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rkived · 4 years

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year 22 (m) — jjk

‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘

Pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x f!reader

Genre/Tags: angst!!!, drama, a lil fluff, f2l, e2l-ish, pining, slow burn, smut

Rating: M +18

WC: 11.5k

Warnings: time jumps, underage drinking, jk being a douchebag for most of the fic, reader can’t catch a mf break, mention of character death ((no major one tho)). smut in the form of oral (f. receiving), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex ((wrap it b4 u tap it y’all)), my being called pretty kink making a brief appearance soz

A/N: i listened to cardigan for the first time n had it on replay the whole time i wrote this so ig u should do it too ! this is my first time posting smut on here but who would i be if i didn’t throw in some good angst ? also tysm to @periminkle for being my unofficial beta reader n checking it up for me, she knows i’m constantly looking for her validation n i def wouldn’t post this if she didn’t love it ilu vira thx for being the best ever mwah !!!

You’re five, cowering behind his mother’s legs, sniffing as tears stream down your face. In front of you both stands Jungkook, there’s remorse written all over his face as his mother stares him down with hands on her hips and a look that just screams that this is only the beginning of his punishment.

‘’Apologize to Y/N right now Jungkook, or I’ll have your father have a word with you,’’ she threatens with a stern tone, making her son quickly shake his head no. ‘‘You need to learn how to share your toys.’’

You peek behind her lanky leg and find the slightly older kid looking at you with narrowed eyes, ‘‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’’ He apologizes with a bow, but he’s obviously displeased with the whole ordeal.

His mother sighs and Jungkook pouts at the look on her face. She urges you to come out from your not-so-secret hiding spot and to go back to playing with him, even though you seriously doubt that will do any good to what just happened.

Jungkook’s bedroom door is kept open as he sits back down on his city patterned carpet, you twiddle with your thumbs and stare at the Spiderman poster on his wall. There’s an awkward silence between you two until you feel a toy bump your crisscrossed legs.

It’s the shiny red car he had refused to lend you before, provoking an argument between you two which eventually made you run out of his room in tears as you ratted him out to his mom.

‘‘Wooow,’’ you whisper in awe, taking the car in your hands with so much care, treating it like it’s one of your newest dolls.

Jungkook huffs, crossing his arms as he looks at you with distaste and he’s forced to settle with other boring toys as you giggle to yourself, making the car follow the carpet’s tracks. He learns then to never trust his mother again. If she ever says she’ll bring a new friend for him to play with again, he’ll refuse wholeheartedly.

He doesn’t like sharing his toys, and it’ll probably take him a long time to learn how to.

You’re nine as you hand Jungkook one of the multiple Valentine’s Day cards you carefully crafted the night before with your mother, adding all kinds of pretty stickers and shiny glitter to make each one of them unique. His is different from the rest, though.

You added hearts to the dots in the I’s, there’s a hint of your favorite body splash enveloping the pink construction paper and it fills Jungkook’s nostrils with so much force that he feels he could gag at the smell.

‘‘What do you think?’’ You ask the fourth-grader with a big smile on your face, cheeks tinted with a light shade of red as you see him reading the little message you wrote inside the card.

Jungkook lets out a mocking chuckle, ‘‘Are you serious? You like me?’’ He asks you, but it doesn’t look like he’s looking for answers. Your smile slowly fades away, looking at him with glossy eyes, ‘‘I don’t like you, you’re just a dumb little girl.’’

His card was the one you had invested the most time in and yet it only took him a second to crumple it with his hand, and another five for him to toss it into the trash can near you before he goes back to his group of friends in the school’s playground.

You learn how to hold your tears in then, thinking it’s a great accomplishment and that maybe now he’ll stop calling you a crybaby.

His friends receive him with high-fives and he smiles with gratefulness because they just saw how much of a badass he can be. Once recess is over and everyone’s going back to their classrooms, Jungkook nears the garbage bin where he had thrown the Valentine's card in, but finds it’s now dirty with yogurt someone tossed inside.

He grimaces at the sight and sighs, there’s no way he can save it now.

You’re twelve and you’re the only girl in the treehouse who hasn’t gone through puberty yet. It wasn’t something that bothered you until just recently, when it became pretty evident why none of the boys would even give you a onceover compared to the other girls.

“I don’t know if I want to play,” you mumble after Kim Jihyo suggests playing spin the bottle. You’re the only one who opposes the idea, though you could count Jungkook in given as he just sat there without saying a word.

Park Yerim rolls her eyes, “You’re so boring, Y/N!” The comment makes the rest giggle as you pout at being the designated party pooper.

It’s all fun and games of truth and dares to whoever the bottle lands on and you’ve been lucky enough to avoid the tip of the plastic Coca-Cola bottle to point at you, until it lands on Jungkook who has done a few funny dares so far.

“Alright, Jungkook, let’s make things even more fun!” Jihyo announces since she’s been the one who has assigned most of the embarrassing challenges and questions, “I dare you to kiss one of the girls here for ten seconds.”

The dare makes the boys cheer with excitement and the girls gasp with anticipation, hoping one of them is the lucky chosen one. Your lips part slightly as you stare at him sitting across from you, he’s clearly not comfortable with the dare, but knowing him, he won’t express his current discomfort.

His eyes land on you as you stare back at him with concern, hoping that he’ll speak up to avoid himself the embarrassment. Has he even kissed someone before? If this is his first kiss, you’ll witness it alongside everyone else and you can only imagine how terrifying that must be. Even though Jungkook’s always been a brave kid, you can always tell when he feels under pressure.

“Uhm, I’ll uh—“ Jungkook keeps staring at you and you feel your heart start to beat like you just ran the usual ten laps around the gym in P.E class. Are you about to have your first kiss? With him?

You nod your head absentmindedly, a sign to let him know it’s okay for him to pick you from all the other developed girls who probably have more experience kissing than you do, but it’s okay because you’ve always been a quick learner.

“Yeji,” Jungkook says after what feels like forever, though it’s only been a mere few seconds, “I’ll kiss Yeji.” He adds, removing his eyes from yours and settling them on the girl with the high ponytail and pink colored nails.

You bite your bottom lip hard, breaking the dry skin as you feel yourself taste blood. It doesn’t matter because no one’s paying attention to you and instead they’re focused on Jungkook’s neverending kiss with Yeji.

When you get home that night, you look at yourself in the mirror and frown at your lack of everything. Is this the reason as to why he hadn’t picked you?

You’re fourteen and Kim Taehyung just sent you a message through MSN in which he confesses to have feelings for you. Your eyes widen, rereading the message several times, rubbing at your eyes just to make sure you’re seeing things correctly.

You run off across the street to Jungkook’s house, ringing the doorbell quickly for someone to open up. You’re greeted by him looking at you with an annoyed expression, he had to pause his GTA game to come and open the door.

“What do you want?” Jungkook asks harshly, crossing his arms as he stares into somewhere that’s not your face. He’s anxiously waiting for you to spit out whatever it is you’re there to say.

You calm yourself down by breathing in deep and out, blowing the air right at him, “Does Taehyung like me?” You ask him, making Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise and his brows to raise.

His reaction tells you that you might’ve just discovered a secret you weren’t supposed to and it only makes your heart beat even faster because if it’s true, then this is a pleasant surprise. Kim Taehyung is one of the hottest boys in the tenth grade and he happens to be one of Jungkook’s closest friends. You think he must know something since you see them hanging out at lunch.

“Uh—I don’t know, Y/N.” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck, finally looking at you and he feels a gut wrenching punch in his stomach at the sight. “Taehyung isn’t a really good guy, you shouldn’t—“

“What are you saying?” You interrupt him with a question, confused as to why Jungkook was painting a negative picture of his friend. “He was really sweet with what he said, he thinks my eyes are pretty when they sparkle — I didn’t even know they did that!”

Jungkook grimaces and sighs, there’s really not much he can do here. You’ve always been so stubborn, so relentless. No matter how many times life tries to tell you something’s not meant for you, you challenge each and every one of it’s obstacles until you take what’s yours.

“Okay, then what are you gonna do? Date him? You haven’t even had your first kiss yet.” Jungkook reminds you with a mocking tone and you furrow your brows together because, how does he know that?

You stammer, “I-I have! I had it at camp last summer, actually!” That’s a lie, but he wasn’t there so he can’t prove the veracity of your statement. “And what do you care? So what if I want to date him?” You add with anger, not understanding why couldn’t he just support you in search of true love.

The thought of dating Kim Taehyung had never crossed your mind, thinking he was way too out of your league for him to ever notice you. But that confession sitting in your MSN chat now served as a nice feeling of knowing you aren’t as invisible as you think you are.

Jungkook scoffs, “Taehyung would never date you, okay? He’s older than you, he’s cool, he goes to parties and has kissed almost every girl in his grade, do you think he’d really like someone as boring as you?” He doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but you’re just so difficult and impossible to get through.

Jungkook’s used to the trembling bottom lip and the teary eyes that you give him everytime he says something that definitely strikes a nerve within you, but he’s always impressed on how you always refrain from crying in front of him. Last time you did that you were both kids and he probably took the last lollipop from your batch of collected halloween candy.

“Screw you, Jungkook,” you say through gritted teeth, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead already.

He looks at you quickly stomp your way back to your house, only heading back inside once you slam your front door shut. Jungkook enters his room to find two new messages in his MSN.

$$ kIm tAaEhyYyuNG $$: it worked!

$$ kIm tAeEhyYyunGG $$: she fell for it xDxD where did u even come up with the sparkly eyes thing?? that’s gold bro rofl

Jungkook sighs, ignoring the messages and shutting his computer down.

You’re sixteen and you’ve been invited to your first party. Granted, it was Jungkook’s, but he knew that if he didn’t ask you to come you’d probably tell on him with his mom. No matter what age he was, he’d always fear his mother’s scolding.

“Drink this!” Park Jimin says with his beautiful smile and you’re starting to realize why they gave him that very same superlative on the school’s yearbook. You take the red solo cup without any second thought, placing the rim straight to your lips and choke once you feel the liquid burn your throat.

“Ugh—What’s this?” You ask, cleaning the droplets of liquid around the corners of your mouth.

He chuckles, “Fruit punch!” The liquid is indeed red like the familiar drink you’re used to, but there’s definitely something else mixed inside. “Oh, and vodka,” he adds with wiggly eyebrows as he shows off the small flask he was hiding in his sweatshirt’s front pocket.

You gasp and hand him the cup back, “No, I don’t drink alcohol, sorry.” Jimin rolls his eyes and it reminds you of the many times you’ve received this same reaction from your classmates before. Always a party pooper. He’s about to take the plastic red cup from you until you quickly drink the spiked punch in one go.

The boy howls in excitement, “Woo, go Y/N! Another one coming right up.”

Jungkook knows he should be making sure everything’s alright downstairs. If his mother notices there’s at least one misplaced object, she’ll know right away something went down in her house while her husband and her were away for the weekend on an emergency trip to their hometown. Leaving him unsupervised only because they both believed their son was old enough to tend for himself.

But Jung Eunha had dragged him into his room with the excuse of wanting to see what it looked like, but the mini tour had turned into them kissing on his bed and Jungkook is thankful he changed his Spiderman sheets in exchange for some boring plain grey ones. Eunha smells like fresh mint and Jungkook is way into his head to focus on properly kissing her.

It’s not until his bedroom door is abruptly open, slamming against the wall that Jungkook literally jumps to his feet, making Eunha gasp as they both look at the person who has interrupted their awkward makeout session.

“Guk-ah, what are you doin’?” You curiously wonder, a hiccup following right after which makes you giggle. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with quickness as he notices you look different from the last time he saw you twenty minutes ago when you were talking to Jimin. “Guk-ah, were you—you kissin’ Eunha?” You ask once more after not receiving an answer to your previous question.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks in concern, coming closer to analyze your weird state. You stretch your arm out to avoid him from nearing you, making him falter in his place as he studies your expression.

You hum, “Guk-ah, you busy. Sorry,” you apologize in a shy tone, ready to head back down and have more of that fruity alcohol punch you now found tasty, but you stumble and only avoid yourself from falling by holding onto Jungkook's door frame, he’s already reaching out by then.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N? Get out!” Eunha complains with irritation, getting up from the bed and ready to kick you out of his room, but his free arm stops her from getting near you. “Whu—?”

“Eunha, go back down. I’ll deal with her myself.” Jungkook says as calmly as he can, thinking three’s a crowd and dealing with you wasn’t an easy thing in of itself. She’s about to argue, but he interrupts her again, “Go down, now.”

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder against yours harshly once she steps out of his room, “Whatever, that kiss was shitty anyway.”

He pretends he didn’t hear that and takes you in his arms instead, dragging you to lay on his bed as you cuddle into his favorite pillow and hug it close to your body. How much did you drink? Why did you even do it in the first place? Jungkook knows you’ve never tried alcohol before, which means he’ll be in big trouble if you show up back to your house like this.

