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#well she got a parrot
infizero · 3 months
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a single mom raising a family of four 💪😥💗
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atopvisenyashill · 8 months
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i feel bad creeping thru people’s blogs without following them right away but unfortunately i have accidentally followed so many people that seemed normal and turned out to be terfs so i always have to stalk someone’s blog for weeks before i follow now. if u see me all of a sudden liking all your posts for a specific, obscure character there’s a high chance i’ll start following you like a month from now lol
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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years
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Herschel Has Discovered Tool Use. Again.
In january of 2021, deep in the throes of pandemic psychosis, we acquired a Corgi Puppy.
I would like to go on the record that we did not get a Corgi because they're cute. We got a Corgi because they're criminally brilliant and enthusiastic working dogs that were bred to bully cattle, which is the exact temperment a dog living in a house with three ADHD adults should have. Herschel does commit a lot of crime, but he also does his appinted service-dog job of "make everyone wake up, eat meals and go to bed at a reasonable and consistent time" extremely well, as well as his bonus jobs of "Keep the squirrels the hell out of the garden" and "Yell every time the cat does something". I didn't actually ask him to do that last job but it has helped in the "teach the cat to stay the hell off the stove" area.
But even with having a whole pack of humans another dog, and a cat to manage, this pales in comparison to his genetic capacity to manage several hundred sheep or cattle across the fields of Wales, and thus, Herschel has decided on further intellectual pursuits to occupy himself, namely, speedrunning the early phases of human tool use and terraforming.
I realized he has the brains of an entire hunter-gatherer tribe shortly after he got fixed, and within 24 hours and still dpey from anesthesia, he'd figured out that his plastic cone could be used to monopolize the water bowl and his favorite chew toys, and within a week, had learned how to carry three toys at once while leaving his mouth open by tucking the toys behind his enormous ears and under his chin. He also figured out that he could wiggle the cone to rest against his shoulders, and started using it as a shovel by literally running the bottom edge into the ground. But that wasn't making holes effeicently enough, apparently, and I ended up watching him figure out how to rotate the cone around so the two pieces of overlapping plastic were under his chin, then use his chin and the stairs to the deck to pinch both ends into a much more efficient V-Shape that let him gouge huge strips of dirt up in seconds. The anthropologists and animal behaviorists in the audience may recognize this as Tool Creation, a behavior normally only seen in higher primates, crows, and some parrots. Once a hole of suitable length, depth and temperature had been achieved, he very carefully rolled the cone around so the digging side was over his head and the smooth side under his chin, and splooted into his hole to cool his little tummy and stitches off. It was at that point that I realized that I was going to have to teach him how to garden, or he was going to teach himself.
He no longer has the cone (He was beginning to experiment with it as a battering ram), but his morning ritual is now "Wake everyone up at 8AM by screaming, locate everyone in house and jam my nose up theirs to make sure they're alive, go outside and scream at the squirrels. Now that Yard is Secure, go get Fun Parent who has hopefully taken their meds by now, and supervise them while they rifle through the plants (this is apparently KEY to their mental health), eating any pest animals Fun Parent points out, chase squirrel AGAIN, go inside and get Breakfast cookie." and BY GOD if we deviate from it there will be much screaming and destruction. If I am not home, it has been reported that he walks round the garden beds and sniffs the plants in the order I usually check them in before he will agree to come in. He doesn't quite know what the deal with the melons is, just that they need to be checked.
But we're out of the labor-intensive parts of gardening and now into Harvesting Season, and this is a bit boring except when I give him snap peas right off the vine, and he has decided to work on the complex physics problem that is Doorknobs.
And last week, he had a breakthrough.
Sometime in 2020, my mom sort-of taught her horrible crime herding dog Arwen how to open the back door so she could let herself out as she pleased during the day and stop interrupting Mom's Zoom calls. Arwen is a Kelpie, which means she's about 60lbs with full-length legs and horrible monkey paws that are one joint away from being hands, so when Arwen wants to open the back door, she sits up, leans on the door for purchase/to push it, and uses her terrible crime hands to *push* on the knob until it turns. She can pull the knob open by pawing and catching it on her toes, but she's 11-13 years old now and has mild arthritis, so she prefers to catch it on her central pad instead. She taught Charlie, the other equally brilliant but less criminally inclined dog, to do this but he doesn't like to go outside alone, so he rarely does this.
Herschel, ever the observant student, immediately tried copying them, but even though he is actually tall enough to reach the knob, his toes are just too stubby to get a decent grip on the knob, pushing or pulling, and the first few times, gave up and sat down to scream until one of the fullsize dogs or humans came to open the door for him.
Last week, we were up at my parent's again, and I watched him hunt around the living room until he found his slightly-sticky orange rubber ball (It's clean, it's just a kind of rubber that's always a bit tacky), carry it across the house, stand up on his hind legs at the back door, put the rubber ball on top of the gap between the knob and the wall, and then push down on the ball, which caught the doorknob and turned it for him, thus opening the door. He let himself out, had a merry time yelling at the squirrels, came back in, stopped a few feet inside the door, went back out, grabbed his ball, and brought it back into his kennel, a place he can leave toys if he doesn't want the other dogs playing with them.
This means he somehow worked out how doorknobs work, how fucking levers work, and that his orange rubber ball specifically was the one that would work (none of his other toys are the correct size/texture), that he'd need that ball specifically to open the door again, and yesterday he did the same trick with the bedroom door, so he knows that the rubber ball/skeleton key can be used on all doorknobs, not just that one.
I wonder if I can teach him to sweep.
___
If you want to fund Herschel's research into Tool Use and/or get me therapy for the ensuing chaos, please feel free to donate to my Ko-Fi, or get further Dog Content by subscribing to my Patreon.
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diariesofthelover · 2 months
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Wayne Brothers’ Gala Girl
synopsis: Bruce Wayne’s galas are held every once in a blue moon, but when they did occur, every Gotham socialite was sure to attend. The eldest sons of Gotham’s favorite billionaire always wound up in some trouble to entertain themselves, this time the brothers’ idea of fun was a beautiful woman who looked almost as bored as them.
notes: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson x reader, 3rd person pov, little bit 🌶️, inspired by the painting above.
The Eldest Wayne brothers found themselves in the quietest corner of the gala, bored with no idea of what they can get into this time around to beat last gala’s “performance” as they would call it.
“We could set off the fire alarm,” Dick suggests lazily to his younger brother.
“What are we twelve? Most of the people here already think we’re still fifteen.”
“No, they think you’re still fifteen because you were legally dead for like four years.”
“Shut up, dickwad.”
“HER!” Dick exclaimed, “Her, her, her, her!”
“You were Robin not a fucking parrot, her what?”
“That beautiful beautiful woman right there that looks even more miserable than we do with those tuxedo vultures circling her.”
Tuxedo vultures was spot on. These rich pigs had her trapped, all trying to win her attention one at a time, attempting a better pitch than the last guy. Any kind of manners that were instilled in her from an early age couldn’t apply after the third man insisted that he was the perfect man for her, actually, the perfect man for any proper woman, brains or not. All of the men here were the exact same, they believed their money and family were enough to flatter any woman here, that having any form of a likable personality or distanct traits besides snobbery was, “not something women really wanted.”
The woman couldn’t control her eye roll after the second attempted joke was made, averting her gaze where her eyes landed on the two men who already had their bright eyes on her, Bruce Wayne’s oldest sons.
She didn’t have a problem with the Wayne Family of course, she was after all attending their gala, it was just some of the guests that she wasn’t so fond of.
“What about her?” Jason looks over to who Dick was fawning over. Jason wasn’t blind, actually his vision only got better after he was resurrected, he too thought that the woman was beautiful, maybe one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, which is why he immediately shut Dick down, knowing what he was going to try to do.
“No, Dick. No chance, leave her alone.”
“I don’t think she wants me to,” Dick replies as the woman returns his famous flashy grin with a soft smile.
Dick had been trying to get Jason…well more out there after the whole dying, coming back to life, and then out in the public eye again thing. Jason died young, he barely got a chance to live his teenage years so whenever Jay’s attracted to someone, he starts acting like a teenage boy but at the age of twenty instead of sixteen.
Dick, make every girl swoon over him since his Robin days, Grayson mastered the whole girl thing by now and is trying to be his not so little brother’s tonight’s wingman.
“Follow me,” Dick whispers to Jason, not taking his eyes of the beauty across from him.
Dick and a hesitant Jason make their way over to the group of men that were all secretly jealous of their father, probably jealous of his sons too, interrupting the lifeless conversation and taking all of her focus off the vultures and onto him and Jason.
“Good evening gentlemen, how are we doing tonight?” Jason almost gagged at his at his brother’s fake politeness, he was always the better one at socializing, his charming personality didn’t stop at women.
“Richard Grayson, boy you’ve certainly grown up since I last saw you!” An older man around Bruce’s age greets him stirring up the rest of the men.
“Dick Grayson huh, pleasure to finally meet Gotham’s new prince.”
“I hear you’re very popular with the ladies,” the group erupted into laughter, these men really love any jokes to do with a woman don’t they?
“And you must be Bruce’s other son, Tim is it?” Jason’s takes his eyes off the woman to give the man a slight scowl, he promised Bruce he’d behave tonight.
“No, no, that’s Jason the one that…” one of the men tries to begin to tell the epic tale of Jason Todd.
“Say, we would love to stay and chat but our date has been waiting for us for quite a bit now,” Dick quickly interrupts him before Jason pulls out any kind of weapon on these men and offers his hand to the woman.
She places her hand into his thinking that she’d rather be a damsel in a in distress in need of saving by a knight, or in Gotham’s case a masked vigilante, instead of spending another moment with some men that are old enough to be her father thinking about how’d she make the perfect trophy wife and the younger who simply want to get laid after the gala. As Dick pulls her away from the hungry drunken men, she offers her hand to Jason who gives her a confused and flustered look.
“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Grayson said our date,” she says to him in the most soothing and charming voice Jason’s ever heard.
Forcing himself to snap out of this teenage haze, Jason takes her hand earning a smile from both her and his brother.
“I hope you don’t mind us whisking you away like that, you just seemed like you weren’t enjoying yourself,” Dick started, never dropping his darling smile.
“I don’t mind at all, I needed an excuse to get away from them,” the woman looks back at the men as they watch the brothers walk away with their “prize” in envy, “god they’re pathetic,” she sighs.
“Tell me about it,” Jason mumbles beside her.
“All night I’ve been surrounded by these people that only talk about their money, their jobs, their mansion and penthouses, it’s a bit exhausting, they really can’t think of anything else to discuss. It’s fascinating that they really think that’s the way to win over a woman.”
“Well I can promise you we’re a lot more interesting than that,” Dick laughs, “We also have access to all parts of the manor, how about Jason and I give you a little tour?” Dick states rather than asks earning a questioning look from Jason about what he’s planning.
“If you insist.”
Jason knew how Dick wanted him to jump into the dating pool. He frequently tried to set him up with either other vigilantes so he wouldn’t have to worry about his partner 24/7, or an ordinary Gotham citizen where Jason could escape from Gotham’s criminals and Red Hood duties to enjoy a semi-normal life. What Jason wasn’t understanding was why Dick had a chosen a woman that he was madly attracted to as well.
As Dick began his small tour of the manor, Jason stood awkwardly alongside the woman who was attentively watching his older brother and the places he showed. Jason didn’t know if he should join in or take over, make some small talk, he was sort of frozen in place and shy. You’d think that the big bad Red Hood who always had a mouth on him since he was Robin and would break Batman’s moral code would be the last person to get nervous around a pretty girl, maybe Red Hood wouldn’t but Jason Todd would.
“And this is the library, Jason’s favorite place in the manor,” Jason was snapped out of his thoughts when Dick mentioned his name, “once he comes in here you won’t see him for hours.”
“Big reader?” It took a moment for Jason to realize that the question was for him and not Dick.
“Yea, um, yes, I love literature.”
“Really, would do you love to read?” She was now fully focused on Jason who was struggling to maintain eye contact as his cheeks and ears were colored red.
He couldn’t keep his cool physically but he could try verbally, “classics,” he responded simply, not adding more to his portion of the conversation to which Dick internally sighed to.
“Dostoevsky, Shakespeare, Austen?” The charming woman tried to get something out of the boy.
“All of them, and more of course,” Jason gave her a shy smile.
She heads towards the leather chair that Jason always sits in, making herself comfortable in his spot.
“This where you sit, get lost in all those stories you read?”
Something about her sitting in his chair made his blood rush. The way that she had made it look twice the size bigger being half the size of Jason, the way she relaxed into his chair, sinking into his molding. The boy was so mesmerized he forgot to answer her question.
Dick noticed and decided to swoop in, “Mhm, right here,” Dick drags now standing over her, “he’s a very smart guy you know with all the books he reads, runs in the family.”
She slowly shifted her gaze from Jason to Dick who was getting closer and closer, “I guess the looks do too, interesting for adopted brothers,” earning a smile from both boys.
“Excuse my brother for his shortness, we usually occupy ourselves with stunts at these galas, not beautiful women,” Dick says switching the attention back onto Jason, “he can get pretty shy.” Normally that statement would earn a punch to the shoulder or at least a nasty remark but Dick was right, Jason was pretty shy around pretty girls.
Dick and the mystery woman were now smiling at Jason who was leaned against the wall, close enough to where he can see the rise and fall of her chest, but far enough from engaging the way Dick was.
Dick gently tilts her head up with his large calloused hands forcing their gala girl to look up at him, “What do you think of my brother?”
Now it was the woman’s turn to be painted red, “I think he’s one of the most handsome and intriguing men I’ve ever seen.”
“And me?” Dick pouts.
“I think you’re one of the most handsome and charming man i’ve ever come across,” she says in a sultry tone that lures the boys in like sailors to a siren.
Both Dick and Jason’s blood is rushing, relishing in the fact that this goddess of a woman found the boys to be worthy of her attraction, that nobody else at the gala was as good as them.
“Tell me something, both of you,” she starts, “why stray from your usual chaos and shenanigans to show me around your manor?”
“You’re much more intriguing than anything we had in mind,” says Jason surprisingly boldly as he moves closer to her.
“You’re the most entertaining here tonight, baby,” adds in Dick who quickly got back his confidence after a brush to his ego.
“I heard I was beautiful too,” she teased, trying to get the higher ground again.
“I bet you get told that a lot, don’t you angel? You think that’s what those pigs were telling her Jay? How much of a pretty girl she is,” It was too late though, once Dick Grayson got wound up, he got complete control, “Now you tell me something doll, did they tell you how sexy you look in that dress of yours?” She shakes her head no, any kind of witty and teasing responses wiped from her pretty head, “Aw, well that’s just wrong, Jason tell her how good she looks in that dress.”
Both eyes are on Jason, waiting for his compliment, “She looks—you look stunning in that dress,” Dick was waiting for more, he knew Jason had the vocabulary he just needed the push, “You suit my color, red’s my favorite,” now they were getting something out of him.
“I’ll be sure to think of you when I wear red again,” god she was good. Dick had to bring the power back to him and Jason again, this all quickly became a game to him, his real entertainment for tonight’s gala.
“And what if we got rid of the red,” Dick slips the strap of her dress off her shoulder causing her to shudder, he’s in control again, “how’s that look?”
“Fuck,” Jason whispered under his breath.
“I think Jason feels the same way about it as I do,” with how quiet it was in the library his whisper was heard easily by the two, “what do you think pretty, you think it’s better?”
She felt like how Jason felt in the beginning, mesmerized and stunned. From Dick talking to her so confidently and his usage of pet names, to the way Jason was losing his fucking mind over her.
“Y’gonna answer me or are you gonna keep looking at Jay with fuck me eyes?” Dick wasn’t jealous, he was trying to tease the two, get them riled up.
Before she gets to respond there’s a knock at the door, “Master Richard and Master Jason, Master Bruce requests your attendance for at least another half hour.”
“We’ll be right out Alfred,” Richard quickly answered before Alfred could barge in on the scene, “shall we?”
Dick heads towards the door as Jason and their gala girl slowly fix themselves up, avoiding any kind of eye contact with each other.
Dick stops Jason before they head back out to the gala, “You’re welcome, Jaybird.”
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godslino · 2 months
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PIECE BY PIECE | minho first date series. friends to lovers.
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pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 6.2k genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor) summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.
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chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡
a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3
“Dude, I think it’s clean.”
Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?
“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”
Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”
That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.
“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”
“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”
“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”
“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.
He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.
“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”
Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.
🏠
The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.
“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.
“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.
“You look hot.”
“I look hot.”
“She’s gonna say yes.”
“She’s gonna say yes.”
“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”
“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.
“Wait, what the f—”
“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”
Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.
“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”
Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”
The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.
“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.
“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.
Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.
He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.
With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.
“Min? What’d you say?”
Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.
By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.
“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.
A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”
Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.
But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.
“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.
Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”
“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”
“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.
“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.
Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.
“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”
Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”
“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.
It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.
He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”
“An arm and a leg?”
“What? No—I meant some water.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.
Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”
“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”
Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.
“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.
This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.
“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.
This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.
Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.
“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.
Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.
Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.
He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.
“Okay.”
“O…kay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”
The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.
Y/N [10:34am]
so
when do you want to do that date?
🏠
Are candles too much?
Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.
He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.
Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.
But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.
He needs to find another stain to scrub.
By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.
One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.
(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)
He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.
He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.
As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.
“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.
“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.
I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.
Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.
Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.
Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.
“How are your cats doing?”
Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”
“You’re cute.”
Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.
“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.
It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.
“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.
“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”
Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.
“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.
Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”
“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”
Oh.
Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?
You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.
Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.
“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.
His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.
“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”
Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.
“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.
“…Oh.”
Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.
He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.
It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!
At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.
Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.
“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”
Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”
“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”
The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.
“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”
You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.
“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.
Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”
You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.
“Min! Can we play Jenga?”
“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”
“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.
“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.
“We make up our own rules.”
The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.
Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.
Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”
He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.
Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.
“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”
He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.
“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”
“And if the tower falls…?”
“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”
Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”
Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.
“Deal.”
“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.
The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.
“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”
“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”
“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”
“One question at a time, princess.”
He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.
“What’s one thing you regret?”
“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”
Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?
“Why?” He chances.
“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.
You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”
Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.
“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”
Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.
You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”
Wait, what?
Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”
This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.
Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”
“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”
I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.
“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”
Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.
Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.
“Can I kiss you?”
Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”
“You didn’t pull out a piece.”
He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”
Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.”
The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.
Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”
Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.
“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”
He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.
There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.
He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.
After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.
You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”
Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.
“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”
“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”
“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.
🏠
In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,
“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”
When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.
Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.
He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.
Yang Jeongin Fanclub
jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]
chan: AWWWWWWW
jiwoo: i’m gonna cry
changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?
hyunjin: FINALLY
hyunjin: wait
hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?
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[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]
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selarina · 3 months
Text
continuation to this
so, that night gojo satoru leaves with no jacket and half a broken heart and for the first time since he was 12 years old, he takes a sip of alcohol as he slouches against his home bar.
it's bitter, and it tastes a bit too much like soy sauce for his liking but he sips and sips until he sees the engraved "S.G" inscription at the bottom of his glass.
"hello, husband," a voice comes from behind him, interrupting his sob fest.
and for a moment, for dumb little moment, he thinks it's you. the voice sounds nothing like you though, it's far too high-pitched, but he's dreamt of this far too much for him to imagine someone else calling him husband.
aya tsukino materialises next to him, and seats herself on a seat beside him. she moves with a certain a quiet sleekness that he barely caught her moving from behind him. or maybe, he's finally out of it. "excited for the wedding, then?" she deadpans as she pours herself a drink.
"thrilled," he parrots back, merely a barren echo of emotions.
there's more truth in this room than there's been in your shared room for weeks. because it's simple really— gojo doesn't want to marry her, and aya couldn't care less as long as she got the money his family had.
before they had even exchanged any words, it was clear that they had this silent agreement that the two of them had little to do with love and everything to do with societal expectations and status.
as gojo attempts to take another sip from his empty company, he can't help but replay the events of the evening in his mind. your anger, and the way you stood up for the love you believed in. it'll haunt him for the rest of his life.
he wonders if you'll genuinely come to understand that he did have you in mind when he left you. he doesn't want you to be a mistress, a dirty little secret. he's seen how it broke his mother apart. how could he wish the same fate upon you knowing how his mother's life ended?
you're strong, and he believes you will persist and he will see at the end of his life sleeping grey and old in his bed as he stares at the way the sunlight hits your laugh lines.
but he also remembers the way you cried in secret. he never brought it up, he never brings it up. he was just waiting for the day you'd be comfortable enough to cry in front of him but for now, he settles for meaningless presents he brings afterwards to wipe off the blue from your face.
he places his glass down with a clink, and he hears a resembling clink from aya. "i'll ask you this only once, gojo satoru," she speaks up. "do you want this marriage?"
"i never wanted this marriage," his reply is immediate.
"of course not," she says. "i meant, do you still want to go through with this?"
he doesn't respond. the both of them know the answer to that, it's written all too clearly on his soppy little face.
"what if i don't," he finally speaks. "what about your money? your status?"
"my money..." she feigns to ponder. "as someone who's always sought out money, i can tell you one thing about it. money, it comes and it goes. i'll find another way as i always do," she says. "i will be fine."
"your father—"
"—is a terrible man, who will go on his pissy campaign against me but i hope it's not presumptuous of me to expect you to come to defence when needed. you know, for all the trouble?"
he chuckles with no mirth. seems trouble is all he's capable of causing the past few days. "of course," he responds.
aya smiles, she supposes there's one benefit of having the strongest sorcerer as her ex-fiancé. she stands up, as she pulls her coat snug against her body as she prepares to leave. "besides, you're not the only rich high-status man in town, you know?"
"well, they're not all me," he replies. his smug demeanour returning to him like it's breathing a new life into him.
"wow, a bonus too," she chuckles.
"and who was that handsome man with you on friday? blonde, glasses, chiselled like a—"
"nanami kento," he replies with a grin.
"nanami kento. is he rich?"
"not as rich as you," he replies. it's true. he's rich, he worked on wall street after all and nanami is a smart man, he has so much in his savings account, it's enough to feed an entire nuclear family. why he saves up is something that's beyond gojo.
"well, he's handsome. tell mr. kento i said hello," she smiles facetiously.
"tsk, fine." he grins again. "get out of here."
-
it's been a week since you heard about the wedding falling apart. and since, you've been hearing about it daily, almost hourly if you're being honest. after all, you're at the centre of it. it only makes sense.
there's a whole slew of narratives running around, cheating, money laundering, even murder. but the most popular one was about how aya was the rosaline to your romeo and juliet. gojo's as romeo as he comes — handsome, influential and maybe a bit endearingly dumb but you fail to see how you're juliet. she was rich, influential, beautiful — everything you've been starkly reminded that you are not.
but everyone's talking about the romance of it all and you haven't heard from gojo himself so it's strange to take their words to mind or heart. you ignore them, forming a ready-made response sheet in your head to every possible question you encounter across the week. they become white noise, as you go through your day like a pre-programmed robot.
but that changes on a hot, dusty afternoon as you're sitting in a cafe, awaiting a man you were advised against seeing, and he's late. of course, he's fucking late. he broke up with you and he has the audac—
he walks in. he looks exhausted, lankier than usual, and there's a cruel part of you that likes it. to know he looks as miserable as you've been seeing. there's the other, familiar part of you that wants to run your fingers against his sensitive eyes as you feed him with the warmth of the diner's food.
but you do neither, you neither smile nor frown. you sit in place as you wait for him to come and sit opposite you.
"hey," his voice sounds gravelly. "i'm sorry i'm late."
"nothing i'm not used to," you reply with a glare as you cross your arms.
his hands reach for the menu as he plays with the edges of the paper. he always orders the same breakfast meal from this place. he must be nervous.
"i... i wanted to talk to you," he starts. "i want you back."
"excuse me? you can't just—"
"i'm willing to do anything. anything. if you want to take it slow, i understand. if you want to take your time, i understand. if you want me to get down on my knees and beg, i understa—"
"do it."
his eyes widen, you can tell — even though the black glasses are blocking his eyes, you can tell. it only lasts for a split second, because you blink with contempt and he's beside you. on his knees, as he stares up at you. he barely stares up at you — he's so tall, he's almost eye-to-eye with you. but even so he hunches his back, makes himself small.
"i'm sorry," he says again, as he takes off his glasses placing it onto the table in front of you. his eyes are alarmingly blood-red, and it takes every muscle in your body to hold back from running your fingers over his. "like i said, i'll do anything. just pleas— take me back."
you stare, and he stares back at you. you're too lost in the way he looks at you — at your mercy — that you miss the strange and baffled looks from people around you. and when you finally do, your cheeks flush with heat.
"okay," you say. " please, get up now."
"no, let me— let me stay," he says. pleads. "just let me stay until you take me back."
"fine," you sigh, as if there was any real objection from your side. "get up now."
"really?" his blood-red eyes gleam, you could almost see a tinge of the vibrant blue coming back to life.
"yes," you groan as your hand grip his elbow. "i was willing to be your fucking mistress. did you really thin— i would say— mmpph"
and just like that he's up, sliding next to you on your seat, as he kisses you. you're ashamed to admit that your first thought was the idea of getting kicked out for public indecency but your second thought was about how you think you could stay like this forever. despite the public gawking at you through mean and baffled stares.
"i'm serious about doing whatever it takes," he says, sincerity laced in his voice. "you shouldn't let me get away with this lightly."
you smile. "I hope you mean it," you reply. "and i won't. i’ll make you work for it, just a little."
he nods with a smile, "anything. i'll make it up to you."
"you have to do the chicken dance," you say, seriously and firmly.
"what?"
"you have to do the chicken dance. right now in the middle of the diner and i'm taking a video," you pull out your phone. "and... i'm sending it to nobara."
his eyes widen, almost like he's feeling actual fear. "not nobara," he gasps. "but she's so mean, baby."
"well, you said anything."
he sighs. gojo looks around the crowded diner, his tall frame rigid and tense. he glances at you, then at your phone, and finally resigns himself to the absurd request.
"fine," he mutters, standing up from the seat as he begins flapping his arms and doing a clumsy version of the chicken dance in the middle of the diner.
2K notes · View notes
astermath · 10 months
Text
second chance ₓₒ⋆:
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pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: steve decides to ask out the girl who he keeps seeing around hawkins with her nose in a book. he’s a little surprised when he gets brutally rejected, only to find out his “king steve” era is haunting him more than he expected. he attempts to make it up to you and show you he’s changed, even if it takes him a couple of tries.
word count: 4.8K (oops)
warnings: cursing, no use of y/n, bullying, regular size font below!
notes: first time writing for steve YES I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH HIM! YES IT IS THE FAULT OF ALL THE GOOD FIC WRITERS ON HERE! and thus,, I had to participate,, I hope I got his character down, I might write more for him so let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!
tagging some writers who have absolutely inspired me to write this with their own incredible fics, be sure to check them out <3 @hungharrington @sunshinesteviee @ghostlyfleur @lilacletter​ @stevenose​ 
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As a teenager, you’d grown to hate Hawkins. It was a mundane, small town with boring people, not much to do, not to mention the weird supernatural rumors you’d hear about every other week. 
But nothing was worse than your high school, Hawkins High. There was a strong social hierarchy, with you firmly placed at the bottom. You were a class A nerd, getting good grades, and always reading to distract yourself from your lack of a social life. So naturally, you got picked on a lot. At first it was just some girls in your class, laughing at your big glasses and the way you dressed. But as you got older, you’d caught the eye of so called “king Steve” and his goons.
You’d heard plenty about him by junior year; how rich his parents were, how he was the best at sports, how every girl practically dropped to their knees when he entered a room. He’d started noticing you when his friend Carol pointed you out, sitting alone on a bench outside school, waiting for your dad to pick you up. His finger had pushed your book down so he could look at your face, and you were soon met with his all too cocky grin. 
“Watcha readin’, four eyes?” The ego was nearly dripping off his words, making your stomach turn.
“None of your business.” you pulled your book away, keeping a finger between the pages you were on. “Doubt it’s near your reading level anyways, Harrington.” You may have been nerdy, but you were no pushover. If they wanted to be condescending, then you’d play their game right back at them.
“That’s no way to treat your king, is it?” Tommy chimed in, like a parrot on his shoulder. You were sure that guy would be nowhere without his friend’s reputation, considering he had the personality of a wet sock.
“My king?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” You tried putting your book away, but Carol had snatched it from your hands just before you could reach your bag.
“Oooh, is this your diary or somethin’?” she flipped it open, shit eating grin plastered over her face as she ran her nail over your name written on the opening page. 
“Do you mind? Give it back!” you’d reached out to grab it from her, but she’d already tossed it back to Steve, who was now holding it high above his head. 
“Come and get it sweetheart,” He smirked. “Might have to get real close for it though.” Tommy laughed like a hyena at his taunting, and you swore you would have punted him if they didn’t outnumber you. 
You scowled, ready to just grab your bag and make a swing for it. “Over my dead body, Steve.” You spat his name, and he grinned at your response. 
“Ahh, shouldn’t have said that.” He dropped the book down into the muddy puddle in front of you, stepping on it to make matters worse. 
You watched, mouth slightly agape as tears welled up in your eyes. Carol cackled while you stood frozen, clutching your bag as you watched the pages soak up the filthy water under his foot. You had every reason not to like Steve, he was like every movie’s description of a high school bully. But he’d destroyed something personal of yours. So now you had every reason to hate Steve.
And the bullying never stopped there. He’d laugh when Carol put her gum in your hair, when Tommy would bump into you extra hard in the hallway, when you’d turn around every time you saw him.
So when graduation came, you couldn’t be happier to get out of there and go to college.
Except your dad got fired from his job. And so, after just a year of college, you’d abandoned your dream of majoring in English literature and returned to the sad, miserable old town you grew up in. 
So you’d taken on a job in your local bookstore, hoping to make enough money to rent an apartment anywhere else soon. You spent the rest of your time reading and writing, usually outside to get some inspiration. You weren’t surprised to see a lot of familiar faces, though you’d never actually spoken to most of them. College was expensive, and a lot of people from Hawkins were just going straight into working than bothering to study. Or maybe some were in the same unfortunate position as you, tragically locked to your hometown.
You were sat outside the backside of the mall, listening to people’s conversations around you. Though you were never much of a socialite, you were very interested in the way people interacted with one another, especially if they were from completely different backgrounds than you.
Two books sat besides you, knees brought up close to your chest as your papers leaned against your legs. You messily wrote down strings of sentences and words of inspiration, a description of what you were seeing too, every now and then. You were an aspiring writer, hoping your literary skills would one day break you out of your current situation, but with the current state of the world, that’s all you could really be. Hopeful.
You were daydreaming about the life you’d build for yourself, finger running over the tip of your pen. You were so involved in your own train of thoughts, you almost hadn’t noticed the sudden new presence besides you. 
“Watcha writin’, pretty girl?” 
The voice sounded familiar. A little too familiar for your liking, actually. You kept your eyes on the page, hoping you conveying your disinterest was working in driving the guy away. You sighed, clicking the pen a few times. “Do you really care, or do you just wanna bother me?”
You could hear a faint chuckle, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sound nice. Still, you were working, and you preferred not to be disturbed when you were.
“You got me there,” the guy spoke, and you could tell he’d moved a little closer, because you could now smell a sliver of his cologne. “Was never one for books, but I’ve been wanting to read more. What is this, Pride and Prejudice?” He picked up one of the books, and you turned, about to take it from when your eyes landed on his face, freezing midway when you finally realized why he sounded so familiar.
Steve motherfucking Harrington.
Same cocky smile, same brown eyes, same somehow always perfectly styled hair, and probably same asshole altogether.
You squinted slightly, not sure if you were hallucinating or not. “... Steve Harrington?” You question, and you could tell he doesn’t quite know how to react at first.
Truth be told, Steve had changed. A lot. All the things he’d gone through, the connections he’d made, the ego checks he got, it made him a new man. Or so he definitely liked to believe. But he was also painfully aware of his reputation, his old persona still haunting him sometimes. Still, he’d never seen you before, so he hoped it was a relatively positive image you had of him.
“I guess my reputation precedes me,” he smiled, and you think it’s the first time you’d ever seen him genuinely smile. Not the smile he gave you when his friends were teasing you, no, this one was much softer. “Or maybe... We’ve met before?”
And then it clicked.
Steve had no clue who you were.
Sure, you’d developed a better sense of style over the years. You no longer needed braces, you had grown into your body better, and your glasses fit your face a lot more. But you didn’t think you changed that much. Besides, your personality had remained the same. You were still the sharp tongued, book loving, nerdy girl he’d bullied back then.
It was true, he didn’t recognize you. He was almost certain you were new in town, telling his best friend Robin that if he knew you, he’d definitely recognize a face that pretty. She had no clue who he was talking about, this mysterious girl he’d seen reading and writing all over Hawkins, so she just told him to make a move. So he did.
“So uh,” He leaned his arm over the backside of the bench, facing you. “I was wondering if you’d maybe like to go out sometime. Y’know, catch a movie, go to the arcade, whatever you’d like to do for fun, uh...” he flipped the book open on the first page, reading your name aloud. And then it clicked for him too. You weren’t new here, and you most certainly knew him. He looked back up at you, already getting ready to apologize when you snatched the book from his hands and got up. 
“Go fuck yourself, ‘king Steve’.” You scowled, shoving your stuff in your bag and angrily walking off.
He had to admit, that stung, hearing you use his old nickname like that, and then watching you storm off. He was starting to realize that there were more consequences to his high school endeavors than he’d initially imagined, that he couldn’t just move on and pretend that he was a new person now. He had to make things right. Starting with you, the pretty girl with the glasses. 
“And-- and then, wait for it-- I look into the book, right?” Steve stands behind the counter of Family Video, hands motioning vividly as he tells his friend about what had happened the day before.
Robin nods, mumbling some kind of “uhuh” as she continues to organize the shelves.
“And it’s her! It’s four eyes!” He exclaims, looking expectantly at his colleague, hoping for a big reaction.
“I’m sorry, who?” Robin’s face contorts in confusion, turning to face him with a hand on her hip.
“Shit, uh, she was like always reading and stuff, and she had these-- these glasses, they were way too big for her face, and--”
His sentence was cut short by the jingle of the door opening, and the two of them looked to see you there, who was clearly not expecting a welcome committee. Your gaze crossed Steve’s, and for a moment he felt like you were about to kill him with just your stare. You rolled your eyes, scoffing audibly and started looking through the shelves.
