#still on my summer playlist kick

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[sweeterthanficstion]

— take me back to eden || l.s.k

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader --- fem pronouns are not used, but written with fem!reader in mind. reader is afab

tags: high school au, college au, re2r leon -> re4r leon pipeline, childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, smut, a fuck ton of yearning MDNI 18+, male masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly, guys), loss of virginity, hand job, cunnilingus sort of, creampie, praise kink, breeding kink if you squint (sorry...) porn with plot, porn with feelings (like. too many feelings it's sort of gross)

summary: You try to desperately reignite an old friendship with Leon before high school wraps up. What starts out as a simple effort to mend things blossoms into something you couldn't have anticipated. But as summer ends, Leon’s moving away for College, leaving you in Raccoon City. Or so you thought.

word count: 10k ish

a/n: gosh, hi, it's been a while!! i've been fighting writer's block for nearly a year, and it definitely was NOT part of my plan to post leon smut before the knight fic, but cough ovulation week cough and uh.. this happened? big thanks to cressie for feeding the brainworms, and vivi for cheering me on, and of course eva for encouraging me to write again <33

also for the sake of my own sanity we're gonna pretend kairo was released in the 1990s because i just REALLY wanted them to watch kairo. and if you can catch all the song/movie references i make throughout this you'll get a gold star, anyway, enjoy! <3

playlist ⭑ masterlist ⭑AO3

If someone offered Leon a thousand dollars to pinpoint exactly where in the timeline of your friendship you’d grown apart, he wouldn’t be able to. Maybe it was just fate taking her course, friends growing apart. He’s tried to make peace with it, chalking it up to the inevitability of growing apart, another lesson in the long list of things he’s had to learn to accept.

But it doesn’t stop him from missing you. More than he’s willing to admit, even to himself.

Between college applications and finals, Leon’s life is already at full capacity, he’s fast-tracking, tunnel vision set on finishing senior year and getting into Stanford so he can get the hell out of Raccoon City. And he’s got it, he’s got this.

But then there you are, barrelling back into his life with all the force of something impossible to ignore, as if you’d never really left his orbit, as if the universe decided it wasn’t quite done with the two of you yet. Your smile hasn’t changed, still sweet and sticky like molasses. It’s disarming when  you ask if he can tutor you, voice light and breezy, as if no time has passed between you at all— just a few sessions here and there! You tell him, just to save you from failing another semester of chemistry.

He agrees nearly blindly, the words out of his mouth before he has time to think them through.

It has been so long since you’d even talked to him properly, anything other than a ‘hi’ or a ‘bye’ muttered in the school hallways before you’re whisked away by your friends. He’s honestly elated you’d approached him at all—he tried not to show it, though.

And he did great the first few sessions. Sure, it was more than awkward at first—but Leon was partly thankful for it. It left little room for him to entertain the idea of staying friends with you again for long. You’d create a simple routine together wherein you’d come over to his place, he’d teach you everything from organic to physical chemistry, then you’d bid him goodnight and leave. Simple. Predictable. Routine.

But then you started to break that routine, a variable that he hadn’t accounted for. You’d kick his foot under the dining table while you worked on homework together, laugh at his jokes even when they’re painfully bad because you think it’s cute. Then when you have to migrate upstairs after his parents come home from work, you’d settle onto his bed, glancing around his room and teasing him about how little he’d changed—still the same movie posters, still the same boy you once knew. 

You tell him about your day, he tells you about his, then you’ll go as far as to stay a little longer some nights, both of you acutely aware of the time but not doing a thing about it. 

He finds with time, he’s learnt to enjoy your company again. It isn’t so tense, no longer like walking on the glass shards of your previously shattered relationship. It’s easier now, as if none of the vast ocean separating you was ever there to begin with. He tries not to dwell on the fact that this newfound relationship is built entirely on the twenty dollar bill you hand him each night.

Then one night Leon’s mother invites you to stay for dinner, he expects you to politely decline, hand him the twenty dollar bill for the tuition, and leave. 

But much to Leon’s surprise, you don’t.

It’s catalytic, like a domino effect that he’s helpless against stopping. It gets so much worse when you offer to stay behind to help clean up. All but glowing as you strike up casual conversation with his mother, as if you’d never stopped visiting over the past six years. You’re a sweet talker, always have been, you compliment his mother on her cooking, ask her for the recipe, she tells you you’ll just have to come over and help her make it one night. You laugh, meeting Leon’s gaze as you tell her you just might have to.

God, Leon’s so fucked.

Absolutely fucked when he catches himself thinking about you in the middle of class, eyes trained like a hawk on the door to the classroom, waiting to see if you’ll show or not. You don’t. He’s not really surprised. He finds he doesn’t exactly mind though. Frankly, it’s none of his business whether you show or not, and a part of him likes the extra attention he gets out of it when you ask him all the questions you’d know if you did show up to classes while he’s tutoring you.

You’ll have your pen between your teeth like you always do, run a hand through your hair as you watch him work, bat those stupidly pretty eyelashes at him when you don’t understand what he’s trying to say. 

“None of this is making sense,” You huff, shoving your head into your hands, elbows braced on his dining room table. 

You catch the glimpse of sympathy that flashes across Leon’s face when you peek at him through your fingers, and eternally cringe at how you must look.

“Just one more chapter, then we’ll be done.” He promises, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on your notebook. 

He’s got that boyish smile on his lips when you meet his gaze, his thin-framed glasses perched atop his face make him look so much cuter than you remember him being when you were kids.

Your heart constricts in the familiar way it always does nowadays. A sickening reminder that you have a secret; closely guarded in your heart, tucked away by lock and key. You’re in love with your best friend.

Well, your once best friend. The term "best friends" feels outdated, like it belongs to a version of you that no longer exists. It’s partly your fault— well, mostly your fault. The rift between you didn’t just appear; you carved it out with every sorry excuse you’d made at fourteen when you’d chosen your flashy new friends over time spent with Leon.

But what were you to do? Middle school turned to High School and you’d gone from the sad lonely girl at the back of the class to someone worth looking at. 

And Leon? Well, you convinced yourself he was only dragging you down, or that’s what you told yourself to help to ease the guilt every time you brushed him off.

Was it shitty of you to pay your way back into his life? Yeah, but you’re also sort of a coward when it comes to confrontation. There were a million better ways to try to fix what you broke, but here you are, handing Leon twenty bucks a week for a chance to be close to him again.

Either way life moves on, and you find yourself falling for him. Stupidly, helplessly, completely.

Leon finds he’s drowning just as you are.

He’s so far past the point of just fucked. He’s utterly infatuated at this point. You’re stunning, every bit as beautiful as the word allows, beautiful as he watches you across the gym at a morning assembly. You’re busy talking to one of those jocks on the football team, Calvin? Chris? He can’t remember, he doesn’t care. Or that's what he tells himself.

He cares. He cares entirely too much, especially when you curl a lock of your hair around your finger, smiling at whatever bullshit Chris must be spouting with that mouth of his. Leon sinks into his seat further, diverts his attention to the front of the auditorium, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. He’s desperate to ignore what definitely seems like you flirting with someone who definitely isn’t himself. 

He’s not jealous though, Leon isn’t jealous. ‘Course not.

That’s what he repeats to himself later that night, alone in his bed when his hand curls around the length of his hard dick, tip weeping as he gives a pitiful tug, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. 

He tries incredibly desperately to stifle the whine that bubbles up his throat, hand moving on its own accord as his eyes flutter shut. He doesn’t even realise he’s holding his breath until he starts getting light headed, too caught up chasing his own high. He comes embarrassingly fast, one, two, three, four more pumps and he’s done for, your name the last thing on his lips.

Leon swallows thickly before the crushing reality that he’d imagined you as he came fills him with a burst of shame. He tries to push the thought aside as quickly as it comes, groaning as he moves to sit on the edge of his bed. 

Yeah. He’s fucked.

A few weeks later, Leon finds himself sitting on the bleachers after class. He wouldn’t be caught dead out here less than a few weeks ago, but you had given him such a sweet smile when you’d told him you had cheer practice, asked him if he’d be okay waiting just a little before going back to his place for tuition.

It’s not so bad, he thinks, as he flicks through the songs on his cheap mp3 player. But even with that distraction, you’re far more captivating. You're dazzling, to say the least—dress glimmering under the afternoon sun as you go through your routine. Leon watchs and tries not to stare. 

It’s when you walk up to him though, all but shimmering, glowing under golden hour, that it hits him like a freight train all at once. He’s fallen horrifically far from his pedestal, what he feels for you now is so much more than what he did for you as kids. Not just as a friend, and yet much more than a schoolboy crush. 

The next few events unfold very quickly—you sit down next to him on the bleachers, the skin of your thigh pressing to his where your dress rides up. He freezes, his own skin flushing a shade of pink that he hopes goes unnoticed. You press your ear against his headset, stick your tongue out between your lips as if you’re in dire concentration, trying to hear what���s playing.

“What’re you listening to?” You ask when you pull away, pushing the headset off his head before you slide them over your own ears. 

You light up at what you hear, “The Smiths? Seriously, Leon, you have not changed.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair to fix it from where your hands had mused it. “They’re good,” His voice is soft despite the protest in his tone. It’s then, you realise, that he’s blushing. 

Cute, cute, cute, you think. There is a particular warmth that blossoms in your chest seeing him like this, one that only Leon can really elicit.

You smile brighter,  “Yeah, I know. I love The Smiths.”

Leon looks starstruck. Of course you do. 

It doesn’t stop there, much to Leon’s own disappointment. He’d hoped after the school year was over you’d go back to not talking to him, and he could move past this and never think about it again (yeah, as if). 

But you don’t. At this point he should just stop wishing for anything at all. Clearly the universe is working against him in the fickle way it always has.

You call him every few nights, ask how he is, what he’s doing, if he’s busy. Things friends would ask each other. Do you count as friends? Leon would like to think so. But then again, he probably shouldn’t be picturing a friend’s face when he’s tugging at his own dick.

You should come over sometime. You say over the phone one night, voice sweet even over the shitty receptor of his home landline. His back straightens a little at your words, the lilt in your voice, as he leans against the counter in his kitchen.

He imagines you lying on your bed, feet kicked up as you hold your flashy new flip-phone between your shoulder and your ear. He wonders what you’re wearing. 

Hello? Your voice crackles, and he’s immediately pulled from his thoughts. C’mon, it’s not that bad of an idea. You laugh on the other end.

He hesitates. Yes, yes, yes, his mind screams at him. Well, I mean… what for?

Lame fucking answer.

Do I need a reason to invite my friend over?

He goes a little rigid at that, mulling over his next words as he feels heat climb up his neck. So we’re friends again now?

The line goes quiet for so long he’s sure you’ve abandoned your phone and left the line open. He nearly hangs up, letting out a sigh as he goes to rehook the landline back on the wall before your voice filters through at the last minute.

Of course we are, silly! Well, I mean— I know the secret Kennedy pasta recipe now.

He smiles then. That you do.

When Leon gets to your place, the cold Summer night air is sharp against his skin. He’s barely touched the doorbell when the front door swings open, the wide smile on your face is contagious—a spontaneous reaction sets off in his heart. 

“Hi,” You grin.

“Hey,” He greets, albeit a little awkwardly. 

You’re endeared, to say the least.

You lead him through the familiar hallways of your home, past family photos he’s seen countless times before, into the family media room, tucked away at the back of the house. It hasn’t changed much from the last time he was here—God, what was that? Six, eight years ago?—he recalls fond memories of escaping your parent’s annual Christmas parties to watch Christmas Mountain while snuggled up on the couch together instead.

“What about that one?” You hum, legs pulled up onto the large plush sofa in your media room, tucking your knees under your chin as you wave a hand at one of the titles in the box of your father’s old DVDs.

“You wanna watch Kairo?” Leon sounds amused, pulling the title out of the box before handing it to you.

You shrug, flipping the case over in your hand, honestly having no idea what the movie is about or what you’re getting yourself into. You just want him to pick a damn movie and get on with it. He’s always been like this, indecisive and hesitant about most things—you’ve always been the opposite, headstrong and impulsive. Yet, the two of you have always been tied together with a gold thread of string, your mother likes to say so, anyway.

You and Leon. Leon and You. An apple and an orange, not the same yet still belonging side by side.

It’s Leon’s voice that pulls you back to the present, taking the case from your hands before he cracks it open and insert the disc it into the silver DVD player. The screen flickers to life, and you quit chasing the DVD logo with your gaze as it bounces across the screen to fish for the TV remote as Leon joins you on the couch. 

He sits at the opposite end, and you’re acutely aware of the distance he’s put between the both of you. You’re not surprised at how your heart sinks at the implications of his actions.

Leon finds the remote before you do, silence settling over the room like thick fog as he flicks through the DVD menu. You will yourself not to get too freaked out by the eerie music or the haunting silhouette of the girl pressed against the screen.

“I didn’t think you liked horror movies,” Leon muses, not really meeting your gaze as he flicks through to press play. “Most people I know say it’s not all that great but—” And he rambles. God, he rambles and you want to kiss his stupid mouth shut.

The first thirty minutes of the movie are slow but not short of horrifying. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or frustrated when all Leon does is talk about SFX or behind the scene cuts, or how they did this and how they did that —endearingly sweet in a way that makes your heart flutter. You’re semi-grateful for the distraction.

He’s a sweetheart in every sense of the word, asking if you’re okay after you startle from a jumpscare. Partially annoyed until you realise he’s not even teasing you. You find it twice as sweet, though, when you notice him all but staring at you in your periphery.

Charming blue eyes that set you a little more on edge.

“The movie’s on the screen, not my face,” You tease, finally meeting his gaze when you glance back at him, kicking him across the couch playfully. 

He swallows, praying for the upteenth time that you don’t notice the burning of his skin he feels at getting caught, before he glances back at you.

“I mean, I think I’d much rather look at you than the movie,” He shoots back, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself.

The air leaves his lungs the moment you turn to look at him, nearly giving yourself whiplash. Leon’s sure he should find this moment awkward, scary, any number of things, but he’s too distracted. You’re so tempting, sweet doll eyes, lashes that kiss your cheeks as you smile at him, and again, he finds himself starstruck. 

Your gaze holds his for a moment longer than it should, a gentle tilt of your head and he’s done for. The teasing smile lingering on your lips slips into something softer, the room feels smaller, the space between you even more so. 

“You alright?” You hum, you’re not even sure what you’re saying, you can’t hear your own voice over the blood thrumming in your ears.

Leon doesn’t really hear you either, he tries to, he does, but then your gaze drops to his lips and— God, is this happening? He’d ask you to pinch him if his voice wasn’t stuck in his damn throat.

You search his face, trying to find any hint of jest, but all you see is the way his eyes linger on you, tracing the curves of your lips, the line of your jaw. For the first time in a long time you find yourself nervous to kiss a boy. There’s a current between you, energy fizzling in a way that pricks your skin—fireworks, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Before you can give yourself the chance to second guess it, you close the distance, your lips brushing against his. His breath hitches, and you smile against his lips, a gentle hand cupping his jaw, curling into his soft hair. The rest of the room drowns out, all he can hear is his heart beating in his ears and all he can feel is the flush of his own skin and you. Impossibly close in a way that’s already got him hook, line and sinker.

The kiss immediately and successfully turns Leon’s brain to mush, letting out a shaky breath as you incline your head, a soft groan falling past your lips and tumbling into his. Your shoulders drop, another arm looping around his neck. It’s a lot at once, your body against his, the thrumming of his heart, the way he tries desperately not to fuck up the kiss, or give away that he hasn’t exactly had much experience in this department at all.

Leon only realises he’s still rigid when you pull away, your breath a hot puff of air against his face. He thinks you must’ve laughed, cheeks heating up, but then his eyes flutter open and you’ve got a look on your face that he can’t place. Your hand smooths down the golden locks of his hair.

“Are you nervous?” Your voice is so impossibly soft.

Leon blushes deeper. “Is it obvious?”

“A little,” You smile.

“I don’t– I haven’t–” He stutters, the words coming out a jumbled mess that makes your heart ache a little.

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” You rush to reassure when you realise what must be going through his mind. “Just… follow my lead, yeah?”

He nods, tight lipped then.

Your laugh is sticky sweet, alluring in a way that makes him feel all too light-headed. You lean in again, “Relax.”

He lets out a breath, and you take the opportunity of his parted lips to deepen the kiss properly, the muscle of your tongue flattening out against his bottom lip. Leon lets out a strangled moan—fireworks burst across your skin for the second time.

“You can hold me,” You mumble against his mouth, hands tightening in his hair. “If it’ll make you less nervous.”

Leon swallows thickly, nodding as his nose brushes against yours, lips already red and aching. One of his hands tentatively moves back into your hair, he tilts his head, trying to deepen the kiss the same way you had. His movements are albeit clumsy, uncertain; betraying his inexperience, but there’s a raw sincerity in his attempt that leaves you charmed. Slowly, he slides down against the sofa, pulling you with him, his body sinks into the cushions until he’s lying down, your body resting atop his.

You want more, more, more . Want to press your tongue to the seam of his lips, part them, taste him properly—you almost do, growing just as eager as he is as you push yourself higher atop him, bracketing his waist with your thighs as you press your lips to his harder. 

Your nose knocks his glasses askew when moving your head, and you feel him tense ever-so underneath you, as if realising it at the same time, and you can sense his confidence wavering.

You pull back just an inch then, he all but groans in protest. His nose bumps against yours, lips parted and eager for more. “Slow down,” You giggle. “M’not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” He mumbles, his voice laced with embarrassment. The warmth from his blush radiates under your palm.

Without missing another beat, you reach up to carefully slide his glasses off his face. Leon blinks up at you. He looks like he’s short-circuited, giving way to a vulnerability that makes your heart ache. 

“There,” you whisper, folding the frames before setting the glasses atop the coffee table. “How’s that?”

You’re cruel, though, don’t give him a moment to gather his thoughts, let alone respond. It’s a bit of cat and mouse to you; tease, tease, tease. Gve in just a little, pull away a little more. 

You’re pressing your lips back to his again before another moment can pass. But Leon doesn’t protest; how could he when you’re so close, your bodies pressed together like this?

Leon’s confidence grows with each swipe of your tongue against his. His hands grow bolder, they move over your shoulder blades, down your spine, pressing against the curve of your back. A soft groan tumbles from your lips, your hips pushing down against his, he lets out a shaky moan in kind.

Cute, cute, cute. You’d drown in the soft sounds that tumble from his lips given the chance.

Your hands begin to wander, trailing down his chest, over his beating heart. You rub circles against his chest, as if to satiate the burning desire that’s stuck between his ribs. 

Your lips, on the other hand, begin their descent.

You start with the corner of his mouth, then you follow the line of his jaw, down the column of his neck, the divot of his throat (that rewards you with a mewl). You decorate his collar in a blossoming painting of delicate bruises, tug down the collar of his shirt enough to reveal as much skin as possible for your lips to work over.

A soft smile curls on your lips even as you kiss him, and you realise with a flicker of amusement that he’s shaking beneath you—It’s an endearing quiver, like a newborn fawn finding its first footing. His hands tighten in the fabric of your shirt, holding on as if trying to anchor himself.

“You okay?” You hum as you pull away, Leon assumes you’re gracing him with a breather before he registers your hands working his shirt up his body. 

It’d be rude to let you do all the work, so he shifts enough to tug it over his own head, discarding it on the floor of your theatre room bathed in blue—the movie long forgotten.

Leon’s large hands settle back against the swell of your hips, his thumb runs over the bone of your hip through the fabric of your shorts. He gives you a gentle nod. “M’alright,” He mumbles, but his voice has grown thick, stuck in the cavern of his throat.

“Do you… want to keep going?” You ask softly, your voice is tentative, as if dipping your toes into the deep end, testing the waters.

His mind screams yes, he settles for a “ Please ,” that comes out shakier than he’d like instead.

Your hands make quick work, moving down to undo the button of his jeans, fumbling clumsily in the wake of your excitement that you try incredibly hard to school. For the most part you do, refusing to cave too fast.

You’re acutely aware this is Leon’s first time—he doesn’t have to tell you, you can tell by his shaky voice, and shaky hands, by the way he looks at you as if you’ve just about hung the stars and the planets. To be fair, he’s always looked at you like that. Something akin to a sweet puppy.

Jesus Christ, you’re losing it.

When you finally pop the button, tug the zipper down achingly slow, Leon mewls, his hand on your hip curling into your flesh bruisingly. Fuck.

Your gaze meets his once again. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna go slow, okay? You’ve gotta tell me to stop if you don’t like anything, alright?” As desperate as you are to get your hands on him, you’d never forgive yourself if you ruined his first time.

Leon nods like he’s on autopilot, dutifully, as if the idea of you ruining anything for him is a stupid one. “Yeah, I will– Just, please, ” His voice grows impossibly quiet, “Don’t think I can wait–”

God. You go a little lightheaded.

Your hands make quick work of his jeans then, pushing them down along with his boxers. You’re blessed with a heavenly sight. His cock, pretty and flushed and all but drooling. It’s nearly erotic, has your head swimming. 

“Jesus, Leon.” You huff, eyes wide as you look back up to meet his gaze.

Leon swallows thickly, throat bobbing as his eyes bore into yours, blown wide, rings of blue barely visible. God what a sight. He doesn’t respond, can’t. His throat is thick with something he cannot place. You’re a vision to him like this—hair spilling over your shoulders, framing your head like a halo, thick eyelashes that flutter sweetly down at him. His cheeks heat, neck growing impossibly hot. 

Your hands dance over his stomach, his abdomen, tracing the contours of his skin as you watch his face to gauge each reaction, each shiver, every tremble of his lips.

You’re cruel, you’re so impossibly cruel and, oh— Nevermind. You’re an angel.

You giggle at his blissed out expression as your hand curls around the base of his dick. “That what you needed?” 

Leon’s eyes flutter shut, head tips back as your hand inches up. He resists the urge to buck right into the tunnel of your palm. “Mmhmm…”

“Can’t speak now either?” You coo sweetly.

Something soft bubbles up past his throat, a mewl, a whine, you don’t know what to call it, but God does it make your cunt flutter in time with your heart. “C’mon, Leon, let me hear you.”

And God does he.

You pull whimper after whimper from his pretty lips, tumbling out like prayer each time. You are the chappel he worships at, the altar where he falls to his feet. He thinks if he died like this he could be happy, would go willingly, accept his fate—

“D’you want… more?” The words echo around in his skull.

He couldn’t have nodded faster. 

You’re both giddy and giggling as you pull away, his hands eager as they pull your shorts and underwear off at once. If you could memorise the way he looked at you right now, you would. Leon’s eyes rove over your thighs, the space between them that glistens, in a way that makes you shy despite the hesitance in his own. 

“You’re pretty,” He says thickly, and there’s not a tease behind his words, not a jest. He says them with such sincerity you stutter to a halt. 

You blink, caught in his gaze. Leon watches you carefully, his own eyes wide, as if he’s not sure whether he’s overstepped some invisible boundary. The heat in your cheeks burns a little brighter, and you find yourself instinctively breaking eye contact, glancing away to gather yourself.

His words feel as if they’ve lodged themself in between the left and right ventricles of your heart. Suddenly, you feel the need to close the distance again, your hand slipping to cup his face, brushing a thumb over the flush of his cheek. 

He hums against your lips, hands climbing up your back, under your shirt, slipping under the strap of your bra. 

Your hips are gentle, moving over his instinctively, like something written into your DNA. The subtle brush over the underside of his length has him gasping—you preen internally at the reaction.

But you’re impatient, as impatient as he is, eager for more, eager to take, eager to please. You sink down over him slowly, revel in the silky stretch you’re graced with, moaning around his tongue as your heart feels like it’ll burst out of your chest.

The feeling is near incandescent to Leon, his mind already too far gone. 

“Eyes open, baby,” Your voice comes, shattering the haze of his mind. 

Baby, baby, baby.

He’s hardwired to comply.

You’re something holy above him, head crested by the glow of the moon spilling through the windows, wings of starlight, angel-song falling from your lips as your hips move over his. He wants to swallow each sound. You have the grace to let him.

Your body presses to his as you lean down, chasing his lips in a kiss that surely rewires his brain chemistry. Each moan you let out is like honey in his mouth, sweet and addicting, his tongue pushes past your lips, seeking out as much as you’ll give him.

You’re ecstasy. Entirely too addicting; Leon can’t get enough. Each time you sink down on him again, he’s sure it steals more breath from his lungs. And with earth-shattering realisation, he knows he’s not going to last. “M’close.”

He’s puppy-dog cute like this, pout on his lips, a cinch between his eyebrows that you smooth with your thumb. “I can tell.”

His hand moves to where yours are on his chest, taking one in his own, intertwining your fingers. It’s so fucking over for you. 

“I can’t—” His hips buck up into yours, but his movements are reserved, you clock his desperation to hold out immediately.

“God, Leon, please do. I want you to.”

It doesn’t take much longer than that. He comes within three, four, five ruts of your hips against his, a warning on his lips before you pull off him and his release coats the muscles of his abdomen. You’re left aching, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind, not when you have him underneath you like this.

“Shit, God,” He groans. “That was… fast.”

You sense the apology on his tongue and shake your head before he can get there.

“No, don’t. It was… it was good.”

Leon can’t believe his ears. It was good? He did good?

“Yeah?” You hear the anticipation in his voice, higher at the end, a question.

Smiling, you nod. “Uhuh. Plus, we can… Work on it.”

The implication of doing this again sometime is enough to have him mirroring your smile. 

But soon summer’s over and college is starting. You decide to take a year off, figure yourself out. 

But Leon’s always had big dreams. Before you know it he’s packed his life into boxes, ready to move across the country to California. You can’t lie to yourself forever, pretend that what you feel for him is superficial, that you won’t miss him with a longing that will linger for months.

Your heart aches the night before he leaves. His head on your stomach, looking up at you with those puppy dog sweet eyes, half lidded and hair mused from where you’d grabbed and tugged while he’d lapped at your sweet cunt all night.

“I’m gonna miss you,” The words slip out softly, surprising even yourself. Lately, you’ve found vulnerability escaping you more often around him. A tenderness you’re learning to grow used to again.

Leon’s gaze lifts to yours, sweet baby blues that you try to memorise even in the low light of your bedroom. “I’ll visit.”

“I know.”

There’s a sickening silence that follows. You ache to tell him everything, pour your heart out for him to pick up, but you don’t.

Leon promises to call you as soon as he gets to his new dorm, and he does. For the first few months, everything goes smoothly. You and Leon fall back into that regular routine—you call him every now and then, he updates you on his day, you tell him about yours. But as fate has it, the chasm between the two of you begins to split once more, you feel him drift away, caught up in his flashy new life. 

Turns out distance does make the heart grow fonder.

There are things Leon doesn’t tell you either. Like how he’s been binge-watching those awful horror movies you always mention nowadays (you’ve developed a weird fondness for the gore). Or that he’s started tutoring again. Or that he wishes you were here. God, he really wants to tell you that last one.

He thinks of you all the time, even when he probably shouldn’t—between classes, during his morning coffee before the 8 a.m. lab, while driving from his part-time job to campus. He thinks of you in the inbetweens, when his mind seems to wander. The thoughts come unbidden, when there’s a million other things he should have at the forefront of his mind, you’re there.

And then there’s the way he pictures you every time.

Leon’s not exactly proud of the number of hook-ups he’s had since college. One party turned into two, then three, then four. Simple drinking games blurred into long nights with countless girls underneath him who he now doesn't even remember the faces of.

Convinced if he shut his eyes, if he really focused, he could imagine it was you whimpering under him instead, your hands on his body, your lips melding around his name oh so perfectly.

It was never the same though. Never would be.

None of these girls sounded like you, none of them fucked like you, none of them felt like you did. Like they were made for him, like he could get lost in their cunts forever. It was pathetic, really, the way he’d so willingly chase that unmatchable high forever. Nothing would compare. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

So by the time semester break rolls around, he’s already packed his bags, and the four hour route from California back to Raccoon City has been set before he’s even finished his finals.

Raccoon hasn’t changed, still the same sleepy city tucked away between twin mountain ranges, the smell of pine heavy in the air. His house is how he left it, so is his neighbourhood. He drives by the familiar faded sign of Emmy’s Diner, the Police Department with its big white hollywood-style letters and rusting iron gates.

He heard that you work at the new video store down the road from his house now. Flashy, neon signs and all. Leon wonders what it’s been like for you, staying behind when he left for college, how the city has cradled you in its unchanged arms. If you’ve missed him like he’s missed you.

He pushes the glass panelled door to the video store open, the store bell tinkling in wake of his arrival. He’s fidgety. Leon hasn’t been fidgety in a very long time. He does not remember the last time he hesitated around a girl. Well, he does, it was you when he was awkward and nineteen, but since then? It has been a long road. Too long.

But then he spots you, and it’s as if the world narrows down to this one moment.

You’re leaning against the counter, eyes downcast, lazily flipping through a magazine. The overhead lights catch the strands of your hair—it’s shorter now. He wonders when you had it cut, why you chose the new style. A part of him aches, realising just how much time has passed, how long a year can be when he’s not in your orbit.

Without thinking, he beelines for the horror section, eyes scanning the rows of movie titles as his fingers brush over each DVD spine. He glances at you out of his periphery, half-watching the way you absentmindedly flip through your magazine.

Come on, come on, come on.

H, I, J, K… 

Bingo.

He slides Kairo across the counter, heart stumbling in his chest. You don’t even glance up as you take it into your hands, half-focused on whatever glossy pages have your interest, but you do smile when you register the title in your hands.

“Good choice,” you hum, your fingers already moving to punch the movie code into the register.

“Yeah? You think so?” His voice is a little rougher than he intended, but he presses on, tries to act casual as he leans up against the counter. In honesty, he feels like a dork. “Most people I know say it’s not all that great…”

Your fingers freeze over the buttons. That voice, those words. Your eyes shoot up to meet his. 

“Leon?”

“Hey.” He smiles, catching the way your expression shifts, disbelief melting into something warmer. “What’s wrong? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You laugh suddenly, that bright, familiar sound, filling the empty space between you. For a moment the months apart don’t seem so long. “God, you did not just quote Scream at me.”

Leon’s dusty blonde hair falls into his eyes as he drops his head to hide his grin. “Yeah that was… Not my best.”

Shaking your head, you slide the DVD back across the counter, still smiling beautifully at him.  “You didn’t tell me you were going to be back in town!” You sound breathless as the words escape you.

“Just for the semester break,” He says, his voice steady but soft. “Figured I’d come back before you forgot what I look like.”

You blink. Something in his expression must’ve given him away, because then you smile—small, almost shy. “I missed you too,” you hum, and the words hang in the air like they’ve been waiting to be said.

But just like that you bounce back, as if the vulnerability in your tone was never even there at all, drumming your fingers across the countertop. “You shoulda told me, we could’ve planned something nice.”

“Oh, like a date?”

You blush. Blush. Fuck. You don’t remember him being this forward.

“Are you suggesting something, Kennedy?” You tilt your head, honeyed gaze and all.

Damn you and those fucking eyes, he thinks.

“Well, I was thinking… maybe we could go to Emmy’s after your shift? You know, catch up, and I can tell you all the terrible jokes I’ve collected since I’ve been away.”

Your smile widens, and there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel like he might’ve just found his way back home. “I’d like that, Leon. A lot.”

Emmy’s diner hums with a life that he’s missed. The sound of casual conversation, plates clattering, the soft croon of Bob Dylan from the old jukebox. It’s how he left it. Same peeling leather booths, linoleum tables, vinyl floorings, bottomless pots of coffee and the smell of sizzling burgers over the griddle in the back. 

You share a booth at the back, your boots propped up on the round metal base of the table while you watch Leon with a small pout as he stands by the counter, waiting for a takeout box. The old fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over him, highlighting the little changes—slightly broader shoulders, a more defined jawline, longer hair, no glasses. But he’s still your Leon.

When he turns back, takeaway box in hand, he catches you in the act—a fry pinched between your fingers, dragging it through his ketchup in lazy swirls. You beam up at him, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and Leon feels his chest do a violent lurch, feels his heart rattle in the cage of his ribs, clawing to jump out and into your waiting hands.

It’s the kind of smile that would have driven him crazy when he was younger—when he was all nerves and stuttered words around you. And God, if it doesn’t still have the same effect.

“You know,” Leon starts as he settles into his seat, “there’s a fine line between sharing and stealing. You’re definitely crossing it.”

You roll your eyes, pushing the fry basket back towards him in a silent peace offering. “You weren’t going to finish them anyway.”

Leon chuckles softly, he doesn’t know what to say then, no witty quip on his tongue or eager reply.  “It's about the principle," His voice finally comes, something soft. "But I guess I’ll let it slide this once." 

You laugh, and the sound is like a balm, soothing the ache in his chest. “How generous of you,” you reply, playing footsies with him under the table. It’s in this moment Leon realises, everything he’s ever wanted is right in front of him. He’s spent so much of his life chasing. Chasing, chasing, chasing, he’s always been chasing. 

Now he thinks he’d like to slow down.

And that’s what he does, when he takes you home that night, you twirl through the door of his old home, giddy as you track the familiar path to his bedroom. It’s how you remember it, same posters on the wall, same black Paul Reed Smith tucked into the corner.

Leon, however, is so much gentler than you remember him being, careful hands sliding up your waist as he walks you back towards his bed. Your calves hit the edge, breath caught in your throat as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. His lips find yours, slot perfectly, he groans against your lips and you melt into his embrace.

Leon’s palm slides down to the underside of your thigh, lifts it up enough to help you back onto the bed. 

Your words get caught in your throat, but they’re not needed—not now, not with Leon. He’s always known you like the back of his hand. His lips move over your face, your cheek, your jaw. Your arms settle around his neck.

It’s like muscle memory to Leon now, the way he slots his knee between your thighs, how his hands move over your torso, up your body.

Your mind wanders—a dangerous thing in times like these—and you find yourself growing a little jealous. You're not dense; you know he’s probably had other girls in his bed between his time away in California. You wonder if they were any good. 

Leon doesn’t let you dwell on those thoughts, has your voice catching in your throat as his fingers tease the underside of your breasts. He looks up at you, those same deep blue eyes studying you, yet unreadable all the same. Your skin burns beneath his gentle touch. Hot, hot, hot everywhere he touches.

One of his hands come up to cup the same cheek he had kissed earlier, his touch featherlight. He looks at you—part adoring, part like he’s planning your ruination.

“Leon… Please. ” You beg desperately then, and in response he groans. As if he’s waited too long to hear you say his name like that again, all needy and breathless.

“Makes me wanna wreck you,” He murmurs against your mouth, his breath hot and heady, “when you talk like that. So fuckin’ sweet.”

And God if that doesn’t do it for you. A whine falls past your lips, eager, tender, desperate, and Leon’s sure he’s never heard anything as beautiful in his life.

Your skirt is off in a flash, so is his shirt, then yours, then his jeans, so on and so forth until your bare cunt is pressing against his thigh he’s conveniently slotted back between the apex of your legs. He presses his knee up against your wet cunt, mutual groans filling his bedroom. All it takes is a tremble of your lips, and Leon’s kissing you twice as hard.

“Tell me what you need,” He’s eager to please.

“You.” You, you, you, always you.

There’s a reverence in your words he cannot shake, a promise laced into the moan that tumbles from your lips. His hands smooth over your abdomen again, spreading your thighs wider to accommodate him in the space between.

“Yeah?” He hums, one of his hands runs from the corner of your jaw to your chin, the other gives a purposeful squeeze to your waist. “I need you too. Want you.”

The sincerity in his voice floors you, hits you harder than any kiss, any touch. This isn’t just lust, this is Leon, raw and open, offering you something more than you’d expected. Something you’ve always wanted but were too scared to admit. You feel the sudden sting of tears kiss the corners of your eyes, startling yourself. 