When you open your eyes hours later, your head hurts and it feels lightweight when you move it side to side. The room you’re in is familiar, that spiderman poster is still hung on the wall, but there are no more toys laying around the floor; they’ve probably been stored somewhere in his garage or sent off to a donation center under his mother’s demand.

The pillow that you’re hugging smells just like him and any other day you’d hold on to it tighter and inhale his scent like your life depended on it, but you abruptly sit on the bed as you’re reminded of how you got here. The action is not appreciated by your dizzy head, but you look around the room to notice how dark it is and there’s no more music playing downstairs.

You quickly jump to the ground, only to hear a “Fuck, ouch!” from below, stepping on Jungkook’s leg unintentionally. It makes you gasp, looking down to notice the older friend laying on the cold floor, having gotten rid of that childhood carpet of his. His head’s laying on a makeshift pillow made out of a towel and he’s trying hard not to shiver.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!” You quickly apologize, stepping away from his figure as he soothes the shin of his leg you stepped on. “Jungkook, what happened?”

He sighs, “Someone decided to drink like five cups of spiked punch knowing damn well it was their first time drinking alcohol, stepped into my room like a crazy person, and then crashed on my bed like they—What’s with the face?”

“Bathroom.”

Jungkook grimaces while he holds your hair back, you’re throwing away all the liquid you had taken with a few additional snacks you had munched on earlier, “Are you done?” He asks in a tired mumble and you shake your head no.

He feels guilty that you’re in this position. He didn’t even want to kiss Eunha, but she was one of the most popular girls in his grade and he knew that if he turned her down she would most likely put a bad word in with the rest of the girls and the guys would make fun of him for being such a wuss.

That would’ve been better, because after laying you down on his bed he had to go down and tell everyone that the party was over, putting an excuse that the neighbors had warned him and threatened to call the cops. They all cleared pretty quickly, but he knew he was going to be the butt of the jokes come Monday. He even had to call your parents to let them know you had gone home to a friend’s house for a sleepover, which he knew wasn’t totally believable, but it had somehow gotten them convinced that their daughter was alright because they trusted Jungkook to never hurt you ever.

Once you feel like you’ve puked your stomach out, Jungkook hands you a pill accompanied with a glass of water and hands you clothes of his that might be more comfortable to sleep in.

“Good night, Jungkook,” you whisper once you’re laying back on his bed, still hugging the pillow he preferred to sleep with. He makes a sacrifice to make it up to you.

His back is going to hurt by the time the sun comes out in a few hours, but it’s okay if it means you’ll sleep comfortably after the events of tonight. “Good night, Y/N.”

He’s unable to sleep, but finds entertainment in your hanging hand beside his bed. The skin on your palm looks soft and there’s this strange urge inside of him that makes him want to grab your hand in his, but he refrains.

To calm the current chaos in his head, Jungkook finds peace in the light snores coming from his bed.

You’re just about to turn eighteen and your date to the prom is Jeong Jaehyun, who had only asked you out a day before the event because the girl he had initially wanted to take had been asked and he didn’t have a plan B.

Jaehyun is okay, at least he managed to get you a corsage that matched the color of your dress. He even smiles in the pictures your parents take of you both as you awkwardly try to look comfortable with his arms around you even though by then you had only exchanged a few sentences.

The prom’s theme is Summer Nights and you think it’s fitting considering this is the very last event before the graduation ceremony, meaning that you’d most likely never see most of these people ever again. You had purposely applied to a college that was outside of your hometown for that same reason. You’re ready to live the life you’ve always wanted to live, without anyone judging or knowing you.

Your date spends most of the night talking with his group of friends as you’re left alone on your table, looking at your well manicured nails. You knew you weren’t going to get the same prom experience the high school kids on T.V enjoyed, but you at least hoped it would’ve been a little more fun than this.

A tap on your shoulder makes you turn around to see Jungkook trying to loosen the tight tie around his neck. He looks incredibly handsome and you suppose his mother helped him pick the suit out, Jungkook rarely ever wore fitted clothing, so this is one of those once in a lifetime moments..

“Hey you,” you say and he gives you half a smile, wondering why you’re sitting by yourself at an empty table when everyone else was either mingling or dancing. “Where’s your date?” You ask with curiosity, you’re surprised that Jinsoul isn’t trailing alongside him given how she had behaved for the past week ever since he asked her to come with him.

“Retouching her face or something,” he answers casually, “what are you doing sitting here? Where’s Jaehyun?” Jungkook asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “Don’t know, probably talking with the guys of the basketball team. He’s been gone for a while.” Not like you care, anyway. If your conversation with him inside his car on the way to the venue had been any indication of what it would’ve been like for the rest of the night, you’re glad he's not here trying to make any more small talk with you.

Jungkook huffs, thinking he’ll kick his ass if he sees him. He had asked him to invite you so you wouldn’t come alone, and yet here you are, sitting all by yourself while the douchebag’s making a social life somewhere in the crowd. He calms down once he notices how unbothered you are by it, though. You’re a big girl now, you’ve been through too much to be affected by something as simple as this.

“Is there something you wan—“

“Dance!” You interrupt with excitement and Jungkook chuckles.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted something to drink, but—alright, let’s dance.” Jungkook can’t dance for shit, but you took lessons when you were younger and he can still remember how you’d always show him the routines you learned in class. He’d always boo you, but in reality you were pretty good. He wonders why you stopped, he doesn’t recall you ever telling him.

It’s just his luck that once you both step into the dancefloor, the hired DJ stops the up-tempo song playing before and switches to a much slower romantic one, “Alright everyone, I want all the couples on the dancefloor for this one.”

You step away from him with nervousness, it’s couples only after all. But Jungkook holds onto your lower back firmly, pulling you closer into his space. Your eyebrows raise as your lips part, “Uh, s-should we, uh—?”

“It’s just a song, Y/N. You wanted to dance, then we’ll dance.” He tells you with such confidence it makes you feel like this is totally normal and something all friends do. All the known High School couples are dancing together, heads tenderly placed over chests and chins resting lovingly above them. You wait for Jungkook to take the lead because you have no clue of what you should be doing, you might’ve taken dance lessons years ago but you’ve never slowed danced in your life.

Jungkook places his hand on your hip, the touch makes goosebumps crawl in your arms. He pretends he doesn’t notice it as he takes your right hand in his. You stare at the way he delicately holds it like it’s his mother’s fine china. “Place your other hand on my shoulder,” he instructs and you do as asked, your palm coming to rest on the strong muscle.

He’s only slowed danced once before at a family member’s wedding where his mother taught him how to, with her as the teacher. Back then he thought it was incredibly ridiculous, but now he’s sort of glad that happened because he’s the teacher now and you’re now looking at him with your big eyes as you sway alongside him.

You clear your throat, “This isn’t that hard.” Jungkook nods as he stares down at you, noticing how uneasy you are given that you’re looking at everything and not entirely immersed in the moment.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says out of nowhere, making you look at him like a deer stuck in headlights, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had never called you that before.

An awkward laugh escapes your lips, looking away from his intense gaze as you try not to take his words too literally, “Ha ha, that was a good one.” To you there’s no other explanation than this being one of his mean pranks on you.

But Jungkook doesn’t falter both his words and gaze, “I’m not laughing.” There’s seriousness in his voice and you have to look back at him again just to make sure he really isn’t, “You look beautiful, just take the compliment.” You nod and there’s silence between you two after that. You’re digesting the romantic lyrics that the singer is talking about and hope that the song ends soon, because you’ve never been this close to him and it’s starting to feel too crowded.

You clear your throat, “So…”

“So…,” he repeats.

“What are you doing for summer?” You ask him in an attempt to break the tension and wanting to take advantage of the little intimate moment since Jungkook rarely ever lets you pry into his private life.

“I think I’ll train before heading off,” he answers. It was more than obvious he was going to earn that sports scholarship he had been aiming for, he was one of the best athletes on the school; though you considered him to be the number one between them all. “I’m kinda scared, not gonna lie.”

You look at him with surprise, tilting your head to the side, “You’re scared?” You ask in disbelief because as long as you’ve known him, he’s never been scared of anything. This is the same kid who instilled your fear of monsters in a closet after watching Monster’s Inc. together, also the same kid who helped you get over it after he realized you had actually taken it seriously.

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, I’m just scared about starting over.” It’s interesting how his biggest fear is the one you’re looking forward to the most, but you suppose it’s fitting for someone who has never had to worry about what people think of him. In this town, Jungkook has swam freely without any concerns. Out there, he’s just another fish in the big and scary ocean. “Aren’t you?” He questions, hoping that you’re able to relate to what he’s feeling.

“Honestly, I—“

You’re interrupted by Jaehyun clearing his voice in front of you two, making you both turn your heads towards his direction. You quickly separate from Jungkook and he feels his body lose the warmness you were providing.

“If you wanted to dance, you could’ve just asked. I’m your date after all.” He says smugly and you chuckle awkwardly, nodding because he’s right.

Jungkook wants to punch his stupid face, how dare he interrupt you both when he had been ignoring you the whole night? Why does he suddenly want to dance with you when he’s probably still upset at him for asking Jinsoul to the prom before he could?

“Your date’s looking for you, buddy. She doesn’t look too happy.” Jaehyun adds with a smirk as he takes your hand in his and drags you away from Jungkook towards another place on the dancefloor.

He’s left to stare at the way he holds your hand, and he only hopes he’s doing it ever so carefully.

You’re twenty when Jungkook sees you for the first time since you both left for college two and half a years ago. He’s rendered speechless when he spots you in the crowd, there’s a manly hand around your waist as you giggle into the stranger’s mouth before placing a kiss to his lips.

There’s only so much social media can provide him, pictures and stories aren’t enough for Jungkook to keep up with you. He thinks you’ve changed, not only appearance wise but you seem way more outgoing, carefree, and happy. Did he miss the boyfriend announcement picture? He’s sure he didn’t, he checks your profile almost every day and he’s never even seen him in any of your stories.

A gasp escapes your lips once you spot him, completely forgetting about the possibility of bumping into him given that both your schools were playing against each other that night. You tell Namjoon you’ll be right back and he nods, going back to a conversation with the group of college friends you had made.

You surprise him by jumping into him, arms around his shoulders as you hug him from behind. You let out a shrill of excitement and he blushes as his friends chuckle at the unexpected approach from this unfamiliar girl.

‘‘Jungkook! You didn’t tell me you’d be here,’’ you say once he turns around to face you and he’s able to see you better upfront. You look beautiful and he thinks the Instagram pictures are not doing you enough justice. You’re glowing, and it has nothing to do with the highlighter you applied on your face and collarbone area.

The both of you aren’t able to properly talk until you suggest moving to a different area, Jungkook apologizing to his friends as he explained he needed to catch up with an old friend. They don’t complain and instead shoot him teasing looks and small pervy comments that go by unnoticed to you.

Jungkook listens with intent to your ramble about what you’ve been up to. From your courses, to your roommates, the parties you’ve attended, and even the fact that you handle your alcohol better now. He’s happy that you seem so too, but it irks him that you hadn’t been capable of telling him that you had a boyfriend now. Is there a reason as to why you omitted that important piece of information?

‘‘And what about you? How’s college?’’ You ask with curiosity.

He blinks a few times, realizing you had stopped talking about yourself and was now wondering about him instead. ‘‘It’s fine,’’ he answers with a tight lipped smile, the lack of detail compared to you was astonishing, but even though you were still hungry for more you decided not to pry any further.

There’s fear in revealing that he’s been having a hard time catching up with the rest of his peers. College was indeed fine, but it could be better. He’s settled with the idea that this is as good at it’ll get, some things just aren’t like you expect them to be. At least you’re happy, and that fact brings him comfort.

‘‘Was that your, uhm─boyfriend?’’ He finally asks after a while, both about to head back to your respective group of friends.

The question takes you by surprise, looking at him with raised eyebrows and mouth agape. ‘‘Who? Namjoon?’’ He nods, though he doesn’t know anything about the guy he had first seen you with. You let out a wholehearted laugh, ‘‘Hell no, too many commitment issues with that one,’’ you answer and Jungkook’s forehead creases with confusion.

Why were you kissing him then?

‘‘We’re friends with benefits,’’ you inform him as if you had read his mind. ‘‘He’s a nice guy, though. Also, super smart, he’s helped me with a few of my─’’

‘‘You’re not a virgin anymore?’’ He abruptly asks, disbelief in his tone as he internally screams to himself for thinking out loud. Jungkook expects you to berate him about such an imprudent question, but is surprised when he sees you giggling.

‘‘Duh, silly. I think I lost it freshman year?’’ The carelessness in your voice makes him look at you like you’ve gone crazy. Why are you so lax about this? Why are you telling him about losing your virginity without a care in the world? ‘‘Anyway, are you going to be home for the─’’

Jungkook interrupts you once again, ‘‘Was it with your boyfriend at the time?’’ He asks in genuine curiosity and you sigh, rolling your eyes slightly at him.