Robin looked at Steve, mouthing a “is that her”, to which he nodded stealthily. She replied by smiling approvingly, as if she now understood exactly why he wanted to make things right. You were really pretty, she could definitely see that.
You damn near slammed down the tape you wanted to rent for the day on the counter, avoiding eye contact as you looked through your bag for your wallet.
“Are you already registered at Family Video or—“
“No.” You cut him off, head snapping up.
“Alright,” Steve nodded, slightly intimidated. “I’ll just need your name and phone number for the registry.”
You stared at him for a few moments, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Did he really think you were that stupid?
“Are you fucking—“ You looked over at his colleague. “Is he fucking with me?”
Robin shook her head slowly, slightly intimidated. Though she could see why he had to work his way up to talking to you, she had to admit, it was quite funny seeing Steve actually struggle talking to a girl like this.
“We need it in case you don’t return the tape.” He gave you a thin lipped, awkward smile as he got the keyboard out to type it in.
“Fine,” You huffed, “but if I get a personal call from you, I’m changing numbers.” You started to list your phone number and complete your registration. You just wanted to watch the Breakfast Club for christ’s sakes, this was taking ages…
“That’ll be 10 dollars,” he put on a sweet, almost customer service-y smile, “please.”
“Yeah, fine, just—“ You rummaged through your bag, brows furrowing when you still couldn’t manage to find your wallet. You were certain you had it, although you did grab your stuff in a bit of a rush that morning. “I swear it’s here, it’s just under all this other stuff…”
You were about to dump the contents of your bag onto the counter when Steve held up his hand, pulling out his own wallet. “It’s fine, I got it.” He deposited 10 dollars of his own into the cash register, sliding the tape back over to you along with a receipt. “Courtesy of Steve Harrington.”
You looked down at the tape, and something in you wanted to smile. You were still getting used to this, guys doing nice things for you because you were pretty, but it was different from Steve. You were mad at him, and rightfully so. Te, measly dollars wasn’t going to cut it.
You muttered a “thanks”, stuffing the tape in your bag and waving Robin a quick goodbye before speed walking back outside. Your cheeks burned hot, and you hated to admit it, but it was a really cute gesture from Steve.
“She seems nice.” Robin said, watching Steve’s expression falter with a bit of an amused grin.
Steve leaned his face into his hands, watching you leave through the window. “The nicest.” He sighed, lowering his head to rub his hands over his face. “I’m gonna have to give that another try though.”
Robin chuckled, going back to the task at hand. “Good luck with that, casa nova.”
And so he did. He kept trying. It wasn’t just because he wanted to prove something to himself, he was genuinely intrigued by you. Even back in high school, he wondered what was going on in that head of yours when you’d daydream in class, or when you were writing during breaks. But he knew he’d never hear the end of it from Tommy if he talked to you, so he chose the easy way out. Coping by making fun of you. At least that way, he never had to prove to anyone if he liked you or not.
But it wasn’t fair, not towards you, of course. He never should have treated you that way, and this was his chance of making things right. And maybe finally finding out what was always happening in that pretty mind of yours.
You were stacking books on the shelves at your job, humming a tune to yourself. You liked your job, you always got to buy books at discounted prices and read whenever it was quiet. It was a nice step-up to what would hopefully become a real writing job one day, having your own books sold in a place like this.
“Excuse me,” a voice stirred you from your daydreaming, “I’m looking for something new to read.”
You turned, and as soon as you once again caught sight of Steve, your customer service smile faded into a scowl. “You stalking me now, Harrington?”
He put up his hands in a defensive position. “Woah, jump to conclusions much?” He chuckled nervously. “No, I uh... Robin told me you worked here. So I decided to drop by.” He followed closely behind you as you walked to the back to start stacking the shelves there.
“So what are you really doing here, besides bothering me?” You turned, a book clutched to your chest. It reminded him of how you used to walk the halls, always with a book held over your heart. It was almost poetic, now that he thought about it. He knew books were your comfort, so it only made sense you’d always keep one near.
“Like I told you,” he leaned against one of the shelves, hand slipping down just a tad which almost made him lose composure, “I’m looking for somethin’ new to read.”
You raised an eyebrow, and you had to admit, he had your attention. “You?” You scoffed, followed by an almost mocking chuckle. “Shit, I didn’t even know you could read.”
He pretended to be hurt, hand over his heart as he said your name in an offended tone. “I’m wounded! I’m trying to explore more literature and here I am getting judged!” 
You couldn’t help but giggle, blood rushing to your cheeks from embarrassment. You were supposed to be mad, not humor his flirting, no matter how cute he was. “I uh... Well, I read this book not too long ago. It’s about two lovers who travel the world playing the music together, and one of them dies, so the other has to like, find their own sound...” You realized you were rambling a little, wide eyes looking up at him. “Or... Something like that.”
“Yeah! Yeah, that-- that sounds great. Cool. Totally.” He tried his best to brush off how your eyes were making him feel. So pretty, even when behind your glasses, he could tell how much emotion they held.
“Cool, cool,” now you were the one trying to play it cool, fingers fidgeting with the hardcover you were holding. “I’ll, uhm-- go check our stock really quick.” 
He let you do your thing as he looked around the store, flipping through the pages of random books he found. Truth be told, Steve hadn’t read a single book ever since he stopped being forced to because of high school. Not because he hated reading, he just... Wasn’t very good at it. He’d often mouth along with the words, sentence by sentence, sometimes even whispering them to himself.
You returned not long after, strangely enough, with nothing in hand. “So, I think we ran out, but uh...” You adjusted your glasses. “I can lend you my copy.” You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling nervously. “If you want.”
Steve was quite surprised by your proposal. He knew how precious your books were to you, but giving one to him? The guy who’d stomped on your own personal property not even that long ago? Damn. Maybe you were just that nice. Which made him feel even worse for treating you like shit.
“Totally! Yeah, uhm, I’ll take good care of it. Like, seriously, I’ll protect it with my life.” He grinned, and you hated how infectious his smile was. 
“Good,” you handed him your copy, and he could tell it was well loved. “I better not find any mud on this one.” He nodded at your comment, swallowing down his guilt at the memory. There was a bookmark at the front, and he could tell by the dozens of sticky tabs sticking out that you were serious about your reading. So he decided to be serious about it too.
“You can give it back whenever you’re done.” You smiled awkwardly, subtly letting him know he could read it at his own pace. “Just come drop it off when you’re ready.” He was about to thank you, when you raised a finger to interrupt him. “In the exact same condition, Harrington.” Though your gesture was sweet, he could tell you still weren’t fully on good terms with him. That was fine by him, he was glad he was making any progress at all, really. 
“Yeah-- yeah, for sure, no problem.” He stood there for a few seconds, book held under his arm as his other hand busied itself running through his hair. “I’ll uh... I’ll see you around.”
You smiled at how nervous he seemed. “Yeah, totally, see you around Steve.” You gave him a quick wave and went back to stocking the shelves.
Steve heart swelled with a familiar feeling as he walked out. He knew you were pretty, gorgeous even, but seeing you smile, and say his name like that... Man, he felt like an even bigger idiot for being such a douche to you back in the day. You were being so nice, and you had absolutely no reason to. He stood outside, thinking of your sweet voice and cute glasses, and clutched the book to his chest.
Huh. That did actually feel kinda nice.
And so he walked home like that, the entire way, with a tight hold on the book. He’d rather die than let it get damaged now.
One of the first things he did when he got home was go to his room, sit down on his bed and open the book. On the first page, you had your name written, and it brought him right back to when he first saw you again. Something inside him feels superficial and shallow for only talking to you now that you look different, but all the circumstances were different too. You’d both grown, matured, he just wished you’d give him more of a chance to show it.
But in a way, he supposed this was the first step to earning your trust.
He’d spent almost the entire night reading, smiling and even chuckling at some of your annotations. He was glad there was a key at the start, so he knew which color meant what. He’d even grabbed a dictionary from downstairs because he didn’t understand some words, but was eager to learn more. Reading your comments made it feel like you were right there with him. They were funny, making him crack a grin at how outraged you could be at some of the characters’ decisions.
He imagined your face when one of your comments mentioned you’d cried, and his heart twisted at the thought. Because he knew what you looked like when you cried, thick tears running over soft cheeks, lashes wet. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t still look pretty, but man, he was now more insistent on proving he’d changed than ever. Maybe his budding crush was helping that a little too.
A little more than a week later, he’d returned to the store you worked to return the book. Frankly speaking you weren’t sure if was actually going to bring it back, let alone in the exact same condition you’d given it to him in.
“So, what did you think?” Your face beamed a sort of excitement you’d only see when your interests were being discussed, and this was definitely one of them. Besides your boss, you never really had anyone to talk to about books. Though Steve was more of an unconventional choice, you enjoyed the conversation nonetheless.
What surprised you even more was that he’d actually read it. Like really, really read it, including your annotations and comments. It warmed your heart to know he had put actual time and effort into enjoying the whole thing, and he looked pretty cute talking about it too.
“But the ending broke my heart, seriously—“
“I know, right? How could she not have forgiven him for not leaving behind the music sheets? It was clearly to help her move on!”
“Ugh, I know! Man, you get it.” He laughed softly, fingers running through his chocolate colored hair.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” You laughed along, the noise in your throat slowly dying out as you got a bit too caught up in the sight of him. Steve Harrington was a handsome young man, that was common knowledge. There was a reason all those girls were always swooning over him, and you hated to admit that you could see where they were coming from. But you didn’t like the overly cocky, flirty side of him you knew in high school. You like this side, the soft, considerate, attentive Steve you’d been getting to know a little better.
Yeah, you were growing fond of him. 
Which is exactly why you’d said yes to hanging out with him at the park the day after. Just “hanging out”, in his own words. He’d been careful not to make the same mistake he did the first time he talked to you, rather easing you into spending time with him one on one. He’d hate to break your trust now that you were finally able to look at him with something other than anger in your eyes.
It was already quite late when the two of you met up. You’d been busy with work, and him with helping out Dustin, so once the two you arrived at the park, it was already dark. You didn’t mind, though. Less chance of other people bothering you. 
You settled on a more secluded area, Steve had even been nice enough to bring a blanket to sit on. You were initially just going to discuss the contents of the latest book he’d borrowed from you, but you had a feeling something else was left to be said.
And he was well aware of this too.
So when you were staring up at the sky, moonlight illuminating your features in a way he’d only seen described in the books he had read, he figured he couldn’t keep talking to you without clearing the air. You deserved that much.
“You know,” he cleared his throat, “I thought about what happened a lot.”
You bring your gaze over to him, tilting your head slightly. “My my, whatever could you mean?” You said, teasingly so. He knew you wanted him to just say it. And who was he to deny you of a justified apology.
He took a deep breath, fingers running through his locks. It had become almost a nervous tic to him.
“I’m really sorry about everything I did.” He said, in the most genuine tone he could muster. “Seriously, I-- I’m just kind of... ashamed, really.” 
You could tell he was struggling to look at you, and you wondered how much thought he’d given this already.
“You never really realize how stupid and insignificant high school shit seems until you get out in the real world, you know? Like-- none of it matters, none of that popularity, shit, and-- and I wish I’d just realized that sooner because now--” He caught sight of your eyes and for a second, completely lost his train of thoughts. He realized he wasn’t getting to the point, suddenly understanding Robin’s need to nervously ramble entirely.
“Point is, I’m really, really sorry for the way I treated you.” His hand inched closer to yours, itching to grab it to emphasize his point. “I’ve changed a lot, and I hope that’s become at least slightly believable.” He smiled nervously, all kinds of possible responses you could give running through his mind.
They all came to a halt when he saw you smile.
That sweet, kind smile he’d seen back in high school and avoided because of how it made him feel.
The same smile that was currently reducing him to a nervous teenage boy with a crush.
“It’s okay, Steve.” You spoke softly, and the words came as a mercy to his overbearing thoughts. Your hand moved over his, and you ran a thumb over his knuckles. His hand was soft, warm, and a little clammy from what you could only assume to be the nerves.
“I’m not gonna make you beg for my forgiveness, don’t worry.” You chuckled, and his heart damn near melted at the sound. He secretly wished they could bottle whatever feeling your laugh gave him, so he could keep it with him in times of need.
“Really?” He tilted his head, brown locks falling in different ways around his face. “Because, like-- I’ll do it. Wait--” He got up on his knees and reached besides the blanket, plucking a stray flower from the grass and kneeling in front of you. He cleared his throat in an exaggerated way, before addressing you with your name. “My dearest, will you please forgive me for being a top shelf douchebag to you before?” 
You couldn’t contain your laugh, feeling your face heat up at the sight of him kneeling in front of you. “Steeeeve!” You exclaimed, hands coming up to cover your face. “Okay, okay, I forgive you!”
He chuckled along with you, reaching out and gently tucking the flower behind your ear. “Alright, well--” he sat down again, now significantly closer than before, turned towards you. “would you perhaps do me the honor of going out with you then?”
You bit your lip, pretending to think about your answer as he looked at you in anticipation. Instead of answering, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his plush lips. It was better than you’d imagined, his hand finding its way on your cheek as he melted into it. He made a soft, almost pleading noise, once you pulled away, and you swore he’d never looked prettier. 
“Sure, I’ll go out with you.” You brushed a lock of hair out of his face. “But only because you asked so nicely.”
He grinned. “I’d hope so, after a kiss like that.”
“Shut up.” You muttered, before connecting your lips again.
He would have done so either way. Because you’d officially rendered Steve Harrington speechless. And painfully in love. 
3K notes · View notes
skzdarlings · 4 months
Text
vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 1/2
masterlist.
PART 1/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )
You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.
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pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. handcuffs. cat-and-mouse. eventual smut will be kinky dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. (chapter word count: 7400 words.)
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Seungmin is one of your best friends and also a conniving master of manipulation.  Being a malevolent source of wicked verbal wizardry, he convinced you and Minho that it would be totally super easy to sneak into the Hwang Hyunjin concert.  It’s only the final night of the pop-star’s sold-out world tour and the most anticipated concert of the year.  What could go wrong?  
It sounded like a good idea when Seungmin said it.  Now the three of you are standing in a pushy crowd of overeager fans with some very intimidating looking security guards at the end of the queue. 
“Reconvene,” you say.  You grab the boys by their scruff and drag them out of the line. 
“Ah, hey!” Minho snaps at you like piranha.
You release him to grab Seungmin by his collar.  “You better have an idea for getting us past security,” you say, “because I do not like the look of the Incredible Hulk up there.”
The three of you look at the shortstack beefcake who looks like he could bench all three of you at the same time. 
“Yeaaaah,” Seungmin says.  He flashes you a not-so-innocent smile as his strawberry-pink bangs flop into his eyes.  “I didn’t really think this far ahead.  I thought you’d have a plan.”
“Why would I have a plan?” you ask.  “This whole thing was your idea.  Seungmin.”  You drag him close so your noses touch, going cross-eyed at the proximity.  It does not lessen the severity of your frustration when you state, “I waxed for this.  And you know how I feel about waxing.” 
“You waxed?” Minho asks loudly.  It draws a few glances your way which might be because Minho is so loud, or might be because he’s so good looking, or a combination of the two.  His dark eyes narrow at you like you’re a completely alien creature.   “Why would you wax for a concert?” he asks. 
“Wax,” Seungmin parrots.  Your hands are on his collar like you intend to shake him up but it doesn’t deter him asking, “Like… like wax-wax?  Like your human body waxed?”
“Like your human pussy?” Minho asks.  “For a concert?  What did you think was gonna happen?”  He is on the very visible verge of hysterical laughter when a thought lights his eyes.  “Wait,” he says.  “I know how we can get in—”
“Oh my god,” you say.  You shove Seungmin and grab Minho by the collar instead.  “I’m not fucking our way in.  And I waxed,” you drop your voice, “just in case.”
“Just in case…?” Minho tips his head.  “Just in case you had to fuck your way in…?”
“Oh my god,” you say.  You push him away too.  “Never mind.”
“Did you think Hyunjin was going to summon you out of the crowd for a green room quickie?”  Seungmin asks with a shit-eating grin. 
Minho cackles.  “No way she’d even go,” he says.  “She doesn’t get summoned.  She likes to be chased.” 
“She is walking away now,” you say.    
“Bet she’ll walk away quickly,” Seungmin says.  “She waxed so she’ll be aerodynamic.”
You stomp away from the stadium but only make it a few steps before Seungmin runs in front of you. 
“We can’t just give up here,” Seungmin says.  “We made it this far already.”
“One bus stop?” you ask dryly.  “We literally live like five minutes away—”
“Exactly!” Seungmin says.  “That’s called destiny.”
“We might as well try,” Minho says.  He cups a hand over his eyes to look at the stadium in the fading light of the sun.  “We all got dressed up.  Seungmin skipped a class.  You waxed.” 
“There’s no way we’re getting through those doors,” you say. 
“We’ve done it before,” Seungmin says.  He turns you to face the stadium and massages your shoulders like a boxing coach, all the while regaling you with tales of your past victories.  “Remember all the other concerts we snuck into?  The sports games?  That celebrity wedding—”   
“Well,” Minho interrupts, “we did get arrested at that one.” 
���Yeah and we got arrested together,” Seungmin says, “because that’s what friends do.” 
“I don’t know why,” you say, “but for some reason this is working.”  Maybe it’s Seungmin’s words, or Minho’s cologne, or maybe it’s the soft glow of a perfect summer sunset as it pours over the stadium like a pink-orange waterfall.  Or maybe it’s because this really is the concert of the year, and you love a challenge, and you fucking waxed. 
You throw your head back and sigh, soulfully resigning yourself to your imminent fate.
“Fine,” you say.  “So how are we doing this?”   
“Don’t worry,” Seungmin says thoughtfully.  “I think I have a plan.”
Seungmin proceeds to explain the plan.  It is hardly the pinnacle of heist endeavours but is more feasible than rappelling down the stadium walls into the concert arena.
Basically, the plan is to find a group of people with a solitary ticket holder and leech onto their tail with the hopes security will miscount the party and let you sneak past.  It means you will have to split up because security will definitely notice three extra people.  You will then hopefully reunite inside the arena.
You scamper around the periphery of the stadium, perusing lines for oblivious groups of excited fans with an e-ticket-wielding ringleader.  You also double-check which security guards seem the most lax or checked out. 
“I get that one,” Minho says. 
He points to a trim, athletic guard with floppy brown hair and a giggly smile.  You and Seungmin protest because that guard is an easy mark so you all want him, but Minho takes off running for the queue. 
The thing about Lee Minho is that he never hauls ass.  He coasts through life with a casual slouch, but he is completely capable of annihilating everyone if he deigns to do so. 
He does.  So he did.
You and Seungmin look around.  Your grin widens when you spy the next easiest target.
“Aha!” you say.  “I call dibs on that one!  Good luck, Seungmin!”
“Hey!” Seungmin bellows.
He is far too late.  You are already booking it towards the line with a pretty, chipper, skinny security guard.  He is in jeans and a loose windbreaker that says SECURITY across the back, about the only indication he is a man of any authority.  His hair is a vibrant, neon blue and is delicately styled, long enough to pull back in a pretty half-ponytail.  His features are sharp, cheekbones sloping, but there is a natural tenderness to his whole countenance.  He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. 
Also, he really is lean.  Worst case scenario, you can probably push your way past him and disappear into the crowd before he can do anything about it.  
You find a group of girls to sidle alongside anyway.  You are satisfied you will easily slip into the stadium. 
The group reaches the front of the line, a couple of them giggling at the security guard’s friendly attention.  His name tag reads Felix, a cute name for a cute guy.  Up close, you can see a smattering of dark freckles across his face, as well as a few playful glitter stars for the concert.  He is admittedly pretty but as a professional gate crasher, you refrain from distraction.  You successfully avoid his gaze and stick close to the girl in front of you. 
Felix gives them each a friendly nod, smiling brightly.  He laughs at one of their comments and it’s a charming, low sound. 
“Enjoy the show, ladies,” he says, his voice about a hundred decibels deeper than you expected.  
Maybe that’s what trips you up.  It has to be something, because you were doing everything right.  But just as you go to follow the girls into the arena, a skinny arm shoots out and you smack right into it.   
“Sorry,” Felix says.  He drops his arm and smiles.  “I just need to see your ticket.” 
“My…?”  You look ahead at the group of girls, but they are already gone.  Oops.  “Ha, ha,” you say, looking at Felix. 
He is staring back at you, still smiling a close-lipped smile.  He blinks a couple times then lifts an eyebrow.
“Uh, ticket?” he says.  He holds out his hand.  
“Right,” you say.  You smile at him with all the saccharine sweetness you can.  “I have funny story about that, Felix,” you say. 
“Hm.”  His smile turns into a line, eyes narrowing as he looks at you.  “And what’s that?” 
“Well, you see…”
It’s all you say before you bolt, fast on your feet.  You sprint for the entryway behind the guarded queue.  There’s a crowd inside and you’re an expert at disappearing into a crowd.  You just need to get in there and find your boys then you are home free.  Hwang Hyunjin, here you come. 
There’s just one problem.  
Felix is fast.  
Like, track star fast.  Like, road runner fast.  Like, you’re that dumb coyote getting an anvil dropped on your head, except this anvil is a skinny blue-haired Australian with a voice like a god and the apparent hidden strength of one too. 
You make it a few desperate steps before Felix literally sweeps you off your feet.  You shriek when he hauls you under his arm, dragging you away from the stadium door.  He deposits you a few feet from the queue then swiftly resumes his position. 
“Hello,” he says to the next person in line.  “Sorry about that.  Ticket?”   
Your mouth is agape.  
No one has ever got the jump on you like that.
“Hey!” you say, but Felix has moved on.  He is smiling at the next guest as he checks their ticket, not paying you any mind.  “Excuse me,” you say, despite the people between you and him.  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.  I do have a ticket.”
“Uh-huh,” Felix says.  He doesn’t look at you, scanning someone’s e-ticket with a little device.  It lights up green and he smiles at them.  “Enjoy the show,” he says. 
You jump into the queue, cutting off the next person.  Felix’s smile vanishes and is replaced with an astoundingly sassy expression.
“Uh, this line is for ticket-holders,” he says. 
“I have a ticket,” you say.  You unzip your purse and spend a minute rifling around, ignoring him when he sighs.  He apologizes to the people behind you.  You turn and offer a tight-lipped apology of your own.  “I was in line,” you say, as if they didn’t just witness this ten-pound bully haul you around like a sack of potatoes.  “There was just a misunderstanding.”
Felix rolls his eyes. 
You pull out your cell phone and flip through a folder of fake screenshotted tickets, hoping at least one of them marginally resembles the tickets for tonight.  You pick one and flash it at Felix. 
“Happy?” you say with a lot of false indignation.  You turn off the screen when Felix goes to grab your phone.  You give him a snooty, squinty-eyed look, then saunter right past him. 
This time when he comes after you, you are better prepared for his speed.   You zig-zag and he stumbles, cussing very unprofessionally.  You make it all the way to the door before he grabs you.  You have no idea where he is getting all that muscle because he feels like a sturdy stick when you grab at him, but he puts you over his shoulder like it’s easy. 
“Um, excuse me!” you shout.  “Hello!  Someone film this!  I’m being assailed!”
Felix intentionally jostles you on his shoulder.  He is even less gentle when he drops you this time, though you do manage to keep your footing. 
“Try that again,” Felix says, “and it will be trouble.  Got it?” 
Felix is very good looking.  He’s an incredible combination of pretty and handsome, not to mention that voice, guh.  But what gets you going is how much you are clearly pissing him off.  It’s hot.  Out of nowhere, the freckled sunshine sweetheart is just oozing confidence, standing square and pointing at you with a very stern expression.  And if you get a little hiccup in your blood, a little skip in your heartbeat, a little stampede southward that makes your pussy hum like the interested kitten it is, well.  That’s not your fault.  It’s his.  Asshole.
You flip him off.  He ignores you, shaking his head as he returns to his position.
“Sorry,” he says to the queue.  “Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?”
Ugh. What a sexy bitch. 
You text to check in with the boys.  Minho made it inside, no surprise, but apparently Seungmin is also struggling for an in. 
what is with these security guards, Seungmin writes, are they military trained? fuck 
maybe you’re both just losing your touch, Minho replies.
never, you say.  we still have lots of time.  we'll get in there.  seungmin, meet me by the benches.  we need another plan.  
Usually, the best way to crash an event is with minimal attention and no theatrics.  It’s all about pretending you are exactly where you are supposed to be.  If you act like you belong, then you will.  
A spectacle is a desperate measure, but you are desperate people.  After a few hushed whispers on a bench, you and Seungmin spring into action. 
“Help!”  Seungmin shouts.  “My wife needs help!  Please!” 
“Your wife?” you whisper through gritted teeth, opening one eye to look at him.  You are currently laying on the pavement in a dramatic swoon, Seungmin hunched over you. 
“My companion of ambiguous relationship is hurt!” he says.  “Ouch,” he adds, because you swat his arm.
Fortunately, he does draw attention.  A few people run over, the beefy security guard one of them.  His nametag reads Changbin and he is in a black t-shirt at least two sizes too small.  You do not begrudge him this, as you would do the same if you had biceps like that.  
“What happened?” he asks, crouching down beside Seungmin. 
“My friend just passed out,” Seungmin says.  He hoists you into his arms as your tongue lolls out of your mouth.  “Is there somewhere inside I can take her to sit down?  I think all the chaos out here overstimulated her.” 
“One second,” Changbin says.  He pulls a walkie-talkie out of a holster.  It buzzes with static as he turns it on.  “Hey, we have a collapsed woman in front of Entry Door B.  Can I have back-up clear a path, and someone with First Aid training?”  The walkie-talkie buzzes again and Changbin puts it away.  He stands up, waving away the small crowd that has gathered.   “Yah, everyone back up!  This is an emergency!” 
“It’s really not,” Seungmin says.  He scoops you into a bridal hold then struggles to lift you off the ground. “I just need – whew – somewhere I can – agh – put her down.  I can just – AH! – carry her myself.”
Naturally, it is at that moment a familiar voice descends from above. 
A familiar, deep, Australian-accented voice.
“Move aside, please.”  
“Oh no,” you say, eyes closed.   You open them just in time for a glitter-faced, freckled, blue-haired pretty boy in a SECURITY windbreaker to cut through the crowd.   
Unfortunately, Felix is just as good looking at this angle.  He waves away the gathered onlookers as he approaches, but looks at Changbin first. 
“I have First Aid,” he says.  “What happened?”
“I just found her collapsed,” Changbin says.  “Her friend thinks it’s the crowd.  Should we bring her inside?” 
Felix looks at you.  The concerned furrow in his brow immediately gives way. 
You smile innocently. 
“No,” Felix says, frowning.  “We shouldn’t.” 
“Oh come on,” you say.  You smack the ground.  “I collapsed!  I need help!”
“No, you need a ticket,” Felix says.  He crosses his arms and stomps a foot.  “Seriously, what is wrong with you?  Some of us have a job to do, you know?”
“Naaaur ya need a ticket, mate,” you say in a mockingly deep chest voice. “Some of us have jobs ya knaaaaur!”
“Do you guys know each other?” Changbin asks, looking between you and Felix – who is growing increasingly red in the face and breathing much harder. 
“I have no idea who this guy is,” Seungmin says. 
“Ah!”  Felix yells, spinning to Changbin.  “She doesn’t have a ticket!  She’s just trying to sneak in!”
“She doesn’t have a ticket?”  Seungmin asks, gasping.  He drops you onto the concrete, ignoring your yelp of pain.   “But I thought she – she told me we – I – I –“
You watch in betrayed horror as Seungmin pretends to faint, flopping down beside you on the concrete.  You sit up, very tempted to slap him across the face but not wanting to give Felix more reasons to accost you. 
“Seungmin,” you say.  You grab him by the shirt and rattle him around like a ragdoll.  “Seungmin, you bastard, don’t even think about it!”
“You.”  Felix stomps up behind you.  “Get off the ground and come with me.” 
“No,” you say.  “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.” 
You shriek – again – when Felix grabs you under the arms and hoists you to your feet.  He manhandles you with only a modicum of effort, dragging you away from your stupid traitorous best friend. 
You step on Felix’s foot deliberately and he swears.  For such a pretty thing, he sure has a filthy mouth.  You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, to which he cusses up a storm and pries your hand off his head.   
You hear the distinct buzz of Changbin’s walkie-talkie.    
“We have a collapsed man in front of Entry Door B.  Can someone who isn’t going to start fighting the patrons come help me move him?”
“He’s faking it!” you cry in protest, watching Changbin scoop Seungmin off the ground. 
Changbin disregards your outburst.  Seungmin gives you a thumbs up behind his back.  Felix, of course, doesn’t see it because he’s too busy dragging you away.  You are left to sputter in bewildered protest at the injustice of it all. 
Felix marches you to the sidewalk, far away from the stadium queues.  You are both out of breath by the time you get there.  Even so, you attempt to manoeuvre under his arm to run away.   In a few quick moves, he knocks you onto your ass. 
 “Holy fuck!”  You are panting now.  A line of sweat dots your hairline.  You wipe at it and stare morosely at this stupidly competent minimum wage security guard.  “What are you, like some kind of karate master or something?”
“Taekwondo, actually,” he says, brushing off his jacket.  Then he tips his head and stares down at you.
You would be lying if you said the intensity of his stare didn’t have your heart racing for an entirely new reason.  Danger and desire have always danced a close dance for your tastes.  Felix is not helping matters, tucking back loose strands of vibrant hair as he looms over you, wetting his bottom lip and staring. 
You cross your arms and feign nonchalance, but you can’t look away from him.  When he crouches down slowly to meet you at eye level, everything below the belt goes pitter-patter. 
“No ticket,” Felix says slowly.  “No concert.  Do you understand me?” 
You stick out your tongue.
“Wow, mature,” he says.  His departing farewell is another snarky eyeroll.  He shakes his head as he stands, muttering to himself in obvious frustration. 
So much for not a mean bone in his body.  That bully is all business.   
So hot. 
You huff and puff for a bit.  Your phone is going berserk in your purse, probably the boys trying to reach you.  Eventually you succumb to the necessary confession of your twice thwarted efforts.  Minho teases that you are losing your touch for real.  It makes angry little fireworks pop out of your ears.  
Plenty of occasions you have assessed a situation and deemed it unreasonably complicated, but quitting while you’re ahead is not the same thing as admitting defeat.  You do not lose.  This isn’t even about the concert anymore.  Fuck Hwang Hyunjin, he was never worth the pain of a wax in the first place.  No.  This is about your pride.   This is about your dignity.  This is about your honour. 
You are getting into that concert, one way or another.   
First, you gather intel.  This comes in the form of snooping, running between queues to figure out the easiest mark.  You don’t judge the guards by their appearances this time, because apparently this security team has secret taekwondo masters hidden in their midst. 
You watch their every move, calculating and determining your odds therein.  Based on visual research and Minho’s confirmation, it seems your best bet is the smiling guard who let Minho through.  His nametag reads Jisung and he is a veritable flirt. 
Flash him your tits, Minho texts.
Uh, no, I’m not that desperate yet.       
Second, with your intel now acquired, you get into the dwindling line.  The sun is almost set and a breezy summer chill dances across your cheeks.  The concert will be starting soon.  You shuffle behind the other stragglers, adjusting your outfit.  The jean shorts hug your hips and flash a nice chunk of thigh, and your shirt is already low cut but you figure another tug won’t hurt.  You also pull your flannel down your arms to look as flirtatious as possible. 
Jisung is barely looking at the tickets as he scans them, chatting merrily to the guests as he lets them through.  You pull up a random ticket on your phone, something to hold out while you distract him. 
“Hi,” you say. 
His eyes flick down to your chest, then back up.  He smiles brightly.
“Hi!” he says.  “You look nice.  Excited for the concert?”
“Oh, absolutely,” you say.  “You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for this.  It wasn’t easy to get in.”
“I know what you mean,” he says.  “Tickets are hard to come by, and so expensive!”
“Ugh, tell me about it,” you say, leaning in while he scans your phone.   This was a bad idea because he looks down at your chest again, just in time for his little device to flash red.
“Oh, oops!” he says.  He smiles at you as he shakes his device.  “Sorry!” he says.  “I think you showed me the wrong ticket.  Could you pull up the right one?”
“Ohhh!” you say, looking down at your phone with fake surprise.  Life is so unfair.  “I’m so sorry… Jisung.  Hehe, that’s such a nice name.”
“Haha, thanks,” Jisung says.  “My parents picked it, but, yeah, it’s cool.  Anyway.”  He wiggles his device.  “Ticket please!” 
You keep smiling and giggling, even as you turn around under the guise of searching through your phone.  You glare down at the stupid device, keeping your back to Jisung while you do so.  How the fuck are you getting out of this?  You flip through screenshots then open your text messenger.  Minho’s last words of wisdom blink up at you. 
Apparently, you are that desperate. 
With a sigh, you put your phone in your purse and zip it shut.  You shrug your shoulders and plaster that fake smile on your face again.  With a swift of flick of your thumbs, you lift your shirt and bra up over your tits and spin around to look at Jisung. 
“How’s this for a ticket—”
Jisung looks surprised and delighted.  Jisung, however, is standing a few feet back.  Probably because he was told to step back.  Probably by Felix who is standing in front of you with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.  
“Wow,” Felix says.  “Just committing crimes now, are we?”  
You shove your tits back into your bra indignity, not even embarrassed, just annoyed. 
“Tits aren’t a crime,” you say. 
“Public indecency is,” he replies.  
“You’re… publicly indecent…”  Not your best comeback.  You glare at him while fixing your shirt.  “There’s no way they pay you enough to be riding my ass this hard.” 
“They don’t,” Felix says, grabbing your arm.  “Believe me when I say riding your ass has been my pleasure.”
“Twisted fuck,” you reply. 
You wave at Jisung as Felix tugs you away.  He waves back but does nothing to rescue you, because all men are traitors. 
You groan loudly as Felix leads you away from the stadium yet again.  “Just let me innnnn,” you whine.  “Why do you hate meee.”
“I don’t even know you!” Felix says.  He deposits you on a bench and takes out his phone.
“What are you doing?” you ask, eying the device.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks.  “You tried to break into a ticketed event three times.  You faked an injury.  You flashed yourself in a public place—”
“I wouldn’t have done any of that if you just let me through in the first place!”
“You cannot be serious.”  Felix looks ready to rip his hair out.  “You don’t have a ticket!  Why would I let you in, why would I – AH!  Why am I arguing with you!  Be quiet, I’m phoning the police.”