“Leon…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. He cuts you off with a gentle kiss, one that’s soft and sweet, filled with a promise that leaves you breathless.

"You’re it for me. I’m yours," he whispers into your mouth. "If you’ll have me."

Your heart stumbles over itself, caught somewhere between disbelief and a feeling you’re not sure how to put into words. “I’ve always had you.”

He laughs softly then, “Yeah. Guess you have, huh?”

It’s now, he realises, you’d never left his orbit in the first place. You’d always been there, one way or another, a constant in his life he’d never be able to shake despite how hard he’d try. You really are it for him.

“I want you too,” You blurt, the words tumbling out too fast. “I want this, want you. I always have.”

The rest is unsaid. He kisses you again with a smile, your hands drift over his back, trace the contours of every plane of muscle, press against the space between his shoulders. His hands run over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waists, caress the skin of your thighs and leave gooseflesh in their wake. You can’t stand it—how utterly gentle he is. It makes you want to cry.

You take Leon’s hand, leading it down to where you need him most. With precision you drag his fingers up through your folds, tantalisingly slow before pressing the pad of his index to your clit. You let out the softest of whimpers at the sight, his hand on your cunt. Fuck. You don’t take your eyes off the sight before you, even as you push his fingers back down, until you slip just the tip of his finger past your walls.

Your gaze flicks up to gauge his reaction, and you're more than pleased at the sight before you. Leon Kennedy, his eyes wide, mouth hung open in a small ‘o’, like he’s never seen pussy before.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You hum, amusement dripping from your lips—but your voice comes out in between panted breathes, unable to still your thump, thump, thumping heart.

He looks back up to meet your gaze, shaking his head as a grin stretches across his lips. “No, sweetheart, don’t play your games with me.” He huffs, withdrawing his hand, leaving you whining, before he pushes your thigh up to your chest.

You’re disappointed by just how fast he manages to school himself, no longer desperate for more, now invested in the waiting game.

“You want it that bad?” He croons, voice a teasing lilt against the shell of your ear, kissing the skin behind it as his body comes back down over yours. Your leg hooks around his back, hands on his shoulders, in his hair. 

“Are you gonna make me beg?” Your laugh is soft, breathlessly incredulous.

He grins against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

His lips trail a path from neck to collar, tender kisses that intensify into bruising hickeys so fast your head swims. He litters your chest in lovebites, his hand moving on its own accord as he presses two fingers against your sopping cunt. He teases you, drawing circles around your entrance, grinning against the valley of your breast as he kisses down your sternum when your cunt flutters against his hand.

He drags his fingers up, up, up, presses them to the bead of your clit in a way that makes you squirm, another round of featherlight circles that makes you keen.

“Leon, holy shit—” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, watching as he sinks his fingers into your cunt, right down to the knuckle.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the shit eating grin in his words.

The pads of his fingers press against ribbed flesh, scissoring you open. When he pulls them back out, palm against your clit, a moan bubbles up past your lips. He shushes you, sweet nothings whispered against the cavern of your throat. 

His hand, glimmering with your arousal, finds its way to your lips. “Open,” He murmurs, and so you do, lips parted for his fingers to press curiously against your tongue. Your heart hammers in your chest, thighs pressing into his sides as you blink up at him. You’re beautiful like this, a picture of pleasure that he wants to sear into his mind, brand across his heart so he won’t forget. 

You moan around his fingers and his heart stutters pitifully in his chest, he needs to hear you like that again. “Want more, sweetheart?” His voice is rough as he pushes his hips against yours teasingly, has your eyes fluttering shut and rolling back. “Need words, baby.”

Leon chuckles as you struggle to speak around his fingers pressing to your tongue, a muffled yeah caught in your throat. He placates your whine that follows with a kiss to the underside of your jaw, lining his hips up with yours as he goes.

He sinks in as deep as he can get, searing hot, like he’s desperate to melt through, skin to skin, atom to atom. You push back, chasing that same euphoric feeling, a groan falling from your lips as you choke around his thick fingers in your mouth. You twist your neck, your nose pushing into his cheek as you seek his warmth.

“Got you,” He mumbles into your skin, voice ragged. A forearm is braced by your head before he pulls his hand from your mouth, moving to hold your body. His hand presses into the gentle curve of your waist like it was made for the palm of his hands. Smearing your spit across your skin as he goes.

When Leon’s with you like this, your body beneath his, he’s so sure this is how it’s meant to be. God, you’re perfect in every sense of the word—surely this is fate’s crashing course, isn’t it? Driven together by some higher power, an invisible thread of gold looped around both your fingers.

Has to be, surely. Feels too good when his hips push into yours, shared moans tumbling from both your lips, when his lips find yours once more and he’s swallowing each one like a man starved. You’ve missed the way he feels, how he stretches you out so deliciously, fills you up and seats deep inside you like he’s made for it. 

Your hands on his shoulders blades dig burning half-moon crests into his skin, dragging your nails down his back, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest.

“Shit, pussy’s fuckin’ made for me,” He all but groans into your ear, dick pushing in at a steady pace, sickeningly slow in a way that makes you ache.

Please, please, please, your mind screams, begging for him to hurry up, give you more. You’ve waited so long to have him like this again, why should you wait any longer?

Leon’s laugh vibrates against the shell of your ear, “Beggin’ already, sweetheart?”

Oh. You’ve said it out loud.

“Don’t tease,” You plead with him.

“Tease? No m’not teasing, that’d be cruel,” He croons, “M’just taking my time with my baby.”

You want to sob. God, he is cruel. You think this must be karma for all those times you’d teased him when you were younger, worked him so close to the edge then pulled him away—

But then his hips slam against yours and a sob lurches from your throat. “Leon!” You cry, nails digging deeper into his back you worry you might draw blood.

“God, just look at you, sweetheart,” He pulls back enough to meet your gaze, hand on your hip moving to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “Crying on my dick. Fuck. ”

His hips are bruising, not an ounce of mercy in the way he ruts into your cunt.

“Can’t,” You whine, tears in your eyes.

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face, obstructing your pretty view, as his hand cups your jaw. “Yeah you can, baby.”

“No, it’s– too much—” You try to get him to understand, you won’t last like this.

He knows before the words even leave your lips. “Aw, pretty baby, gonna come f’me already?” 

More tears spill from your eyes, he kisses them away with gentle lips, almost humorously different from the pace of his hips. “That’s okay,” He decides, “You wanna come now, that’s fine. Jus’ means you gotta keep taking it till I'm done.”

You’re so fucked.

“Can you do that, sweetheart?”

In the haze of your mind you comply.

“Good girl,” You arch your back at the praise, he slips in deeper if that’s even possible. “Good girl, come for me. Let me see you.”

Who are you to deny him?

You come with a soft cry of his name, words sticky with the tightness of your throat, a babbling mess underneath him as he works you through it. He’s not a complete dickhead though, he slows down to accommodate the ache between your legs, gives you a moment to collect yourself as his hand moves to interlock with yours, holding it by your head.

“How was that?” He asks you on the comedown. 

You’re burning bright, you feel like the sun, your heart ablaze in your chest. Your mind is left in a haze, and when it ebbs away, it’s as though sunspots linger in your vision. You look at him, really look at him now, rings of blue in his blown out eyes, hair tousled, lips red and raw. 

You kiss him in lieu of a proper response, tongue and teeth, messy and desperate as your hands hold his face. He groans against your mouth, you feel his dick pulse between your tight walls and you preen internally. Even after all this time you still have him wrapped around your finger.

You giggle at the thought, drowning in the gilding golden haze of the pleasure he’s given you.

“What’s so funny?” He hums, smile sweet on his lips. 

“Nothin’,” You hum, eyes half-lidded.

He grins a little wider, something cunning. “Come again, sweetheart, didn’t quite catch that.” His hips roll into yours, a moan falls past your lips.

“I said– Oh. ” Nevermind.

Another roll of his hips.

“Speak up, baby,” Another, another, another.

You give up trying to get any words out, fruitless attempts reduced to whimpers as you melt into the mattress below him. Your hands wander back over his back, shoulder blades and muscles shifting under your palms as you sooth the ridges that have emerged from where you’d left your stinging mark.

You're tight as sin, sucking him back in salaciously. Leon’s not going to last much longer at all. 

He makes as much known. He whines and you swallow each sound like it’s a sweet prize. His hips snap into yours at a brutal pace, whimpers falling from your lips at each time he drives it home. He has half the mind to pull out, but then your legs are wrapping around his waist, trapping him, keeping him firm in place.

“Sweetheart– fuck , baby–” His words carry the weight of protest but you’re stubborn, always have been.

“ Please Leon?” You’re so sweet, aren’t you? “Want it inside, want you to come in me pretty please–?”

He couldn’t say no to you if he tried. “Shit, that’s what you want, baby? Huh? Need me to fill you up real good?” His voice is low in your ear, a bark that matches his bite.

“ Yes. ”

“Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, I’ll give you what you need, alright?” He placates, and you’re sweet as you mewl in response. “Yeah, anything you want.”

“M’so close,” He’s brought you to tears again, and this time he lets himself relish in the sight of them dribbling down your cheeks. “So close–”

Leon’s thrusts grow shallow with time, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy once more. “Let me feel you, baby,” He mumbles into the skin of your shoulder, his hand gripping yours in a knuckle white grip, the other so tight around your hip it’s sure to leave behind bruises in the morning.

Not a thing you’re saying is comprehensible anymore, slurred words sobbed into the crook of his neck as your cunt does the talking for you. You flutter around his aching length, clamping down around him as the pressure building at the base of your spine snaps in half, a broken cry of his name tumbling from your lips.

Leon reaches his breaking point in quick pursuit, tumbling over that edge just as you do, fucking his release deeper into your cunt. “So sweet, so sweet, so sweet,” He chants, a babbling mess of emotions as you milk him dry. “So good, s’good, baby, fuck. ”

For a few moments, you are nothing but two bodies, twined together, panting and huffing as you catch your breaths. Leon’s hand, still in yours, squeezes reflexively. His face falls into the crook of your neck as his fingers dig further into the flesh of your waist. You hear his breathing grow ragged, his body trembling above you. You think you hear a whine slip past his lips, only solidified when he pulls back and you catch the glassy look in his eyes. 

“We should do this again sometime.” You grin playfully.

“Jesus, Sweetheart.” Leon shakes his head, wet chuckle caught in his throat. “I plan on doing this a lot more often than sometimes. ”

You hum, your knuckles tracing the curve of his cheek before you sweep his hair out of his eyes. “I’d like that.”

There’s a pause then, words hanging in the air. “But at least let me get it right this time. I’ll take you out to dinner, how’s that?”

“Perfect.”

"I meant it, you know." His voice is quieter now, more vulnerable. "About wanting to get it right." He looks at you like he's seeing everything he's been chasing, right in front of him.

You tilt your head, a soft smile playing at your lips. "I know."

Fate is curious, you think—tugging at the golden threads that make up the spider's web of your universe as she pleases, weaving people together and pulling them apart with equal ease. You realise, as you lie with your head on Leon’s chest later that night, that fate has been kind to you. Leon's strong arm envelops you, grounding you in a way only he ever has. Home is inbetween his arms. You listen to the gentle beat of his heart, steady in his chest, pounding beneath your ear. 

Without much thought, you find yourself holding your breath, syncing the thump of your heart with the beat of his, a satisfied smile curving your lips when your breathing finally falls perfectly in time.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love? 

                            Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week. 

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught. 

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out. 

Oh no. 

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too. 

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack. 

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.” 

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes. 

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name. 

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!” 

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again. 

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics. 

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours. 

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around. 

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance. 

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along. 

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-” 

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”  

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries. 

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump. 

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry. 

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.” 

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit. 

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change. 

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips. 

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop. 

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

            all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek. 

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm. 

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.  

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself. 

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible. 

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real. 

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again. 

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist 

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs. 

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,” 

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?” 

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.”  He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours. 

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.” 

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (7.5) (m.)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: exes au, fluff, Angst, smut; THE REASON™️, crying because obviously there's gonna be crying, mentions of hobi leaving :(, cursing, uhm she hits him; kissing (well, of course 😂), br*ast play, t*tty s*cking, oral s*x (f. receiving), f*ngering, unprotected s*x, r*ding, cr*ampie, uhm idk i think that's it word count: 6.9k (poetic, i know) note (1): holy fucking shit i am literally shaking like a chihuahua as i'm writing this a/n. what the hell it's finally here. we've been waiting for this for almost a year and a half. TREMENDOUS thanks to Jo @daechwitatamic, Ari @/wintaerbaer (edited 2024: crossed out but not removed bc even tho she plagiarized obs afterward, she did beta this for me so i guess i still gotta give her that lmfao), and Jazz @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this for me and for reassuring me that it's not a load of crap (probably) and especially Jo for telling me if i back out she'll come kick me. frick! gaaaah. okay i'm gonna let you read or i'll go out of my mind

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I want you to smile, to feel like enough 'Cause you deserve yellow and lions and love I hope you come back when you're doing well Forgive me for being the worst of myself

New Recording 28 - Chelsea Cutler

The second the door is closed, his mouth is on yours again. 

His hand on your waist, yours in his hair, it’s similar to how it was mere minutes ago, just the urgency has increased tenfold. You want his suit off as much as you want your dress on the floor.

Jungkook detaches from your lips to let you breathe as he cages you between his body and the door, but it’s not like you can focus very well on breathing when he starts kissing down your neck, sucking bruises into your skin. His hands travel south, one palm curving around your hips to grope your ass, the other settling on the back of your thigh to lift it up, opening your legs wider so he could better slot in between them. With your leg lifted, it makes the slit in your dress ride up, exposing your core to the cool air of the room. You can feel his growing bulge pressed against you, right over your panties. 

You whimper his name when he sucks on the sweet spot on your neck, his hips grinding against you slowly.

“Yeah?” You can hear the smirk in that one simple word and the honey that drips from his voice. “What is it?”

“Want you…”

“I’m right here,” Jungkook says. His slender fingers rub you over the pink lace that you’re wearing underneath your dress, teasing your opening through the fabric for a few beats before he pushes your panties aside. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His breath is hot on your neck. He presses his lips against your skin absentmindedly, the tip of his index circling you but not pushing inside just yet.

“Tell me you want me too,” you pant, your arm hooking around his neck to hold him close.

“I want you.”

Truth.

You pull him in for another bruising kiss before you blindly push him further into the room, your hands roaming the broad expanse of his clothed chest. He stops when the back of his knees hit the bed.

“Hey.” Jungkook breaks away from the kiss to look at you. “Are you sure?”

If Jimin knew what you’re doing right now, he’d say that you have zero self preservation instincts.

He’d be right, though. If you had any self preservation instincts, you wouldn’t be doing this.

Your stupid, battered heart has only ever wanted him.

“I’m sure,” comes your immediate reply. It’s desperate, but you don’t have it in yourself to even care. “I’m sure. I want this. Please.”

“You were drinking.”

“I’m not drunk. I promise.”

Maybe it’d be better if you were drunk. Then you could at least blame this lapse of judgment on a pathetic state of inebriation and not on your stupid self who’s always weak for him.

He stares at you for a minute, searching for any sign of your willingness being driven by alcohol. He seems relieved when he finds none, and it isn’t until then that he shrugs off his jacket, before helping you take off his dress shirt and trousers.

You haven’t seen him like this in so long.

Every defined line on his body, accentuating every detail that you could spend hours running your fingers over.

He looks different but at the same time, not really. A tad more muscular, but still the same lean frame. Hard chest and abs on full display for you. God, your fingers are fucking twitching with the need to touch him.

Once he’s been stripped down to his boxers, he leans down to kiss you before you stop him with a hand on his chest. The lone tiger lily on his arm catches your attention.

Your fingers reach out to trace the black ink on his body, the lines delicate, your touch feather light. You’re suddenly curious. When did he get it? You can’t remember if you two ever talked about getting tattoos.

“What does it mean?” you ask. It strikes you with the realization that this is just one of the thousands of things that you missed, a reminder of your lost time. 

“Please love me,” he says, bringing his hands up to cup your face. He looks at you, just for a few seconds, before clarifying, “It means ‘Please love me,’” then kissing you again.

Jungkook clumsily and blindly searches for the dress’ zipper on your back, giving it a few impatient tugs until it finally starts gliding down your body. Your lips never part from one another as the dress falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. But once you step out of it, he does pull back to look at you from head to toe. His eyes fall to your chest, clad in a lacy pink bra that matches your panties. The look he gives you is the same one that he did when he saw you in your dress earlier today. But there’s something else in his eyes - realization, pride, perhaps a question too.

His hands are back on your body instantly, throwing you onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator. He discards your bra with ease, flinging it to the floor with the rest of your clothes. You shiver when the chilly air meets your bare chest, but the sensation quickly goes away when he takes your breast into his warm mouth. You let out a delighted sigh, arching your back to push yourself further into him as his tongue flicks over your stiff nipple. One of his hands comes up to squeeze your other breast to make sure that it isn’t neglected, rolling your pebbled bud between his thumb and forefinger. He switches to sucking your other tit after a while, then pawing at the one he just had in his mouth.

“Jungkook,” you whine his name when he makes out with your tits for too long, because there’s somewhere else that desperately requires his immediate attention. “Need you…”

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, and he looks pleased with himself when he sees that they’re thoroughly glistening with his spit. “Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He starts making his way down your body, kissing every inch of your skin that’s on display for him, before you put a hand on his shoulder when his face gets close to your thighs.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up at you as his fingers ghost over the fabric of your panties. “Can I?”

You lick your lips, contemplating whether or not you have the patience to wait for him. But alas, you decide, “Okay.”

Jungkook makes quick work of sliding your underwear down your legs and letting it join the pile on the floor. Even in the dim light, he can see just how wet you are, practically glittering with arousal, looking so utterly inviting that it makes his mouth water. All of this, just for him.

He doesn’t waste another second, diving right into you to lick a stripe up your dripping folds. Swiftly burying two fingers into your heat, he doesn’t stop until he’s knuckles deep. Your lips part in a silent but delighted moan. You forgot how good he used to make you feel. Your fingers could never feel as good as his, not thick enough to stretch yourself open and not long enough to reach deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” you drawl, your eyes fluttering shut when the tip of his tongue meets your throbbing clit, teasing it until you’re practically grinding against his face. You thread a hand into his hair, gripping his dark locks until he’s groaning, sending blissful vibrations all throughout your body. The figure 8’s that his tongue draws on your clit sets you alight, sends you into a whole other dimension completely as pleasure courses through your veins. 

“So good,” he mumbles. To you? To himself? You can’t tell, but that doesn’t really matter. “Still so good.”

You hear it, just how soaked you are, as he begins thrusting his digits in and out of you. He strokes your walls delicately with each press of his fingers, scissoring you open for what you know is to come. 

His tongue dips into your entrance then, teases your dripping hole as you pant heavily, 

Your legs close in on his head as the orgasm nears, but he keeps your thighs apart, firmly holding them open as he makes you unravel.

This is fucking unreal - Jungkook with his whole face tucked between your legs, desperate to make you come with his talented mouth. You never would have anticipated this when you woke up this morning.

No, just a while ago you were crying by yourself down at the beach. Now you’re crying out his name as he smothers himself in you.

Once he starts curling them inside of you, it’s embarrassing how fast you come. You clench hard around his fingers as the orgasm washes over you, dripping down his fingers and he uses the added wetness to carry you through the high.

“Jungkook…” you whimper, sounding completely fucked out even though it’s only just beginning. After a while, the heightened pleasure fades into the background, and he presses soft kisses against your inner thigh.

He crawls his way up your body until he’s facing you again. You watch his fingers and the way they’re coated in your juices, wondering what he’ll do with them next. Jungkook languidly smears the wetness all over your lips like he’s carefully painting them, only to kiss you afterward. When you moan against him, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your hand finds its way into his boxers then, wrapping your fingers around his hardened length, pumping him in your fist until he’s shallowly rutting against you.

The kiss gets broken when he suddenly pulls away, realization dawning on him. “Shit,” he exclaims. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, then you both just look at each other for a while. This isn’t a problem with no solution, even if the solution is a disastrous one in hindsight. You just want him, so badly that you can’t think of anything else.

He waits for you, doesn’t dare say anything else until you do.

Yet again, the opportunity presents itself for you to stop.

But you’ve already gone this far, and though it’s damn near impossible, you want him even more than you did before.

“Are you clean?” you ask.

It’s evident that he’s surprised by the way his eyes widen, and his silence that follows for the next half a minute. “Yeah,” he tells you.

“Okay. Then we don’t need a condom.”

He says your name once, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face sweetly. You always did like your name best when it used to fall from his lips so softly. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. I promise.”

Jungkook sucks in a breath, like he’s steadying himself, before he rids himself of the remaining piece of clothing on his body, then settles between your legs again. This time, his cock rests directly on your bare pussy. The anticipation makes it harder for you to breathe, makes you squeeze your thighs around his waist to not let him leave.

“How long has it been?”

Your answer is vague. “Too long,” you say. You don’t want to tell him that there’s been no one else since him, but you have a feeling that he understands it anyway. You think that he’d be pleased with your answer, that maybe it would boost his ego in a way, but there’s only a certain sadness that settles in his eyes. 

“Okay.” Regardless, he pushes past the sudden gloom that befalls his features, blinking away the disheartenment swimming in his irises, to align himself with your entrance. He rubs his cock against your pussy to coat you in his precum, even though you yourself are certainly more than wet enough for him to slide home easily. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you confirm, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he eases the tip into you, making the both of you moan at the contact. You feel him, all of him.

For a second, you wonder if he has ever forgone protection with anyone else, or if it’s only ever been just you.

Jungkook takes one of your hands off his shoulder to lay it flat on the bed next to your head, lacing your fingers together, giving your hand a slight squeeze. “Breathe. You can do it.”

“Give me a minute.”

“We’ve got time,” he says, his voice smooth like velvet.

“Can you kiss me?” you ask, almost like you’re shy even though he’s balls deep inside of you.

He chuckles lightly, so endeared by you and your silly question.

His lips meet yours sweetly, like doing so would help make the stretch less painful. Maybe it does, at least a little bit. 

You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, and he’s probably trying so hard to hold back, but he keeps kissing you nonetheless.

“You can move,” you say after a while.

“I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Okay.”

He rears his hips back, slowly, then thrusts forward again. You whimper from the slight burn, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. His movements are gentle for the next couple of minutes or so, and it isn’t until you start opening up more that he sets a steadier pace. Even when he starts to fuck you faster, one of his hands is still on your hips, rubbing your skin soothingly. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts out, followed by a sigh of your name as he pumps into your cunt, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging deliciously in and out of your walls. “You feel so good.”

He gazes down at you as he moves, and there’s just something so intimate about it that it makes you want to cry again.

You know what it’s like to have him fuck you, and this isn’t it.

No, this is something else entirely.

I love you, you think. I love you so fucking much.

“Missed you.” His words come out hushed, caught in half a moan, half a whimper. “Missed you so fucking much.”

“Did you think about me?”

“Always,” he says, without even missing a beat.

“No,” you clarify. “When you were sleeping with other people, did you think about me?”

“I only thought about you.” His hips stutter as he tells you this, like he’s confessing to something that he shouldn’t. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You never admitted this to anyone, not even Taehyung even though he probably sensed it, but you used to feel like you could be physically sick just looking at the photos on his feed every time you’d lurk on a drunken night. They were never flashy, just subtle enough for you to know that there was someone. It made you nauseous, because the place next to him was always supposed to be yours.

You just stare at him, not knowing how to process this bit of information. Sure, it’s an ego boost. There’s some pride in knowing that you were the one on his mind even if you weren’t together.

He’s so utterly gorgeous like this that you can’t form a single coherent thought, too lost in the way his eyes bore into yours and in the blossoming warmth that spreads all over your chest from hearing his words.

How did he manage to get even more beautiful? Sculpted by the gods. The standard for all men.

“What is it?” he asks when you stare at him for too long.

“I…” You blink away the daze. “I wanna be on top.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook slips out of you just long enough to get seated with his back against the headboard and pull you into his lap. You hover over him, letting his tip rub against your dripping hole for a moment before you sink onto him. You tip your head back and sigh as you envelope him fully again, the only difference is that you can feel him so much deeper like this.

He grabs your ass with both hands, kneading your skin as he helps you ride him. The sounds that you make together are downright obscene, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

“Harder,” you tell him shakily. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I want it to hurt,” you say, holding onto him like you’re bracing for impact, because you know he’ll give you what you want. “Make it hurt.”

Jungkook sighs once, then digs his heels into the mattress to steady himself before his hips go wild, thrusting into you with such force that it nearly has you sobbing, your head falling onto his shoulder. It makes you burn with pleasure, like a star before it becomes a supernova. When the tension starts building quickly, you can’t help but slam your hips down harder to meet his thrusts, to chase that high.

You press your lips against his skin, any spot you could find - his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Tell me you love me.”

The words are ready on the tip of his tongue, like he’s been waiting for an opportunity to say it. He doesn’t miss a single beat as he tells you, “I love you.”

“Mean it.”

“I do mean it. I love you.”

Truth.

For some sick and twisted reason, his words send you crashing over the edge, falling into that abyss of pleasure that you’ve been searching for. You say his name, over and over again, like you’re making up for all the years that he wasn’t around to hear it.

Your walls convulse wildly around him as you cry out, your toes curling, your thighs shaking. He holds you close, thrusting into you through your orgasm until you’re dizzy, like you could actually pass out from the overwhelming bliss.

“I’m close,” he tells you in a raspy voice.

You catch your breath long enough to say, “Come for me.”

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you say without much thought. If you were in a clearer state of mind, you would know that it’s reckless and stupid. You’re not on birth control, and if anything were to happen, you would have no one to blame but yourself.

But you aren’t in a clear state of mind, and maybe this is even more dangerous than if you were fueled by alcohol. At least you can sober up from alcohol.

You just want him so badly that rationality seems like a luxury you can’t afford right now.

“Y/N,” he whispers shakily, though there’s a warning edge to his voice that you understand.

“I want you to come inside me. I want it. I want it so bad. Please.”

Jungkook groans at your answer. 

He doesn’t ask you to look at him, instead choosing to hide his face against your neck where you feel something wet glide down your skin as he grips your hips. It’s followed by a sniffle, and hands that hold onto you like you’re a lifeline. 

He’s crying, and that breaks your fucking heart.

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to tilt his chin up to look at you, because it feels strange without his tender gaze on you, but you decide against it even though the tips of your fingers tingle with the need to do so. 

Your walls clench with purpose, squeezing around him, trying to help you get there. It’s not that long before you hear your name falling from his lips in a choked out moan, so needy and beautiful and makes you nostalgic. He empties himself inside of you, making you shudder from the sudden warmth that he paints along your walls.

You stay in the same position for a few more minutes until your chest is no longer heaving with exhaustion and euphoria. He gently pulls you off his lap to lay you down on the bed, pressing an apologetic kiss against your bare shoulder when you wince from the oversensitivity, from any kind of movement at all. 

When he moves to throw on his boxers and goes to stand up, you reach for him. “Where are you going?” You instantly feel pathetic for asking.

He pauses, then squeezes your hand as that sadness from before makes an appearance in his eyes again. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” he tells you, his voice quiet.

The relief on your face must be visible. “Okay,” you say. Rationally, you know he probably wouldn’t fuck you and leave you the second the deed is done. But again, rationality is a luxury at the moment.

Jungkook returns a couple of minutes later with a warm cloth, and dabs it between your legs to clean you up. You grimace when he touches you there, evidently sore already from the activities you just engaged in.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to say, though it isn’t really his fault. Or maybe it is his fault. You’re not sure if that even matters.

When he’s done, he gets under the covers with you. “Come here,” he says, then shuffles your body closer to his until he’s holding you with his hands on your bare waist. He leans down to kiss you, and you let him. God, you feel like you’re fucking melting.

It’s different from the kiss down at the beach, and it’s different from the needy ones you shared in the past hour. It’s soft and slow and easy, like there’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.

Jungkook breaks away eventually, and rests his forehead against yours then. One of his hands on your waist slides up to your ribs, until his thumb could brush the underside of your breast. The touch is gentle, sweet, completely innocent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. He means everything he tells you. “You’re perfect.”

You even blush, like you’re a stupid lovesick teenager. “Tell me,” you say.

“Anything.”

You reckon it’s self-indulgent at this point. You’re only asking to feel better about your place in his life, or rather, the place that used to be yours.

“Tell me you can’t live without me.”

He nudges his nose against yours. No hesitation. “I can’t live without you.”

Truth. You know it’s the truth.

Nonetheless… “Liar.” Your tone is soft. There’s no bite at all. You touch his face, trying to commit to memory every detail, how his soft skin feels under your touch as if it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see him like this. Maybe it is. You never got to have a last time with him, never got to know that it was ending before it already ended. You’re not thinking about the morning because you don’t want to, but the seed of anxiety is there in your belly. Your fingers trace his jawline as you say, “You lived without me. You were doing fine without me.”

His lips ghost over your cheek. “It wasn’t much of a life,” he says. “I couldn’t bear it without you.”

The thing is, you know that he’s being honest. And it should make you feel good that you affected him as much as he affected you.

But then… it keeps leading you back to that question. The question that you thought you could go the rest of your life without knowing the answer to. But for that to be possible, you needed him to stay gone, stay out of your world forever.

He shouldn’t be here, tangled up in the sheets with you and kissing you like his life depends on it. 

He shouldn’t tell you that he misses you, that he loves you. Shouldn’t tell you to please, love him too.

It’s contradictory, isn’t it? You needed to never see him again if you stood a chance of moving on with your life. You needed it and yet, all you wanted was to have him back by your side.

The tattoo catches your attention again. It feels like it’s laughing at you, mocking you.

You clench your teeth once, your eyes beginning to turn glassy. Jungkook sees it, and he’s quick to break up your train of thought. He presses his mouth to yours, shushing you with a deep kiss that makes your head spin, despite it all.

“Don’t think about it,” he mumbles against your lips, so desperate to get you to stop. As if he can sense where this could lead.

“How could I not? I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“You know me.” He holds onto your wrist, to keep your hand on his face before you can pull it away. “I’m still the same.”

“No, you’re not,” you say quietly, absentmindedly.

“Yes,” he insists. “Yes, I am.”

Maybe that’s true. Maybe you do see the person you used to know. But you only ever see him in glimpses and it always leaves you with a terrible, nauseous feeling afterward.

He doesn’t understand how much it hurts you to catch glimpses of the boy you used to love - the boy you still love - only to realize that maybe that isn’t the person he wants to be anymore. It feels like he keeps trying to kill that version of himself, like he despises the person who meant the world to you.

Are you gone forever?

Come back quietly.

“How old are you?” you ask after a moment.

The question makes him pause, his soft features twisting in confusion. He leans back a bit, so his eyes could focus on your face better.

“What?”

“How old are you?” you repeat.

It takes him another while to answer as he tries to see where you’re going with this. But when his search comes up empty, he just answers, “29.”

"I don't know who you are at 29. The last time I knew you was 24. No. You hadn't even turned 24 yet. Where was 25? 26? 27? 28? It’s unfair that you still know who I am when I don't know who you are. I feel like I never aged a day past 24. You carried on living but I'm still here."

His eyes well up once again, but this time, you can see it. The first tear spills over, lands somewhere on your collarbone. This is what you used to want, right? To see him hurting, just like how you were hurting? Well, be careful what you wish for.

No part of you feels victorious that you’re making him cry, that the score is finally being settled, because none of this undoes all of the shit you had to go through. If anything, it makes you feel even worse, like you’re still losing.

“I never moved on from us. I couldn’t move on from you,” he says, voice cracking toward the end. Your heart is doing the same thing in your chest, but you’re glad that he can’t see it. “I swear I miss you every day. I wanted you with me every day. You have no idea how much I wanted to come back to you.”

Jungkook looks so dejected, like a reflection of you these past few years. You recognize that look in his eyes. You know that sadness all too well. He was in as much pain as you were.

He loved you when he left you. He still loves you even after all this time. 

You inhale shakily. For the first time, you feel infinitely selfish for only focusing on your own misery without even stopping to give him the benefit of the doubt, to consider the possibility that maybe letting you go wasn’t something he wanted. Maybe he isn’t the antagonist that you spent years making him out to be.

There’s more to it, and you need to know.

“Then why did you leave me?”

Graduation was just shy of a month ago, and two weeks before that was Hoseok’s flight when he left you all behind.

You and Jungkook, along with Taehyung and Jimin had gone to see him off at the airport. Of course you did, you were his best of friends after all. The goodbye was full of jokes accompanied by sniffles, and tears that overflowed without permission because you all agreed that you would hold yourself together for Hoseok. Jimin was probably the one who cried the most, even though inside, you were equally sad to see your friend leave.

A part of your life was ending, and that in and of itself was depressing enough already, but you thought at least the whole group would still be together and start the next chapter by each other’s side.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t the end of the world. All of you could still make it work, even if it wasn’t the most ideal of situations. You promised to keep in touch, promised to message the group chat every day and have video calls every weekend. You were still kids, and kids tend to be optimistic like that.

What none of you could see coming was how everything would fall apart in a matter of mere weeks.

Jungkook thinks that decades from now, when he’s old and gray and helpless, he still won’t be able to forget that day.

He should’ve been more concerned when your mother contacted him out of nowhere, asking him to meet with her, asking him not to let you know where he was going.

He’d shown up half an hour early to the cafe where they were supposed to meet, just because he didn’t want to risk being late and have your mother disapprove of him even more. Not once had she expressed anything other than disdain toward your relationship, but you’d always told him it didn’t matter, that you were the only person who could decide what to do with your life, not anyone else, let alone your mother. He always believed you back then, even if deep down, he still wanted her to see that he was enough for you. Her unattainable approval still mattered to him.

Jungkook spent thirty whole minutes running on nothing but anxiety and caffeine. That was probably his first mistake, ordering a cup of coffee which only made him more nervous than he already was.

When your mother arrived, it barely took her any time at all to get right into what she came here to say. She hadn’t even bothered with a drink.

Was that how it was always going to end? Should he have seen it coming from the beginning? Was he the only one who thought it would be you and him all the way until the very end?

Maybe he was more of a hopeless romantic than he thought.

It was the way she had called him a phase that she hoped you’d grow out of. That she had let you keep this relationship for long enough, but now that you’d graduated - now that you’d be starting a life for yourself - she couldn’t sit back and watch you throw it all away for a boy who could never give you what you deserved.

It was the way she told him she didn’t want history to repeat itself. How she didn’t want to subject you to the same fate that she and your father had to suffer through. How she had left your dad because in the end, he wasn’t enough for her and you, even though you were a child and you deserved to grow up with a father and with love.

She said the same thing would happen to you and Jungkook, because you were meant for greater things and he was not meant to deserve you. She made it clear that he would always hold you back, that he would never amount to even a fraction of what you should receive in life.

“If you love her, you would let her go.”

Cliché, right? Like the kind of stuff you only ever see in movies? Well, movies have to take inspiration from somewhere.

He thought about his own mother then, and about how people could have such different ways of showing love. He believed that your mother loved you, and he still believes that. She wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of seeing him if she didn’t care about you. She wanted the best for you, and that wasn’t him.

She didn’t have to tell him to keep it a secret from you, because he wouldn’t have told you regardless. He was well aware of how strained your relationship with your mother was, and letting you know would only drive it closer to the edge. She knew he wouldn’t tell you. He loved you, and that was the one thing that she could count on.

Just sitting there in that café, Jungkook felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room, even though he was surrounded by the other patrons and their lively laughter as they chatted away. The pitiful way that your mother kept looking at him forced him to learn what it was like to feel truly worthless.

The pity in her eyes only intensified when he couldn’t even say a single word in response, couldn’t think of anything to defend himself.

