you,” Kai says.

You take a deep breath and follow him to his workspace.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s my first tattoo.”

“You’ll do great. I know it,” Kai smiles, sitting at his desk. He grabs his iPad. “Okay, what are we getting today?” Kai asks.

“Um, I turned 30 yesterday, so I wanted to get the birth flower for September,” you say, showing him the inspiration photos.

“Ah, Happy Birthday,” Kai grins. “Birth flowers are a great choice. Any idea where you want it and the size?”

"On the back of my neck, I don't want anything too big. Two to three inches."

"Oh–a woman who knows what she wants. There was no hesitation," Kai teases. "Cool–so, I'll sketch out a few options, and then we'll go from there. Sound good?"

You press your lips together and nod. As Kai's working on your sketch, you stroll around his workspace, looking at the illustrations hung up. There's traditional and fine line art, and you recognize a drawing of a snake—it looks like the one Jungkook has on his arm.

“See anything else you like?”

“I, um, recognize some of your work. You’ve tattooed my friend, Jungkook,” you note, turning back to look through more of Kai’s sketches.

Somehow, your nerves have finally calmed down. The whirring noise from the tattoo gun is like white noise to you, drowning everything out. You’re lost in the intricate detailing of the drawings. Tattooing is true art, you think. But instead of a traditional canvas or paper, it’s forever inked on someone’s skin.

“Okay, let me know what you think of these.” Kai shows you the iPad with a few flowers drawn out.

“You’re so quick,” you comment as you review your options. “Let’s go with this one.” You love how delicate and dainty the tattoo looks.

“If you need a break at any time, just let me know,” Kai gives a warm smile. “I apologize for the weird positioning, but I’ll need you to lay on your stomach, and your head will hang off the table.”

Your lips thin when you catch his gaze. You remove your zip-up hoodie and place it on a chair with your bag. Kai prints the design on transfer paper, putting the placement on the back of your neck. He hands you a mirror, ensuring it’s in the correct spot.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he says.

Once you’re on the table, the once-soothing noise of the tattoo gun flips a switch, and sweat builds up in the palms of your hands. The blood rushes to your head as your head is hanging off the table. You can see Kai’s feet as he steps on the foot pedal, ensuring his equipment works correctly.

You take a deep breath, trying to exhale fear and anxiety, but nothing works. The tattoo gun sounds closer, and the needle inches away from you. Your fists clench up, and you close your eyes, hoping it’ll be over quickly.

You can feel the latex glove on your back as Kai’s ready to outline the design. You can do this, you think.

With eyes still closed, fists clenched—you’re ready.

The shop's bell chimes again, but you’re too focused on this needle about to prick your skin. You can feel another presence. Their warmth is radiating on you. You figure it’s just the girl from the front, so you don’t bother to open your eyes.

Your fist unclenches, and not because of your own doing. It’s whoever is beside you. Opening your eyes, you see a pair of black motorcycle denim tucked into leather stomper boots.

“Hey—my man,” Kai stops and acknowledges. “Good to see you, Jungkook.”

“Hey,” Jungkook replies. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Nah, you’re right on time. We just started. I’m sure ___ appreciates you being here,” Kai notes, returning to tattooing you.

You didn’t want to admit it, but having Jungkook’s presence was comforting. A part of you wanted to be stubborn and pull your arm away, but considering that a needle was piercing your skin—it wasn’t a good idea.

Jungkook laces his hand with yours; his thumb lightly grazes over your skin. He leans forward, whispering, “Hi.”

You’re unsure if the shiver running through your spine is because of the needle or Jungkook.

While lying on this tattoo table, you’re at war with yourself. An angel on one shoulder tells you to stay strong and not give in because he’s holding your hand. The devil, on the other hand, is telling you you’re a simp and can’t resist when a man is fawning over you.

You hate that the devil is right, and you’re even considering Namjoon’s words, ‘You gotta give the guy some credit. He went out of his way to make sure you’d stay single so he could finally have his chance with you. That sounds like dedication to me.’