‘‘No, it was some random dude at this party I went to. Could you please─’’

‘‘Y/N, are you insane? Why would you give up your virginity to some fucking stranger like it’s nothing?’’ Jungkook’s voice raises as he scolds you about being so negligent about yourself, ‘‘You can’t do shit like that!’’ He fumed, making you let out a breathless chuckle.

‘‘Could you stop treating me like a fucking child for once in your life? I’m perfectly fine, Jungkook. I’ve been doing pretty well for myself without you here, actually. I don’t know why you think you have a say on what I do, is it the entitlement you have of me that you still carry around because we grew up together? Because if that’s it then you can drop it, I let go of my little girl who wanted a friend and was treated like pure shit in return complex a long time ago.’’

He knows you’re right, but he thinks he’ll always have this odd sense of protection over the five year old girl who cried to his mom about not lending her his favorite toy. He’ll always want to apologize to the eight year old girl who declared her love for him with a Valentine’s Day card while he ended up breaking her heart in exchange. He’ll always wish to look for help within the twelve year old girl who witnessed him give out his first kiss to another girl who he didn’t even like. He’ll always feel guilty towards the sixteen year old girl who had gotten tipsy on a spiked fruit punch and crashed on his bed. He’ll always hate himself for not asking the seventeen going on eighteen year old girl to prom when he knew he could’ve, but chose not to in fear of ruining your friendship.

You only wanted someone to be there for you growing up and Jungkook had never been the brave boy you thought he was, always running from his fears in hopes he’d have a wide advantage margin from them. Yet here they are, standing right in front of him in the form of a twenty year old you, and they’re there to let him know that you’ve never needed him, yet he’s always needed you.

He can’t even apologize, he only looks at you with wide eyes as he fidgets in his place. Either you’re both too old now to understand each other or you just realized that you’ve outgrown Jungkook.

Your mouth set in a hard line as you crossed your arms, the night’s breeze feeling colder than usual. ‘‘I miss you Jungkook, but I can’t keep playing this cat and mouse game with you any longer.’’

You leave him behind to go back to Namjoon’s arms, seeking refuge in his sweet embrace as you try your hardest to put on practice what you learned all those years ago when Jungkook broke your heart for the first time, you should be used to it by now.

You’re twenty-one when you’re back in your hometown to attend the funeral of the old lady down the street, the one that always scolded you and Jungkook growing up.

You had been scared of her as a child, but always following along your friend’s footsteps when he proposed playing around her garden. It tugs at your heartstrings even if you hadn’t known the woman well. Her death was imminent seeing as she’d been ill for quite some time.

A taller figure stands next to you as you both stand way in the back of the ceremony. He looks tired and you figure that it’s because of the fact he arrived late into the night, you heard his car’s engine from your bedroom window. Dressing in all black, you notice he bought a new suit. You’re sure that the one he wore for prom no longer fits considering he’s bigger now.

You haven’t talked to each other since last year when you both left off on a sour note. The hurt you felt was no longer present, though. You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought of a way you could talk to him again without making things awkward, but you let out a small gasp once he placed his arm around your shoulders, giving it a small squeeze as he sighed and kept his focus on the service.

Watching the casket be lowered into the ground felt weird. She was a human being just like you, but her existence was a reminder of your childhood. Would it be okay to say that her death meant a part of you leaving with her too?

Once it hits you, it’s Jungkook who consoles you by hugging you tight. Your eyes are too blurry with tears for you to realize this is one of those rare moments where he’s holding you close without hesitation. He lets you ruin his tuxedo’s jacket with your mascara covered tears as he brushes your hair as a sign of comfort.

You know things are back in order when he proposes the idea to go back to the old lady’s porch, for old times sake. ‘‘Will we ever let her rest?’’ You ask him with a small laugh as Jungkook sits on the doorsteps of the old lady’s empty home, opening the bag of candy worms he bought at the grocery store.

He shrugs, ‘‘She loved us, always told my mom how much she missed us running around the street.’’ The revelation makes you smile, hoping it was true. He pats the empty space next to him, indicating for you to fill it up with your presence. Once you do, you feel the familiar warmth of his proximity.

Jungkook seems different and you only hope he’s changed for the best.

‘‘When are you going back?’’ You ask him with curiosity, hoping that he’ll be in town for a few more days so you can catch up with him on a better note this time around.

He munches on one of the snacks, ‘‘Tomorrow morning, I have training camp and can’t miss it.’’ His answer makes you sigh with disappointment, but you nod nonetheless. ‘‘What about you?’’ He asks in return, and you inform him that you’ll stay for a few more days to spend time with your family. There’s silence after that and Jungkook can only offer you the gummy worms in the bag, you take one with a small thanks.

‘‘College fucking sucks,’’ he says out of nowhere and it makes you look at him in bewilderement, ‘‘I hate it there, I wanna drop out so bad. But I’m a year away from graduating so it’s too late now.’’ You see his shoulders visibly relax, like a weight had been lifted off them. ‘‘Plus my mom would kill me if I do so,’’ he adds with a chuckle.

Last time you asked everything was fine. Had things changed or had they always been this way and he was just now being honest with you?

You rest your head on his shoulder and focus all of your undivided attention on him as he keeps rambling about what his life has been ever since he left this town. He’s had bad games, bad grades, and bad girls. But he’s also had incredible games, good grades, and a couple great hookups, and yet he still feels empty, it’s not enough.

‘‘I miss you,’’ he mumbles as he faces you, ‘‘I’m sorry for being such a shitty friend, you deserved better.’’ His apology is genuine and you can feel it in the way his voice trembles, sincerity has always scared him after all.

Jungkook’s never known when the time is right, and he misjudges the look on your face. When he leans down to press his lips against yours, he’s blinded for a mere moment into believing that you wanted to kiss him just as much as he had been waiting.

You abruptly separate from him with wide eyes and parted lips, ‘‘Jungkook, I’m─I’m dating Namjoon now.’’ He can physically feel his heart shatter, the revelation coming out like an old newspaper headline he should’ve read a long time ago.

He lets out a breathless chuckle, ‘‘He got over the commitment issues?’’ The rhetorical question is bitter.

You scoff, ‘‘And what about it? I preferred to wait than to rush into getting my heart broken.’’ Plus it’s not like you were expecting Namjoon to grow feelings for you, the whole no strings attached arrangement was named that way for a reason.

Jungkook looks at you with narrowed eyes and he shakes his head sightly. Old habits never die down, still so stubborn and challenging as ever.

He’s startled as you stand abruptly, fuming as you look at him, ‘‘I don’t even know why you care! Did you forget that you threw my Valentine’s Day card into the trash? Or that you kissed Yeji in front of my face? Or that you let Taehyung date me as prank between your friends? Or that you were making out with Eunha while Jimin kept giving me alcohol? Or that you asked Jaehyun to take me to the stupid prom even though I was perfectly fine going without him or anyone for that matter?’’

‘‘We were just kids!’’ Jungkook argues back at you.

‘‘It still fucking hurt,’’ you counter, ‘‘still hurts, actually. You think that by giving me a measly apology and kissing it better I’ll suddenly forget about all of it?’’ Jungkook knows it won’t ever make up for all those years, but he had at least hoped you’d be willing to give him a chance.

He wishes he could say something else. Explain that he had just tried to protect you in his own shitty way from everyone else or himself maybe, he doesn’t know anymore. He wants to speak up again, but there’s disappointment written all over your face, you’re not angry at him...just saddened.

‘‘Hope you have fun at your training camp.’’

Jungkook watches as you leave him sitting by himself on the old lady’s doorstep. A hand runs through his hair as he feels his eyes water, and he can almost hear a whisper in the wind that asks him why he didn’t stop you when he could’ve.

Jungkook didn’t think that his family coming together with yours for Christmas dinner would’ve been a great idea. You’re cold to him at first and it’s fitting for the winter weather, but as always it only takes for him to sit next to you for things to warm up again.

It’s with the excuse that you’ll run over to your house to grab a new bottle of wine from the kitchen counter that Jungkook trails behind you, both slightly tipsy on the different alcohols your families had offered each other.

Years have passed since he last stepped foot inside your home, you used to visit him more often than he did anyway. It still smells and looks the same; the only difference is that there’s new pictures of you hung up on the walls, updated accordingly to the changes you’ve made ever since you left off for college.

You’re sporting a big smile in all of them, which in exchange makes him copy the action as well. His lack of presence in your life has done you better than compared to when he was around, and if that’s the case, then at least he did something right.

There hasn’t been much said since the beginning of the night, just a simple hey out of courtesy. There’s so much he wants to say, but with no clue where to begin. Another apology is due, though he thinks it’s a little too late for that. He also wants to ask about what you’ve been up to since he last saw you, are you still dating the Namjoon guy you had told him about after he kissed you? If he’s still there, Jungkook rather keep quiet and not wonder out loud to you, he’s sure that it’ll hurt if it’s true.

Growing up Jungkook always mistook your bravery with stubbornness and your courage with relentlessness. You’ve always been challenging, but only because you wanted him to do so too. It’s moments like this that prove him that you’ve always been the stronger between the two.

‘‘So, we’re just gonna pretend like nothing’s wrong between us?’’ You ask, speaking directly to him for the first time that night. It makes him look at you like a deer stuck in headlights, surprised by the sudden question and out of all the years of knowing each other, he feels small under your gaze for once. ‘‘How much time is it going to pass until you want to finally talk things like adults?’’

Jungkook gulps the lump in his throat, his brain quickly thinking of the right thing to say, ‘‘I just wanted to protect you from─’’

‘‘From what? From you? Everytime you’ve done that I end up getting hurt in the end. I’m left to pick the pieces up by myself,’’ you interject with anger in your voice. ‘‘It fucking pisses me off that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you kissing me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you and─’’ A sigh, you close your eyes to center yourself again as Jungkook waits for the final blow, ‘‘and you look like none of this has ever bothered you in the slightest because, you don’t really care about me do you?’’

‘‘I do care about you.’’ He’s sure about it, even though he’s been extremely bad at showing it.

Even though your eyes are threatening to spill tears, you still muster up the last bit of what’s left of your courage to step closer to him until you’re a few inches away. ‘‘Prove it, then. Show me that you care.’’

His brain is sent into quick overdrive due to your close proximity. There’s a slight hesitation because he only hopes that what he’s about to do is what you’re demanding him to prove. He doesn’t care if you’re still dating the Namjoon guy because he’s settled with the idea that it’s okay if you don’t correspond, it’s not like he did the same to you when you were both younger.

Once his lips press against yours, there’s no turning back. He’s waiting for you to push him back and let him know that your heart’s still taken, but you kiss him with such fervor that he knows in that moment that you’re right, it’s better to wait than to rush right in.

It’s no fairytale kiss, though. There’s desperation in the way you chase his lips, as if you were to slow down he’d find a way to escape from you. You grip the cotton material of his crewneck into your small fists, holding on to the fabric like your life depended on it. The small kiss you had both shared last year was nothing compared to this, and Jungkook’s taken aback by your neediness.

He doesn’t know how you manage to drag him to your childhood bedroom without missing a beat, only separating once you both realize you need to catch your breaths, and even then Jungkook can’t have a minute to take just happened in because your lips attach to his neck to get more of a taste. His fingers curled around your arm, sighing at the way your kisses felt like electricity on his skin.

‘‘Y/N,’’ he calls your name out in a breathy tone, but you’re too immersed in your little bubble to even realize it.

Jungkook groans when you bite into the skin of his neck, then blowing over the red mark as you kissed it better. It’s going to be bruise and he doesn’t like when that happens, but he’s not bothered at all if it comes from you. He forcibly grabs your chin so you can face him, looking at him with big eyes, a small pout, and with your chin messed with drool.

It’s then that Jungkook kisses you hungrily, making you feel like you’re in a dream-like state, though you could partially blame the Christmas eggnog for that. The way he bites at your lips and how your tongues clash together is an extreme juxtaposition as to how you could describe this moment. It’s as if you’re floating on air, clouds surrounding you in a heavenly embrace, angels singing in the background every time his hands touch, grab, hold and caress every part of your body. And yet, even with such a difference, it’s perfect because it’s Jungkook. You’ve been waiting for this too long, which is why your hands creep beneath his crewneck, touching his tonified abdomen tentatively and enjoying the way goosebumps arise on his skin at the sensation of your fingers trailing patterns wherever they caress.

It’s only fair that he pays attention to yours as well. Jungkook’s lips trail from your mouth onto your jawline, planting wet kisses on each space until he begins sucking on the skin of your neck, making you moan in the process. He chooses then that his new favorite sound is the way you voice out the pleasure he gives you. ‘‘Hurry up,’’ you say, ridding the bottom of the crewneck higher over his stomach, making him shiver at the sudden change of temperature.