Silence meant agreement, and that was what he chose. Jungkook - the naive boy that he was - stopped believing in you. He’d believed her instead.

He was just a kid, what else was he supposed to do? 

She was your own flesh and blood, and he knew nothing could ever replace that. He would rather let you hate him, resent him for the rest of your life, than let you lose your family.

That day, he lied to you for the first time ever, saying he couldn’t come over because he was tired. The sunflowers he bought for you just hours prior ended up dying on his windowsill.

He wouldn’t see you again for a few more days, then for months afterward.

July was supposed to represent a blossoming summer, but all he could remember was the dreadful promise of a winter that would inevitably come.

You call his name when he takes too long to answer. “Tell me.”

“I love you,” he merely says. His hand brushes your cheek.

You frown, despite the way the three words make your chest tingle.

“I love you,” he says it again, trying to ease the furrow between your brows.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is soft, barely even audible, but it’s this gentleness that makes his words ricochet, ringing in your ears loudly like a gun going off in the quiet of your room.

Again with the apologies.

Fuck this.

It’s hard to take it to heart when you don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

You gave Jungkook the chance to explain himself, but if he doesn’t take it, then that’s not on you. There isn’t much else that you can do.

You swallow hard, then shove him off of you so you could get out of the bed. Your legs instantly tremble as you attempt to stand, but you soldier on as you put on your bra and underwear, then grab your dress from where it lays abandoned on the floor. You’re shaking, but it’s difficult to determine if it’s because you’re angry, or cold without his warmth nearby.

He’s quick to his feet too, rushing toward you before you could leave.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss when he reaches for your arm. He doesn’t listen, because when has Jeon Jungkook ever fucking listened?

“Y/N, wait-”

“Wait for what?! I asked you a simple question and you can’t even answer me.”

He runs a hand over his face frustratedly, clearly torn over something. He holds your angered gaze, but the way he looks at you is much milder, gentler even if it’s equally frustrated. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You don’t know if it’s the wrong answer or not. You just know that in this moment, it irritates you to no end.

“Oh my god,” you gasp mockingly. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

“What?”

“Someone is trying to kill me. Someone is waiting outside that door right now, waiting for me to come out so they can kill me. Holy fucking shit, I’m about to be assassinated.”

“Y/N, I’m serious.”

There’s that burning sensation behind your eyes again. “And you think I’m not? What do you mean you’re trying to protect me? Protect me from what? Do you think this is a fucking k-drama? Jesus Christ,” you scoff harshly. “What do you want from me? What the actual fuck do you want?”

Jungkook aims for you again, and in an attempt to ward him off, your swinging fist inadvertently collides with his chest. The dress falls to the floor again, laying next to your feet, that useless piece of fabric.

It probably doesn’t do much damage to him, but he’s a bit startled regardless. So are you, if you’re being honest. But you do it again, and surprisingly, he lets you.

“You coward.” You shove hard at his chest, making him stumble backward. “You unbelievable asshole. You fucked me, you said you loved me, and you still can’t tell me why you left me.” 

He allows you to push him until his back is pressed against the wall. And even then, you don’t relent. Your fists continue beating against his chest as you start sobbing, spilling ‘I hate you’s in between so many expletives it could make his grandmother faint.

He might bruise in the morning.

You hope he bruises in the morning.

The least Jungkook could do is bruise for you.

You want him to curse him out for so many things - for loving you, for leaving you, for not even having the balls to tell you why he broke your heart. For coming back to remind you that you still love him. For proving that he still has you in the palm of his hands, and every twitch of his finger can make you feel like the walls are crumbling down on you.

But even as you tell him how much you hate him, you’re still thinking: Come back. I don’t want to keep losing you. Come back to me.

Because he’s the only person who can hurt you like this. When you think about him, it used to make you so depressed that you could hardly function. There’s no other way to put it to make it sound less pathetic. That’s just how it is.

You shouldn’t have agreed to this weekend, shouldn’t have been nice to him, shouldn’t have let him convince you not to think about it. You shouldn’t have opened the door for him in the first place, because there was always a part of you that knew he could get under your skin so easily just like that.

This wasn’t your second chance at holding onto him. It wasn’t a do-over. It was a re-enactment.

The years haven’t made you wiser, that much is clear.

You don’t know how long this goes on for, but at some point, you begin to wear yourself out. Your movements start to slow and the energy to violently sob leaves your body until you’re nearly collapsing. Jungkook catches you when you don’t have the strength to hold yourself up anymore. Why are you always so fucking helpless?

“You just…” Your voice gets caught at the end of a sob. This is rock bottom all over again. “You make me so sad.”

You grasp his arm weakly, feeling like your own lungs are failing you. You can’t breathe. It’s too much, too infinitely humiliating. He’s doing this to you again, and this time you have to shoulder most of the blame, because you are the one that enabled your own heartbreak for the second time.

You’re still crying, and you hate that this is the first time he’s ever seen you cry like this.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he says firmly, looking at you like he’s trying so hard not to break down alongside you. “Please, I’m so sorry.” The words come out as a whisper now. You can feel the tremble in his voice and the shake of his hands where they hold you. His big bambi eyes - the usual home of constellations - now house tears that threaten to spill onto his supple cheeks. “Please. What can I do to make you believe me?”

It’s those stupid fucking eyes. It’s your stupid fucking self.

“You need to tell me.” Your tears keep on falling no matter how much he tries to wipe them away. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“It’ll make things worse,” he tells you, his voice cracking as he does. He sounds like he means it, and maybe he does believe that whatever he’s hiding from you will only hurt you more. It almost has you caving, but you can’t do this a second time. You’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally. In the morning, you’ll think about how this is all so dramatic, the way you’re acting right now. The most k-drama-esque thing that has ever happened to you. But in the moment, you just feel like someone plunged a knife in your chest, and they keep twisting it, twisting and twisting,...

In the end, you decide that it’s a risk you’ll have to take, because nothing can be more painful than the absolute hell he’s putting you through. He’ll never understand how utterly excruciating it is to experience this kind of heartbreak.

“If you don’t tell me now, I won’t be able to survive you again.”

up next...

our beloved summer (08) ⏤ aka the JK centric chapter

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted september 30, 2023]

[benedictscanvas]

be still, my foolish heart [1] - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

series warnings: lots of language throughout, some allusions to smut but nothing explicit, a LOT of fucking fluff mostly ngl

a/n: eeeek i have been furiously writing this the last few days and now that a few chapters are done i'm desperate to share. chapters will be out regularly, every couple of days or so. really hope you lot enjoy this one, i'm so grateful for all the recent love <3

series summary: when jamie gets called up to the england team for the first time, he's terrified. enter you, all smiles and swearing, and suddenly his only fear is falling head over boots for you.

next chapter | series masterlist

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chapter one: to be alone with you

Jamie hadn’t found himself this nervous in quite a while. He’d been worried when he came back to Richmond of course - trying to prove to his team that he’d changed, that he was there for the right reasons, was a challenge. But he’d overcome it and now he had a family for the rest of his life. He thought very little could make him properly nervous anymore.

That was until he was sat in his childhood home, clutching his mum for dear life as they waited for the England team to be officially announced, refreshing the page over and over and over again on his phone. When it appeared at 2pm like clockwork and his eyes scanned the list of forwards only to find the name Jamie Tartt as clear as day, he was up in a moment, him and his mum screaming as they hugged each other and bounced around the room.

It had been the same at Richmond the next day, the congratulations coming thick and fast. He was overwhelmed and excited and eager to chat to every single person who’d listen to him about his dream coming true, but the nerves only kicked in when he was sat in a car with tinted windows a couple of weeks later, arriving at the training ground for his first ever training sessions, which would turn into his first ever England matches in just a few weeks time.

He didn’t know anyone here apart from a few Manchester City players who he had never said goodbye to, so he had no idea what they’d think of him. Sometimes, on a not-so-good day, his mind would wander to the idea of his old City mates laughing together about the shit he’d gotten up to the night before on Lust Conquers All. He hated thinking about it. He knew seeing their faces again would make him think about it more.

It had only been a few days but he missed Sam. Isaac and Colin and Beard and Ted and Keeley and Roy. Roy would have something so simultaneously horrible and inspiring to say to him right now. Richmond had become such a family, it was difficult to imagine playing football with anyone else.

“This is it, Mr Tartt,” the driver says, and that makes him feel even worse because Mr Tartt is his dad and he is not his dad. He hadn’t even realised they’d pulled into a car park.

“Just Jamie, yeah?” he says rather than running away as he gets out of the car. The man smiled, passed him the suitcase that had been sat in the boot of the car and drove off without a word. Now he was really alone.

He pulled his headphones from around his neck and placed them on his head, putting the playlist that the boys had curated for him back on. Ted had made everyone make a playlist for the boys on international duty over the summer, ‘somethin’ to remind you of home’, he’d said, and Jamie had honestly thought it was weird.

Now he was listening to ‘Adventure of a Lifetime’ by Coldplay, added to the playlist by none other than Ted himself, and he had to admit - it was catchy. And it reminded him of home.

He looked around for the entrance and spotted one other young man who he recognised from Liverpool making his way in at an entrance to his left, so he made a beeline for it.

He was just reaching the doors when a woman leaned into his eyeline just enough to catch his attention, just ahead of the doors. He was quick to tear the headphones from his head to avoid looking rude - it was his worst fear.

“Sorry, did ya say somethin’?” he asked, trying to wear a bright smile even if he knew it would come off a little worn. You appeared unphased, wearing a far brighter grin that he knew he could ever manage. It was warm; you were warm. And incredibly pretty, even though he was less keen on how quickly he noticed that.

“I tried to tell them that this whole thing would be a bit awkward when you had headphones on,” you said, and as he stepped closer to have a conversation, it was easier to notice that you were actually quite flustered, the bright grin masking some embarrassment, “I’m part of the PR team, we’re just doing some content for the Instagram. Ask the players what music they’re listening to when they walk in, people go crazy for it. If you’re trying to become the summer’s heartthrob, I recommend saying Taylor Swift.”

“They’re supposed to tell the truth!” a man beside you piped up, all nasal, but Jamie barely spared him a glance. He was still a little caught up in how pretty you really were the closer he got. You were very fucking pretty now that he was a couple of metres away, leaning on the handle of his suitcase. He scolded himself for even thinking about flirting with you.

You, now looking at the man who’d spoken as if you’d just remembered he was there. You cleared your throat.

“No, I know, sorry. I was just fucking with you,” you confirmed, turning back to Jamie, then wincing, “Playing with you, I mean. I swear I’m a very professional person and I don’t swear that much. At work.”

Jamie only realised a few moments into the silence that you were waiting for him to speak. He could feel the heat in his cheeks he had been desperate to keep at bay.

“I swear all the time,” he said, already kicking himself for how stupid that sounded, “Work or no work. Swear as much as you fuckin’ like.”

He can see at least a bit of your embarrassment leaking away, so maybe it hadn’t been such a stupid thing to say after all.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, head tilted in a way Jamie can only describe as fuckin’ adorable. All too quickly, you seem to snap back into work mode, “Anyway, Brian’s right. The truth would be preferable, but if the truth is Taylor Swift, good for you! Any chance you’d be willing to walk backwards a bit, then pretend to do this again for the camera?”

You had the decency to look embarrassed, again, to be asking, but he was quite sure he’d do whatever you wanted him to with those wide, pleading eyes of yours. Just the little kindness you’d provided had washed away a lot of the deep-seated fear he’d been feeling just moments prior. He’d do what he could to repay the favour.

“Yeah, ‘course, whatever you need. Just walk up, pretend I hear your question with me headphones on and then…answer?”

“You’re a natural, Jamie Tartt,” you offer up, signalling who he assumed was Brian to raise his camera back up and get ready. He can’t help himself, just like with his driver, although this time he hopes he won’t get blanked.

“Just Jamie, eh? Less syllables, an’ that.”

You nod and almost look impressed, but he can’t imagine why.

“I’m almost sure Just Jamie is the same number of syllables as Jamie Tartt actually,” you argue, and he almost thinks you’re serious until you break out in that big, bright grin again and he feels like he’s 16, “Sorry. Fucking with you again. You can call me Just Y/N if you like.”

Y/N. Suits you, he thinks. Almost as much as that shade of blue does, all rich and Richmond-esque. He’s sure he’s got a team shirt somewhere that matches that exact colour.

“It’s nice meeting ya, Just Y/N,” he says, then realises how much he’s smiling and needs to do something about it, “And you, Brian. It’s great to be ‘ere, actually, just in general like.”

You nod, kind. Brian does a signal Jamie doesn’t understand, but he walks back a few paces anyway and puts his headphones back on. This time, when you step forward to stop him, he knows what you’ve asked without hearing it and takes his headphones off with a genuine smile at you.

“Oh, this?” he says, making sure he doesn’t smirk when you giggle behind the camera at his acting, “Whole Richmond gang made a playlist for us international lot. Ted, the gaffer, he put a lot of inspirational stuff, you know? Right now it’s Adventure of a Lifetime, the one by Coldplay.”

He’s not sure if he’s meant to say all that or just say the name of the song, and he’s ready to ask if he should start over before Brian signals that he’s cut the camera and you’re gaping at him.

“Okay, I know I put it in your head that you could lie, but you’re actually telling the truth, right?”

Brian scoffs. The prick within Jamie wishes Brian didn’t exist.

“That was worse than just saying Taylor Swift to impress girls,” he mutters, and you make a face that only Jamie sees. You don’t like Brian either and he already likes having something in common with you.

“I know you think that music went downhill after the 1960s, Brian, but no need to take it out on literally everyone who comes through here today. We’re meant to be a fun greeting crew! Why don’t you go get a snickers or something?”

Brian looked disgruntled throughout your speech until you suggested a snickers - clearly the way to the man’s heart. He was turning and speed-walking to the what Jamie assumed was the nearest vending machine in no time.

Now you were pretty and assertive. A deadly combination in Jamie’s eyes, particularly when paired with the fact that he was now pretty sure you were Brian’s boss. You were staring after Brian reproachfully, with a bit of that embarrassment back that Jamie was desperate to rid you of.

“Uh, it was true, by the way,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I can go again if you don’t want me to say that much, or-“

“No! No no, that was-“ you shake your head in a disbelief he doesn’t understand, “Brian’s been like this forever. Please don’t take it personally. I’ve been trying not to all morning.”

“It’s okay, really,” he tries to reassure you, “He works for you?”

He can see the smirk that you try to hide. It’s endearing.

“No, not technically. I like that you think so, though,” you smile, a real one again, just as he’d hoped, “I don’t normally work with Brian, he’s usually a match cameraman, not so much PR. I was just a woman down today.”

Jamie leans in, all conspiratorial, because he simply cannot help it.

“You pulled the small straw, huh?”

You giggle a little and he can feel himself puffing up with pride.

“Short straw, you mean?” you laugh, and some of that pride deflates in his chest. He could have sworn it was small, “Either way, yes. Very much so. I’ll be glad when Tiff’s back at it.”

“So when ya said that you were part of the PR team…you actually meant that y’ run it, right?”

“Guilty. What gave me away?”

“Just an air about ya,” Jamie says, because he doesn’t have a fucking clue what to say. You seem to like his answer, ducking your head a little in a way that’s driving Jamie to distraction, so he decides he’s definitely getting in over his head here. He’d already decided he was not going to flirt. It was a terrible idea, “Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of y’ time. Are y’ sure me bit was okay?”

You look startled at the mention of how much time he’s taken up, like you haven’t even thought about it. Soon enough, that ducked head is gone, replaced by the shoulders back, head up attitude that you’d greeted him with, the one that had told him you were in charge. Professional. He couldn’t decide which version he liked more.

“It was perfect, they’ll love it. Such a great story, even better that it’s true,” you confirm, then you add, like you’ve been holding it in, “Richmond ‘til we die, right?”

He actually feels his heart skip, just for a moment: a moment that tells him he’s absolutely fucked. You look like you’ve just told him the biggest secret of the century and he can’t help but believe you. 

“You-“ he’s too breathy, has to cough to correct himself, “You’re a Richmond fan? Or do ya have to say that to all of us?”

“I’m not supposed to say that to any of you,” you grin, “We’re supposed to keep club level allegiances to ourselves. We’re all one England team and all that. But, you know, star striker tells you the most adorable story about your hometown club, it’s pretty hard not to tell them. Think you can keep it to yourself?”

He’d definitely do whatever you asked of him right now. He wants to go and call Keeley right away, but he already knows what she’ll say. Bad idea: wrong place, wrong time, wrong woman. She’d be right. He shakes aside all thoughts of any harmless flirting with the exceedingly kind, exceedingly pretty Richmond fan. 

“Me lips are sealed,” he says, and he mimes it. He even throws the invisible key in your direction and watches you pretend to struggle to catch it, then mime swallowing it yourself. You finish with a rather convincing gulp then nod at him, like you've just entered a blood pact. He nods back, matching the serious energy.

“Enjoy England camp, Just Jamie,” you say, still with an air of fake seriousness the two of you are keeping up. He wants to shake your hand, continue to play pretend, but there’s the sound of a suitcase behind him and he knows you have work to do. He hopes you don’t like anyone's music choice more than his.

“See ya around, Just Y/N.”

You both nod again and it’s getting a bit stupid now but the two of you seem to want to keep it up. He tries ever so hard not to look back at you once he’s inside, and he almost manages it until he hears you talking to the next arrival. He turns to see you in full professional flow…

With two of his old City teammates.

It’s a bucket of cold water over his head. One pretty girl to greet him and he’s managed to use it as a distraction, a way of forgetting all his doubts, worries, fears. Seeing the two City guys brings them back full force, so he glances back at you once more, then turns to delve further into the training complex, hoping to find another face as friendly as yours.

There’s a voice in his head telling him that would be impossible, but he doesn’t want to listen to it right now.

---

if you got this far, i fucking love you <3 oneshot/drabble requests remain open for sexy little jamie tartt and his grumpy bestie roy!!

[lookninjas]

Pick a Song From a Bad Description

The "It's about to be my birthday" version!

Pick a song from a bad description! You do not have to recognize any of the songs to choose them (although I actually genuinely want your guesses for the time signature one to add to my collection of songs with weird time signatures -- just throwing that out there). Go with whatever description sounds funniest. Whatever fits your current mood. Roll a d12, maybe. Just pick something.

At the end of the week, I will make a playlist out of all the songs, going in order from the song with the least number of votes to the song with the highest number of votes. If you would like to hear the playlist, leave a comment or put it in the tags when you reblog. And if you really want to know what the hell "CHOO CHOO MOTHERFUCKER" (or any of the other songs are), and you don't want to wait, shoot me an ask and I'll answer.

And please reblog the post! Not just because it's about to be my birthday (did I mention -- my birthday's coming up), but also because I really just want to encourage people to listen to fun and enjoyable bands and this is how I do that. And the more people that reblog the post, the more people will see it and get curious, and then we will all be listening to fun and enjoyable bands.

And that's fun! And enjoyable.

That's all. See you in a week.

[eddiexmunsonlover-archive]

Chapter 1

(Eddie Munson x PlusSize!Fem!Reader)

Follow my new blog for future chapters & fics @eddiexmunsonlover

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WC: 2.8k Warnings: MDNI. Explicit language used. Parental alcohol abuse, toxic family relationships, and bullying mentioned. Author's Note: This first chapter is on the shorter side as it is mainly set-up, and provides a lot of information on Reader's background and friendships with other main characters.

Sunday, September 15th, 1985

The warm September air engulfs your face, blowing through your hair as the familiar streets of Hawkins pass by. Sitting in the passenger seat, head leaning against the door frame, and Led Zeppelin playing on a cassette tape as your mom drives the route home. Your new, and old home. It still didn’t feel quite real that you were back here, not so soon, and not to stay. Though you weren’t born there, Hawkins has always been the place you think of when you hear ‘home’. It wasn’t just the town or the trailer you’d lived in, but the people here that you held the fondest memories of in your heart and formed the deepest bonds you’ve ever had with anyone.

You were born in Virginia, and lived there until you were 8 years old. Until Dad’s drinking led him to lose yet another job, leaving your mother at a loss for what to do. She was smart and skilled, but didn’t make nearly enough money to support the family at the time. Her sister, Aunt Patty, encouraged your family to move out to where she lived in Hawkins, Indiana. Maybe a big move and change of pace was just what your family needed, she suggested. So, the summer before the start of 4th grade in 1976, your family made the move to the Forest Hills Trailer Park in Hawkins, Indiana. Your uncle helped your dad get a job with him doing construction, while your mother managed to find a decent paying receptionist job. 

Your home life wasn’t great. Your parent’s relationship was tumultuous at best, largely due to your father’s drinking problems. You and your mother at times were the best of friends, other times she made you feel like you were never good enough to meet her standards, whether it was with your weight, your grades, or how you dressed. Your school life had never been great either, and that didn’t change in Hawkins. You occasionally dealt with bullies that liked to make fat jokes, but it wasn’t all bad, you also formed some good, solid friendships too. 

Meanwhile, the issues at home and with your parents’ marriage only intensified after the move. After 6 years in Hawkins, your mom had finally had enough of your dad’s bullshit, kicking him out and planning to divorce him. A couple days later, he landed in Jail for a DUI, his 3rd one to be specific. A week after that, 3 months into your 10th grade year in late 1982, a UHAUL was packed up with all your belongings, moving your mom and you back to Virginia to stay with family. 

While the events of your home and school life were sometimes painful, you were grateful that they led you to seek out music for comfort and coping. Music is the love of your life, and what you always turn to when life and your thoughts feel like it’s just too much to bear. It started with the classics that your family raised you on, from Patsy Cline to Jimi Hendrix to Lynyrd Skynyrd to Johnny Cash. You loved all kinds of music, expanding your taste and catalog to a huge variety throughout the years, even beginning to work odd jobs in your early teens to fund your musical exploration. Music wasn’t just a way for you to escape, but became a way to express yourself as well. You learned how to play guitar and bass, and began songwriting as well as a means of emotional release and self-expression. It was the only thing that kept you sane through your life transitions, especially during the years living in Hawkins when problems at home intensified. Music, and him… Eddie Munson.

*Oh, all of my love, all of my love

Oh, all of my love to you…*

Your chest tightened as your thoughts inevitably went to him, how could they not? You tried your best to steer your mind away from him during the move back to Hawkins, but it was pointless. Eddie had been your best friend all those years you lived here, some of the hardest years of your life. Honestly, he was the best friend you’ve ever had. You liked to think you were the same for him, at least then. Your trailer was right across the street from Eddie’s Uncle Wayne’s trailer, Eddie oftentimes staying with Wayne for weeks or months at a time whenever Al Munson disappeared on a bender, some crime scheme, or his stints in jail. Though, you didn’t end up meeting Eddie until a few months after you moved and started 4th grade at Hawkins Elementary. 

A soft smile creeps across your face as you remember 5th grade Eddie, coming to your rescue when you tripped in the hallway at school, other students standing around and laughing at you. Your 9 year old self was mortified, so embarrassed, until Eddie appeared and told them all where they could shove it, effectively clearing the halls of students and helping you up. From then on, anytime he was at Wayne’s you two would hang out; playing make believe in the woods next to the trailer park, Eddie teaching you how to play DnD, sharing books, music, and watching scary movies. You two bonded over your pain caused by your family and Hawkins’ residents who’d branded you as outcasts. You both harbored a lot of pain and anger, sharing a love for metal music as the perfect cathartic release for those emotions. You’d become so close over the years. You often missed him during the times you didn’t get to see him as much, like whenever his Dad returned home and he wasn’t at Wayne’s as much, or when he moved on to middle and high school, being a grade ahead of you. Your friendship remained strong during those times regardless. 

But all of that is in the past. He was your best friend… though in your heart he still is, and always will be.

*I get a little bit lonely, just a little, just a little

Just a little bit lonely, just a little bit lonely*

You sigh as the song comes to an end and the sign for Forest Hills Trailer Park came into view. You hold your breath as your mother turns onto your road, Uncle Wayne’s trailer and yours coming into view. You don’t know why you feel anxious, Eddie would have graduated in ‘84, and likely gotten the hell out of Hawkins as soon as he could. Probably out in LA trying to make a name for himself in the music industry. You shook the thoughts from your head, noting the unfamiliar van in Wayne’s driveway as your mother pulled into your own across the street.

She sighs as she puts the car into park next to yours, a black ‘81 Chevy C10 truck that your father so generously gifted you upon hearing of your return to Hawkins. It’s the LEAST he could do. Your mother looked at you with a small smile, “Home sweet home”. You return her smile before both exiting her station wagon and begin unloading the last of your belongings. Your mom and you had already been back in Hawkins for a few days, staying with your Aunt Patty while coming to the trailer everyday to deep clean before moving back in. You could only assume your Dad had hit a rough patch when you heard he was being evicted from the trailer, missing a few rent payments. Around the same time back in Virginia as you were starting your senior year, your mom got laid off from her job. An old coworker from Hawkins then just so happened to tell her about an open position at her new job in Indianapolis, one that paid more than either of your Mom’s old jobs in Hawkins or Virginia. When she heard about your dad, it was decided, circumstances aligning perfectly. Upend your life and move back to Hawkins, again. You can’t say you were really upset about it, Hawkins has been home for you since that fateful day in 4th grade.

~

Eddie groaned in frustration. Searching his vest pockets, under his blanket, on any flat surface in his room for his goddamn cigarettes, patience quickly wearing thin. He huffed, looking along the floor of his room, around dirty and clean clothes thrown about until he saw the familiar package peeking out from under his bed. “There you areeee” a cheeky smile adorning his face as he grabbed it from the floor, swiftly removing a cigarette and putting it between his lips. He sat down on a chair he had propped next to the open window in his room as he lit the cigarette, taking a puff before looking out his window. Eyes landing on what appeared to be new neighbors moving into the trailer across the street. Your trailer. Wayne had told him about your dad, a small voice of hope in the back of his head wondered if you’d come back. A voice he’d quickly squashed. It’s been nearly 3 years since you’d left, and though he knew better than to think the thoughts of you would ever stop popping into his head, that certainly didn’t stop him from trying to keep them at bay.

Taking another puff from his cigarette, his attention was captured by the girl he saw across the street. Her back to him as she looks into the trunk of the station wagon in the driveway. He unashamedly lets his eyes take her in. Short, thick, curvy. Black shorts, cropped tank top, hair up in a messy bun. She didn’t look like most of the girls in Hawkins or in the magazines… and he liked, no, loved that. He couldn’t help but notice how much her body resembled yours, or atleast how he’d imagined it’d look now after the few years. He watched as she started to squat to lift a tv console out of the trunk. Being the gentleman his Uncle Wayne raised him to be, he was about to sprint over; introduce himself and help her, knowing how damn heavy those fuckers could be. Just as the thought passed his mind, she lifts it almost effortlessly, his eyes practically bulging from his head. He wasn’t expecting that to turn him on so much, but goddamn. He admires the thick arms and legs exerting that strength, unable to not notice the pronounced curve of her ass as she climbed the steps into the trailer. 

Before he could pop a semi, a burning sensation on his thigh grabs his attention. The cherry from his cigarette falling into his lap as he drooled over his new neighbor like a virgin.

“Shit, Jesus H. Christ!” he grimaces, stomping out the cherry just as the telephone begins to ring. Groaning, he rose to his feet, nearly tripping over the clothes on his floor as he stomps down the hall. 

“Yeah, what?” he answered unceremoniously, greeted by Jeff’s voice reminding Eddie to pick him up on his way to band practice at Gareth’s. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m on my way” Eddie hung up the phone, dramatically exhaling as he turned back to his room to grab his sweetheart, and his van keys off the counter before leaving the trailer. He glanced across the street as he descended the porch steps, hoping to catch another glimpse of the new neighbor only to be disappointed as the trailer door was closed, with no one outside. 

~

You sigh, dropping the last box of your belongings on your stripped bed, glancing around at your bare bedroom, deciding on where to start. You rummage through one of your boxes, finding your radio and setting it on your dresser. You press play on the cassette you’d titled Chill Mix #3, smiling as All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix began playing. You decide to start on the biggest feat, unpacking and putting away all your clothes. You let your mind focus on your task and the sound of the music as you move, singing along to each passing song. It was only a matter of time before thoughts and images of him slipped through the barrier, being back in the exact place that held so many memories of him and your friendship. It made your stomach turn and a lump form in your throat. You attempt to cough it away, forcing yourself to think of your other friends here in Hawkins you were excited to see again. The toothy, goofy smile of one of your youngster friends, Dustin Henderson popped into your head, effectively putting a smile on your face.

You’d known Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will for a couple years now. First meeting Will through his mother Joyce, who was good friends with your mom. It’d started sometime when you were in middle school, going over to Joyce’s to hang out with Jonathan and Will while your moms’ went out to shop and vent about their relationship issues. The other boys showing up a handful of those times turned into Dustin’s mom and Lucas’s parents asking you to babysit in the summer months, which often turned into babysitting all the boys at the same time.

The boys and Erica came to view you as an older sister figure, and them, your sometimes annoying but loveable younger siblings. The same quickly became true for the newer member of the party Max, over your visit to Hawkins this summer. Taking a liking to you as the ‘cool’ older girl the boys often spoke of and hung out with. Though you were flattered but dismissive of the ‘cool’ label, you learned quickly that like you, Max didn’t give a damn about societal ideals of ‘cool’ and what or who a young woman should be. They were freshman this year at Hawkins High, one of the few positives you looked forward to starting your senior year here.

As you move on to hanging up your posters and decorations, you think about your other, newer friends, Steve and Robin. To be fair, Robin wasn’t exactly a new friend, you’d met her in school when previously living in Hawkins, but were never more than casual, friendly acquaintances. Steve, on the other hand, you never expected to become friends with before this past summer. You’d visited Hawkins every summer since you’d moved back to Virginia; staying with your Aunt Patty, babysitting, spending time with the kids, your cousins and your Dad.

When you came to visit this summer in May, you’d picked up a job working at Scoops Ahoy with Robin and Steve. Your once casual friendship with Robin blossomed into a close one, both taking pleasure in teasing Steve day after day, watching him fail in his attempts to pick up girls after his break-up with Nancy and declining position in the social hierarchy of Hawkins. You were surprised to witness the change in Steve’s character from the Steve you knew of through middle and early high school, into someone actually likable. When Robin confessed her sexual identity to you two, it marked a milestone in you three’s friendship, along with the events of the mall fire that happened soon after. You three were nearly inseparable for the remainder of the summer after, until August rolled around and it was time for you to go back to Virginia. Robin was the first friend you called when you learned about your return back to Hawkins. Thrilled to go through her Senior year with you, considering Steve graduated this past May.

A few hours after you’d started and the sky now dark outside, you sigh loudly laying back on your bed as you finally finished putting away and organizing all your belongings. Looking around your room, you feel a wave of comfort hit you. Your room has always been your safe space, and it just feels… looks so right here in this room, compared to your room of the past 3 years in Virginia. Even with all the new decorations and posters you’d acquired since you last lived in this room years ago. You feel a sense of hope overtake your thoughts. Maybe this year things will finally work out and go right for you, feel right for you, for the first time in years. You let those thoughts linger as you walk out into the kitchen, deciding to make a sandwich for dinner. Feeling the exhaustion from the last week of moving weigh on your body, you kiss your mother goodnight, and take a relaxing shower before crawling into bed. You let the songs playing on the local ‘soft rock’ radio station lull you as exhaustion overtakes you. As you fall asleep, you cling onto that hopeful, comforting feeling before your first day back at Hawkins High tomorrow.

[nataliesfirefly]

You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F! Reader - Part 8

a/n: heyy loves! if you’ve stuck around for all 8 parts, thank you SOOO much. writing this series and receiving so many kind comments and love has really made the past month and a half so enjoyable. i cant believe i’m concluding my first fic already!! it’s been so fun and i definitely want to write more. shoutout to my friend @avessss who encouraged me to start posting even though i was really nervous. i couldn’t have done it without her 💕 but anyways enjoy the last chapter! not sure when i will post next but until then… message me, give suggestions, etc!! love you all SOO much 💌

word count: 4.6k words

masterlist

playlist

warnings: MDNI 18+, afab reader, smut, oral (reader receiving), p in v, making out, language, angst for like one second, FLUFF, mentions of alcohol, not proofread

“A pint, please. Thanks.” You smile at the bartender as you slide forward five pounds. You stand and wait patiently, leaning against the bar as he shuffles away to go fill up a tall glass of beer.

You hear your name being said from next to you. You turn to see a familiar girl with olive skin and long, silky black hair. Your brain takes a few seconds to compute who it is.

“Sasha! Hey,” You grin and she smiles brightly. “Hi. I didn’t know if it was you or not,” She chuckles and you stand there awkwardly, not sure of what to say.

“How’s life?” She asks. “Uhh, good. Can’t complain.” You shrug as the bartender slides you the beer across the counter. You take a sip as she nods.

“Same here. Just a little terrified of the fact that we are going to be seniors in a year,” She runs a hand through her hair with a sigh. “Me too, girl.” You nod in agreement.

“How was your summer?” Sasha asks. You let out a sigh unintentionally before fixing your facial expression.

“It was… good,” You nod slowly, almost trying to convince yourself. “I don’t know if you know but…There’s a rumor going around that you and Farleigh had somewhat of a summer fling,” She winces after she says this.

“Oh God,” You press a hand to your forehead and shake your head. “Who told you that?” You groan.

“I’m assuming it came from Felix. I’m not sure, but I just wanted to tell you…” She places a hand on your shoulder comfortingly. “If you ever need to talk or anything like that, let me know.” She says, her English accent soft and elegant.

She seems almost too nice. You’ve never seen Sasha like this, so it’s hard to believe.

“Thank you.” You dip your head and take another sip of beer. “I know I was never the nicest to you and we were never close, but I’m here for you.” Her hand falls from your shoulder gently.

“I think I was honestly just threatened by you,” She continues. You jerk your head towards her quickly and furrow your eyebrows.

“What? Why?” You scoff as if it’s absurd. “I always had this… gut feeling that he was in love with you or something. He would talk about you nonstop, about how much you annoyed him and how much he ‘hated you.’ I knew better,” She shakes her head.

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry,” You feel bad, suddenly. Like you were the cause of their relationship problems.

“But that whole thing is over now,” You wave your hand dismissively. “He’s an asshole, isn’t he?” You both giggle at her words.

“He is. I can see why you broke up with him,” You nod, feeling no remorse for talking about Farleigh this way. It’s all true. But you also know Sasha had a lot to do with the shitty parts of their relationship.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” She grins and holds up her hand, giving a tiny wave. “Yeah. See you,” You watch her walk away before turning back to your drink, grabbing it and heading to find an empty table.

You sigh, leaning down and fishing your textbook out of your bag. You still have four chapters to read before tomorrow. The first term of your junior year is kicking your ass, even though it’s only October.

Sooner or later, you see Felix walking through the entrance of the pub. You immediately crane your neck to search for any signs of Farleigh, since he usually follows Felix around. But thankfully, he’s not anywhere to be found.

You turn your attention back to your textbook, and when you glance back up, Felix is sitting across from you.

“Hey.” He smiles and you notice the cigarette between his fingers. “Hi. How are you?” You reply, not exactly in the mood to talk to him right now.

“Oh, you know. Just drowning in work,” He sighs and leans back in his chair, throwing his head back slightly.

“You and me both,” You chuckle lightly and close your textbook, knowing you won’t get anything read so long as Felix is here. He leans forward again and takes a drag from his cigarette.

“So…” He starts, trailing off. You raise your eyebrows. “So?”

“Are you and Farleigh ever going to make up?” He asks suddenly. You cough, surprised by the abrupt question.

“No.” You shake your head. “Don’t even try it, Felix.” You roll your eyes and he groans. “Please, we don’t even get to hang out much anymore because you’re avoiding him,” He whines.