Was it dedication or delusion?

You won’t lie. You’ve done questionable things when it came to love, too, so you couldn’t blame Jungkook. Maybe you should hear him out and see what he says for himself.

You’re silent, letting Kai do his thing. He and Jungkook chit-chat about life and future tattoos. The buzzing mechanical hum from the tattoo gun is constant and annoying—you’re growing numb to it like you’re growing numb to the pain.

But Jungkook’s touch? It makes you tingle. You’re keenly aware of how his thumb strokes against your knuckle—the constant squeezes, reassuring your anxiety when the pain shoots down your spine.

Through the years, that’s what Jungkook’s always been—he soothes your pain.

Maybe he’s responsible for your current pain - the shattered relationships and this tattoo you’re getting, but he always has a back-up plan: himself. He’s the shoulder to cry on, the hand to hold—the constant, consistent one who shows up repeatedly.

He’s confusing but calming, and you’re annoyed at how much you don’t mind his touch. Your breathing slows, and your shoulders relax as you sink into the cushioned table.

“Almost done,” Kai notes.

That was fast. Fifteen minutes–tops.

Kai finishes cleaning the tattoo, and after you stand up from your awkward position, you’re face to face with Jungkook. Once again, Jungkook resorted back to his favorite color: black. He’s in an oversized long-sleeve shirt and jeans, and there’s a silver chain adorning his neck.

His doe eyes twinkle and the corners of his mouth curve up. “The tattoo looks good on you,” he says softly. “Do you wanna see?”

Even with a mirror, the placement makes it hard to see the finished product. You grab your phone, open the camera app, and hand it over to Jungkook. You turn around, facing the mirror, holding up your hair. You catch Jungkook’s gaze and look away. His hand gently touches the nape of your neck, removing a stray hair. He snaps a few photos, handing your phone back.

“It looks beautiful on you.”

You mumble a word of thanks, grabbing your things, attempting to flee from his presence.

Pulling out your wallet to pay for your tattoo, you head to the front, but the girl stops you.

“Jungkook already paid,” she says.

The nape of your neck warms up, and your nostrils flare. You nod at the girl. Bumping into Jungkook on the way out, you stuff your wallet back into your bag, and Jungkook follows you, catching up.

“Why did you do that?” you ask, glaring at Jungkook.

"Because it's your birthday present. I couldn't let you pay for it."

You narrow your eyes, giving him the once over. “Why? So you can tell the next guy I date how we have matching tattoos and scare him off?” you retort, brushing past him.

Jungkook cards his hand through his hair. “Come on, that’s not fair,” he shouts, running after you again.

He calls out to you, making you stop in your tracks. Turning around, you breathe a heavy sigh. “You’re right. It's not fair,” you give him a wry smile. “But doesn’t it sound like something you’d say? Mr. Liar Liar Pants on Fire.”

The third time must be the charm because he’s chasing after you again.

“Hey, can we talk, please?” he implores as his eyes scan your face.

You zig-zag around him.

He repeats by running and standing in front of you. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

“Watch me,” you retort, attempting to flee again.

Jungkook holds his hand up. “Just hear me out, and if you never want to talk to me again after that, then so be it."

You huff. “Only if you drop me off at home,” you say, crossing your arms. You don’t feel like taking the subway; it’s the least he could do.

With hands in your lap, you’re waiting for Jungkook to say something, but he’s as quiet as a mouse. He’s missed two exits and been driving in circles, going past your apartment complex for the fourth time. You wouldn’t be surprised if a police car starts following you, considering how suspicious the two of you look.

You can’t take it anymore—the endless dancing around this conversation. “I thought you wanted to talk?” you ask as your eyes flick in his direction for a moment.

He straightens his posture, gripping the steering wheel and focusing on the road. "I'm, uh, I’m sorry for telling all those lies. It was stupid of me. I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning.”

You bury your face in your hands before turning to him. “If you liked me, why didn’t you tell me?”