Jungkook chuckles before completely getting rid of the material, ‘‘Calm down,’’ he sighs as he gives you a sweet smile, ‘‘You know our moms could talk forever.’’

You ogle his chest, admiring the way his training camps have obviously done wonders to his body. ‘‘It’s not them I’m talking about,’’ you correct him with a teasing smile that only makes his grin grow wider, chuckling at your impatience. Jungkook lets out a small gasp of surprise when your hands grasp at his shoulder blades, turning him around so you can back him until the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed. It’s funny how he lets himself be bossed around by someone who’s way smaller compared to his frame.

Jungkook finds leverage on his elbows splayed against the mattress, your knees resting on each side of his hips as you leaned into him and kissing him just as widely as you had done before. Jungkook could fill just how quick things were escalating, especially the way his crotch area was beginning to become a problem he couldn’t possibly control at the moment, not with your own being directly on top of it. In any other situation he would’ve apologized with an awkward laugh, but his breath hitches once your hips start grinding over him.

His hands make their way on the inside of your knitted sweater, provoking goosebumps on the exposed skin. You let out a shaky laugh, halting your movements so you can quickly get rid of the fabric as Jungkook’s eyebrows lift in surprise at your haste and then at the sight of your bra covered breasts. His hands are still steadily placed on each side of your waist, only brought up because your own had redirected them over your breasts, hoping he gets the message on what you want him to do now.

Jungkook hesitantly squeezed one of the round globes, provoking a small moan to come from out of your lips. He wishes to hold you as close as he possibly can because the idea of ever being away from you again has been his main fear as of lately. But he refrains, you look so delicate and he feels like you could easily break. He stares at your body lovingly and your cheeks heat up at the way his eyes ogle your chest like a kid in a candy story. You give his arm a light slap and he chuckles, leaning over you to place a passionate kiss on your lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he says frankly. It doesn’t help to dissipate the flush on your face, but the compliment doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Jungkook leans in to trail kisses past your collarbones and into the swell of your breasts, making you bite your lip with anticipation. He looks at you asking for permission and you nod quickly with parted lips as you start to become impatient for him to make his next move. Jungkook lowers the cups of your breasts, freeing your hardened nipples and immediately envelopes one of them with his lips. “Mph—!” A sigh escapes your lips as you try to memorize the way his tongue traces over your tit. He pays attention to your other one, fingers rolling over the bud and pinching ever so often.

You can feel your panties damp by then, trespassing into the fabric of the black leggings you’re wearing over them. Reaching behind your back, you fumble in unclasping the hooks of the now uncomfortable bra. Jungkook’s forced to stop the undivided attention he had places on your breasts to look at you like he’s lost, why are you going so fast?

Once your hands delve with the buckle of his belt, he has to hold on to your wrists with a firm grasp, ‘‘What are you doing?’’ He asks with quick breath, you blink stoically towards him.

‘‘Uh─getting you naked?’’ You answer with a nonchalant tone, but his hands don’t let go and your demeanor changes, ‘‘D-Did you not want this?’’ Your voice turns smaller, embarrassed that maybe you had pressured him into something he didn’t want to participate in.

Jungkook quickly shakes his head no, ‘‘No, I-I do want this! It’s just─you’re going so fast,’’ he tries to explain, ‘‘I’ve been waiting for this for too long, I don’t wanna rush.’’ Your eyes lit up at the revelation as he waits for you to answer back, only for his back to hit the comforter with a small thud, giggling at the way you urgently kiss him again, but this time with much more care.

‘‘Why didn’t you say so before, stupid?’’ You mumble with a sheepish look, ‘‘I thought it was just going to be─nevermind, I need you right now.’’ You have to force yourself from spitting out any details that could possibly ruin the moment between you two, deciding to wait instead for any emotional confessions you want to make.

He switches positions between the two, panting as he brings you down to the mattress and Jungkook can feel the goosebumps on your skin, whether from the coldness of the room or because of the sheer electricity of his hands caressing your body like it was molded just right for him. He dips his hand lower, cupping your clothed heat on his hand. It makes you tremble and you whine, encouraging him to keep going.

“Baby, you’re really wet,” he comments with a teasing tone and you pout at him. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings and he pulls them down as he travels with them, greeted by the sight of the damp cloth of your panties. He exhales with content, caressing your thighs in an up and down motion. You twist underneath him and he has to hold your hips down to calm you down, “Patience is a virtue.”

“I’ve been too patient, do some—Ah!” Your whining is interrupted once Jungkook moves your underwear to the side holding it with his free hand, fingers coming to trace the slick covering your pussy lips. He becomes entranced with the transparent gooey liquid, bringing them close to his face as he separates his fingers and sees a strand connecting between them. “Guk-ah, p-please…” Your needy voice brings him back to reality, delving his fingers back into your exposed heat but this time with intent.

Jungkook’s thumb lifts the hood covering your clit, mouth coming down to give it a small tentative kiss. That action alone has you writhing above him, it makes him chuckle to himself as he dives back in. The moans you let out are loud and clear inside your bedroom, thankful that it’s only you and him inside your house. Your hand pulls at his hair, making him groan against you and the vibrations are felt throughout your body, only adding to the euphoric pleasure you already possess. His fingers trace the inside of your thighs until they reach your entrance, circling the fluttering hole which makes you pull at his hair harder and with your other you hold on to the bedsheets of the comforter tightly into your fist.

Jungkook’s tongue is still working your engorged bud, but he focuses his eyes on you as he dips the first finger inside you. “Oh—fuck,” you let out in a breathy moan. He tries to maintain a rhythm between his two ministrations, but it’s hard when he wants to focus on all of them at once. “‘Nother, please,” you begged once he let your clit rest, quickly following your request by adding another into your warm heat. He lets out a breathless chuckle as he notices how easy it is to thrust both fingers inside of you, your whole crotch area is covered in slick and his wet chin is a dead giveaway to where he was seconds ago.

He watches you unravel over him with such adoration, not even his wettest dreams or dirtiest fantasies could prepare him for this. Seven minutes in heaven he plans to stay in forever. “Guk-ah, I wan’ you. I-Inside, please.” You plead with teary eyes, and he slowly stops, removing his arousal covered fingers from inside you as he makes you sigh in the process. He kisses you again and again, your hazy brain is probably hallucinating all of this right now, but damn is it good. You tug at the crewneck he’s wearing, he’s too overdressed for this occasion. He tends to your demands, quickly getting rid of all the layers of clothing that stop him from being inside of you fully.

“I don’t have a—“

“I’m on the pill.”

You both speak at the same time, making each other chuckle. Jungkook gulps at the idea of taking you raw as the first time together, and you salivate at his hardened length; the head already oozing precum out and you want nothing more than to wrap your lips around it and lick the tip up. You’re just about to when Jungkook quickly grabs your wrist to stop you from reaching him, you look up at him with the big sparkly eyes he has loved for too long.

“I just—I wanna be inside you right now,” he sheepishly admits, and you smile with a nod; sharing the sentiment. You back up until your head rests on the pillows comfortably, relaxing into the mattress as you wait for Jungkook to ready himself. He places a kiss on your lips before placing a hand next to your head, using it as leverage above you. His free hand takes his cock and rubs the tip along your folds, making you squirm with anticipation. Jungkook chuckles, “Are you ready?” He asks with a sweet smile.

“I’ve always been,” you whisper, your hand tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear.

A caress to his cheek as he nods, slowly pushing the head of his dick into you. You bite into your lip hard, it’s been a while since you had sex with someone and Jungkook’s size and girth was different from the rest. Your walls are tight around him and he has a tough time trying to reach the hilt with you squeezing him so hard, “Baby, relax for me.” He pleads and you nod apologetically, breathing in deep as you feel him reach parts inside of you, you didn’t know existed. Once he’s all the way in, he waits for you to give him the go ahead while he presses kisses into your heated cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and give him a nod, letting him know he was allowed to start thrusting.

Jungkook manages to hit all the right places, keeping a steady pace as he enters and exits you each time. You’re left to moan and writhe underneath him, letting him take you as he pleases. Your kisses become messy, teeth biting into each other’s lips, teeth grazing against each other as you both tried to fight for the dominant position. It’s that heavy makeout that incites you to push at his shoulders, making him turn in his back, exiting you in the process. Jungkook pants, chest rising and falling with quickness as you straddle his lap, arms connecting behind his neck.

“You always want to win, right?” He chuckles with half lidded eyes, enjoying the way your pussy lips grinded over his twitching length. You bat your eyelashes at him, offering him an innocent smile. The same technique that used to get you everything you wanted when you were younger. Same determination as you seek for what’s yours. He’s under you after all, still a victim to your charms.

Jungkook takes the bulbous head of his cock and teases it in your clit, if you weren’t holding on to him tight you would’ve collapsed into his chest. And by the way you moan his name out, he knows you’ll always look for him no matter the weather. “What a pretty girl,” he coos into your hair and you pinch his nipple in retaliation which only makes him groan in return. “My pretty girl.” He states before sinking himself deep into you again, sighing at the feeling of your hips circling over him. His rough hands guide them as you bounce up and down his length, moaning every time you rose and hissing when you came back down.

He makes sure to keep this image engraved on his head forever. Your breasts bouncing over his face, your thighs working extra hard to keep up with his thrusts, and the way your sounds bounced off the walls of your bedroom.

“You’re doing s-so good, baby.” Jungkook praises you, kneading your ass cheek. “Taking my cock s-so well,” he falls into a trance of admiring the way his length would appear and disappear inside of you, covered in a thick layer of your arousal. It makes him drill into you faster, sitting properly against the bed’s headboard as he takes your hips with force. He’s too turned on to keep treating you so delicately, and the way you moan and pant at the increase in speed only lets him know you enjoy him like this way more. “I-Is it good, baby? Am I-I fucking you well?” He asks in between rapid thrusts, your thighs had given out by then.

You nod and a whimper escapes your lips, “Y-yes, Guk-Ah. S-so good, feels amazing.” Your praise is honest, the fucked out tone in your voice is a clear indicator of how well of a job he was doing. A minute longer and you’ll be right on cloud nine, never wanting to come back down. “Wanna cum Guk-Ah, plea—“ There’s no need for you to even finish your sentence because his thumb rubs your clit in figure eights, making you groan with the intensified feeling of his hips circling inside you deliciously. You can almost see the blinding white light ahead as Jungkook kisses you feverishly. You feel tears escape the corners of your high, the familiar feeling tickling inside you as Jungkook’s thrusts don’t let up. ‘‘Ah! Yes, yes, fuck,’’ you cry out once your orgasm hits. Jungkook holds you close to his chest, trying to soothe your shaking body with his arms. Your walls squeeze and relax continuously around him, it serves him as the impulse he needs to chase his own high.

‘‘I love you, Jungkook,’’ you confess in between panting breaths, ‘‘so much.’’

His release shoots out and he groans, digging crescent moons into your hips. You hiss at the sensation, but giggle at how his eyes are screwed shut and brows still furrowed together, as if he was holding on to the last of his orgasm. In reality, Jungkook is just hoping that once he opens his eyes you’ll still be in his arms. Your fingers tilting his head to face you are very much real, he sees spots once he opens his eyes as they adjust to the room’s lighting.

‘‘I love you too.’’ He says with a fixed gaze and you coo at how perfect this is.

You’re twenty-two when Jungkook’s finally yours.

You’re both twenty-three and it’s another weekend spent at his apartment, he’s been playing for three hours now and you’ve given up on having him pay attention to you. Deciding to switch your plan around and join him instead, if only he would let you play.

‘‘Jungkook, you said it was going to be my turn five rounds ago!’’ You complain with a pout, crossing your arms across your chest.

His gaze is still stuck on the T.V screen, ‘‘Baby, shhh, you’re gonna make me lose.’’ He mumbles as he tries to remain concentrated on the game in hand, but he can hear your humph’s from behind him, ‘‘Patience is a─’’

‘‘Virtue, yeah, who cares.’’ You interrupt him with a roll of your eyes, familiar with the saying a little too well. ‘‘Hope you remember that for later tonight,’’ you add in a mumble, but he doesn’t hear it because of the loud sounds coming from the game on the screen.

‘‘What did you say, babe?’’ He asks with a raised brow, hitting the buttons of the controller with expert ease.

‘‘I’ll call your mom and tell her you don’t wanna share.’’ You joke with a threatening voice, but Jungkook knows better than to take your words so lightly. He pauses the game and turns to look at you with an are you serious? expression on his face, you giggle as you’ve finally got what you wanted.

He apologizes by covering your face with kisses, pleading for you not to tell on him with his mom. You promise not to do so this time, knowing that the woman was probably tired of having to scold his son at his big age.