“Then just… arrange a time to hang out with me when Farleigh isn’t there.” You grimace at the feeling of his name in your mouth. Felix facepalms. “C’mon. Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but…”

“It sounds like you think you know what happened.” You narrow your eyes and he seems confused. “What?” He tilts his head.

“Lola told me you’re spreading rumors. Like, that Farleigh and I had some fling over the summer,” You explain, and he glances down like he’s been caught, before looking back up with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“What, you thought no one would hear you two fucking at one in the morning? You guys were so loud, it’s like you wanted to be caught,” He chuckles and shakes his head. Your face burns beet red with embarrassment.

“I don’t judge you for it. I just didn’t expect it,” He says. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean you go telling everyone about it,” You reply.

“I didn’t mean to. I told one person in confidence.” Felix says. “You know you can’t trust these people to keep things to themselves,” You shake your head in disappointment.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But I think Farleigh really wants to talk to you.” He says, his tone persuasive and you immediately cringe.

“I’m not talking to him. Nothing will come of it,” You finish off your beer and set the glass on the table decisively.

“I just don’t want our friendship to be messed up because of this.” He says, sounding a bit sad. You look back up to him and see him glancing down at his lap.

“We’re good. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” It comes off harsher than you meant it to, but Felix doesn’t seem to mind. “I can’t just forgive and forget, you know?”

He nods. “Yeah. Alright, then. Just consider talking to him. I’ll see you later, mate.” He drums his fingers on the table before standing up and walking to the bar. You sigh and decide to pack up your things after checking your watch and seeing the time. It’s getting late.

You stand up and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. You walk out of the pub and down the cobbled streets while looking around and just observing the several groups of students, chatting loudly or laughing. The chilly autumn breeze tosses around crimson and golden leaves.

You go over your plans for the remainder of tonight in your head. You’re going to get back to your dorm, take a shower, then get the rest of your work done. That is, if you don’t procrastinate like you usually do.

You enter your dorm building and then stop in your tracks when you see him standing there, at the bottom of the stairs. It’s like you have a full body reaction to him standing in front of you, sending a chill down your spine and making your stomach churn. He doesn’t speak, he just stares at you. You step forward, walking up the stairs and completely ignoring him. “Can we please talk?” Farleigh calls your name.

“No, we can’t.” You respond, your tone harsh and bitter. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs behind you and you increase your pace, trying to get to your door and unlock it before he can catch up to you. But it’s no use, he’s already standing there behind you.

“Please. Just let me talk to you,” He begs. You shake your head. “Farleigh, I already know how this is going to go. You don’t talk.” You can’t even stand to look at him, even addressing him is difficult after all these months of not speaking.

“I’m going to talk. I swear. Please,” He pleads. “Fine,” You groan with exasperation as you unlock your door, although you’re sort of curious as to what he’s going to say.

He closes the door behind him and you go to sit on the edge of your bed after setting your things down and kicking off your shoes, looking at him expectantly. “Okay, talk.”

“I’m sorry. For everything.” Farleigh says, and it surprisingly sounds sincere. “I’m sorry for being a dick to you all these years. And those things I said at Saltburn, I didn’t mean any of it.” His voice is quiet and he looks down at the ground as he speaks. You blink a few times and take a moment to respond.

“Why would you say those things if you never meant them?” You ask, your own voice timid as you remember all the harsh and cruel words he said to you that one night.

“Did you mean it when you said you hated me and you wished we never met?” He fires back. You bite the inside of your cheek and avoid his gaze as regret washes over you. “...I never said–”

“Yes you did.” It’s silent and the tension in the air is palpable. It seems like you’re both waiting for who is going to speak next, but you aren’t exactly sure what to say.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to apologize when you’ve literally hated me since the day we first met,” You chuckle sarcastically and shake your head. He falls silent, and when you glance back up to him, he looks nervous, like something’s on the tip of his tongue.

“That’s not… exactly true.” He mutters. “I never hated you. I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. That night at Saltburn, when Felix introduced us to each other. I saw you and I just felt… Something just came over me. I’d never felt it before. I mean, I was so captivated by you. I couldn’t sleep that night because I was thinking about you every second. And I was scared. I was so scared. So I was mean to you.”

He lets out a breath after his confession and you stare at him in disbelief. You’re barely processing anything he’s saying. Is this real? You feel like you should pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“And Felix never kept his friends around for long, so I knew I couldn’t get attached to you. I thought you were just passing by and that I would never see you again. But when you came back the next summer, then the next, and then you got into Oxford, I knew I was fucked.

“I just kept pushing my feelings down and instead of dealing with them, I was just… a bitch. I was trying to push you away and I was hoping that would get rid of my feelings. But it didn’t. And I regret it so, so much. I wasted all this time and I was being so stupid. I was just scared of love. I was scared of loving you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you can hear your heart pounding in your chest. You swear you can see tears in his own eyes.

“What about Sasha?” You ask when you finally gather yourself. “Really? You don’t know why I dated Sasha?” He chuckles a bit like it should be obvious. You shake your head no.

“I just needed someone to distract me. I got with all those people to fill the void. I mean, Sasha and I’s relationship was purely based off of sex. And every single time, I pictured that it was you instead of Sasha. I would close my eyes and imagine it was you. I think that was the only way I was able to get off,” He laughs. Your eyes widen at his words and your stomach flips. So that was why he was always moaning like a bitch?

“So when we finally… I freaked out. It was getting too real, and so I pushed you away again. And I said some shitty things.” You blink and a few tears fall. You don’t even know how to describe how you’re feeling right now. So many emotions are building inside of you, and they’re so dense and heavy, you’re not sure how to comprehend them.

“I’m so, so fucking sorry.” Farleigh seems to notice that you’re crying. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m a fucking idiot,”

Before you know it you’re off of your bed, crashing into him and sobbing against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, locking you in a tight embrace and enveloping you in his warmth. Your shoulders shake as you feel all the emotions pouring out of you. He holds you like he’s never going to let go. You don’t want him to let go. Ever.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispers your name into your hair. “I’ll never do that to you again.” He continues muttering these things to you as you let him hold you, melting into the hug.

You look up at him and his brown eyes are illuminated with affection. Something about him is different. He’s softer, unlike his usual cold and teasing personality.

He gently moves some hair out of your face and kisses your forehead, causing you to blush and smile softly.

“Why did we waste so much time when we could have been together?” You ask timidly, more of a rhetorical question. He sighs and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Cause we’re stupid,” He chuckles and you let out a quiet laugh. “It doesn’t matter now. We have the rest of our lives to make up for it,” He grins down at you and you smile against his hand that cups your face. He leans down and you tilt your head up to meet his lips. The kiss you share is slow and sensual, like you’re both trying to savor each other for as long as possible, like you’re making up for all those years of fabricated hatred. You can’t deny that you missed his lips and the way that he kisses, the way his tongue licks into your mouth. He pulls away after a minute.

“But I still feel like I need to make it up to you,” Farleigh’s expression changes and his voice lowers to that familiar deep and gravelly sound. You can see the lust in his eyes and you feel butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“What should I do for you, baby?” His hands snake down to your hips as he lowers himself slowly to the ground until he’s on his knees. Your heart races and you feel chills racing across your skin.

He looks up at you and you swear your knees almost give out from underneath you just at the sight. “Far..” You giggle shyly and feel your face burn red.

His fingers fiddle with the waistband of your skirt, almost teasing you and waiting until you ask him to take it off. But after a moment he’s pulling it down gently, and you step out of it gingerly and nudge it to the side with your foot.

He groans and his hands roam up and down your thighs. “You’re so perfect,” He mumbles as he hooks your lace panties under his fingers and pulls them down as well, almost hurriedly this time like he’s just that eager to eat you out until you’re sobbing for him.

Without any warning or time to prepare, his mouth is already on you, tasting you passionately with his tongue and moaning, the vibrations going straight to your core.

You moan breathlessly, your hand reaching down to tangle in his curly hair for something to ground you, and he seems to like this. He keeps letting out these small, needy whines like he’s the one getting devoured.

Every swirl and flick of his tongue has you whimpering like you’re in pain, your legs feeling unstable and weak. He sucks on your clit and you feel two of his fingers already inching their way inside, curling inside of you deliciously. It’s all too much and your breath has turned into short, high-pitched, desperate huffs.

“Please- Shit, Farleigh,” The third finger he inserts draws a long moan out of you. You don’t care if your neighbors hear you. You’re too lost in the pleasure that he’s giving you, with no drawbacks or regret looming in the future. When you think about how he just confessed his love for you, it only brings you closer to the edge of your beautiful release.

He laps up your slick, his tongue getting dangerously close to your entrance. You gasp for air as his fingers leave, only to be replaced by his tongue. You whine at the new feeling of his tongue deep inside of you, his thumb circling your clit. You feel your climax approaching, threatening to make you crumble and beg for mercy.

A deep and guttural groan leaves him as he continues fucking you with his tongue. “Far, I’m close-“ Your hand twists in his hair and you roll your hips against his face absentmindedly, almost like you’re stuck in a trance.

His tongue slips out of you, his nose nudging against your clit. Then, you’re gone. You feel like you’re floating, like you’re the only two people in the world right now, all your thoughts disappearing as that divine ecstasy shoots through your veins and melts your muscles and your bones.

He stands back up and takes you into his strong arms, cradling you as he brings you over to your bed, with occasional kisses along the way. You both pull away to tear off your clothes. You hurriedly pull off your sweater and your bra and toss them aside, hearing them land somewhere on the floor. Farleigh takes his own shirt off and his jeans, revealing that beautiful body you’ve subconsciously been dreaming of.

“Lay down,” You tell him with some sort of newfound confidence. You’ve never been on top before, but right now you want to pay him back and give him all that you have to offer.

“Mmm,” He hums in response, laying down on your small, twin-sized bed. You climb onto the bed and straddle him, feeling slightly nervous as his hands rest on your hips. You keep your hands on his chest as you grind your hips down onto him, feeling the form of him through his boxers.

He’s rock hard, and it only encourages you to continue to grind against him, rolling your hips smoothly and slowly. He whimpers and grips your hips harder, biting his lip. “Fuck, baby,” He moans, his hips bucking up slightly to meet yours.

You can’t wait anymore. You reach down and maintain eye contact as you slowly pull down his boxers, shuffling them down his legs.

It’s definitely intimidating, but you’re determined to ride him. He looks up at you. “Is this okay?” He asks, his hands returning to your hips. You nod. “Yeah,” You reply before rising up on your knees and adjusting yourself before sinking down onto him.

You wince at the delicious pain as your teeth sink into the plush of your bottom lip, his hands guiding you further down his length. A string of curses leave his lips once his whole cock is inside of you. He definitely missed this.

You place your hands on his chest again as you begin to drag your hips back and forth. He whimpers and whispers your name like a prayer. “That’s it, fuck-“ His grasp on your hips tighten and you can already guess that you’ll have bruises.

You rock your hips back and forth, creating a better pace for the two of you as he thrusts up into you. That pained look crosses his face again as you make eye contact. You’re completely enthralled by the sight of each other, a sheen of sweat forming on both of your foreheads. Your head falls back once you finally find the perfect angle that brings you such satisfaction, your jaw going slack. “Baby,” He begs, breathing heavily.

You feel yourself growing tired from the fast rhythm, and you slow down, still circling your hips on top of him. He seems to sense that you’re growing fatigued, so he flips the two of you over, switching your places. You’re dizzy and caught off guard, but you focus on his eyes as he takes over, slowly thrusting into you with long strokes.

Farleigh reaches down to grab your hand, intertwining your fingers together and holding on tightly. He lowers his head to pepper kisses across your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. He brushes some hair out of your face.

“I love you,” He mutters, his nose rubbing against yours. Your eyes widen at his words and your heart skips a beat. You squeeze his hand weakly and grin.

“I love you too,” You whisper back, feeling tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you so much,” You tell him, and he lets his head fall into the crook of your neck as he moans desperately, his thrusts faltering. Your other hand rests on the top of his head, stroking his curls. You both finish at the same time, whispering each other’s names and more confessions of love. It’s meaningful, beautiful, and sweet. Something you’ve craved but never experienced. That is, until now.

He collapses next to you and eventually pulls out of you, causing you to grunt just a bit. You lay there, your legs entangled with his and his arms around you protectively. He pulls the sheets over the two of you and continues to kiss you slowly with so much passion and affection.

Farleigh pulls away and swipes the tears off your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. You take his hand in yours once again and press your forehead against his.

“I could get used to this,” You whisper with a cheeky grin. He laughs softly. “Really?” He responds sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.

“Really.” You giggle quietly and he presses another kiss to your cheek. “I would consider spending the rest of my life with you,” He shrugs nonchalantly and you can’t seem to stop smiling. You don’t think you’ve ever been this happy in your life.

“You’d consider it? Woah, thanks,” You say with fake awe, gasping. “I’ve been considering it for a while, actually,” He mutters, running his fingers through your hair. “Have you?” You whisper, suddenly feeling sleepy. Everytime he holds you like this, it puts you right to sleep. You feel so safe and loved in his arms.

“Mhm.” His other hand rests on the small of your back and you feel your eyelids growing heavy. “I love you, Farleigh,” You whisper. “I love you too.” He replies, and with that, you drift off to sleep, with no cares or worries in the world, now that you’ve finally solved your problems with Farleigh. You’re so glad you gave him a second chance.

The next morning you wake up to Farleigh pulling you closer to him, nuzzling his head in your chest and groaning. You yawn and glance over to your bedside table, checking the time on your alarm clock. 9:42 AM.

Shit. You forgot about your class. It started at 9:30. Oh well. You groan and let your head fall back onto the pillow, rubbing your forehead.You pat Farleigh’s head, his curls sticking out at awkward angles but still managing to look cute.

You shiver and reach down to pull the duvet over yourself. He stirs at your movement and eventually, his dark brown eyes open.

A grin immediately appears on his face as he looks at you, taking in your appearance. Thank God you hadn’t worn makeup the day before. You were in your natural state, besides the messy hair. He traces his finger along your jawline and you smile, tilting your head.

“Good morning,” He wraps you up in his arms again, desperate to be close to you. His voice is deep and raspy. You’ll never get tired of his morning voice.

“Morning,” You reply, snuggling up to him and breathing in his scent. He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back soothingly.

“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt about waking up next to you?” Farleigh asks. You giggle quietly. “Well, your wish came true,” You reply with a quick raise of your brows.

Suddenly, you remember what Lola said that one night at Saltburn as you think about you and Farleigh’s relationship over the years.

“Lola told me something a few months ago,” You start. “Mmm, and what was that?” He responds.

You inhale slowly. “She said that you were looking for me one morning and you came by our dorm, and you seemed very worried about me,” You smile at the thought, knowing what you know now.

“Oh. Yeah, I remember that. I was always worried sick about you. Whether you got home after a night out, if you drank too much, if some guy took advantage of you…” He trails off and sighs.

“Really?!” You ask, gazing up at him in shock. “You’re so confusing,” You let out a breathy laugh and shake your head.

“Do you remember our first night at Oxford? The very first party we went to?” He asks. You nod. He fiddles with a strand of your hair.

“After our little… argument, I stayed away from you the rest of the night. But then it was getting late, and I couldn’t find you, and I didn’t know if you knew the way back to your dorm. When I went into the bathroom I found you passed out on the floor. Black out drunk.” He explains, his voice soft.

“Anyone could have found you, or taken advantage of you. So I picked you up and carried you back to your dorm and tucked you into your bed.” Your eyes widen as your brain registers his words. Lola never told you about that.

“And when we were talking that night on the steps outside at Saltburn when we couldn’t sleep, the first summer you were there, you fell asleep on my shoulder. So I carried you up to your room.”

It’s silent for a minute as you process this. Was it a common theme for Farleigh to carry you to your bed when you were passed out?

“I never knew you cared that much.” You whisper, reaching up to play with one of his curls. “I don’t think I knew, either.” He mumbles.

You kiss him, slowly and gently, smiling against his lips. He grins, breaking the kiss, before holding the back of your head and guiding you back to him.

And you really believe that in this moment, you could die happy. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. The hot August nights, the freezing December mornings, the summer days under cerulean skies. The good days and the bad days. You can’t even remember how it felt to hate Farleigh. Every single trace of dislike for him is gone, erased completely from your heart. All that’s left is a love too strong to comprehend.

taglist: @isla-finke-blog @ibimbogrl @drunkmysticsquirrel @alonia-olivia @novemilady @saltburnsworld @florkt @i-love-ptv @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha

[koqabear]

✧˚ · . loving you quietly

✩ Playlist ✩

“Beomgyu was taught that actions speak louder than words— he’s grown to care for others in that way, but when he finally decides to let his heart speak for once, he learns that it may have been better to remain silent instead.”

“can you hear it? my heart calls for you. i’ve been here, waiting patiently all along.”

beomgyu x gn!reader [ft. Yeonjun and Sunghoon of Enhypen]

Genre: fluff, angst, f2l, idiots to lovers, slowburn

Word count 12.4k

Warnings: mentions of food, lots of (fake) arguments n stuff, mc has a bit of anxiety, panic attacks/overstimulation, mentions of past toxic relationships, lack of proper communication, they’re both idiots please be patient with them. (lemme know if I should add anything!)

Notes: the Beomgyu brain rot got me again, enjoy and leave me silly little comment if u want me to think about u for the rest of the day ^_^

beomgyu: idk how to flirt i done called them a bitch

It’s no secret your relationship with Beomgyu is peculiar. 

Out of everyone else in your friend group, you’d think the two of you would get along the most— same hobbies, same interests, your playlists containing all the same songs every time you go to get aux in the car— yet if anything, your friends have all learned to keep the two of you at least three feet apart at all times. 

It’s not like you seriously hate each other— at least, you’d hope not— but it just seems that you’ve both taken quite the liking to treat each other in a much more harsh, unforgiving way.

“That sweater is hideous,” Beomgyu comments, staring you down with those same puppy eyes he always uses to get what he wants. He doesn’t flinch at the glare you send him, gritting your teeth as you watch him take an innocent sip of his shake; your lack of response only fuels him further, his lips twitching in amusement as he pulls away from his straw with a loud pop! 

“It’s so tacky.” 

Personally, you didn’t expect to be accosted over your comfort sweater in a Steak ‘n Shake on a random Tuesday. Yet here you are, letting out an offended gasp as you pat down your sweater in a self-reassuring manner; sure, the color and pattern aren’t exactly the most pleasing to the eye, but you were lazy and didn’t feel like doing your laundry just yet— if anything, you’re sure you could find a think piece like this in Beomgyu’s closet— or rather a few, to be realistic. 

“I know you’re not one to talk,” you begin, your friends sighing and rolling their eyes as they watch your antics ensue. Once you got started, you never stopped; it truly didn’t help that you were so easily provoked, either, “Don’t think I forgot about the time you dressed like Adam Sandler for a straight week.”

“It was summer and the AC was broken!” Beomgyu perks up immediately at your comment, his ears turning red as he turns to his roommate for help; Soobin simply shakes his head, leaving Beomgyu to his defeat as he turns his focus to the fries in front of him— though you don’t miss the way his dimples poke through his cheeks as he bows his head down, a soft huff escaping him as he tries to hide his obvious laugh. 

It isn’t long before you get lost in the argument; you’re not even sure if you’re making sense anymore, all logic thrown out the window as you begin to threaten Beomgyu that you’ll fight him in the parking lot this instant if he doesn’t watch his mouth— and like always, he’s never one to back down— it isn’t until you’re both chugging your shakes and telling the other to get ready that your friends finally decide to intervene. 

Even as you finally settle down and head back to Soobin’s car, you’re still able to catch Beomgyu casting you stupid looks and sticking his tongue out at you childishly— you would’ve been quick to return the gesture if Taehyun hadn’t smacked him clean upside the head, telling him to “behave” as Beomgyu quickly gave him a look that resembled a kicked puppy. 

You’d like to think that you would’ve won the fight— Beomgyu’s hair is pretty grabbable, but you’re sure you would’ve left the battle with a couple of bites on your body; even then, Beomgyu is the least active in the friend group, so you’re sure you could’ve easily tired him out— an easy win for you.

(That, and the fact that Beomgyu is incapable of hurting anyone he cares about.)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Being left alone with Beomgyu is not recommended. 

It’s not ideal either, and you’ve come to learn this the hard way; without a mediator there to put up with your antics, there’s truly no way to tell what’ll happen if you’re left alone for longer than five minutes.

You’ve decided to be alone today, your back aching and your muscles becoming numb as you sit in the library, poring over your computer as you feel your vision slowly blurring; you’re almost done with your assignment, yet you can’t help but feel that all these hours of being cooped up inside have come back to haunt you as you feel an ache forming behind your eyes, the words before you becoming nonsensical as your brain slowly turns off. 

Once you get in the zone, it’s hard for you to get out of it— you never know when you’ll be able to focus this much again, so you use it to your advantage and try to make it last as long as you can. But it’s draining, and you often find yourself strained by the time you finish— but you’ve worked so hard and you’re almost finished, you’re sure that if you push through the pain a little longer you’ll be able to focus again, right?

Your efforts come to a shattering stop as you feel a tug at your hair, insistent and childish as you try to shrug it off— all you get in return is a flat hand slapping on the top of your head, tilting your head back until you’re stuck staring at the ceiling. 

“I’m hungry.”

“How did you find me.” 

You’re not sure why that’s your first reaction, but the sight of Beomgyu hovering over your eyes, upside down and pouting, makes you slump back in your chair in defeat— out of all the outcomes and people that could have found you, this one’s definitely the worst. 

“You weren’t at the dormmmsss,” he whines, petulant as ever as he jolts your head around annoyingly; his grip is firm on your head, and it takes a sharp slap to the back of his hand for him to pull away, watching him kiss the stinging area softly as you ignore the looks you get from the people around you.

“Okay? Didn’t you stop to think that it was for a reason?” You say, twisting around in your chair to face him; you’re quickly backing away as he’s leaning in, sharp eyes glaring at you as he lowers his volume. 

“I wanted to go to that one place you took us last week, but I forgot what it was called— I had something really good but I don’t remember what it was.” He doesn’t seem phased by the puzzled look you send him; your face is scrunching up and you’re left in disbelief as you tilt your head, pursing your lips as you wonder what he could be talking about.

“You mean Steak ‘n Shake?”

You don’t miss the way his eyes widen at the sound of the very popular and well-known fast-food chain; his face feels hot as he clears his throat, shaking his head softly as he sighs. 

“N—no… the other one.” His response doesn’t help at all; you’re sure you’ll get wrinkles with the way you’re frowning, truly trying to give him the benefit of the doubt before you’re left at a dead end after a moment.

“That was the only place I suggested.” 

“Really? I could’ve sworn there was some other place,” he’s innocent as he straightens his posture, no longer leaning down to talk to you as he runs an impatient hand through his hair. His gaze is fleeting around the room as he goes quiet, the gears clearly being put at work in his head as he finally concludes,“Whatever. Take me there.”

“What? No, I’m busy,” you say, gesturing to your computer behind you as you give him an incredulous look. He simply scoffs carelessly, stepping closer to you until he’s reaching over, shutting your computer clumsily before he’s shoving it in your bag. You’re not sure of what else to do but run after him as he scurries away with your belongings, ignoring your hushed yells for him to stop as he simply glances back at you; his pace quickens shortly after.

It isn’t until you’re exiting the library that you finally allow yourself to run after him, curses and insults escaping you left and right as he suddenly gains an impeccable speed— you choose to chalk it all up to the fact that you’ve been cooped up inside all day, your energy well drained while Beomgyu has more than enough to spare. 

“Wait!” You call out, thankful that the area is empty as you push through and chase after him; it’s ridiculous how he already managed to gain such a distance between you two, and your body is already giving in as you huff tiredly, your pace slowing to nothing more than a tired waddle, “you don’t even know where you’re going!” 

Only then does Beomgyu give in to your cries; he’s sheepish as he turns around, an innocent grin on his face as he hugs your belongings close to his chest. Even though he’s well off in the distance, you can still see his reluctance to return to you as he looks down at his shoes shyly— but you know better than to fall for that act. 

“It’s this way, dumbass,” you sigh, your feet aching as you turn around without another word. You refuse to admit defeat as you begin walking, annoyed that you allowed Beomgyu to get his way again as you try to appreciate the beautiful spring day instead. You don’t need to look back to know that Beomgyu is hot on your trail, his puppy-like antics never failing him as the sound of his shoes scuffing against the pavement reaches your ears; it isn’t long before Beomgyu catches up to you, skipping. His hair is bouncy and fluffy as he wears a leisurely smile, not phased in the slightest by the dirty look you send him— his reaction time is godly as he manages to dodge your quick hand that went to snatch your bag back from him. 

“Why did you come bother me,” you grumble, slowing to a stop as you wait for your chance to cross the street; the pedestrian light remains red as you lean against the traffic light pole, crossing your arms as you send Beomgyu another irritated look, “like, be honest, you could’ve just bothered Soobin or something.” 

“He kicked me out,” he pouts, whining about the way Soobin called him a “horrible distraction”— you can’t blame him, but you’re also a bit angry that he managed to bring the problem to you instead— “and I didn’t wanna go alone. Plus I’m really craving a cookies-and-cream shake right now.”

“So you do remember,” is all you say, referring to Beomgyu’s shenanigans with the restaurant as you push yourself off the pole. He remains silent, a soft pout on his face as he walks ahead the moment traffic is cleared, leaving you behind as you’re left to scoff at his actions. 

Beomgyu also remembered that you have a habit of studying until your body gives out, ignoring your needs with ease— which worries him to death— but you really don’t need to know that. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You think studying really did a number on you today.

At least, that must be what’s showing on your face if it has Beomgyu toning down his annoyingness drastically, going as far as to open the door for you and not react to your snarky comment about how much of a gentleman he was. It’s a bit unnerving really, even when Beomgyu decides to pay for your food despite him always attempting to trick you into treating him every time you go out— you’re surprised that he isn’t asking you to Venmo him immediately after you sit at a table. 

There’s something strange about today; you can’t really pinpoint what it is as you find yourself having a civilized conversation with Beomgyu, surprised that you’ve made it to the twenty-minute mark without arguing to the point where you’ve received concerned looks from the patrons around you.

“Do you think I’m dying or something?” You finally blurt out, watching as Beomgyu sends you a confused look, in the middle of taking a sip from his shake as he tilts his head in curiosity. “I mean like, why aren’t we fighting right now— why are you being nice.” 

He seems reluctant to respond at that; his eyes have flickered back down to the melting whipped cream topped with cookie crumbles as he feels your stare burn into him, unsure of what to say as he gulps nervously, the shake slowly disappearing until he’s drunk more than half; even then, you persist, leaning on the table as you try to lower your face to meet his eyesight, lowering more and more until your cheek is hovering over the surface of the table. Beomgyu sighs, pulling away slowly as he urges you to sit up annoyingly. 

“I don’t know, I guess I just felt bad,” he grumbles, the words feeling jagged and odd in his mouth as he forces himself to spit it out, “You kinda did look like you were dying back at the library, honestly.” 

The sassy man that has haunted your life has finally returned; it’s oddly relieving as you find yourself falling back into your antics, scoffing at his words as you throw your straw wrapper at him. 

“Okay, rude,” you say, watching the way he plays with the trash you threw at him, “I didn’t exactly ask you to come bother me, either.” 

“I know,” Beomgyu says, tilting his head as he reaches over to steal your food; even as you swat at his hands and scold him, he still manages to take a hefty amount of fries from you, a burning need to beat him up lighting inside you as you swat at his hand one last time for good measure. 

“But I just love messing with you.” 

It’s so strange that a sentence like that would affect you— yet, the feelings that stir within you definitely aren’t normal, and the way you stutter when you spit out an insult definitely isn’t either. The emotion is strange and short-lived as you refuse to dwell on it, clearing your throat as you go to kick Beomgyu under the table; it’s easier to pretend like nothing happened when you’re too busy fighting the boy before you. 

The air between you has shifted back to its usual state as Beomgyu quickly gives up on being nice, his childish antics much more welcoming as he tries to steal your drink on the way out; it takes a firm punch to his arm for him to back off, your annoyance evident on your face as you make your way back to the dorms in hopes of getting rid of this clingy mess before you. 

“Hey,” your space is quickly invaded as you turn to the source of the sound, the warmth that was spreading through your chest quickly being snubbed out at the sight of the man that’s trying to approach you; Sunghoon’s mischievous grin is dreadfully familiar as he catches up to you much too quickly, unable to find an escape as you simply smile nervously. 

“Hey,” you grimace, the grip on your drink tightening as you avoid looking into your ex’s eyes, “what’s up?” 

“Oh nothing, I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he says, taking yet another step closer as you find yourself gulping uncomfortably, “you haven’t answered any of my messages, you know.” 

It wasn’t a surprise to find that Sunghoon still hadn’t given up on you; it was a trait you admired once, but after the two of you broke up you quickly found that the endearing characteristic had quickly turned into your worst nightmare. So here you stand, laughing awkwardly as you try to cycle through the countless excuses you’ve given him every time he’d tried to come up to you. 

“Dude, can you just back off? They’re not interested,” you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Beomgyu this serious as he glares at Sunghoon; your eyes are widening at the sudden hostility he’s displaying, smiling nervously as you go to intervene, knowing how quickly Sunghoon can escalate things. 

“You’re kidding,” Sunghoon scoffs, unable to let you speak as he’s rolling his eyes, taking in the way Beomgyu stands behind you protectively, “how ‘bout you back the fuck out of our business?”

You’re quick to step in as Beomgyu goes to say something else, placing a firm hand on his arm as you send Sunghoon a sharp glare. The man doesn’t seem to be phased by your antics, sighing heavily instead as he takes in the way Beomgyu still follows you around pathetically.

“Sunghoon, why are you still here? It’s clear that I don’t want anything to do with you anymore,” you refuse to back off as you stare the man down, watching as he simply laughs incredulously at your words; you don’t flinch for a second the moment he begins to insult you, but you can feel the way Beomgyu grows angrier behind you. 

“—embarrassing, how you still let your bitch follow you around like that—” 

You don’t allow Sunghoon to get too far in his sentence before you’re dousing him with your drink, the projection so sudden that the three of you fall silent. Sunghoon is positively dripping wet with your drink and his face is turning redder by the second, but you don’t let the consequences of your actions set in before you’re tugging Beomgyu’s arm roughly, snapping him out of his trance as you go to run away. 

Adrenaline is pumping furiously in your veins as you lace your fingers tightly with Beomgyu’s; you’re not sure if Sunghoon decided to chase after you— you doubt it, really— but you’d rather not find out as you choose to run away blindly instead. The air whips on your face and you’re surprised to feel a grin break out on your face, unsure of where your destination might be as you let out a bewildered laugh. 

It isn’t until you’re turning the corner of a street that you find that Sunghoon is hot on your trail; you’re more than surprised to see it, your pace picking up as you tug on Beomgyu’s arm carelessly, eyes flickering from place to place in search of a hiding spot. 

Your legs burn and you feel your hold on Beomgyu beginning to slip, yet you quickly find an idea forming in your head as you weave through the trees by a park entrance, pulling Beomgyu along until the soft grass under your shoes turns into hard mulch. You can hear his confused comments as you pull him up the play structure, forcing him to duck down and climb the stairs of the playground before you slump down at your destination. 

You feel your back slide down against the warm plastic tube that leads to a slide. 

The three circular holes act as windows as the two of you remain huddled in the empty park, giggling amongst yourselves as you look for any signs of your immature ex— you’re left shushing each other and slapping a hand over the other’s mouth as he appears in the distance, clearly soaked and still pissed off as he scans the area for the sight of you; a few moments pass before he’s giving up, probably mumbling angrily to himself as he turns around to leave. 

You can feel Beomgyu smile against the palm of your hand— slowly, you turn to him, his eyes filled with such childish joy that you can’t help the way the two of you burst into another fit of giggles; the tube is much too small and you’re knocking into each other as you laugh, incoherent jokes being exchanged between the two of you as you slowly feel the adrenaline in your system ebb away. 

“What an asshole,” Beomgyu sighs, placing his hands over his stomach as he turns to you; he’s laying back against the plastic tube, his hair filled with static as it begins to sit up and wriggle around wildly, watching as you laugh and poke fun at him for his wild hair, his head only rubbing against it more as he meets your gaze with a smile that slowly sobers, “you okay?”

You know he’s referring to the onslaught of insults that Sunghoon brought upon you; you’re surprised to find that you had already forgotten all about it, your mind racing as your mouth seems to let loose, spilling your thoughts as you keep your gaze forward. 

“What? Oh, I’m fine,” you say, biting your lip before you continue without control, “I just couldn’t stand there and watch him try to insult you too.”

It’s silent at that. All you can hear is the rustling leaves of the trees and an occasional chirp in the distance. Your words seem to set in, and it’s suddenly far too warm in this small tube. You feel scrunched up and achy as you attempt to stretch out your legs, only able to get so far before your feet are pushing against the wall.

It’s a mistake to look back at Beomgyu. He’s sporting that stupid smile that makes you feel sappy, your guard lowering as you find yourself unable to insult your stupid friend. He shifts around, attempting to get more comfortable before your eyes widen— slowly, he reaches out to you. 

The action is so tender and his eyes are so fond, his head tilting curiously as he’s leaning his body closer to you. You’re surprised to find yourself doing the same, gulping softly as you watch him hesitantly reach for your face. Tenderly, his face lands on your cheek— you jump up at the shock that sends through your skin. 

“Ow!”

His stupid laugh and lack of apology are enough to tell you it had been his plan all along. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Your room is a mess. 

You’re pacing around, restless and anxious as you run your palms down your clothes; it’s a horrible feeling, your throat gone dry as you glance at the mirror one last time. You’re not one to dress up much, but you know it’s only fair to go all out after the invitation for your friend’s wedding came in the mail like a slap in the face. Personally, marriage at twenty-five is a terrifying concept to you, but hey, to each their own.

Parties have never really been your thing; it was only after an insane amount of mental prepping that you finally decided to send back that small rsvp card, your fingers shaking as you nervously wrote down two for the number of guests. 

It was an impulsive decision to ask your friend to come with you as your date-- but you had no one else to ask, and secretly, you wished for this to be the moment the two of you finally got closer. Yeonjun had agreed after some slight convincing, and you couldn’t deny the way your heart soared at the thought of the two of you spending the night together. Yet now here you stand, unsure and riddled with anxiety as you pass by your mirror for the umpteenth time.

Was this too much? Too little? Was the color okay? You hope you’re not overdressed— oh who are you kidding, it’s a wedding— but you also hoped you weren’t underdressed, either. 

Your spiraling thoughts had quickly been interrupted by the buzzing of your phone, the notification bringing you out of your reverie as you found yourself drawn to your bed, a heavy sigh escaping you the moment you sat on the mattress; the text messages that stared back at you were oddly reassuring as you skimmed through them. 

Yeonjun

hey, you look stunning

I’ll meet you there :) 

A smile tugged at your lips; you had been so worried about your appearance that the memory of the picture you sent him earlier had completely been wiped from your mind, his compliment bringing butterflies to your stomach as you hesitantly typed something in return. With your confidence restored, you finally found it in yourself to finish getting ready, trying your best to not overthink things as you smoothed down your clothes in the mirror one last time. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Your friend looks gorgeous; it’s a thought that doesn’t leave your head for the rest of the night, a smile stuck on your face as you never miss a chance to compliment her. Yeonjun does the same with you, his kind eyes and soft smile sending a whirlwind of emotions through you as you shyly reply each time. 

It’s a bit quiet as you sit at your assigned table. It seems as though you’ve run out of things to talk about, and you find yourself fidgeting nervously with you jacket that remains in your lap as Yeonjun looks around the venue; he’s looking for someone, you’re guessing, and judging the way his eyes widen and a smile breaks through his face, you definitely think he’s found them.