“The po— the police?!  How dare you!” You try to stand but he pushes you onto the bench one-handed.  He holds you there, palm on your shoulder, still way stronger than someone this scrawny should be. 
“Fine!” you exclaim.  “Fine!  You win!  I’m sorry, Felix, I was wrong.  I was wrong and you were right.”
Felix pauses.  “Really,” he says, sounding unconvinced. 
“Yes!”  You look up at him with the saddest, most watery eyes you can muster.  “I just wanted to see the concert but it was stupid to think I could break in.” 
He turns off his screen.  Success.   You watch him slip his phone in his pocket. 
“It’s not about being smart or stupid,” he says, the ire gone from his voice.  It takes a lot of willpower not to bite his fingers when he pats your shoulder.  “It’s about the fact we can’t always get what we want,” he says kindly as he crouches in front of you.  His hand goes from your shoulder to your knee, still patting it in a friendly manner. 
You bite your tongue because you want to tell him you liked him better when he was being a mean bitch, but that would be counterproductive to your escape attempt. 
It turns out, you don’t need to say anything, because he decides to be a bitch again anyway.  Felix looks at you with a too-sweet smile and says, “It’s about time someone taught you that lesson.”
“Um, excuse me?” you say, aghast.  You clasp your hand over your heart.  “Just who do you think you are?  First of all, you taught me nothing, I’m still a horrible bitch and I lied when I said you were right.  Second, you absolutely can get everything you want, you just have to want it enough to get it.  But you wouldn’t know anything about that.  You know why, Felix?” 
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head like he expected this, which he probably did, but you’re too far gone to retreat. 
You reach out and cup his face in both hands, turning it to you.  Those sharp eyes are unflinching, even with your fingers on his face.  You try really hard not to gulp. 
“It’s because you are a good boy,” you say.  “You always do what you’re told.  You always follow the rules.  I bet everyone thinks you’re the nicest guy on the team, don’t they?  I bet they call you cute little nicknames and all the nice little girls think you’re a sweet, innocent baby.  And you are, aren’t you, Felix?  You’re just such a good, good boy.  But me?  I’m not good.  I’m not bad.  I just like to win.  When I want something, I get it, because I chase it, and I don’t stop until I get it.  Until it’s all mine.”  You lean in close.  “Get it?” 
His gaze darkens, brows pinching.  You take his fleeting moment of vulnerability to shove him onto his back.  He sprawls on the ground with a surprised yelp.  You sprint away at top speed and flip him off over your shoulder. 
It’s a haphazard ploy at best but you are fresh out of plans.  What you need is distance between you and Security Guard of the Year, a breather long enough to come up with a final plan.  Maybe you can physically break in somewhere: an office window, a janitorial stairwell, something.  
You keep an eye out for potential openings as you run. 
And run.
And run. 
Hmm.  You’ve been running a long time.   Even with the head-start, Felix should have caught you by now.  You doubt he would have truly given up.  Felix had a deranged look in his eye, similar to the one you get when someone is trying to beat you at your own game.  He doesn’t want you to win anymore than you want to lose.  You suspect it isn’t about the concert for him either; this is a personal battle. 
You come to a gradual stop, hands on your hips as you catch your breath.  It’s quiet on this side of the stadium as the queues were on the opposite end. 
Quiet, yes.  Too quiet.   
There’s a stairwell that leads to second level just above your head.  Felix is good.  You have to give credit where credit is due.  If you weren’t a scheming nightmare with a penchant for con-artistry, he probably would have caught you.  But without turning around, you know he booked it up the stairs and is two seconds from springing an attack. 
You take off running, just in time for him to thump into the grass beside you.  You laugh at his strangled cry of frustration as he scrambles to his feet. 
Around the next corner is the parking lot.  You stop a split second to look over your shoulder and see him hot on your heels.   He discarded his jacket and is in a loose sleeveless shirt, revealing he does have some light toning to his lean body.  But you don’t stop to measure how proportionate it is to his strength, because he is focussed on you like a laser. 
Then he smiles.  A slow, slinky smile like a cocky predator about to swipe at its prey.  That cat has claws, nasty ones, and you almost want to get tangled in them.  Almost.  You want to win even more.   
And he just set you up for success.  There’s a SECURITY jacket on the ground somewhere nearby.  That’s your ticket in.  You just have to lose Felix in the parking lot and loop back around to find where he tossed it. 
You spare no time setting that plan into action, giving Felix a smile of your own before you run.  He thunders after you.
The pair of you weave in and out of parked cars.  He disappears for a second behind a row of trucks.  You whip your head around to figure out where he went, only for him to summersault around the corner and cut you off.  You yell instinctively but narrowly dodge his reaching hand.   He curses, running after you with his arm outstretched.   You duck behind a trailer and lose him, scurrying between some SUVs.  You peek at him through the windows, watching him turn in a circle to find where you went.  Smiling to yourself, you quietly but quickly back away.  
You leave the lot and run back the way you first came.  You find Felix’s jacket draped on a random bush. 
Your heart is practically singing with adrenaline.  Victory is in sight.  You push yourself to run faster and reach out with both hands –
— only to find yourself rolling in the grass, Felix’s arms tight around your middle as he tackles you to the ground. 
You push and pull at each other, cursing and scrambling very ungracefully.  You get out of his arms but he climbs on top of you, then you knee him in the gut so he rolls over, but when you start crawling he grabs your ankles and drags you back. 
Ultimately, he Taekwondo Masters you onto your front, hands clasped behind your back.  You kick your feet and wail despondently into the grass as he kneels over you, breathing raggedly and swearing again. 
“You’re a monster!” you shout.  “You’re a tyrant and a bully and you have no right to – HEY!”
He handcuffs you.
“Ha.”  He leans in close, speaking right into your ear.  “I win.” 
“That’s not fair,” you say.  “You can’t just—ahh!”  You wail in petulance as he lifts you onto your feet.  His grip on your bicep is unyielding so you are forced to stomp alongside him as he escorts you…
…back to the sidewalk.
“You’re not busting me?” you ask in confusion.  You thought for sure he was going to drag you into some shady office and plop you in a chair until the police arrived.   He would probably be super boring and professional about it, staring at you with his dumb horny eyes but not doing anything about it.  Nothing sucks more than being all trussed up by a pretty boy with manners. 
“I just want you to go and never come back,” Felix says. 
“Fine.”  You turn around and hold your arms straight behind you.  “But I’m like a wolf, Felix.  I have your scent for life.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says.  “Not how wolves work by the way.  But fine.”
“Oh wow, sorry.  Didn’t realize you majored in Wolfology.  You got any other fun facts?”  
“You are so—”
You smirk at his grumbling.  You are just biding your time until he uncuffs one wrist, then you whip around faster than he can compute the action.  With one cuff still attached, you grab the second and clamp it down on his wrist.  He sputters in bewilderment, at which point you snatch the keys.
“What are you doing—”  He tries to grab them but your joined hands make the angle too awkward.  You spin around together in a few circles, bonk heads twice, until finally you reel back and chuck the keys as far into the distance as possible. 
He stands there, mouth agape.  You tap your foot impatiently. 
When he realizes what has happened – that you have handcuffed yourself to him and thrown away the keys – he looks at you with fiery eyes, fierce enough you stumble.  He yanks your joined hands, the chain ungiving.  You watch as he goes through several stages of grief in a matter of moments.  Then he closes his eyes and breathes in and out.    
“Why,” he says slowly, “did you just do that?” 
“I dunno, Felix,” you say.  You plop down on the ground and sit cross-legged.  It forces him to bend over, your cuffed wrist dragging him down.  “Guess we’ll have to go inside and get some back-up keys.  And when I’m in the stadium and you uncuff yourself from me, I promise not to run away.”   
“That’s your plan?” he snaps.  “That’s your plan?” 
“What, is there an echo out here?”
“That’s your plan?” he asks again, his deep voice pitching up an octave.  He crouches down and shoves his free hand into his hair, shaking his head.  “This can’t be happening,” Felix says, more out loud to himself than you.  “Why is this happening.  Oh my god.” 
You squeak when he tugs on the chain, yanking you close, nose to nose.
“What if I just called for back-up?” he asks. “Or skipped that and went right to the police?  How would you get out of that?”
“Wait,” you say.  “Why aren’t you doing that?” 
“Because.”
He leans back as far as he can, sitting on his heels.  You duck your head, trying to meet his eye to no avail.  He clenches his jaw.
“Felix,” you say.  “Why aren’t you just calling for back-up?”
“Because,” he says through gritted teeth.  “The handcuffs.  Are.  Not.  Regulation.” 
You look at each other.  There is a long moment of silence. 
Then, “What!”  You cackle with complete and utter abandon. 
A very unamused Felix glares at you while you throw your head back and laugh. 
“You?” you cry, poking your finger against his chest.  “You?  You?  You are just walking around with a pair of handcuffs that you aren’t supposed to have?  What the fuuuuuck—”  You think you might die laughing. 
“Jisung gave them to me before our shift!” he exclaims.  “It was a joke because— Never mind! I don’t have to explain myself to you!  Hello.  Hello.”  He grabs your chin with his free hand and turns your face roughly to his.   He jingles your joined hands.  “Not regulation,” he says.  “There are no other keys in this building.” 
Silence falls again. 
Then, “Oh.”  You stare at him.  “Shit.” 
A minute later, you and Felix are scuttling around trying to find the key.  You must have a very good arm because it landed near the stadium and disappeared in some bushes.   
You and Felix keep forgetting your wrists are connected, reaching in opposite directions only to snap back together.  You are certain you are going to end the night with a few bumps and bruises. 
The entire time you are searching for the key, Felix is grumbling irritably.  He tears his way through a bush, his deep voice pitching up with a miserable whine when he can’t find it. 
“This is so stupid,” he says.  He throws a stick at the wall.  “I am a good worker.  I never break the rules.  I am not getting in trouble for this. You did this.  You did this to me.” 
On he goes, grumble, grumble, grumble, bitch, bitch, bitch. 
“It’s not like the key disappeared,” you say, pushing some pebbles around.  “It has to be here somewhere.” 
It is starting to get dark, the sky a deep purple.  The stadium lights blare down on you.  Felix uses his phone flashlight to beam extra light at the ground.  The only time he stops grumbling is when the noise in the stadium changes, the concert clearly beginning.  He takes time out of his busy searching schedule to give you a mean smile. 
“When we find those keys,” you say, “I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and leaving you to freeze to death in your stupid tank top.”
“It’s not a tank top,” he says.  “It’s a t-shirt.  I cut the sleeves off.  And when we find those keys, I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and phoning the police.”
“Well then,” you say, “may the best key finder in a slutty tank top win.” 
“It’s not a tank top.”   
You continue to search.  It is utterly illogical that the keys would just vanish but the longer it takes, the more concerned you get.   It just doesn’t make sense!  Things don’t just disappear!  The keys landed somewhere over here, so they have to be…
You see it first.  You sit there in a stunned stupor.  You swat at Felix with your cuffed hand.
“What?” he says without looking at you.  You continue to slap him until he forces your hand down, tangling your fingers with his.  “What!” 
You point.  He crowds in behind you to look over your shoulder.  You feel him exhale. 
“Please don’t tell me…”   
You both lean to look down the sewer drain.  He flashes his phone light over it.  Something silver glints back in the darkness. 
“Fuck!” Felix says.  He doesn’t stop there.  What follows is a string of cusses so unbelievably foul and complex that you honestly believe it should quality him for Pulitzer in poetry.  When he has exhausted every expletive in several different languages, he plops down on his ass and stares up at the sky with mute despondency.   
“So what happens now?” you ask.  “Do we fuck?”
“What?”  He looks at you with utter bewilderment.  “What the fuck?  Why would you suggest that?  What would that solve?”
“Nothing,” you say.  “But it would kill the time and couldn’t make things worse.” 
“You are insane,” he says.  “I am handcuffed to an insane person.” 
“Hey, ‘mate’, you were the one with the non-regulation handcuffs in the first place.  I could solve this problem real quick by phoning the authorities myself and saying some crazy guy put me in cuffs.” 
“I dare you,” he says.  “Try.”
“No,” you say.  And not just because you have a record with the police and they would never take your side.  But Felix doesn’t need to know that.  Well, you suspect Felix is smart enough to guess it, but he doesn’t need the confirmation.  “I’d rather make you suffer,” you say instead.  You sit back in an insouciant slouch like the whole circumstance is beneath your attention.  “Figure it out, pretty boy.” 
“Well,” he says, “apparently if you break your wrists then you can force them through the cuffs.”
“Ew!” You push him in the middle of his chest.  He doesn’t fall, but he does glare at you.  “We’re not doing that!  What a stupid plan!  You’ve been guzzling the hair dye fumes, buddy.  Think of a plan that doesn’t involve injury, thank you.” 
“I didn’t want to do this,” Felix says with another put-upon sigh, “but fine.  I have another pair at home so the keys—”
“Wait,” you interrupt.  “I thought someone gave you the cuffs today?  Why do you have another key at home?”
“I have another pair,” he repeats, “of the same handcuffs.”
“You—”
“Already own a pair, yes, move on.”  He aggressively pushes hair out of his eyes.  “He clearly bought it from the same place so my key should work for this one too.”
“So despite your uppity school boy routine, you do own non-regulation handcuffs and not just as a joke.  Wow, Felix.”  You giggle helplessly.  “Be careful or I might start to like you.” 
He is glaring at you, no surprise, but the tips of his ears blush pink. 
“Let’s just go,” Felix says.  “The sooner I get you off, the sooner I can forget about your existence.”
“You can get me off as fast or slow as you like—ahh!” 
Once more, the secret superman is manhandling you onto your feet.  Without pausing for breath, he turns and marches away.  You are forced to stumble behind his swift strides, your hands swinging close enough that your fingertips brush every so often.   
“How do I know you’re not gonna murder me?” you ask.
“You don’t,” he replies.
“How do you know I’m not gonna murder you?” 
“I don’t.”  He sounds more annoyed than afraid.  “But it sounds better than being cuffed to you forever.  I’ll take my chances.  Come on.” 
“Not like I have a choice,” you grumble. 
He comes to an abrupt halt and you crash into him with a sharp exhale.  He grabs your hand and tugs you close. You blink at him with surprise while he tips his head in that studious way.
“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t.  In fact, it’s almost nice, you forced to finally do what I’m asking.  If you’re not careful, it might even make me like you.” 
It is so cold and sarcastic. 
It gets you so hot. 
Seriously, what is with your stupid brain?  How does it cross the wires of fear and desire like that?  Felix is speaking at you with that deep, dark, nasty voice of his and your heart should be skipping beats in concern, not because you think he’s sexy when he’s being a bitch.  
You hide it from him well enough, glaring at him like he glared at you.  He just snorts and shakes his head. 
“What?” you ask. 
“Interesting,” he replies.  “Very interesting.”   
“What?”
“Nothing.”  He smiles politely, for a moment looking like the unassuming pretty boy you thought he was.  He bats his long eyelashes at you, smiles a coy smile, and squeezes your hand.   “Come on,” he says.  “We tried this your way and it got us in trouble.  Time to be a good girl and do it my way.  No, stop, don’t say anything.  Be quiet.  Just walk.  Let’s go.” 
You stumble when he tugs you after him.  Your mouth is hanging open yet again.   
You are proud to say that in your many years of bad girl shenanigans, you have never truly met your match.  You’ve played pretend a few times, let a couple losers think they won, if only because you liked the game of it.  But no one has ever really taken control.  No one has ever really beat you.  No one has ever come close. 
No one.  Until today. 
You glare at the back of Felix’s head, brain stampeding as fast as your heart.   Because finally, you’ve found him, your perfect match.  Lashed to you through the metal manifestation of fate’s red string. 
You didn’t know what game you were playing before, but now you do.
And you’re going to win.  
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badjokesbyjeff · 9 months
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Man walks into a pet shop and sees a parrot for only $50. Standing next to the cage the man asks, "I wonder why he is so cheap?" "Because I am defective," came the reply. "I've got no legs." A little surprised the man asked, "Well how do you stay on your perch?" The parrot draws him closer and whispers, "I have a big penis. I just wrap it around the bar and stay put. Go offer the owner 30 bucks for me. He'll take it." The man walks out of the store with the parrot and takes him home. They become best of friends. They talk sports, politics, current events. The man could not be happier. One day the man gets home from works and the parrot beckons him over with his wing..."Psst...come here. I need to talk to you." "What?" "It's about your wife." "Yeah, what about her?" "And the postman. Today he knocked and she answered the door in a skimpy black negligee." "What!" "Yes. And then they embraced in a long passionate kiss," the parrot went on. "Holy shit...that can't be possible." "It is. Then they went over to the couch and she slipped him out of his uniform and then things started to get really steamy." "Well," the man asks,"what happened next?" "I don't know," said the parrot. "I got a hard on and fell off my perch."
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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months
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Nena II
Barcelona Femení x Child!Reader
Summary: Just another day at your sister's work
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You giggled as Asisat lifted from her shoulders and swung you around. Your tummy went all fluttery in a good way as she kept going before releasing you to stumble about.
She caught you when you lost your footing, putting you upright again and smothering a laugh when you fell right back onto the floor.
"Again?" She asked.
You got up immediately, nodding. "Uh-huh!"
"I think we should take a break," Sandra said as she approached," Or the little miss might throw up her breakfast."
"Ingrid's Mapi made pancakes!" You said excitedly," And Ingrid let me have syrup with it!"
"Wow!" Sandra said to you before turning to Asisat," It'll be a pain to clean if she pukes that all up and then you'll have to explain to Ingrid why we've got her kid sister throwing up her food."
"Alright." Asisat ruffled your hair. "Maybe later then."
"Later!" You agreed before allowing Sandra to take your hand and lead you to a shady area.
You had fallen into an easy routine in the past few weeks you've spent in Barcelona. Ingrid and her Mapi would get you ready for the day where one of their teammates (usually Frido or Keira) would take you out onto the field where you would sit in the shady area where the goalkeepers practiced.
Today, though, you were joined by familiar faces.
"Jana! Bruna! Look, I made pictures!"
The two girls, cleared from medical enough to lightly train but not enough to do the extremely complicated drills that were currently going on, hung out with you.
"That is very good, y/n," Jana complimented," You're the best colourer."
"I am very good." You knew that already because Ingrid and her Mapi told you often but, still, it was nice to be recognised for your talent. "You colour."
You tore a sheet out of your book and gave it to Jana along with a purple pencil.
You did the same for Bruna before deciding, after watching her for a moment, that she wasn't doing well so you sat on her lap and helped her.
"In the lines," You told her, parroting the words your Papa used to say to you," So it's not messy anymore. Don't worry. You'll get better when you practice more."
"Gracias, y/n," Bruna said," I'm sure with an expert like you, I will get it in no time."
You nodded and grabbed another sheet. "Mama says you have to practice to get better. She says that's why Ingrid's so good at the ball game so you have to practice your colouring, Bruna. So you can get better."
The warm Spanish sun beat down upon you and your friends as the other girls trained. When it get even hotter, Jana and Bruna gave you two bottles of water and sent you on your way with them.
"Gemma! Cata!" You said as you approached," Here!"
"Our hero!" Cata said as she unscrewed the lid and drained it. "Thanks, kiddo! Gemma, thank her."
Gemma sprayed water at Cata. "I was going to before you interrupted." She leaned down to hug you before allowing you to chug from her drink. "Thanks for the drink, little buddy. Why don't you head on back to Jana and Bruna and do some more colouring? It's nearly time for lunch."
Gemma was right because no sooner had you completed your third picture, did Marta and Caro come to collect you.
Your hand fit easily into Caro's hand and you took Marta's too - just because you could. Together, they swung you into the air every few steps and you giggled ecstatically every time.
Marta laughed with you while Caro settled for just a smile. You beamed at them both - especially when Caro decided to make a pitstop to get you a chocolate bar from the vending machine.
Marta ended up making your plate for lunch and no matter how much you begged and begged, she stuck to the list of approved food your sister had given her.
"Go on, nena," She said, directing you to a very full table," Can I trust you girls to look after her?" The occupants of said table all nodded and she gave them a fierce look before relenting.
Lucy stopped you from sitting down, grabbing her jacket to pile it onto the empty seat. She nudged Keira. "Pass it over." Once Keira surrendered her own jacket as well as Ona, Salma and Esmee, Lucy used them all to create a makeshift booster seat for you before plonking you onto it and pushing your food closer.
"I heard you had a fun weekend, nena," Ona said with a smile, glancing around before pushing part of her nice food onto your plate.
You nodded. "Uh-huh, Ingrid took me to the park and her Mapi let me take Bagheera on a walk."
Esmee rolled her eyes with a huff of a laugh. "She spoils that cat."
"Bagheera's my best boy," You replied to her, cramming food into your mouth," He naps in sunspots and sleeps in my bed with me."
"Really?" Keira asked before glaring daggers at Lucy," Sounds just like Narla."
You cocked your head to the side. "Tia Alexia's dog sleeps in her bed?"
"She means my dog," Lucy said as she ruffled your hair," I have a dog called Narla too."
You made a face. "That's mean, Lucy," You said," You shouldn't name your dog after Tia's Nala. She could get bullied."
Salma, on your other side, laughed. "I don't think dogs get bullied, nena."
"Cats get bullied," You said," Ingrid's Mapi said that's why Bagheera isn't allowed out without her - because the neighbourhood cats bully him. The other dogs could bully Lucy's Narla."
Salma chuckled as she ruffled your hair and shovelled food into your mouth. "Never change, nena. You're adorable."
You made a face at that but didn't argue, allowing Salma to feed you to rest of your meal.
You got restless halfway through lunch and slipped off your seat to tug on Irene's sleeve. You bounced up and down urgently. "Toilet," You said to her because she was Mateo's mama and your mama told you that every mama in the world recognised the potty dance.
Thankfully, your mama was right because Irene excused herself from her conversation and took your hand, leading you to the bathroom.
You did your business quickly but had to be lifted up to reach the sink and then again to use the hand dryer - bursting into hysterical giggles when Irene poked you in the stomach when your top rode up.
By the time you got out of the toilet, lunch had finished and Mariona joined the two of you on your walk to the gym.
"Looking cool in your shoes, nena," She said.
You grinned at her proudly. "They're my most favourite!" Yet again, you had chosen to wear your new light-up shoes. You had been wearing them a lot recently so now Ingrid didn't get worried your feet would start aching because they had finally been broken in.
"Well, they're my most favourite too!" Mariona replied.
"Good!" You said firmly, patting her side in approval with a smiling face. Mariona was pretty cool most of the time when she wasn't running around like a headless chicken and she was doubly cool when she talked to you about your new shoes.
"Are we talking about super cool light-up shoes because..." Patri stamped her feet and the bottom of her shoes lit up into a rainbow.
You gasped and jumped, showing that your shoes could do the same.
"I told you I'd find them, nena! Look at us, we're matching!"
"We are!"
Patri took your hands from Irene and jumped up and down with you, both of your shoes lighting up in sync. You giggled hysterically as the colours bounced.
Over her shoulder, you spied another recognisable face.
"Claudia! Claudia!" You exclaimed," Look! Look! We match!"
You and Patri jumped again to prove your point and Claudia gasped. She glanced around like she had a secret before beckoning you closer.
"You know what?" She asked.
"What?"
"All three of us match!"
She stamped her feet and her shoes lit up too.
You gasped.
"Wow! So cool!"
You looked around the room, holding onto Patri and Claudia and dragging them over to the corner of the gym.
"Aitana! Aitana! Aitana! We match!"
The three of you stamped your feet, causing the rainbow lights to appear again.
Aitana, as she lifted weights, smiled at you. "That's really cool, nena."
You looked down at Aitana's sad, boring shoes and sighed. You released Claudia and Patri to pat Aitana on the leg consolingly.
"It's okay," You told her," If you ask very nicely Claudia and Patri can take you to get matching shoes too."
She let out a chuckle. "Thanks, nena."
Before you could make any more suggestions though, you were pulled away from your friends by Frido, who promptly led you over to the opposite side of the gym which had been set up for your nap time.
You frowned. "Don't wanna nap," You complained.
Frido sighed. "I know. I don't want you to nap either but Ingrid says so."
You huffed. "Ingrid's not the boss of you."
Frido's eyebrows raised. "Somehow, I don't think Ingrid agrees with that. Come on, you, nap time. I'll get you some cake tomorrow if you nap now."
Your eyes narrowed. "With sprinkles?"
"With sprinkles."
"Okay. Naptime now."
Your nap went by very quickly and when you ended it, you still felt groggy.
Someone was touching you though and you squirmed around in their arms until your head was tucked into their neck. They were nice though, nice and warm even if they jostled you every time they took a step.
"You should take a picture for Olga," Your Ingrid's Mapi teased," It might get you one of these sooner rather than later."
"I'm quite content with this one." It was Tia Alexia's voice that spoke next and you realised that you were in her arms.
You blinked away your sleepiness and rubbed your eyes. "Hola, Tia," You said softly.
"Hola, nena," She replied," You slept a long while. I was getting worried you would sleep forever."
"Silly, Tia," You said," That's not possible."
"No?" She teased," Oh, silly me!" She bounced you. "It's nice to see you, nena. I was worried I wouldn't see you today."
"I always like seeing you, Tia," You replied.
"I like see you too."
You turned your head out of her neck and smiled softly at Ingrid's Mapi.
She smiled back at you, a small smile that was reserved only for you. "Hola, elskling," She said and her use of Ingrid's nickname for you made you feel all nice and fluttery inside. "We're heading home now. Ingrid's getting the car all nice and ready for us."
You nodded but didn't say anything else. You still felt kind of tired and sleepy so just soaked in Tia Alexia's warmth and the steady hum of talking between her and Ingrid's Mapi.
You didn't even notice when you moved from Tia Alexia's arms to your Ingrid's until you were placed in your car seat and strapped in.
Ingrid hovered over you as she wiped up the drool from your cheek. "Hi, elskling. Don't you look all nice and sleepy?"
"Frido made me nap," You replied, eyes drooping as she clipped in the last buckle," But I wasn't really sleepy."
"I bet you're sleepy now though, right?"
You nodded and yawned. "Little bit."
"That's alright, elskling," She said," You have a nice little nap in the car and then you can get up when we get home."
"Okay..." Your eyes drooped even lower. "Mapi?"
"Si, elskling?"
"Can we have cuddles with Bagheera on the sofa when I wake up?"
"Of course, elskling. I'm sure Bagheera would love to cuddle with you."
"And you."
"And me."
"And Ingrid."
"And Ingrid too."
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lilyginnyblackv2 · 1 year
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Buddy Daddies - Episode 12 -SPOILERS! Family? - Let’s Talk About That Photo Scene!
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A lot of people found this moment a bit odd. Kazuki and Rei look at each other (faces seeming a bit frowny) and Rei asks, “Family?” This question does seem a bit odd doesn’t. After all, they’ve been a family for 10 years, Rei even told his father that he wanted to become a true family with Kazuki and Miri, so why this response to a photo?
Well, let’s rewind a bit! Right before this moment we have this:
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Miri standing in the middle of Kazuki and Rei and a little in front of them. This is their usual picture setup:
In Episode 9 for her Field Day Gold Medal Win:
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In Episode 12 for her Daycare Christmas Party:
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In Episode 12 (Bulletin Board) for her Junior High School Graduation:
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This is their family photo setup and dynamic for pictures. And as Miri has gotten older, they’ve also placed a bit more distance between themselves and her. This makes sense. They are Miri’s papas, yes, but they are still papas and she is still an awkward pre-teen girl in junior high school. So, there may have been times when she felt she wanted a bit more space between them all. Also, as children age in Japan, skinship - physical affection - tends to lessen as well. So, as she got bigger and they didn’t need to hold her as close anymore, the distance in their photos got bigger.
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So, in more recent years it seems like they may have gotten used to standing a bit farther apart from themselves and Miri in family photos. So, Miri’s insistence that they need to scoot together more, and Kazuki just being like, “It’s fine like this.” And then her insistence that it isn’t, then kind of makes the two of them look at each other. They are a bit confused now, because it has gone against what they’ve gotten used to.
Rei also tends to express his thoughts, especially if he is confused or uncertain about something, in more limited ways (single words, parroting, etc.). So, him questioning Miri, himself, and Kazuki here when it comes to what they consistute as “family” in regards to taking photos together just comes out as:
“Family?”
Then Kazuki acts like his usual self and goes all in:
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And this is the result of their new family photo set up:
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At least, for Miri’s high school years and as long as she is using a selfie stick, lol. But, much like everything else in the show, there is a focus here on change. As Miri enters different stages of her life, their family, it’s dynamic, and even how they do things like take photos and pose - all of that will continue changing, with Kazuki and Rei smiling right there beside her.
Before, Kazuki and Rei were on either sides of her - protecting her. But she is teenager now. She has more independence and won’t need that same level of protection and looking after. So we see her off on her own a bit, while Kazuki and Rei finally connect on a physical touch level that they’ve never done before.
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Like, that’s practically a hug (and Miri looks quite pleased about that, lol). It’s almost like another development for Kazuki and Rei too, another level for them to move on to and get used to (obviously, Rei isn’t quite used to it yet, he tends to take a bit more time to adjust). It’s fun to think about how their family photos will grow and change as Miri ages, if she gets any significant others herself, has any kids, etc. There structure and dynamic will just keeping evolving and changing. 
The full version of SHOCK plays during this whole 10 years later sequence, and the lyrics really do match up with this. 
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“Let’s live our lives, loving and being loved.”
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words-4u · 5 months
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down to their bones
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pairing: jordan li x f!reader
wc: 875
warnings: none, a bit angsty, minor jealousy, lots of fluff
a/n: listened to your bones by clesea culter while writing this and kind of used it as an inspo - don't have to listen to it but you should for vibes especially near the end
hero ethics was once a class you were excited for but now that you were a month into the course, you realize it's not at all what you expected.
all you do is watch a shit ton of videos and theorize hypotheticals, there's nothing even remotely physical involved which is what you really wanted the most.
instead here you were with lia, your partner for an upcoming presentation that dean shetty insisted the class do after she took over for brink. 
“you know i still can’t believe shetty wants us to speak for 20 full minutes on ‘aero dynamics of human flight’” you said looking at the late professor brink’s book before tossing it to the side. “i can’t even fly!”
“well, i can and it doesn’t take a rocket science to figure out how,” lia laughed. she was sprawled on your double bed that was littered with two copies of the book, laptops, pens and little stickies. “i’m a hands on learner, i need to be out there in the open skies.”
she fell back on your bed and in to a fake daydream. 
“i think someone needs to get their head out of the clouds and help me with this presentation or else we’ll fail,” you leaned in playfully tapping her forehead with a highlighter. of course this is the exact most your significant other, jordan, walks in to your room.
“uuuh…hello?” jordan said. they walked in clearly having come back from the gym, in their baggy shorts, cropped blue sweater and their short bob in a ponytail.
they were expecting to find you on your own, wanting to spend the rest of the evening with you, not to find you on your bed with another girl.
“hi babe,” you raced to jordan and placed your hands on their shoulders as you kissed them. you knew something was off the second they didn’t kiss back and you were right because as you pulled back, their eyes were glued to your bed. where lia was. 
“i’m sorry, and who are you?” jordan snapped. you were slightly taken aback because this was a side of jordan you haven't seen.
“jordan, that’s lia, my partner for hero ethics and lia this is jordan, my partner outside of hero ethics and everything else,” you smiled between the two people in your room.
“yeah, they are ranked number 5 in the whole school, y/n, i know who they are. i just didn’t know you were dating a star student,” lia said looking impressed. 
“you didn’t know?” jordan parroted. “she didn’t know?”
“we got paired up like 4 hours ago on this project. it wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of things to speak to her about.”  you whispered. 
you turned to lia. “um, i’m just gonna talk to jordan outside for like 5 minutes, you can take a break if you want.”
lia gave two thumps up before pulling out her vphone.
you grabbed jordan by the wrist and dragged them out of your dorm and into the hall way. there were a couple students walking up and down the hall and some more in a corner chatting about the latest viral video from the Seven but overall it was empty enough to have this much needed conversation.
by the time you shut your door, jordan had shifted to their male form.
“what the hell is wrong you?” you asked poking their shoulder. 
jordan clenched their jaw. “what are you talking about?”
“w-what am i talking about?” you asked back. “i’m talking about the fact that lia is lucky you don’t have laser eyes or she’d fucking toast. literally!”
“i walk into your room and you have another girl on your bed, y/n, how am i supposed to feel?”
the look on their face was suddenly transparent and it dawned on you.
“you’re jealous? over a classmate? is that it?” you asked, this time your voice carrying a softer tone. 
jordan didn’t look too pleased with the fact that they let something so trivial get to them.
“j, use your words,”
“you guys just looked so close,” they said looking at you with their big brown eyes.
you sighed. “well, we’re not. but we do need to get along cause this project is worth 30% and you know your girl can’t and won’t fail,” you said which caused them to smile a bit.
“besides,” you continued pushing their back against the wall and wrapping your hands around their neck. “i’m sort of already in love with someone, like right down to their bones, and as long as they are in my life no one else stands a chance.”
jordan leaned their forehead against yours. “i’m sorry for how i reacted. it was shitty.”
“apology accepted,” you whispered. “now give me a kiss. a proper one this time,”
jordan brushed their lips against your before kissing the air out of you. it was getting a little too hot for two people standing in a hallway and you were never one for major pda so you pulled away smiling.
“okay now you're just being a distraction,” you grinned up at them.
“okay, fine i’ll go but just to make sure, it was me who you were talking about, right?”
you chuckled playfully shoving them down the hall. “yes, you big idiot. now go and come back in 2 hours when you can really make it up to me.”
jordan smirked. “i’ll be counting down the seconds."
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if you want to request something, there's a link in my bio (the more detailed the better <3)
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asahicore · 7 months
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love calculator - pjh (m)
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this work contains smut - minors please do not interact
pairing. best friend!jihoon x fem!reader
synopsis. You were sure that Jihoon only took care of you so well because your brother had tasked him with looking after you when you started university, so you tried not to read too much into his actions until you couldn't deny your increasing sensitivity around your best friend anymore. What you didn't know was Jihoon was going crazy, finding ways to make his feelings for you more obvious than they already were.
genre. f2l, brother's friend, slight childhood friends action, college au, slow burn?, fluff, smut (mutual first time, they do it raw, dirty talking, very soft dom!jihoon)
warnings. jihoon is a menace, jihoon has a hot bod, junkyu is mean to everyone, mc is a bit slow, side romance but i dont actually ship idols i have a life, omegle, ok theres no actual stuff to be warned about its all good in there
word count. 28.2k dont ask me why or how idk either
a/n. there she is... i spent SO much time on her pls love it lots or i'll cry.. it was sm fun writing for jihoon omg i hope u love hoonyn as much as i do !!! @zreamy my dear sweet little zo ty for betareading this and freaking out over jihoon u rock
1K follower trope event - requested by @mosviqu, tysm for requesting and i really hope u enjoy it !!!! - listen to the playlist!