Plus, ever since Jungkook surprised you with the almost exact replica of the Valentine’s Day card you gave him all those year back, you’ve taken advantage to tease him even more knowing he’s at your beck and call. You always remind him that he came close because the stickers he used were not like the ones you had, but he remembered to add the hearts on the I’s so that’s good enough.

‘‘Alright you can play, but━!’’ He says after he finishes his attack of kisses, ‘‘I’ll be your guide, I can’t risk you messing my record up, no offense baby.’’ None taken as you nod excitedly, you’ll always take whatever chance he gives you.

Jungkook’s finally learned how to share his toys after all.

#heartsforbts #bangtanhq #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook au #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #jungkook fic #bts smut #f: year 22

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busybcy · 4 years

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okay!!! here’s my drabble ( honestly it’s a little long ) about all three of lukes marriages. also known as luke gets divorced three times. if you read it lmk, cause honestly i had fun LFMSLKMFLKSM

Hope Atwell -- high school sweetheart

THE WAY THE DOOR creaked under pressure as he opened it caused his already knitted brow to tighten. fuck, that was loud. too loud for his liking, it wasn’t just the POUNDING in his head that caused him to crave silence, but also the part that should be inside. checking the watch that was flipped on his wrist for the time, he blearily noticed that it was ten AM. wherever his phone had ended up last night, the alarm must still be blaring from where he’d had it set for six. he was late, he knew that. luke had promised hope that he would be home before the sun rose, and that was only because she hadn’t wanted him to go out in the first place. the excuses that left his lips were always the same. it’s for networking, baby. i have to go make friends, you know? BUT IN REALITY IT had nothing to do with friends. he had plenty of those, plenty of connections. the truth was, he liked parties. he liked having fun, he always had. at first -- back in high school when hope still looked at him like he was king of the world -- the pills were just to keep him going when he felt too tired to get up in the morning. now it was a mixture of what she liked to call pills, parties and powder. he knew she had a point -- he was going a little overboard. at his rate, he’d be going down the same path as his brother. he needed to tone it down. he had to tone it down. LISTENING TO THE SOUND his shoes made as he dropped them in the entry way, he continued his slow progression of his apartment. it was quiet, which was strange. it was welcome, but strange. typically hope was awake by this time, doing her hair or flipping on the TV to listen to while she painted. the fact that there was no sound at all, was unnerving. he wasn’t bold enough to think she was asleep, which was why when he made the corner and saw her sitting on the couch -- his heart sunk. “hey, babe.” the rough voice called out to her, no thought in his head to simply slip past. she lifted her head to catch his eye, and he winced. she looked like she hadn’t slept. “do you know what time it is?” her gentle voice, such a contrast to him right now, called over to him. luke opened his mouth -- but the firm line of hers caused him to shut it. it wasn’t really a question. “i’m sorry.” “you’re not.” ANOTHER WINCE LEFT LUCAS at the accusation, not because of how it made him feel but because she was right, and he hated it. he wasn’t sorry. he really wasn’t. he had fun last night. just because she didn’t know how to have fun wasn’t his problem, was it? she used to be fun, back in high school. but that also was a time before he needed a friend in the bathroom with a bag to have fun. “can we fight about this later, hope?” he reached up and rubbed his face -- a good husband, asking to postpone the fight so he could go to sleep. “i’m tired.” THERE WAS A WHIMPER from the couch and he caught sight of the tear trickling down her cheek. his chest ached. he did care about her crying, he always had. crossing the living room quickly, he was on his knees before her -- taking her soft small hands between his and rubbing the pad of his fingers over her knuckles. “don’t cry, don’t cry --” he whispered, feeling so much like a child at the moment. if he had been older, he might have called himself a child. he was barely twenty years old. they’d barely been married a year, and he couldn’t remember the last weekend she didn’t spend crying. “i can’t do this, lucas.” her voice cracked -- but it wasn’t just the pain in her features anymore. there was anger. she yanked her hands away from him as if he’d burned her, settling in her lap as her shoulders shook. “i won’t go out tomorrow, okay? i’ll stay home, we can watch that stup-- that movie, the one with the fish. you love that movie, right? please don’t cry, hope.” as if her words hadn’t even phased him, she said it all the time after all. that she couldn’t do this, then she’d kiss him with those soft glossy lips and he’d forget to reflect on what she said. “no!” her voice broke through the stale air, and suddenly it was heated. standing up, the hungover and partially fucked up reed before her tumbled back onto his ass out of surprise. staring up at his wife, eyes wide and still a bit blood shot -- he looked at her in all her anger. “you always say that, it��s always that! i won’t do it this time, hope. i’ll stop, hope. i won’t take anything, hope. she’s just a friend, hope. i didn’t do anything worse this time, hope. it’s just a party hope!” her shoulders trembled as she screamed at him, and he felt so stupid staring up at her. he had no courage to speak against his small wife’s anger, and instead sat there like the lump of a husband he was. “i can’t do this anymore!” SHE SOUNDED ALMOST hysterical as she walked away from the couch and towards the very entry way he’d just came through. part of him felt like this was going to be like every other time she stormed out. her screaming, then coming back and kissing him and telling him she was sorry. he stayed where he was, sitting on the living room floor until the sound of the door slamming and a frustrated shout from her on the outside. HE HEARD HER CAR start and slowly laid back on the carpet. eyes falling closed, he wondered if he should have chased her. as far as he knew, there was no reason to think this fight would be different from any other -- which was why as he drifted to sleep against the floor, he thought this time in their life would be something they’d laugh about when they were thirty. WHEN SHE CALLED HIM three days later from her parents house, after ignoring the countless times he’d tried to contact her, to tell him that she’d filed for divorce -- he looked like the biggest idiot in the world for saying he wasn’t expecting it.

julio dean -- minivan mistake

PAUSING AS HE STARED down at the phone in his hands, he wondered exactly how he was meant to go about this. the idea of being married wasn’t something he was afraid of after hope, no if anything he wanted a NEW marriage to prove he could do it RIGHT this time. but the idea of being married to dean, that was something he . . . couldn’t wrap his head around. scrolling down through his contact list, he found the mans number and pressed call -- leaning against the side of the building. propping the phone between his shoulder and cheek, luke removed a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket and lit it up as he listened to the ring. “you’ve reached julio, how can i help you?” for some reason, the sound of the mans voice cut into him and made him wince. “hey, dean. it’s lucas.” “oh. hey, beautiful,” the tone of the other mans voice over the line changed to something that made luke’s voice twist into a knot. fuck, he still had NO idea how to go about this. “yeah, so -- about that.” he decided that the best way to go about it was not to think about it. “i always knew you were a bastard, but i didn’t think you’d fuck me like this.” “i thought you liked it when i fucked you, lucas?” LUKE’S STOMACH TURNED IN a way that made him laugh breathlessly. he scrubbed a hand over his face and took in a fresh breath to fill his lungs with courage. just say it. just say it, luke. “why did my brother call me to tell me he was mad i got married without him?” luke wasn’t going to encourage julio anymore than he already had. “because you got married without him. rude, honestly. i thought you liked him a bit more than that, since you freaks share a face.” “julio, the last time i saw you was four months ago. did we get married?” “yeah. janet officiated it.” THE FLOOR FELT LIKE it fell out from under him, and he let out a pathetic sound as he shrunk down to the floor, in a crouch. the cigarette between his fingers trembled, but his eyes were stuck to the cherry at the end. the next time he got married, he wanted to do BETTER. getting married to a contact for a story he was working, a god damn con artist, was probably the STUPIDEST thing he could have done. no wonder gavin sounded so fucking angry on the phone. “we’re fixing this. i’m not -- fuck, i don’t want to be married to you.” “that’s rude,” julio sounded a little more than pleased at the way luke’s voice shook. it made him grind his teeth. he was going to break his nose in the other direction this time. “can’t we talk about this?” “no,” was all but growled out by luke. THERE WAS A LIGHT laugh on the other end of the phone, as well as some shifting. “alright, alright.” julio’s voice was still so full of mirth. “come meet me tonight, and we’ll work on this. honestly i thought it wasn’t valid, but i’m glad you found out from gavin.” “. . . i’ll be there around eight.” SEVEN HOURS LATER, WHEN lucas was zipping up his pants and fixing the belt around his waist -- he glanced over at julio’s sleeping form and wondered how he ended up in these types of situations. julio had agreed to the divorce, verbally at least. that was more than he thought he’d get. getting him to actually sign the papers would end up being a different matter -- but with two marriages under his belt, even the confirmation that he was SINGLE again did nothing to help luke out in his own head.

jerome murphy -- one last shot

THE PURE EXHAUSTION HE was feeling was monumental. jet lagged and feeling like the bottom of a sludge bucket, he had no thoughts in his head past his husband. all he wanted to do was crawl into bed with him, he knew that jerome was off because luke was two days late from when he was meant to be home. he’d already called when his second flight was delayed, and even tho jerome mentioned that they needed to talk when he got home -- he had assumed it had something to do with their weeks apart. “babe, i’m home!” luke’s voice rang out as he entered into his shared home. dropping his luggage at the door, he toed out of his shoes and continued inside. “i’m so fucking glad i got a self driving cab, traffic was backed up all the way to the . . . “ HIS VOICE TRAILED OFF as he caught sight of his husband. the large mass of a man was sitting on the couch, hands folded in his lap and kind eyes watching lucas. for a moment, luke felt like he was nineteen again and had just walked in on hope crying. but he wasn’t nineteen. he was an adult now, far past twenty. and jerome wasn’t hope. it wasn’t just the sight of him sitting there all patient, but it was what he had with him. on the coffee table there was his duffel bag, the one jerome brought with him on every report he’d ever gone on -- and an envelope. it wasn’t even just the bag ( jerome had said nothing about going away? ) or the envelope that caused his voice to cut off. it was what was sitting next to it. his wedding ring. “. . . what’s going on, jay?” luke kept the smile on his face as he searched over the older mans face. that kind expression never left his husbands face. “lucas, sit.” he moved over and patted the cushion next to him. for a second, luke wanted to argue --- he didn’t want to sit, but like a moth to the flame he slowly drifted over and took a seat next to his husband. their knees touched, and for some reason that was a comfort to him. that made him feel more safe. the wedding ring on the table was glaring at him from the corner of his eye. “i’m sitting. what’s going on?” luke reached out, feeling like an idiot, for his husbands hand. jerome let him take it, and he held onto it -- squeezing tightly as his eyes searched his face. “c’mon, luke,” jerome’s voice was a bit softer now. “you can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.” HE FELT LIKE HE got shot at that. those words cut into him in a way he couldn’t explain. they were painful. but he smiled and shook his head -- brows knitting. “no, i -- what?” “i told you, remember? when we went to new york last year?” jerome sounded as if this didn’t hurt him, and luke was wracking his brain for anything his husband might had said last year. he had a good memory. he poured over the conversations in his mind, but he wasn’t fast enough for him. “we were eating dinner. the waitress asked if we were on retreat from our wives, and when we told her we were married she seemed shocked.” “because she was a homophobic brat.” “because we have no chemistry. we don’t mesh, lucas. we --” jerome pulled his hands back, and luke made a pathetic sound as he grasped at them -- unwilling to let go. but his husband continued and laid them in his lap, leaving the younger journalist’s hands empty. “we’re friends, luke. we’re friends who fuck.” “no, no.” luke shook his head and held up his hand, turning it so the gold wedding band caught the living room light. “we’re married, dumbass. we’ve been -- where is this coming from? we’ve been married for years. are you trying to tell me you --” HIS VOICE CAUGHT IN his throat as he let out an incredulous laugh. “you don’t love me anymore?” THE LOOK IN JEROME’S eyes said everything, and lucas felt cold. “i don’t think i ever was in love with you, luke. i don’t think you were ever in love with me either.” “bullshit -- i love you, jay --” “you love me, but you’re not in love with me. we barely see each other, you’re always working and so am i. we come home, eat together sometimes, make love and go back to work. we’re not in love. and, i’m getting older. so are you, lucas.” his tone sounded like a father scolding his son, and luke thought he was going to be sick. he should have taken that drink on the flight, but he’d wanted to be clean and sober when he got home to jerome. the thought that all he wanted to do was curl up against his husbands chest was still there, but now it made him feel like a sick fool. JEROME SEEMED TO HAVE taken the lack of reply as acceptance. reaching up with those big hands, he cupped lucas’ face and pulled him in for a kiss. luke didn’t fight him on it, instead he all but melted into the taste of his lips, deepening the kiss in a way that jerome more than likely didn’t intend -- but didn’t stop. a good moment went by of their kiss, bitter by the taste of salt on luke’s end -- before jerome was pulling away. “i’ll come back to pack up once i talk to my lawyer,” jerome spoke against his lips and luke couldn’t fight the bitter sob that broke from his chest. those hands were still on his face, and they rubbed soft circles against his cheek bones. when he opened his eyes -- he saw that kind face was tinted with a tinge of sadness. “this is for the best, lucas.” “okay.” he sounded pathetic to his own years. why he was accepting it was beyond him, but he had never had the strength to fight with jerome as long as he knew him. the man was too kind. too sweet, and too smart. when his hands left him, his face felt so cold from the lack of heat. lucas didn’t chase him as he grabbed his duffel bag and headed for the front door. he heard the sound of him moving the luggage away from the door, before the gentle click of it closing behind him left him alone with no sound but the filter of the fish tank, and the sobs bubbling up from his own chest.