“Hey, is it alright if I go say hi to a friend real quick?” Yeonjun asks, his eyes sparkling as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. And oh, who were you to deny him when he looked this cute? The way he has you stuttering out a response is embarrassing, but you refuse to let it show as he sends you a happy smile in return. 

A slight twinge of regret hits you the moment he gets up to leave— you’re left alone now. 

You’re sure you look like a lost child as your gaze follows Yeonjun, unsure of what else to do before he’s getting lost in the crowd. You have no idea who these other people are, and you don’t doubt for a second that the fear must be creeping up on your face by now; the only thing you’re counting on now is the hope that Yeonjun will come back soon. 

A few minutes pass; you’re scrolling through your phone awkwardly, pretending as though you’re not counting down the seconds as you glance around the room every once in a while. It’s been ten minutes— you’re sure you look pitiful now, sitting alone at this table hidden in a corner. 

After more time passes, you know that Yeonjun probably forgot all about you now. It’s a sad and pathetic thing to feel as you anxiously trudge up to the table filled with desserts and finger foods, biting at your lips as you try not to pity yourself and drown in embarrassment. But before you know it, you’re back to your overthinking self, left on edge as you scurry back to your table the moment you fill your small dessert plate; there were too many people crowding the table, too many strangers that kept glancing at you curiously, probably finding it strange that none of the people at the party seemed to recognize you. (They don’t care, the rational part of your brain screamed at you.)

Slowly, another more time seems to pass by. The bride is too preoccupied and swarmed for you to talk to her, and you’ve “gone to the bathroom” way too many times for it to be considered normal now. You want to go home. It’s such a shame that you couldn’t find the courage to assimilate or even branch out, but the dance floor is too intimidating for you to approach, and you can’t seem to recognize a single song they’re playing. 

You’re stuck to be nothing more than an observer, not staring at your phone for once as you scan the room for your date once more; you perk up the moment you find him, hoping that he’ll see you and come back the moment you gain his attention.

All hopes are thrown out the window immediately. You find yourself deflating in defeat the moment you pick up on his body language, watching the way he’s enthralled with the person next to him, so affectionate and bubbly as he stares at them with stars in his eyes.

Oh. You think, feeling pathetic for the way you had gotten your hopes up for even a second. Though, after a moment, you find that the romantic sight isn’t what stung as much— the fact that he left you alone without much more of a thought did. 

The room feels stuffy— you told him it was okay to go off on his own, so why should you be mad?— you feel as though everyone is staring at you now, judging you— but you thought he’d return, he insinuated he’d return— the music is so loud, your head is starting to hurt— how would he know you didn’t know anyone else at the party?

The sound of your chair scraping against the floor tiles is unpleasant as you beeline to the entrance, hoping that your brisk steps and troubled expression aren’t too concerning to the people around you. You can feel all the tension within you release the moment you step out, the wind cool on your skin as you let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

You feel stupid the moment you begin to reflect on everything, sitting down at a nearby bench as you lean back against it. You feel stupid for everything; for getting yourself in such a situation, for having such difficulties socializing, for coming to this party in the first place— for inviting Yeonjun. 

You feel stupid for crying. You feel so, oh so stupid as you let all the built-up stress and emotions leak out of you, unable to stop or control it as you stare up at the sky, at the moon and the stars that seem to be your only company for the night. 

“I knew it had to be you,” a voice calls out, and you’re scrambling to wipe at your face, hunched over as you sniffle quietly, much too afraid to turn around to its source as you immediately recognize the mischievous tone. 

You don’t say anything, much too afraid that your voice will betray you as you hear footsteps approach you; your heart is pounding, dread that he’ll see you in such a state pooling in your stomach as you stare down at your lap in silence. 

“I saw you sitting alone in the corner, but I couldn’t figure out if it was really you,” Beomgyu lets out a soft huff as he takes a seat beside you, close enough so your limbs are touching, his body warm as he silently takes you in.

“Hey, what happened?” It’s embarrassing to hear his voice become so tender, so filled with concern as he immediately reaches out for your hand. You can practically feel his eyes burning into you, begging silently for you to look at him as you shake your head softly. 

“Nothing, ‘m just acting stupid,” is all you say, a soft laugh being forced out of you in hopes that he’ll let it all slide. Instead, he shakes his head, bending down to try and meet your gaze that’s cast down at the ground— you turn away immediately, but he’s persistent in his actions as he chases your gaze, poking into your vision until he’s all up in your face; avoiding him is impossible as you laugh at his stupidity, pushing him away as he smiles fondly at you, grabbing ahold of your hands that push at his cheeks in hopes of getting him away. 

“You’re not stupid,” he says, his voice soft as he takes in the way your eyes still shine with tears, “well, you are most of the time, but your feelings aren’t stupid.” 

A grin is breaking out on his face as he watches you become pouty and angry with him, playfully punching his arm as you insult him in return. It’s quiet for a second, and before you know it, you’re staring at the sky again, shoulder to shoulder with Beomgyu as you try to not think about how close the two of you are, or how you’re slowly leaning your head on his sturdy shoulder, the action welcomed as Beomgyu leans his head on yours in return. 

It’s magic; once you start telling him about everything, you can’t stop, surprised that you don’t feel shame or embarrassment for your feelings, the confessions a secret message between him and the moon that shines a light on the two of you. You tell him of all your stress, your troubles, and worries, and how small you felt being left alone inside, feeling helpless as you realized that Yeonjun didn’t find you important enough to return to you.

“I wouldn’t have left your side in the first place.” 

The words are innocent as he says them, but it’s enough to make you feel as though the air got knocked out of you, unsure of what to say as you begin to feel your heart pounding against your chest. 

“Wha— why are you here anyway?” You say, hoping he didn’t pick up on your stutter as you ask him something that’s been on your mind for a while—you don’t remember him mentioning anything about a wedding at all, and you know for a fact your friend and Beomgyu aren’t even acquainted. 

“Hmm? I’m here with Soobin,” Beomgyu says, and you’re furrowing your brows at his words; how in the world did you not see them? “The groom’s his cousin.” 

“Oh,” you say, pulling away as you hear someone walking nearby, your body getting tired from being in the same position for so long. Forcing yourself to stand, you watch Beomgyu quickly follow suit, patting yourself down as you look at your clothes pathetically; you let out a soft sigh, ashamed that you let such a pretty outfit go to waste on a night like this. 

“God, I feel so stupid for wasting my time on all this,” you say, feeling small under Beomgyu’s gaze as you begin to wonder if you look bad. 

Instead, Beomgyu says nothing; he takes a step closer to you, taking your appearance in as you avoid his eyes like the plague. You can feel yourself becoming flustered from his lack of response, your heartbeat quickening as he takes another step closer to you— he’s so close, you can feel his scent drowning your senses. 

Softly, he cups your face; your eyes are widening as he tilts your head up, his lidded eyes meeting yours for a moment before he’s leaning in; gently, his lips touch your skin, plush and soft as he places a kiss on your forehead. 

“You look beautiful— I’m glad you came.” 

Your mind seems to blank at that, unable to say anything more before he’s urging you to go back inside, scolding you that it’s too cold to be out without a jacket— his blazer is coming off the moment he points that out, his jacket heavy on your shoulders as you attempt to process everything.

It doesn’t help that he tenderly takes hold of your hand after, beginning to ramble about how emotional Soobin is as you pretend that you’re following along to everything he says; mentally, you’re still trying to figure out how to react to everything that happened in such a short period of time. 

You leave the party with Beomgyu and Soobin (who both made the experience much more enjoyable)— Yeonjun doesn’t contact you even after you’re long gone. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“He kissed you?” 

“Don’t say it like that!” You fuss, throwing a pillow at Soobin as you cross your arms in annoyance, “He kissed me on the forehead, there’s a difference.”

“Right, of course,” he mumbles, his words trailing off as his focus is drawn back to his game of Mario Kart; it had been an impulsive decision to visit Soobin the weekend after the wedding, knowing enough about the two roommates that you’d be certain Beomgyu wouldn’t be around— so now you sit on Soobin’s bed, biting your lip as you spill your thoughts in hopes of getting a second opinion. 

“So…?”

“Jesus, Soob,” you groan, throwing yourself back on the bed in frustration, “You know damn well he’s not like that with me!”

“Not like what?” Soobin’s obliviousness is almost award-winning, and it has you gawking at him hard enough that he can pick up on it from his peripheral vision, “Was it weird? Are you weirded out by him now?”

“Well— no, of course not…” you mumble, trailing off as you’re forced to reflect on what his actions meant to you— what did you feel for him? You’re certainly not disgusted or weirded out by the actions, but you can’t help but feel strange as the memories of that night seem to pester you endlessly.

“I just… feel confused, maybe,” you admit, brows furrowing as you watch Soobin curse lowly under his breath— your eyes flicker back to the screen of his small tv, watching with slight amusement as he gets hit with a blue shell, the man before you jostling in his place beside you on the bed as he takes a second to process your words. Glancing back at you, his eyes widen, quickly focusing back on the screen as he takes a second to think. 

“Confused? Why would you feel confused?” He asks, tilting his head before he’s muttering under his breath again— he groans, throwing his head back as he lands in second place, cursing out the person that took his spot bitterly before he’s throwing the control to the side and turning to you, “you’re friends, no?” 

“I— yeah,” you say, unsure of why you feel restless as you sit up on his bed— you feel as though what he’s telling you isn’t really what you want to hear, but what you actually want to hear is unknown, even to you, “I just… you don’t think anything of his actions?”

Soobin pauses at your words; it’s clear he’s thinking back to the events you told him about, his eyes drifting to the ceiling before he begins to hum softly, fingers drumming rhythmically on his bedsheets before he’s tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Well, I guess it was a bit random, coming from him,” he begins, watching as you perk up at his sentence, “but he was just trying to comfort you, don’t you think?”

That definitely doesn’t seem to be what you wanted to hear. It frustrates you as you press your lips together, unsure of why you feel oddly underwhelmed at the thought that there was no deeper meaning to his actions— that it had all been done because Beomgyu simply felt obligated to.

“Yeah, I guess so…” you mumble quietly, unsure of why you feel much more tired than you did a few seconds before, telling Soobin to go back to his game as you let yourself get comfortable on his bed— he’s quick to question your sudden behavior change, but it’s far too late for you to talk to him as you wrap yourself in his blankets, kicking his side playfully the moment he asks you to not fall asleep on him; you’re able to see the way he laughs with a slight roll of his eyes, but your eyes feel much too heavy for you to take offense to it. 

Your dreams are filled with what-ifs and romantic scenarios with a perfect, faceless stranger, their aura so comforting and warm that you can’t help but feel like you’re at home. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

There’s something weird about Beomgyu.

Granted, Beomgyu’s weird in general— you’d like to chalk it up to you just being your normal, overthinking self again, but you’d almost say that your relationship’s dynamic has changed; it’s subtle, but it’s there— even if you’re withholding from saying anything from the fear of being proven wrong— his gestures, the way he looks at you, it’s all… shifted. 

He doesn’t try to fight you as much as he used to; if he does, he’s quick to drop it, not as petulant and persistent as you’re used to— it always leaves you confused and oddly irritated, smacking Beomgyu’s head away like a child the moment you notice him staring at you a little too long— it never fails to leave you disoriented, his eyes hiding something that you’re not sure you’d like to uncover as you choose to retaliate with violence.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you sneer, throwing your pillow at Beomgyu as the others remain unphased at your antics; it was just supposed to be a normal hangout like any other, yet Beomgyu just insisted on catching your attention with his stupid eyes— his eyes that resembled a puppy’s as you caught him staring at you multiple times in the last thirty minutes, catching you off guard every time as you were left flustered by how soft and fond he looked— after the tenth time of catching him, you found yourself to be tired of watching as he simply smiled and looked away like all the other times. 

“I’m not even looking at you,” Beomgyu responds immediately, his face stoic as he looks down at his phone. (That he had just pulled out in a weak attempt to deceive you.) 

“Stop lying, you little freak!” You continue, a frown on your face as you throw whatever else is next to you on the bed; you can hear Hueningkai whining about you abusing his plushies, but you don’t pay any mind to his comments as Beomgyu catches it effortlessly, hugging the Molang plushie tightly against his chest as he tilts his head at your comment, batting his lashes in faux innocence. Defeatedly, you groan, lying back on the bed as you throw an arm over your face. 

“God, you’re so annoying,” you whine, able to kick Beomgyu’s leg with your limited reach; you can hear the bed shifting past the noise of Soobin and Hueningkai raging on Mario Kart, but you try to not react to it as you press your lips together and shut your eyes tightly— after a moment, you feel Beomgyu’s hand poking your side. 

“You don’t mean that,” he says, and you can practically hear his pout as he continues poking you, trying to get a reaction out of you as he speaks, “I know you don’t mean that, right? Come on, tell me you don’t.”

You remain silent for as long as you can— but that proves itself to be incredibly difficult, because when Beomgyu wants a reaction from someone, he won’t stop until he gets one— and after what feels like forever, you finally decide to look at him, simply because you feel as though a bruise will form at your side if this child next to you keeps poking it so aggressively.

“Yes, I do mean it,” you say, squinting your eyes as you find Beomgyu’s face hovering over yours.

Beomgyu has always been like this— always touchy with others, never one to miss up on the chance to cling to the people he cares for— yet, you find your heart beating a little harder now, eyes shaking as you find yourself so close to him that you’re practically sharing the air you breathe; so close you could count every lash on his round eyes that stare down at you, close enough that if you crane your head up even a little, you could kiss him. 

Oh god, that’s weird, you realize, eyes widening as you turn your head to the side, looking away from him and slapping your hand flat on his forehead in an attempt to push him away; you succeed without much of an effort, only able to look at him once he’s sat up completely. 

“Get away from me,” you scold him, yet even though it’s lighthearted as always, you can’t help the way your voice wavers weakly, quieting down as you watch him continue to pout at you, “seriously, you have no concept of personal space.” 

Usually, you’d expect Beomgyu to up his antics by a hundred; torment you like a toddler, forcing your friends to intervene once they’ve decided they’ve had enough of your disruptive behavior— anything would be better than watching Beomgyu narrow his eyes at you, oddly quiet before he lets out a soft “hmph.” Crossing his arms, he scooches away from you until he’s entirely pressed into the corner, far enough so that you can’t touch him no matter how much you stretch. 

And just like you requested, he refuses to look at you the rest of the time— his action baffles you so much that you end up scooting over to torment him, whining petulantly for him to look at you again before you give up, kneeling next to him as you watch the way he stares at the wall in front of him, not even hiding his annoyance as he says thought you didn’t want me to look at you. 

That’s enough to stop you completely— why were you doing this? Why had his actions bothered you so much? You remain silent after his comment, unsure of what else to say before you’re settling down next to him, stretching out your legs and crossing your arms as you mirror his posture; you look like scolded children, you hear Taehyun comment at some point, but you pay no mind to it as you remain by Beomgyu’s side diligently— it’s enough to have your mind racing with odd thoughts after approximately five minutes. 

Beomgyu always smells so nice, you find yourself thinking, the familiar smell enveloping your senses and making your arms hug yourself a little tighter— he smells of fresh laundry and a warm spring breeze. Your eyes grow heavier as you watch your friends play Minecraft on the television— it feels so warm and comforting as you take in the way the sun has already set— you’ll probably have to go back to your dorm soon, but you can’t really find the energy to wake yourself back up as the calming music of the game quickly affects your mind. 

Your upper body is sliding against the wall behind you; you don’t mean for it to happen, but it’s such a slow progression that you don’t realize the moment you’re now shoulder to shoulder with Beomgyu— his sweater is warm against your skin, and suddenly you regret wearing a t-shirt and not something warmer— your breaths are evening out, and as much as you want to see Soobin’s finished house that he keeps boasting about, you can’t help the way your vision blurs as you watch the screen in front of you, your head lolling forward a few times before your mind decides to fall asleep.

Beomgyu can see from the corner of his eye the moment you fall asleep, your head dropping down in an uncomfortable position as he finally turns to look at you. 

You have no concept of personal space, your voice rings in his head, and he can’t help but find himself laughing as he watches the way you remained glued to his side the moment he began ignoring you, your shoulders pressed together as you slowly begin to lean more of your body weight onto him. Slowly, he moves, careful to not wake you as he reaches out for your head; his hands are gentle and tender as he moves your head to rest on his shoulder, reaching over to a nearby blanket before he’s throwing it over your shoulders— you’re warm beside him as Beomgyu tries his hardest to suppress his smile, biting his cheek so hard he thinks he might just draw blood. 

You remain unaware of it all, shifting in your sleep so you’re practically cuddling into his side, searching desperately for more of the scent that brings you dreams of flower fields and love. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

Your theory has been proven right— something has changed about your relationship with Beomgyu, but it’s definitely not him. 

It’s you.

No, Beomgyu has changed a bit as well— he’s sweeter and a lot more gentle around you, sure, but it hasn’t been enough for it to be glaringly obvious— no, the problem lies with you, and the way you’ve begun to act and think around Beomgyu.

Friends don’t act the way you do; they don’t spit out insults left and right and act coldly while their mind races with dangerous thoughts, heart racing a little faster when their mind begins to whisper sweet what ifs; no, friends don’t do what you do, finding yourself staring at Beomgyu much longer than you’d like to admit before you’re paring it off with a swift, snarky comment, enough to start a petty argument that’ll have you wondering if Beomgyu was always so pouty when he talked, his lips pink and soft as you found your eyes drifting down to them more times than you’d like to admit. 

Friends don’t pair off such thoughts with violence— it’s enough to have your friends asking if Beomgyu has managed to piss you off somehow, and even though you try to play it off each time, you can’t help but wonder if you really are angry at him. 

The answer is somewhat of a yes— but you’re angrier at the way you can’t seem to act the same around him anymore, angry at the way you’ve begun to see him in a new light involuntarily— every intrusive thought is attempted to be pushed down as you try to force your old, feisty behavior back on him. 

Eventually, Beomgyu picks up on your behavior as well, and he reluctantly distances himself from you on the assumption that he has angered you somehow— the sudden loss is enough to make you angry with yourself, feeling awkward around him every time your friends hang out together.

Tonight was no exception.

You’re trailing behind the group the moment you feel your mind beginning to wander, the bright lights from the stalls around you and the various items being sold falling numb on your brain as you get lost in thought, the music playing all around becoming muddled to your ears— the festival being held tonight was supposed to be a way for all of you to take a break from your studies and have fun, yet you seem to be failing at the latter as you find your eyes drifting— like a vicious habit, they fall on Beomgyu. 

Oh, this is so weird, you think to yourself, still not used to the thoughts that begin to formulate in your head; no matter how much you try to push them away, you can’t help but notice how good he looks tonight; his hair styled nicely, bangs falling into his eyes with every breeze as his hands quickly come up to push the hair out his eyes; the soft lights from above and the lanterns that are lit as decoration turn the scenery around you into one big haze, absentminded as you watch your friends become distracted with the many food and souvenir shops, your mind much more occupied with other things as you find yourself daydreaming.

Like a coward, you turn away the moment Beomgyu catches you staring; your cheeks feel hot and you try to pretend as though you don’t feel Beomgyu staring at you for a moment, much more focused on the cute keychains the stall in front of you is selling as you show Hueningkai happily— it’s enough to distract you from your traitorous thoughts as you wonder if you should buy one, glancing at the price tag before you sober up and decide that it’s better to walk away; you’re giggling with Hueningkai as he pokes fun at you for being so cheap, falling into the playful banter before you feel the urge to look away from him— your eyes meet with Beomgyu’s on instinct. 

The way your expression turns awkward and your words die on your tongue doesn’t go unnoticed by Beomgyu— you’re mentally kicking yourself as you watch him turn his back on you, and you’re beginning to wonder if you’ve taken the role of defense so hard that you’ve driven Beomgyu away from you— guilt seeps into your chest as you stare at his back, trailing behind him like a sad puppy as you begin to reflect on your recent actions. 

The more you dwell on it, the more guilt you feel, trudging along with everyone else as the distance between you and Beomgyu grows; it’s enough to have you realize how your actions must have come across to the boy in front of you, your heart sinking as you watch the way his eyes immediately jump away the moment they meet yours— avoidant, scared to see your reaction as he quickly distracts himself with something else. 

You’ve been acting so childish, you realize, wondering how you can get Beomgyu to at least talk to you again as you try to fall into step beside him— all attempts to strike up a conversation fall short as he responds curtly to you each time, clearly hurt by your previous actions as you find yourself giving up after a while. 

Oh, why does it hurt so much to have Beomgyu ignoring you? You’ve done this to yourself, yet you can’t stand the thought of not being by Beomgyu’s side tonight. Your heart feels heavy and the lively atmosphere around you has become a lot more dull than you’d like as you quickly find your thoughts spiraling out of control, wondering what you can do to fix things. 

“I heard there’s a firework show happening in an hour,” Soobin says, appearing at your side as the others become distracted with another booth nearby. You’ve decided to fall behind as you notice a booth that’s selling jewelry, two hairpins catching your eye as you stare at the pretty pieces decorated with intricate flowers. You’re snapped out of your daze as you look up, your fingers still running over the flower designs in your hands as you feel the metal slowly warm up from the heat of your skin.

“Apparently the view up there is supposed to be the best,” he continues, nodding at the end of the hill that’s already filled with people, a big tree that grows in the center of it all illuminating them from the warm lanterns that hang from its thick branches, “we should go, don’t you think?” 

“Hmm… yeah,” your distant and soft voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Soobin as he raises a brow at you, eyes slowly taking you in before he’s following your line of sight— without meaning to, you’ve found yourself staring at Beomgyu again, watching as he’s gone quiet as well, mirroring your mood and no doubt lost in his thoughts as the idea of you being the cause of this brings a frown to your face. 

“We’ll head up in thirty minutes…” Soobin continues, watching as you snap out of your daze and turn away from him; staring down at the pins in your hand, wondering how much they might cost as you begin to rummage for your wallet quietly, “We’ll try to get a good view, okay?” 

“Okay, sounds cool,” you say, not entirely processing his words as he ushers you to follow behind him once you’ve bought the hairpins— you can see the way he glances back at you every once in a while, but you try to ignore the concern in his eyes as you force yourself to smile, brightening up your mood in hopes that you can finally get him to stop worrying. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re hiking up the large hill; there’s a man-made trail you follow along, and you can already spot the crowds of people from afar, the number of friend groups and couples huddled together making your stomach twist involuntarily. 

Inevitably, you find yourself growing tired; the hill wasn’t steep, but you weren’t exactly the most energetic tonight as you quickly found your steps trudging along, watching your friends continue to walk ahead as you reassured them that you were fine— just a little tired, don’t worry. 

You’re stopped in your tracks completely as you stumble over a hole in the ground— you’re tripping, letting out a soft gasp before you’re tumbling to the ground; you’re left to fuss over the dirt on your clothes before you realize how much you’ve fallen behind, sighing in dismay as you slowly straighten yourself out— your hands brush over your pockets, and you freeze entirely when you reach inside, only able to find one hairpin as you feel your heart sink at the realization. 

It’s completely dark now— there’s not even a ray of light that could assist you in your search, the lanterns from afar not doing much to illuminate the ground below you; you’re falling to your knees immediately as you begin to pat the ground around you in a panic, only able to feel grass and dirt as your hands become dirty, wincing slightly as you feel a particularly sharp rock scratch against your hand; your teeth sinking into your wobbling lip as you feel your emotions threaten to tumble down. 

Patting your pockets in search for your phone, you realize with dread that you seem to have dropped that as well; you pause your search in defeat, staring at the dark ground around you as you begin to wonder what you should do— you feel so childish at the feeling of a lump forming in your throat, your heart racing against your chest as you begin to dread the feeling of your eyes stinging— in one last attempt to keep your composure, you sniffle, wiping at your eyes before you go back to your search, desperate to find the items as you pat the ground around you harshly. 

“You’ll stab yourself with a rock if you keep doing that,” a voice above you says, and you’re scrambling to make yourself look put together and nonchalant as you raise your head to the sound; squinting, you wince at the bright light that shines at you, shielding your eyes from it as you find the face of the figure that speaks to you— Beomgyu’s expression is unreadable as he stares down at you, tilting his head as he waits for you to say something— after a while, he simply sighs, pointing his phone’s flashlight at the ground and coming to your side with slow steps. 

“What happened,” he asks, although his voice is so distant and tense that it barely comes out as a question, “What’re you looking for?” 

“My phone,” you mutter sheepishly, avoiding his gaze completely as you let him shine the ground around you with his light. It’s silent between you two, and you can’t help but be frustrated at how tense you’ve managed to make the atmosphere around you again— after what seems like forever, you’re finally able to spot your phone, scattered on the hill below as you carefully make your way to it. 

Beomgyu finds it a bit odd that you’re reluctant to make your way back to him, shining your phone’s flashlight and pointing it to the ground around as you seemingly search for something else, despite your words that you’d only lost his phone. He’s taking a step toward you, about to call your name before he sees it— something shines in his peripheral vision, reacting to his phone’s light as he finds himself walking to it without much thought. 

“The fireworks are starting soon,” Beomgyu says softly, his voice much closer than you expected as you find yourself turning to face him; his phone is put away, and the only things able to illuminate him are the remnants of the light from the lanterns that manage to reach the two of you and the fireflies that softly twinkle around him. 

You slowly tuck your phone away in defeat; it’s much too embarrassing to admit what else you were looking for, gulping nervously as you glance back up the hill— you can see your friends in the very distance, their backs facing you as they remain huddled together— and back at him, unable to stop the way your lips part in shock, eyes widening as you find Beomgyu slowly handing something to you.

The pin is free of dirt as he holds it delicately in his hand, as though he were afraid to break it; you can’t help but notice the way his palm shakes as he waits for you to take it, letting out a slow exhale before he smiles bitterly.

“It’s pretty,” he says, lips pressed together as you take it from him. The small thank you that leaves your lips is awkward and forced, and Beomgyu thinks he might just burst as you immediately look away from him— he feels tormented as he waits for you to say something, anything, only to watch as you continue to ignore the elephant in the room. 

Ten minutes. That’s all he has before your attention is taken by the pretty show that is about to begin, and Beomgyu will be damned if he doesn’t take this chance to confront you— to get things back to how they were before. 

“Do you hate me?” His statement is strong enough to have you looking at him once more, eyes wide and scandalized as you uselessly attempt to stutter out a reply. Beomgyu licks his lips nervously as he backtracks, clearing his throat as he realizes that he may have started off a little too strong. 

“Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?” He attempts again, his mind racing and taking control of his mouth as he doesn’t allow you to respond, “You’ve been acting so cold to me recently, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Things have been weird since the… since the wedding thing.” 

It seems as though that’s enough to have Beomgyu putting everything together, his brows knitting together in a frown as he realizes how he’s become more vulnerable around you— and how much you’ve pushed him away in retaliation.

“I’m sorry if it was weird. I didn’t mean to change things between us, I’d understand if it made you uncomfortable, but you’ve been acting so mean to me recently, and I can’t help but feel as though I’ve really crossed the line—“

It’s surprising to Beomgyu when he feels his words begin to stick in his mouth, stumbling over them and stuttering, repeating his points over and over as he realizes it’s all happening again. You’ve managed to catch him at a vulnerable time yet again, and he can feel his cheeks grow warm in frustration as he watches as you stand before him, unsure of what to say as he continues to pour his heart out to you. 

“Beomgyu,” you say quietly, interrupting him with ease as he finds himself out of breath, sighing shakily as he watches the way you clutch the hairpin close to you, pausing for a second as you begin to think of what to say. 

“I don’t… hate you,” you begin, your every word uncertain as though you were trying to figure the answer out yourself, “I’m not mad at you, either. And— and you didn’t cross any lines, nor do I find you weird— well, maybe a little, but…” 

“But?” Beomgyu continues, finding himself unable to hold himself back as he urges you to continue, “You’ve been so— so avoidant, and it’s weird because you’ve made me feel as though I did something wrong—!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong Beomgyu!” You say, sighing in frustration as you take in the man before you— Beomgyu seems to be doing no better than you, but in this moment, you feel as though everything is finally coming together, the man in front of you reminding you of everything you’ve been dreaming of— of comfort, of home, of love. 

Choi Beomgyu is the type of guy who is brutally honest. He’s the type of person who will ridicule you and poke fun at you in order to get a reaction, to act like a child and throw tantrums in order to get his way and bat his eyes innocently when accused. He’s the type of person that will have you wondering if he’s really in his twenties, and isn’t actually three children hiding under a trenchcoat. 

Choi Beomgyu is the type of guy who will show up unannounced, who will find you no matter how far and force you to eat because he figured out that you’ve been cooped inside all day. He’s the type of guy that loses fights on purpose, who will cling to you like a baby under the pretense that he’s only doing it to be annoying. He’s the type of person that will sneak compliments at the most inconvenient times, who will put a blanket over your shoulders and move your head when you’re asleep because he knows how much your neck will ache if you leave it in a certain position. 

Choi Beomgyu has loved you quietly— in his everyday actions, treating it like second nature as he cares for you in secret— through his words, through his thoughts, and through his eyes that manage to spill enough emotions that leave you speechless. 

Choi Beomgyu is the type of person who will always be vulnerable to you, no matter how dangerous; even if it means you pushing him away again, he grits his teeth and stands before you, baring his heart and asking you to take care of it the way he’s taken care of yours.

“You wouldn’t even look at me,” He says, taking a step closer to you as his voice drops significantly; he’s hesitant, afraid to hear your response as he attempts to keep his gaze cold.

“Why are you being like this?” His voice is hurt and angry, and you can’t help the way everything seems to bubble up and spill out of you uncontrollably the moment he grows defensive again. 

“It’s because I like you, dumbass!” The words are a confession to both him and yourself as you finally let it out— the words feel new and strange in your mouth, your tongue testing everything out as you take in the way the sentence leaves a taste behind it— it tastes sweet. 

“I like you and it’s weird because it’s all so new, I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this about you and I’m scared because…” you huff, brows furrowing as you take a second to think; Why were you scared? 

“Because… I don’t know,” you admit, shoulder sagging as you take in the way Beomgyu can simply stare at you, waiting for you to finish, “I don’t know. I like you and I’m afraid, this is all so new and I thought that if I tried to push these feelings away, it’d all go back to normal, because I was afraid that you’d… that you wouldn’t feel the same.” 

Afraid you’d be wrong. Afraid you’d get hurt again, that you managed to interpret all his actions wrong and would simply be getting your hopes up— afraid that you’d hurt him, even though you already have. 

“Afraid I wouldn’t feel the same?” He echoes, his voice laced with disbelief as he practically breathes the words out— he feels out of breath, his heart pounding against his chest as his mind begins to process everything you told him— I like you, dumbass, your voice remains on his mind like a broken record, and he can’t help the way he laughs softly, in disbelief as he realizes how stupid this whole argument has been. 

“I’ve— I’m the one who should be saying that,” he says, running a hand through his hair before he’s laughing again— then again, and again until it’s all an uncontrollable mess, his eyes creasing and his nose scrunching as he takes in your befuddled expression; you stand frozen before him, incredulous as you wonder how you should respond to a reaction like this.

“I knew you were a bit stupid, but this is just too much,” he teases you, throwing you off guard so much that you slap his arm like instinct; it’s enough to have you snapping out of your heartfelt moment as you pout at him, scolding him for being so mean and ruining what was supposed to be something serious. 

Beomgyu is the type to be eerily attuned to a person’s emotions; which is exactly why he chooses to be childish now, when he saw the way your eyes shone with tears and you became shaky as you waited for him to respond, able to get your mind off your irrational fears as you immediately went back to your pouty, whiny self.

You’re so fucking mean, you cry out, smacking him again before he takes your hand; pulling you closer, he smiles, his eyes filled with mischief as he takes in the way you quickly fluster from his proximity. 

Beomgyu smells of spring and comfort, his hands warm against your skin as he cups your face gently; you can’t control the way you gulp at his actions, his eyes lighting up as he waits for you to do something— to pull away, to shut him out, anything that could stop the dangerous path his mind is taking— but you don’t, your hand that remained a fist against his chest slowly pressing against it, shaking and firm as you attempt to steady yourself; in turn, you feel his heart, fast and thundering against your palm as you find yourself getting closer to him; close enough to watch the way his hair falls into his eyes, close enough to count every individual lash on his lids that flutter shut, and close enough to feel his lips against yours. 

He tastes of honey and the cherry lip balm he always uses, his kiss sweet and unsure as you feel his pillowy lips move against yours; you think you might just melt into him as he pulls you closer, his other hand grasping firmly at your waist before he’s tugging you in closer— chest against chest, trying to feel you wholly as though you’d disappear into thin air the next second—  and he tilts his head curiously, deepening the kiss and refusing to pull away even if his lungs begin to burn.

Beomgyu thinks he could stay this way forever; he holds you delicately, as though he were afraid to lose you at any moment, the feeling of your warm palm pressing against his heart the only reminder that he’s alive— yes, he’s alive. This is real, and he finally has you here with him, able to love you as loudly as he wants, if you’ll let him.

And of course you’ll let him— you feel curious as you allow your hands to explore, to run across his shoulders and lace themselves in his hair, able to feel the soft locks that have been blowing about freely all night long— you feel curious to explore these new feelings, letting them in and allowing them to blossom as you finally pull away.

Beomgyu laughs the moment you pull away— because you only do so from the loud sounds of fireworks in the distance, jolting in his hold as you turn around to find the source of the sound; your face is lighting up at the pretty lights, a smile growing on your face as you take it all in. 

“So pretty,” you sigh out, looking back at Beomgyu, only to find him already staring at you; you smile shyly as you feel him take in the pin from your hands, reaching up hesitantly before you’re guiding him in his actions; you carefully clip in the hairpin as you smile, watching the way he takes you in carefully— his eyes are fond and sweet as he nods, caressing your cheek before he grins. 

“Very pretty.” 

You scoff at his response, rolling your eyes before you’re poking fun at how predictable he is— but Beomgyu doesn’t care, and he would do it again, anything to watch as you laugh with joy, growing shy under his gaze as he realizes he’s staring again— but this time, he doesn’t feel forced to look away. 

Neither do you. You allow yourself to meet his gaze, uncertain and giddy as you allow yourself to feel everything you’ve tried to hide, to think about everything you’ve tried to ignore. Reaching in your pocket, you pull out the second hairpin you picked, carefully reaching up to brush his bangs out of his eyes; they flutter shut at the action, and you can’t help but smile at how peaceful he looks, his face lit up in every which color as the firework show continues behind you. 

“There,” you say after a moment, watching as Beomgyu slowly opens his eyes before he’s reaching for the accessory you’ve put in— you smile as you watch him run his fingers over the design, the same flowers that decorate your pin as you watch the realization dawn on him. 

“So pretty,” you say again, and Beomgyu can’t help but smile as you keep your eyes on him— unable to look away, even if it means you’ll miss the mesmerizing fireworks that continue to light up behind you. 

As Beomgyu laces his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand tightly before he’s gently telling you to turn around so you can watch the show together, he wonders if any daydream he’s concocted could ever compare to the real thing; he knows that answer is no, not with the way you still can’t help yourself as you glance at him every once in a while, your eyes wide and alight as you look at him as though he were your whole world— he feels as though he could melt with every glance, his heart beating faster as he realizes that he’ll no longer have to daydream.

He’ll no longer have to love you quietly, biting his tongue at the thought as he fights back a delirious smile— pulling you into him, he feels the way you’re quick to embrace him, inhaling deeply before you’re letting out a sigh of contentment. 

Your love, your comfort, your home— Choi Beomgyu has been all of it, and you’re more than ready to reciprocate it all as you hold him a little tighter— taking his heart into your hands, with the quiet promise that you’ll care for him just as he always has for you. 