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Oddly enough, it was Jihoon’s biceps that first made you think something was wrong with you.
It was the fourth week of the spring semester, that odd in-between when you knew midterms were creeping up but were still far away enough to be ignored. This meant that you could party guilt-free.
The plan for tonight was to pregame at one of those huge uni dorms where ten students shared a kitchen then head to an overpriced club downtown that always had the best music on Friday nights. You didn’t have any classes on Fridays, so you’d headed to Jihoon’s place around four p.m. to get ready together. Usually, that was something you’d do with Minjeong, your roommate, but that weekend, she was away for an excursion with her Geography course. 
He was in the shower when you rang the doorbell, so his flatmate let you in, and you made yourself comfortable on his bed while waiting for him. You were so engrossed in the romance Webtoon you’d started that morning that at first, when he came in, you didn’t even look up from your phone. 
“Hey, Y/N,” he said casually, unfazed by your sudden appearance in his room. The soft smell of his body wash filled the room, and you noted with smugness that it was the one you had jokingly given him for Christmas after you’d gotten fed up with his strong, ever-present Axe scent. 
“Hey, Hoonie. You smell nice. For once.”
He chuckled. “It’s all thanks to you.”
“What would you do without me?” you said with a sigh, then looked up. You shouldn’t have. “Oh.”
The sight you were met with was unlike anything you’d ever seen in real life - Jihoon in all his post-shower half-naked glory, a simple white towel hanging low on his hips. Small beads of water fell from his hair and dripped down his chiseled chest and onto the plush carpet lining his bedroom.
You were pretty sure you’d seen at least five scenes like this in your romance comics.
“Oh?” he parroted.
You squinted your eyes at your friend before turning your attention back to your phone. “You’re naked.”
From the corner of your eye, you saw his grin widen. “I’m wearing a towel.”
“A towel isn’t clothes.” He turned around to rummage through his closet, and you took that opportunity to observe him more closely. This was the first time you saw your friend without a shirt, and you were trying your very hardest to not freak out, but it was a bit hard not to. Who would have known that under his baggy shirts and sweaters, Jihoon was hiding firm abs, broad shoulders, defined back muscles and protruding biceps?
His arms were what really got you, because you felt like you should have noticed them before. You’d already caught yourself staring a little bit too hard at the veins on his hands and forearms during a lecture before, so you could’ve conjectured that the upper part of his arms was well-defined as well. As mesmerizing as the shifting of his shoulder muscles was, what you really couldn’t look away from was the bump that formed his bicep. 
“Jihoon, have you always had… arms?”
You had barely even realized you’d said this out loud until Jihoon turned around, a confused look on his face. His lips drew into a smirk when he saw how fixed your gaze on his biceps was.
“No, they just grew recently. Thank you for noticing.”
“No, I mean… arms. Muscles.”
“Oh, these?” he said, flexing his arms and pecking his biceps in such a cheesy way that it snapped you out of your reverie and made you burst into laughter. “I started working on them last year so, yeah, they’ve been around a while.”
“Huh,” you said, then picked your phone up again and resumed your reading. “Well, you should work harder, ‘cause it’s the first time I noticed them.”
Jihoon scoffed. “Don’t act like you weren’t just drooling over my dream bod just seconds ago.”
You looked up, outraged. “I wasn’t drooling, I was observing. And don’t call it a dream bod, that’s gross.”
“My bod is a dream bod.”
“Stop it.”
“Can you look away from my dream bod for a sec? I need to put some pants on.”
“I’m already actively not looking. This dude is way hotter than you, by the way,” you said, waving your phone.
“Let me see him,” Jihoon said, heading towards you after successfully putting a shirt and sweatpants on. Gray sweatpants, you realized with a frown. He took your phone and looked back and forth between the character on the screen and you, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Y/N, this is a two-dimensional fictional character that exists in a fairyland. It hurts my feelings when you call him hotter than me.”
A lip grew on your lips. “Yes, but he has pointy ears and doesn’t refer to his body as a dream bod, so he’s a ten in my books.”
As you spoke, Jihoon lay down on his bed, stretching his arms behind his head and resting it on his palms, looking up at you with a grin. You didn’t know what to make of the sudden flip of your stomach.
“Will I be a ten in your books if I stop calling it a dream bod?”
You laughed. “Dream bod doesn’t even sound real anymore.”
“I don’t think it ever was, to be honest,” Jihoon replied, laughing along. “Or maybe they invented it for me.”
--
After that riveting discussion, you watched the show you’d been watching together (which, you had been surprised to find, Jihoon had the discipline to not watch ahead for), then finished getting ready. That night out hadn’t been particularly extraordinary. Pre-gaming had been fun and chaotic, but the line at the club had been so long that you’d all sobered up by the time you were inside and none of you felt compelled to pay for six dollar shots. At least the good music and nice DJ that took all of your requests made up for it.
The interesting bit happened on the bus ride back home.
By some miracle, Jihoon had run into some of his friendly course seniors that apparently liked him so much, they decided to pay for all of his drinks. Only an hour after getting into the club, he was nothing short of wasted. In your five months of being at university with him, you’d not once seen him in such a state - disheveled hair (from dancing too hard or from getting his hair ruffled like a cute dog by all of his seniors, you weren’t sure), deep red blush staining his cheeks, forehead, ears and neck, unfocused eyes and constant lopsided grin. When he almost tripped over his own feet during Gimme More by Britney Spears, you knew it was time to go home.
Jihoon was usually the one that had to deal with a drunk you, so you didn’t mind taking care of him this time. It was actually kind of fun, seeing this new side of the person who had become your closest friend in the past months. 
Luckily for you, a night bus ran directly from the downtown area you were in to the street you and Jihoon lived on, and you managed to lug him to the bus stop. Getting him onto the bus and into a seat was an arduous task, but you made it, and were enjoying a calm, uneventful ride home until you felt Jihoon’s head drop onto your shoulder. You thought he’d just fallen asleep, but then the unmistakable sound of his voice made itself known to your ears.
“Y/N, Y/N…” Jihoon murmured with a muffled voice, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You tried to ignore the prickly feeling down your spine when his lips moved against your skin.
“Yes, Hoonie?” you asked, a tilt of amusement to your voice. You really had never seen your friend so intoxicated.
He sighed, lifting his head from your shoulder and resting it against the window with a bang. He didn’t even wince at the impact of his head against the glass - the alcohol had apparently rid him of the sensation of pain.
“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled, voice so quiet you had to ask him to repeat himself. “I said don’t call me that!” 
You were taken aback by his sudden burst of irritation, but he sounded more like an upset child than anything.
“Call you what? Hoonie?”
“Yes.”
“Why? I’ve always called you that.” You tilted your head at him, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road outside.
“Exactly. You’re the only one who calls me that. Everyone else says Jihoon,” he said, annoyance clear in his voice. It sounded like this had been bothering him for a while, but it was complete news to you. “Can’t you even be bothered to say my full name, or something?”
You chuckled and brushed some hair out of his face. Like an angry cartoon character, he puffed air out of his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. His frown deepened and a blush spread over his face that was already red from the alcohol. “Should I call you Jihoon from now on?” you asked softly.
His reaction was immediate. He whipped around, almost knocking your head with his, a look of total alarm on his face. His eyes were almost teary. “No!” he exclaimed loudly, garnering glares from some of the other passengers in the bus who probably wanted some quiet this late at night. “No,” he repeated, this time more quietly, and turned back to the window.
In slight disbelief, you chuckled again. “What am I supposed to call you, then?”
“Just-” he started, but cut himself off with a sigh. “Just call me whatever.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’ll stick to Hoonie, then.” 
He groaned as he lifted his head from the window and let it fall back against your shoulder. The angle must’ve made it highly uncomfortable for his neck, but he didn’t seem to mind. He only stayed still for a few seconds before shifting slightly and burying his face in the dip between your shoulder and your neck once more, then let out a low hum of satisfaction. 
“You smell nice,” he mumbled. Your breath caught in your throat. He was too close, his lips were too soft and his breath was too warm against your skin. Your whole body felt hot, like the bus driver had suddenly cranked the heat up and turned the bus into a sauna. “Like almonds,” he added, pressing his nose deeper into the base of your neck and inhaling there.
You tried to laugh, hoping it would dissipate the tension in your body, but it only came out as a choked sound. “It’s my body lotion,” you explained, voice weaker than you’d intended.
“Hm.”
You didn’t know what it was about Jihoon’s proximity that made your head spin so - no one had ever made you feel this way, and the fact that your body was reacting so intensely to someone you had considered your best friend for the past months made it all the more confusing.
“Are you asleep?” you asked him in a small voice after he’d been silent for some minutes.
“Just sleepy,” he murmured, shifting in his seat again. You tried not to shiver at the tickling sensation of his hair against your neck.
A pause. “Jihoon?”
“Don’t call me that.” You smiled, but there was a slight whine to his voice that, for some reason, made your heart ache. 
You corrected yourself. “Hoon?”
“Mmh?”
“Why did it bother you that I call you Hoonie, all of a sudden?”
He took so long to answer that you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. “Because… every time you call me that, it makes me love you more,” he answered, voice getting gradually lower until it became a whisper.
Everything seemed to disappear around you. The other passengers, the seat underneath you, the blinking lights and the night sky outside the window. It was just you and Jihoon, his body warm next to yours and the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth.
“Makes you… love… me?” you echoed tentatively. 
But no answer came. When you bent your head down to look at Jihoon, it seemed like he had fallen completely asleep, mouth slightly agape and the blush of alcohol still red on his face. You didn’t know what to make of his words, but there was no point asking him about them now. So you let him sleep on your shoulder, only waking him once you were nearing his stop. 
--
Jihoon woke up the next morning with a pounding head and a bruised ego.
He had always prided himself in his ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol and yet only end up tipsy. Sure, it wasn’t exactly good for his body, but it meant that he never had to turn down a drink or watch on the sidelines as his friends did shots, and he could still get home just fine and not wake up with a head-splitting hangover the next day. Unlike you, who started giggling for no reason after one pint of beer and who tore it up on the dancefloor or talked to strangers like you’d been besties for years after two shots of tequila.
It only made his state of the previous night that much more embarrassing. He wished he had your amazing memory-erasing superpowers - but sadly, he didn’t, and what happened in the bus was glued to his brain. 
Before he could even lift his head or get a cup of water, his phone rang, the sound invading his ears and splitting his head in two. He slid a thumb across his phone to accept the video call and was greeted by a close-up of Junkyu’s smiling face.
“Rise and shine! I heard someone got their party on last night.”
Jihoon groaned loudly, chucking his phone somewhere on his bed so he didn’t have to see his friend’s face anymore. His was definitely not the face he wanted to see first thing in the morning. Unfortunately for Jihoon, Junkyu had been blessed with an extraordinarily loud voice that still rang clear even when the speakers of Jihoon’s phone were stifled by his blankets.
“Y/N sent me a video of you. You looked ridiculous, man.”
“I hate you. I hate your face, I hate the way you talk, I hate how mean you are to me-”
“I can’t hear you. What was that?”
With another groan and a lot of difficulty, Jihoon raised his upper body and retrieved his phone. “You suck.”
Junkyu’s smile widened. “Well, that’s all from me. Have a glass of water!” he said cheerily before hanging up. Jihoon had never wanted to kill someone so badly.
His murderous feelings softened when he turned his head to find a plastic bottle of water and a headache pill along with a handwritten note on his bedside table. Have this and text me when you wake up! with five hearts at the bottom. It wasn’t signed, but he knew it was from you.
When the two of you met up for brunch sometime later, he kept searching your face and reading into your actions for any sign that what he’d said last night had made you uncomfortable. He’d expected you to be awkward around him, but your attitude almost made him think he’d imagined the whole thing. You joked around with him as usual, as if he hadn’t practically confessed to you last night, and he was desperate to know what might be going through your mind.
Had you forgotten? Had you chalked it up to him being drunk and talking nonsense? Had he had just thought it very hard, and not actually said it out loud? Or, worst of all, had you heard it all and understood him and decided to just ignore it for the sake of your friendship?
Jihoon was going crazy. He could barely taste his chicken and waffles.
The truth was, you just had no idea what to make of his words, and you were scared bringing it up might make things awkward. Jihoon could have forgotten all about it, or he could have meant something entirely different from where your wild, romance-comic-filled imagination went. Save for his tired eyes and groggy voice, he was no different at breakfast than he usually was, so you dropped it.
--
“Okay, Y/N, I think it’s time for you to go home now.” 
Different Friday night, different party. A week had passed and neither of you had mentioned what Jihoon had said on the bus - it wasn’t quite out of your minds just yet, but you’d both separately decided to pretend nothing had happened.
This time, Jihoon had found you in the hallway playing beer pong and downing the cup of beer your opponent had thrown the ball into. Everybody cheered you on as you gulped the cheap liquid down before lifting the empty cup over your head, eyes screwed shut at the unpleasant bitterness in your mouth. Jihoon wasn’t sure why you were playing - you hated beer, and you had one of the worst throws he’d ever seen. But even he, who was supposed to look after you, couldn’t suppress a smile at your attempt and inevitable total fail at scoring a point for your team. Even with all the concentration in the world, the sheer amount of alcohol in your system would’ve made it impossible for you to make it.
Back against the wall and arms crossed over his chest, he watched amusedly as you squinted your eyes at the cups across the table from you, even sticking out your tongue as if that would make your aim any better. After a few tense seconds, you threw the ping-pong ball and hit Lee Jeno right in the chest. You’d giggled at your own failure, letting people pat you on the back for trying and reassure you that it’s okay (even though you really didn’t care) before stumbling right into Jihoon. 
As soon as you’d recognized your friend’s face, you’d thrown your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a hug as you yelled his name happily; his hands had come up to your hips and gently pushed your body away from his. Then, he’d said the words you always hated to hear at a party.
“But we just got here!” you cried, the same answer you always gave him when he wanted to leave. You started walking away from him and back into the kitchen for more alcohol. He sighed but was quick to follow you.
“We got here three hours ago. Plus we did pres at Yoshi’s place. You’ve had way more than enough to drink,” he said, snatching a cup you’d just filled with punch from your hands.
“I was gonna drink that!” you complained, leaning against the counter for support. 
Jihoon took in your swaying body and your dazed eyes and knew he had to get you home. Any more alcohol and you’d pass out in this stranger’s apartment. Usually, he’d let you drink to your heart’s content and just make sure you got home safe afterwards, but midterms were coming up, and you’d planned on studying the next day - he was just trying to minimize the severity of your hangover. 
You mustered your most pitiful expression - to drunk you, there was no way Jihoon could resist your pouty lips and sad eyes. “Do we really have to go?” you asked, and Jihoon had to read your lips because of the loud music. 
He smirked, seeing right through your little act. He bent his upper body so that his lips were right next to your ear. “You’ll thank me tomorrow,” he replied, making you drop your fake sad expression.
“I should go say bye to Minjeong and the others first.”
“I’ve already told them we were leaving.”
You rolled his eyes at him and his stupid smile and lifted yourself from the counter, immediately losing your balance. Maybe you had drunk too much. At least Jihoon was there to catch you and prevent you from falling. He tried to put his arm around your shoulder to support you but you stepped away from him and fixed him a pointed look.
“I can still walk, you know.”
Jihoon smiled but said nothing, gesturing at you to go on and walk. You turned around and started making your way out of the place, ignoring Jihoon’s snickers as you bumped into various party-goers and pieces of furniture.  
When you reached the front door, you decided that actually, no, you couldn’t walk. Sliding against the wall, you let yourself drop into a crouching position. Your head suddenly felt like it was twice its normal weight and you regretted those last few shots of whatever it was you had drunk.
Jihoon sighed as he lowered himself and grabbed you under your armpits to lift you up. He had never been more thankful for an elevator and a bus stop only a minute’s walk away from where you were. Standing under bright lights in a desert and quiet street, it appeared like an oasis to Jihoon. Whoever’s party this had been, they lived in a really calm part of town. At this time on a Friday night, Jihoon’s street would be teeming with drunk students deciding which bar or club they should head to next.
You had never been more thankful for a bus stop with seats. You plopped yourself down on one of them, resting your head on the glass behind you and tightening your jacket around your shoulders. You closed your eyes, deciding this was the perfect time for a nap. 
“Are you cold?” Jihoon asked, his voice keeping you from nodding off. You let out a non-committal hum in response which he wasn’t sure how to interpret. He chuckled and you heard a rustling sound before feeling an added weight on top of your body. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, then sat by your side.
Next thing you knew, Jihoon was making you stand again, and your feet moved of their own accord as he led you inside the bus. As soon as you were seated, you drifted back off to sleep. You jolted awake when your head drooped over, making you feel like you were falling. You sat up straight and looked around the empty bus, frantically asking Jihoon where you were.
“I’m taking you home,” he answered, laughter clear in his voice.
“Oh, okay,” you mumbled, and closed your eyes once more, falling back asleep in a matter of seconds. 
Jihoon watched with a tender smile as your mouth opened slightly and let soft snores escape it. Scooting closer to you, he placed his palm on your cheek and pulled your head towards his shoulder so it could rest there.
“Why do you drink so much if you can’t handle it?” he asked quietly, even though he knew you were already in dreamland.
--
When you opened your eyes the next morning, you felt like a kid who had fallen asleep in the car on the way home from a distant relative's wedding and mysteriously woken up in their bed. You stretched out your limbs, enjoying the softness and warmth of your sheets covering your body until a headache and pasty mouth hit you like a ton of bricks. It felt like the alcohol had made your brain shrivel inside of your skull - your whole body was screaming for water. 
Some kind of miracle had made a large glass of water appear on your bedside table, and you gulped it down in mere seconds. The hour on your phone read 10:24 a.m. - so much for getting up early and going to study at the library. 
You’d have rather stayed curled up under your blankets and slept the rest of your hangover off, but some rustling noises from the kitchen (and an intense need to pee) forced you out of the comfort of your bed. You stumbled into the kitchen to find Jihoon placing a pancake atop an already dangerously high stack. 
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted you, glancing at you with a smirk on his face as you made your way towards him. You stood behind him and rested your forehead at the base of his neck, as if catching a few last seconds of sleep. 
The feeling of your hair against his skin sent shivers down his spine and he hoped his shaky intake of breath had gone unnoticed by you. His pancake was ready and he had to put it on the plate behind him, but as if a cat had fallen asleep in his lap, he couldn’t get himself to move. This was a moment he wanted to cherish - although you never particularly kept your distance from him, he was still always greedy for more of your touch.
“Hey, Hoonie,” you replied in a groggy voice. “Thank you for breakfast,” you said, moving to rest your lower back against the counter next to the stove. He missed you immediately. “And sorry for being a nuisance last night.”
Jihoon smiled at you as he turned to place the pancake on the stack. Then he leaned in slightly and you made sure not to breathe through your mouth so he wouldn’t smell your morning breath. 
“You always apologize, and yet who’s dragging you home every single weekend?” he asked with an amused grin that let you know he wasn’t actually bothered by it.
He turned back to his pan and ladled more batter into it, forming a perfectly circular pancake. “Sorry,” you repeated guiltily.
He shook his head. “I’d rather be there and make sure you get home safe. And it’s not like I don’t have fun at those parties.” 
A small smile on your lips, you nodded and let his words assuage your guilt. “I’ll make coffee as a token of my gratitude.”
“How kind of you,” Jihoon teased, beaming. 
No matter how many times Jihoon reassured you, you still felt bad that he thought it his obligation to do those things for you.
Although you’d only grown closer at the beginning of your first year of university, now six months ago, you and Jihoon had known each other since you were thirteen, and he fourteen. You still remembered his braces, wide boba eyes and round cheeks from your teenage years - when you saw him again five years later, you couldn’t deny your surprise at his much… manlier appearance. Sharper jaw, broader shoulders, taller figure, deeper voice - it was hard to recognize the Jihoon you’d known and the Jihoon in front of you as the same person.
His parents’ job made their family move around a lot - your town had been their fifth home since Jihoon’s birth already. The year and a half they stayed went by far too quickly, and before you knew it, you already had to say goodbye. Jihoon and Junkyu had grown really close in that year, and since you were always in your older brother’s business at that time, you’d developed a liking for your brother’s best friend, too. You liked the way he’d ruffle your hair whenever he came over to your house, the way he remembered strawberry milk was your favorite, and the way he’d wave at you in the school hallways, effectively making you cooler than all of your friends for knowing someone who was in the year above. At the time, you hadn’t known if what you felt for him could be described as a crush - all you knew was that for the rest of high school, you missed him. 
When you found out that he had not only come back to South Korea to study, but that he was attending the university of your dreams, you couldn't have been more excited. But you chalked it up to the relief of knowing someone in an otherwise unfamiliar place.
Jihoon had been even more welcoming than you’d expected. He had come to get you at the airport with a big, colorful Welcome Y/N banner, helped you move into your dorm and treated you to a meal the night you arrived in town. Over the following weeks, he’d introduced you to his friends, showed you around campus, and kept inviting you out “so you would know where the good spots were.”
Thanks to him, settling in had been a much less stressful and emotionally exhausting process than you’d expected. But no matter how grateful you were, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was going to these lengths to welcome you. 
Somewhere in the town center, there was a square that was extremely popular among skaters for a reason beyond your understanding. But at almost any time of the day and night, you could find people practicing their skating there. You’d just left a bar nearby with Minjeong, Jihoon and his friends, and to an intoxicated you, skating, something you had never attempted before, seemed like the thing to try out right then and there. You ran up to the first skater you found and asked him if he could show you how to ride.
Minjeong had run after you, finding a skater of her own while Jihoon’s friends either watched or talked about something else amongst themselves. Of course, the inevitable happened, and as soon as the skater let you try skating on your own, you’d fallen on your hands and knees. In a flash, Jihoon had been by your side, frantically asking if you were okay and making you show him your palms. They were only grazed, and one of your knees was bleeding very faintly, but Jihoon acted like you’d just broken something. He got you to get on his back so he could carry you to the nearest pharmacy, leaving his friends and Minjeong to wonder what the hell was going on. You tried telling him you were okay and could walk on your own just fine, but he wouldn’t listen. 
He’d sat you on the curb in front of the all-night pharmacy and asked you to wait as he got disinfectant and bandages. You watched his face closely as he rubbed medical alcohol on your wounds. A crease had plagued his eyebrows ever since you fell, and he would not stop mumbling something about you needing to be more careful and you’re lucky you didn’t get hurt badly.
You hadn’t realized you were crying until one of your tears fell on Jihoon’s hand, hot against his skin, and he looked up at you with worry, any of his previous frustration with you wiped from his expression.
“Y/N? Why are you crying?” he’d asked, voice soft, as if trying not to scare you.
You sniffled. “Why are you so nice to me?”
His eyes softened and a small smile grew on his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to mirror his smile, and the more you cried, the sadder you felt. Inexplicably, your tears just fell and fell and fell. Under the bright white lights of the pharmacy, in the cold of a particularly chilly September night, Jihoon wrapped an arm around you and let you cry on his shoulder. He didn’t ask any further questions, just waited for you to calm down as he rubbed a hand up and down your back and whispered in your ear that it was okay.
When you thought back on it now, you knew that it had just been the alcohol making you unreasonably emotional - you weren’t actually sad about Jihoon looking after you, if anything, it made you happy. But once you’d started crying, you couldn’t stop.
“I’m just looking out for you,” he’d said once your sniffling had somewhat lessened. You’d leaned back to look at him. 
“But why?” you’d whined.
Your frown had deepened as his smile had widened. “Because we’re friends.”
“Is that it?” 
“Well, Junkyu also asked me to look after you,” he admitted sheepishly. 
You gasped in affront. “He what?!”
“Y/N-”
“So he’s been forcing you to do all of this?” you asked, voice breaking at the end. Your anger had lasted two seconds - you’d gone back to being sad at the thought of Jihoon only being nice to you because your stupid big brother had asked him to.
“No, no, it’s not like that, listen to me-”
“I can’t believe the two of you! I’m not a child-”
“Nobody said you were-”
“So you don’t actually even care-”
“I do!” Jihoon had exclaimed, louder than you’d expected, and it shut you up. “I do,” he repeated, voice softer. His hands were still on your upper arms, and he leaned in closer. “You’re his little sister. Of course he was worried about you leaving home. He just asked me to make sure you don’t get into too much trouble,” he explained, lightly tapping the tip of your nose with his finger. 
He sighed, smiling as he watched you try to keep an upset expression on your face. He took the bandages out of the pack he’d just bought and stuck them with caution on your wounds. “But I wouldn’t be doing all of this if I didn’t care, Y/N.” When your eyes met again, you hadn’t known what to make of the look in his. “I missed you, you know.”
Just like that, the ducts behind your eyes filled up again, and large, hot tears streamed down your face as you rested your forehead against Jihoon’s shoulders again. He chuckled at your dramatics but placed a reassuring hand against your hair. “I missed you, too,” you replied between broken sobs.
He’d texted his friends to take Minjeong with them and go on without the two of you, then carried you back to his apartment, which was thankfully only a five-minute walk away. 
Ever since that night, you and Jihoon had been inseparable. He continued checking on you consistently, bringing you food and coffee without you even asking and, of course, getting you home safe from nights out. 
You were thankful to have a friend like him.
“Pancakes?!” your flatmate exclaimed as soon as she walked through the door, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Hey, Minjeong,” you and Jihoon greeted in unison. 
She was wearing her clothes from last night and her hair was a mess, but she had a bright expression on her face (despite the faint mascara stains underneath her eyes). You narrowed your eyes at her but she made a beeline for the food, completely ignoring you.
“Hot,” she mumbled as she held a pancake between her fingers, but threw a piece in her mouth anyway. “You’re so lucky to have a boyfriend like him, Y/N,” she said around her food.
“Isn’t she?” Jihoon replied before you could say anything.
You rolled your eyes at the pair in front of you and poured a cup of coffee for Minjeong. She referred to Jihoon as your boyfriend so often that you didn’t bother to correct her anymore. “Not my boyfriend. And even so, he’s more like a bodyguard than anything.”
“Being a bodyguard is just one of the many duties of being a boyfriend,” Minjeong declared, easily ignoring you. “Don’t you agree, Jihoon?”
He nodded, a serious look on his face. “Absolutely. I take what I do very seriously.” When his eyes found yours, he shot you a wink. Your frown deepened. 
“Anyway, care to share why you’re coming home so late?”
A blush creeped on Minjeong’s cheeks. “Well, Yoshi’s place is quite a ways from here…” she murmured, looking down at her half-eaten pancake. 
“Called it!” you yelled, just as Jihoon let out a loud “no” of shock and defeat.
“Next takeaway is on you,” you told Jihoon with a proud smile. In a mature response, he stuck his tongue out at you.
Minjeong frowned at both of you. “You guys bet on this?” she asked, vexed. Jihoon exchanged a look, glanced back at her, and shrugged. “Not cool. I didn’t even know something would happen with him. How did you guess?”
You smiled. “You always go for the cute ones.”
She hummed in agreement, her expression almost a pained one. “He’s just the cutest little thing ever, I couldn’t help myself.” She took a sip of her coffee, cringing at the bitter taste before getting up to fetch sugar and milk.
You sighed at your friend. “You’re gonna break that poor boy’s heart.” You knew Minjeong wasn’t to blame for the boys that got attached to her when she made it clear she wasn’t looking for a relationship - but if it happened to Yoshi, you’d feel guilty. You’d met him in a tutorial for one of your Digital Media courses and he seemed like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’d invited you to do pres at his place, and you’d dragged Minjeong and Jihoon along, so they’d met through you. In a way, if Yoshi fell for Minjeong and got hurt, it’d be your fault.
“I told him I didn’t want anything serious,” she said, pouring as much milk as there was coffee in her mug.
“He doesn’t seem like the type to do casual stuff,” Jihoon chimed in as he placed the last pancake on top of the stack. But it was one pancake too many, and the whole stack fell over. Jihoon wasn’t rattled - he placed a few on his plate then rebuilt the stack.
Minjeong ate her last bite of pancake and got up from the stool. “Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“We? This is your problem, babe,” you said.
Minjeong smiled at you, eyes crinkling as she pressed a wet kiss to your cheek. You were sure there was some pancake left on her lips. “You’re such a good friend, Y/N,” she said, making you laugh. Of course you’d help Minjeong if she needed - but you were starting to feel bad for all the hearts she kept breaking. “I’m going back to bed,” she announced. Then, she put her hand next to her mouth as if telling you a secret, but spoke loud enough for Jihoon to hear anyway: “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, is all I’ll say.”
Jihoon choked on his food and you let out a groan of disgust, but you both burst into laughter anyway. “I want details later!” you called out.
“You won’t be disappointed,” she said between giggles as she closed her bedroom door behind her. 
Just then, your phone buzzed with an incoming video call, Junkyu’s face taking up your screen. “Hey, ugly face,” you greeted, propping your phone up against the milk bottle.
“Hey, stink.”
“Hey, Kyu!” Jihoon called out and took a seat close next to you - you knew he was just trying to squeeze into frame, but the sudden proximity still made your breath catch in your throat for a second.
Your brother’s eyes narrowed. “What are the two of you doing together on a Sunday morning?”
You looked at Jihoon, then back at your screen. “Is there something wrong with Sunday mornings?”
“Not inherently, no…” your brother conceded. “But still.”
You rolled your eyes at him and his meaningless suspiciousness. “We just went to a party together last night and he crashed here afterwards.”
“She was so wasted I had to bring her home. And I made pancakes this morning.”
“Y/N, if you don’t marry this guy, I will,” Junkyu said with all the seriousness in the world, and Jihoon made a kissy face at him.
“What’s up with everyone today?” you sighed. “I’m going to shower. You two have fun.” You knew your brother probably didn’t have much to tell you anyway - he liked calling you for no other reason than to bother you. 
“Oh, we will,” Jihoon said with a suggestive tone, and you made a vomiting noise before disappearing into the bathroom. 
“When I told you to look after her, I just meant to make sure she doesn’t drink too much or get involved with weirdos. I didn’t mean to make her pancakes on Sunday mornings,” Junkyu teased, a knowing smile on his face. 
Jihoon looked down at his place, a small smile growing on his lips as well. “I know, but I like doing those things for her.”
Junkyu let out an odd noise, half out of disgust and half out of annoyance. “I can’t believe you. Just ask her out, already.”
“So you don’t like me at her place on a Sunday morning, but you want me to ask her out?”
Junkyu rolled his eyes (Jihoon thought this was a family trait, at this point). “I’m trying to help you out here, buddy. I know she’s my little sister, but you’re also my best friend,” he started, ignoring Jihoon’s aww, “and I don’t know how much longer I can stand you being in love with her but not making a move.” He paused to sigh. “I know you’re a good guy, so you have my approval, or whatever.”
Jihoon smiled somewhat sadly, picking at his food with his fork. “I appreciate it, Kyu, but I really don’t think she feels the same way.”
“How do you know that? Have you asked her?” Junkyu asked, not even trying to hide his impatience.
“No, but-”
“Do I need to do it for you? Do you want to hide behind my back while I tell my little sister, hey, my friend here has something he wants to tell you? Hey, my friend thinks you’re pretty, do you want to talk to him? Are you a big baby who can’t do anything, Park Jihoon?”
“No, I just-”
“You know, if this were a k-drama and you were the main lead, everybody would get Second Lead Syndrome. Me included. You suck.”
“Supportive as ever, Kyu,” Jihoon said, sighing.
“If you don’t ask her, you’re a bitch. I’m hanging up now,” Junkyu said before Jihoon could get another word in. He just shook his head, chuckling as he dug into his pancakes again.
The two of them had had this conversation about a thousand times, and they always came to the same conclusion: Junkyu thought Jihoon should confess his feelings to you, and Jihoon dismissed the idea, knowing he’d never have the guts to do it. To him, making jokes about being your boyfriend and relentlessly flirting with you was sign enough of his affection for you - you just needed to figure out that he wasn’t actually kidding at all. He was already doing half of the work for you, really. 
An hour later, the two of you were sitting on the fifth floor of the library, where nobody ever dared to venture because of its dark corners and maze-like rows of bookshelves. It creeped Jihoon out, but it was your favorite place to study, so on days he couldn’t convince you to go to a nicer spot, he sucked it up and followed you to the table you liked by a window that overlooked the park next to the campus. The window let some light in, but to get there, you had to go through dim hallways that looked like they hadn’t seen a human soul in years. Jihoon didn’t know how you’d found out about it in the first place. It felt like something a fourth-year would keep as a secret, not something a first-year would have discovered in her first months of attending uni.
As he observed your sleeping figure, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed. You’d gotten about twenty minutes of work done before resting your head atop your crossed arms, claiming you would just take a “power nap.” He couldn’t believe you’d emotionally manipulated him (pouted up at him and gave him puppy eyes - with that look on your face, Jihoon would agree to murdering someone for you) into going to this creepy part of the library only to sleep almost immediately after getting there. 
He bent down onto his arms, mirroring your position, and let himself have this moment. Even though he saw you all the time, it wasn’t often that he could shamelessly stare at you and get away with it.
He watched as your shoulders rose and fell to the consistent rhythm of your breathing, as the sunlight pouring in from the window made your eyelashes cast shadows against your cheeks. You looked so peaceful that any trace of his irritation towards you vanished. It wasn’t like he could ever really be mad at you.
Jihoon loved how little you had changed in the years you’d been apart. Of course, you’d grown into your features and didn’t quite look like the thirteen-year-old version of you he’d known, but still, you had the same face and same habits he’d fallen in love with in the first place. 
He still remembered the way his heart had swelled when he’d found your face amongst the crowd at the airport, how his whole body had buzzed with excitement at the idea of finally seeing you again after all these years. When you’d received your admission email from your university, the first thing Junkyu had told Jihoon was that he’d better look after you. It wasn’t like he didn’t think you couldn’t handle yourself, but it reassured him, knowing someone he trusted so much would be there to help you adjust to university life, since he couldn’t do it himself. 