#drug ment //#drug use //#idk what to tag this aS LMAO #❚ ( HC. ) ** ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ᶠᵃˡˡ. ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵍʳᵃᵛᶦᵗʸ. ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵒᵏᵃʸ.

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nozomijoestar · 5 years

Note

1-10 for an oc of yr choice (since i don't know any of yrs (yet))

meme here

I’ll use my FFXIV OCs bc I’m finicky abt sharing anything on my manuscript OCs in public

Vaste/U’ralhana Odh:

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Her name situation is a little messy but theres a reason behind each one both canon and non-canon! The game by default gives the WoL many titles across the game to reflect your progress to NPCs like eikon-slayer, Azure Dragoon, khagan etc. all tied to feats or positions earned in the MSQ.

For non canon titles and nicknames I’ve given her Desert Dragon due to her origin of birth from a desert tribe and their guardian animal being Drakes (as well as the fact that she’s a Dragoon and DRGs are traditionally a class associated heavy with dragons), Nine Lives because of the Echo preventing her from true death which also fits with her being a cat race etc. For more personal nicknames one of her younger brothers calls her Rala after her Sun Seeker name being U’ralhana Odh, dearest is also the most common pet name Yugiri has for her, aside from having the privilege of calling her only by her first name for her Sun Seeker side

Her formal naming convention gives her three viable names,

U’ralhana Odh - name the Sun Seekers gave her when she was born to them, the U designates tribe affiliation, followed by her given name, the surname is her father’s first name indicating he sired her (official FFXIV Sun Seeker naming convention) together the name means Ralhana of the Drakes, daughter of Odh

Osha Tayuun - this is the name her mother gave her before she left to rejoin the Moon Keepers in The Black Shroud, she never learned it was hers until the day they finally met well into her adulthood as the WoL, because Moon Keepers are matriarchal unlike Sun Seekers, the last name is also her mother’s while the given name is a normal girls name (i also made it start with O and try to sound similar to her mother’s first name, Oghii)

Vaste Valescoere - she gave herself this name after once being taught a few ancient Garlean (irl Classical Roman Latin) words by a traveling scholar from what little outside contact the tribe saw, once she made the decision to leave to be an adventurer forever she was banished for forsaking tradition, thus she felt she died and needed a new name - this was the first name i gave her because when i first started playing FFXIV i didnt know the races had naming conventions so i just wanted something that sounded like a fantasy name ( i literally just looked two words up in my latin-english dictionary fddjfd)

2. What is the color of your OC’s eyes/hair/skin?

Blue hair with natural black highlights, green eyes, light skin but not pale- all generally Moon Keeper traits but when i was starting out i knew none of that and did what i wanted, her bizarre appearance once i decided she was from the U tribe influenced her being half Sun Seeker and Moon Keeper

3. How tall is your OC?

5′2 but only because i thought the CC slider meant 5′6 (cuz it lists height in inches and i didnt bother to check ujhghugj shes sometimes embarrassed by her height especially standing next to much taller people, shes still taller than Yugiri though so she enjoys the slight height advantage

4. What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC?

Her hair, then her eyes

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

She’s usually in her armor with her current spear glamoured to appear weaker than it actually is because the simple style reminds her of what she used as a teen before leaving home:

^^ necklace and earrings are different but the second necklace is more typical

im weak for the one arm/shoulder armored while the other isnt or not as much aesthetic

For more special/formal occasions w/o armor she likes wearing this:

6. What is one word you would use to describe your OC’s appearances?

Every time she shows up there’s something dramatic (but not always over the top) happening

7. Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar?

She has the usual pinkish red stripes on her cheeks all Sun Seeker women are born with, in addition to a scar across her nose bridge she got during her huntress rite of passage when a sundrake struck her face (this rite is also how she got the black marks under her eyes afterwards, originally i just liked how they looked and made a backstory for them because the game lists them as tribal tattoos in CC)

The scar i gave her in CC as a ref to Guts from Berserk cuz his is similar (she obtained hers very young like he did as well):

8. How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like?

i chose the CC voice 2 option for female miqo’te (you can kinda hear what it sounds like here and here @2:10 since i cant find a video with just vc2 range) and im happy with it (to me it kinda sounds like Rie Tanaka? as far as i know the CC voice VAs have never been revealed so i cant say for certain, i know shes done voicing for FFXIV as Kan E Senna and Sadu and plays it as a huge fan tho) as far as how she talks all Miqo’te are said to have their own racial language unique to them that no other race can accurately pronounce or understand due to all the hissing, purring, and spitting of certain sounds (bc theyre cat ppl lol) so she’ll roll/purr her Rs, hiss her Hs etc.

On top of this system i imagine the U have their own dialect accent too which i hc sounds closer to Xhosa and Zulu mixed if a cat tried to speak it,so it gets complex! Her native accent however becomes slightly toned down the longer she spends away from the U as the WoL, but its still present and obvious enough

9. What does your OC’s bedroom look like? His/her living area?

the only description valid for this is an organized mess lmao

10. What does your OC keep in a special drawer?

anything small enough to fit given to her by people from her past or those she cares about that linger on her mind, shes somewhat sentimental sometimes

—-

Gan Arulaq

1. Lizard boi has no nicknames that stick outside of being called Bataar playfully by his parents esp his mother bc he liked playing pretend as a heroic figure when he was little (i was aware when i made him in CC that Xaela use Mongolian names and are based a lot on Mongol culture of the 14th century so he follows this convention)

His first name is Mongolian for Steel, his last name denotes his tribe following the game’s convention, simple

2. he is a tan/reddish brown color for skin with black hair and natural red highlights in a short swept back style (his eyes are also green bc i wanted to see what Vaste’s eye color would look like on a Xaela model, tdlr they glow!)

3. Gan is 7′1! the tallest of my characters period, he sees everything from up there and it creates some hilarious and awkward situations (poor guy and most doors, rip)

4. his eyes and his big curved horns

5. he loves wearing primarily clothes that expose a lot of his chest and skin in general because thats most natural to what he wore on the steppe valley back home (as well as being a little vain about his physical appearance and liking the feel of freedom in less clothes) however he can and will wear regular clothes, though in this case his fashion sense is terrible

6. when he appears you can associate him with change (succession is another word that comes to mind given his role to Vaste)

7. with the exception of minor scars from martial training and small accidents he’s the picture of normal for a Xaela

8. i actually cant remember what CC voice i gave him by number, but he does have a somewhat deep, rough voice fitting for a boisterous young man while also being capable of sentimentality and some wisdom, he has a handsome voice, he speaks bluntly but full of feeling and often truth

9. his room would be very organized and everything is neatly assigned to its place as well as being primarily spartan in layout/decoration, he’s used to practicality and function from his childhood on the steppe, lots of trinkets from nature, weapons and trophies of victory etc.

10. a ring given to him by his mother carved from sheep bone, it was her archery thumb ring

#Ria...your mind huhuhugu #final fantasy xiv: a realm reborn

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bluegrasshole · 7 years

Text

Adam Birkholtz’s Foolproof Guide to the Perfect Birthday

because i never posted it on tumblr in full and i’m craving that sweet validation. holsom fluff ???? two words i never thought i’d say. there are dick jokes tho so don’t worry i haven’t been kidnapped. 6k and rated T for “total drama holster”. content warning: ABBA

ao3

As far back as he can remember, people have told Adam Birkholtz that he is too dramatic. It’s usually said in an exasperated tone, by his parents and schoolteachers and coaches -- that Birkholtz boy is quite the character, or Adam, do you have to be so loud? they say, and then sigh. Sometimes it’s said with amusement, often when he first meets new teammates or people at parties -- is he always like this? And someone -- ok, usually Jack or Dex -- nods and rolls their eyes and says you have no idea. Point is, people say it all the time, even though it’s definitely not true. And now he’ll never, ever get the chance to prove them wrong, because on March 28th, 2016, Holster’s going to die.

March 28th, 2016, Justin Oluransi, co-captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team and love of Holster’s life, is turning 23, and Holster doesn’t know what to do about it. It’s in a week, and he’s got nothing.

They’ve long since had a rule for holidays and birthdays and anniversaries to forego gift-giving in favour of less stressful things like dates and hat tricks, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about that. It’s just, he’s been busy – being co-captain and co-Haus-supervisor is a lot of work, and his fourth year classes have been kicking his ass, and they’ve been practicing more than ever trying to rebuild the team post-Jack, and playing too, and he and Ransom been having like, a lot of sex, and – fuck. So he hasn’t had much time to plan anything for Ransom. And it’s kind of freaking Holster out.

The thing is, he wants it to be perfect. Because, well, he loves Ransom. Duh. They’ve only been together for 152 days (and 3 hours) but really, they’re both on the same page about the whole together-forever thing. Even when they weren’t dating, being apart for any length of time was never going to be an option. They’re like, soulmates or something. Swolemates, if you will. They put the romance in bromance. And the sex is swawesome. Double duh. So Holster just wants this birthday to be unforgettable, because it’s a first out of many firsts and also their last year as students in the place they met, and just – he needs it to be good. Alright?

On the 20th, Holster does what any desperate man in his position would do: he turns to sitcoms for help.

It only takes four episodes of Full House, six of Modern Family, and a whole season and a half of Friends to conclude that really, Ross never deserved Rachel at all, and that this plan is a totally inefficient use of his time. He’s still exactly where he started, with his heart rate sitting between light jog and Chowder touching a puck off the ice, and getting closer to that time Nursey spilled some vodka-cran on Dex’s laptop by the minute.

He walks into the Haus after his afternoon class on the 22nd to find Bitty struggling through some French grammar with Jack on Skype, as has become a normal sight in the past few months.

“Hey guys,” he says, properly dejected, and throws his bag down and thumps into a chair. It creaks ominously but he ignores it to lean his chin on his arms and sigh.

“Holster?” Jack says. Bitty nods and turns the screen so it captures half of each of them. Jack waggles his fingers at him and Holster can only muster up the will to show his teeth and nothing more.

“Everything alright?” Bitty says.

“No,” he says, and then, like a stroke of brilliance, it comes to him. Why does he have to do all the thinking and planning? He’s surrounded by people who know Ransom nearly as well he does, isn’t he? He sits up fast, and both Jack and Bitty blink at him, frowning.

“It isn’t?” says Bitty slowly.

“Uh, not yet, but it’s fine, I think. Hey,” Holster says, “what is like, your ideal date? Hypothetically.”

Bitty reddens instantly and glances at Jack, whose frown has turned into a confused smile.

“Oh,” Bitty says, “um. Hypothetically? Maybe, uh, cooking together, then bringing what we made to have a picnic in the sun. You know. Bring a few beers, some sandwiches, pie. There’s a nice river by my house with a clearing that’s kind of hidden from -- oh. Um. Hypothetically, that kind of thing.”

In Providence, Jack coughs. “We did that this summer,” he says.

“And wasn’t it nice?”

“It was,” Jack says. They share a heated glance, which is impressive given that Jack’s face is on a computer screen. Sounds like it was probably nice and naked, Holster thinks, which honestly sounds like right up his and Ransom’s alley. Except, well, they don’t cook much, and it’s March. There’s snow on the ground. So. That’s out of the question.

Bitty’s phone trills and he jumps up. “Alarm for my laundry. I’ll be right back.” He pats Holsters shoulder quickly and leaves.

“Nothing planned for Rans’ birthday, huh,” Jack says, leaning closer to the screen. Holster knows for a fact that Jack has all his friends’ birthdays in his phone and the alarms are set to ring a week in advance, the day before, and the morning of. Goddamn organized bastard.

“Don’t wanna hear it,” Holster grumbles, crossing his arms. “What’s your answer?”

“Okay, okay. Don’t tell Bittle but,” Jack says, lowering his voice, “I’ve rented out the rink at the Rockefeller for a private hour-long session for us around midnight on New Year’s Eve.”

Holster isn’t able to describe the sound that comes out of his mouth -- half laughter, half squeak, half snort. Oh, whatever. So he’s never been that great at fractions.

“How much did that cost you?” he says, his voice sounding strangled even to his ears. “That’s in nine months!”

Jack just shrugs. “Think it’ll top a picnic?”

Holster gapes. “I -- Jesus, Jack. I can’t do that for Rans.”