[gunnrblze]

My headcannons for what I think the Ghost boys would be like at the beach/if they’d like it lol (cause I may or may not be on vacation)

Hesh: The Walkers are canonically from California, so they are definitely beach boys and have that vibe down lol. Hesh and Logan grew up going to the beach/piers/boardwalks/etc. I think Hesh definitely likes to swim/wade in the waves, probably played ‘mermaids’ as a kid with Logan but never called it that (Logan absolutely did lol). I can see him, Logan, and Elias having had a lot of little family trips there, with Miss Mama Walker too. Definitely likes to sunbathe, a stickler for sunscreen for himself and others, giving ‘the mom friend’ but Beach Edition (learned it from Elias). Probably tried surfing with Logan as a kid, but he sucked at it lol.

Logan: Adding from above^ I can see Logan being more of a sun/sand enjoyer. Will get in the water, but probably enjoyed it more as a kid (I KNOW he played mermaids with Hesh lol, peak sibling behavior). Doesn’t like the way the salt water makes the sand stick to his skin, and gets annoyed with Hesh constantly reminding him to reapply sunscreen. Definitely still gets sunburnt somehow, and complains when he’s forced to put aloe on the burns lol. Would still petulantly throw sand at Hesh like they did as kids. Many attempted drownings occurred with those two. Unlike Hesh, he was pretty decent at surfing, and definitely rubbed it in Hesh’s face lol.

Elias: Peak Beach Dad behavior lmao. Would make sure the boys were sun screened up heavy as kids, and would still remind them as adults. Loves to sit under an umbrella, probably with a beer, and would eventually get in the water. Would roughhouse in the water with his boys when they were kids, flinging them around and shit (still tries but it’s harder when they’re the same size as him lol). Volleyball/football/soccer tossing in the sand for sure. Definitely took Miss Mama Walker for walks on the beach, little dates and what not. Has a random seashell collection somewhere. Makes sure everything is packed for a beach day, doesn’t forget a thing.

Keegan: I can see Keegan being in the middle here. I hc him as being a bit of a southerner (maybe I’m biased but I get the vibe lol) so I imagine he probably took trips to the beach here and there as a kid. Wouldn’t necessarily go to the beach on his own, but if he found himself there, he’d fare okay. Would prob be another Elias, sits under an umbrella and just chills with a beer, might get in the water, but you’d have to convince him pretty well I think. Also ends up with a sunburn somehow like Logan, except it’s because he doesn’t gaf about sunscreen as much. Would eventually complain about the heat, and that’s when he’d get wet lol.

Merrick: Hopefully you don’t find yourself at the beach with this man, because despite being a former Navy Seal, it’s not his vibe at all. Dislikes the humid heat, hates how much sand sticks/gets everywhere, and like Logan, cannot stand being salty and sticky from the water. Definitely more of a mountain man, but if he finds himself there, he’d sit grumpily under an umbrella with the meanest mug for a while. God forbid a seagull disturbs him…he’s just not a fan of this kind of environment. If you convinced him though, he’d kick around a soccer ball or throw a football. Will put on sunscreen once and forget to reapply, then complain when his shoulders are burnt to a crisp afterward. Does however, enjoy the sound of waves crashing…just from a distance lol.

Kick: Likes the beach pretty well. Would definitely have the funkiest swim trunks/hawaiian shirt on deck. Is so pale that sunscreen hardly helps the poor man, he will be red regardless. Loves getting his ass knocked over by the waves, and will swim till his fingers are pruned. Has a ‘beach/summer’ type playlist, and it’s actually really good. Dislikes the sand after a while too, but doesn’t complain the way Merrick does lmao. Would somehow randomly have a bodyboard/boogie board, and will absolutely fuck around on it like a kid. Overall a beach enjoyer, and would def consider taking his own trip there.

Rorke: I see him being a beach enjoyer as well. Likes hot weather (did NAWT like the fed pit…) and would enjoy the sun. Probably wouldn’t care too much about swimming, but would stand on the shoreline and get his feet wet and what not, might get in the water though if swayed properly. Definitely drinks on the beach lol, stealthy with it though, you wouldn’t know that his coke can is actually a bud light (tell me his nasty ass wouldn’t be a bud light drinker…). Has the ugliest, most raggedy ball cap on, and will not wear a shirt within a 10 mile radius of said ocean (‘shoes and shirt required’ is because of mfs like him). Has that ‘cool beach uncle’ energy.

(Definitely don’t think about these big sexy men shirtless on the beach…)

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Mamma mia | chapter five

listen to: Why did it have to be me? - Abba | I don't miss you at all - Finneas (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses. For this chapter single-mothering? and stupid boyfriends.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

The sun was coming down, casting a warm golden glow over the pristine beaches and the navy-blue waters. The breeze carried the sweet scent of saltwater and sunscreen as you entered the Hard Deck, following James and August. 

The day was a quintessential summer day. 

After Augustine had kicked both Coyote and Jake, reasonably quickly after James had finished, literally. She chased them out of the house. They barely had time to pick up their clothes; James and you threw the rest of their belongings through the window while you laughed as they dressed in the front yard. 

You can still feel Jake’s eyes on you. He winked at you while running away from Augustine, who was about to shower them with the hose. You’d shamelessly screamed at him, ‘Call me!’ still ran through your mind, and how his green sea-foam eyes shined as he saluted you was still imprinted in your heart. 

Soon after, you biked to the beach; even with your injured wrist, you forced yourself to drive because the day was too beautiful not to spend it outside. By the time you were biking back, you bumped into a larger-than-usual crowd around the Hard Deck. Augustine quickly forced you to stop as she saw a group of Navy newbies walking into the Hard Deck. Parking your bikes in the back, you quickly ran inside, still in your swimsuits; your laughter and excitement filled the air, blending with the cheerful chatter of other patrons. 

The bar was too full; it’d been a while since you’d seen it like that. Maybe it was the fact that you’d been under the sun all day, or the fact that the bar was too crowded, the fact that you mainly drank homemade lemonade and barely any food, maybe it was the fact that you had had your first orgasm that morning but, even in your bikini and body wrap, your body felt like it was simmering, a soft heat surrounding you. 

“Here!” Augustine screams as she drags you to a small spot near the bar, where you take in the sight around you. 

Sailors in their crisp uniforms mingled with locals and visitors. There was this aura around the bar. A sticky general sense of content filled the air, heavy like honey. The tropical breeze that managed to get through the window licked at you as you scanned the bar, momentarily gazing at your friends laughing. 

You stay still for a moment. Trying to paint the memory in your mind, to add the scent of the bar, the scent of summer, scan it in your face, remember every second of that day. Your heart swells as you take everything in. Every last memory of the moment. 

Of your last summer. 

“You don’t have to change places at the table?” James says as Jimmy brings your drinks, recalling how August sat on the opposite side of the table from where you and Jake had. God, you turn maroon every time you think about the morning. 

“Of course I have!” August grumbles as she remembers how she will now sit on your spot, far from where Jake had you. 

“I disinfected it with alcohol!” you answer as you sip the Martini. More than you should. 

“I don’t care!” 

“Let her be,” James replies as she sits down; she eyes you from the side. “I mean, at the kitchen table?”

Your jaw drops for a moment before James bursts into laughter. You can feel your cheeks warming up even more before you dip your fingers into your drink and quickly splash James. The drops scatter around James’ face, and she giggles even harder. 

“You did it all over the house,” you grumble. 

Augustine nods. “I can’t sit on that sunroom couch for at least a week,”

“I disinfected it!” James says with a light smile as she shrugs her shoulders. 

Honestly, you’d never seen James excited about anyone; she barely showed interest in someone since you’d met her when you were ten, and not everyone made an impression. She mostly hooked up one time every six months; it was often the cycle she had. As she called it, she would get bored and choose the most exciting suitor. 

Ignoring them soon after. 

“Who are you, and what did you do with our best friend?”

“Right?” you answer, smiling happily, another big sip. “Those googly eyes aren’t yours,”

“Oh my god, stop it,”

But with Javy Machado, it was different. 

“Anyway, which guys you were looking at, August?” James says as she sips her wine and looks around the bar. Augustine does the same, trying to locate her next suitor, and you decide to help. 

That’s when you see him.

He’s handsome, mainly because he is beaming when his striking amber eyes meet yours. It is strange. The way he moves through the crowd, it looks like he belongs here. It isn’t that he’s exuding confidence. He does seem confident, but it isn’t like that. There’s something in him, a somewhat halo effect. He appears to be glowing. He looks to be like the afternoon sun, with the tan skin and the caramel curls, what seemed to be like an attempt at an 80s pornstach. He looked like cinnamon.

Your heart skips a beat as time slows down, and the warmth of the summer day emboldens you to keep looking as if you haven’t been totally caught. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because he seems just as awe-struck as you are. His soft lips parted as he takes you in. Salty hair, tan skin, just a bikini top and a Martini in your hand. Bradley has seen plenty of beautiful women in his lifetime, but there’s something about you, your eyes, and how dazzling they are. A butterfly in a bar of sunshine. 

“Go talk to him!” James quickly says, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You quickly snap your head towards James, looking away from him as she smiles at you playfully, nudging you to go talk to him. You take the second round James had already ordered as soon as Jimmy sets them on the table.

Your cheeks turn maroon as you sip your Martini again. “No, I can’t!” you answer, shaking your head. Momentarily thinking about Jake and Bob. 

“August just went for hers!” she says. You turn around to find the seat next to you empty. Frowning for a moment, you return to James. “You can go too,” she insists. 

You bite your lower lip as you take a deep breath. Your mind goes back to this morning, thinking about Jake. He was supposed to call you today, and yet he didn’t. Then you remember Bob. For all you know, he might be calling you right now since your phone is dead, but he still hasn’t. You aren’t insecure, per se. It isn’t like you haven’t been thinking about them. If you had their numbers, you probably would’ve called them. 

You hold your breath for a moment. It has been a week since your summer started. Two short live romances in two days and a little more should be enough fun. Fun according to your friends, fun according to anyone your age. This is the time to make stupid decisions, experiment, and learn what you like. 

And so, you turn around looking for him. 

But he is gone. 

Your eyes scan the bar as best as possible, but there’s no sign of the mystery man. “He’s gone,” you huff silently to James, who frowns and immediately starts to look for him as if ready to fight him while you order another drink. 

Drinking the alcohol, feeling the liquid courage settle on your empty stomach, you think that’s for the best. You don’t notice when the music stops, too busy in your thoughts and telling James to drop it to notice what’s happening around you.  

And then you hear someone clearing their throat. 

“I know I’m just a fool who’s willing To sit around and wait for you,” the smooth, velvety voice makes you jolt around, and there he is. 

He is close to you now, enough that you know he can smell the salt on your skin and the thick scent of the ocean in your hair. Enough that you can see the little beads of sweat in his mustache, his pink cheeks, and the freckles surrounding his eyes. You can smell him, too, the olive scent surrounding him mixed with the scent of the beer he must’ve been taking. All-American, all beautiful, and now he’s singing to you. Acapella. 

“But baby, can’t you see there’s nothing else for me to do?” he continues to sign as people turn in delight, making the connection between him and the girl he’s singing to, you. “I’m hopelessly devoted to you,” his eyes are locked into yours as your cheeks flush, and you try to keep your smile down. 

There’s delight in his eyes when he realizes that you can’t stop smiling. He is bewitched. 

“But now there’s nowhere to hide Since you pushed my love aside,” he sings, swinging his hips, a dramatic performance, but now he’s accompanied by a chorus of military guys. You gasp as everyone starts to accompany him. Even James now. “I’m out of my head, Hopelessly devoted to you,”

The high tone isn’t his best for his friends; he still manages to keep it, but it causes you to cover your face with your hands as you giggle. He laughs too but continues to sing, through his chuckles, his smile now wide that he heard your laughter. 

“Hopelessly devoted to you,” he signs lower, his voice husky and beautiful. “Hopelessly devoted to you,” he sings as if the lyrics are meant only for you. For a moment, the world around you fades away, and you stare at him as the last note lingers in the air. 

Your heart flutters as the crowd erupts into cheering and applause. Everyone is now screaming his callsign, Rooster. He smiles at you, an expectation somewhere in his eyes, but you are too enthralled with him, with the gesture that you are simply beaming at him, waiting for him to say something.

“Sailor, sit here,” James finally says as she points to the empty seat beside you. 

Rooster glances at James, giving her a thankful smile before he sits next to you. You frown as James quickly leaves you to it, winking at you and silently wishing you good luck. Rooster eyes trail down your body, taking in your outfit in a bar crowded with clothed people. He enjoys it, the carelessness in you. 

“You don’t look like a singer at all, you know that?” you tease him, deciding you’ll be the first one to talk as if it would do much to diminish your anxiety. 

Rooster’s grin widens. What little he can recall from his dad was that he was never the greatest singer, not that it ever stopped him, but his mom had a prettier voice. Maybe it was the fact that he sang too much as a child until he became talented. He just knows that his father loved to sing; he loved music. Hell, this was how his father and his uncle managed to convince his mom to go on a date with Goose. 

“I like to keep a few tricks down my sleeve, you know?” he responds with the same teasing tone as he orders another beer from Jimmy, getting closer to you. 

“I think that’s the best trick to pick up girls I’ve ever seen,” you answer as you turn towards him. “Do you use it a lot here? What’s your repertoire?”

Rooster bites his lower lip as he shakes his head and sips on the beer, denying your assumptions. You roll your eyes.

“Oh, come on, Rooster,” you say with a playful smile, pushing him softly on his chest, your fingertips grazing against his strong muscles. 

You can’t help but notice how his eyes light up when you say his name, making your heart swell. You wonder for a moment if you are truly good at flirting as you gaze at him, blushing as the moments pass. 

“Bradley Bradshaw to you,” he responds, his voice soft and almost teasing. “You?”

After you tell him your name, his smile grows wider. Your inner cheek gets caught between your teeth as you take in his handsome features - those captivating eyes, the long lashes, and even that distinct pornstache that somehow adds to his charm.

“So, Bradshaw, how many times have you used it?” you inquire, genuinely curious about the adventures of the daring pilot.

“Two,” Rooster answers, but a hint of disappointment crosses your face, hidden behind your furrowed brow. It should be more, you think to yourself. With looks like his and that voice that could melt hearts, you’re sure he’s had many admirers.

“How did it go the first time?” you ask, leaning in. 

“Crashed and burned,” he admits, a touch of vulnerability in his voice.

“And the second?” you ask, the corners of your lips curling up with anticipation.

“Well, do you want to get out of here and find out with me?” he suggests, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, playfully gasping at his assumption. “What makes you think that I want to sleep with you?”

He counters with a playful pout, “Oh, so you’ll leave me brokenhearted?”

You can’t help but chuckle for a moment. The playful banter between you two feels natural, like you’ve known each other for far longer than just this encounter as if you’d known each other your whole life. It makes you feel a bit more comfortable. It’s strange. Feeling the surge of courage in your chest makes everything feel lighter for a moment. He seems lighter, but there’s something else in his eyes. A sense of longing.  

Giving him a mockingly dramatic expression, you quickly stand up from the chair and walk to the door. 

Rooster’s eyes widen. “Wait, wait,” he says, his voice softening. He follows you while you smile as you feel him closely behind you, his fingertips touching yours, before you push the door to the outside. 

The sea breeze hits your face perfectly. The moon is shining bright in the sky, enough to illuminate the beach just in the right way. A wide smile on your face as you close your eyes and relish the day. You don’t notice him looking; you don’t notice how he admires you, how his eyes are glowing as he takes you in. At night, with just a swimsuit, your face clean, your cheeks red, you are beautiful. 

“Dance with me,” he suddenly whispers. 

You snap your head towards him, opening your eyes softly as you take him in. Your heart flutters at his request, and you can’t resist his earnest plea. “You will truly break my heart,” you jest, as you take his hand and follow him to the sand. 

Wordlessly, you take his hand, and he begins to sway the two of you side to side. Your body quickly molds to his, perfectly, moving in sync with the rhythm of the music from inside the bar. His strong arms wrap around your waist, drawing you even closer to him. Olive and beer fill your senses, intoxicating and comforting all at once. 

You gaze into each other’s eyes, and the world around you disappears. It’s as if there’s just the two of you on the beach, lost in the feeling, the electricity, and the warmth. 

“You are so one of them,” you whisper as your hands climb up his chest and wrap themselves around his neck. His skin is hot; it burns. You don’t know why you are so sensitive; you want to blame the alcohol, but you think that’s just an omen for a moment. 

Rooster frowns, unable to understand what you mean. “The one guy that genuinely falls in love, every evening, with a different type of girl only to fall out of it again the next morning,” you explain. 

“That’s not true at all,” he protests as his hand gently trails up your back, sending a trail of electricity in its wake. The touch is both tender but a little more intimate, enough to know that he wants more but also soft enough that you lean into him. You don’t care that he’s too warm, that the heat might turn suffocating. 

“And then, which is worse. As you are breaking her heart, you are telling all of these lies about how she’s too good for you, and you can’t possibly be a good option for her, and you love her too much to stay with her,” you continued.

Rooster chuckles softly as he leans down further. 

“You’re too good for me,” he says, and you can’t help but smile.

His eyes linger on your face for a second, studying it; he’s tasting the moment, and so are you. 

And then, he leans in.  

The way he cups your cheeks is enough for you to gasp softly before his lips connect to yours. His mouth molds perfectly with yours, his nose bumping yours as your eyes close and you let yourself go. Bradley feels his heart thundering in his chest; you taste just like honey and lemon. His fingers dig into the delicate skin of your hips. It’s slow and long; he’s taking his time, but you can feel it, his impatience and yours; you know it by now as he ran his hands along the low of your back and you into his hair. 

The kiss is sweet and pleasurable. It isn’t passionate or soft. It’s something else, too intimate, too unknown. 

It wasn’t like it was with Jake or Bob. It’s different. 

God. Jake and Bob, for all you know, they might be there. 

As the thought crosses your mind, Rooster wraps his arms around your torso, and he’s pulling you closer to him, tight. As if he doesn’t want to let you go, he deepens the kiss. 

But then something’s off. Your stomach churns, and a feeling of nausea washes over you, your breath shallow, and suddenly you are suffocating. You shake your head, barely having time to push him away enough by his chest for him to notice. He lets you go fast, just in time before the bile rises from your throat. 

It might be the dehydration, the mix of alcohol, the fact of not eating, or just your consciousness. 

But as you finish throwing up your guts, everything seems a bit blurry. A pressure on your chest that you hadn’t felt ever before overwhelms you; it feels like you can’t breathe as you wipe your mouth. 

“Honey?”

Your vision goes blurry, and your throat feels so tight that no words come out of your mouth. All you can feel is the panic rising inside your chest; everything goes black. 

SEVEN YEARS LATER

As James and Augustine had promised, they did take care of you. It’d been over two weeks since you’d run into Jake, Rooster, and Bob. They’d taken the toll of doing groceries and doing simple errands around the town so you would avoid places that they might be. Hardware stores, cinemas, bars, and Grocery stores were strictly forbidden until further notice, at least for you. Inés could go out with Augustine and James. You knew that you simply couldn’t. 

Agustine told you that she had a contact in the Navy who might be able to tell you how long they’d be here. You waited patiently as you tried to do your best to work and take care of Inés, trying to cheer her up when you’d tell her that you couldn’t go to the movies together or the grocery store. Or the park on the main street. It was getting harder and harder each day, especially since Inés, three days after you’d sworn off any of these places, had realized and didn’t want to go anywhere without you. 

She quickly decided to hibernate with you, and you honestly didn’t know if it could last long. 

Even more with John’s presence in the house, more often than not. He’d apologized a week prior, and you’d let it go because you didn’t have the energy to fight with him. Not now, at least. He’d stayed over that same weekend; he’d tried to talk to her, but Inés outright refused. She even insisted that she had to sleep with you every night of the weekend until finally John left. Most importantly, John wouldn’t even be allowed to use her bed; he had to sleep on the couch. 

As you looked down at your beautiful daughter, at her button nose, at those oh-so-familiar caramel eyes with flecks of green, her oh-so-familiar twisted soft pink lips, all wrapped together in that small frown as she slightly glared at you with her oh-so-familiar brunette golden hair in disarray, waiting for an answer, you knew that John would be complaining about his backache for at least a week. 

“I just don’t get why she doesn’t like me,” he says as he slurps slightly from his cereal bowl. You cringe at the sound but try not to mind as you close the door of your mother’s house. 

It was her night with your mom; part of you was grateful that she was in another place that wasn’t the house or her summer camp. 

“She just doesn’t know you that well. That’s all,” you pinch your nose as you curse mentally the heels that you’d to wear due to a meeting with a client. 

“That’s why I told you, both of you should come to LA with me; we can go to that Disney Park,” he insists on the other end. 

You wonder for a slight second, only a second, if he didn’t have anything else to do at work because you did, and he still decides to bring up this. You regret it immediately as you stop in front of your car, phone heavy on your hand. Men you’d dated before had run away from you the moment they found out about Inés; here was a man who wanted to spend time with her. 

“Yeah, I know,” you answer softly as you stare at the sky. The cues of orange were already reflecting on the clouds in the sky; the afternoon sun was warming up your skin, toasting it, making your soul sizzle slightly. 

For a second, you close your eyes, and you let yourself go back to that summer. To those afternoons where the sun stretched as much as it could, showering you with its light. Salt air kissing your lips. Clouds lazily drift by. Rhythmic, soothing melody of the waves rushing towards you. You can remember their touch as they’d kissed your neck, your skin, their lips rolling down your body. 

“Babe?” 

You gasped softly as you opened your eyes. “I’m here,” you answer, clearing your throat as you look around, hoping no one else has seen you. 

There were many moments throughout the years when you thought that you’d seen one of them. Jake more often than Bradley or Bob. Your heart always drops to your stomach, and your vision turns technicolor. Colors become so bright that you almost become sick. They, he, they always looked at you just in the way you liked those years ago. They didn’t age when you thought you saw them. 

That’s how you realize that it is him, passing by in a car you didn’t recognize. As your eyes lock with him, you know deep down that he is looking for you. 

“I have to go,” your voice could be barely heard; it’s not more than a whisper as your eyes are glued to the jeep that continues to drive. John might’ve heard you, you don’t know, but you also don’t care. 

Holding your breath, you hope that he will drive away, but he doesn’t. It parks a few feet away from you. Your heartbeat picks up as you see the door opening. You’d seen him a few times with the green jumpsuit. He looks a lot older now, a lot grown up. Grown-up, something about it makes you want to recoil. It doesn’t fit with the memories you have of him. 

He was supposed to stay twenty-five; you were supposed to stay twenty-three. The more times you see him now, the more it eats away those memories. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, a sudden cool evening breeze brushing against your skin as you stand in the street, washed in golden light. The moon was now peering over the edge of the horizon, casting a faint shadow to glow over the sky.

“I thought I’d pass by,” Jake replies, his voice laced with a hint of nostalgia as he gazes at you. Those eyes staring back at you, just like they did seven years prior. 

There’s a brief moment when you can feel like you’re back there with him again. Seven years ago, you had your father; seven years ago, you were still innocent; you hadn’t gone through anything, managed to live your life prior to them unscathed, without so much as a crack. Now, as you stand there, you can feel it. 

All the cuts, all the breaks, all the different ways you were twisted and pulled back the way you’d to paste yourself back together for Inés.

Your face was stern, furrowing your eyebrows slightly. “You know what you sound like, right?” you ask. 

Jake’s lips tug slightly on the edges. He managed to see those parts of you seven years prior, hidden through a meekness you’d tried to push down those sharp edges of you. He likes that you let the sharpness come through now.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he admits, his voice ting with regret. “I hoped,” he says slowly; you roll your eyes at him. “I think I was the only one that came to your parent’s house, right?”

As soon as the words drop from his lips, you feel everything stop. Staring at him, your mind rumbles to look for answers to what he means. He has your rattle; he notices it. He knows your body like the back of his hand, every edge, curve, inch. He had it memorized seven years ago. There’s a part of him that’s relieved that he can still read you; he was afraid that he couldn’t anymore, even with this. 

“What are you -”

“I heard your name,” he interrupts softly, “Rooster and Bob were talking about you and how they know you.”

The silence is heavy as you stare at each other. There was a time when this was your worst nightmare, that either Bradley or, Bob or Jake found out about each other. You’d tried to handle it. None of them had asked you for anything else but what you had, and you hadn’t planned to ask for more. 

Until then, they did, until you did. 

“I don’t have to explain anything to you; you do know that, right?” you finally answer after weighing your options. 

Jake nods. He half-expected that answer after the domino of events that trail behind your relationship. 

His eyes examine you. Cheeks flushed, hair loose, the professional sleeveless black dress hugs your body perfectly. He’d imagined you like this: professional, beautiful. A little bit older, a little bit wiser. Sometimes he’d imagined what his life would’ve been like if he hadn’t fucked up as he did. 

But now, as he heard Bradley and Bob bickering about that summer. He realized that maybe he wasn’t the only one to blame. 

“So, it wasn’t only me that summer, and Bradley for that matter,” he says, his eyes flickering now to yours. 

The words come out of your mouth faster than you wished. “It was,” you sound definitive because you knew for a second it was before everything came tumbling down. But then again, you know it isn’t true, and you’d made the choices you’d made. You’d made your bed with all three of them. “I mean, I was also, you were.”

“Forgot that you avoid talking about feelings,” he murmurs, his eyes still fixed on you, the hint of a smile on his lips as he gives a step closer to you. 

Your eyebrows pinch. Memories of that fateful summer flooding back. You recall how confident he was, the charm that always seemed to follow him, and why you got stuck in his web. Anger floods back too, simmering in your chest, defensiveness, everything you don’t want to feel again and less for him. 

“I’ve changed; it has been seven years, and you only knew me for eight weeks.”

It’s filled with poison, you know it, and he does it too. 

“And I haven’t been able to forget you, honey,” Jake confesses, his voice filled with a melancholic longing as he gives another step. “Please, just hear me out,”

You smell the sandalwood, the lemon. You look up at him through your lashes, holding your ground, not moving an inch as you stare at him. He shouldn’t make your heart beat this way, not when it has been so long. And yet he does; he makes your body react. Perhaps it is the fact that he is looking at you like that; perhaps it is the way the sun is hitting you right now, but anger drains slowly as you feel him closer. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say softly, eyebrows still pinched. 

Part of you wishes you didn’t sound so soft when he’s around you, but the thought of him has been marinating for so long in your mind since you first saw him here again. His face is calm, but you can still sense the regret. 

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” Jake repeats, swallowing hard as his hand carefully comes up to your face; he does it carefully, as if not to scare you. 

A sound slips out of his lips as you lean into his touch. It doesn’t even cross your mind to move; you’re not too thrown off by his tenderness; you’d been craving it. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” you argue; closing your eyes, you let his skin touch yours. It burns you, from the inside out, the fact that you still crave his touch like this.

“Honey,” he breathes out. “Of course it does. What are the odds that you are here and I am here?”

He startles you. You open your eyes just as fast as you’d leaned into him. Staring at him, he doesn’t know what you’re hiding. He does not know what kept you here. You want to yell at him, the odds, you scoff mentally. The odds were that you got knocked up by one of them, the odds were that you couldn’t leave, and the odds were that you raised your daughter on your own. Even worse, the present odds. The odds are that if he, or any of them, find out what you’ve done, they might take Inés away from you. 

“Jake, stop,” you bite, taking a step back from him. You don’t dare to look at him for a moment. 

“Honey,” 

“You lied to me,” you pull away completely. “You lied to me, broke my heart,”

Jake frowns. He hates this. He hates that you run away, time and time again; you’ve always run away from him. Now that he knows, he just doesn’t let you go that easily. No, he can’t. 

“You lied, too. I mean, were you sleeping with-”

“Go,” you snap at him. Jake watches as you glare at him, your eyebrows pinched. He remembers the way your lips turn when you’re mad; he knows you. You aren’t mad right now. He stares at you, your long lashes, your golden skin. Eyes that he’d been seeing in his dreams since he left. Pink, plush lips. His eyes stay there for longer than before, and when he looks back at you again, you’re already staring. 

You know what he is about to do. 

 “I said, just go-” 

One, two, three steps, and he has reached you. His hand finds your hip and grabs at it roughly, cupping your jaw; his lips find yours. 

author's note: Thank you so much for your patience!!!!! I have so many questions about this fic because I've rewrote so many things. Need your opinions.

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[miracleonice87]

something in the way she moves

with Jack Hughes

for the summer fic exchange 2k23

a/n: I’ve been in my Taylor Swift and Jack Hughes era all summer, so what better way to write my exchange fic for @wyattjohnston than to combine those two subjects into one project for her? this one was originally inspired by “Question…?” and ended up tying together several Taylor songs all at once – check out the companion playlist for all of those and more songs that inspired the fic! also, shoutout to Brady and Emma’s wedding for providing the perfect backdrop for this story after I stalled out with ideas for the perfect present-day setting. lots of special guests appear in this one! finally, some people might hate the flashback format with all the jumping around, but I’ve been watching a lot of “The Summer I Turned Pretty” so you can thank the show for that! hope everyone enjoys… but especially @wyattjohnston. this one’s for you, my friend! endless thanks to you for putting on this wonderful exchange for us all, and for inviting me to be part of it. (and thanks to the lovely @laurenairay for the assist!)

tropes: whirlwind romance, exes to lovers, fluff, angst

warnings: swearing, alcohol, mention of breakup, arguing / conflict, sexual references but nothing graphic or detailed, quinn and luke and brady and matthew being pests, miles wood being a drunken hooligan lolol 

word count: ~8,500+ (hey who knew I still knew how to write long fic)

_____

July 21, 2023 – present day – Brady and Emma Tkachuk’s wedding  –  Peapack-Gladstone, New Jersey…

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Jack tucked his chin to his chest, busying himself with studying the pattern of the brick patio beneath his smart white sneakers. Whatever question Francesca had in mind, he was absolutely sure he was unprepared for it. But he nodded anyway.

Fran stared at his profile as he shuffled his feet beneath him, but as he lifted his head to look at her, she looked away, unable to meet his eyes as she forged ahead. Her gaze settled across the horizon instead, the moonlight casting a glow across the rolling green hills of Natirar. 

She sighed, then bit the bullet. “Does it feel like everything’s just like… second best now?” she inquired listlessly. 

Jack chuckled sadly, fiddling nervously with the neck of his amber beer bottle. Anybody who knew Jack knew he was never nervous. Except for where Fran was involved. She was the only person who had ever been able to do anything remotely resembling rattling him. 

“What, after that meteor strike?” he asked sarcastically. 

That’s what it felt like, at least – that night two years ago, when his team was out celebrating the end of their abysmal season before separating for the summer, the very same night her roommates had dragged her kicking and screaming from Fordham’s campus, across the Hudson, to see some indie band for one last hurrah before they went their own respective ways until fall semester, and Jack and Fran found themselves in the same crowded Hoboken bar. It felt like a meteor had crashed directly in his path that May night and blown up his entire life as he had known it. 

He nodded wearily before answering his now ex-girlfriend’s, as well as his own rhetorical, question. 

“Yeah, Fran. Yeah… it definitely does.”

Because second best was all that anything could have ever been, following the sensational rise and the staggering fall of Jack Hughes and Francesca DeLuca. 

He’d never forget the very moment he first laid eyes on her…

___

May 1, 2021 – two years earlier…

From Jack’s perch at the bar next to Nico, nursing a Moscow mule, the girl in the pale yellow halter dress was impossible to miss. 

He’d never believed in love at first sight, but as he surveyed the way that dress hugged her curves as she danced with her girlfriends, belting out the lyrics to “Peaches” to Justin Bieber, he thought for the first time that he might be completely wrong about that notion. He watched her hips sway enticingly, her olive-toned skin glowing beneath the bright multicolored lights, dark curls bouncing along with her every step. 

Before he knew it, his feet were taking steps of their own, ditching Nico mid-sentence as the young captain stood dumbfounded, arms flung out to his sides in annoyance as Jack sauntered away. As he watched Jack approach a circle of dancing young women, he zeroed in on the one in the yellow dress right away, knowing immediately that she was the reason for the abrupt end to his conversation with his teammate. As he saw Jack approach her, Nico could only smile and roll his eyes as he wandered off to find the rest of the Devils crew, assuming they’d lost #86 to the girl in the yellow dress for the rest of the evening. 

Meanwhile, for once, Jack didn’t have a plan, no course of action – didn’t have a pick-up line prepared, didn’t have anything clever in mind to say when he reached the girl in the yellow dress. When he finally did, she had her back to him, and it was only thanks to her perceptive friend, who pressed her lips into a straight line and tapped the woman on the shoulder, pointing to where he stood, that she even turned around and noticed Jack over her shoulder. 

And when she finally did lay eyes on him… well, she was as sunk as he was. 

Nothing was said between the two for a few moments, only bashful smiles exchanged. The girl took a few steps toward him, and he eventually found the wherewithal to open his mouth, praying that whatever was about to tumble from his lips wouldn’t make him look like a complete idiot. 

“Hi… I like your dress.”

Okay, could’ve been better, could’ve been worse. 

The girl’s lips spread into a grin, one that made Jack’s stomach flip over itself. 

“Thanks,” she said, glancing down to what she was wearing as if she herself had forgotten. Then her eyes scanned his outfit. “I, uh, I like yours, too.” 

A giggle escaped Jack before he could stop it, and instead of making things awkward, it seemed to endear the girl to him further. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. And then no other words came to mind. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself. Say something else, you jackass.

Thankfully, the girl saved them both from complete and total disaster and rescued Jack from himself. 

“I’m Francesca,” she said, raising her voice above the thumping music which seemed to get louder with every passing moment. “But everyone calls me Fran.”

Jack extended a hand for a gentlemanly shake, making Fran smile as she grasped it in hers. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Fran,” he said, ducking his head close to her ear so that he, too, could be heard above the music… and maybe because it provided the perfect opportunity to be closer to her. “I’m Jack. And everyone calls me Jack.” 

That earned a full-on chuckle from Fran which warmed Jack from the inside out. He watched her, grinning from ear to ear, amused by her amusement and encouraged by the fact that him introducing himself hadn’t seemed to spark any instances of the often inescapable “don’t I know you from somewhere?” or “you look so familiar” or, worse, “you play hockey, right?” He could be jinxing it, or she could just have a really impressive poker face, but it seemed that Fran truly had no earthly idea what he did for a living… and that delighted him to no end. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Jack,” she replied, still allowing her hand to be enveloped by his. “Are you from around here?” 

Jackpot. 

He fidgeted with the cocktail glass in his hand, making the melting ice cubes clink against the side. “Ah, kind of a long story,” he admitted truthfully with a smirk. 

She glanced at her wrist as if checking her watch, though there was no timepiece to be seen. 

“Well, I’ve got time,” she retorted playfully. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

Jack shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not, but I’ll buy you one and tell you all about it,” he said, nodding in the direction of the bar. “After you.” 

Fran eagerly took the lead, heading straight for the bar as he followed close behind. Once they reached the counter, she rested her elbows on its edge and waited patiently for the bartender to take the orders of the other patrons who had been waiting far longer than the two of them. 

But as Jack sidled up to her, resting one arm dangerously, though comfortably, close to hers against the cool aluminum bartop, his chest pressed just close enough to her back to be noteworthy but not overbearing, she noticed that the bartender’s eyes flickered toward him immediately, an immediate smile crossing the woman’s face. Francesca was even more confused, and admittedly disheartened, when the bartender ditched the entire far side of the bar in favor of beelining it toward Jack.

“What can I get you, sweet cheeks?” the bartender said in a syrupy cadence, leaning over the counter as if to make sure Jack noticed her sizable chest on display in her black sports bra. 

Blegh, Fran thought. Maybe this guy isn’t such a good idea… 

Unfazed, he asked, “Hey, can I please get another vodka cran and then…” Jack motioned to Fran. 