Jihoon had taken this seriously. Junkyu hadn’t given him any sort of instructions - the picking you up at the airport, introducing you to his friends, making sure you were well-fed and well-caffeinated, that was all him. At first, he tried convincing himself that he was doing this in an old friend, big brother fashion - he knew how close you and Junkyu were, so he fancied himself a sort of Junkyu 2.0 for you to rely on. 
It had been when he saw your red, puffy eyes, trembling lips and tear-stained cheeks that he realized his old feelings had resurfaced. After all, don’t they say you never really forget your first love?
Truth be told, that whole night had been a dead giveaway. From the moment you met up at the bar to his little nurse moment in front of the pharmacy, his heart had not stopped racing. He kept checking on you, making sure you were having fun and handling your alcohol, and stuck by your side the whole time, like a bee to a flower. 
He remembered standing arms crossed over his chest and observing you with narrowed eyes as you tried out skating. He was telling himself he was just watching in case you got hurt, but he couldn’t ignore the way his stomach twisted with a hot, unpleasant emotion as the skater guided you, hands on your waist. He didn’t like that you held that stranger by his shoulders, relying on him and not Jihoon for support, or that you laughed together like you’d been friends for years. Jihoon was your long-time friend, not this random long-haired, baggy-shirted, vans-wearing loser skater that probably had a name like Mark or something.
When you’d fallen from that skateboard, his heart had dropped in his stomach. He’d been sick with worry that you’d gotten badly hurt, and even upon seeing your barely-grazed palms and knees, he hadn’t been reassured. 
Seeing you cry had made him panic like crazy. He tried his best to comfort you, but had no idea whether he was doing a good job. For days after that night, he’d replayed the conversation the two of you had under the lights of the pharmacy. 
“Why are you so nice to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m just looking out for you.”
“But why?”
“Because we’re friends.”
“Is that it?” 
Jihoon hadn’t known whether you meant, is that the only reason, or, are we only friends? But he’d thought the second question was wishful thinking on his part. So he told you about the promise he’d made to Junkyu, and that had somehow made you even more upset. Even though he hadn’t said it outright, he’d thought he had made it clear that he wasn’t only doing this because Junkyu had told him to - he also wanted to be there for you. He did care, more than he wanted to admit. 
Over time, his feelings for you had grown far bigger than simple teenage nostalgia - he loved your present self impossibly more than fourteen-year-old Jihoon had loved thirteen-year-old you. He thought he made it obvious - he always made sure to compliment you, remembered your coffee order and favorite dishes from your favorite restaurants, rushed to your side whenever you needed him, and did everything he could think of to support you. Sure, he relentlessly teased you as well, but that was just Jihoon.
If you noticed him, you didn’t show it. He wasn’t sure whether you genuinely didn’t know he wanted you as more than a friend or were playing dumb, but he knew you saw him as something like a second older brother. But Jihoon had come to terms with that - he’d rather be in your life as a friend than not at all.
This was why he was grateful for moments like these, when he could just look at you without you knowing. 
After five minutes, Jihoon quietly got up and bravely made his way through the dark hallways and back outside to get you a drink - in case you woke up grumpy from your nap, he knew a matcha latte would appease you. He almost got lost on his way back, but when he found your table again, you were still sleeping. He couldn’t help himself - before rousing you, he snapped a quick picture of your sleeping face, making sure to get the drool pooling at the corner of your lips in frame. The photo went into his Y/N folder, full of pictures and videos he’d both secretly and not-so-secretly taken of you, which, no, wasn’t creepy at all, thank you very much.
When he pressed one drink to your cheek and the other to your forehead, you woke up with a gasp, then immediately winced at the pain in the side of your neck from the uncomfortable sleeping position.
“I wasn’t sure whether you’d want a hot one or an iced one, so I just got both.”
“Ooh, iced, please,” you said. “Thanks, Hoonie.” But before you could grab the drink, he snatched it away.
“No drinking until you get at least one thing done,” he said, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
You frowned. “But the ice will melt and it’ll taste all watery.”
Jihoon didn’t want to give in so easily. 
“Hm?” you hummed, tilting your head at him.
Jihoon gave in, handing you your drink with a tut. Seeing your excited grin and hearing your sigh of contentment after taking a sip made it worth it. 
About two (surprisingly productive) hours later, your stomach started demanding nourishment, and who were you to deny it? Your hangover was strong that day, and even the pancakes and coffee hadn’t completely rid your mouth of its sour taste. You needed something salty and greasy, so you pitched going to the fried chicken place a few blocks down to Jihoon, who agreed immediately.
On the way there, you tried to recollect some moments from the party yesterday, but quickly realized that not much was coming to mind. Pre-drinks at Yoshi’s were clear in your head, and so was walking to the other party - but the better part of your memories after that were fuzzy or non-existent. 
“Hoonie?” you suddenly asked.
“Hm?”
“Did I do anything embarrassing last night?”
Jihoon chuckled. “Not more than usual.”
You groaned and pushed his shoulder, making him laugh even more. “I mean, you just kinda danced like crazy and talked to absolutely anyone. At some point you were gone for like twenty-five minutes, and I found you in the bathroom taking selfies with girls I’d never seen before in my life.”
You pulled out your phone and checked your gallery - indeed, there were about fifty pictures of you and some random girls. “Who are they?” you asked, more to yourself than to Jihoon, in disbelief at how comfortable last-night-you looked with these strangers. “They seem nice enough, I guess.” You laughed with Jihoon before sighing. “Well, that’s not too bad. I’ve done worse things.”
Jihoon made a face as if to say, Yeah, I know, and you rolled your eyes at him. You returned your gaze to the path in front of you, but if you’d kept on looking at Jihoon, you’d have noticed the smirk growing on his lips as a joke formed in his head. After some time, with a shit-eating grin on his face, he broke the silence. “Oh, well, there was also that moment when you confessed your undying love for me, tears streaming down your face, begging on your knees, all the works. That was pretty embarrassing. But I get it.”
It was so ridiculous that you couldn’t help yourself from laughing as you slapped his shoulder. “You wish,” you said between giggles.
I do wish, he immediately thought, but kept it to himself. He laughed instead and could only hope his real thoughts weren’t so obvious. 
--
Two things happened in the fried chicken shop restaurant.
Well, three, if you counted their promotion on their chicken rice cake coleslaw menu, which was your favorite and which Jihoon always chided you for ordering (“Anyone who likes coleslaw is not human”), but in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t so important.
First, your mom called. Now, this wasn’t anything huge in itself, but it was Jihoon’s behavior that got to you.
You had gotten maybe five words before he snatched the phone from you and lifted it to his ear. “Hi, Mrs Kim!”
You heard a faint but enthusiastic “Hi, Jihoon!” on the other side of the line. They made small talk for a bit, and you couldn’t believe your mom could have forgotten about her only daughter so quickly. You’d dived back into your fried chicken, pretending you didn’t care about whatever it was they were talking so energetically about, until you heard your name on the other end.
Your and Jihoon’s eyes met. A mischievous smile spread across his lips and your gaze hardened. “Yes, well, you know her, she’s a bit of a nuisance, but I’m keeping her out of trouble and all that. I saved her from joining a cult the other day,” he said, and you rolled your eyes at him.
“Oh dear!” you heard your mother exclaim.
“You didn’t save me from anything, I knew what that woman was up to.”
You’d been waiting for Jihoon outside of the movie theater when an older woman approached you. She seemed friendly enough, and you thought she was just a lonely grandma in need of a nice discussion - which it was at first, until it veered towards religion. Next thing you knew, she was telling you stories about the upcoming end of the world and how we had to beg for salvation. You didn’t believe any of it, but you found it captivating, so you stood there listening to her and egging her on until Jihoon showed up and forced you out of there. You thought it’d have been funny if he’d listened along, but knowing Jihoon, a small part of him might have actually believed her and started freaking out.
“I didn’t know you and my mom were so chummy,” you said when the phone call was over. She hadn’t even asked to talk to you again.
“Your mom’s awesome. I can’t believe such a lovely woman gave birth to two gremlins like you and Junkyu. Are you sure you’re not adopted?”
It had seemed like nothing at the time, but when you played the scene over again in your mind that night as you lay in bed, the fact that Jihoon got along with your family filled your heart with an unexpected warmth. It was almost like he was part of the family himself - not in a third child way, but more in a if you brought him home to your family, he’d fit right in, a thought that had made you panic as soon as it’d appeared in your mind. Because why were you thinking of bringing Jihoon home? Why did it make you so happy, knowing he’d be welcomed with open arms?
You shook your head against your pillow, hoping it’d make those thoughts vanish. You reassured yourself by telling yourself that you’d be just as happy bringing a friend like Minjeong home, and that you were sure she’d get along just fine with your brothers and parents. 
The other sign had been much more straightforward. You weren’t afraid to eat messily in front of Jihoon, so some honey barbecue sauce had spread over the corner of your lips as you wolfed down one of the wings. As soon as Jihoon started to lean in across the table, you knew you were in trouble.
Not only did he wipe the sauce off your lips with his thumb, but he licked it off of his finger, never breaking eye contact throughout the whole ordeal. Your whole body tensed and you swear you stopped breathing for a second. 
It only really lasted maybe five seconds, but felt like hours to you. You glared at him for a bit before diving back into your chicken, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. But Jihoon and his stupid, proud smirk probably knew what he’d done to you. As if that wasn’t enough already, he even had the audacity to whisper cute under his breath. Your eyes snapped back up to his face, but he just smiled and nodded towards your food, telling you to keep eating. 
Over the next week, the word cute refused to leave your mind. You kept replaying that scene over and over - the feeling of Jihoon’s thumb on your lips, the sight of his own lips around his thumb, his gaze through it all. It wasn’t the first time such thoughts of Jihoon plagued you - once, he’d guided you through a crowded club with a hand on your lower back and the way the warmth of his hand against you had made you feel prompted you to ignore him for the rest of the night. Another time, he’d kissed you on the forehead after dropping you off at your apartment and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes for the following week. 
You took the small but meaningful events of that day as your second sign of your new odd feelings directed towards your best friend, feelings that you didn’t know how to name just yet.
--
Crazy rich Yoon Jaehyuk was having a pool party at his house, and basically everyone was invited. If you knew about the party, you could go - all Jaehyuk had to do was to tell maybe ten people and let them spread the word. As his partner for an English Linguistics class you had together that semester, you were one of those privileged people who’d known firsthand about the event and had made sure to tell everyone you knew to come. You shouldn’t have been so surprised to find what must’ve already been a hundred people on the front lawn, inside the house and around the pool when you showed up with Jihoon and the rest of your friends there.
Coincidentally, this was when the third sign occurred. Third time’s a charm, as they say, and the events of that night and those following cemented your growing hunch that something really was up.
Pre-drinks at yours and Minjeong’s place had already taken quite a toll on you. Jaehyuk lived at the edge of town, quite a ways from your flat, but the vodka cranberry you’d snuck in on the bus prevented you from sobering up during the long ride. When your group arrived at the party, both you and Minjeong were ready to dance. But before you could rush to wherever the dancefloor was, Jihoon caught you by the wrist, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Your eyes went from his fingers around your wrist to his smiling face, a surprised look on your own. 
“We’re gonna head directly to the pool. Don’t drink too much, okay?”
Your lips blossomed with a smile. Typical Jihoon. “Okay.”
The alcohol probably had something to do with it, but a surge of affection for your friend hit you and you stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before taking Minjeong’s hand in yours and making a beeline in the direction of the music.
I Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas was calling your name and you didn’t think to turn around to look at Jihoon, so you missed the way he watched your figure retreating into the mass of drunk students as he tried to commit the warmth of your lips against his cheek to memory.
You and Minjeong made your way to the center of the crowd, shrieking with drunken excitement when you found a group of girls from one of your shared classes there and exchanging very brief pleasantries before falling into the rhythm of one of your all-time favorite party songs. In your humble opinion, no one understood partying like The Black Eyed Peas did.
You only leave the dancefloor on one occasion, which is to take a round of vodka shots with your new best friends for the night - Jihoon had said not to drink too much, not not at all. One of the girls (Yunjin, you thought, but she showed up to class so seldom you weren’t sure) had a trick of pouring a lick of strawberry syrup before the alcohol, so that you wouldn’t be hit with the nail polish remover aftertaste of vodka. You were delighted to find it worked (almost) like magic.
It’s about an hour later when you and Minjeong reach the pool, not quite sober but more so than when you’d arrived at the party. For a pool party, there were definitely less people there than inside the house, maybe due to the fact that it was the end of February and most people didn’t want to risk getting hypothermia from the temperature difference between the heated pool and the cold outside. 
The relatively small number of people makes it easy to spot Jihoon, in nothing but his swimming trunks and a towel around his shoulders, sitting on a longchair a dozen or so meters away from you. Something about half-naked Jihoon, you’re not sure what, makes you want to walk over to him and do… you’re not sure what, but Minjeong frantically slapping your arm and whispering your name stops you from doing whatever it was you wanted to do. 
“Y/N! Y/N! Yoshi is right there,” she whisper-yelled. Indeed, Yoshi was in the pool, not far from where you stood, playing with his friends you recognized from pre-drinks at his place the other day. Minjeong’s face was redder than you’d ever seen it, and you recalled a conversation you’d had earlier that day.
“Will Yoshi be there?” Minjeong had asked, trying to sound innocent.
You’d looked at your flatmate with an incredulous look on your face. “Yes, he’ll be there, you slut. I thought you never went for a second time?”
She’d shrugged, an unusually shy smile playing on her lips as she looked down at her feet. “I don’t know, we’ll see.”
This was very unlike Minjeong - in your six months of knowing each other, it was the first time you ever saw her even consider getting with someone a second time. You didn’t know what sort of spell this Yoshi guy had cast on your friend, but it must’ve been very effective. 
“Go talk to him,” you simply said.
“What?! No way, I can’t- Oh my God, he’s looking at us,” she said, words rushing out of her mouth, “he’s looking right at us, isn’t he?”
You just laughed at your friend and waved at Yoshi who was already waddling towards your edge of the pool. “Hey, Yoshi!” you called excitedly. At the sound of your voice, Jihoon’s head snapped towards you. He wasted no time in yelling your name, motioning for you to come over, so you gestured back that you’d be there in a minute. 
“Hey, Y/N!” Yoshi called back with the same tone. “Hey, Minjeong,” he added, tone somewhat quiet, but the blush that grew on his cheeks told you you weren’t the one he was most happy to see. 
“Hey, Yoshi,” she said so quietly, you weren’t sure the boy could even hear her.
“Nice to see you guys here,” he said, talking to you but glancing nervously at Minjeong. 
“You too!” you replied, and before he could add anything, you placed a hand on your friend’s shoulder. “Well, I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about. See you later!”
You grinned innocently at Minjeong as she called your name, eyes wide in panic. She was a big girl, and Yoshi was clearly into her - she could handle herself. Jihoon eyed you amusedly as you made your way towards him.
“Are you setting them up?” he asked when you were within earshot of him.
“I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t at least try. I’ve never seen Minjeong blush over a guy, so this must be serious.”
A few of Jihoon’s friends were hanging out next to him, people that you knew from the many parties you attended together but that you rarely saw outside of drinking contexts. You waved at them before sitting on the deckchair next to Jihoon’s. He pivoted in his seat to face you, seemingly not minding that he’d just turned his back to his friends, then scooched his chair closer to yours so that your knees touched. You rested your palms next to your thighs and kept your gaze down. Something about Jihoon kept you from meeting his eyes, tonight. Maybe it was the half-nakedness.
Jihoon eyed you for a little bit, wondering what was making you so unusually quiet, before looking behind his shoulder to check whether Minjeong had been able to make progress on her own.
“Looks like it’s going well,” he assessed.
You followed his gaze to find Minjeong sitting at the edge of the pool and kicking her legs in the water while Yoshi stood next to her, water up to his belly button. You smiled as they giggled and splashed each other - it was going well, indeed. 
“Have you been in the pool yet?” you asked, shifting your gaze to the party-goers playing in the water. The echoes of people talking and water splashing were quite loud, but Jihoon was so close that you didn’t need to raise your voice too much. 
“No, I just took my shirt off for the hell of it.” 
You had meant to bring your eyes up to his face, you really had - but somewhere on the way, they stopped on his abs, and got stuck there. It was probably a full five seconds before you could look away from the well-defined muscles on his stomach and finally meet his eyes. He didn’t need to say anything - the smirk playing on his lips and the slight surprise in the raise of his brows were enough to tell you he had not missed your stare. 
You looked back to the pool, eyebrows slightly creased in shame at having been so obvious. Thankfully, you had brought a drink with you and took a swig of it there. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
You were trying to ignore the way Jihoon’s eyes burned into the side of your face, the way they followed your every move, but with each passing second, you felt more conscious of them. Not unlike one would try to escape a wasp, you thought that going into the pool might tear Jihoon’s eyes away from you at least for a little bit. It’s not that his gaze made you uncomfortable, like that of a random old man in the street would, but it definitely made you feel… things. Things that you didn’t necessarily want to dive into. 
The problem was that, to go into the pool, you’d need to get into your swimsuit. You’d thought ahead and had come already clad into your bikini underneath your clothes, a black, strapless tube dress that was easy to take off so you could jump into the pool at any time. But getting rid of that dress right in front of Jihoon and his watchful eyes was more nerve-wracking than you’d imagined. 
You downed the rest of your cup for some liquid courage and shot up from your seat, releasing a deep breath as you did so. You thought it was better to just get it over with than make it last any longer than it needed to. Jihoon’s eyes glinted with amusement as they followed your every move.
“Let’s go back in.” 
Your plan had been to lift your dress off of your body and head straight to the pool, but Jihoon’s gaze made you freeze in place after stripping. You couldn’t quite describe it as lustful, or as hungry, because there was a hint of surprise there that softened it. It was like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and loving it at the same time, if the slowly growing smirk on his lips was anything to go by. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, a fire that made your knees turn to jelly and that rendered you close to breathless.
You let his curious eyes travel your body for a few seconds before clearing your throat. “Do you want a picture or something?” you asked ironically, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you felt.
His smirk only widened. “No need. The real thing is so much better.”
You tried not to cower under his shameless gaze, instead stood up straighter and stared right back at him. “My eyes are up here, you know.”
“I know,” he replied, but his eyes stayed trained on your body. You watched as they slowly made their way up your legs, took in your stomach and waist, then paused on your chest, which was quickly falling and rising with your shallow breathing. It was only when you scoffed and crossed your arms that he looked at your face.
Still that lopsided smirk on his lips, he stood up and languidly made his way towards you. He came so close that you had to slightly crane your neck to meet his gaze.
Your heart raced as he let a few seconds of silence stretch between the two of you, keeping his eyes locked in yours. “Nice eyes,” he murmured after a pause, the sudden depth of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.
After six months of seeing him almost every day, one would think Jihoon’s flirty personality would not have such an effect on you anymore. And most of the time, it didn’t - even back in the day, he was already fond of teasing you, so usually, him telling you how pretty you looked, patting your head or him tucking stray strands of hairs behind your ear went somewhat unnoticed by you. Or at least, it was easier not to freak out over “small” things like these.
But this was one of the times when you thought he was really pushing it, and you lost the ability to even eye-roll, which was your usual defense against his flirting attacks. You hated to admit, but you just couldn’t pretend it didn’t have an effect on you. You hated it because you knew he was just flirting as a joke, not because he was actually interested or anything of the sort, and you felt stupid that it still did something to you - although you sometimes doubted whether he really was doing it just for fun. You wanted to think he was acting the way he was on purpose, to get a reaction out of you. It’d make you feel less of a fool.
Before you’d even had time to understand the meaning behind his words, he’d already walked away from you and to the pool. When your senses had come back and you spun around, he was already inside the water. He looked like a cute wet puppy with his hair sticking out all around his head, especially when he shook it and let droplets of water fall off his hair and splash around him, and you couldn’t believe this was the same man that had essentially called your tits nice just moments prior.
The raging butterflies in your stomach were your third sign.
You must’ve stared long, because after a while, your eyes met again, and a smile reappeared on his face. An actual smile, this time, not a smirk or anything of the sort. As if nothing had just happened - as if it was absolutely natural for your best friend to practically devour you with his eyes like that. 
He waved you over and you noticed Minjeong and Yoshi were with him, seemingly waiting for you as well. When you reached the edge of the pool, someone entered the room with a platter of shots of God knows what, and you immediately reached out for one and downed it. Sambuca, you realized with relief as the sweet liquid burned its way down your throat. That way, if your body kept buzzing the way it had been around Jihoon, you could blame it on the alcohol and nothing else.
Minjeong and Yoshi were already back in their new little world, but Jihoon watched with an amused grin as you measured the temperature of the water with a foot, then, deeming it warm enough, made your way towards your friends. There, the water reached up to your shoulders, and the fact that it got up to just a little bit under Jihoon’s chest only marked your height difference further, which shouldn’t have made you as flustered as it did.
“Didn’t I tell you not to drink too much before going into the water?” Jihoon asked, laughter clear in his voice.
“How about you let me drink as much as I want, and make sure I don’t drown?” you bit back, even though you knew it wasn’t much of a comeback. You had spoken in an irritated tone that, going by the way his smile softened, Jihoon found cute.
“Okay, I will,” he said, and the sweetness in his tone only served to further unnerve you.
If he noticed your annoyance, he didn’t say anything. 
You let yourself be convinced to play a game of chicken fight against Minjeong and Yoshi, which (along with that shot of Sambuca) made your competitive streak kick in and allowed you to, at least momentarily, forget about your irritation towards your friend. The reason behind that irritation was something you didn’t even want to think about.
Somehow, you endured the prickling on your skin as Jihoon kept your thighs tightly pressed around his shoulders with two big hands. Even when he squeezed the flesh there or craned his neck to look up at you with those big, round eyes of his, you managed to not let the way your stomach flipped get to your head. 
You weren’t sure how you won all three rounds of chicken fight, if it was thanks to Jihoon’s devotion to the gym, or yours to the free weekly Sunday morning pilates class your uni gym offers. It might’ve been down to the level of complicity you and Jihoon had built over the months that Yoshi and Minjeong hadn’t reached yet (if that can even be a factor in chicken fight success) - all you know, is that you do, and that even underwater, Jihoon’s hands burn as they snake their way around your waist, and press your body flush to his in a celebratory hug.
Some time later, you sit at the edge of the pool by yourself, having been deserted by the two lovebirds who not-so-sneakily snuck away under the pretext of getting some drinks, as well as by Jihoon who was called by some friends to join him back in the pool. You were at the level of tipsiness that made you want to self-introspectively sit on your own and people-watch for a little bit.
Until someone broke your peace.
“Hey, Y/N,” you heard a vaguely familiar voice say. Before you could respond, Kim Sunwoo was sitting next to you, a bit too close in your opinion for your level of acquaintance, clad in black swimming trunks that let the band of his Calvin Klein underwear peek through. 
He wasn’t half bad-looking, you decided in that instant.
“Oh, hi, Sunwoo,” you replied, smiling as you unquestioningly accepted the drink he offered you and thanked him for it. You peered at the orange liquid and decided it was the right color for alcohol before taking a sip. It being orange vodka didn’t come as much of a surprise. “I didn’t know you knew my name,” you admitted.
You recognized Sunwoo’s face from the Introduction to Literary Theory lecture you’d had last semester, and had learned his name when the lecture had to be online due to the professor falling ill, and he was one of the few brave students who had turned his camera on. With a face like his, you understood where the confidence came from.
Then, one night out on the town with Minjeong and other friends, you’d run into him at the counter of a bar, and had exchanged a few (flirty, if you recalled correctly) words, but not your names, hence the slight confusion.
He chuckled and you watched as two deep dimples appeared on his cheeks. “I did my research before coming here. Sadly, no one knew what kind of drink you liked, so I went for something basic and prayed.”
“This is perfect,” you said, laughing.
“To be perfectly honest,” he starts after a slight pause, “I’ve seen you around campus, and we even saw each other at a bar once, didn’t we?” he asks, and grins when you nod. “I felt stupid for never asking for your name, or your number. So when I saw you sitting here, I thought it must be fate that brought me to this party.”
You had barely registered his words, let alone formed any sort of response in your mind when Jihoon suddenly appeared in front of the two of you, placing a hand right next to your thigh on the pool edge. You hadn’t noticed him swimming your way.
“Hey, Sunwoo. I see you’ve met my girlfriend,” Jihoon blatantly lies as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The shock is apparent on Sunwoo’s face, and if it wasn’t for the sweet, convincing smile Jihoon was looking at you with, you might’ve let your surprise show more.
Sunwoo didn’t know Jihoon like you did, so you didn’t know whether he noticed the tightness in his grin, the challenge in his slightly raised eyebrows, or the general way he was holding himself that screamed Leave. But he must’ve noticed something, because it only took him a few seconds to start nodding slowly and rise from his seat.
For some reason, you stayed quiet, letting the word girlfriend and the way it had rolled off Jihoon’s tongue so easily repeat over and over again in your head. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he had said it so convincingly that you almost questioned whether you actually were Jihoon’s girlfriend. Before you could think any more about it, however, Sunwoo broke the increasingly tense silence.
“My bad, man, I didn’t know she was taken. I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he said with a smile, and that was that. 
You watched his retreating figure for a bit, eyebrows creased in confusion, before snapping your head towards Jihoon. Head tilted, he was fixing you with a questioning look, as if to ask, What are you up to?, when he was the one that had just acted strangely.
“What was that all about?” you asked.
Jihoon shrugged. “I chased him away for you. I’ve only heard bad stuff about that guy, like he sleeps with a new girl every weekend and doesn’t treat them right.”
You thought for a second, bottom lip slightly jutting out in concentration. “Well, couldn’t you have told me about his reputation then let me make the decision for myself?”
“I-” Jihoon started but stopped himself. He seemed to mull over your words for a bit, then sighed. “You’re right, I guess I could have, but you’ve been drinking, who knows if you would’ve made the right decision?”
This made you furrow your brows. “So what if I did? Getting drunk and going home with a rando is not unheard of, I would’ve been fine. Just maybe ashamed tomorrow morning.”
A flash of annoyance swept across Jihoon’s features, and your curiosity couldn’t help but be piqued. The two of you had had your fair share of aimless arguments over the months, but he’d never actually gotten cross with you. For some reason, you were suddenly itching to know what angry Jihoon was like.
“I wouldn’t be fine with it, though. I’d hate knowing that I let you go home with a prick like that.”
This wasn’t the first time Jihoon had fended off guys for you during a night out, but to his credit, they weren’t ever guys you wanted to talk to. And, well, admittedly, after learning what he was like, maybe you didn’t want to talk to Sunwoo either, but Jihoon’s protectiveness tonight was bothering you more than it ever had. 
You let a silence stretch between the two of you before speaking again. “You- you can’t just do that, you know,” you declared, not meeting his eyes.
“Do what?”
“Act like you just did. Pretending to be my boyfriend just to get a guy away from me.” Jihoon was just staring at you silently, so you felt compelled to add,  “You’re not actually my boyfriend, you know.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because his jaw locked and a coldness you had never seen before appeared in his eyes.
“Aren’t I basically?”
That caught you off guard. Where was this coming from? Jihoon had never entertained the idea of being your boyfriend, ever, so why was he suddenly acting like he was? Like he had always been?
And yet, you found yourself toying with the idea of dating Jihoon once more. The one question that pervaded your thoughts was, would things be so different? You’d never had a boyfriend, so you weren’t sure what they did, but you thought it wouldn’t be too far off from how Jihoon treated you now. Keep you safe, bring you food, buy you random keychains or pencils that reminded him of you, text you throughout the day, compliment you. The only difference would be…
Your eyes drifted down to his lips, and you swore you heard a shaky intake of breath coming from the man right in front of you.
The thought had barely crossed your mind that panic rose in your chest. You could not be thinking about kissing Jihoon. You couldn’t think about him being your boyfriend, either. You weren’t sure why, but your sudden heart palpitations at the mere idea told you that you just couldn’t.
“No, you’re not.” You had wanted to speak firmly, but you feared your voice had come out shakier than intended.
To your surprise, Jihoon scoffed. “So if I went off and started dating someone else, it wouldn’t bother you?” he asked in a disbelieving, almost mocking tone.
“No, it wouldn’t,” you answered, and as soon as the words were out, you knew they were a lie. You scrambled to your feet, suddenly wanting to be away from this conversation and the way it made you feel. “I’ll, um, I’ll head back inside.”
You ignored his call of your name and picked up your dress, hastily sliding it back on as you made your way back towards the living room where most of the action was. You quickly found that it was too loud, too hot, too packed in there. You headed back outside through another door that led to a part of the backyard far from the pool, where people sat in small groups around a big fire, either nursing a drink or passing round a joint, the smell of weed heavy in the air. At least it was quiet here.
You walked around some before spotting Jaehyuk, the man of the house himself, sitting on his lonesome on a swing bench in a dark corner of the garden, looking down despondently into a red solo cup. A couple hours into the party, this was the first time you saw him, you realized. It made you wonder how long he’d been sitting out here on his own.
“Hey, Jaehyuk,” you greeted, catching him by surprise. You took a seat next to him, sliding your hands underneath your thighs to keep them warm.
“Oh, hey, Y/N. Nice that you came.” He mustered a smile for you before taking a swig from his cup and cringing at the taste of what must’ve been alcohol.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” you asked softly. You were used to cheery, smiley Jaehyuk, and even though you weren’t very close, you couldn’t help but be saddened by seeing your friend in such a state.
Jaehyuk sighed deeply. “The girl I planned this party for isn’t here.”
“The girl you… planned… this party for?” you echoed, and he nodded. “You mean this,” you said, gesturing to the house and backyard full to the brim with people, “is all for one girl?”
He sighed and nodded again, taking another sip from his cup. He tutted at the drink, or maybe at himself for drinking it when he knew how awful it tasted. “I wanted an excuse to see her outside of class.” He chuckled. “I realize now that I might have gone slightly overboard.”
“Just a bit,” you laughed along, watching as a group of stoners cheered at their friend who had found marshmallows and sticks God-knows-where. “It’s not even midnight yet, she might still be coming.”
Jaehyuk shrugged. “I’ve stopped hoping. I think I just need to get into the party and forget about it for tonight.”
You smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
“What about you, what made you escape out here? The music not to your liking?”
“Are you kidding? This is the Danish alternative pop playlist of my dreams,” you said, earning a chuckle from him. “No, I just…” You realized you didn’t even know how to talk about this. What was making you so upset?
“I got into a bit of a… squabble with my friend, if you will. He-”
“Oh, so it’s a he?” Jaehyuk cut in, a knowing smile on his face.
“No- I mean, yes, he is, but it’s not like that, it’s- it’s…”
“It’s?” he egged on.
“Ugh, fine, it might be like that,” you finally admitted, as much to Jaehyuk as to yourself. Your irritation made him laugh.
“It’s okay, it happens.”
“I didn’t think it would happen to me, though.”
“Why not?”
You sighed. “Just ‘cause… him and I, we’ve known each other for such a long time, it feels weird that things would start changing now.”
“How long have you known each other?”
“We met when we were thirteen and fourteen. Then he moved away and we only met again in September last semester.”
“Did you keep in touch?”
“Not so much. I just heard from him through my brother, they’re much closer.”
“So… what I’m hearing is, you’ve known each other a long time, but you’ve only really become friends since September, right?”
“Right,” you echoed dubitatively, wondering where Jaehyuk was going.
“Y/N, that’s just a bit over six months.”
“...So?”
“So, that’s not nearly as long as you make it out to be. It’s not like you’ve been best friends for years and things are suddenly changing. Six months… aren’t that short, I’ll give you that, but I think it’s a reasonable time for people to get closer as friends and then start developing feelings.”
“Feelings?” you immediately echoed, panic evident in your voice.
Jaehyuk let out something like a chuckle, looking at you like he was figuring out whether you were joking or not. “Is that not what this whole thing is about?”
You dropped your gaze down to your thighs, frowning. “Feelings just sound so serious…”
“They can be, but they don’t have to.” After a few seconds of silence, he noticed your upset expression and nudged your shoulder good-naturedly. “What’s worrying you so much?”
“It’s just confusing. I… It’s not like I’ve been totally indifferent towards him up ‘til now, but there’s something about him lately, especially tonight. It makes me actually wonder about… you know. Whether I want him as a friend or not.” You sighed. “And even if I am feeling… feelings, I don’t know how he sees me. I could still be a sort of little sister in his eyes, for all I know.”
“What makes you think that?”
A small smile grew on your lips as you blew air from your nose. “Junkyu - my older brother - tasked him with looking after me when he learned I was going to attend this university with him. So, while I go crazy trying to figure out why he acts the way he acts and why I feel the way I feel, he might just be keeping a promise to my brother.”
“But have you ever seen him as an older brother?”
“No,” you replied immediately. Your surety almost took you aback. “Jihoon is… Jihoon. He’s definitely not Junkyu.”
Jaehyuk smiled. “Then I don’t think he would see you as a little sister, either. The way you act with a sibling and with a friend, potentially someone you like, is very different. I don’t think there’d be room for question if he treated you as a younger sister, you’d just know. Most guys I know are very obvious when they like someone, me included, so if you’re thinking about this so much just because of the way he acts with you… well, you’re probably onto something.”
“You think?” 
“I do.” 
You and Jaehyuk stayed outside chatting for a few more minutes until you decided to go back inside for some warmth and a refill of your empty cups. In the kitchen, you ran into some of your classmates, so you joined in their animated discussion on which version of The Sims is better (Asahi offended everyone by saying the mobile app was the best) instead of going looking for Minjeong and Jihoon like you had intended to.
A few minutes later, as your phone buzzed with six consecutive texts from your roommate, you found out where both of them were. 
minjeong girl do u know how many bedrooms there are in this goddamn house??!!!! yoshi and i are spending the night here xxx ask jaehyuk if he has a room for u or get home w jihoon whos that girl he’s talkin to in the kitchen btw??? love yaa xxxxxoooo text me if u need anything!! i’ll be busy but i’ll keep my phone on ;)
Usually, you’d have rolled your eyes at the exorbitant amount of x’s and the cheesy winky face, but something else had got your attention. Suddenly stepping away mentally from the conversation (which had turned into an interrogation on Asahi’s suspected addiction to mobile games), you looked around the crowded kitchen until your eyes settled on your culprit.