Just then, Bitty walks back into the kitchen with a laundry basket full of hot clothes and sets it down with a clatter next to the table. He cracks open a can of beer he must have brought from downstairs, and takes another from the top of the basket and waves it at Holster. A drink sounds nice right about now, actually. He takes it gratefully.

“Hm? Can’t do what?” Bitty asks.

“Hiking,” Jack says rapidly.

“It’s true. I hate hiking,” Holster says. “And nature. Fuck trees.”

Bitty frowns. “You and Ransom went on a camping trip in August. You said, and I quote, that you are the Kings of the Forest, Sires of the Squirrels, and Lords of the Leaves, and that if you could take the earth’s hand in marriage, you would, and you’d ask the rivers to marry all three of you as Justice of the Peace. Actually, I think I have a screenshot. Here, look--”

“Uh, I developed an allergy to dirt over the winter. Gives me this rash, like, down there. Super painful.” Ignoring once more the creak of the chair under his weight, Holster slides it back. “Gotta go. Thanks for the help!”

He drains the can of beer in thirty seconds -- not quite a record but fast enough that he’ll have to tell Rans about it later -- and runs out to the tinny sound of Jack’s laughter before Bitty can ask any more questions.

The next day finds him following the frogs to Annie’s after practice, because Dex has a shift and Chowder and Nursey need to study, and Holster still has a capital-P-Problem.

“Oh! I’m so excited you’re going to study with us,” Chowder says as he pushes the door open to the sound of the tinkling bell. The warmth and the scent of coffee wraps around them and Holster breathes in deep. “I’ve been meaning to pick your brain actually, about this stats project I think you did last year? With that cool prof, Daigle?”

“Hm?” Holster’s momentarily distracted by the sweets display, but shakes his head to clear his head of chocolate chips and turns back to Chowder and Nursey. Dex goes behind the counter. “Oh, yeah, I’ve still got it on my computer. Yo, uh, I’ve got a question.”

“So do I,” Dex says, tying his apron around his waist and making his way to the register. “What do you want?”

Nursey leans on the counter and winks. “Surprise me.”

“You’re getting black coffee,” Dex says without pause. He types it into the POS quickly and doesn’t look up.

“With a surprise?”

“No.”

“A surprise shot of hazelnut?”

“I guess you’ll find out,” Dex says. “What about you two? Nursey’s treat.”

Holster orders something sweet as Nursey splutters a half-hearted protest and Chowder gets something that has a colour vaguely reminiscent of milky tub juice (never again, he reminds himself), and they stand at the counter watching Dex make their drinks with the same agility and confidence that makes him a great player on the ice. For a second, Holster is envious of that calm, because he himself hasn’t felt very calm lately, and then remembers that this is Dex, and calm is the opposite of his natural state of being anywhere else.

Five days, he repeats over and over in his mind. Five days left to plan something for Ransom.

“What is like,” Holster starts, readjusting his laptop bag on his shoulder, “your ideal date.”

“Sharks game!” Chowder says immediately, to no one’s surprise. “Or, huh, maybe bowling. Bowling’s fun. Cait and I love bowling.”

“Mm, nothing says romance quite like putting your feet in stinky shoes worn by hundreds of other people,” Dex says. He hands Nursey his drink -- decidedly not just black coffee -- and starts in on whatever grassy thing Chowder wants. It probably has kale or something in it. Ew.

“What do you know about romance?” Nursey asks.

Dex ignores him. “Look, Holster. It’s easy. Go to Jerry’s. You can sit for a while, it’s cheap, there’s food, good beer, a pool table for when the conversation gets awkward, and if you’re lucky there’s live music. Dinner and entertainment, all in one place,” he says.

“Hm. A truly optimal bird-to-stone ratio,” Holster says. “And I do appreciate efficiency. I’m just looking for something a bit more, uh, special? Rans and I go to Jerry’s all the time.”

“You asked, bro,” Dex says, shrugging. He scoops something neon green into a cup of ice and Holster barely holds back a grimace, choosing instead to turn to Nursey with what he hopes is a beseeching look on his face. It’s one thing practicing your most convincing expressions in the comfort of your own shared bathroom in a frathaus, but it’s another to actually use them.

“Derek Malik Nurse. My favourite, most fanciest man. What about you?”

Nursey barely has the time to open his mouth before Dex and Chowder answer at the same time: “Poetry reading.”

“Hey! That’s not -- it’s -- okay, yeah, probably.” Nursey takes a sip from his mug and comes away with a whipped cream mustache on top of his regular facial hair. “But in my defence, it’s a nice relaxing environment and a great opportunity to move past small talk and delve into the deeper questions of essentialism and our purpose in life and what comes after death.”

“In reality nothing gets him hot like a poem with a good rhyme scheme,” Chowder fake-whispers into Holster’s ear.

“Second only to one without a rhyme scheme at all,” Dex says.

“Aw, fuck you guys. Who paid for your drinks again?”

“And left me a nice tip. Twenty-five percent, Nursey? Maybe you’re not so bad after all,” Dex says. “By the way, you’ve got a little -- yeah -- oh, no, you made it worse. Oh well. Tough luck.”

“Goddamn it!”

Chowder laughs all the way to their table, and Holster, well, Holster still has nothing.

He corners Ollie and Wicks behind the cafeteria salad bar at suppertime when he tells Ransom he’s going to get more tartar sauce for his fish sticks, and asks them his question. They hesitate for a second, nod simultaneously, then fist bump without even looking at each other. A level of synchronicity he and Ransom strive to achieve, but probably never will.

“Paris,” they say together.

Holster snorts. “For real, come on.”

“Bro,” Wicks says, “you said ideal, not realistic.”

“Yeah. That Eiffel tower shit is like, wicked ideal. The ultimate.”

They fist-bump again, of course. In his amusement and slight confusion (amusion, he decides in his head -- or, confusement, maybe), Holster forgets the tartar sauce completely, but distracts Ransom with a well-timed kiss and the whispered promise of a backrub when they get back to the Haus. Across the table Bitty rolls his eyes at the sight and opens his mouth to say something that will most definitely start with F and rhyme with Chris Pine, and in his haste to stick his tongue out at him, Holster accidentally puts it in Ransom’s ear. Instead of the expected indignant squawking he gets a half-shiver which is like, ok, weird, definitely getting filed in his head for... later.

“You doing okay?” Ransom asks that night, after later. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other much these past few days.”

They’re naked and sweat-sticky but warm and wrapped up in each other and blankets in the bottom bunk, Holster’s feet hanging off the edge through the hole they cut in the frame for this specific purpose. He feels like he’s the sleepiest he’s ever been, probably, so he burrows his face deeper into Ransom’s neck and sighs.

“M’just busy,” he mumbles, unwilling to put the effort into making himself more understandable than he has to. Ransom will get him. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Ransom says. Holster doesn’t remember answering -- the next thing he knows, it’s morning, and Ransom is scrambling to turn off their alarm as George Michael asks them to wake him up before he go-goes. After a second of relative silence -- there’s the shower squealing below them and a few loud thumps of someone coming up the stairs and Bitty singing Ariana Grande somewhere -- Ransom groans, leans over to kiss Holster on the cheek, then rolls out of bed to get ready for the day.

Holster’s walking to class an hour later with March and one of their other econ friends, regretting mostly every decision in his life that has led him to this point. He’s only got a few days left and is no closer to finding anything worthy of Justin-Love-of-Holster’s-Life-Oluransi. Actually, he’s less and less sure that anything worthy exists.

“--and then the prof said… Adam! Holster?” March says, and Holster shakes himself.

“Huh?”

“What’s up with you, bro?” says Jimmy Jeffers. Nice guy, but what else would you expect from a guy named Jimmy? It’s a good name. There’s a shortage of Jimmys in the world, Holster thinks.

“Adam!” March repeats.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I’ve been distracted lately, I guess,” he says.

March squints up at him then nods decisively. “Justin’s birthday,” she says, though it seems to be mostly for Jimmy’s benefit. “Next week. He’s got nothing.”

“Who’s Justin?” Jimmy asks.

Holster gasps and brings his hand to his heart. “Bro, how can you not know who Justin is? Everyone knows who Justin is. I can’t believe this.”

“Check your Facebook, he’s on there,” March says, rolling her eyes and waving a hand in dismissal at Jimmy, who immediately takes out his phone. “Talk to me, Birkholtz.”

“You dated him. What do you think I should do?” Holster asks, recognizing the desperation in his tone and unable to stop it.

“Weird,” Jimmy mutters.

“Dated is a strong word for what we did,” she says, “which, by the way, you were there for most of.”

“Weirder,” says Jimmy again, jumping over what looks to be a fallen snowcorgi and twisting to avoid someone on a bicycle riding by. The sidewalk is filling with people making their way to and from class, kicking their way through the slush and salt that’s built up on the ground.

“Don’t bring the fact that we’ve seen each other naked on multiple occasions into this. I need help!” Holster cries. He buries his face in his hands. “If I don’t find something to do for Ransom’s birthday, I’m going to die, plain and simple!”

“Adam, watch--”

March’s voice cuts off abruptly as Holster, still hiding behind his fingers, collides with another body -- a man’s, slightly past middle-aged, in a well-fitted navy suit and fluffy green earmuffs. The man blinks up at him, rubbing his forehead -- he’s very short, even by Holster’s standards, and vaguely familiar in the way that a man you’d seen on a Febreze commercial a couple times might be familiar if you walked by him in the street -- and smiles.

“Laser tag,” the man says.

Holster’s hands fly to his mouth. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Excellent,” the stranger says, reaching up to pat Holster on the shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Holster can see March hit Jimmy’s arm repeatedly, gaping, and Jimmy whispers something furiously and pulls out his phone. “Laser tag!”

“What?” Holster asks. Because, well, what?

“There’s a great place in the north end of town that rents out a room for birthday parties. I’m a regular there -- I go every weekend. Here, do you want their card?” The man is beaming, adjusting his suit and hitching his leather messenger bag back into position, the reaches into his breast pocket to pull out a stack of business cards, every one the same. He hands one to all three of them. “Gotta run. Good luck!”

The man dashes off into the snow and Holster is left with his mouth open, brow furrowed in confusion, unsure whether or not that was just a fluffy green hallucination. Except, well, he is holding a business card, and March and Jimmy are too.

“Oh my god,” March breathes, then bursts into laughter.

“That -- that was the president. Samwell University’s president,” Jimmy says, turning his phone around for Holster to see. Sure enough, there he is, with his own Wikipedia page and everything. “Weirdest.”

“You know,” March says later, once they’ve finally slipped into the back of their lecture hall only two minutes later, “it’s not such a bad idea. Want me to send a message?” She points to her laptop, where the laser tag place’s Facebook page is open, and Holster shrugs, because what else can he do?

Concentrating on class isn’t happening, so instead he texts Ransom a dirty limerick which could probably give Nursey a run for his money in the poetry department (There once was a d-man named Ransom / Who Holster thought very handsome / He had a big dick / Enjoyed a good lick / One half of the sexiest twosome), and doodles aimlessly in the margins of his notebook. Laser tag could work, he thinks, as long as they’re not like, in a game with a bunch of kids… but maybe he could bring the others along for some surprise team bonding, which could be fun. Ransom would enjoy the couple hours of distraction from his homework and it’s competitive enough that it would hold everyone else’s attention. Also, like, shooting shit is fun as fuck. Maybe it’s not romantic or anything, but --

“Aw hell,” March whispers. She points to her computer screen. “It’s booked up until Tuesday.”

Holster all but collapses onto the desk.

“Well, there’s always dinner and a movie,” Jimmy says, patting Holster’s arm gently.

It’s time, Holster thinks, to haul in the big guns.

Lardo’s studio space is on the other end of campus, in an old convent repurposed in the 70s as first the building for Samwell’s secretarial sciences then later as the art department. General consensus is that it sees as many if not more portraits of Jesus and Mary now as it did as a convent, because, well, art students. When Holster knocks on the door of Lardo’s designated space, he’s totally unsurprised that Shitty is the one who opens it, dressed only in what looks to be a fuschia jock strap. That probably wasn’t a very common sight for the old nuns, anyway.

“Holster! The man, the myth, the -- are you still growing, dude? I swear to fuck you weren’t this tall last time I saw you. Hey, Lards, Holtzy’s here. Seriously, brah. What’s Bitty putting in his pies?” Shitty says, mostly all in one breath. He steps aside to let Holster in, who enters to see Lardo lying on a paint-splattered tarp, an arm thrown over her eyes, a googly eye stuck to her wrist and a bag of two-bite brownies half-empty beside her. There are crumbs on her mouth, and three cans of Redbull on a table in the corner.

“You alright?” Holster asks, poking her with his toes. He plops down next to her and crosses his legs, really hoping the paint on the tarp is dry. It makes a crinkly, plasticky sound as he arranges himself.