“Uh, Bud Light, please?” she ordered, repeating the same go-to drink she’d already had half a dozen of. 

Jack pursed his lips to attempt to avoid a full-blown grin. He couldn’t help but love a girl who loved her beer. 

The bartender nodded, knocking on the counter and turning toward the taps. 

Fran tried to put the awkward encounter with the bartender to the back of her mind for the moment and turned 90 degrees so that she could face Jack more easily. 

“So, you are or you aren’t from around here?” she asked, returning to the question that had led the two of them here originally.

Jack smiled, weighing his options. This question was always a complicated one to answer… but something about explaining it to Fran put him oddly at ease.

“So we, uh, we moved around a bit because my dad was a hockey player before he had kids, and then a coach for years while I was growing up,” he began. 

“Oh, nice! I don’t know much about hockey,” she told him, shaking her head. “Big on playing sports but never big on watching them.”

Oh, my god, he thought to himself as he nodded, trying to seem casual. It’s like this girl was built in a lab just for me. 

However, he didn’t know whether this next part would seem better or worse to a girl who wasn’t a sports fan. But it was his reality, so he decided to lay it bare.

“Gotcha, um… so, I… also play hockey.”

Francesca’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Wow… really?” 

Jack nodded again, then cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, uh, that’s actually why I’m here tonight,” he explained. “All my teammates are here. Our season just ended and everybody’s about to separate for the summer, so we came out for one last night together for a while.” 

It was Fran’s turn to nod as the bartender approached, and Jack thanked her and pushed a large bill across the counter. Fran busied herself with running her finger along the rim of her glass, pretending like she didn’t notice the generous denomination. Jack leaned an elbow against the counter to face her, in hopes of continuing the conversation.

“So… wait, you play for, what, the Rangers? Islanders?” she asked, pulling the names of the teams she vaguely recalled from the cobwebbed recesses of her brain. 

Jack smacked a hand to his chest dramatically as if he’d just been shot. 

“God, Fran,” he hissed, “you really know how to wound me.” 

“What?!” she asked, sputtering with laughter. “I dunno! Are those the wrong team names?!” 

Jack shook his head, entertained. “No, no,” he assured. “You were right – those are NHL teams, but I play for the Devils. They play just over in Newark.”

“Oh… right,” Fran said softly, biting her lip and tucking her chin to her chest, praying she somehow didn’t look as stupid as she felt. 

Jack lowered his head to try and meet her eyes, squeezing her elbow gently. The simple touch alone sent a bolt of electricity through her being.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” he said with an easy chuckle. “Trust me, it’s way better having to explain all this to you than having you come up and recite it all to me like some creepy walking encyclopedia.” 

Francesca forced a tight smile, but still stared at her shoes. In a gutsy move, he reached his thumb and forefinger to grasp her chin and gently tilt her head upward. 

“C’mon, lemme see that pretty face,” he said in a gravelly tone, one that made her spine shiver. 

Just as she found herself leaning into his touch, she saw a tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man approaching Jack from behind, unsteady on his feet. She assumed that this was one of his teammates, as the taller man went to sling a noodly arm around Jack’s shoulders.

“Uh, look out-” Fran warned… but it was too late. 

The man’s hand flung Jack’s glass clean out of his grip, sending its red liquid contents splashing all over Fran’s chest and stomach before hitting the floor, thankfully hitting a sopping wet rug beneath the bar, which was the only thing that kept it from shattering into a million pieces.

They both gasped in the process, and Jack instinctively grabbed her by the forearm. 

“Oh, my god! Omigod, fuck, Fran, I-I’m so sorry,” he lamented. “Woody! Fuck!” he yelled to the drunken man who apologized apathetically, then disappeared into the crowd.

Fran blinked quickly, her mouth in a tight “o” as she set aside her beer. As a wincing Jack stupidly patted her torso with the flimsy cocktail napkin that had been handed to him with his drink, he took in her expression and felt sick to his stomach. 

Well, there you have it, he thought to himself. No way she’s ever gonna see me again after this…

What he hadn’t accounted for, though, was that after the initial shock of wearing the cold drink faded, Fran would throw her head back in uproarious laughter, eyes screwed up tight in hilarity. 

Jack let one nervous snicker escape him, and then another, and then another… and by the time thirty seconds had passed, the two of them were breathless in fits of giggles, Jack keeping a firm hand on the crook of Fran’s arm. 

“Are you okay?” he managed to utter as they finally began to settle down. 

She nodded, wiping tears of hysteria away with her wrist. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she promised, splaying a hand on her chest as she glanced down at the maroon stain on her yellow dress. “I’m just dying because this is my roommate’s dress and she made me swear not to spill anything on it,” she admitted, erupting with laughter all over again. “So much for that.”

Jack’s eyes glittered as he watched her chuckle. “Well, the blame lies squarely on me, so I’ll apologize to her for that one,” he told her, beaming. He cleared his throat before venturing forward. “Hey, my place isn’t far and I think I’ve got some club soda in the fridge… whad’ya say we-”

Before he could finish his thought, Fran picked up where Jack had left off before the drink had been spilled, pressing a hand assertively to his cheek and leaning forward to plant a firm kiss to his lips. Neither of them knew how much time had passed before she eventually pulled away, biting her bottom lip coyly.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smoothing the back of his finger across her cheekbone. He watched a Cheshire grin spread across her now-swollen lips, and she offered an enthusiastic nod.

He trailed his fingertips down her bare arm, sending chills across her skin despite the heat and humidity of the bar, before he reached for her hand. 

“Then let’s go.”

After a short cab ride brimming with stolen glances and squeezes of hands, the two were practically sprinting through his front door, Jack not bothering to even turn on the lights in favor of keeping his hands securely on Fran’s lower back, holding her desperately close as his lips danced across hers with simultaneous ease and desire.

Eventually, he carefully backed her into his kitchen and hoisted her onto the counter, feeling her quiver when the cool marble hit the backs of her thighs. 

He smiled against her lips and said roughly, “I gotta get you that club soda.”

She shook her head without breaking away from his kiss. 

“It can wait,” she whispered insistently. “Just get me outta this dress.”

Jack smirked, his fingers immediately following orders as they searched for the zipper in the middle of her back. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” he retorted, finally pulling the zipper down, allowing him to tug the dress over her head. He offered it to her, one last chance to take care of the task they came here under the guise of doing – removing the maroon stain from the gauzy garment. Instead, she tossed it aside, watching as it floated to the tile floor before grasping Jack’s shoulders purposefully, leaning in to speak against the delicate skin of his ear.

“I want you,” she admitted, nipping at his earlobe. 

And after he carried her to his bedroom, she had him, had her fill of him – just the way they both wanted, their union the perfect balance between urgent and reverent, as if they both already knew that whatever this was between the two of them was something meant to be cherished.

More than an hour later, after making the mutual decision that it was time for a snack and a little something else to drink in order to replenish their strength, Jack left her alone with her thoughts in the quiet of his bedroom as he made his way back to the kitchen, donning only a pair of sweats, smiling when he picked up the now-rumpled yellow dress and placed it in his spacious farmhouse-style sink. He secured the drain stopper and retrieved the club soda from the refrigerator, still smirking to himself as he poured the stain-fighting liquid over the fabric to ensure it was completely immersed.

As he turned back to the fridge on the hunt for a satisfactory snack, Jack saw Fran emerge from his bedroom wearing nothing but one of his white dress shirts and a clean pair of his boxers.

She grimaced, and he sensed her unease even from a few yards away.

“I’m sorry, I just kinda put on the first things I found in your closet,” she said, one eye squeezed shut as if it pained her to make the admission. “I hope that’s okay. I swear I don’t make it a habit to put on a guy’s clothes like I own the place, but I, uh… didn’t exactly have a dress to put back on,” she pointed out.

Still distracted by the sight of her in his clothes, he shook his head rapidly.

“No, no, of course… I’m taking care of that as we speak,” he assured, nodding his head in the direction of the sink. “And you can wear whatever you want of mine – I should’ve laid something out for you, but… this is perfect.” He took a few slow steps toward her, his hands coming to rest on her hips. “You look amazing,” he said, his voice deep once again.

Francesca bloomed under his praise, preened beneath his touch as he reached out to stroke her cheek, his thumb coming to rest on her plush lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, pursing her lips to kiss the pad of his thumb. 

It took every ounce of gentlemanly will in Jack not to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back into the bedroom again. Instead, he forced himself to take a step back and motion toward the adjacent living room. 

“Go on and make yourself comfortable,” he urged as she glanced toward the expansive space. “I’ll grab us a couple things and be right over.”

Fran nodded and obliged, entering the inviting area and finding herself immediately drawn to the vintage Victrola on a shelf on the far side of the room.

Meanwhile, after coming up empty in the liquor cabinet and noticing that the refrigerator was fresh out of beer, Jack opened a crummy bottle of wine he was certain Ty had bought once for a date but had never been touched. He poured two glasses and set them on a sturdy wooden tray, then scrounged through the cupboards to find some crackers that weren’t stale to go along with the Gouda and sopressata he’d found in the fridge. Pleased that he accomplished his mission, he arranged all of the items on the tray and carried it into the living room. As he set it on the coffee table, he found Fran admiring the shelves displaying his substantial collection of vinyls. Upon hearing him approach, a glass of wine for her in hand, Fran turned his way. 

“You have quite the record collection there, Mr. Tough Guy Hockey Jock,” she teased, brows raised as she gratefully accepted the glass. “And not just the trendy new stuff, the good stuff – Sinatra, the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, Pink Floyd. I’m impressed.”

Jack smirked. “Thanks – to be fair, I inherited a bunch of them from my parents and grandparents. They’d move and they’d always threaten to sell these on eBay but I wouldn’t let ‘em,” he explained. “Go ahead, put one on – anything.”

His request was easier said than done, and as he turned away to close the blinds throughout the room, chomping on cheese and crackers, she faced the impossible task of choosing one, eventually settling on James Taylor’s “Something in the Way She Moves.” 

He smiled when he heard the first strains, and her eyes met his when she turned away from the record player after setting the needle. 

“Great choice,” he praised, the two of them crossing the room toward one another as if at the mercy of some magnetic force. 

“One of my mom’s favorites,” she explained, fingers toying with the hem of the dress shirt as the folksy melody swirled throughout the room. 

There's something in the way she moves Or looks my way, or calls my name That seems to leave this troubled world behind…

When they were no more than a foot apart, Jack opened his palm and held it out toward her. 

“Dance with me,” he less invited, more demanded, not that Fran minded. She instantly slipped her fingers into his and took a step nearer so that their chests were pressed impossibly close.

She in his shirt and boxers, he in a pair of sweats, neither of them in shoes, they twirled around his living room as if attending a royal ball, until an unmistakable scratch signaled the end of the record… but by then, Jack and Fran were already locked in each others’ embrace again, the only sounds in the room the panting breaths escaping their lips between fiery kisses.

They never did make it back to the bedroom that night, didn’t even ever find sleep where they stayed curled up together in the living room, talking and laughing through the wee hours. Instead, when the sun rose, their only hint that morning had already come, they were sitting on the hardwood floor, laughing with her feet in his lap like he was her closest friend and not some random boy she’d met at a bar mere hours before. 

“How’d we end up on the floor anyway?” Jack said, rubbing at a kink in his neck as one hand stayed fixed on her ankles.

Fran lifted the empty bottle of wine next to where she lay, and his eyes reluctantly traveled away from her face and toward her hands. 

“Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top rose, that’s how,” she retorted, reminding him of the bottle they’d shared after all the drinks they’d already indulged in at the bar.

“Mmm…” he hummed with lifted brows, both of them chuckling at the culprit as she set it back down on the hardwood. “So… coffee?” he inquired, desperate for this night – or, well, now morning – not to end. Desperate for Fran to stay here, with him, and never leave.

To his delight, she cocked her head against the throw pillow and offered him the warmest smile he’d ever seen.

“I’d love some,” she answered simply, realizing she’d be content to never see the outside world, anything beyond the walls of this Hoboken house, again.

They saw each other every day for the next year and a half after that, and starting with that very first one, Jack had painted all Fran’s nights a color she had searched for since. 

And still, to this day, she couldn’t remember who she was before him. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

“This day,” that is, being Brady and Emma Tkachuk’s wedding day. Which after the breakup, Fran had never anticipated being present for. 

But then came the phone call in the dead of winter, just weeks after she’d ended it with Jack. She was still reeling, trying to push through the pain while focusing on excelling in her last semester of undergrad, but anyone who knew her could see that she was struggling, including mutual friends of hers and Jack’s. Which soon made its way back to Emma via Brady.

And when Fran saw Emma’s name on her screen that day as she studied for an exam, she smiled. She hadn’t talked to Emma since before the split, and despite knowing it was more than likely going to be a covert check-up call, Fran was happy to hear from the girl she’d become so close to in the last two years.

___

February 18, 2023 – five months ago…

Fran tapped the “answer” button and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Em,” she said warmly. 

“Hi! I miss you! Brady’s here, too,” Emma explained. 

“Franny D!” he called over the speakerphone. 

“Hey, B! I miss you guys, too,” she said sadly. “How are you guys?”

“We’re good!” Emma answered. “Neck-deep in wedding planning. I know it’s gonna be fun but it’s honestly kinda brutal.” 

“Brutal, Franny,” Brady echoed dramatically. “It’s torture.”

Fran chuckled. “What, B, not enjoying picking out linen colors? Did you go with eggshell or warm white?” 

“Couldn’t tell ya, Franny,” he replied. “If I had it my way, none of the tables would be covered and everybody’d just be playing beer pong on ‘em.”

Fran swore she could hear Emma’s eye roll. “You’re such a dude,” Fran complained. 

“He’s not kidding about making that suggestion, either,” Emma said, feigning (or maybe not) weariness. “But, um, that’s not why we’re calling. First of all, we, uh… we just wanted to see how you were.” 

Fran swallowed, staring out the window of her apartment, watching the snow swirl among the towering skyscrapers and across bustling streets. She’d been having trouble answering that question at all, let alone honestly. She reached to rub her palm up and down the length of her shin, suddenly feeling cold. 

“I’m, um… I mean, I’ve been better, that’s for sure,” she told them. “I just… I really never thought this would happen, to be totally honest.” Her voice was quieter now, the familiar lump in her throat quivering. 

Emma made a sound of understanding. 

“Us either, Franny,” Brady gently concurred. “And I know you don’t wanna hear this right now, but I know Jacky didn’t think so either.” 

Fran sighed, dropping her chin to her chest as her eyes fell to the azure crewneck with the maize Michigan logo emblazoned on the front, which Jack had left behind once after a trip to visit Luke. She had never returned it, and he eventually noticed it in the background of a FaceTime call while he was on a road trip and told her to keep it because he was certain it looked better on her anyway. And now it hurt to look at it, and it hurt to wear it, and it hurt to not wear it, so she went with wearing it, because even though she’d been the only one to don it for a year, she swore it still smelled like him. Unconsciously, she closed her eyes and breathed deep. 

“I know,” she said softly. 

“We didn’t wanna make you sad, Fran, but the other reason we were calling is just to say that we’d really like to invite you to the wedding in July-”

Brady interrupted his fiancee. “No, we are inviting you to the wedding, no question,” he said firmly. “But we just want you to know that it’s completely up to you whether you wanna come.”

“Yes,” Emma jumped in again. “We would absolutely love to have you there, because you mean so much to both of us, but we totally get it if it’s too much. Quinn’s in the wedding and we’re inviting their whole family, so… obviously Jack will be there.” 

Her eyes fluttered open and she cleared her throat. “Y-yeah, of course, as he should be,” Fran managed. “I really appreciate the invitation, you guys. Seriously, it means so much to me. I’ll check the dates on my calendar, but I’d really love to come-”

Before she could even finish her thought, she heard a loud clap and a “FUCK YEAH!” from Brady, and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re the best, Franny D,” he said. “And I’ll promise Quinny’ll keep Jacky on his best behavior.” 

“Plus Ellen’ll be there, so you know he’s not getting away with shit,” Emma offered. 

“You guys are too much,” Fran said affectionately. “It’s your day – I don’t need you worrying about me and J.” She felt a stab in her heart at her own use of the retired pet name, one that was once used so frequently and so fondly but was now avoided like a plague. She swallowed that lump in her throat again. “We’ll be fine.” 

“We know you will,” Brady said softly. “Well, listen, we’ll let you go but, uh… thanks, Franny. I really hope you can make it.” 

“Yes, we really do!” Emma reiterated. “We love you, Fran. Talk soon.”

“I love you guys, too,” she told them. “Thanks for calling.”

And Brady must not have been able to keep the news to himself, because within a few hours of agreeing to attend the Tkachuk wedding, her phone had buzzed four more times with text messages from four members of the Hughes clan: 

Lukey: yooo B just told me you’re coming to the wedding!!! hell yes, sista 👊 see you soon

Quinny: Franny D, super happy to hear you’re coming to B’s wedding. we love ya, no matter what. can’t wait to see ya

Ellen: Hi, my sweet girl 💖 Chantal just told me that you’re planning to come to Brady and Emma’s wedding. I’m so happy to hear it! I’m counting down the days until I see you. Love always 💋

Jim: Hey Franny! Can’t wait to see you at the Tkachuk wedding this summer. Really glad you’re planning to go. ❤️

The only member of the family that her phone didn’t sound with a message from that night?

Jack. 

The one that it hurt the most not to hear from. 

She set her phone aside that night and swallowed, hard, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her forehead on her knees. Preparing to see Jack in person for the first time in months was going to be impossible enough, but seeing his entire family… that just might be enough to break her.

Because she’d never fallen out of love with them, either. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

And today, after a heartbreakingly long hug with Ellen before the ceremony, and affectionate but melancholy greetings from Jim and Luke, here Fran stood in the midst of Brady’s reception, in front of the middle Hughes son who never did text her leading up to this moment. When he’d seen her approach his family’s seats a few minutes before today’s ceremony, he had only just stood up from his chair at the far end of their row to try and make his way toward her when the processional music started, leaving both of them frozen in place, staring helplessly at one another. She’d mouthed sorry, and he’d nodded and mouthed we’ll talk, as his family sat still between them, awkwardly trying to avoid making eye contact with the estranged couple lest they make the moment even more painful for them than it already was. 

When Fran turned to find the nearest single seat, she could feel the tingling heat creeping up her neck, and it wasn’t from the summer sun. She’d spent months agonizing over what she would say to Jack when she finally saw him again, and she still couldn’t believe that the first thing she’d spoken aloud after they’d found each other on the deck for a quiet moment alone was “can I ask you a question?” But how else was she supposed to begin the conversation, anyway? 

And at least he’d agreed – conceded that nothing had yet felt as good as the two of them had. For the past six months, she’d been terrified that nothing ever would, and she had to admit, it felt good to know that he seemed to share that same belief. 

It felt good and it felt awful all at the same time. 

Fran sighed, lifting her gaze to the shimmering stars far above their heads. 

“Why are we doing this?” she whispered, half to herself and half to him.

Jack gave her a quizzical look; she was all over the place right now… not that he didn’t feel completely undone and frazzled himself. 

“What? Talking? I dunno, Fran, I can go back inside, but I wasn’t just gonna sit in there all night and ignore y-”

Fran stopped him, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what I mean,” she said, a noticeable exhaustion in her tone, one that Jack recognized in his own voice often these days. “I just mean… this hurts so bad, J. And it doesn’t have to – didn’t have to. We were so good together… why did-”

“Because you said it was too much, Fran,” Jack accused, sharply though accurately, remembering how the pressure of being in a serious relationship with one of North America’s most heralded professional athletes at such a young age had often left her curled up in a ball in the corner, something that at 20 and then 21 years old, he had found himself completely unprepared to handle. 

“And I made the wrong choice!” Fran admitted, her voice rising an octave by the end of the sentence as her emotions took over. “At least I can admit it. Can you? I mean, you’re the one who left my house in the middle of the night, without even trying to put up a fight. Can you admit that you were in the wrong, too?” 

Yeah, I can, he immediately thought to himself, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.

Instead his mind flashed to the very moment in time where he knew he had indeed made the wrong choice. 

___

April 3, 2023 – three months earlier…

Jack was trying his hardest to pay attention to his date. He truly was. 

In a well-meaning but doomed-from-the-start attempt to help him get over Fran, one of the team WAGs had set him up with her college roommate who had recently moved to the city. So here he was at dinner following a Broadway show he’d never even heard of before, which he had bought tickets to specifically because he knew he wouldn’t have to speak to the girl for at least a couple of hours but would still come away looking like the hero for dropping money on expensive tickets for date number one. 

What he hadn’t accounted for, when she had unsurprisingly suggested that they grab a bite to eat after the show at Sugarfish on 56th and Broadway, was that he’d spot, through the front window, Francesca walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand with some guy, laughing with him as he told what were no doubt painfully lame attempts at jokes to try and impress her. 

Jack’s blood ran cold, his jaw muscles flexing as he clenched his teeth together, his date still rambling on about her so-called career as a “business owner.” (See also: owner of an Instagram account where she posted regular thirst traps and tagged the brands she wore, unprompted. See also: a quasi-influencer. See also: a Kardashian wanna-be.) Which provided him the perfect opportunity to get lost in his own spiraling thoughts. 

Granted, this restaurant wasn't that far from Fran’s apartment on 52nd, a fact which Jack was painfully aware of throughout the entirety of the show and the meal. But goddamn it… this city was filled with eight million people besides her and that dickhead guy, but they just happened to be the two who caught his gaze.

Which maybe wouldn’t have bothered Jack so much if it didn’t look like Fran was actually enjoying the guy’s company. 

He slouched in his chair and spoke as few words as possible for the rest of the meal, and when it had finally, mercifully, ended, he called her an Uber, waited until she had gotten picked up, sulked to his car, and deleted her number. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

“Well? Can you?” Fran repeated, losing patience as she wondered where his mind had just wandered off to. 

“Yeah, I can,” Jack said simply, deciding to lay all his cards on the table at the recall of the recent memory. 

Fran’s head snapped toward him. Being that he was by far the most stubborn person she had ever known, she hadn’t expected him to fess up to that. Her mouth opened as she thought of what to say next, then closed it when nothing came to mind quickly enough. 

“I can tell you exactly when I realized it, too,” Jack said with a smile devoid of humor, licking his lips – the very same lips she used to call home. “I saw you with some guy walking down 56th a few months ago. And it felt… fuck, it just felt like I was out of time.”

Francesca blinked repeatedly, confusion etched on her features. Though she knew who she would have been with that night, she didn’t even remember the exact instance he was referring to, so it obviously hadn’t left all that much of an impression upon her. But that’s not the information she wanted to inquire about. 

“W-what do you mean, ‘out of time’?” she asked, her volume much lower now. 

Jack met her with sad eyes, pursing his lips. He shrugged a shoulder. 

“I dunno, I guess… I guess I was holding out hope that somehow, we’d work it out,” he replied, his voice suddenly sounding hoarse. “I just always thought it would be us in the end. But seeing you with someone new, I… I just lost that hope.” 

Tears pricked at the backs of Fran’s eyelids and she looked away, swiping at her eyes with the side of her hand. 

“There’s never been anyone else… I mean, not… not really,” she was suddenly saying, caught off guard that she was opening up so much. “That was the closest I got, but it was only for a few weeks, and he ended it because he said I was being distant. And he was right. I just, I wasn’t in it. Not at all.”

Jack watched her the entire time she spoke, then nodded slowly. He understood that feeling all too well. 

“I get it,” he said softly. “Trust me.” 

As the two of them let their respective admissions hang between them in the thick summer air, falling into a contemplative silence, unbeknownst to them, a tipsy Luke had made his way back to the open bar at the edge of the dancefloor, which was situated just inside the tall French doors leading to the venue’s back patio where his brother and Fran stood alone as the party raged on. Luke’s eyes never left the acrimonious pair as he ordered himself not one, but two more gin and tonics, then darted, drinks in hand, across the room to where his parents and Quinn sat at a table chatting. 

“Luke Warren Hughes, you’d better slow down on the double fisting,” Ellen warned in her best mom voice. 

Luke waved her off. “Yeah, whatever – guys, listen to me, this is important,” he urged, out of breath. “Jacky and Franny are outside by themselves talking.”

“What?!” Quinn exclaimed, jumping up from his chair so quickly and so forcefully that it would have tipped over if not for Jim’s quick reflexes, as he shook his head in disapproval. As he watched his eldest son jog to the same door Luke had just been standing near to peer through the panels for himself, Jim scoffed. 

“You guys need to give them their privacy – they’ve been through enough,” he stated firmly.

“Yes, and you wouldn’t like it if your brothers were spying on you and a girl,” Ellen pointed out. 

Luke swallowed a gulp of his cocktail and beamed. 

“Yeah, but… it’s not just some girl. It’s Jack and Fran,” he declared, shaking his head in excited disbelief before following after his brother. 

Having lost both their sons to espionage, Ellen and Jim’s eyes met, and they shared a knowing, hopeful smirk. 

“It is Jack and Fran,” Jim repeated in a voice near a whisper, tipping the rim of his beer bottle toward his wife, who clinked it with her champagne glass. 

“Cheers to that… no matter what happens,” she said softly. 

Back outside, ignorant to the fact that they were being carefully watched, Jack was surprised when Fran breathed a laugh through her nose, finally breaking the silence. Her cheeks warmed at the memory replaying in her mind.

“Remember that first night we spent together, at your place in Hoboken? What we did after Miles made you spill that drink on me?” she asked, unaware that he had played those sacred scenes over in his mind hundreds if not thousands of times in the past two years just as she had, particularly when they were each alone in their beds in the dead of night. 

“Of course I do,” he replied quietly. “It’s kinda… all I ever do. Well, that night and… a-and lots of other nights after that.” He caught her stare and somberly confessed, “I feel you no matter what.” 

Fran took a few daring steps closer, her hand brushing his. She leaned in so close that her lips nearly grazed the shell of his ear. 

“Do you wish you could still touch me, Jack?” she whispered, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on its end. 

He slowly exhaled through pursed lips, trying and failing to steady his now-racing pulse. 

“Every fuckin’ day, Fran,” he said with little hesitation, turning his head so that their noses were mere centimeters from each other. 

“Is it too late to do something about it?” she asked, her eyes locked with his. 

“With us?” he let out a singular chuckle. “It’s never too late with us, Fran.”

She smiled so wide it made her cheeks ache, and she ran a hand down the lapel of his jacket. 

“Good, because you look really fuckin’ handsome, and I’ve been wanting to tell you that all night,” she said, her voice low and sultry. 

He hummed appreciatively and nuzzled his nose against her temple. 

“Funny you say that, because I’ve been wanting to tell you all night that I, uh… I like your dress,” he whispered, recycling the very first compliment he ever bestowed upon her before pressing a kiss to the skin just in front of her ear as she giggled, but the laughter died on her lips as Jack kissed a line from her ear, across her cheekbone, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her mouth, and finally, to her eager lips, which matched the fervor and neediness of his own. It was as though the pain of the past six months melted away as they each attempted to demonstrate how deeply and passionately they had missed the other, hands in hair, chests flush, soft moans being captured by the other’s mouth…

But it wouldn’t be an important moment in Jack and Fran’s story if there weren’t loved ones meddling nearby.

Now it wasn’t only Luke and Quinn at the doors watching the marvelous scene unfold, but it was Matthew, and Ellie, and Taryn, and Robbie, and all the Fitzgerald kids, and Brady, and Emma. Someone pushed open one of the doors, flooding the patio with a cacophony of cheers and jeers from those closest to them. 

“Get a room!” “Finally!” “Jack, this is a family wedding!” “Hand check!” “Oww owwww!”

God… embarrassing.

Reluctantly pulling away from the kiss, Jack growled, resting his forehead against Fran’s as she giggled nervously, before whipping his head toward their audience. 

“Don’t you all have a wedding to get back to?” His head swiveled to Brady and Emma. “Especially you two?” 

Brady shrugged. “Hey, we already had our kiss, man. You go ‘head,” he encouraged.

Emma giggled, one hand wrapped around her groom’s bicep as she swatted nonchalantly toward Jack and Fran with the other. 

“Yeah, carry on. Don’t mind us!” she sang. 

Jack rolled his eyes, but all inhibition and worry faded away as Fran grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to meet her lips once more, feeling his frown literally turn upside down into a smirk as he sunk into her, hand finding a familiar home low on her back, dangerously close to the curve of her ass. 

And at that, the crowd they’d drawn erupted into a fit of laughter and applause, Quinn and Luke in the middle of it all, pumping their fists simultaneously before clapping their palms together and leaning in for a hug. 

They got their sister back.

“What are you kids doin’ over here?” came a booming voice from the back of the group. Jack and Fran watched as the seas parted and Keith Tkachuk made his way to the door, following his younger son’s pointed index finger to find the reunited couple embracing on the patio. His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. 

“Well, can’t say I didn’t see this one coming!” he bellowed, a jolly twinkle in his eye. “Now, you boneheads have had your fun,” he addressed the group. “Leave these two to have their own.” With a wink, he turned away, and their crowd of clamoring cheerleaders dispersed, whispering animatedly among themselves. 

Jack exhaled swiftly and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Shoutout Big Walt,” he declared, clearing his throat. 

Fran nodded, snickering, and pulled him in by the waist. 

“Gotta love ‘em, though, hmm?” she mused, nuzzling her nose against his. 

“Mmm, yeah, whatever,” Jack dismissed, a tenacious hand on her cheek as he leaned down to press his lips to hers once again. “Now, where were we?” he teased in a whisper as she smiled against his mouth, her hands traveling beneath his suit jacket, across the familiar expanse of his sculpted back. His hands found their original target and slipped down the small of her back, finally reaching the arc of her rear.

“Mmmm… hello, old friend,” Jack murmured in her ear, earning him a playful smack to the hip. 

“Shut up,” she sassed him, but she didn’t mean it, and they both knew it. He fixed his lips to hers over and over again, and though the party roared on inside, mere yards away, it was as if Jack and Fran were the only two people on the face of the earth, their bodies fusing together as if they had always been intended to be one. 

It was always like that for the two of them.

Nothing could have pulled them from that moment… except the first strains of “Something in the Way She Moves” by James Taylor echoing from the speakers inside.

The pair froze. She pulled away to hold him at arm’s length, in utter disbelief.

Jack ogled at Fran, the pure longing in his eyes mirrored in hers. His siblings and friends were meddlers, sure… but had they been so thoughtful as to remember that this was their song — had been since that very first night? Or was it simply fate?

Either way, Jack could do nothing but extend his upturned palm toward her. 

“Dance with me?” he asked softly. 

Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed a hand through her curls, then swiped at the damp corners of her eyes. 

“God, Jack, I’m a mess,” she said with a halfhearted chuckle. “I don’t think I can go back in there right now.”

Jack shrugged. “So what?” he asked, taking hold of her hand and pulling her in, his other arm winding around her. “We’ll dance right here.”

She rested her free hand on his chest, melting at the sweet sentiment. Then, she relaxed into him, tucking her head into his neck where it fit perfectly — always had. 

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then rested his cheek atop her head as the song carried on... 

There's something in the way she moves Or looks my way, or calls my name That seems to leave this troubled world behind If I'm feeling down and blue Or troubled by some foolish game She always seems to make me change my mind And I feel fine anytime she's around me now She's around me now Almost all the time And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now She's been with me now quite a long, long time And I feel fine…

Jack’s heart soared, his joy permanently etched on his face, as he swayed side to side with Francesca in his arms. In his wildest dreams, he could have never hoped to have her here with him again like this. 

He glanced down at the girl he’d loved since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, saw her eyes fluttered closed in blissful contentment, and brushed his lips across her brow as he whispered, “Fran, you know for me, it’s always you, right?”

He watched the corners of her mouth pull upward even further, and she tipped her face up to meet his. 

“I hoped so,” she admitted roguishly. “Because for me, it’s always you, too.”

[hyunfilms]

blue side of the sky (lmh) | four.

♡ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: waking up after 3 months with no recollection of your past, your friends do what they can to help you remember. except, they omit an important piece to the puzzle - afraid you would remember the heartbreak and hurt all over again.

—pairing: lee know x f. reader

—genre: (18+) exes to lovers, bestfriends to lovers au | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

—word count: 5k

—chapter warning: minor cussing, flashbacks throughout chapter!, chef minho cooking up a storm (piece of cake), minho in his feelings and having some trouble with it, jj & minho big sibling dynamic, another new character!, this chapter is centered on minho and how he is struggling to find a balance with everything, underlying tone of distrust

Minho is at the café before the sun is up.

He's actually not sure how he's even awake and functioning right now being that he feels like he's severely behind on sleep. He's been barely getting any sleep, barely wanting to do anything, barely wanting to think— all because of the way things suddenly shifted after you woke up.

He pauses for a moment after he sprinkles the flour onto the countertop. You don't even remember he loved to cook. Bake. He loved being in the kitchen. Everyone knew that, especially you. You were his special little taste-tester, the one he wanted to impress the most.

All that, gone.

☁︎ FLASHBACK - THE SUMMER BEFORE FRESHMAN YEAR IN COLLEGE

"What're you up to now, babe? You've been glued to the kitchen for hours." You sit on a stool in front of Jisung's kitchen island, watching your boyfriend scramble from ingredient to ingredient on the countertop.

"Baby." He says, his back still facing towards you. "I'm trying to make the best tres leches cake you have ever tasted." He turns over his shoulder to smile at you. "That way, I can make your birthday cake and your uncle won't have to go out there to buy it."

"Wow." You giggle. "You're really gonna try and make it?"

"Correction: I'm going to make it, and I'm going to succeed at making it right." Jisung sits next to you on the free stool.

"What about me?"

"What about you?" Minho furrows his brows.

"I want you to bake my birthday cakes, too." Jisung pouts.

"You like cookie cakes from Mrs. Fields, and you refuse to eat anything else." Minho glares at him.

"So, make me your own fancy cookie cake." Jisung continues to whine, making you laugh.

"How about no?" Minho's sarcasm is through the roof.

"Why do you date him?" Jisung looks at you as if completely concerned.

"Pachi, if you really want a special cookie cake, I'll make you one." You chime in. Suddenly, the timer goes off and Minho is quick to swing the oven open to slide out the first tray he put in earlier. He slides in another tray before closing the oven once again, turning to his first batch on the countertop. You watch as Minho carefully looks through the recipe, meticulously following it down to the T to make sure it's everything and more for you.

"Okay. I think I got it, princess." He finally says after minutes pass. "Try this." He turns towards you with a small slice sitting prettily on a plate.

"Where's mine?"

"Shh, Y/N first." Minho shushes him as he pushes the plate towards you, laying the spoon next to your plate. He watches you closely, watches as you pick up the spoon and scoop a good amount onto it, watches as your eyes light up once the cake hits your tongue.

"Babe, oh my god?" You cover your mouth as you speak while still enjoying the cake. "This is so good?! Is that coffee I taste?"

"Yeah, I added my little twist to it." He smiles proudly, hands on his hips while he continues to watch you devour the slice. Jisung clears his throat next to you, staring at Minho as if to tell him that he's waiting for a slice. "Jeez." Minho squints before turning to prepare a hefty slice for Jisung. "Here. And you better say good things about this or else I'm kicking you out."

"This is my house?"

"Damn right, so you should know where the doors are." You laugh.

"Min, be nice. You two always fight like this for no reason."

"He's mean to me." Minho points at Jisung and Jisung is quick to shake his head to disagree.

"Why are you always putting the blame on me? You always—"

"Mkay, no. I'm not doing this." You chuckle as you hop off the stool to grab another slice and head to the living room couch, leaving the two to bicker [per usual] while you sit peacefully and eat away at your cake.

☁︎ END

He sighs as he wipes his hand on his apron and slides the last tray of chocolate croissants into the oven, starting his timer for 15 minutes.

"You're here early." JJ says as he hangs his coat up.