From where you were, you only had a view of his side profile, just as Minjeong had said, Jihoon was talking to a girl, red solo cup in his hand and stupidly attractive smile on his lips. She was leaning against the wall while he stood in front of her, both looking as relaxed as if they had known each other for years. What was up with all that eye contact? What was making them smile so hard?
You hadn’t realized how hard you were staring until Jaehyuk’s voice broke through your thoughts, asking if you were okay. 
“You look like you want to kill someone,” Sumin joked, not knowing she was closer to the truth than she thought.
You tried to laugh it off, saying you were just deeply disturbed by Asahi’s predicament, but you couldn’t keep yourself from glancing back at Jihoon and the girl every thirty seconds. Another girl arrived, and Jihoon shifted to make room for her so that he was now directly facing you. Over the chatter of the kitchen and music booming from the speakers in the living room, you couldn’t hear anything they were saying, but it seemed like Girl #1 was introducing Jihoon to Girl #2, placing a palm on his bicep as she did so. You counted - that hand stayed there for four whole seconds, and when she finally took it off of him, your eyes drifted back to Jihoon’s face.
Jihoon, who was staring right at you. Jihoon, who raised his eyebrows at you as if to say, What about it? while yours were creased in - confusion, anger, you weren’t sure what, but an ugly feeling you weren’t accustomed to. Jihoon, who, you decided, had to know what he was doing, had to know how this was making you feel.
The only thing on your mind was getting out of here and taking Jihoon with you. Without thinking much, you fished your phone out of your sweater pocket, texted Jihoon Let’s go and said bye to your friends, lying that your friend had suddenly asked you to leave.
After a few minutes of waiting by yourself outside in the cold, crouching to maximize body warmth, you started to wonder if Jihoon had decided to not follow you. But when you felt a weight drop on your shoulders, you snapped your head up to find him smiling down at you. 
“Where did you get this?” you asked, meaning the blanket he had given you.
“I stole it from the living room.”
“Jihoon,” you scolded.
“You know the guy right? Just give it back to him this week,” he said, lowering himself down to your level. Similarly to your eye contact in the kitchen, you were still frowning while he kept on smiling. “Not like you to want to leave before one a.m.. Is something the matter?” he asked, and you debated whether he was faking his innocence or not.
For about ten seconds, you tried to stay quiet, not wanting to betray your feelings to him. You glared ahead of you, watching your breath form wisps in the late February night air. 
But then he called your name so softly, it undid all of your resolve. The sound of it made you sigh.
“Who was that you were talking to?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Hm? That was just Shuhua, she’s a Tawainese exchange student from one of my classes. Then she introduced me to her friend Yuqi.”
You nodded slowly, still not meeting Jihoon’s gaze. “I didn’t know there was a Taiwainese exchange student in one of your classes.”
“Y/N?” The unexpected seriousness with which he had called your name forced you to look at him.
“Hm.”
“I have something to tell you.” He must’ve noticed your sudden inability to speak, so he continued, lowering his head to be at eye-level with you. “There’s a Taiwainese exchange student in one of my classes.”
A smile broke through his serious facade and you had to look away to hide your own growing grin. “You’re stupid,” you said, but it only made Jihoon laugh.
“So is that what this is all about? A little bout of jealousy from my Y/N?”
You didn’t know what to focus on - the fact that he had finally put a name to what you were feeling or the face that he had called you his. It made you frown. “I wasn’t jealous,” you said, aware of how unbelievable you sounded.
“No? Then what made you want to leave so suddenly?”
“I- You-” you started, glaring at Jihoon when he snickered. “How come I can’t talk to guys but it’s okay for you to talk to girls?” 
“So you are jealous.”
“No, I just think you’re being unfair. I’m calling you out on your hypocrisy, Hoon. Double standards and all that.” 
Jihoon grinned. Had he known that he’d get such a reaction from you after talking to a friend that happened to be a girl, he’d have done it much earlier. And yet you had never had a problem with any of the girls in his usual friend group - if anything, the bunch of you often ganged up against him - so he wondered what was wrong with Shuhua in particular. Was it because you didn’t know her, and misunderstanding could arise?
His smile and eyes softened. No matter how adorable you looked to him right now, he wasn’t one to play games with feelings, his or yours. It was hard enough to make you realize how much he liked you (although he hoped that scene at the pool had made things more apparent), so he wasn’t going to make it even more confusing by letting you think he might like someone else.
Earlier, when he’d asked you if him dating someone else would bother you, and you’d answered no, he hadn’t formed any plan whatsoever to go off and talk to another girl right in front of you. Things just happened in his favor. He’d been talking with a whole group of people in the kitchen, but save for Jennifer, they’d all left for a game of spin the bottle (at their grown college age). Shuhua had a boyfriend back home and he had you, so they both had no interest for it. So it was just the two of them bonding over their love for Taylor Swift’s music when you appeared in the kitchen with Jaehyuk. 
Did he also feel a pang of jealousy seeing you with another guy, even though it was just Jaehyuk and he already knew of your friendship? Perhaps, but this wasn’t anything new with Jihoon. He didn’t think he’d be able to get rid of it until he had the surety that you were his, which had felt like a faraway goal until recently. Maybe it was due to his growing boldness or maybe you had managed to piece everything together yourself, but he was sure he’d felt a shift in your attitude towards him lately. There were times you would get shyer than usual, refusing to look him in the eyes; other times, like tonight, you’d defy him, as if trying to prove to both him and yourself you didn’t feel any sort of way towards him. But he hadn’t missed the way your eyes had drifted down to his lips and stayed there for a few seconds, hadn’t missed your panic when things seemed to get too real.
Just like you, although he didn’t know about that, he also found that there was something different about tonight, some tension between the two of you that was bound to explode. The fact that you were both in swimsuits had probably not helped. As soon as he’d seen you in your black tube dress, his imagination had started running wild. The way you casually had a gray zip sweatshirt of his in your room and donned it before leaving your place had made it harder to not just keep you in your apartment while the others went off to the party, and seeing you in your bikini was like the final boss he hadn’t been able to defeat. Keeping his eyes off of you was simply impossible. He wasn’t sure how he had resisted kissing you right then and there, showing everyone who the prettiest girl in the room - hell, at this party - belonged to.
(Jihoon had a bit of a possessive streak.)
Even now that you had somewhat made up, he still felt the changed air around you, like there was no going back from here. No pretending there were no unsaid feelings anymore - at least, that’s how he felt. If you needed the extra push to realize either his feelings, your own, or both, he didn’t mind initiating it. If anything, he had been waiting for it.
So he made sure to clear things up. “I didn’t want you to talk to Sunwoo because I knew he had bad intentions. Or at least selfish ones. Shuhua has a boyfriend, nothing was gonna happen there.”
“Oh, but if she didn’t, something would’ve?”
“No, Y/N. No,” Jihoon said firmly. 
“Why not? She’s pretty.” You knew you were being unreasonable at this point, arguing for the sake of arguing, but you couldn’t help yourself.
Jihoon sighed before placing a hand at the top of your head, brushing your hair gently. “I know someone who’s prettier.”
You turned your head slowly to look at him and were met with a sight you forever wanted to keep in your heart. Jihoon was looking down at you, eyes soft and filled with an emotion you wanted to describe as adoration, corners of his lips upturned into a sweet smile. You wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, feel the warmth of his skin under your palm and make sure he was real, but you were too stuck in his gaze to move.
“I actually know the prettiest girl in the world. I’m very lucky.”
You continued staring at each other for a few seconds or maybe a few hours, until he booped your nose and stood up. “Our Uber’s here, pretty girl.” 
You took his extended hand in yours and let him help you up, still in a daze as he opened the car door for you and rushed to the other side. You didn’t expect the relief you felt when he took your hand in his again as the Uber started driving. As the driver and him made minimal small talk, you watched out the window, but you couldn’t hear or see anything - you could only focus on Jihoon’s fingers intertwined with yours. Had hand-holding always felt so natural?
Even once you reached your apartment and you had to let go of it to get out of the car, the only thing you wanted was to have it again. 
You didn’t notice right away, as you punched in the code for the entrance to your apartment building, that Jihoon had stayed behind on the pavement. A light rain had started and his hair, all curled up from the pool, shone with small beads of water that the streetlights reflected on. 
“Aren’t you coming up?” you asked, turning around to face him and leaning against the door so it wouldn’t close.
“Not tonight,” he simply said, and you hesitated to ask him why. Whatever it was, he must have his reason, and you would see him again soon anyway, so you dropped it.
“Okay.” You nodded and hoped you didn’t sound as disappointed as you felt. 
You thought that would be it, but then he took a step closer to you, then another, until he was standing right in front of you. The doorstep made you taller so that your eyes were on a parallel with his lips, on which they naturally fell. No matter how confusing tonight might have been, if what you thought was about to happen actually did happen, you knew there was not a cell in your body that would resist it.
Jihoon leaned in closer and closer, until he was right there, and your lips would touch any second - but he leaned to the right, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips instead. You stood with bated breath as he leaned back, wearing a proud smirk. “Good to know you wouldn’t push me away if I tried to kiss you,” he said, but on this rare occasion, you were speechless. 
His smirk softened to a smile as he ruffled your hair. “Good night, Y/N.”
It wasn’t until he had reached the corner, turning around and waving at you to go into your building before disappearing that you snapped out of it and made your way to your apartment. As soon as you’d shut your front door behind you, you realized just how disappointed you felt that Jihoon hadn’t come up like he usually did, how much you missed the reassurance of having him there, even if the two of you were a room apart. 
You also realized you didn’t want any walls to separate you anymore.
And there you had it - the signs were too obvious to ignore anymore. The heart flutterings, the thoughts of him invading your mind day and night, the jealousy. The constant longing to be with him.
You were in love with Park Jihoon.
--
You fell into a deep sleep for about four hours, before waking up with a start.
You were in love with Park Jihoon.
What had seemed like a comforting thought at the time now freaked you out to no end. Park Jihoon was your best friend, your brother’s best friend, someone you’d met so long ago he’d known you during your embarrassing bangs phase of 2015 (BangGate, as your friends from home inappropriately liked to call it).
You were great as friends, sure, but how would you fare if things went further than that? There was no way for you to know other than by trying it firsthand. Did you want to take that leap, and risk falling face first - or chance falling right into his arms?
For some reassurance, you got your laptop out and went to Google. At first, you intended to search some YouTube videos or blog posts about successful best-friends-turned-lovers stories, but something deep inside your brain compelled you to type Omegle in the search bar. Even if it was five a.m. for you, it’d be a reasonable time of the day for people with good relationship advice somewhere, right?
In your interests, you typed love, relationship and advice, hoping this would lead you to your savior. After skipping a few naked men who apparently were into love too, two young girls appeared on your screen who, going off of their accent, were British. They looked about eleven and were doing their nails, not paying attention to their screen. NewJeans was playing in the background.
They were perfect.
“Hey, girls!” you said, cringing at the sound of your own voice.
They raised their heads in unison, looking at you for a second before coming closer to the screen, all wide smiles. One of them had braces with pink elastics. “Hey, girl!”
You decided you had no time to lose, so you directly told them you needed advice with a boy you liked. They nodded vigorously. So you told them everything - from how you and Jihoon had met, to reconnecting in September, to the events of the past few months (including a detailed rundown of what happened at the pool, which they loved). They even insisted on seeing a picture and squealed when you showed them. Your Jihoon really was handsome.
“So? What do you think I should do?” you asked when you were done recounting everything.
“I have this thing I do whenever I fancy someone,” the girl on the right started, while the other one munched on some sour candy. You nodded for her to continue. “It really helps me know if I should keep fancying them or if they’re not worth it. It’s called a compibi- compa- combali- Rosie, what was it again?”
“A compatibility test,” Rosie said, tongue blue from her candy.
“Right, that. It works like magic. Just the other week I thought for sure Leo was the cutest boy in school but then I did the test thing and got forty percent with him and a few days later he was dating Sarah anyway.”
“Sarah is terrible,” Rosie chipped in.
“Oh no!” you exclaimed.
“Yeah, really bad,” the other girl said, nodding. “But then, I did it with Martin and got eighty-six percent and we’ve been dating for ten days now, we have,” she finished proudly.
“That’s amazing.” You didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep or the conviction with which the girl spoke, but you were hooked. “How do I do it?” you asked, although you’d probably done it when you were their age too.
“Oh, it’s easy. You just type the comp- Rosie?”
“Compatibility.”
“That, test on Google and click any one of them and type in your name then his. Any of them will do, I’m sure,” she shrugged, reaching for a candy. 
“Okay, let me do it right now. Gimme a sec.” After a few clicks, you’d reached an early 2010s-style website called lovecalculator.com, all pink and cupids shooting their arrows into the sky. You typed in your name, then Jihoon’s, then pressed a shaky finger to the Enter bar.
“Oh my gosh!” you squealed. “We got ninety-nine percent!”
“Oh my gosh!” the girls yelped back, clapping and hugging each other in celebration.
“Girl, you need to go tell him right now,” non-Rosie said firmly.
“Right now,” Rosie echoed.
You pouted. “I can’t, it’s five a.m. right now.”
“You better go later then! You two are meant to be! You’ll last at least like, a month or two.” 
“At least.”
After thanking and saying good-bye to your new best friends, you spent a good three minutes staring at the big 99% in bright pink on your screen. This randomly generated number made you so happy that you took a screenshot and printed it out on Minjeong’s printer in the living room, then put it on your fridge for you to admire. You used a magnet Jihoon had gifted you for Christmas - it was a four-cut photobooth picture of you two you’d taken at the Christmas market. You thought you’d only taken the paper version, but he’d made you go get food for the both of you while he bought the magnet version as well.
Your mind at ease, you started heading back to your room, but you ran into someone right as you walked out of the kitchen.
You looked him up and down. Yoshinori was standing in your living room half-naked, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 
“H-hey, Y/N,” he said, breaking the silence first. “I’m sorry, I thought you were sleeping…”
“I woke up early,” you replied, unable to keep yourself from smiling at his awkwardness. “What are you doing?”
“Just, um, just getting some water.”
“And you have to come to my apartment to do that?”
“No, I, um- Someone called the cops, so Jaehyuk kicked all of us out.”
“I thought you were in a room somewhere?”
“Yeah, but we went outside to see what was happening, and he saw us, so we had to leave.”
“Right… Well, glad you made it back home safe.” The strangeness of the situation suddenly hit you, and you realized you should probably let the half-naked man get his glass of water and leave. “I’ll go back to my room, then.”
“Oh, right, see you, Y/N. And sorry.”
“No worries!” you said, waving his apology off and scurried off to your bedroom. You plopped into your bed with a satisfied sigh, hugging a plushie Jihoon had won for you at an arcade close to your chest. He really was everywhere.
When you woke up next, sunlight was pouring from the window into your room. You checked your phone - nine a.m.. Not early enough to go to late sleeper Jihoon’s place, but definitely early enough to call your probably still sleeping brother. You had to tell someone about your newfound revelation, and Minjeong next door was either asleep or busy.
Your phone rang with an outgoing call for so long that you thought Junkyu might simply not pick up. “I’m in love with Jihoon,” you blurted out as soon as your brother’s face appeared on screen. 
He paused for a second, taking your words in, then yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Good morning to you too, Y/N.”
“I’m in love with Jihoon,” you repeated, more insistently.
“I heard you the first time.”
“Well, what do you think?!” you asked, impatience rising. You couldn’t believe your brother could be sarcastic in an emergency like this.
Junkyu frowned. “Uh, congratulations?”
You tutted. “Kyu, I’m serious about this!”
“I know, I can tell,” he said, chuckling. “Are you going to tell him?”
“I think I have to. I think… I think he feels the same way about me, actually.”
Junkyu rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”
You paused. “Huh?”
“Everyone and their mom knows he’s in love with you, we were just all waiting for you to see it.”
“Huh?!” Junkyu shrugged. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Your brother sighed. “Some things in life, you have to figure out on your own, sis. Like taxes.” You just frowned at him. “Well, how did you figure it out?”
“Now that you say it, I guess I should’ve noticed it earlier. But really what happened is I saw him talking to a girl.”
“Put the man in jail!”
“Shut up. And then we talked for a bit, and he didn’t outright say it, but he heavily implied that he… liked me.”
Junkyu scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”
You ignored your brother. “But I don’t know if I should wait for a bit or go tell him now-”
“Y/N. Please, put that man out of his misery and go tell him now.”
“Don’t you think he’d get upset if I confessed first? You know Jihoon, he gets proud about random things like that.”
“Believe me, he won’t care. He’ll just be happy you like him back after all this time.”
You thought for a second, a small smile blooming on your lips. “Does he really like me that much?”
Junkyu sighed. “He’s been harping on about you since we were fourteen. He probably keeps a diary or a boyblog where he just writes about you. Just go get him, girl.”
Your smile grew wider and your heart started beating faster, excitement growing in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jihoon again. “Okay, I will.” You and your brother stared at each other for a second, eyes wide in anticipation, until something struck you.
“Wait… You don’t mind, do you? Your sister and best friend dating?”
“I l-word both of you, so no, I don’t mind. I trust you both enough to not hurt each other. But I’m still your brother, so if that prick does anything to hurt you, I’ll kick his ass, okay?”
“Kyu, he bench-presses your weight as a joke.”
He squinted his eyes at you. “I’ll metaphorically kick his ass, then.”
“And what if I hurt him?”
Junkyu thought for a second. “I’ll… give you the silent treatment for a few days.”
“How scary,” you laughed.
“Anyways, congratulations in advance and all that, but for my mental health please pretend you’re not a couple in front of me and remember that premarital sex is a sin.”
“Will do! Bye, Kyu!”
--
Right after hanging up with your brother, you texted Jihoon, asking if you could come over. You quickly got ready, doing affirmations in the mirror to calm yourself down, and as soon as your phone pinged with Jihoon’s answer (miss me already?), you were out the door. It was usually a thirteen-minute walk between your and Jihoon’s place, but with the power of love, it only took you eight.
You felt like your body had gone on autopilot - instead of practicing over and over what you would say to him in your head, imagining all the terrible ways it could go or pacing back and forth in front of his apartment building, you just walked, the loud thumping of your heart in your ears drowning everything else out. You’d just get there and get it over with. 
Even when you had to wait for seven seconds (you counted) for Jihoon to open the door after you’d rung the doorbell, you didn’t start panicking. 
“Hey, Y/N, I just ordered some-”
“I love you.”
“Breakfast… You what?”
“I love you, Hoonie,” you beamed. The relief of letting those words free made tears pool in the corner of your eyes.
Jihoon just stared at you, mouth agape and expression like he couldn’t believe what was hearing. Reaching for your hand, he brought you closer to him and shut the door behind you, eyes never once leaving yours. Then, he pulled you into a hug, one so tight you’d be worried about your blood circulation being cut off if it wasn’t Jihoon’s arms you were in. 
“Can you say it again, please?” he asked, nose buried in your hair and voice weak like you’d never heard it before.
You tightened your hold around his waist. “I love you,” you whispered.
“Again?”
“I love you,” you repeated, giggling.
He laughed too, more out of relief than anything. “I love you, too.”
He leaned back and raised his hands to gently cup your face in his palms. The both of you were smiling like idiots from ear to ear, gazing into each other’s eyes. Tears streamed down your cheek and he wiped them away with a thumb before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Took you long enough,” he said, making you laugh again.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Jihoon shook his head. “Don’t be. You have no idea how happy I am right now.”
“I’m happy for you guys and all, but could you like, not do this here?” a voice interrupted you. You looked behind Jihoon’s shoulder to find Hyunsuk, one of his roommates, on the living room sofa, watching Brooklyn 99. You hadn’t even noticed him. In his defense, you were declaring your love for each other right next to him in the entrance hallway. 
“Oh, right, sorry, Suk. Let’s go into my room,” he said, tugging at your hand. 
The both of you burst into giggles as soon as the door shut behind you. Jihoon wasted no time in pulling you into another hug, and it felt like your whole body sighed as you let his warmth engulf you. You cursed yourself for not letting yourself have this earlier. You gently rocked from side to side together, as if slow dancing to a melody only the two of you could hear.
“I guess a little jealousy goes a long way, huh?” Jihoon said after a minute of silence.
“I wasn’t jealous,” you huffed, leaning back so he could see your frown.
“What made you realize your undying love for me, then?”
“I just… I thought we’d be good together. I realized how compatible we are, if you will.”
“Our compatibility? Did you only notice it last night?”
You grinned. “Guess I did,” you answered, just to tease him. Jihoon did not need to know about your love calculator epiphany.
He looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky. You felt shy under his gaze, but you couldn’t get yourself to look away. “So does that mean we’re… boyfriend and girlfriend now?” he asked, making you burst into laughter. “Don’t make fun of me! It’s important to make things clear,” he complained between giggles.
“Yes, let’s be boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Awesome,” he replied, then pursed his lips as if debating to say what he wanted to say next. “So, now that we’re boyfriend and girlfriend…”
“Yes, Hoon?”
“Does that mean I can kiss you?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips that you mirrored.
“Please,” you whispered.
So he did.
When his lips touched yours, it was like a flower that had been waiting for the right moment finally bloomed inside your chest. It felt soft, and comforting, and just right. Like your lips had always meant to meet. 
At least, it started out that way. The fabric of Jihoon’s t-shirt bunched up in your hands while his cupped your face tenderly, your lips moving in a slow cadence against each other’s as if you had all the time in the world - and you did. You were both so filled to the brim with excitement that when you pulled away for a breather, you laughed together, foreheads resting against each other.
But then, you raised your hands and threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging on it gently as you deepened the kiss. You probably hadn’t done it on purpose, simply wanting to feel more of Jihoon out of some basic instinct - but it undid something in him. 
He slid his hands down the sides of your neck and your shoulders until they reached your arms, pulling on them to have your body closer to his. His hands then continued their journey down to your waist, where they sneaked themselves under your t-shirt. They ran up and up until almost your entire back was exposed to the fresh air in his room, the contrast between that and the fire-hot warmth of Jihoon’s hands against your bare skin making you shiver.
He walked you backwards until the back of your legs hit his mattress, unto which he helped you down gently, somehow not breaking the kiss as he did. One of his hands came to brush hair away from your face, while the other remained on your waist, after some time venturing onto your stomach, a sensitive spot for you that made you sigh into his mouth. He took that opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, yet another new sensation that made your head spin.
This was exceeding any expectations you had ever had for a first kiss. In fact, you had always thought first kisses were messy, awkward things, but this was nothing of the sort - your whole body was on edge, responding to every little movement on Jihoon’s part. Your fingers buzzed with a fizzy electricity that put your brain in a daze. You could do this forever, you thought. 
But forever was cut short by the sudden buzz of Jihoon’s phone. Jihoon started, practically leaping off of you and dramatically holding onto his chest when he realized it was just his phone that had interrupted you. The delivery person was calling him to announce their arrival. 
Jihoon pressed a kiss to your forehead, took a few steps, then came back to press another kiss, this time to your lips. Your stomach growled loudly while you waited for him, and you realized you still hadn’t eaten today. Add making out to that, you were ready to devour whatever it was Jihoon had ordered. 
The smell coming from the paper bag Jihoon held as he entered the room again made you close your eyes in bliss and take a deep whiff. “Johnny’s,” you whispered. “You know me so well.”
Johnny’s was your absolute favorite breakfast place in all of town. It had been opened a few years ago by a graduate of your university who had mastered the art of hangover food. From soups, to hash brown patties, to iced coffee, he knew exactly what it was that students needed after a night out. You could tell he had a lot of experience with that himself. He was kind of like a God amongst the student body of your university.
“Of course I do. I know your order from all of your favorite restaurants, and somehow you only realized yesterday that I was pathetically in love with you.”
You smiled sheepishly, taking a bite of your sausage and egg wrap. “How long are you going to hold this over my head?”
Jihoon grinned brightly. “Until I forget about it.”
“So never?”
“Precisely.”
He put on the next episode of your show, and for the next couple hours, the two of you stayed holed up in his room, cuddling once you were done with your food. Even though you had spent endless time watching shows or movies side by side, neither of you had ever dared initiate physical touch, no matter how much you’d wanted to. He’d been scared you’d pull away from him, and you’d been scared it’d be awkward. You hadn’t realized how much you’d longed for his proximity and warmth until you had it.
Save for his laptop screen, it’d been quiet for a while, and you thought you might fall asleep when Jihoon spoke. “I’m so glad I don’t need to pretend anymore,” he said as one episode finished and the next one started.
“Pretend what?”
“That I’m not desperately in love with you and that every single little thing you do doesn’t drive me insane.”
You giggled. “Does it?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a heavy sigh, almost a groan. There was a slight edge to it, a deeper meaning behind that short yes that had your stomach suddenly feeling very tight.
“Oh,” was all you could answer. You suddenly wondered what you might have done without thinking that had had an effect on Jihoon, just as he’d done to you many times before. You also wondered what sort of effect you may have had on him, what sort of thoughts he may have had about you that he had to keep to himself all this time.
Tentatively, you cocked your head up, only to find he was already looking down at you. The glint in his eyes made your body burn. Just as he started to lean in to reunite your lips, your phone buzzed with many texts in a row. Jihoon closed his eyes in frustration and sighed. “I want to throw both of our phones away,” he said, making you laugh.
minjeong hey pooks idk if ur out somewhere or still sleeping but im going to yoshis placeee he needs some stuff there so we’re going together and i’ll prob spend the night over… we’re like inseparable rn or wtv. anyways dont set the place on fire while i’m gone x
you ok thx for letting me know xx im w my boyfriend rn
Minjeong’s response didn’t even take three seconds to come through.
minjeong HUHHHH??? GIRL ???
you hehe
minjeong park jihoon is one lucky man
you how do u know its him?
minjeong literally who else would it be wait does that mean we’ll go on double dates…
you yeah ur right and pls no
minjeong DOUBLE DATES !! girls night tomorrow night i want all the deeeets have fun having the place all to urselves and rmb to use protection xx
you why is that where ur mind goes first ?? down for girls night tho can we watch teen beach movie
minjeong duhhh
“Teen Beach Movie?” Jihoon said, startling you. You hadn’t realized he’d been reading over your shoulders.
“It’s a good movie,” you mumbled, frowning.
“Right.” He said nothing for a few seconds, but he just couldn’t contain himself. The question was burning his tongue. “Aren’t you on the pill?”
Your head snapped towards him at the sudden question. “Uh, yeah, I am. Why?”
His eyes scanned your face as a smirk grew on his lips. “Then we don’t need to use protection, do we?”
You gulped. Your whole face felt hot - after having just shared your first kiss, you hadn’t expected him to mention sex so easily. Not that you weren’t interested in that, far from it, you were just… nervous.
You turned away from him, unable to sustain his gaze any longer. “I guess not,” you murmured. You had started taking the pill at the beginning of university, mainly to regulate your period and lessen your hormonal acne. The contraceptive part was just a bonus, one you had never imagined would come into handy like this. 
Jihoon’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, I need to tell Yoshi about this! He’s gonna freak. I hope he won’t be mad he learned it from Minjeong and not me first.”
“Yoshi?” you asked as you watched him reach for his phone on his nightstand.
“Yeah, we’ve been updating each other on our love lives. He’s really into Minjeong, by the way.”
“That’s… strangely wholesome, actually.” 
While he typed away, you tilted your head and took the time to appreciate your boyfriend’s features. The round eyes, heart-shaped lips, sharp nose and even sharper jawline. He was so pretty, and now, he was all yours.
Without thinking, you traced a finger along his jaw, liking the feel of it against your skin. When his eyes found yours, you dropped your hand and straightened your head, expression like you’d just been caught red-handed.
“Should we go back to your place? We can pick up food on the way.”
You smiled. “We just ate.”
“And I’m hungry again,” he said, mirroring your smile and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Or at least, he had intended it as a chaste kiss, but he found that he couldn’t quite get himself to pull away. “Let’s go,” he said, lips moving against yours as he spoke, but made no move to actually go.
“Let’s go,” you repeated, staying perfectly still. You’re not sure who was the one to cross the millimeters between your lips, but before you knew it, you and Jihoon’s lips were stuck to each other once more. This kiss had none of the gradual intensity of the previous one - right off the bat, the feeling of Jihoon’s lips against yours flooded all of your senses.
Your hands found purchase in his hair while his found their way to your waist once more. With surprising ease, he pulled you to him so that you were straddling his lap. For a second there, you were conscious about how heavy you might be on top of him, but it was all forgotten when he pressed his lips to yours again in a passionate kiss. In this new position, you could press your body close to his, so close you could almost feel his heart beat against yours. He also had easier access to your back than before, and he quickly took advantage of that. 
Just like before, he sneaked his hands underneath your t-shirt, making you arch your back against him. He slid a finger underneath your bra strap and pulled away for a second to ask if this was okay. You looked at him - his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen before and his face had lust written all over it. You were sure you looked similar.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” you whispered before diving back into the kiss. One second apart felt like hours to you.
Your breath got shakier as he unclasped your bra. He didn’t do anything right away, settling on brushing his palm up and down your back while your heart raced with anticipation. You were so on edge that you couldn’t even kiss him anymore - you buried your face in his neck, gripping his hair so tightly you were probably hurting him. You didn’t care if he could feel how desperate you were. Then, finally, painfully slowly, one of his hands made its way to your front, and he gently grabbed your breast underneath your bra that was hanging from your shoulders. That was already a foreign sensation in itself, but when he took your nipple between two fingers and pulled on it ever-so-gently, the pleasure that overtook your body was so intense that it made you let out a loud gasp and you pulled away from Jihoon, startled as if you had been shocked by lightning. 
“Are you okay?” he asked, breathing heavily, a mix of worry and desire in his eyes. 
You nodded, holding onto his shoulders as you tried to make your breathing return to normal. “I’m fine, just… it’s all very new, is all. I’ve never done any of this before.”
Never had a boyfriend, never held hands romantically, never kissed - that was you. Not that you minded, though, since you’d never been interested in anyone and you were happy to do this with Jihoon, whom you trusted more than anyone else.
He smiled softly. “That’s okay. Does it at least feel good?” he asked, low voice making the hairs on your arms stand.
You whined, hiding your face in the dip of his shoulder again. “It does…” you admitted, voice muffled against his skin.
“You know, it’s my first time too,” he said after a while. 
You lifted your head to look at him. “Really?”
“Mh-hm. You’re my first girlfriend.” His eyes were full of affection as he gazed at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You giggled. “What’s funny?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to your jaw.
“We’re each other’s firsts,” you explained. “I think that’s nice.”
Jihoon made his way to your lips, giving them a small peck. “That is nice. And I promise I’ll make you feel so good,” another peck, “you’ll want me to be your last as well.”
You looked at him for a bit, taking in his features that looked even more beautiful to you now that you’d realized your feelings for him, and thought of a life with him. It might have been slightly premature, but you already knew you liked the idea of that.
“Okay,” you said, as if what he had said had been an offer. It made him smile.
“Okay.” He kissed you, softly like you could break underneath his touch. “You’re so cute, you know that?” he asked against your lips, but didn’t leave you time to answer before kissing you again. “Okay, I think we should take a break,” he said after a few minutes. “We can go to your place. And then we’ll have more… privacy.”
You agreed that spending some time not pressed up against Jihoon might help you think straight again. The walk to your apartment was nice and quiet, your interlocked hands swinging back and forth between your two bodies. When you walked past the grocery store, you stopped in your tracks, looking at Jihoon with a smile which he mirrored immediately, even without knowing the reason behind it.
“Should we bake a cake to celebrate our first day together?”
“That’s very cheesy.” His grin widened as he took a step closer to you. “I love it.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and led you into the store.
The rest of that afternoon was spent baking and decorating the cake. It was a simple vanilla batter, but it took way longer than it should have, because Jihoon first insisted on having a flour fight (which took ages to clean), then on having two cakes and having a competition for whose would be prettier (yours, of course), but you loved every last second of it. It was like a scene out of a movie, and you could not have been more content. To really bring home the cheesiness of it all, you even recorded yourselves blowing out the number one candles of your respective cakes.
The evening came around, and, full of cake and Chinese takeout, you were holed up in bed together, watching the first movie that had popped up on your Netflix recommended. It was too easy, falling asleep in his arms. The combination of his comforting scent and the soft back rubs he was giving you lulled you to sleep like nothing else. 
When you woke up next, it was because of a sudden lack of warmth next to you. You lifted your head to find Jihoon opening your bedroom door and heading into the living room. He had just been going to get water, but you didn’t know that.
“Hoon?” you called out, raising yourself to a sitting position on your bed. He immediately turned around, walking back towards you and crouching next to your bed.
“Hm?”
“Aren’t you staying?” you asked, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. He looked at your hand before his gaze slowly made its way back up towards your face, a smirk growing on his pretty lips. 
“Do you want me to?” he asked back, gazing deep into your eyes. His voice had dropped to a low volume that made it hard to breathe. Initially, you’d just wanted him back by your side, but now all sorts of thoughts were running through your mind.
“Of course. I mean, we’re dating, right?” 
In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, you tried to chuckle, but all laughter died in your throat when your eyes locked with Jihoon’s. You weren’t scared of his intensity - you were scared of the pace at which your desire for him was growing. One inch closer, and you knew you’d be wrapped around his finger.
He leaned closer.
“What are you trying to say?” he asked, tilting his head innocently to the side. Mindlessly, you rubbed your thighs together, searching for some relief for your core that had started to throb of its own accord, but Jihoon was following your every movement and had noticed it. “Are you saying you want to consummate our relationship?” he asked again, a hint of amusement in his voice as he placed his hands on your knee that wasn’t covered by the blanket.
You scoffed and looked away, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. “Not if you say it like that,” you mumbled.
Jihoon’s eyebrows perked up. “How should I say it, then?” he whispered. His hand slowly brushed along your sides until it reached your waist. Even over your layer of clothing, his touch burned. “You want me to make love to you?”
You kept your gaze fixed on something behind his shoulder, focusing on your breathing that was getting shakier and shakier. He drew the blanket away, leaving your thighs exposed to the chilly air for a second before he splayed his large palms on them, bringing you some warmth but intensifying the throbbing in your core. His hands inched closer and closer to where you most needed them, rubbing over your inner thighs but swerving right before he actually reached your core, setting them on your hip bones instead.
“Or do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”
He took your chin between two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your eyes locked for a second before they dropped to his lips, watching the smirk that grew on them. “Guess it’s the latter.” 
As soon as your lips touched, you were overwhelmed by the immensity of your desire for him. Your whole body burned in want, in need. You had no idea what to do except hold on tightly to him and hope for the best, hope that he’d know how to guide you through this even if it was new for him as well. 
If you thought the kisses you’d shared earlier in the day had been intense, this one was on a whole other level. Your hands grabbed everywhere they could find and his gripped your waist firmly as your tongues danced with each other, resulting in a messy kiss that had your head spinning from lack of air in seconds. And yet, you couldn’t get enough. You kept pulling Jihoon impossibly closer by the hem of his t-shirt until he got frustrated from the layer of clothing between you two and simply took it off, discarding somewhere in your room. He gave you no time to admire his defined chest or abs, because he trapped your lips right away. 
He pushed you slowly onto the bed until he was hovering over you, alternating between kissing your lips and your neck, that you were sure would have a couple of purple marks for you to find the next day. Your skin burned wherever he touched it, and it was like a trail of fire had appeared as his hand made its way to your breasts once more, grabbing harshly at the soft flesh there. 
The whole time, he had been in some sort of a trance, drunk on your body, on your scent, on the way you were touching him - on the feeling that you finally wanted him as much as he’d wanted you all this time. But when he helped you out of the articles of clothing covering your upper body, and he had you half-naked underneath him, he had to take a double take and remember to take his time instead of just devouring you whole. For both his sake and yours.  
So he stopped for a bit, letting himself admire you. He noticed you shifting uncomfortably, so he leaned down again, pressing soft kisses along your cheeks and your jaw. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he whispered before kissing you. He then continued his journey down your neck and collarbones until he reached your breast. “Really so beautiful.”
When he took one of your nipples in his mouth, your back arched against him and you let out a loud moan. He couldn’t keep himself from chuckling slightly - he found it adorable how sensitive you were everywhere he touched you. Your moans were like music to his ears.
Nothing had ever felt like this before. As he circled his tongue around your nipple - God knows where he had learned how to do this - it took everything you had to not just scream in pleasure. Even if Minjeong was out, you still had neighbors. Now that you couldn’t grab his t-shirt, you’d switched to his hair, and you were tugging at it so hard you wouldn’t have been surprised if you ripped a clump of it from his head.
Your panties were sticking to your core, all slick with your arousal, and you didn’t know how long you could go on anymore without attention down there.
As if he’d heard your thoughts, Jihoon started making his way down your body once more, trailing kisses all across your ribcage and stomach.
“I’m torn between taking this real slow and making it last as long as possible.” His lips found a sensitive spot on your lower stomach, right next to your hip bone, and he gently bit the skin there, licking it afterwards to offer you some relief. “Or just devouring you now that I finally have you.”
“Jihoon,” you sighed, desperation evident in your voice. “Please, just do something.”
“Like what?” he asked, clearly enjoying your lust-filled state of mind.
“Anything.”
He chuckled, and by the sound of it, you knew he didn’t have anything good in mind. He lowered himself some more until his mouth was positioned right in front of your pussy, and, with no warning, licked a long strip from your hole to your clit over your panties, humming at the taste of your arousal.
“Something like this?” he asked afterwards, but was only met with a whine. He kissed the soft flesh of your inner thighs while you squirmed in his hold.
“Don’t tease me, please…” you begged, and your voice was so weak and genuine that he could only give in. 
“Whatever you want, baby,” he obliged, the nickname rolling off of his tongue casually. He had no idea what it did to you. 
He helped you out of your underwear, finally getting you fully naked just for him. Jihoon was a man of his words, so not a second was lost before he dived right back into you, licking up the arousal spilling out of you before flicking his tongue at your clit. He held your hips tightly in both of his hands so you couldn’t squirm away from him and ate you out like a man starved. You were so sweet and warm against his tongue, and your taste was worlds more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d ever had. He’d do this forever if you let him.
He noticed quickly that attention to your clit was what got you moaning the loudest, so he alternated between circling his tongue around it and gently sucking at it, sometimes releasing it with a pop just for the hell of it. He slipped a finger easily inside of you, your wetness accommodating him immediately. He couldn’t wait to be inside you - his hard cock was throbbing in the confines of his underwear, but his only concern right now was to make you come undone for him. 
When he found that deep spot inside of you, the one that had you gasping in pleasure and moaning his name, he slid a second finger in, and just like that, you were done for. You came apart on his fingers and tongue, a complete moaning mess underneath him, and he lapped up the arousal leaking out of you like it was water. 
You’d already thought you were at the peak of pleasure when your orgasm came ripping through you like an avalanche, blindsiding you and making you see bright white stars behind your tightly closed eyelids. Your throat felt dry from all the moaning and heaving you’d been doing. You had to take Jihoon’s face between your hands and gently pull him up yourself, otherwise it seemed like he was happy to keep going, but it was starting to overwhelm you.
Jihoon held you in his arms as you came down from your high. You let out the laughter bubbling in your throat as your breathing returned to normal - not because something was funny, but because you had just felt so ridiculously amazing that you couldn’t help but laugh. 
“How was it?” Jihoon asked, a lot shyer than you’d expected.
You lifted your head to look at him, a bright smile on your face even though you felt close to exhausted. “I have a hard time believing that was your first time giving head, Hoon.”
He chuckled. “Very first time, I promise you. I must just have some God-given skills.”
“I’m not even gonna fight you on that, because that was amazing,” you conceded, nuzzling yourself closer to him.
“I’m glad I could do that for you,” he said softly, burying his nose at the top of your head and inhaling there. The scent of your hair was oddly comforting for him.
Before you let yourself drift off to sleep, you started raking your fingernails across his chest and abs, smiling proudly to yourself when you heard him breathe shakily or felt his muscles clench under your touch. He wasn’t saying anything, but you could tell he was holding himself back. “I think,” you started, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw, “That you deserve something in return.”
“You don’t-”
You knew Jihoon. He didn’t like it when you insisted on paying for coffee because he’d done it the last time, or when you baked him something because he’d stayed up all night with you studying for a test. He liked taking care of you, but you always had to almost force him to let you take care of him. You wanted your relationship to be fifty-fifty - you wanted to give him as much as he gave you. Even if he would let you, it wasn’t fair to just take and take.
So you insisted. Whatever he was about to say, it died on his tongue as soon as you placed your palm on his erection. It felt hot and hard under your hand, and saying you weren’t slightly intimidated would be a lie, but you wanted to do this. If you were able to give Jihoon half the pleasure he’d given you moments prior, you’d be satisfied. 
You rubbed your hand slowly up and down over his clothes. “Really, baby,” he managed to say between shaky breaths, “I didn’t do that to get something in return- Fuck,” he whispered as you hooked your fingers underneath the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling it down his legs so he was only left in his underwear. Under the black fabric, his bulge looked huge, and you gulped at the idea of having it inside you.
“This feels good, right, Hoon?” you asked, steadily getting bolder and pressing slightly harder against his bulge as you continued rubbing it.
“It- it does, but-”
You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. He reciprocated it immediately, almost unconsciously, before moaning into the kiss. “So let me do this for you,” you whispered before ridding him of his underwear.
“Okay,” he said, sighing as you rubbed your hands from his knees along his thighs.
The groan he let out as you took him in your hand sent shivers straight down your spine. You could finally put to use all the knowledge Minjeong had passed on to you over the past few months. You let go of Jihoon’s cock to spit in your hand, the moisture helping you glide your loosely closed fist along his shaft with more ease. Your movements themselves were probably very clumsy, but Jihoon didn’t seem to mind - he moaned shamelessly, head fallen back against the pillows and exposed Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
Seeing him like this and knowing it was all because of you drove you crazy, and soon, you became greedy for any sign of pleasure from him. You wanted to hear all of his moans, sighs, groans, watch his abs clench tightly and feel him grab your hair, which he did as soon as you flicked your tongue across his tip, already leaking with pre-cum. The endless string of curses and moans that flew from his mouth as you circled your tongue and shallowly bobbed your mouth around him filled you with satisfaction.
“Fuck, just like that, Y/N. You’re doing so fucking well, baby. Making me feel so good.” Those words had been the cherry on top.
Jihoon was of a more-than-decent size, and fitting all of him inside of your mouth was probably a task that would take a few tries to achieve - you still did your best to take as much of him as you could. You massaged his balls with one of your hands, using the other to hold the base of his shaft while you bobbed your head up and down. You did this with increasing speed then let him take control over your pace as his fingers threaded themselves in your hair, guiding your head around him. You didn’t even know if he was doing it on purpose or out of reflex, but you definitely did not mind handing him the reins.
“You’re gonna make me- Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum, sweetheart.” You hummed around his shaft, and that seemed to do him in - with a loud groan, he released his load, hot and sticky inside your mouth. Taken aback by the bitter taste, you lifted your head and only swallowed what you had caught. You took him in your hand again, jerking him off to help him ride out the rest of his high.
You watched him, transfixed by his heaving chest, eyes screwed shut, the beads of sweat pearling across his torso, and the red blush that had spread from his face down to his neck. You’d done this. You’d gotten Jihoon in such a state. You let him rest for a bit as you wiped your hands and his body with a tissue and had a sip of water.
You then pressed a kiss to his cheek, taking the time to admire his smiling face. When he opened his eyes and found yours, you suddenly felt so shy that you returned to your usual cuddling position, head resting against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him. You were both smelly and sticky, but you couldn’t care less.
“You did so good, baby. You did such a good job,” he whispered, the praise going right to your heart.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. That was amazing.” He sighed contentedly, then lowered his head to look at you. “You feeling sleepy?”
You shook your head no, a shy smile on your lips.
Jihoon smirked slightly. “You wanna keep going?”
You nodded.
He shifted himself so that his back rested against the headboard. “Come here,” he whispers, pulling you to his lap. You both winced in sensitivity at the feeling of your core right against his softening dick, but you didn’t want to pull apart either. If anything, the small stimulation created a pit in your lower stomach for the second time of the night.
You wrapped your arms lazily around his neck while he rested one of his hands on your hips and used the other one to rub your back. “How are you feeling?” he asked, eyes soft and full of affection.
You pressed a long, gentle kiss to his lips. “Good. Really good,” you said, making him chuckle.
“Good. Me too.”
You made out lazily, lips moving languidly against each other, neither of you in a rush to get anywhere. But after some time, you started to feel Jihoon hardening under you, and when you rocked your hips against him, coating his growing erection with arousal, he groaned. His hands traveled down to your ass, grabbing hard at the skin there as he helped you rock back and forth against him. You started out slowly at first, moaning every time your clit brushed against his tip, but it wasn’t long before you sped things up and lost yourself in pleasure once again. Your arms tightened their hold around his neck and, burying your face in his neck, you pressed your chest flush to his and muffled your moans against his skin, in both pleasure and frustration at having him right against you but not inside.
You suddenly lifted your head, and the look on your face made Jihoon instantly stop. “Is everything okay, baby?”
You nodded, but your worry was still evident in the crease of your brows. “Yeah, I just…” You pouted. “I’m scared it’ll hurt, Hoon.”
Jihoon caressed the side of your cheek with his palm, brushing some hair away from your face. “We don’t have to do this today-”
“No!” you exclaimed, taking the both of you aback. “I want to.”
“Okay.”
“I’m just a little bit nervous.”
“Okay. That’s okay, baby.” One of his hands rubbed reassuring circles into your lower back. “We can go as slow as you want, okay? And we can stop whenever you want. Just let me know. Does that sound good?”
You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, it does.”
Jihoon smiled and pressed his lips to yours. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” you whispered.
He helped you lay on your back against the mattress and hovered over you, propping himself up on one forearm. As he kissed you, he caressed one of your thighs, hand inching closer and closer to your core and making your blood rush with anticipation. Then he finally pressed two fingers to your folds, gathering up some of your arousal 
before sliding his digits inside of you. As you gasped out in pleasure, his lips trailed away from your lips and found a new home in your neck.
He scissored his fingers inside of you, stretching you out and getting you ready for him as he murmured words of “you’re doing so well” and “I’ll make you feel good,” as if he wasn’t already. When you seemed relaxed enough, he slid his fingers out of you, smiling at you mischievously while he sucked your arousal off of them. Then, taking his dick by the base, he rubbed his tip along your folds, making your body twitch and loud moans escape your mouth. He pressed a final kiss to your cheek and buried his face in your neck, trying to ground himself too as he slowly started pushing himself inside of you.
His dick was so much bigger than his fingers, and you gripped his hair tightly as you got used to the new sensation. Tears prickled in your eyes, the unexpected stretch making you frown in discomfort. It was a completely different pain to what you were used to, but the overwhelming pleasure mixed with it made it almost welcome. 
Jihoon was using all of his self-control to not pound you into tomorrow - your tight pussy was sucking him right in, and it was like his whole body sighed of relief when he bottomed out. He couldn’t believe he was inside you, feeling your walls clench around him and hearing your soft grunts as you got used to him. It was a scene right out of his wet dreams. 
“You okay?” he asked, voice muffled against your skin. His voice sounded strained and heavy. 
“I’m okay, Hoonie. I just need a minute.”
For that minute, as you breathed shallowly and relaxed around him, Jihoon pressed wet kisses wherever his lips could reach and twirled one of your nipples between two fingers to take your mind off of your pain. 
“Take your time. I know I’m big, baby,” he said. You could hear the smirk in his voice.
“No, you’re just right, Hoon. It feels nice now.” 
Objectively, Jihoon knew that this was a good thing, and that you had meant in a good way - better for him to fit right inside rather than cause you pain, but a part of his ego had still been hurt by your refutal of his claim. But then you told him he could move, and he forgot all about it.
It took him another superhuman kind of effort to go slow, slowly rolling his hips against yours with a self-control he didn’t know he had. He scanned your face for any signs of discomfort, kissing your small frown in the hope it might go away. He watched as your jaw relaxed and the soft hums escaping your throat turned into moans, as the crease in your eyebrows softened and turned into one of pleasure rather than pain. He allowed his movements to speed up, noting with satisfaction the increasing volume of the noises you were making and the way your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders.
He lifted himself on his palms and hooked one of your legs around his hips, the new, deeper angle having you seeing stars. He asked if you were okay again, and when you not only nodded yes, but asked him to go faster, Jihoon had to admit he got a little bit carried away, both in his actions and his words. 
Jihoon had a big mouth - you knew it, everyone knew it. What you didn’t know was that he would keep that big mouth even balls-deep inside you.
Maintaining a fast pace, he lowered himself so that his lips tickled your ear as he spoke. “You’re doing so well, baby. Taking my cock like the good girl you are. Isn’t that right? You’re my good girl,” he grunted, punctuating his words with harsh rolls of his hips into yours. You couldn’t even get yourself to answer, that’s how far gone you were, his words going into your one ear and coming out the other. All you could think about was how good it all felt, from his tip repeatedly hitting that delicious spot inside of you to the feeling of his warm, sticky skin against yours. The room smelled of sweat and arousal and was filled with all sorts of noises - your heavy breathing, your moans, your grunts, the wet sound of Jihoon’s dick inside of you.
“Can’t even say anything, can you? Am I making you feel that good, baby?”
You moaned, thinking that should be enough of a yes for him, but you should’ve known better. 
“I think you should answer me when I ask you a question, Y/N,” he commanded, slowing his pace down to get you to listen to him.
“Y-yes, it feels so good, Hoon,” you replied, out-of-breath.
“Attagirl,” he whispered, smiling as he bit the lobe of your ear. 
You hadn’t even realized you were crying until Jihoon halted in his motions, feeling one of your hot, wet tears on his palm. He was quick to wipe it away, searching for any pain in your features, but you only whined, asking him why he’d stopped. 
“Why are you crying, baby? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” he asked frantically. The worry in his voice only amplified your already overflowing love for him.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just… God, this is so embarrassing,” you all but sobbed against his skin, realizing that the pleasure had been so overwhelming, tears had started flowing from your eyes. 
“No, it’s not.”
You screwed your eyes shut for a second before meeting his gaze again. “I just- it feels so good, Hoon.”
A pause passed as he took a deep breath. “Is that it?”
“It is, I promise. Please, just… let’s keep going, Hoonie. I was so close,” you whined, and Jihoon couldn’t help but chuckle at your desperation. How was it that he still found you so adorable even in such a situation?
“Okay, baby. I’m relieved.” He wiped more of your tears that had fallen, but as soon as he moved inside of you again, taking a minute to return to his previous harsh pace, your tears resumed streaking down your cheeks. Jihoon kissed them, savoring their salty taste on his tongue.
It didn’t take long for the knot in your stomach to become tight again, and with every deep thrust, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. 
“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart. All fucked out for me.”
“Mm. I’m so close, Hoon, gonna- fuck, gonna-”
“You’re gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum and make a mess all over my cock?”
“Yes, Hoon, fuck-”
You gasped out loud as his hand found your clit again, using his thumb to rub quick circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Cum for me, sweetheart, show me how good it feels.”
That did it for you. Your second orgasm of the night washed over you, making you release your loudest moan yet. You held on to Jihoon like you might fall apart if you didn’t. 
The quick clenching and unclenching of your walls around Jihoon’s dick as he fucked you throughout your high drove him crazy and, soon enough, he came undone himself, hot, white ropes of his cum filling you up. The squelch as he fucked his cum into you, the both of you moaning in overstimulation, was nothing short of pornographic. 
Jihoon all but collapsed on top of you, humming as you traced your fingernails up and down his back. You took a few minutes to collect yourselves, and you thought he might have fallen asleep, soft dick still inside you, when he lifted himself up with a sigh and slid out of you. You winced at the loss of his warmth. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and said he’d be back in a sec. 
When he entered your room again, he was carrying a towel, a tall glass of water, and leftovers from your takeout earlier. He cleaned you off and asked you how you felt, then you chatted as you ate your food. You could pass out at any moment, but it was nice, talking a little bit after the moment you shared instead of falling asleep straight away. 
He almost choked on his water when you asked him where he’d learned to talk so dirty - now that he was out of the moment, his cheeks reddened at the thought of everything he’d told you. “It just comes naturally,” he’d said shyly.
“Do you want anything?” he asked when you were done eating. 
You kissed him, smiling against his lips. “I’m all good, Hoon. You?”
He mirrored your smile. “All good, too.”
“I just wanna cuddle and sleep now. I’m spent.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” he whispered. He laid down on his back and you followed, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulder while you rested your head on his chest. He drew you close to him and pulled the blankets over your intertwined bodies. “Is it creepy if I just stare at you for a little bit?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
“But you’re so pretty,” Jihoon pouted.
“I’ll just sleep and pretend I don’t know anything about it.”
“Okay, just don’t panic if you feel a strange but very attractive presence looming over you.”
You snorted. “Noted. Night, Hoon.” You pressed a kiss to his neck and he hummed.
“Night, pretty. Sleep tight.”
--
When you woke up a few hours later, your room was bathing in the bright yellow glow of the early morning. You and Jihoon had shifted positions in the night and you’d ended up curled up on your side, back to him while he slept on his back, arms sprayed out next to him. It was the feeling of him shifting closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist that had awoken you, a sudden warmth engulfing your body that made you feel like you might still be dreaming.
But no, it was all very real. From the man behind you, to the events of the previous night, to the dull but not unpleasant ache you felt between your legs. You sighed contentedly, taking his hand in yours and wrapping it tighter around yourself. 
Curious to see if he was awake, you turned around after a few minutes and faced him. He seemed pretty passed out until you pressed a soft kiss to his nose, then another to his cheek. His eyebrows creased for a second and his foot moved against yours. He didn’t open his eyes, but he pursed his lips for a kiss. He wasn’t content with just a peck, however, and you found yourself making out with him first thing in the morning, lips full of sleep and cotton-soft like your pillows. 
“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this,” he says after a while, keeping his eyes closed, morning voice sending chills down your spine. “Waking up next to you.”
“You have?”
“I have. I don’t know if I should freak out over this and have a party or just be chill about it,” he said, smiling.
“We can have a party.”
“Really?” Jihoon asked, opening his eyes wide, excited like a kid who was just told they were going to Disneyland.
“Sure,” you giggled. “We can invite all of our friends and celebrate our one-week anniversary or something. Minjeong will probably want to plan it.”
He sighed happily. “I’m holding you to that. We’re celebrating.”
After lazing around in bed for a couple hours, going back and forth between chatting while cuddling and making out, your growling stomachs forced you out of your room and into the kitchen.
You and Jihoon noticed it at the same time. It was hard to miss, after all - a bright pink sheet of A4 paper with hearts and little Cupids everywhere right in the middle of the surface of your fridge, but more importantly, your name and Jihoon’s in big bubble letters with 99% in the middle. You wanted to rip it from the surface of your fridge, but the damage had been done - index pointed at the paper, Jihoon turned to you with an incredulous look on his face. You scratched the back of your neck and looked around the kitchen for a way to escape.
“Y/N, what’s this?” Jihoon asked, amusement laced in his voice.
You tried to find some sort of excuse, but to no avail. “This is just, um- you know, just a, uh, just-” The sound of Jihoon’s cackles interrupted you. You looked at him, unimpressed. “Don’t laugh at me. I was stressing out, okay? I needed something to reassure me.”
Jihoon was grinning wide as he pulled you into a hug, one arm around your waist and one hand on the back of your head. “You’re so adorable,” he mused, pressing a kiss to your hair. You wrapped your arms around his middle and nuzzled your nose against his neck, the comforting scent of his skin making you forget about your embarrassment. 
He leaned away slightly and took the paper off of the fridge, smiling down at it. “As cute as this is, you don’t need it. I’ll show you everyday that I’m the perfect man for you, okay?”
You mirrored his smile. “Okay.” Even when your lips found each other, you couldn’t stop smiling, giggles escaping from your lips into his. You only laughed harder when he started pressing small kisses all over your face, making sure to not miss a single spot. He pressed a final one to your forehead before resting his against it, both of you closing your eyes and relishing in each other’s presence. 
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
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tarjapearce · 6 months
Note
Omg, your asks are back open, I just want you to know that I can’t stop thinking about your punk miguel post god damn. If you could write some more of that that would be very cool 🥺👉👈 Only if you want to though!!! I love you
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art by @bumbleboots_art on Ig
Warnings: Angst, mild physical assault, fluff, suggestive towards the end.
Miguel
Punk Miggy
Pt. 1
Ever since Miggy appeared through a portal into your lives, things had been chaotic.
You needed to believe things were chaotic good, but with two Miguels you truly didn't know what to expect. Your grumpy faced Miguel often barked orders with a strategy in mind, while Miggy just gave in the heat of the battle and things somehow ended up working.
But at the end of the day everything resumed into a bunch of
"Te dije que hicieras caso!" (Told you to obey)
"I obey orders from none. You specially"
God, as handsome as they were, they were annoying. The constant clashing had also played a huge part in your almost-lover/boss situationship with you. Everytime they bickered like loud vexing parrots, you left them be.
At the begining it was fun to watch them rant and banter, but as things evolved into something more tense and borderline dangerous, your own share of mental force was drained.
You barely hung out with them anymore, adding to the already snapping short temper of your Miguel.
Miggy looked suspicious, and truly wondered if things had been too much for you to not be around.
His eyes however widened in knowing pain as a flurry of memories paraded on his mental runway. He watched Miguel, or at least another variant of him, having and enjoying a little girl he knew so well. Little Gabriella.
"Stay away" He growled, but how could he?
How he could do such thing when another variant of his little girl was there, happy on his shoulders, freshly out of a soccer game.
His own Gabriella loved hearing him play the guitar, just as much as he loved serenading her. His Gabriella loved to make patches for him to add at his jacket. The two had matching patched up vests. In every universe his little girl was beautiful and loved. Like it should be.
"I fucking told you to stay away!" Miguel growled as his punk counterpart held his hands in defense while dodging a hurling chair thrown his way
"I lost her too, Y'know?" Miggy laid on his chair as Miguel grabbed him by the collar of his vest. Fangs bared, tight grip and nose flaring.
"I miss her too."
With a grunt, Miguel let him go.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"C'mon, jefazo. You might fool everyone under your command. Even our princesita. But you don't fool me. I am you, remember? Estás bien pendejo si crees que puedes engañarme." (You're stupid if you think you can fool me.)
"She's a constant reminder of what I do." Miguel pointed at the screens, "And why people should fucking follow orders."
Miggy rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Could you shop talking about work second for a moment? Let's focus on-"
"She's gone. Nothing to focus on, besides the multiverse."
"I know what it feels like. To suddenly lose-"
"Tu?! Tu no tienes ni una puta idea de lo que se siente!" (You had no fucking idea to what it feels like!)
Miguel roared, as Miggy frowned with a scowl only to his chest to bump against his, retaliating.
"¿Crees que no, cabrón? I lost her due an asshole policeman doing a misdirected gunshot just cause he mistook me for a criminal. He shot in the air, and it got her. It was aimed at me!" (You think I don't, dipshit?)
He palmed his chest before ripping the velcro patch Gabriella had made for him and tossed it on his hands.
My favorite Rockstar
"You fucking think I don't know how powerless you'd feel while watching your little girl dying right before your very eyes?! "
"Al menos tuviste algo que sepultar." (At least you had something to burry)
Miguel mumbled and his punk counterpart stilled.
"She vanished in my hands." Red and blue clad shoulders slumped heavily. A burden he still carried to this day.
Silence stretched for a bit too long, before Miguel sighed and turned his back on him.
"You stepped in when none wanted to."
Miggy rubbed his neck as he offered his best comfort words.
"That's what a real father does."
Miguel cleared his throat and turned to face him "We wished we could save everyone."
"But we can't." added Miggy with a solemn face.
"Now you understand why I do what I do?"
"I've always understood that, though guy. Still, is fun to give you shit for it"
Miguel dismissed him with a roll of his eyes, but a newfound level of mutual respect settled between the both.
"Specially when our princesita was caught in the middle of our antics."
"Again, there is no ours in here. Give her space."
"I think we've given her enough of it."
"No."
"Yes"
Miguel grunted, annoyed as he followed him.
-----
"No, no, that's not how you do it."
"It's my turn, I kiss her however the fuck I want to."
Bossman Miguel spoke as he cupped your reddening cheeks, making your flushed lips, that glistened over a new make out session invited him to deliver another desperate and breathless kiss.
Meaty lips guided yours in a pace you've grown to know well, just as Miggy nuzzled your neck playfully. The tip of his nose roaming up and down, for him to give a gentle nip at your earlobe.
You groaned into Miguel's mouth, and whimpered as you begged for air.
How had you ended up in this predicament after such a parkour of emotions displayed between them? Lyla had shown you their conversation, glad at least they learned how to share something that found them a common ground.
And then Miggy had waltzed in your work bay, smothering your lips with a breathtaking kiss as an apology for the troubles caused and it only triggered Miguel, that showed him what a real kiss was.
And now it all resumed into this moment. The three sitting on your couch, that sometimes acted as your bed, taking turns to make out with you.
Miggy's turn arrived as he turned your face, placed a gentle hand on your cheek and kissed you. It was soft and chaste at first, but then his tongue pried your mouth open. Soft and moist muscles fighting for a chance to top you, and he did.
Earning a lovely and delicious mewl from you. Rough and calloused hands roamed up your sides and waist
"Let her go, that's enough"
Miguel grumbled as he had to pry away your needy lips from his counterpart.
"Who did it best, cariño?"
Your head felt like it had detached from your body and floated like a balloon as your Miguel nipped at your neck softly and Miggy mumbled the sweetest things to your ear. You certainly couldn't decide, even if your life depended on it.
"A tie."
Both scowled.
"Guess we'll have to find out differently, then."
Miguel's steely stare fixed on you with a suspicious glint in his eyes, as Miggy licked your earlobe.
Where were the anomalies when you needed them the most?
You gulped at your ongoing demise.
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ddejavvu · 1 year
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Thick Thighs Save Lives - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin
Summary: Being the only aviator with meat on your bones is tough. It's even more tough when you're stuck showering with two of your teammates.
Contents/Warnings: smut (minors dni), double penetration, fingering (vaginal and anal, f receiving), oral (m receiving), dirty talk, shower sex, protected sex, spit kink, body insecurities, mid/plus!sized reader, self-deprecation, arguing, angst with a fluffy/smutty ending
WC: 5.5K / navi
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
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If there’s anything you don’t want to hear during a not-so-friendly game of beach football, it’s ‘shit!’. The exclamation comes from Coyote who’s branched off to your towels on the sand, fingers curled around his watch, “We’re late.”
“How late?” Phoenix is already adjusting her ponytail, as it’s frazzled from the action. She’s squinting in the sun and remedies it by knocking her sunglasses down off of her head and onto her nose. It’s smooth, and she knows it by the soft smirk that curls at her lips.
“We have twenty minutes to get on the road.” 
“Shit,” Rooster parrots, dropping the ball where he stands, which is how you know he’s panicked too, “We all need showers. Penny’s gonna kill us if we stink up the restaurant.”
“We can go in teams,” Fanboy decides, already sprinting over to his towel, “We don’t have time for individual ones.”
Before you can get a word in edgewise Coyote and Phoenix are rushing to join him, Bob hot on their trail. The showers are spacious, sure, but you wouldn’t exactly volunteer to share them with anyone. 
With a terrible sinking feeling in your stomach you realize that the only three left are you, Rooster, and Hangman. That means the only way you’ll get to Penny and Maverick’s engagement party is if you shower together.
They’re already at their towels, scrubbing sand out of their hair and strapping their watches back on. Hangman’s is a thick, black leather band, and you can see flecks of sand marring the sleek strap from where it laid on the towel. Rooster’s is thinner, brown in color and gold around the rim. His is clean, but he puts it on his sweaty, sandy wrist. It won’t be for long.
Both men are shirtless, too-tight jean shorts squeezing their waists. You make a point not to stare as you trek back to your towel, already picking up on their competitive banter before you’ve even stood beside them.
“-probably use all my shampoo,” Hangman scoffs, clenching his towel tight in his fist, “You always steal my shit, Bradshaw.”
“I think it’s only fair seeing as you steal my gel!” Rooster quips back, gesturing to Hangman’s stiff, shiny hair, untouched even after your game, “Isn’t it fucking weird, Y/L/N? How much he uses?”
Rooster looks back at you for confirmation, someone on his side. But you’re too disheartened to respond, dreading your impending doom. All you offer is a meager, “Yeah.”, that curls a frown under Rooster’s mustache.
“You hurt yourself or something?” Hangman raises an eyebrow, stunned by your lack of teasing, “I think we need to call the doctor, you didn’t just insult me.”
“I’m fine.” You grumble, towel held around your waist despite the presence of your rash guard, “Just tired from football.”
“Well get ready,” Rooster warns you, “Mav’s gonna have to tell us all about how he and Penny met, and I’m really hoping he withholds the details on the little rendezvous that got him in trouble with her dad, but I know he won’t.”
You shudder for a moment, if only to please him, to throw him off your scent. You’re tired, there’s not any other reason you’re in a funk. You’re tired.
You are tired. You’re tired of caring, of constantly thinking about it. You’re tired of wearing a rash guard to the beach instead of a swimsuit, because everyone else is smaller than you. You’re tired of watching people’s eyes, tracking them to make sure that if they ever dip below your chest there’s something in front of your stomach to block it from their view. You’re tired of adjusting your uniform to make it looser, you’re tired of leaning against the bar instead of sitting at it, you’re just tired.
You are tired. You’re tired of caring, of constantly thinking about it. You’re tired of wearing a rash guard to the beach instead of a swimsuit, because everyone else is smaller than you. You’re tired of watching people’s eyes, tracking them to make sure that if they ever dip below your chest there’s something in front of your stomach to block it from their view. You’re tired of adjusting your uniform to make it looser, you’re tired of leaning against the bar instead of sitting at it, you’re just tired.
“Hey,” Hangman’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, admittedly less grating and irritating than it normally is “You sure you’re okay?”
You blink and they’re staring at you, brows furrowed and limbs frozen in place. You wish that the waves lapping gently at the sand would crash onto shore and swallow you whole, sweep you up in a tidal wave of salt water and seaweed so that you wouldn’t have to answer.
“I’m fine,” You grit, slipping your feet into your shoes and rushing to stand outside the showers, “C’mon, we’ll be late.”
--
You had hoped that they’d get too busy bickering with each other to ever find you. But here they come, not five minutes later, just as Phoenix steps out of the steamy bathroom. A towel is wrapped around her torso and Hangman exaggerates his ogling of her, only turning your stomach further.
“Perfect timing,” He drawls, and she rolls her eyes. 
Bob steps out next, taking one look at her face and stepping in front of her, “Your turn, Bagman. Try not to use all the gel.”
“See?” Rooster nudges you, his elbow against your arm as Bob and Phoenix walk away, “I told you! It’s absurd, he slathers it on like cement.”
“He’s gotta,” Coyote drawls, reaching over to knock on Jake’s head, “Otherwise his head’d sound as empty as it is.”
The two engage in a good-natured shoving match, but it’s one that nearly sends Coyote’s towel cascading to the ground, and you keep your eyes firmly on the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner that you’d brought. You read over the ingredients, as if sodium laureth sulfate and glycol distearate will keep your mind off of your humiliation.
“You said you’re fine,” Bradley murmurs from beside you, “But if it’s something you just don’t wanna say around Hangman, he’s not listening.”
Part of you is less embarrassed to be honest and exposed to Rooster than Hangman. But he’s still a man, an incredibly fit one at that, and you’re not sure you’d ever want to reveal it to either of them.
“I’m just nervous,” You tell him the only part of the truth you’re willing to admit. I’ve never... showered with a- a boy before. A man.”
You cringe at your misstep, but if Bradley’s amused by it, he doesn’t show it. Instead he hums, sympathetically so, “We’ll turn around, honey. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“You’ll turn around,” You mutter, “I think it’ll just egg Jake on further.”
“What’s this I hear about eggin’ me on?” A familiar southern twang makes you tense as the man it’s coming from appears by your side, bumping his hip into yours, “You ready for our steam session, sweets?”
“Leave her alone, Hangman,” Rooster groans, feet slapping against the tiles as he goes to adjust the water. He shoves at Hangman’s back as he passes, and you stifle a giggle as the man nearly falls over.
“Hey, she’s the one that chose to shower with us,” Jake insists, and Bradley’s scoff is enough for you not to fight back, “And I would, too, if I were you, darlin’. Do you know how many ladies are lined up to see how hung Hangman is?”
You force a gag, “The only lady I see here is myself, and I’d rather smear wet sand in my eyes.”
“That’s what I’m gonna do to you if you don’t turn around and shut up,” Bradley speaks through the roar of the shower water, steam already rising from its fall, “Just drop your pants and wash your ass, so Y/L/N can shower to herself.”
“Well, well, well,” Jake smirks, towel cinched around his waist in only one hand as he stalks for the showers, “Looks like one of the ladies lined up is Bradshaw himself. Wanna see it, Rooster? Here it is.”
Jake drops his towel ceremoniously, and Bradley’s face morphs into a grimace as he turns away hastily.
“My fucking eyes,” He laments, and you pause in gathering your toilettries to laugh, while also trying very hard not to stare at Jake, “Oh my god, Y/N, you won’t have to worry about me seeing you. I’m going to pour shampoo into my eyes until I go blind.”
Jake realizes you’re taking a little too long getting ready, cocking a hip as he leans his head back to stare down his nose at you, “So what, you gonna ditch dinner, Y/L/N? Whatcha waitin’ for?”
“She’s waiting for you to stop being a perv and turn around,” Bradley comes to your rescue once again, and thankfully, Jake seems to realize it’s a real issue, pivoting until he’s facing the shower wall.
“I think she just wants a nice view of our asses,” Jake theorizes, standing with his clear on display, “Which is better, Y/N? Mine or Chicken’s?”
“Chicken,” Rooster grumbles under his breath, and if you were brave enough to actually declare a winner, you’d give it to him just for that. But, Hangman’s form is rather impressive, all tight curves and tan skin and-
And you shouldn’t be looking. You clear your throat awkwardly, peeling off your rash guard as Jake sponges his side down. There’s sand running thick down the drain and you hope it doesn’t back up, something you’d feel terrible for Penny to have to clean up.
“Uh,” Bradley stills in his place, “Shit, I think I left my shampoo over there. Y/N, could you…?”
“I got it,” You hum, reaching over for the blue bottle and tucking it in his carefully, blindly outstretched hand, “Thanks for, um- here.”
“Yep,” He nods, smearing a dot of the substance on his palm and lathering it through his hair.
“Oh no,” Jake mimics Bradley’s previous predicament, dropping the bottle in his hand so that it rests between his legs, “Y/N, could you-”
“Ass,” You drawl, reaching forwards to butt your palm against his back. He stumbles forward with a laugh, catching himself on the railing. He bends down to reach for it and you’re nervous he’ll peek at your body from between his legs, but he stays respectful, something you know he is at his core even if he pretends differently.
You find yourself relaxing against the tiled floor of the shower, feet firmly planted instead of poised to run. As much as you know neither of the men in front of you would make any rude comments about your body or your weight, there’s still the nauseating fear that they might think differently of you having seen you completely unobscured. So you’re thankful for the privacy, that lasts… well, until it doesn’t.
The snap of your conditioner cap catches the skin of your pointed finger in its jaws and a gasp clutches tight at your lungs.
“Son of a bitch!” You cry, waves of pain flowing through your finger and out towards the rest of them. On cue each man turns, eyes wide and fear-stricken, without thinking.
You know they didn’t do it on purpose. You know they instinctively thought you were hurt, and wanted to help. You know they didn’t mean to look at you. But the withering feeling in your guts knows no logic, only fear.
They’re looking, it hisses, They’re looking at everything. The way your stomach pudges into a roll at the base. The way your breasts sag. The way your thighs stretch, marks littering their stems, and present no gap.
“You’re bleeding.” Bradley observes, eyes trained faithfully on your finger, “I’ll get a bandaid.”
He rushes for the cabinets outside the shower, dripping water over the floor. Jake stands, staring, but you’re too humiliated to glance at his face and notice the soft pinky blush on his cheeks that’s spreading to his ears. 
“Here,” Bradley speaks from behind you, though he molds himself to your side when you’re still frozen in fear. He brushes a towel over your cut, the turquoise material staining red. He then undoes the waxy paper wrapping from the bandaid, sticking it tight to your skin.
“It’ll get wet,” He reminds you, “But it’ll stop soap from stinging it.”
You don’t even thank him. At your prolonged silence he glances up at Hangman, intent on giving him a concerned glance, but he sees the man’s eyes rove over your form and snaps.
“Dude,” Bradley utters gruffly, “Don’t be a perv. Come on, turn around.”
When Jake stays just as still as you, he reaches for him, shoving hard, “I said turn around!:
“Please, Jake,” You whimper, tears brimming in your eyes, “Turn around.”
“You’re crying.” Jake snaps out of his trance to frown up at you, and Bradley keeps pushing, an insistent thorn in his side, “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re-!” You gush, lip wobbling, “You’re looking at me, and- and judging me, and-”
“Judging you,” He scoffs, eyes nearly bugging out of his head, “Best body I’ve ever seen. Case closed. Court dismissed.”
“Shut up,” You seethe, tears finally dripping down your cheeks, “Just shut up! You think this is fucking funny? You don’t think there’s a reason I didn’t want to shower with you?”
“You’re private, I get that.” He scoffs. “But if you think I’m judgin’ any part’a that, then you’re stupid, too.”
“Not the compliment you think it is,” Bradley mutters, hands still prying at Jake’s shoulder, “She told you to turn around, just do it.”
“No,” Jake doubles down, pushing Bradley away and stalking towards you, “I wanna know why you think so goddamn low of me. You really think I’d rope a woman into a shower and then pick apart what she looks like? You think that low of me?”
“It’s not about you,” You gush, hands at your sides in frustration, “It's about me! And my fucking body, okay? I’m not calling you a dick for judging me, I’m calling myself-”
“What?” Jake’s head tilts to the side, eyes glinting dangerously, “What are you calling yourself?”
“....Gross.” You finish lamely, the fire in your chest extinguishing with the poof of a sigh that escapes your lips.
He’s grabbing your hand without thinking about it, gentle but firm. You stare at him, anxiety-riddled.
“Listen here, girly. I’ve let you get away with sayin’ a lotta things about yourself. Dumbass I agree with, especially considering these circumstances. I’ve heard clumsy and stubborn, those I don’t have an issue with either. But don’t look me in my fuckin’ face and tell me you’re gross, ‘cause it’s an insult to me and my tastes.”
He squeezes your hand once before releasing it, and it feels more now like a heartfelt gesture than a threatening one. You’re breathing heavy, lungs cut short from the adrenaline of the moment, Even though Bradley isn’t pushing him anymore, standing on the sidelines waiting, watching, Hangman turns around without another word. He scrubs aggressively through his scalp and you’re almost surprised nothing bleeds, your mouth hung slightly open and your tongue leaden over your teeth.
“I’m not your type.” You finally manage to mutter, voice taut.
“Yes you are,” Jake scoffs, “How would you know?”
“I saw you eyeing up Phoenix earlier.” You roll your eyes, and if Bradley hadn’t turned around again you’d have flashed him an exasperated look.
“So? A man can like several shapes,” Jake boasts, voice losing venom, “Plus I ogle Phoenix just to piss her off.”
“It works.” Bradley cuts in, and you snort.
“Point is,” Jake drawls, and you’re sure if Bradley was in his line of sight he’d have been the victim of a very withering stare, “Don’t discredit yourself. You’ve got sexy ass thighs, woman.”
“Jesus, Jake,” Bradley sighs, “Can you just hurry up, already? I’m sure there’s nothing more Y/L/N wants than to get rid of you.”
“Oh, shut up, lapdog,” Jake deadpans, “You can’t tell me you don’t agree.”
Bradley’s silent for a moment, and your gut churns.
“Whether I do or don’t is irrelevant,” He chooses his words carefully, “Let’s just leave Y/N alone.”
“He totally does,” Jake snickers, “Hear that, Y/L/N? It’s his blush.”
“Like you weren’t blushing!” Bradley scoffs, “I looked up at you and thought you’d been temporarily replaced with a baboon’s ass.”
“Oh, that’s funny,” Jake drawls, “That’s what I think every time I see you, porn stache. Then I remember it’s just your natural charm.”
The crisis has been averted enough for you to let out a shaky laugh at their insults, and the sound catches both men’s attention.
“Listen, Y/L/N,” Jake starts, voice much kinder and softer now, “The point of this isn’t me telling Bradshaw he’s got the face of an ass. The point is to get it through your thick fuckin’ skull; you’re pretty damn sexy, y’hear?”
You snort at his callous nature, “No one’s ever told me anything like that before.”
“Yeah?’ He pauses,towel in hand that he nimbly swings over his shoulder, “Well, pardon me for lookin’, and even more for touchin’, but everyone else is fuckin’ insane.”
Before you can process his words he reaches down to palm at your thigh, a hefty squeeze that sends your flesh spilling against his palm. You stiffen, even though he stays politely away from your ass, encroaching only on territory he could also grab while you’re clothed. The feeling of his touch, no matter how chaste, elicits a noise from your throat that you wish you could pass off for a scream.
It’s not.
It’s a moan.
He stops where he’d begun pulling away, eyes sharpening slightly. You don’t dare look at Bradley, but if you did, you’d see his cock twitch.
“Did I hurt you?” Jake asks, voice low.
All you can do is shake your head, teeth digging into your lower lip helplessly.
“Did you like it?” He tries again, but this time he doesn’t accept body language as an answer/ Still hunched, he ignores your nodding and reaches up with his free hand to tug your bottom lip out from under your teeth.
“I asked you a question,” Jake croons, voice smooth and soft, “Did you like it?”
All you can whimper is a meager ‘Yes’.
Do you want me to do it again?”
“Yes.” Stronger, this time.
His hand plants itself firmly back over your thigh, thumb stretching towards the curve of your ass this time. It’s a little more suggestive, and a lot more alluring.
“Jesus,” Jake groans, kneading the soft flesh of your doughy thigh between his fingers, “Bradshaw, c’mere for a second.”
He hesitates, “Do you want me there, Y/N?”
“Yes,” You nod once more, legs stiffening and thigh tensing against Jake’s palm, “I- I do.”
“You take front,” Jake instructs, falling into place behind you with his hands now greedily prying at your ass, “And I’ll take back.”
The smile that Bradley offers you when he steps in front of you is nothing short of dreamy. It’s enough to make you blush, and he lets out a soft, breathy laugh at how forward Hangman is being while he stands giddily in front of you.
“If you say hi,” Jake drawls, hooking his chin over your shoulder and reaching around your front to grip at the seams of your inner thighs while glaring at Bradley suspiciously, “I’m going to slap you.”
“I wasn’t going to say hi,” Bradley scoffs, and you can tell by his blush that he totally was.
“Jesus, enough yammering,” Jake scoffs, turning his head to press his dewy lips into your neck, “We’re gonna be late for dinner.”
You worry, for a moment, that he’ll let go. That he’ll walk away, get dressed for the restaurant, and pretend nothing ever happened. But that’s not what he does, of course. Instead, you feel the hard press of his cock against your ass.
“I’ll be gentle,” Jake croons, feeling you tense as his hands smooth over the dip of your ass, “We’ll go slow, okay?”
“Real slow,” Bradley murmurs, and it catches your attention, reeling it back to him. You realize he’s standing much closer to you now than he had been before, lips nearly brushing yours.
The second your lips meet his in a kiss, Hangman smooths his hand between the globes of your ass. You squirm at the sensitive feeling, foreign as his fingertip brushes against your hole. But he doesn’t let up, and neither does Bradley.
Rooster’s tongue slides against your bottom lip, warm and wet. At the same time Hangman’s hands squeeze your ass, pulling apart each side and smoothing down the skin between. It sends a shiver up your spine that escapes in a puff of air between your lips, one that Bradley eagerly swallows.
Bradley’s hands grab your cheeks, thumbs brushing near your eyes and yanking you closer. You can feel Jake’s fingers carefully prodding and pressing at the tight ring of your asshole, a hitch in your breath causing you to bite down on Bradley’s lip.
“Fuck,” He hisses, coming away with a red lip and a guttural groan, “Jake, just- let up. Me first, she’s obviously sensitive.”
“She’s just tight,” Jake murmurs, lips pressing to the expanse of your shoulder, “Nothin’ I can’t fix.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to fix it,” Bradley grumbles, tearing a condom open with his teeth that he’d snagged from his wallet, “‘Cause I’m going in first, and you- shit!”
His fingers, slippery from the water and probably excess soap, drop the condom. The way that you’re arched into Hangman’s touch means that your thighs are squeezed together and bent slightly, and there’s no better way to catch a condom than between your thighs.
The foil wrapper sticks between your legs, making it easy for Bradley to pluck it out and toss the wrapper aside. Penny will find it tomorrow, because you’re sure as hell not gonna remember to get it.
“Well, whaddya know,” Jake drawls, grinning against the skin of your neck so hard you can feel it, “What they say is true. Thick thighs save lives.”
You face-plant into the water-dropped skin of Bradley’s neck, ignoring the way Hangman snickers.
“Actually, I think they just stopped a life from being conceived,” Bradley reasons, only a few sloppy strokes of his cock needed to easily slip the condom on, “But that probably saved my life, ‘cause if I got you pregnant in Penny’s bathroom, she’d slit my throat.”
The tip of Bradley’s hardened dick presses to your inner thigh, skin seldom touched and sensitive. You lean into it, but Hangman’s fingers follow, gently stroking over the rim of your ass. It’s starting to feel less foreign and more pleasurable, a twinge of something sweet licking at the underside of your belly like a rogue flame.
Bradley gently presses two fingers against your slit, ever-considerate in making sure you’re sufficiently prepped, but his eyes widen at how much slick he’s greeted with just past your folds.
“Holy shit,” He breathes, nose nudging yours as his lips brush with your own, “You’re wet.”
“Duh,” Hangman scoffs, and one of his hands abandons your ass to slip between your folds, collecting slick on their tips and dragging it back to your ass, “I’ve been touchin’ up on her for a while now.”
“Pardon me for thinking that’d work like an umbrella on a rainy day,” Bradley bitches, but you cut him off with a kiss before he can spout any other mildly insulting metaphors for how bad he thinks Hangman is in bed. You’ll vouch if you have to, he knows what he’s doing.
With each slow circle that his fingers trace around your rim, you bend back into him. Until you can feel his cock pressed stiff to your backside,just as Bradley presses his tip flush with your clit.
“Oh-,” You gasp, clit sending a shockwave of electric lust reverberating throughout your body, “Bradley, I- Inside, please, now!”
“I’m coming, sweetheart,” He croons, speaking in a velvety soft hum against your lips, “Don’t worry.”
He holds to his promise, sliding his dick down from where it’s pressed to your clit and easing it between your folds. You heave a blissful sigh at the feeling of being full, and it makes you rock backwards into Hangman’s fingers.
One breaches your hole, slipping inside with an agonizingly pleasurable burn. The stretch feels heavenly, especially because your cunt is already stretched to accommodate Bradley’s cock that slowly bottoms out inside of you.
“Good,” Jake praises, kissing beneath your ear, “I knew you could do it.”
Rooster lets out a groan at the feeling of your involuntary clench around him, eyes screwed shut. His forehead is braced against yours and you take the liberty of engaging him in another kiss, letting the pleasure of Jake’s fingers at your hole compel you to lick into Bradley’s mouth.
Being pleasured from both sides is too overwhelming. You feel yourself already rising to a climax, pressed on by both Bradley’s thick cock grating against your insides and Jake’s fingers.
You smooth your tongue over Bradley’s, gripping his shoulder when he increases his pace to be steadily fast. He’s not speeding through anything, but he’s not slow either, and it makes your insides burn.
The feeling of his cock ramming over and over and over against that spongy spot deep within you is too much, especially when Hangman slides a single, thick finger into your ass. You can’t help it, your orgasm hits you like a freight train (or perhaps a fighter jet), and you clench sporadically around Bradley’s thick, hard cock.
You whine relentlessly into his mouth, fingers clawing and prying at his damp skin as your knees go weak. You’re surprised you stay standing at all, but you funnel all of your orgasmic vigor into the kiss that Bradley eagerly licks out of you, and clutching his shoulders is enough.
Coming down from your high is jarring, especially when you realize that the steady pressure against your clit had been Bradley’s thumb the entire time. The pleasurable sensation is starting to sour with the unpleasant sting of overstimulation, and you tear his hand away eagerly, “Too much.”
“Sorry,” Bradley grunts into the kiss, the bristles of his mustache grating at your lip. 
Bradley pulls out of you, still hard and red-tipped. 
Jake takes one look down, his free hand sliding up your back while his other stays firm at your ass, “Those were pretty sounds. Look’t what they did to Bradshaw. See that, honey?”
You nod, breathless as you stare at Bradley’s impressive length.
“I think you should return the favor,” Jake muses, putting pressure against your back so that you bend in half, “Suck him off, darlin’.”
You land at eye-level with Bradley’s covered cock, and you can’t get the condom off fast enough. You drag your tongue along the underside of Bradley’s hard dick, taking the heated length into your hands and squeezing fondly at his balls. He swears low and gruff under his breath, watching your tongue snake against his slit.
Your lips curl around the head of Bradley’s cock, and the way that Jake adds a second finger to your ass makes you suck hard. You feel Bradley’s cock twitch on your tongue, and you scrape your teeth feather-light along him as you take more of him into your mouth.
He tries to keep himself still, tries not to face-fuck you, but he’s hopeless. His hips jolt forwards and you gag at the feeling of his dick hitting the back of your throat. It makes him groan, fists clenched at his side.
You bob and suckle along every inch of Bradley’s dick, licking up the vein that runs along the side and hollowing your cheeks while Jake fingers you open. When there are suddenly no fingers in your ass anymore at all, you whimper, taking Bradley’s cockhead into your fist while you try craning your neck to look back at Hangman.
“Keep going,” Jake directs you, nodding his head towards your fist, “He’s not done, and neither am I.”
You slip the hand that’s curled around Rooster’s dick and slide it up his length, rubbing gently at the base while you kitten lick the head. He pants and groans, bucking into your fist and subsequently your throat. The feeling of Jake’s dick pressed tight to your stretched hole makes you jolt forwards, and you face-fuck yourself on Bradley’s dick.
“Jesus,” He hisses, “You’re- you’re good at this, baby. C’mon, a- a little more, now.”
You let out a scream muffled by Bradley’s cock as Jake slides himself into your ass, dick grating delightfully tight against your rim. Once he bottoms out he sets a merciless pace, giving you no time to adjust before you’re being hammered into like he’s a feral animal.
“See that, Bradshaw?” Jake boasts, sending a hefty slap to your ass, “Told you she could do it. Perfect ass.”
“I see,” Bradley pants, hands tangled in your hair while you bob on his cock, “I- I’m gonna cum, honey.”
There’s barely any warning before the sight of Jake’s cock ramming into your ass gets to be too much for Bradley, but you don’t need it. You’re perfectly content to welcome his warm seed down your throat, letting it paint the inside of your mouth as you tongue him dry.
You don’t realize you’re using Bradley’s cock as a pacifier until he pushes at your forehead, hissing in oversensitivity, “Okay, okay! It’s too much,” He soothes you by sticking two of his slick-stained, thick fingers between your lips instead, “Here, honey. There y’go.”
Drool gathers at the seam of your lips and Bradley smears it away from your mouth, gathering it on his palm and licking it away. He groans at the taste, his own seed permeating your saliva, “Messy girl.”
Jake isn’t satisfied with his lack of action. Apparently, jackhammering into your ass isn’t quite enough for the guy, and he fists a hand in your hair to yank you upright with a grunt.
Bradley’s fingers slip from your lips with a pop and you cry out as Hangman manhandles you, pleasurable pain flooding your senses from the hair-pulling that start waves of a second orgasm swelling below your belly.
“Open,” Jake commands, keeping your neck bent backwards so that his face hovers over yours. You open your mouth without hesitation, and he spits inside.
Warm saliva, cooling quickly the more you stick your tongue out, pools by your throat. You eagerly swallow without being told,drool now seeping backwards down your face and towards your eyes. Jake licks it off with a broad, wet swipe of his tongue, and smears it against your lips.
The kiss is messy, upside-down and drooly, but it’s hot. Jake’s tongue licks against yours and his teeth nip at your bottom lip, a real spider-man style porno.
Your spine aches from being bent like a curly-q, but the ecstasy bleeding into your core is enough to push it to the back of your mind. You reach down to finger your clit, a whimper bleeding into Jake’s mouth at the action.
“Gonna cum, honey?” Jake drawls, “Sweet pussy’a yours gonna clench around nothin’?”
His southern drawl is stronger when he’s fucking, you note. It’s attractive.
“Not nothing,” Bradley volunteers, sticking his spit-soaked fingers up into your gaping cunt, “Cum, baby.”
You’re very good at following orders.
Your second orgasm hurts, in the best way. It tears you apart from the inside out, cunt clenching tight at Bradley’s fingers as he curls them inside of you. Jake bites hard at your lip as you ride out your second orgasm, and his dick twitches inside of you once, twice, three times before he’s letting himself go in tandem.
He fills you with warm cum, the substance gushing out of your gaped hole and oozing out around his own cock. 
“Jesus fuck,” He snaps, the words an unintelligible grunt against your lips, “So tight, and so sexy.”
Bradley’s free hand braces itself on your stomach, and the touch doesn’t make you recoil like it normally would. It’s lewd, but being splattered with their cum really makes you believe that they’re not going to judge your body.
Instead you lean into the touch, letting Bradley embrace you as you come down from your high a moaning pile of mush.
“Slow,” You warn Jake, who’s never heard the word a day in his life. He follows directions, though, easing his dick out of you and making sure it doesn’t burn.
“We need another shower,” Bradley pants after a moment of fucked-out silence. 
You nod, brain foggy, “Yeah. We- we can’t show up to the restaurant smelling like sex. They’ll know.”
--
As it turns out, you don’t need to smell like sex for everyone to know you’ve just had it. You show up forty-five minutes late, sweaty-faced and rosy-lipped, all slightly out of breath. Your dress is rumpled, and Bradley’s tie is haphazardly secured.
“Oh,” Phoenix grimaces, nose scrunching in disgust, “Gross, guys.”
“In my bathroom?” Penny looks aghast, “You better not have clogged the shower drain.”
“Easy,” Maverick throws a hand out over her own, “We’ve done it in there one too many times to judge.”
“Gross!” Payback rears away from the older pilot sitting next to him, “Everybody needs to stop getting laid, but if you do, don’t tell me about it!”
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m3talmunson · 1 year
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Steve Harrington is incredibly smart. It's not his fault nobody believes him. Or, well, maybe it is.
Steve used to be his parents pride and joy, everyone knew that. When he was young, doing his piano lessons, his mother would show him off at their house parties.
"Look at my Steven!" She'd say, and all the other mothers around would parrot something like "What a sweet boy!" and he would just keep playing. That night his father would commend him for keeping the ladies occupied, that he'd grow up to be a real ladies' man, and how great it was that he kept the women out of the men's hair. He'd never said "I'm proud of you," or "I love you," but that was as close as he got.
And for a while, Steve LIVED for it. He'd come downstairs, see his mother in her good pearls, her party pearls, and know that he'd be good for them that day. Be needed for something.
And then it got old. So he learned cello. That kept them entertained for a while, until it didn't. Then he learned flute. That one kept them occupied a little longer, Mr. Harrington could stand the fact that it was a "girly" instrument because it kept Steve's mouth shut. He got too good at talking while he played the other instruments.
Then he tried guitar, and well all the instruments just stopped impressing them, because they stopped having house parties. Instead, they'd started going out to them. Started going out and not coming back, for weeks upon weeks at a time. Steve was determined to give them something to show off, something to praise.
He had always been quite book smart, but he started really putting the effort in. Steve gave it a year and a half of straight A+'s, until he realized that his parents would never care. So he tried a new approach, called 'skating along right above failing'. It didn't get their attention one bit.
Even when Steve came home beaten and torn, from the upside down or a fight, they weren't even there to ever notice.
And sure, people like Joyce or Hopper would notice, check in on him until the black eye went away. But after that, they had lives to live.
So no, the adults in Steve's life didn't really give him much attention at all.
Of course he didn't mind it all that much. Some small part of Steve just figured 'I deserve it,' and he rolled with the punches.
He found solace in his instruments, still. He learned more and more. Piano was his best, but once you had learned piano you could learn just about anything else with some dedication. His guitar he could whip out at a couple of his high school parties. In private, alone in his room with a girl, he could strike a few chords and they would just obsess over it. Got him the companionship he so desperately needed for a while.
Even so, he never showed Nancy. She made it clear to him that she loved watching him swim, loved his muscles. The more masculine parts of him. So he never brought it out. When she asked about the shiny grand piano in his living room, he'd just say his mom played. He stashed away his other instruments in a spare room, so she wouldn't see them.
That's not to say he didn't want to show her one day. He wanted to, but once you get called bullshit once, you're pretty much over the vulnerability.
So he continued to hide it, hide his smarts. He skated through until graduation, nursing the wounds in his body and mind all alone. Then he met Robin.
And he was just too scared to show her that part of himself. His instruments had become his little secret, and he just wasn't keen on sharing.
Not until after the events of Vecna. He had lost enough by then. He didn't lose any friends this time, but he was close. Max regained some of her eyesight, wearing thick glasses that Steve paid for. He'd never let Max's mother do it. Eddie got his new government-supplied trailer, and walked the long road to recovery. And near the end of that road, Steve threw one damn good party.
It was early August. Steve and Robin had already celebrated a year of being best friends (and being free of Russian torture), but Max was having a harder time, so they waited a little longer, until the Byers-Hopper group had settled in, but before school started. It was pretty much a "Hey Hawkins is (Relatively) Safe!" party. Everyone had mostly recovered from the events of spring break, the Byers-Hopper clan had finally put the finishing touches on their home in Hawkins, getting a nice big house that someone left behind in the "Great Escape From Hawkins of 1986". Eddie had finished high school, a little bit with the pity of teachers who were sorry that they thought he was a murderer, combined with the pity that he was nearly killed in the "earthquake", but who's counting? It was his year.
It was all of their years, finally over with this upside-down business. So Steve threw a party.
The adults had left, calling in their bedtime at 9. The kids and the older teens were sleeping over though. Steve had more than enough space, and of course, the moment Joyce Byers closed the front door with her last "Call me if you need anything!" they had to break out the good old party games.
The kids insisted on truth or dare, and they got a couple rounds in before Dustin decided to single our Steve for once.
"You haven't been called on much, it's my turn to fix that." Dustin said. Argyle was the only person who had chosen Steve so far, since he was on vacation from California for the summer, staying at the Byers place after helping them move in.
"Yeah yeah just spit it out kid," Steve retorted, taking the last swig of his first-and-only beer for the night, always playing it safe in case he had to drive one of the kids home unexpectedly.
"Truth or Dare?"
Steve contemplated for a moment. He picked dare earlier with Argyle and it had been pretty simple. A truth might make him spill some of the secrets he was content to keep in his brain. Within the kids group half of the truths so far had been about crushes. It left Will stammering earlier, and he wasn't about to let the same thing happen to himself. He could admit he had... new feelings when it came to romance that he'd rather not let out in THIS room. What's the worst that could happen if he chose dare anyways?
"Dare. Hit me with your best shot kid."
"Damnit, I had only thought of a truth! Give me a second." Dustin fumbled, turning to Lucas and trying to think of a good dare.
"All that talk..." Eddie whispered into Steve's ear.
That was a new habit the older teens had gotten into. Whispered secrets behind flexed hands, like a little kid's game of telephone. Something that made them feel like kids again. Though if we're being honest, it was mostly Steve and Eddie.
"I know, right?" Steve whispered back. Admittedly, something about the whispering made the hair on Steve's neck stand up on end. It made him feel like he and Eddie were the only people in the world.
He always had to come back to reality though.
"I dare you-" Dustin interrupted, " -to show us something you've never shown anyone before. Like a hidden talent or something."
Steve thought about it for a second. Maybe he could finally be vulnerable with the group. He had gone to hell and back with these people, multiple times. Surely he could play some piano.
So Steve got up, passing his empty bottle to Nance who eyed it with a raised brow and set it on the side table next to her. He stepped over the boys' sleeping bags, all of them sticking around in the living room that night so the girls could have the basement. Steve chose to ignore when Mike fussed, saying that he got stepped on.
He sat down at the piano bench and cracked his knuckles, looking down at the keys before snapping his head up and asking, "Any requests?"
"Wait Steve you can-" Nancy started, before Robin blurted out a song.
"Take Me Home Tonight!" Robin shouted. It had become their collective favorite song recently, both of them singing it every day on the drive home from work.
"Yeah, I can do that one. Be my backup Robs?"
"You don't have to ask twice!" She swung up from her place next to Nance, stepping over the sleeping bags the same way Steve had.
When she made herself a comfy spot on top of the piano, swinging her legs back and forth, Steve started the intro.
Steve thought it sounded a little dinky on classical piano with no synth. He winced to himself as he played the intro, looking up to Robin for comfort. He just saw her jaw drop, and her mischievous smile go wider. He didn't have to look at anyone else, Robin's nod for him to start singing was all he needed to look back down at the keys.
Steve had never been a confident singer, always putting on a bit of a show, carrying a tune -but never doing his best- so if someone said it was bad, he could say he wasn't trying. This time though, he gave it his all.
By the first chorus he was throwing his head back and closing his eyes, putting on a show for a different reason, smiling as wide as he could whilst singing.
He took some liberties: embellishing a little on piano, changing "Ronnie" to "Robbie" because, honestly, who wouldn't have. He got to her solo and, playing the supporting chords with his left hand, held out his right hand and his fake microphone to Robin, who took his arm in her hands and let out her most dramatic "Be my little baby," straight from the heart.
Playing the intro to the next part, Steve remembered that there were people in the room besides him and Robin. He looked around at the faces of his friends. Lucas and Max were bopping along on the floor, Will, El, and Erica had been dancing haphazardly in the corner the whole time, El dragging her brother up by the arm. Erica followed; she had recently taken an admiring to the bitchin' girl with superpowers, plus both El and Max enjoyed having another girl at sleepovers. Dustin's jaw was still on the floor, although Nancy was more subtle about her shock, her mouth hanging in a little "o" . Jonathan and Argyle were nodding their heads along to the bass chords, having just the time of their lives. It was Eddie's face that made Steve's heart jump. He was marveling at Steve, and anyone could tell. It was enough to make Steve sing the next verse directly to him. It became all too real all of a sudden, and he wouldn't change it for the world.
Soon after, the game was ditched, all the kids rattling off songs for Steve to play for them, so they could sing along. After some Loverboy, Blondie, Grease, and their more-than-fair share of ABBA, the kids tired themselves out. Will and El made a point to thank Steve for his playing, Lucas, Max, and Erica whooped and hollered after every song, and the rest of them showed their thanks in other ways, in hugs goodnight or simple looks, eye contacts worth a million words. Then all the older teens headed upstairs. Jonathan and Argyle headed to their room early, but Robin and Nancy stuck around in the Steve's bedroom, where he was sharing with Eddie.
"When were you going to tell us you were a musical GENIUS?" Eddie asked.
"I'm no genius, I just- My mom wanted something to show off at parties when I was younger, I started learning when I was seven so I could be their free entertainment."
"Thirteen years, Steve?" Nancy felt pretty awful not knowing about something so personal to him.
"Yeah, this is my first time showing someone who wasn't at those parties though. Well, on the piano at least."
"What do you mean 'on the piano?' Do you play other instruments dingus?"
"Well, a couple others! Cello, flute, guitar, french horn, and drums a little. I can carry a tune on harmonica, but I mainly picked it up to learn Piano Man. Thought it'd be kinda funny."
"You are magical Stevie, did you know that?"
Those words, Eddie's words, bounced around in Steve's head for the rest of the night. Magical. Him? Magical.
"Seeing as we know a girl with superpowers, I doubt that I'm the magical one." Steve brushed it off.
The girls took their leave a while later, leaving Steve and Eddie to stew in their awkward nature around eachother.
"I guess I can give up on being the only cool guitar player in the group." Eddie said, faking a heartbroken look.
"You can still be the only cool guitar player, I'm just a guitar player."
"Oh c'mon Stevie! You know these kids think you're the coolest person on the planet."
"I think you've got that one covered, I'm just their ever-so-giving host and chauffeur." Steve tried to make a joke out of it, gave his best self-pitying chuckle and everything. Eddie saw right through it. Saw the tears cloud the edge of Steve's vision before he blinked them away.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Eddie stopped Steve, "You're so much more than a ride home and a place to stay to them, okay? I mean it, they think you're the coolest person on the planet. And they're not the only ones who think it."
"Ha, like you think it."
"I do, Steve. I do think it."
"I mean, come on Eds! There's really no redeeming factor," Steve let the tears fall freely, moving off of his bed where Eddie sat, and gesturing to himself,"I have a nice car, a big house, and a shit personality. I'm not good in conversation, I don't know any of their nerd games. I'm no good at keeping them safe from anything that isn't an interdimensional monster. I'm just kind of here. I'm not smart, or nice, or even funny, or magical like you said. I'm just here."
"Steve," Eddie started, this look in his eyes, trying it's hardest to tell Steve everything he means to them, means to Eddie. But Steve just closed his eyes, bowed his head, like Eddie had some power over him.
Steve just stood there, head bowed, flexing and unflexing his fists.
"Come here." Eddie commanded, patting the bed next to him. And, just like the little kid who learned piano to entertain his mom, Steve listened.
Steve sat down and Eddie immediately scooted him closer, putting Steve's chin in both of his hands. Making Steve look him in the eye.
"You are so much more to those kids. And even if I'm wrong, you're so much more to me. You are smart, you are kind, you are generous, and loving, and you care for each and every one of us more than anything or anyone in the world could reasonably ask you to." Eddie wiped Steve's tears as they fell, but he never broke eye contact. "You've saved their LIVES Steve. Many of them wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be here without you. You carried me out of that hell hole, and you've been here for me since. If there's anyone in this world qualified to tell you how much you mean to them, I think it's me."
"You really believe all of that?"
"Every syllable of every word."
See, Steve Harrington is incredibly smart. It's not his fault nobody believes him.
Not even himself.
But maybe, for the first time, he was about to make a smart decision.
So he learned forward, into Eddie. Pressed his lips into Eddie's and didn't doubt that Eddie would kiss back. And when Eddie did, Steve's heart soared. He put all of his gratitude, all of his feelings into kissing Eddie.
After he finally pulled away, Eddie just had to bring some light into the situation. He wiped away one of Steve's tears, and said:
"I hope I don't have to see those pretty eyes cry for that to happen again."
"You don't-" Steve leaned in again.
And if Robin found them suspiciously close in the morning, it was nobody's business but her own.
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