You had come up with many scenarios in your head and thought back to your conversations and interactions with him. Jungkook had so many chances to say something, but he never did.

Jungkook shrugs and looks at you briefly before returning to the road.

“It’s easy being your friend, but to be your boyfriend? That scares me.”

You get it. Opening your heart, being vulnerable, and giving your everything to one person is terrifying. Sometimes, it feels like days, months, and years are wasted with one person when it doesn’t work out.

“Scared you’d screw it up?” you ask, turning to him.

Jungkook hums as he pulls up to your apartment complex.

With a sigh, you admit, “You were on your way to being a pretty good boyfriend.”

You hate that you found him so sweet and cute, even after everything that’s happened.

“I was?” he questions with widened eyes and turns off the ignition. He shifts to face you.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. Your hand lingers on the door handle. “Walk me up?”

The two of you are on opposite sides of the elevator. Jungkook’s leaning on the metal bar behind himself with his legs crossed in front of him.

He hangs his head before looking up at you. "What if I had been truthful from the beginning? Do you think we would’ve been together?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “I don’t know, Kook. I guess we’ll never know.”

When the elevator arrives at your floor, it chimes, and you exit, and Jungkook follows. You stop outside your door, watching as Jungkook leans his shoulder against the wall, facing you.

You can tell when something is brewing in Jungkook’s mind. You’ve been friends long enough for you to notice some tendencies.

With an eyebrow lifted and his tongue poking through the inside of his cheek, he’s ready to lay something on you. He licks his lips, eyes flick to yours.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he says.

You can feel your stomach somersaulting when he doesn’t break eye contact. Your heart rate rises as you work harder to pump more blood than usual.

There were small, fleeting moments where you could picture yourself with him: weekend mornings with breakfast in bed and late-night cuddles on the couch.

“I’m trying my hardest not to feel something,” you confess. As much as he was scared to screw it up, so were you. You’ve never dated a friend. You’ve met all your ex-boyfriends through mutual friends. You’ve built fantasies of what a perfect boyfriend and relationship should look like, and Jungkook wasn't perfect–but neither were you.

Jungkook moves closer. “So you like me too?” His eyes dart from your parted lips to your eyes.

“I don’t not like you,” you say softly, stepping forward as you play with his silver chain.

"So where does this leave us?" He’s searching your face for an answer.

As always, your heart is at war with your head. The sensible thing to do is to stay friends. The foolish thing is to see how this could pan out. What if you could get your happily ever after?

"What would you do if I was yours?" you ask.

"If you were mine?"

You hum.

"If you were mine, I'd spend every waking minute with you. Asking anything and everything that comes to mind. I want to know what makes you happy and sad. I want to know what you love and hate. I want to know everything your heart desires." Jungkook eliminates the distance. "I'd pepper you with kisses all day–on your neck, cheeks, forehead, lips–everywhere,” he says softly as his eyes never leave yours. "If you were mine, I'd never lie to you again. I'd love you with every breath and never let you go." He’s eye to eye with you, hands cupping your face. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you. I was an idiot for not saying anything sooner. But if this is the only time I could be with you, I'll take it."

You gulp. Jungkook’s saying all the right things, everything a girl could want. You hate it. You hate that you’re a sucker for heartfelt moments and love confessions. Neverending cartwheels occupy your stomach. The little gymnast in there is going for the gold–doing back flips and leaps; there’s no way to stop them. Your heart beats faster for him than for anyone else–even more than Namjoon.

All it took was a silly agreement and a few lies to make you realize you didn’t want a perfect boyfriend or relationship. Forget getting married by a certain age. Forget the expectations of you instilled by society. This boy was a bit messy, a bit ruined, but a beautiful disaster.

Whatever it looked like, you wanted him.

You take another second to look at him because what you want to say next will change your friendship.

“Kiss me,” you say softly, your gaze dropping to his lips.

“Are you sure you want me to kiss you?”

You nod.

If there’s one more thing to add to Jungkook’s list of fears—it’s ruining your friendship.

“I won’t be able to stop if I do,” he whispers.

Restless is how you would describe Jungkook. Restless when it came to telling your exes lies. Restless in his ability to sit still. Restless as he chews on his bottom lip–it could be how he incessantly licks his lips or just lacks hydration. You’ve never noticed before how badly he needs chapstick.

But Jungkook’s within touching distance of your lips, and all you can think about is how much he needs chapstick. Your sweet peach one, you think.

Maybe you should offer him some.

“Then don’t.”

It’s slow and gentle when he kisses you. He’s taking his time. There’s no urgency. No tongue, no hands beneath your shirt, or roaming your body. Nothing like that.

It’s like he’s been waiting so long to do this. It’s like he’s forgotten any other mouth existed but yours. You’ll forget your name or where you are when you finally break away from his lips.

He consumes every thought you have, and this is what you were afraid of–that you’ll become addicted to his kisses. You’re unsure how long you can stand before he has to carry you to bed.

His breath is warm and sweet. You love him breathing life into you and taking it away over and over. Your hands curl into his shirt, tugging him as close as possible. Tilting your head, you open your mouth to catch more air before kissing him again. Lips upon lips are discovering each other.

Jungkook pulls away, his nose nudging yours. He kisses the corner of your mouth and your cheek. He’s on his tippy toes, kissing your eyelids, then your forehead.

“Okay–don’t stop,” you say, breathless, reaching for another kiss. “It’s for scientific reasons.”

He chuckles. “Are you researching how long someone can go without breathing?”

“Mmhm.” You reach again, but he pulls back, making you pout.

“You didn’t answer my question from earlier, ‘Where does this leave us?’ he asks.

You realize he won’t kiss you until you answer him. You cock your head to the side. “I like you, but it will take a minute for me to trust you again.”

Jungkook nods. “Mm, I get that. So…?”

“So–we should take this slow and see where it goes.”

He sucks in his lips, trying to suppress a smile. “What about Namjoon?”

The two of you hear someone clearing their throat, and you look in their direction as they appear from the hallway. It’s Namjoon, giving you a quick wave.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says as he walks to his door. “I saw you guys when I turned the corner, but then I ducked back into the hallway, waiting for you to…finish.” Namjoon presses his lips together into a smile.

You turn to Jungkook. “I’ll be one second.”

With a sprint in your step, you head toward Namjoon. “I’m so sorry you saw that.”

Namjoon laughs. “Why are you sorry? I knew I didn’t have a chance against Jungkook. I was waiting for you to realize you wanted to be with him.”

Your eyes widened. “You knew?”

His eyebrows raise, and he nods. “Mmhm.” He leans forward. “We had fun, but look at the guy.” Namjoon glances at Jungkook. “I would’ve felt like the back-up until you two got your shit together. You don’t have to worry about me. Go–he’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks Namjoon.” A sense of relief rushes over you, and you’re thankful he understands.

Returning to Jungkook, you’re no longer looking at your back-up plan. He’s the one you want to wake up next to, the one you want to laugh with, smile with–he’s become your first choice.

He extends his hand for yours. “So, should I get my tux pressed?”

You deadpan.

“We’re practically engaged now, right?” he jokes before leaning in for a kiss.

You press your finger into his taut chest, pushing him away. “Be fucking for real, Jungkook. We’re going inside and watching my favorite rom-com–While You Were Sleeping, so you can see the consequences of how lying gets you in trouble.”

“Oh, I love that one! It's the one where she pretends to be engaged to the guy in a coma, but she falls for the brother?”

You slowly turn to him, mouth agape. “You really have seen a lot of rom-coms, haven’t you?”

“I may have learned a thing or two from them.”

“Yeah–lying!” You scold him as you enter the apartment. The two of you continue bickering back and forth.

Who knew you’d be living in a romantic film of your own?

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook #jeon jungkook

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