“Just brought a piece down to the kilns,” Shitty says, falling too, more gracefully than is generally expected from a man of his aesthetic. He lays his head on Lardo’s stomach. “She worked on it for weeks.”

“Tired,” Lardo says. Her voice is hoarse. “Art. Hard.”

“Believe me, I know,” Holster says.

Lardo’s arm lifts slightly so she can squint at him. “How,” she says. “You’re not an artist.”

Holster pffts. “Just because you don’t appreciate my Abba fanfiction doesn’t mean no one does.”

“I’m more of a One Direction guy myself,” Shitty mumbles. Lardo begins petting his mustache with her thumb which would be sweet if Shitty didn’t moan softly with each downstroke (and if he wasn’t ninety five percent naked).

“Right. Okay. Well.” Holster clears his throat. “What is your ideal date?”

“Are you propositioning us? I swear I had a recurring dream of this exact situation in two different languages last year, neither of which were English. Do you speak Dutch, by any chance?” Shitty says, and Holster doesn’t quite know how to answer. Luckily, Shitty has never needed a response to continue his ramblings. “Nevermind. Stoned stargazing, definitely. Looking up at the universe, feeling small, but like, connected. Because you’re together. You feel me, brah? Like you’re part of a community. More than the sum of your parts. God, that’s beautiful. Should I write that down? Remind me to write that down.”

There’s a pause, a silence filled only by the steady drip-drip of the sink in the corner of the room and the noise of the tarp moving with each breath Lardo and Shitty take.

“Is he well?” Holster eventually asks Lardo. She raises an eyebrow at him.

“The doctors say there’s nothing we can do,” Lardo says. Her hands move up to scratch at his hair. “So, there’s this park uptown, right? Across the street from this laser tag place, I think. D’you know it?”

“I’m... familiar, yes.”

She pushes Shitty’s head down to her thighs and sits up sleepily, like a mummy awoken from her slumber. “Okay, well, it’s super gorgeous in the summer, with this river running through it,” she says. “You can rent a swan boat and shit. They have little food dispensers so you can feed the ducks. And in the winter they have an outdoor rink run by the town, and a bunch of snow tunnels at one end of the park, and like, snowman-making competitions. There’s a hot chocolate vendor too. So I always thought… No, no. It’s stupid.”

“What! What!” Holster straightens his back. This could be it.

“Well, alright… Uh, there’s this bridge at one end of the park. Beautiful wrought iron, overlooks these ice sculptures that light up when the sun sets. Super pretty.”

Of course Lardo would figure it out for him. Why did he ever ask anyone else? “Oh my god, is it one of those bridges you can put a love lock on?” he asks, incredibly excited. It might be the answer to his desperate calls for advice to the universe.

She frowns. “What? No. I’ve just always wanted to spraypaint a dick on it.”

“Nice,” Shitty says with emphasis.

“You know, bring some rum to keep you warm, go at like two in the morning, and just fucking paint it on there. It would represent how the bourgeoisie --”

Alright, so Lardo isn’t any help. Why was he kidding himself that it would be so simple? He doesn’t bother listening to the rest, choosing instead to turn and fall face forward onto the tarp. His nose lands in a splotch of paint that is definitely not dry. Just his fucking luck.

He texts his family group chat that night, because sitting across from Ransom at the library and watching the fucking adorable way he bites his lip when he’s concentrating hard isn’t accomplishing anything. In fact, with every lip-bite, Holster feels his soul hurtle towards death even faster.

Me [7:43]: Friends, family and acquaintances, what would be, in your opinion, the most romantic date ever? This is by far the most important question I have ever asked you.

TyrANNAsaurus Rex [7:43]: dibs on being an acquaintance

Mama B [7:43]: Ooohhh!!!!

Mama B [7:46]: Maybe a fancy homemade supper, some good wine, then a walk downtown

Mama B [7:47]: That’s how your father proposed, twenty-five years ago last January!!! :-)

Ransom barely looks up when Holster snorts, only furrows his brows deeper and bends so close to his paper his nose is almost touching. Which is so cute. God, his boyfriend is fucking gorgeous. Ugh. Holster feels like he’s going to explode.

TyrANNAsaurus Rex [7:49]: yikes lol

Rebecky with the good hair [7:52]: going to a fair. winning stuffies for each other. funnel cakes. kissing him at the top of the ferris wheel

Me [7:53]: It’s March

Mama B [7:54]: I thought you were dating Justin, not March????

Holster sometimes regrets telling his mother everything about his life (or, like, almost everything). This is one of those times.

TyrANNAsaurus Rex [7:55]: what’s this for anyway

Me [7:56]: It’s for Ransom’s BIRTHDAY. You should KNOW THIS. I THOUGHT I told you to put his birthday on the family calendar MOM

Rebecky with the good hair [7:58]: she just got up from the couch to go check it

Rebecky with the good hair [8:00]: ok she’s back, she says it’s not there. whoops

Rebecky with the good hair [8:01]: we’re going to the mall to get him something before it closes. anna you coming

TyrANNAsaurus Rex [8:02]: only if u buy me a pretzel. extra mustard

Rebecky with the good hair [8:03]: fine. come downstairs. i’ll go get dad in the garage

Me [8:03]: what about me!!!

Me [8:06]: UGH I’M DISOWNING YOU ALL. YOU WERE MY LAST HOPE

Me [8:07]: goodbye

Me [8:07]: f o r e v e r

“Holster?”

Holster nearly drops his phone at the sound of Ransom’s voice, and scrambles to catch it, fumbling a few times.

“Babe! It’s not time to stop yet, is it?” he says, smiling widely with his phone precariously caught between his pinky and ring finger.

“You’re. You’re humming that song,” Ransom says. His voice sounds strained. “The sad Abba one. Slipping Through My Fingers.”

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry, Rans,” Holster says, wincing. Abba has betrayed him again. “The Winner Takes It All would maybe be more appropriate thematically in this situation. Or Knowing Me, Knowing You? Actually, no, I got it. SOS. A classic. Wait, who am I kidding? They’re all classics.”

Ransom looks pained. “Babe.”

Right. Time to go be distracting somewhere else. Holster kisses Ransom on the cheek with a gentle reminder to text him when he needs a few minutes break before moping off to the Haus, determinedly in silence.

Friday they have practice again, and Saturday is spent on a bus to Connecticut, then playing, then sleeping, then driving back the next morning. Everyone’s exhausted, even on the trip up, and Holster caught the bus driver’s questioning eyes in the mirror when they first climbed aboard.

“Long season,” he said, shrugging. “And midterms.”

That’s not really the reason he’s struggling now. He’s just, well, tired, mostly. Frustrated with himself. He’s the worst boyfriend in the world probably, and should just go curl up into that weird crawl-space behind the washer and dryer in the basement that Ransom swears is where the ghosts go during the day. It’s true that it often smells like berry Lip Smackers down in that general area, though Holster’s not sure that isn’t just Chowder’s laundry detergent.

Whatever. Point is, Holster should know what to do for his boyfriend’s birthday, shouldn’t he? He knows Ransom better than anyone in the world (he knows this for a fact because he once sent Ransom’s family a questionnaire about Ransom, so he could compare answers -- none of them got Ransom’s favourite Yankee Candle scent, which is Honey Clementine, and only Dami, the eldest Oluransi sister, knew that number three on Ransom’s bucket list is to touch Serena Williams’ right bicep).

When Holster wakes from his nap on the bus, his forehead wet and cold from where he was leaning on the rattling window and a funny feeling in his stomach, he realizes there’s only one thing left to do: give up.

The bus driver drops them off at the rink, and it’s Nursey and Ransom’s turn to bring the equipment in. Normally Holster would stay and help, but it’s snowing hard and Tango looks like a puppy left out in a storm, so Holster rolls his eyes and asks if he and Whiskey would like a drive back to their rez. He can come get Ransom later. One of the only things he can do for him, apparently.

“How are you doing, Holster?” the unfailingly polite Tango asks as soon as he climbs in the back seat of Holster’s old-ass maroon Sunfire.

“Why? Does it look like I’m doing bad?” Holster says. In the rear-view mirror, Tango’s eyes go wide and concerned. Whiskey, of course, only snorts.

“Well, it does now,” he says in that drawling, bored, monotone voice of his. Though his eyebrow twitching does indicate slight interest, maybe.

“Oh no!” Tango gasps, then scoots up in the middle seat as far as his seat belt allows him so his head is nearly level with Holster and Whiskey’s. “What’s wrong, Captain?”

“I don’t deserve to be called that right now,” Holster grumbles.

“But we won yesterday,” Tango says. He sounds confused, but Holster can’t confirm if his face matches it, because it really is snowing pretty hard and he has to focus on not hitting any students or university presidents that might be out for a stroll. It probably does, though. Perpetual confusion is like, most of Tango’s personality. Sweet kid, though.

“I’m no longer captain of my own life and relationship, so I’m demoting myself. Well, metaphorically-speaking.”

“Holy fuck,” Whiskey whispers, and hits his head on the back of the seat a couple times.

Since he’s got nothing left to lose, Holster decides to ask one last time. It’s not like he’s going to get a good answer, not from a couple eighteen-year-olds, but fuck it. Right? All in.

“Um. Hey. Okay, first of all, if you tell anyone I asked you this I will, uh, turn you both upside down and pour Pepsi up your nose,” he begins, to cover his bases.

“I prefer Coke,” Tango says promptly.

“I know. So, it’s Ransom’s birthday tomorrow, and I don’t have anything planned yet, so… what sounds like the perfect date to you? I’m pretty fucking desperate.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Tango’s practically vibrating in his seat. “I love the aquarium. There’s one in Boston! Oh my god. If you go, can I come?”

Whiskey twists in his seat and rolls his eyes. “This is stupid,” he says.

“Aquariums aren’t stupid,” Tango says.

“Not that,” Whiskey says. “I mean, you’re asking the wrong question. Why does it matter what we think is the best date?”

“I don’t think I understand,” Holster says. He pulls into a parking space near the residence.

“I know I don’t understand,” Tango says.

It’s only later, when he’s picked up Ransom and Nursey from Faber and brought them back to the Haus, and he’s in the kitchen watching Ransom talk to Bitty about the moisturizing benefits of coconut oil versus shea butter, that he thinks he finally gets it.

The chair creaks one last time as he leans back to enjoy the image, and gives out under his weight with a crack! and followed by the heavy thump! of his tailbone hitting the hard floor.

“Oh my god!” Bitty cries. Ransom looks like he’s torn between laughter and concern, and the giggles are winning out. “Are you alright?”

“You know, Bitty?” Holster says, sprawled out on his back with shards of wood poking his ass and back, and Ransom’s eyes crinkling in mirth and something even warmer. “I really think I am.”

In the end, it takes a couple hours of work, some very important phone calls, and much begging and chore-switching with the other Haus-mates, but when Ransom comes home from afternoon class on March 28th, 2016, the attic has become a giant, structurally-sound blanket fort, the Haus TV has been moved upstairs along with all game consoles, there’s four different kinds of takeout on the desk, a grocery bag full of snacks, a variety of condoms laid out on the bed, and Holster, sitting in the nest he made of pillows, waiting with a birthday cupcake and a party hat, beaming.

Ransom drops his bag and immediately crawls up next to Holster. The cupcake barely makes it out of the way before Ransom attacks Holster’s mouth with his mouth.

“Babe!” he says between kisses. “This! Is! Amazing!”

“You think?” Holster says. He’s so, so happy.

“Yeah. Look at all this! Is that green curry and chicken wings? And you got me a cupcake instead of regular cake? God, you know me so well.”

Because he can, Holster kisses him again. “I know you like how tiny they look in your big hands,” he says. “Oh, and everybody cleared out for the night, so it’s just us.”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” Ransom says, collapsing onto the bed of fluffy pillows and smiling up at the polar-fleece ceiling. “How long have you been planning?”

“Oh, a little while,” Holster says, which is not even a lie. “You wanna play a round of Super Smash Bros? Winner gets to pick the sex playlist later.”

Ransom sighs happily and holds out his arms, and Holster goes easily. “Not yet. Come here and bask with me.”

“Happy birthday,” Holster says. He snuggles closer.

Everything is right in the world once more: Ransom is happy, Holster has accomplished something great, and no one died. Only one chair was harmed in the making of this birthday gift. Why did he think he needed a grand, romantic date or a fancy night out or any of those things the others suggested? This is what Ransom wants, this is what he wants, and this is just… them. Together.

As far back as he can remember, people have told Adam Birkholtz that he is too dramatic. Which actually, is kind of fine, as long as he’s still got Ransom.

“Best birthday ever,” Ransom says.

That’s all Holster ever wanted to hear.

#the formatting didn't show up boo #so that's why there isn't much #holsom #justin oluransi #adam birkholtz #holsomwriting #holtzwriting #cpwriting #my writing #ranswriting #ransom x holster #holster x ransom

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