"Could say the same for you." Minho sighs. "Decided to bake a bit more today."

"You only bake a bit more when you're stressing about something." JJ chuckles a bit. "What's on your mind, dude?"

"Could ask you the same thing." Minho looks at him, causing JJ to roll his eyes.

"It was one of my early gym days."

"Nothing else?"

"No. Stop trying to turn this on me. What's going on with you, princess?"

"It's nothing." Minho says, avoiding eye contact and keeping his expression blank while stacking the clean dishes.

"Uh huh.." JJ says. "It's what Y/N said the other day, right?"

"What?" Minho furrows his brows and scoffs a bit. "No."

"You suck at lying. That's why we always got in trouble when we were younger. You could never hold up the lie and you'd break. Coulda saved us from a million ass-whoopings."

"Yeah right, whatever."

"Yeah, you know I'm right." JJ rests his hands on his hips. "That's what's bothering you, isn't it?"

"I guess it is that, then." Minho finally looks at him before shifting his attention to the trays now, making sure they're cleaned and stacked neatly. "I don't know why it makes me feel a certain way when she didn't remember that I baked. Or, that I liked to cook in general."

"Give the girl some time. This is hard for her too, you know? This isn't necessarily your fault—"

"Is it not? Because the night the accident happened, we got into a huge argument and I let her slip through my fingers." Minho stares at JJ before shaking his head, as if to shake off all the thoughts that came flooding in that one second. "I got mad at her even though I was in the wrong."

"Listen, I know I can't relate. I know this is hard for every single one of you. But, don't you think you guys need to be honest and tell her? Don't you think it'd hurt her more if she ever found out what happened between you two? This could probably help you, too. Since.. right now, I feel like the guilt is tripled because you're hiding the truth from her."

"Jisung thinks it's a good idea. He doesn't wanna hurt her."

"I know, but what do you think?"

"I don't wanna hurt her either. Not more than I already have." Minho admits.

"Are you going to be able to keep going day by day like this?" JJ sighs. "We don't ever wanna hurt the people we love, but in the end, we're only human. I think this will only do more damage." JJ suddenly hits him on the arm, causing Minho to glare at him.

"Ow, the fuck was that for?!"

"For being a dumbass." He points at him sternly. "That part is your fault and you need to own up to it."

"Didn't have to hit me." Minho rolls his eyes and rubs his arm. Soon enough, his chocolate croissants are done and he's setting them neatly amongst the other pastries near the register. He can't help but think JJ is right though; Minho feels his guilt much more now that him, Jisung, Chan and Seungmin are completely leaving out that part of your life. He feels the guilt tenfold because all of this—everything— happened because of you and him.

Because of what you two were, what you had become.

"By the way." Minho steps outside to start arranging the pastries. "What's up with your friend?"

"What friend, Minho?" JJ looks at him confusingly until he remembers San. "Oh, Choi San?"

"Yeah, him." Minho almost wants to say something outta pocket, but he won't. He doesn't even personally know San like that and he is JJ's friend— he can't be doing all of that and acting out. He still can't stand how charming and attractive the guy is though, especially now that you seem to have googly eyes for him.

"What about San?" Minho shoots him and look before shaking his head.

"Nevermind."

"When he was introducing himself to Y/N?" JJ helps him clean the front area.

"He was flirting with her."

"He was literally introducing himself." JJ pauses and looks at him, watching as he continues to avoid eye contact and move around the cash wrap area. "No, sir. I don't think you have a right to be asking questions and throwing out assumptions like that. You need to tell me what's really going on with Kat first."

"Nothing." JJ looks at him and shrugs.

"That's it?"

"I don't know what you want me to say." Minho gives off a small laugh, though he's a little annoyed hearing him ask about Kat. But JJ already knows, which is why he doesn't press on it more. Might not be the best time to talk about this, but he hates when Minho mopes around just because he decided to keep his feelings to himself.

"You're still keeping her around." Silence. "Yeah, thought so. Don't go asking about San. If Y/N wants to date again and finds him to be that person, then you shouldn't trip about it. You're also her bestfriend, so I think the best thing you can do is support her."

"You don't even know if she would even go that far. Just like you said, she needs time."

"Okay, Minho. Don't expect her to stay single forever, girl is gonna have to continue living life with or without you. Sorry 'bout it." JJ says before heading to the back, causing Minho to let out a hefty sigh and a small groan.

JJ's absolutely right.

And he hates that.

The morning is pretty typical, with the usual rush between 8-9AM before it slows down again. Minho has a bit of time to work on more desserts in between helping JJ at the front, mainly baking mini red velvet cakes for today’s special. He feels productive today, feels pretty satisfied that he can get his hands a lil more dirty.

"Need help?" He pops out from the back to check on JJ and Soobin, another friend and staff member who works on making the drinks with JJ's help.

"Not right now." Soobin says with a small smile as he pours the drink into a cup and hands it over to the waiting customer.

"Actually, just might." JJ says as he looks towards the opening door before shifting his attention back to Minho. "You should take care of these next customers." Minho cocks a brow up and watches you walk in, alongside of Jisung. It almost feels like those romantic, cute ass movies where everything is in slow-mo while the main character walks in. Technically, you are the main character in Minho's life— always has been despite everything. So, it makes sense; though, Minho partially hates that it kinda does because he's so conflicted. You look around the café in awe again before tugging on your bag strap and continuing your walk towards the cash register. The café suddenly feels 10 degrees hotter for Minho that he has to wipe his grubby hands on the apron hanging around his waist before stepping to the register.

"Hi." You smile at him and JJ, and Minho thinks you're the cutest thing in the world— so cute that he forgot to speak.

"Um, does the co-owner always forget to speak to his customers like that?" Jisung jokes, making JJ nudge him on the side. "Hello?" Jisung waves and furrows his brows.

"Uh-ow—" He quickly glares at JJ before returning his attention to you. "Sorry. Just wasn't expecting you two to pop in."

"We were around so we just decided to stop by. Y/N wanted to inquire about the pottery classes at the art shop down the street."

"Mm, so you called in sick, I see."

"Tried to tell him not to." You shrug with a small giggle. You actually look so excited, Minho notes. And you are, you really are. The past months have been overwhelming. Things are still overwhelming, but after heading into town, you feel like you finally have somewhat of a grip of reality. You feel like you could finally ease yourself back into society and take things one step at a time. And that starts now, with those art supplies, that class, arranging your own bouquets and getting back on the pottery wheel— it feels amazing to tap into your creative side again. It feels refreshing.

"Did you inquire, too?" Minho nods at Jisung.

"Hey, I might do a pottery class or two." JJ and Minho snort before nodding sarcastically.

"Right." JJ says, laughing a bit louder before helping Soobin with the rest of the drinks. "Who the hell in their right mind would let your dysfunctional ass join?"

"You guys are a dicks." You giggle at Jisung as he mutters and scans the menu. "I shouldn't be giving you guys my business."

"Then leave." Minho looks at you. "What can I get you though, Y/N?" He gives you a small, toothless smile.

"Can I just get a matcha latte please?" You fiddle with your fingers while Minho plugs in the order.

"Iced Americano—"

"There's another cafe down the street for you." Minho pretends to turn around before Jisung whines and apologizes, causing you to chuckle and make your way down to where the drinks are being served. You hear Jisung tell Minho that he's covering for both of your guys' drinks and that he'll gladly give their business more support, pleasing Minho with all his dramatic compliments just to get his iced americano [he's dying of thirst, apparently]. You look at the boy working hard on the drinks, giving him a soft smile when he looks over at you.

"Hi Y/N." He says with a toothless smile, deep dimple piercing his cheek.

"Hi." You look at his nametag. "Soobin?"

"That's me." He laughs a bit as he continues to pour the espresso into a cup of iced water. "Nice to see you again. It's been nice to see your face." He admits. He knows about everything going on, and even before the accident, he didn't see you for a long, long time. He hopes you're okay. And he hopes Minho and your friends know what they're doing. He knows they aren't trying to hurt you, and he knows they have good intentions.

He's just not sure about the execution.

"We knew each other before?" You tilt your head to the side and Soobin purses his lips together before nodding.

☁︎ FLASHBACK | COLLEGE, BEGINNING OF JUNIOR YEAR

You shake yourself out of your daydream when your phone vibrates on your desk, eyes darting to the professor up front to make sure he didn't hear anything [nor see you disconnecting from class].

minho: babe babe babe

minho: your fave ice cream truck is here, are you almost out of class?

Your eyes widen, checking the clock hanging above the door.

you: literally 5 minutes left. you know what to do! hold the truck! i need to get a feel for what i want once i get there!

minho: on it mi amor

You giggle, quickly packing up your things as soon as the professor tells your class the homework and calls it a day. You throw your backpack strap over a shoulder and rush out, seeing Jisung, Chan and Seungmin waiting for you outside of the building near the huge tree. Jisung is the first to catch sight of you, waving you over.

"Hurry up princess!" Jisung yells at you. "5 minutes too long!" He says, accompanied by a tap on his watchless wrist.

"Okay!" You yell back, beginning to run over and meet them across the lawn. Suddenly, you feel yourself crash into another body, causing them to drop most of their belongings to the ground. You gasp as you step aside, watching as the boy quickly [and shyly] crouches down to grab his things. "Oh my god, I am so, so sorry!" You say, crouching down to help him with this things.

"I-it's okay." He says.

"Here, please." You hand him the last of his things. "I'm so sorry, my favorite ice cream truck is here and I was rushing. I feel terrible." You slightly pout as you watch him stand to his full height, looking up at him as he purses his lips together and tugs on his bag strap. You do feel terrible; he seems so embarrassed and must feel so small, even though he physically towers you.

"It's okay, don't worry. Seriously. It's not a big deal—"

"What's your name?" You tilt your head. He's probably a freshman. Poor guy.

"Soobin."

"I'm Y/N." You smile at him.

"Cielo!" Jisung yells again. "Minho is gonna fucking rip my head off, hurry up!" You shush him and return your attention to Soobin.

"Are you a freshman?" He nods shyly. "Cute. Come, let me buy you some ice cream to make up for that."

"Oh, no. You really don't have to, I-I should go—" You chuckle and gently grab him by the arm to drag him over to your friends.

"Have you ever had ice cream from Rabbit, Rabbit Cream?" He shakes his head. "Then I insist. You have to taste it. It's delicious. My boyfriend is holding the truck for me." You say happily as you continue to bring him to your friends.

"Hard hit there earlier, you okay my guy? She's like a bull." Jisung asks Soobin as you approach your friends.

"Shut up, pachi." You glare at him. "This is Soobin. I'm buying him the best ice cream to make up for that collision earlier." Your friends greet him and continue to lead the way, finally bringing you to the truck alongside the main road of campus. Minho is asking the girl working the truck about recommendations, the different flavors and their ingredients, making you giggle as she patiently explains to him [even though he's very familiar with this truck].

"Oh finally, good god." You hear him exclaim before he thanks the worker. Your friends order first, giving you some time to decide on what you finally want.

"By the way, this is Soobin. I ran into him earlier and made him drop his stuff. I'm buying him some ice cream cause I feel terrible and he deserves it." Minho nods as if it's an ordinary thing before looking at Soobin.

"Nice. I'm Minho." He points at you. "Protector of this princess, ice cream truck holder—"

"Personal Chef Boyardee." You add just as you walk up to the girl and give her your orders.

"Personal Chef Boyardee." Minho repeats as he looks at Soobin with a tiny, toothless smile.

"Cool." Is all Soobin can reply with because he doesn't even understand what's going on right now. It's too much for him to process, but all he knows, is that you're incredibly nice. He sees the big sister potential in you, especially as he starts off his college career.

Minho, too

Your friends.

He also thinks you and Minho are adorable, and it's a great thing that he doesn't feel like he's third-wheeling or intruding.

"Soobin! Ice cream! It's delicious trust me. You can thank me for your obsession later." You giggle as you hand him his single scoop cup. "Try it! I can't wait to see your reaction!" You nod and egg him on, making him chuckle as he takes the spoon and digs into his ice cream.

For the first time in his life, he finds himself comfortable with strangers— and that's because of you.

☁︎ END

"Ya, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound weird."

"You didn't." You give him a small smile. "It's nice to see you again, too."

"How is your day so far?"

"Okay. I wanted to get info about those pottery classes at the art store."

"That's cool. Do you think you'll do them?" He finishes off your matcha with a little bit of cream and some caramel drizzle to top it off.

"Yeah, I think so. It sounds fun." You smile at him before Jisung loudly interrupts—

"Whattup my boy!"

"Hey." Soobin laughs a bit as he chuckles at Jisung and finishes his iced americano off. "Here you guys go."

"Thank you." You look at him and smile again. It's comforting.

"Thanks!"

"No problem. Enjoy." Jisung grabs your drinks and heads to a table, placing your drink down in front of your seat. He sits down and lets out a sigh, removing his hat momentarily just to ruffle his hair and put it back on. "So, do you think you'll do the classes, cielo?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Are you going to feel comfortable taking public transportation every time you have class or when you wanna pop in?"

"I'll be okay, Ji."

"Okay, well. Just let me know. I'm not always in the office remember?"

"Yeah. I will."

"So, I don't mean to pressure you or anything, but Yuna was asking if you were coming to the wedding?" Your eyes shoot up from your cup to Jisung. Yuna was Jisung's cousin, but she was also someone who you spent a lot of time with while growing up [alongside of Jisung]. Once Jisung opened up about her wedding coming up, he went into a little more detail about your relationship with Yuna and how she was pretty much the bigger sister you both always wanted. You faintly remember her name and her face in all the pictures Jisung has showed you; it triggers some type of feelings, but you aren't sure what.

It's clear Yuna meant something to you, too.

"Oh."

"No pressure." You shrug and nod.

"I'll come."

"Wait, really?"

"It sounds like it'll be a nice weekend away, plus. I'd wanna support Yuna." You say as if you're so sure of yourself when it's actually the complete opposite.

"You sure? You know she'd understand if you weren't ready to come, right?"

"I know. I want to, though."

"Oh! Okay." Jisung responds and tries to contain his excitement. It would be nice for you to be there, to see Yuna and his family again, to be out in the world.

No pressure.

But, it would be nice.

"It's in a few weeks right?"

"Yeah, that's why she needed to know." Jisung purses his lips together before they curve upwards into a small smile. "What are you gonna wear?"

"That's a really good question." You swirl your straw around. "I don't know. I'm sure I can find something in my closet.. old dresses tucked away somewhere."

"We can look for a dress if you can't find one." At this point, Minho is swinging by the table with a small plate in his hand.

"Okay." You look up at Minho and he simply places the plate down in front of you two. Two cookies—

"Chocolate chip with sea salt and white chocolate macadamia nut."

"You're so sweet." Jisung says with a pout and Minho furrows his brows. "You always know what I like." He reaches for the white macadamia nut, but Minho quickly turns the plate around so that he can't snatch that particular cookie.

"Hands off." He says before nodding towards you. "It goes better with Y/N's matcha latte." Is all he says before walking back to the counter. Your eyes are glued to him to see if you could give him a small thank you, but he doesn't turn back to the table.

"Really lucky I love both of you." Jisung mutters while you giggle and start to chomp away at the cookie. Suddenly, a new interruption makes its presence known when the door swings open and in walks Minho's recent nightmare: Choi San.

"Do you tell your friends to come by every day now?" Minho asks as he remembers JJ's other friend swing by yesterday.

"No! They are just loyal people who like to show their loyal support."

"JJ!" Minho subtly rolls his eyes as he rearranges the pastries to fill in empty gaps. He literally has no reason to be acting this way. None. Zero.

"Do you have to yell for me every single time?" JJ glares at him from across the counter, making San laugh. As he walks in, he spots you and Jisung sitting at a table off to the side and his smile grows.

"No way." He says, chuckling and making a detour to your table. "Hey Y/N, I really wasn't expecting to bump into you again so soon. Glad I decided to stop by."

"Hey." You blush, not even knowing why you feel so shy around San. You barely met the guy— you don't know anything about him besides the fact that he's absurdly handsome.

You could be reading this all wrong. Besides, when is the last time you dated? Not that its a priority. But, it is a good question.

You don't remember shit besides your elementary, puppy school type of 'love.'

Jisung must know, right?

"I.. hope I'm not intruding?" He glances at Jisung, while Jisung is mid-chew— cheeks puffed up and doe-eyed. Jisung has no idea what the hell is going on.

"Oh, no." You slightly furrow your brows when you look at Jisung, then back at San. "He's—This is my bestfriend, Jisung."

"Hi!" Jisung covers his mouth to greet him.

"San. Nice to meet you." San chuckles a bit. "Was really praying he wasn't your boyfriend, to be honest."

"Me? Lord, no. I'm, yeah. No." Jisung shivers a bit, making you giggle.

"What're you up to?" You ask him as you rest your chin on the palm on your hand. Minho subtly looks over his shoulder while rearranging the tea bags on the back counter. He's looking for anything to keep him busy right now, clearly.

"Just decided to drop in. I go to the boxing gym nearby so I pop in for a nice pick-me-up. Plus, to see JJ's face. What about you?"

"Oh, I just popped into the art store to ask about the pottery classes they're gonna be holding."

"Cute." San scratches at his temple. "Maybe we can hang out sometime? Before or after your pottery classes? I'd love to hear about them, too." Mind you, Jisung is literally still sitting here, chewing away at the rest of the cookie while scrolling through his social media.

"Oh yeah, I'd love that."

"Woah." JJ catches Minho accidentally rip the wrong tea box open when. "Slow down there, Hulk. What did I tell you?" Minho gives him a fake smile before shoving the extra tea bags into the container and walking into the back.

He knows JJ is right, he knows he shouldn't be mad. He shouldn't be one to talk. You deserved to be happy, no matter what that looked like.

But, he wasn't gonna stand there and watch you exchange phone numbers with San. He wasn't gonna stand there and watch you blush when San tells you he's gonna text you more when he gets settled at home. He wasn't gonna stand there and watch Jisung egg you on and push you to hang out with San. He wasn't gonna stand there and listen to Jisung push you out in the world. He knows Jisung wants you happy;

Minho wants you happy, too. You deserve it and then some.

But he's not gonna stand there and act like this shit doesn't fuck with him. Because it does, it hurts.

It sucks.

Later that night, Minho finishes up teaching his class and heads home, tired and exhausted out of his mind. He's actually not even sure how he got into the café so early and made it all the way through class.

Must have been the pent up frustration he had. Pent up frustration, annoyance— at everything.

He kicks his shoes off to the side and drags himself into the living room seeing Chan watching a show on the TV by himself. He's eating and fully immersed into his show that he's laughing by himself and making his own commentary. He barely notices Minho walk in until he tosses his keys onto the dining table.

"What's up?"

"Nothing, tired." Minho points to the TV. "Enjoying your show?"

"Very much." He laughs.

"Is Jisungie here?"

"Ya, cooped up in his room playing League or something."

"What about Seungmin?"

"Same. I think he might actually be asleep already though."

"I see." Minho waves him off. "Alright, gotta get myself cleaned up and head to bed too."

"Night!" Chan calls out just as he's walking up the steps. Minho lightly knocks on Jisung's door, poking his head in just enough to see Jisung lazily slouched on his gaming chair in front of his computer set up.

"Sup." Minho walks in and sets his bag aside before laying on Jisung's room floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching a gaming stream." Jisung adds his commentary for the stream in between. "How was class?"

"Tiring. What'd you do after you left the café?"

"Just went to the grocery store with Y/N before bringing her home."

"How was that?"

"Cool."

"How is she?" Jisung chuckles a bit.

"Is that what you really meant to ask? You can ask her, you know? You don't have to be that distant and weird about everything."

"Easy for you to say when we're lying about shit behind her back."

"It's not that.. I just.. it's too soon."

"Okay." Is all Minho replies with as he stares up at the ceiling. Is it too soon? What if it's too late?

"She wonders about you." Jisung says softly. "She can't believe you two used to be bestfriends, too."

"Sometimes, I can't either. A lot has happened over time."

"You miss being around her like before?"

"I don't know. I guess I do."

"What about Kat?" He's so sick of this question, but he honestly has no one else to blame but himself.

"It's just complicated, but we'll never be serious."

"I see."

"What's up with San? JJ's friend." Jisung shrugs.

"He wants to hang out with Y/N. I think it's good for her to branch out a bit."

"Hm." Minho hums.

"She seems like she's getting better day by day and I really don't wanna take that away from her by doing stupid shit or being too overprotective."

"I know."

"You care about her alot." Jisung looks at Minho. "I know you do, despite everything. She's special to you."

"Yeah."

"But please give her some time. That's all I ask. Just let her do what she needs to do. I just want her—"

"Happy." Minho finishes his sentence for him because he understands where Jisung's coming from, or else he wouldn't have agreed to all of this. He gets it, he does.

But he also understands that this is somehow a blow to him, almost like everyone is trying to throw it in his face that he cannot make you happy. He won't be able to.

It's impossible.

Then again, who else does he have to blame besides himself?

Jisung can only give Minho a small, pitiful, toothless smile before returning his attention the monitor. This is Minho's exit to leave and be in his own peace.

"Well, I'm gonna hop in the shower and call it a night."

"You don't wanna play Fifa?"

"I'm good, sorry dude. Maybe next time." Minho gathers his things and shuts Jisung's door— letting out a hefty sigh as he treks to his bedroom and gets ready to call it a night.

He cannot make you happy; he won't be able to.

It's impossible.

♡ taglist: @lotus-dly​ @jihanlovic​ @meloncremesoda​ @hoes4lino​ @skzddicted​ @skzho @edgaralienpoe​ @harui-zen​ @bestleeknowstan​ @havenwithleeknow​ @septicrebel​ @heesdazed​ @borahae-reads​ @yoontaethings​ @pearbunny​ @bintificreads​ @lukeys-giggle​ @ajxreads @everglowdaisies​ @allaboutsan​ @endzii23​ @leeknowsramen @heres-your-ramen2000​ @morningstardada​ @mal-lunar-28​ @downbadreading​ @lilysophie @feelikecinderella​ @urmomma0324​ @ddazed-lhs​ @djeniryuu​ @melanctton​ @i8rsie​ @maru-matt​ @sleepyleeji​ @taerifin​ @nattisbored​

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

10.

Summer had officially taken her last bow. I felt genuinely chilly standing outside the KLG house on Sunday morning. The mid-morning sun shone just barely through the large willow tree in the front yard, the branches preventing it from sharing its warmth with me. The dress, sheer tights, and cardigan I wore did nothing to insulate me, either. I checked the time on my phone. 10:27 am.

We agreed to meet at 10:30, but of course, I was early. I felt rather foolish for waiting the way I was, trying too hard not to stare at the house expectantly. In an attempt to look disinterested, I placed headphones in my ears, putting my playlist on shuffle. I turned to face the street, rather than the yard, and a Two Door Cinema Club song began to play.

"There's a spanner in the works, you know."

Boy, was that the truth. Hannah, the perpetual spanner in the works, standing in the way of herself. 

The hours leading up to the date, from Thursday night until Sunday at 10:27, well, now 10:28 am, I went back and forth with myself. Contemplating every damn aspect of the meetup. Was it a joke? Was he out to get me? I didn't actually develop feelings for a frat guy, did I? The part of myself that was obsessed with my own morals and hatred toward all things Greek life died a little when I thought too hard about it all.

The spanner in the works. Standing in the way of myself, preventing things from happening smoothly, ever. 

My ego wouldn't even let me tell Lily about this. My best friend. The girl I told everything. Part of me felt anti-woman for not gossiping, giggling, and kicking my feet with my friend over this. Instead, I internalized it all. I kept the dismay in. A burden shared is a burden halved, but I refused to look weak. 

Life has a way of falling into place. Things have a way of working out. For everyone. Everyone except me and the people around me. The events that are supposed to go off without a hitch like a well-oiled machine come sputtering to an awkward stop on account of me. The spanner in the works. Hannah the spanner.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I jumped and spun around, tearing an earbud out of my ear, jostled free from the grip of my thoughts.

"Hey," Kyle breathed, smiling. He panted slightly, making clear that he had jogged to me from the door. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

I laughed, grabbing his arm for stability, hinging at the hips slightly. "Christ, I was miles away," I managed. I started walking in the direction of Sleepwalker Coffee Co. (my choice, clearly), still holding onto Kyle. He followed suit.

"What were you thinking about?" he inquired, looking down and sideways at me with a smirk on his rosy face. The cherubic expression made my stomach turn.

"Do you want the honest answer?"

"Nothing but."

I let the silence drag on for a moment as we walked along, the sun finally peeking through the trees enough to warm my bones. I dropped my arm back down to my side, no longer holding on to Kyle. 

"Music," I replied, simply. A small lie, but I was at least listening to music. That made it partly honest.

"Anything about music in particular?" Kyle pressed. "Or just the complex, vast theory of sound itself?" His tone dripped with sarcasm, which I'll admit, got a pretty hearty laugh out of me.

"I guess, but I can't remember," I lied again. We rounded the corner at the end of the street, turning onto the street the coffee shop was on. We had just a few more blocks to walk to get there.

"Well, okay," he sighed, redirecting. "What's your favorite song, then?"

"Oh, you can't ask that!" I exclaimed, pausing my stride to look him in the eyes. "How can I boil it down to just one song? That's cruel."

"I can tell you mine, it's easy." Kyle kicked a small rock and it skittered across the pavement, landing in the street. He definitely would have continued kicking it down the street had it not landed too far out of his way.

"Oh yeah?" I challenged. "What is it, then?"

"Just tell me one song you like, and I'll tell you," he bargained.

"You're unreal," I chuckled, continuing to walk. "I like Sweet Jane. Velvet Underground. I don't know." My replies felt really flippant coming out of my mouth, but I couldn't help it. Part of me still disliked him, or maybe, wanted to seem cool.

"Ooh," he cooed, jogging slightly to catch up to me on the sidewalk. "Sweet Jaaaaane," he sang grabbing my hand and lacing his fingers with mine. 

"Ah, so you know it then," I laughed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Suddenly all too aware that the two of us were holding hands, I took stock. It was slightly rough but strong. His fingers were long and laced between mine like vines woven around themselves. 

"I know it well," he smiled. "I love Lonesome Cowboy Bill. The Velvet Underground are so good."

"I don't think I know that one," I said, noticing that we were coming upon the coffee shop. I stopped right next to the stairs leading up to the door, effectively blocking his path. "Now you have to tell me your favorite song. Of all time. Since you can pick one."

His expression brightened. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and smiled slightly, eyes twinkling with precious delight. "Oh! You Pretty Things. David Bowie," he grinned. My stomach lurched. 

"You like David Bowie?" I asked, with a bit too much giddy excitement in my tone.

"Yes, he's only like, my favorite artist," he answered. 

"We have a LOT in common," I gushed, grabbing his arm. He looked down at the small touch for a beat, then snaked an arm around my shoulder to guide me inside the shop.

+

We spoke about everything under the sun over the course of a few hours and a couple of coffees. I was so entranced by him that I actually let my drink get cold, rendering it undrinkable when I finally remembered its existence. 

Not only did we have music tastes in common, but we also shared a lot of the same tastes in film and food. I, being less experienced in the realm of movie-watching, though, agreed to let him show me a few of his favorite films. In fact, we headed straight back to his house afterward to watch one of said movies. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous, but Kyle had proven himself trustworthy of not trying any funny business. Even still, I couldn't quiet the thoughts of him possibly thinking I was weird, or worse, that I might be falling for him.

All of those thoughts were silenced, though, when he closed the door to his room behind him. It felt different this time. I wasn't there out of pure obligation or drunken irresponsibility. This time, I wanted to be there.

"Which one did I say we were watching, again?" Kyle asked, crossing the room over to the TV, switching it on using the button on the side. He slid a small basket out of the stand and pulled out a disc binder full of movies. I flopped down onto the sofa, crossing my legs. 

"Wow, you're serious about film," I laughed, kicking myself for how stupid the sentence sounded as soon as it left my mouth. "You said Catch Me If You Can, I'm pretty sure."

"Right, right," he murmured, flipping the binder open, letting the left side land on the ground with a loud thump. He thumbed through the discs, the casings making a plasticky crinkling sound as they moved. "Wait, I totally forgot about this one."

"Which one?"

"The Lost Boys. You seen it?" he asked, an excited tone creeping in.

"Yes! But I will happily watch it again, Kyle," I exclaimed. "Tis the season, right? Vampires and fall go hand in hand."

He slid the disc out of the casing and threw it in the DVD player, then crossed the room to join me on the couch. He sat close, but not too close, and used the remote to start the film. The space between us felt like a canyon. In the silence waiting for the movie to start, it was so quiet, it was hard to tell if I was alive. 

The feeling came out of nowhere, knocking me in the stomach and making it hard to breathe. As if, all at once, smoke filled the room and replaced all the clean air with a stifling smog. I needed to come up for air, and the only way I figured I could was in the safety of Kyle's touch. It was a sudden and intense thirst.

I couldn't even focus on the movie. I couldn't focus on anything. I couldn't even breathe. The only movement I could rally was one of my eyes, letting them dart to the side to look at Kyle in my periphery. I had never known anything like it. Just complete paralysis at the hands of an indescribable need. A need for him and only him to simply touch me.

His hand twitched on his knee. I watched him shift out of the corner of my eye. I don't think I had taken a full breath since he sat down next to me. Then, he spoke.

"Hannah," he rasped. My name sounded so beautiful coming from his lips. I turned to face him and without delay his lips were on mine. I froze, unsure if it was real life. Unsure if he was actually kissing me. Unsure if I was actually enjoying it. But in an instant, I could breathe again. I could fill my lungs with fresh, new air that made me dizzy. I relaxed into him.

He stopped. "Wait, Hannah, is this oka-" he whispered, interrupted by my mouth reconnecting with his. My hand felt its way up to his hair, my fingers lacing tightly in his blonde curls. I slid closer to him and paused, looking him deeply in his eyes before continuing.

His breaths came out ragged and loud between kisses. Our foreheads rested together. My hand moved down from his hair to his chest. I could feel his heart positively racing beneath my palm. He snaked his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, if that was even possible. I was practically sitting in his lap. I drank in the moment so furiously I felt I might drown. 

I felt like I was on fire. Like someone had set a slow and steady match beneath my center, deep in the pit of my stomach.

What the fuck are you doing? What the fuck is happening? my brain screamed, but my heart wanted more, and I wouldn't let cerebral obstacles prevent me from continuing to be that close to him.

He reached up and cupped the side of my face in his palm, deepening the kisses to something more, his tongue creeping its way inside my mouth. The warmth of the contact spread throughout my entire body, rendering me almost drunk. Kyle consumed my senses. 

I pulled away. Both of us sat there, breathless, staring into each other's eyes. The movie played quietly in the background. My heart beat so hard I was sure he could hear it.

"Wow," he panted, placing a hand over mine, which was still resting on his chest. A flush crept across my cheeks. "Was that real?"

Previous Part | Next Part

[sookiesookie]

♪ riri williams music taste headcannons ♪

a/n: a lil sumn silly while I finish these two ffs in my drafts

key:

riri dialogue

shuri dialogue

reader dialogue

♪ listens to songs she can get high to (or feel high to, she mostly gets high socially rather than alone)

♫ on some cloud nine type things, Don Toliver, Travis Scott, A$AP Rocky, Childish Gambino, Kid Cudi

♫ but not limited to psychedelic indie or rock like Mac Demarco, Jimi Hendrix, TV Girl, Yves Tumor, Tame Impala, Men I Trust, that one Lil Yatchy album counts too ig lmao

♪ stem!riri? yeah she’s def on that Canadian Nigga Trio HEAVY (Drake, PND, The Weeknd)

♫ toxic stem!riri? Brent & Bryson in rotation

♪ gang gang w/ some Pierre Bourne, Lucki, Ken Carson, Young Nudy

♪ Smino and Baby Keem on lock

♪ she likes a lot of pluggnb/trap, especially the girls

♪ Bktherula her baby frrr

♪ she DID have an XXXTENTACION phase for about 2 years in middle school

♪ a huge rnb girlie ofc, with your SZA, Summer Walker, Jhené Aiko, Victoria Monet, Tinashe, Teyana Taylor, Ari Lennox things naturally

♪ HEAVY ON KEHLANI

♫ probably her top artist

♫ like she’ll kick your ass if you dare skip a song by her TOP ARTIST

♪ she hates Justin Timberlake because of Janet Jackson but she can’t deny his first two albums being in rotation

♫ she still rides for Janet Jackson OF COURSE though, that’s her queen

♪ definitely some 90s and 00s rnb, rap, and neo soul

♫ definitely some 90s and 00s rnb, rap, and neo soul when she’s up in it-

♪ speaking of neo, she’s on Neyo HEAVY

♪ goes hard for the rap girlies, Flo Milli, Ice Spice, Bree Runway, Rico Nasty, Monaleo, Megan The Stallion

♬ “DOECHIIIIIIIIII!”

♫ if there’s one thing about riri, it’s Doechii

♫ Spooky Coochie>>>

♪ COLE WORLD, a middle school favorite

♬ “Now put a finger in the sky if you want it nigga!”

♪ definitely on her Kendrick things too

♪ spotify user to the fullest

♪ fuck Sony headphones, she made her own lil’ bluetooth noise canceling headset with good bass to not only make sure she can listen to music but FEEL that shii 

♪ also she didn’t feel like paying $300+ for that so…

♪ she can’t ever listen to an album on shuffle, she feels it ruins the “cinematic experience”

♬ “I know you did NOT just skip that shit.”

♬ “Riri, it was literally an interlude.”

♬ “I said turn that shit back!”

♪ she’ll backhand slap you if you dare try it with a Weeknd album, that’s just an unspoken rule for her never to skip a Weeknd song in an album (a/n I may be projecting w/ this one lmao)

♪ is an avid playlist maker and has playlists for every single mood and activity

♬ “Tryna smoke? Lemme pull up this playlist i got-”

♬ “You goin’ to the store? Wait, lemme hook up my driving playlist-”

♬ “You having trouble studying? Hol’ on- I got this good playlist I use for when I'm doing my math homework!”

♬ “Okayyyy some chill rnb so far, Sade, Erykah Badu, D’Angelo, Alicia Keys… Rico Nasty, Bktherula, Destroy Lonely, Carti???

♬ “What? I tend to get pissed off about an hour in! Especially if it’s word problems!”

♪ she listens to both, but she keeps the “Cochise >>> Carti” opinion to herself

♪ Frank Ocean makes her tear up for no reason so she barely listens to him unless she’s in the mood to cry

♪ she was a Nicki fan… she still IS one, who you frontin’ on?

♬ “R-R-R-Roman!”

♪ honestly, she was on everybody part of Young Money, Bedrock was a moment in time

♪ she was definitely an Ariana Grande fan in middle school tho, don’t play with her

♫ she still gon’ blast her My Everything and Yours Truly albums in her garage, don’t get it twisted

♪ she was a 1D fan in elementary school but she’ll forever deny it happened

♫ she’ll blast Big Time Rush like a bitch though (Boyfriend is a hood classic)

♪ MINDLESS BEHAVIOR RIDER

♪ she still has their CDs stowed away in her garage somewhere

♪ (cannon) anime watcher on her jpop/jrock shii

♫ and we can’t forget the OSTs in her playlist

♫ Ouran High School host club outro>>>

♪ Lamp listener, definitely a comfort artist for her

♪ she fucks w/ Shuri’s kpop (cannon) stuff too though she’s not a fan

♫ she’ll shake ass to Kick It by NCT on the low, though

♪ she’s on plugging/trap so you know she definitely on her hyper pop shit too

♪ her top 10 artists: Kehlani, Lamp, J. Cole, Bktherula, Janet Jackson, PARTYNEXTDOOR, Mac Demarco, Victoria Monet, Doechii, Rico Nasty

a riri mix for realism: