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soft4gguk · 3 years

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to build a home | chapter three

pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

genre: strangers to lovers. angst. loads of plot. eventual smut

word count: 9.2k

warnings: angst. swearing. mentions of alcohol. mentions of abandonment. mentions of death.

author’s note: hi again <3 i am in love w this chapter. time is speeding along everyone – hearts are healing?? babies are growing?? and these two fools?? mutual pining mode on 🤧🤧🤧. i don’t want to give much away but oc and jk had my heart in a frenzy in this one!! i truly hope you enjoy, it’s been so rewarding to read your kind words and feedback so from the bottom of my heart thank u <3!

p.s. softly by Clairo. that's their song.

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Texts in bold + italic resemble a recollection of past events.

Chapter Three

Blue-jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band…

You groan. A single eye, the one not smushed by your pillow, opens half-way. It’s 6:15 AM and Elton John’s soft vocals are waking you up to the dreamy beat of Tiny Dancer. Why would you want the dreadful tune of Marimba doing the job if you can have this?

“Five more minutes, Elton.”

Pretty eyes, pirate smile, you’ll marry a music man…

You smile, soothed by what feels like a lullaby. Your body relaxes against the mattress once again and your eyes close – you’re not asleep. Just easing into consciousness.

You drift.

Hold me closer tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway…

Elton all but screams at you. Well, that has you jumping from the warmth of your bed.

6:18 – time to wake up. You’re not a morning person and neither are you a night owl but, a sudden burst of inspiration found you sat at your desk until way past midnight. By the time you went to bed it took you a good thirty more minutes to fall asleep. Constantly disrupted by the drunk party goers that were making their way back home from wherever the night had taken them. Youth and Tuesday nights, you remember those. You could’ve just closed the window but the chilly breeze coming from it felt like summer. You did it in the name of nostalgia.

So, it is due to your late night writing à la Bukowski that you find yourself running into every piece of furniture you stumble upon, eyes still half closed, incessantly rubbing at them to let them know it was time to adult. You try to wake your brain up, too, but all it does is demand coffee.

And coffee you shall get. The smell hits your nose before anything can hit your eyesight but already, you’re lazily smiling at a blurry vision of Lucy from behind the kitchen counter. Her computer is in front of her and her eyes never leave the screen even as she feels you come in.

“Jeon Jungkook.” She half sing-songs, half affirms.

Are you sleep walking?

“Huh?”

She clears her throat and starts reading, “This year’s most eye-grabbing addition to Forbes 30 Under 30 list belongs to twenty-eight-year-old Jeon Jungkook. The young entrepreneur is the heir of the luxury chain of hotels, The West End.” Now you’re awake. She continues, “The high-end resorts have an ever-growing list of locations taking up the most coveted, bustling destinations all around the globe. Jungkook inherited his family’s legacy at the young age of twenty-four and has often been praised by his sharpness and boldness when it comes to business. His first duty as CEO and Chair of The West End Collection proved him more than capable, as he went on to re-brand its various hotels, location by location. His diligence and cut-throat ideas earned The West End a spike in stocks of up to 200%-”

“You are,” you interrupt her, fingers pressing at your temples for emphasis, “the nosiest person. Ever.”

“Okay so he’s rich. And smart. And in Forbes. But when where you going to tell me he looked like this?” She spins the laptop around in her hold, shoving it in your direction for dramatic effect.

And there he is, in all of his glory. Black suit over a black dress shirt. His hair a bit more tamed than it usually is on his day to day.

“I did tell you!” You protest.

“No, you did not. You said he looked like an angel. This man is a God.” She scoffs.

“Is this for me?” You ask, pointing at the cup of iced coffee sitting pretty on the kitchen counter.

“Well, it’s not for me.” She remarks, eyes still glued to the screen as you take a sip. “I found the baby mama, too.” She blurts out so fast it takes you a second to register it.

“Lucy.”

“What? It wasn’t that hard! She’s a model or something, if we’re going by anything Vogue has to say.”

At this, you give into the snooping. Your eyes divert to the screen and surely there she is. She looks just like what you’d expect at hearing her name alone. Ira Sommersmith. She’s beautiful, and the word alone cuts it short. Long blonde hair, dazzling smile, eyes looking away from the camera in that lost gaze model way. You’d look like a fool if you even attempted it. And you know because you’ve tried.

“Look, here’s them together. At some rich people party. Why is everyone wearing white? That’s a recipe for disaster if I’ve ever seen one.” Lucy says before changing the tabs, a picture of the two of them on the screen.

They look happy. He’s smiling at the camera and she’s smiling at him. It’s dated from two years ago. What happened? You can’t help but wonder.

“Wait a minute. Soori looks nothing like her. I don’t think she’s the baby mama,” you say, imitating the tone of suspense Lucy takes on when in conspiracy theory mode.

“No, no. She might be all daddy but that’s her baby. I read an article about it. Apparently, Ira went all MIA on social media shortly after the baby’s birth. She also went on a modelling hiatus.”

Her words sink into you. You try really hard not to pry, you do. You contain it as much as you can. But your brain can’t stop running in circles, that avid writer’s imagination of yours doing you no favours to inflict any sort of self-control.

“I want to go on a hiatus, too.” Lucy says, earning a loud cackle from you. “Not you, though. Come on, can’t be late for hot, heir, angel God, daddy Jeon Jungkook. Emphasis on the daddy.”

“Lucy!”

You’re in the bus on your way to the Jeon abode. Every morning dulls into afternoon in somewhat an identical rhythm. You don’t mind, though. You’ve come to find it comforting.

The bus ride is relaxing – there are not many people heading to the residential part of town this early in the morning, allowing you the commodities of not one but two seats all to yourself. You read, write or listen to music. Out the window, you start to make out the proximity of your destination as the pretty houses start to breeze past your line of vision. Every time the bus halts at a stop you’re able to take them in, full detail. You wonder if you’ll ever make it big enough to live in this side of town, in a pretty house of your own.

Your mind starts to float into that cloud of pink you call daydream. You picture a family. Do you want a big one?You don’t know. Kids are expensive. But, then again, if you can afford a house with more than one bathroom you reckon you could afford a couple of kids.

You picture Soori. As a reference, you tell yourself. She’s a cute baby, why wouldn’t you want a cute baby like her?

“But I don’t want this exact house!” You tell Lucy. A sea of magazines spread out around the two of you.

You’re in your tiny living room, coffee table pushed to the side as you invade the floors with glossy paper cut outs. You’re in vision board making mode, and even though you haven’t quite grasped the idea, it’s a fun Friday night activity. Also, you’re wine-drunk. Cheap wine-drunk.

“It’s for reference, ___.” Lucy says, accentuating every consonant, “it doesn’t have to be exactly what you want, as long as it encompasses the same energy.”

“You’re doing that thing where you throw big words at me when I’m drunk.”

“You’ll be fine as long as you don’t do that thing where you nod and pretend you understood. This is important, okay? We’re manifesting.” She returns.

Manifesting is her new favourite word.

You grab a wrinkled picture of a very shirtless Brad Pitt. The whole look of the image feels vintage. You'd grabbed a bunch of old magazines from the library that were due to be thrown out for the longest time now.

“So I won’t get 2003 Brad Pitt but!,” you start, shoving the picture in her face, “I will get a sexy, toned, tall, tanned and successful man that can sport low rise jeans like this?”

“Exactly.”

“Let’s manifest, baby!”

Reference. It’s important.

Sometimes it worries you how when you think about your future you don’t hold an ounce of desperation regarding it. People talk about goals and dreams but they never do it with the softness something promising should hold. It’s always with edge. Fear, uncertainty.

But you think you can amount your bliss to your lack of knowing. Truth is, beyond writing, there’s nothing that passions you enough to pursue. And society has already installed the notion in you that writing careers are in extinction. You’re not above fears. You just mentioned one. You just don’t attach your future to them. You’ll never stop writing, though. That’s your one sure-thing.

Your future doesn’t have to be panned out for you. You can dream by reference.

You’ll never own a touch screen doorbell, though. That’s just presumptuous.

You press on the screen of said reference you are not taking after. It’s 7:15 sharp – you’re a legend for this one, considering how much time Lucy’s snooping took out of your morning routine.

Every morning Mrs. Chae opens the door for you and this one is no different. Her sweet smile matches her sweet voice. Overall, she’s a sweet lady and you can tell Jungkook has a soft spot for her. She’s the one getting the big smiles around here, not you. But let’s not rush into that just yet.

“Good morning, ___.” She greets you with a tender smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Chae. How are you today?”

“Oh, just wonderful. Come in, come in. Have you eaten?” She always asks you this, even if your answer is always the same.

“Yes, Mrs. Chae. Thank you for asking, though.”

“Young people these days!” she begins, “you don’t give breakfast the importance it deserves. Mr. Jungkook only has that coffee of his. And half of it is ice.” She whispers the last bit, almost as if she was letting you in on a secret.

“I’m sure Mr. Jungkook compensates with lunch, though.” You tell her and she smiles, nodding at this. You both know Mr. Jungkook can eat.

By the time your brief, but almost always comical, morning chat with Mrs. Chae is over, Jungkook is usually making his way inside the kitchen. This morning is no different either.

“Good morning,” he says, a pyjama clad Soori resting at his hip, giraffe plushie in hand that she repetitively smacks into her father’s chest.

“Good morning, Mr. Jungkook.” Mrs. Chae says, placing a tray in the kitchen counter in front of him, a single glass of iced americano.

“Morning,” you say, making your way to him. “Morning, pretty girl.” This is directed at Soori, who jumps excitedly in Jungkook’s hold at your words. She lets out some sweet unintelligible baby babble, “I agree.” You tell her and she giggles, her pacifier falling from her little mouth.

“She had her bottle about two hours ago so she should be ready for breakfast any time now.” Jungkook informs you, passing her to you, hand coming to caress at her little head once she’s in your arms.

“Perfect.” You turn to her, “what’s for brekky today? What about oatmeal? No cinnamon this time, promise.” Jungkook smiles. But it’s not directed at you. It usually never is.

Now, let’s not put him in total bad lighting. He’s civil, polite even. But he never humours you. And you’re funny. I mean, yes. Your track record is babies and toddlers and an easy-hearted Lucy but come on.

Soori laughs though, and it’s all that matters.

He’s almost done with his coffee. That was way too fast. You wish you could tell him but then again you wouldn’t. You still can’t decipher what’s worst – the attitude he was giving you on the day of the interview or the indifference he gives you every day.

You don’t think he necessarily hates you. In fact, you don’t even think he dislikes you. You just think he’s not very happy with the world right now and it reflects on pretty much anything that hits his line of vision.

Everything except Soori, though. She gets all the big smiles and praises and cuddles. So many cuddles.

Jungkook goes to the office most days but there are days when he stays home. He’s usually locked inside his office, immersed in paper work. But he always makes sure he’s out just as Soori starts getting fussy with hunger.

He makes her a bottle and lays her down in a plush pillow that doesn’t quite match the décor of the sofa. But it’s the Soori pillow, so it stays. She drinks her bottle, eyes glued to his as he talks to her. Most of the times you can’t make out what he’s saying but one time you did hear him give her a run-down of a business call he’d just had, his voice never losing the softness he saves for her. His Soori voice.

Sometimes both their eyes begin to get heavy with sleep and he rests his head next to her tummy, nuzzling his nose into it until she giggles and jerks under him.

It’s cute. And it tugs at all of your heartstrings. So much so you have to fight with every pull to not walk in front of him and tell him, ‘Hey Jungkook! You’re such a good dad! You’re doing great. Don’t be sad. Ever again, please!’

But you remember where you stand with him: sole professionality. You keep telling yourself this is fine by you. You still get to play with his cute baby for a living so who’s the real winner here?

You walk with him all the way to the front door so Soori can spend as much time with him as possible. He never asked for this but you started doing it anyway and you know he appreciates it.

“Alright, baby. Be good, okay? I love you. So much. I’ll see you soon.” You know the words by memory now. He litters kisses all over her soft cheeks, tickling her until she hides in the crook of your neck. He pulls away.

“Say bye-bye!” you tell her. She makes grabby hands at him. Bye-bye is a dreaded set of words.

You see him try to fight it but he breaks, grabbing her and hugging her to his chest. More kisses, this time all over her face.

“Okay. Daddy has to go. I love you.” He says and hands her back to you.

Her little mouth forms the most endearing pout, chin wrinkling and you know she’s about to cry. But you’re faster – your baby voice in full mode when you say, “No cry, Soo. Daddy will be back soon.”

Jungkook has turned around by the time the words leave your lips so, naturally, you miss the way his eyebrows come up so high they nearly touch his hairline and his steps falter a bit at your words. At the word.

And so, with that, your work day begins. It’s easy and you’re lucky – you know you are. You spend time with Soori, who happens to be a great companion. She’s easy going and tooth-ache inducing as her big starry eyes, courtesy of her father, are glued to you throughout the day.

You play with her and read her books you bring from the library, she’s a good source of research when it comes to testing out book club options. You already tried sticking to her age range but figured she’s advanced. Well, maybe you’re biased but she does get through the baby books fast, promptly losing interest. So, you read her the big kid books and that’s when she stills – her full attention on you as you read to her, putting on a show as you dramatize every scene.

Nap time usually finds you a bit bummed out that you have to part ways with her as you exit her nursery, lit only by twinkling stars adorning her ceiling, imitating a starry night sky. It’s pretty cool, you sort of wish you had one, too. You wonder if she’ll ever grow out of it. You hope she doesn’t.

You tidy up, read and write during this time – it stretches as plenty and you keep yourself entertained enough until it’s time to do it all over again.

You’re lucky, you think, realizing just how much you look forward to doing it all over again.

Jungkook is fond of you. He comes up with this conclusion as he parks his car in his driveway, the ignition coming to a stop as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

Jungkook is fond of you and he knows you don’t know this. He also knows it’s completely his fault. Hell, he even doubts his own friends still know he’s fond of them, if he’s being honest.

The thing about pain is that it doesn’t put other people’s happiness on hold. It doesn’t magically put a halt to the collective joy of the world just so one person can experience it in peace. A very far-fetched concept of peace, anyways.

He’s in pain but the world around him is sort of hitting him with an abrupt, ‘and what about it?’

It’s been four weeks since Ira left and the world has stopped suffering with him. His friends have gone back to their normal lives, his family stopped asking questions and Mrs. Chae stopped walking on eggshells around him. Even Soori has resumed her normal scheduled programming. She sleeps through the night, eats like she never made Jungkook cry in the bathroom more times than he’s willing to admit, and keeps growing up. Doing new things, leaving him in awe as she wonders about the world, taking it in.

She’s a happy baby and he knows it’s because she has a happy you by her side. So, he lets her bask in your aura, mirror your essence and that is enough for him. That is all that truly matters to him – her happiness.

As for him, your aura inflicts more heartbreak than it does healing. He doesn’t resent you for it or anything but he doesn’t give you the opening to shine your light into him either. He doesn’t know if its guilt or suffering – maybe it’s both. All he knows is that there is something about you that makes him feel profoundly unprepared to start living again.

So that’s why he remains impassive as you hand Soori back to him, ruffling her silky hair before giving her a kiss that has her keening at your touch.

“Bye, Jungkook.” You tell him, a smile adorning your face as always. Soori’s hold on your finger pulls you into them.

You stumble forwards and he takes a step backwards.

“Goodbye, ___.”

If it weren’t for his friends, Jungkook’s weekends would be spent stuck at home, sulking in between trying to keep Soori entertained with screen time she should not be consuming and his lame train of thought he sometimes shares with her. He runs her through his list of chores, movies he wants to watch, endless options of what they could have for lunch. You name it, she listens.

And that was all good at first – his friends had given him the space to mourn his loss, cry his tears and settle into his new dynamic as a family of two. But they wouldn’t be any good of friends if they’d let it drag on the moment they found him getting a little too comfortable with said sulking.

So now Jungkook tags along family outings that require him and Soori leave the house and put on outfits that are more weekend-casual, as opposed to the suits and pyjamas they sport throughout the week.

It’s easy to dress himself but Soori, on the other hand, is a feat that challenges his three-coloured-palette fashion senses. Her wardrobe is so colourful, filled with pastels and different prints. It suits her, it does. But Jungkook has no idea how to make all her clothes harmonize into one simple outfit. It used to be Ira’s job – one of the few ones she actually enjoyed.

He takes one last look at her before he unbuckles her seat belt, picking her up from her car seat before they start walking towards Mai and Taehyung. The streets are busy today – a sunny Saturday that has the city full of people, restaurant tables officially propped outside to welcome in the warmer weather.

Today’s attempt at matching has Mai throwing her head back in laughter as she takes in a very happy and oblivious Soori in. A pair of baby pink denim pants, green Kermit the Frog shirt Jungkook had gotten for her during a trip to New York and a yellow sweater. But the cherry on top of the cake was the shrunk down version of Jungkook’s favorite Balenciaga sneakers adorning her tiny feet.

“What?” Jungkook says, even though he knows exactly why she’s laughing.

Mai takes Soori from him, smacking her lips into her cheek in a loud kiss. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Soori girl.” She beams at Mai’s affection, “is daddy on a steady road down colour blindness?” She still has her baby voice on. Soori laughs, a full pair of bottom teeth in full display.

Jungkook giggles at the sight but Mai doesn’t let him have it.

“Kermit the Frog? Really?” She says, voice lowering at him.

“She can rock it.”

“I agree,” Taehyung steps in, taking Soori from Mai’s arms. He throws her in the air, hands catching her swiftly at her descend. Loud baby giggles fall past her lips.

“That’s because you are actually colour blind.” Mai says.

“Baby, I’m not? I literally dress better than you.” He retorts, words not matching his sweet tone as his lips form a signature pout.

Before Mai can protest Jungkook steps in, “that’s enough, children. Let’s go get Dae, I’m starving.”

“Library’s around the corner, but it’s still five minutes ‘til pick up. He doesn’t like it when I’m early,” Mai returns.

“Yeah, because it’s not his super cool uncle picking him up.”

“Good point.” She gives in – it’s good to hear his witty remarks again, even if they run scarce.

As they turn the corner the library comes into view. They step inside and a peaceful silence fills the air. Jungkook finds it comforting. He thinks about how he hasn’t stepped foot inside a library since his college years. That can’t be good. Soori has been extra keen during bed time stories. She’d usually fidget a lot in his grasp as he swayed her back and forth in her rocking chair – it almost felt like a bonding moment he had to force into her. But lately she just lays back in his chest and listens to his voice as he narrates the stories. He’s also aware this is because of you.

He’d expected to see you but it still takes him by surprise. Maybe it’s the change in setting. This is the first time he’s seeing you outside his home. How you manage to grasp the attention of six children at the same time is beyond him, but there you are, reciting a story about crayons going on a strike. He spots Dae, mouth agape in awe as he listens to you attentively.

Mai walks forwards, hiding behind a book shelf and observing the sweet scene that unfolds as the kids discuss the story.

“That’s your nanny?” Taehyung says, voice a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, your life has always somewhat resembled a movie but this is beyond.” He laughs, a little too loudly, earning himself a scowling from Mai as she looks back at them.

Jungkook frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Your nanny’s hot.” He tells his friend, unabashedly, “you are allowed to acknowledge objective attractiveness, you know?”

But before he can answer you’re wrapping up today’s session, turning to the kids and asking them if they enjoyed it. The loud cheers startle him a bit – he turns his head around as if making sure he was still in a library. The commotion is followed by a chorus of, ‘Yes, Miss ___.’

“Miss ___...” Taehyung sing-songs in a mock sultry voice, waggling his eyebrows at Jungkook.

“Shut up,” is all he says.

The kids get up, beginning to disperse, some coming to you for hugs or to sit at your lap to tell you things Jungkook can’t quite make up from a distance. They hand you books, offering their suggestions for next week’s book club and you accept them with a smile. You seem genuinely happy and excited – he finds it refreshing for some reason he can’t pin-point. Your nails are painted all a different colour, Jungkook notes. Toned down shades of yellow, green, blue, orange and pink. Maybe his colourful choice of an outfit for Soori wasn’t that far off. It looks good on you.

“Uncle Jungoo!” Dae’s voice breaks him from his trance and he comes to his knees, arms wide open as the little boy runs towards him. He picks him up in a hug once he crashes into his chest.

“Hi, buddy. Missed you.”

“Missed you, too.” His voice is sweet and Jungkook feels recharged already, his mood lifting. “Hi Soori Blue,” he says, turning to Soori.

“Soori Blue?” You ask, coming to stand in front of them.

“Hey, hey-” Taehyung is startled as Soori throws her entire body weight towards you, free-falling. Your reflexes don’t fail you and, thankfully, you catch her quickly. “Phew. You should be a baseball player.”

Jungkook is relieved to see her in your arms. For various reasons.

“She’s getting too fearless.” You say, shifting her around until she rests at the crook of your waist.

“I’m Taehyung, nice to meet you.” He extends his hand and you shake it.

“Nice to meet you, too. Dae has told me a lot about you.”

“Oh, likewise.”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, putting Dae on the floor.

“Uncle Jungoo, you know Miss ___?” The little boy asks, looking from you to Jungkook and back.

“Yes, buddy. She takes care of Soori when I’m away at work.”

“Wow, how cool!” He says and you smile at him.

“Come on, let’s get your backpack so we can go have pizza!” Taehyung says and that’s all it takes for Dae to run off excitedly.

“Kermit the Frog?” You ask, pulling down at Soori’s shirt to get a better look.

“Everybody keeps saying that.” He says, slightly irritated.

“I think it’s cool. But that’s because you’re the coolest. Aren’t you, Soo?” You coo at her.

“It’s her middle name,” he says, answering your previous question.

“Blue,” you state, looking at Soori. It fits her. “Cute.”

He simply nods.

Mai comes to you, warm smile adorning her face, “look who found you!” she tickles Soori’s tummy.

“A more than pleasant surprise,” you flush her plump cheek to yours.

“Hey, I love your dress.” Mai says. You look down at what you’re wearing. It’s a plain lilac dress. You thank her anyways. “Maybe you can give Ggukie some pointers.”

Dae calls for her and she excuses herself, leaving you and Jungkook alone once again. He’s a sight to behold today, that’s for sure. Out of his usual dark suits and dress shirts he looks even more youthful. A plain white shirt, somewhat oversized, resting a bit low over his collar bones. You have to mentally scold yourself for staring at his neck for that long. Light wash blue jeans with cuts at the thighs – Jeon Jungkook can dress his age.

Your next remark is inevitable.

“Ggukie, huh?” On a common day you wouldn’t dare joke around with him, let alone in such a condescending manner. But today you can’t help yourself.

“Miss ___, huh?” He jokes back. It leaves his mouth before he can process it and he regrets it immediately. What if you think it’s inappropriate?

But you laugh, chest fluttering a little at the fact he bit back. You give into the joke fully and say, “now who’s in charge?”

Jungkook hates how your words make his brain short circuit for a second too long. But he can’t help himself when his gaze meets yours and he gives you a smile. A big, genuine smile. Bunny teeth and everything. What a day.

He stares at you, taking you in. Taehyung’s words echo in the back of his head. He observes you with that objectivity he was talking about before. He sees it. It’s in your smile, he thinks. You smile with your whole face – it starts at your eyes, opening wide before they close in crescents, making the sides crinkle a bit. Your whole expression softens before it finally falls on your lips. Your lips which, objectively speaking, are full and cherry red. A natural pout to you that throws endearment into your every expression. You never fully look annoyed, he realizes. And it’s because of that pout.

But he knows there’s more besides objectivity when it comes to you. And before he allows his eyes to linger down your face to your body, he stops himself.

He cuts your moment short and gets back to business.

“I wanted to ask you if you’d be able to work this weekend?” He says, face back to his normal nonchalant expression it takes on around you. You pretend to ignore the way your heart sinks a little.

“Uh, sure. My friend Lucy can cover for me here at the library – the kids love her.”

“Great. It’s a short trip from Friday to Sunday. I have to attend the inauguration of my new resort. It’s only two hours away by plane.”

You don’t even have time to control the way your mouth drops, staring at him in utter confusion.

He remains unfazed.

“Jeon Jungkook is taking you on vacation?” Lucy asks, mouth parted in surprise.

“Lucy, no-” you start, but it’s to no avail.

“To the beach?!”

You haven’t even made it past the living room yet. Bag still over your shoulder, keys in hand. Lucy is buzzed for the early stages of a Saturday afternoon. She’d been perfecting her French baguette recipe and she simply could not not pair her success with an experience. So, she made a charcuterie board out of it. Red wine and everything – your glass had been placed in your hand the moment she opened the door.

“It is not a vacation. It is the inauguration of his new hotel. He wants Soori there so that throws me into the equation. By default.” You explain.

“Uh… it’s not even 1 pm, stop throwing his sexiness in my face by reminding me he owns hotels!” She huffs, pointing her index finger at you in a scolding manner.

“So, being drunk by noon is acceptable but don’t we dare throw sex in there?”

“Who said anything about sex?” her grin is wicked, to say the least.

“Lucy.”

“Hey, I am not to blame for the places your mind goes! But I’m also not one to blame you. I wouldn’t be any better at the prospect of seeing Jeon Jungkook in swim shorts.” You roll your eyes at this.

“I hate flying.”

“You’ve flown twice.”

“And I hated it.”

“You’re probably going to fly first class, courtesy of Mr. Jeon.”

“No,” you say, mind still fixated on your fear of heights, “we’re taking his plane.”

“What the fuck, ___?!”

Jungkook doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so quiet. And it’s not only the way you’re not trying to make small talk every chance you get the way you usually do. You’re eerily still, which is even more abnormal.

You’re both standing at the gates of the private airport, waiting for the SUV that will take you to his plane. Soori’s in his arms but she keeps trying to get your attention, offering you her plushie. When that doesn’t work, she attempts to hand you her pacifier – that doesn’t work either.

All through the short car ride you only get more nervous, leg bouncing in place as you stare out the window. A plane takes off in the distance and your eyes widen. You’re way too close. What if it just… fell down? You frown at your morbid thought.

As you step outside the SUV, you’re met directly with your means of transportation for the day. It’s a decent sized plane, creamy white with dark blue stripes grazing the middle. There’s a blue mat by the stairs that lead you to the entrance of the plane – the words The West End Collection written in white cursive letters. If your mind wasn’t too preoccupied with thoughts of how you feel like your life is nearing its end, you’d be able to form a witty remark on how presumptuous that is. But instead, you’re thinking about sending your mom a dramatic goodbye text. You know, just in case.

You hold tight onto the railing as you climb up the stairs, a bubbly air-hostess greeting the three of you as you step foot on the plane. The furniture in here looks more expensive than all of your belongings. Witty until the very end, you’ll claim that one.

“Welcome. Good morning, Mr. Jungkook. Miss Soori, long-time no see,” the air hostess coos at her. If Soori can do this, then you can, too. Right?

“Morning, Lydia. How’s the forecast looking today?” Jungkook asks, sitting Soori down in one of the cushiony seats.

“Blue skies ahead, Mr. Jungkook. A bit of wind up north will probably have us experiencing some turbulence through the second half of the trip, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

You gulp. It’s loud enough to have them turning their heads, puzzled expressions searching for yours. You avoid their gazes.

Lydia senses your discomfort, though, and she walks over to you, motioning to one of the seats for you to sit down. You smile at her, unable to form many words. “Is there anything I can get you,” she asks.

“Huh?” You look up at her, eyes still a bit lost.

“Two iced americanos, please, Lydia.” Jungkook’s voice brings you back.

“Coming right up,” she says before turning around, making her way to the small kitchenette at the front of the plane.

Jungkook thinks about heading towards the back seats, his favourite single-sofa waiting for him. But he can clearly see the uneasiness you’re in and so he takes Soori in his arms, plopping them both in the seat in front of you.

“You okay,” he asks, looking for your gaze that seems to be fixed on nowhere in particular.

“I hate flying,” the words come out of you at speed lighting. “Well, I hate heights, more so.”

“Ahh,” but before Jungkook can find the words to calm down your nerves you hit him with a set of loaded ones.

“I also read somewhere that private flights amount to more deadly crashes than commercial ones do. Small planes are, statistically, more dangerous. As opposed to the big planes that are even safer than cars. Did you know that?” You’re word vomiting, something you do out of nervousness after your brain can’t tolerate stage one of fright: speechlessness.

Jungkook raises one brow at you, a small smile tugging at his lips and then he chuckles. Out of all your attempts at humouring him, this is what gets to him? He must be a sadist, you conclude.

“If Google says so…,” he says, a playful ring to his voice.

“It was a very reliable source.”

“They’re right.”

“What?” your voice shakes, you were hoping him and his big brain would refute your theory.

“Statistically, I mean. They are right. A lot of the crashes are due to poor servicing, though. We service our planes monthly, and always right before flying. So, unless the odds are not in your favour today, we should make it there in one piece.”

“The odds are never in my favour.” This has him full on laughing now and you have to admit the sound eases your nerves a little.

“Here, can you hold her for a minute?” You nod, reaching for Soori who falls into your arms effortlessly. You watch him head to the front of the plane.

You bounce her in your lap. She’s calm and unbothered and it eases you a little – your shoulders relaxing, releasing tension you didn’t even know you were holding.

Jungkook comes back after a bit – two iced coffees in his hands. He hands you one before he settles back on his seat. You thank him and he hums in return, letting his body melt into the cushions. His elbow rests on the armrest next to him, fingers coming to his lips as he observes you. You take a sip of your coffee and wince at the taste. He laughs.

“What is this?!”

“Iced americano,” he responds, feigning innocence, but the smile on his face gives him away.

“It is not.” You retaliate.

“Fine. Iced americano, pump of scotch.” His nonchalance astounds you.

“Jungkook! I’m- Soori-,”

“Relax, I’ve got her. No fun coffee for me. Plus, it’s not enough to have you seeing stars. Just enough to take the edge off.”

“This is not very appropriate work hours behaviour.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Now, you try. You try really hard to not fall into the cliché that is Jeon Jungkook. You try really hard to not take his words as anything other than what they are. In retrospect, he’s never even given you enough rope for you to second guess his actions. But seeing him in less impersonal contexts like this one, or the library last week, is playing dangerous games with the left side of your brain. You know, your rationality.

Being out-of-office suits him. His whole demeanour slows down, becomes a bit more mellow. He’s easier, to put it bluntly. He wears baggy, comfy clothes. His hair looks ruffly and you notice how soft his features look when he’s well rested. His duality is, pardon your French, mind-fucking. And so as much as you try, you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit Jeon Jungkook has officially crossed the line of ‘yes, he’s attractive but also your boss’ to ‘yes, he’s your boss but he also sends a whole troop of butterflies straight to your tummy every time he throws that slow blink, tendered smile at you.’ And it might be the scotch but you’d also be lying to yourself if you didn’t acknowledge that you, in all of your cliché-loving glory, are in trouble.

He looks to the side, eyes falling to the window next to you. He reaches for it, bringing the panel down.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” he says, settling back into his seat, legs spreading as he makes himself comfortable.

So much trouble.

Jungkook’s less than conventional recipe to cure fear of flying seems to have worked for you. By the time the plane had taken off you were a bit more relaxed and, needless to say, hazy minded. It was quite amusing to see you fall into the effects of a little bit of hard liquor in the early stages of the morning.

Soori had fallen asleep soon after, the white noise coming from the plane’s engine getting to her. She now rested peacefully in a travel bassinet in the seat next to him.

The lights in the cabin grew dim and the both of you went into airplane mode. Headphones in, falling into a comfortable silence. Jungkook can’t quite remember when was the last time he’d fallen into comfortable silence with someone. And by someone he means an adult. He found himself enjoying it in a way that eased him. Jungkook has never experienced fear of flying – or heights. But he supposed the nervous edge you’d carried could pretty much resemble the one that had settled upon him the moment Ira left. That fear that convinces you that the end will see you crumbling – crashing. The type of fear that has the odds against you. So, when you fell back into that tranquillity that characterizes you, he felt himself relaxing, too. It wasn’t conscious but he welcomed it. He was tired of fighting so as to keep his pain comfortable.

He fidgets in his seat, eyes closed as he tries to fall asleep, but his attempts are failing. He’s not necessarily tense so he should be drifting – the white noise usually gets to him, too. Maybe he’s not comfortable enough, or warm enough. Or maybe his mind can’t stop thinking about the last thing he witnessed before closing his eyes. Your weight had shifted to the closed window of the plane, a dark brown leather journal propped on your knee, pen gliding against the ivory pages as you wrote away. You hadn’t paused once and he couldn’t help wonder what had your thoughts running at such a rapid pace. Plane crash statistics, probably.

His inability to fall asleep has him feeling restless so he finally gives in, opening his eyes. You’ve remained in the exact position they’d last left you in. He stares, taking advantage of how hyper-focused you seem to be. Your hold on the notebook is delicate and he notices how well-lived it looks. The soft leather has wrinkled at the corners and you’ve inked a couple of phrases he can’t quite make up into the fabric. He notices a little star in blue ink, slightly lopsided. Before he can stop himself, his lips form a smile. It lingers, softening his expression.

You feel it. His eyes on you. Your eyes leave the page, gaze shifting up, though he can’t tell your eyes are on him. You feel nervous at first but his smile pushes that feeling aside. It’s contagious so you mimic it, enjoying the built-up fuzzy feeling at the pit of your stomach. You’re not sure it’s inhabited by sole butterflies anymore. Something else makes way inside of you, a feeling which you keep unnamed in hopes you can tame it by doing so.

He breaks himself out of his trance, looking up. His eyes meet yours and his smile falters a bit. Yours doesn’t, though. It doesn’t lose its warmth, its welcoming nature. So, he lets his lips move to the beat of your actions once again.

You break the little eternity your exchange held, hand resuming your stream of consciousness. He lets himself watch you for a couple more seconds – lets himself indulge in your light, the same light he’d been avoiding.

His eyes flutter a couple of times before sleep settles upon him.

You’re the last thing he sees before he fully drifts.

You wouldn’t say you’re seasoned when it comes to hotels stays. Let alone five-star ones. The last time you stayed in one you and Lucy feared for your health to such extent you ended up showering with flip flops on.

The West End is nothing like anything you’ve experienced. Not only is it top-notch luxury and comfort from as early as stepping into the lobby but, you also get to experience your first taste of said luxury with the benefits rooming with the owner brings you. Not to mention the fact that the hotel doesn’t technically open its doors until inauguration tomorrow night – leaving you, Jungkook and Soori with an entire hotel to yourselves with the exception of the staff, of course. Staff who also happen to be at your service twenty-four-hours a day. Their words, not yours.

Well, there is another exception. It comes in a pair of five-inch heels and hair so sleeked back it’s giving you a headache.

“Mr. Jungkook,” her voice is the definition of cool, calm and collected. All of her, really.

“Kaya, nice to see you,” he retorts. You don’t miss the way he takes a less formal tone with her.

“Likewise,” she looks at Soori, who’s head is resting in her father’s shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart. Did the plane ride get you sleepy?” her voice softens but not enough to lose its sharpness. Soori gives her a loopy smile.

“Kaya, this is ___.” Jungkook turns to you and you proceed to shake her hand.

She smiles, nothing but politely. “Ah, yes. We’ve talked on the phone. It’s nice to finally meet you.” For some reason, said phone conversation had you picturing her as a stern lady well into her forties. A brown suit, short hair. Kaya can’t be any older than Jungkook and her black suit looks designer. She’s beautiful, too. In that femme fatale way.

“You too,” at this, she gives you another tight-lipped smile.

Jungkook starts walking absentmindedly, eyes scanning the lobby. He seems pleased. He turns to Kaya as he says, “so, give me the run down, Kay.”

Kay?

“We’re meeting with the event organizer in twenty to run through some last-minute details for the reception. After that, you have an appointment of the outmost importance with none other than rest and relaxation,” he shoots her a smile – a dazzling, boyish smile. She nods and continues, “your friends are arriving at nine tomorrow, the plane’s already on its way back to the city to pick them up. Brunch at ten, don’t be late. Your parents will be here at 1 pm, sharp. Lunch will be served at 1:15. Your father wanted a seaside view so you’ll be eating by the cabanas.” He rolls his eyes at this, “you know I don’t fight the man. Anyways, we’ll give them an official tour of the premises at 3. Reception begins at 6, we’ll cut the ribbon at 6:15, dinner at 7 and then the beach party. The plane will be ready for you on Sunday so just let me know when they can expect you and I’ll pass the message along.” She finishes, letting out a breath as to finalize her previous statement.

“You’re a Rockstar,” is all he says before you make your way to the elevator.

A Rockstar?

The elevator ride is quiet. Kaya types away on her phone at superhuman speed. Jungkook stands in the middle of the two of you, eyes penetrating the doors. Even Soori is quiet – falling in and out of sleep in her father’s arms.

The corridors are wide and long and it’s quite a walk to get to the room. Kaya stands in front of the double doors and taps the room key into the card reader. The doors come open and to say you’re impressed is an understatement.

The room is not quite a room. The first thing you see is the ocean. The balcony seems to be never ending, illuminating the space, and you’re so high up it feels like you’re at sea level. There’s a full kitchen to the side, marble island and everything, and a dining table that gives way to the living room. The finish of the room is in that impeccably clean and modern aesthetic you’ve grown used to since working for Jungkook.

“The West Wing,” Kaya states, pride lacing her voice. “Master bedroom is that way, Soori’s nursery is right next to it and opposite that we have the guest bedroom. Where you’ll be sleeping, ___.” She says the latter with an edge to her voice you don’t miss.

“Perfect. Thank you, Kaya. I’ll see you downstairs in ten?”

“You got it, Mr. Jungkook.” That’s the last thing she says before she turns around, heels clinking on the marble floors, pony tail swaying side to sides as she makes her grand exit.

Jungkook walks over to the balcony, sliding the doors open. The warm, salty breeze fills the space. It’s so nice it takes you a moment to register where exactly life has landed you today.

“Why does everyone call you Mr. Jungkook,” you ask, startling him a little as you come to stand next to him. The vastness of the ocean stands before you. It’s breath-taking.

“Mr. Jeon is my dad,” you nod at this, “plus, he’s still the tycoon around here.”

“All of this is yours, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, a pensative look to his face. “Ours, I like to believe.” He says, looking at Soori who’s just began to fully wake up. You smile at his words. “Hey, the meeting shouldn’t take long. Why don’t you two get changed and meet me by the beach? This one won’t sleep through the night if she naps again.”

“You got it, Mr. Jungkook,” you say, taking Soori from him. He shakes his head at you but you don’t miss the light chuckle that escapes his lips.

“It is an honour to be at your service again, Mr. Jungkook.” Mr. Ilsung bows repeatedly, smiling with pride as Jungkook taste tests the finger food set to be served at tomorrow’s reception.

“I think the honour’s all mine, Chef. This is- mmm,” He stuffs another canapé into his mouth.

Mr. Ilsung beams at the sight.

Growing up, Jungkook found himself spending more time in hotel rooms and lobbies than he did in his actual home. It was his father’s tactic to have him grow passionate about the business. It didn’t quite work back then. Instead, it would result in Jungkook sneaking out of his father’s sight, giving way to his many hotel escapades. He would find himself in the most remote of places – crossing every Do Not Enter and Staff Only sign that came his way.

He hid in rooftops and utility rooms but his favourite by far was the kitchen. He met Mr. Ilsung during one of those escapades when he was only seventeen. He wasn’t Chef back then, though. He’d only be assisting in the kitchen but they fell into a fondness that made him feel like family. He’d keep him company and in return, Mr. Ilsung would keep him well fed – treating him to all of his favourite foods, his touch taking on every recipe with a twist.

His wife had fallen ill a year ago, leaving him a widower. Everything happened so suddenly the man found himself walking into an early retirement, too consumed by sorrow. This had made Jungkook feel more nostalgic than he’d imagined possible, which lead him to present the man with an offer that he found himself unable to deny. Mr. Ilsung didn’t have kids, and now with his wife gone nothing was holding him to the city. Jungkook’s idea to make him the head Chef at his new hotel had him packing up his belongings and starting his life over by the seaside. He was immeasurably grateful.

Jungkook sees one of the cooks walk over, holding an assortment of fruits, chocolates and a bottle of his favourite red wine inside a basket adorned with roses. “What is this?”

“A welcome gift, Mr. Jungkook. The chocolates are for Miss Soori, though.” Mr. Ilsung sets the basket atop the kitchen counter.

“This is very kind, Mr. Ilsung. Thank you very much.”

Jungkook takes one look at the basket and it doesn’t take his eyes long to find it – a greeting note, both his and Ira’s name written on it.

Kaya notices this and she visibly tenses next to him, eyes widening as she begins to apologize profusely.

“Don’t. And don’t give anyone hell over this, Kaya,” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “It’s not their fault.” She just nods.

It’s not anyone’s fault. Not Kaya’s, not the concierge at the lobby who probably printed it, not Mr. Ilsung. He doesn’t even think he blames Ira anymore. Blame bounces around and he’s come to realize that in the end it doesn’t really do anything to ease pain. On the contrary, it fuels it.

“I will make sure it doesn’t happen again, though,” Kaya tells him and he turns to her, a soft but grateful smile on his lips. “Now go. Go build sand castles with that cute, chubby baby of yours.”

For once, Jungkook puts blame onto something that doesn’t tear at his heart. Quite the opposite actually, it heals him. He blames the ocean.

As he walks down the boardwalk that leads to the beach, he can feel the tiny grains of flyaway sand under his feet. It’s a sunny day and the water is a deep shade of blue, gentle waves breaking at the shore, darkening the once white of the sand.

He thinks you and Soori match the view. You wear white and she wears blue – in solid one pieces that even resemble each other in shape. She plays with the sand, curious as ever before she brings her hand to her mouth, probably swallowing a good amount before you’re frantically pulling her hand away. You laugh, though, and she takes on an expression that goes from fear to amusement at this.

Jungkook can’t help but laugh, too, and at this, you both turn to him. He tells himself you’re only mimicking Soori’s excitement to humour her, wind her up a little even.

“Say hi, daddy!” you tell her, waving her little hand. Jungkook smiles so, so big before he waves back, coming to sit down next to her.

“How’s my beach babe,” he asks, and you have to put actual mental strain to remember he’s talking about his daughter.

“The sand is incredibly entertaining, even after twenty minutes. Especially when we find seashells,” you open your palm, a handful of them coming to view. “Hey, does she like the water? The tide seems calm…”

“She does. Don’t know how she’ll feel about the temperature, though.”

You shrug. “We can try.”

Your hair dances in the wind a little bit and under the bright sun he can see just how soft it looks. His eyes travel down, stopping right below your neck – a silver necklace with a round pendant falls right in the middle, tiny blue jewels make up a star at its center.

“What do you write about?”

You scoff before saying, “will you laugh if I tell you?”

“Am I that much of an asshole?” He’s smiling but you can sense the worry in his voice.

“Language,” you say. “And I won’t confirm or deny without the presence of a lawyer.”

Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t know if he should be laughing at your bold wittiness but he lets himself throw his head back, throaty laugh falling past his lips. Joint with the sound of the ocean it makes for a heavenly sound, you think.

“Tell me – I won’t laugh without the presence of one either, promise.”

“Fine. Feelings, stories… poetry,” your voice comes to a murmur at the last word, gaze falling down.

“Do you turn every feeling into poetry?”

“Kind of, I guess. It helps – to turn feelings into something more. Say pain, for example. Isn’t it comforting to think it can become something other than just pain?” Your question is rhetoric and he doesn’t answer it – but he nods and something in his eyes tells you he’s storing your words somewhere in there.

Soori shrieks at the feel of the water hitting her little toes, but neither of you can tell if it’s in wonder or terror. You kneel down, taking in her expression and you laugh, looking up at Jungkook who’s thumbs are in Soori’s hold, tighter than he’s ever felt it.

“I think she likes it,” you say, salt water droplets falling from your hand to her head and she kicks excitedly at the feel, giggles leaving her mouth.

What if pain could turn into something other than just pain?

Jungkook thinks that’s brave.

He thinks you are, too.

i love them, i do. jungkook’s character development? so sexy of him. they’re so soft and cute and my heart just aaaaaaaaagh for these two. I truly hope u enjoyed. do let me know if u did, i love talking to u guys about it <3 thank u for all the love! chapter 4 is cooking and so are my sexy juices bc ggukie needs some loving methinks. so buckle up buckaroos!!!🤫

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wonjaekook · 3 years

Text

Residual Starshine

Pairing: Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos @insomni-writing @neowritingsnet

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds. All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you’ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don’t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

#yuta smut #yuta fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #neowritingsnet #nct angst #yuta angst #nct one shot #yuta one shot #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #yuta imagine #nct imagine #yuta fanfiction #yuta fanfic #sports collab #i hope everyone enjoys this :)#apologies for lateness #wonjaekook

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3rensgf · 3 years

Text

rent a gf - two eren yeager x reader

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of sex, talks about "getting bitches", eren is an idiot, fuckboy!eren implied, tatbilb mention, uhh fluff idk theres not much to warn abt in here, not beta read

notes: chapter two is out! i'm really glad a lot of people are enjoying rent a gf. it really means a lot! i see some people commented on the previous chapter, and i would love to reply to them, but i'm not familiar with tumblrs commenting system D: if you wanna leave a comment for me to just read, that's fine you can still keep commenting here on tumblr. but if you would like me to reply to it, you can comment on ao3, and i will reply! happy reading :) p.s, waffles w whipped cream r so much better

[ read on ao3 ]

previous ✩ series masterlist ✩ next

In the early hours of Saturday morning, you felt a hand shaking your shoulder to wake you. Groaning and mumbling, you sleepily swatted the hand away and pulled the covers over your head. No one should be forced to wake up early on the weekends. It was Saturday, for fucks sake. Not to mention your hangover due to last nights mistakes was making your head throb.

The hand rested on your shoulder once more, shaking you gently. “(Y/N),” Mikasa said softly. “Your alarm has been going off for the past 10 minutes. Wake up. I have water and Advil.”

“Nooooo,” you moaned, snuggling deeper into your bed. “Don’ wanna.”

Mikasa stopped bothering you for a moment, and you let your guard down. Finally you could sleep. When it was time to wake up, you’d wake up.

Right as you were about to pass out again, your blanket was roughly tugged off of you. “Mikasaaa!” you whined, covering your face with your hands. “What was that for? I was trying to sleep.”

“Get up. You have to shower and get ready for lunch with Eren today. Breakfast is almost finished,” she explained, setting down the pills and water on your bedside table. “Go brush your teeth and wash your face so you can eat. Now,” she instructed sternly, moving to your window to open the curtains. The bright sunlight hit your still half-asleep face, making you hiss quietly.

She left the room moments after, probably to check up on breakfast. Honestly, you didn’t know how she could function this early in the morning despite having partied all night last night. Curse her and her inability to get hungover.

Grumbling to yourself, you adjusted your sleep clothes that had gotten disheveled overnight to make sure you looked decent. Your sleepy gaze wandered over to your nightstand to see two Advils on a napkin beside a glass of cold water. Thanking every higher power for sending Mikasa to you, you downed both pills and the glass of water. Even though you might bitch and moan to her constantly, you really weren’t lying when you said you’d die without Mikasa.

After sitting down at the edge of your bed for a few moments, you eventually shuffled into the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your morning routine. It took longer than usual thanks to your sluggish and tired movements, but you got done nevertheless.

A wonderful aroma came from the kitchen when you left, stomach grumbling in anticipation for the wonderful food you were about to scarf down. Mikasa was in the process of setting down both your breakfasts on the island, sitting down on the stools when you walked in. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she greeted, resting her chin on her hands.

“Morning, sweet angel,” you replied, sitting at the stool beside her. In front of you was a plate of Funfetti pancakes with whipped cream instead of maple syrup (syrup was for pancakes only). There were a couple of cut up fruits beside them, too. “Where did you get these?” you asked, picking up your fork to take a bite of your breakfast.

Mikasa dug into her own breakfast of oatmeal as soon as you started eating. “Went grocery shopping and saw the mix in the baking aisle. I thought you’d like it,” she explained, taking a bite of her food. “Good?”

Your response was a moan, tilting your head back as you chewed. “Insanely,” you said, cutting up another bite. You stabbed the piece with your fork and guided it to Mikasa, keeping your hand under it to catch anything if it dropped.

She finished her bite and leaned in to take the bite, humming in satisfaction at the taste. “Good,” she nodded.

“They put like crack ‘n this shit,” you said through a full mouth, shoveling forkful after forkful into your mouth.

You could feel Mikasa's judging gaze for eating like a pig, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was eating these crack laced waffles as greedily as possible. “What time are you supposed to meet Eren today?” she asked to make conversation.

You remember drunkenly slurring to her that Eren was supposed to take you out for lunch today while she was trying to put you to bed. All she did was nod and dodge your flailing limbs while she tried to change you into your night clothes.

“Uhhh,” you trailed off, “I dunno actually. I think he’s gonna text me when.” The familiar notification from your phone indicated you had a text from Eren. “Right now.”

ren ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ - 9:04 AM picking u up at 12 dont be late

you - 9:04 AM k

ren ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ - 9:05 AM dont use k with me that makes me sad :(

you - 9:05 AM k

“He says 12,” you told Mikasa, setting your phone back down on the table. You went to go take another bite of your waffles, only to be met with stray bits of whipped cream and waffle crumbs. How disappointing.

“You have time to get ready then,” she said, finishing up the last bit of her own breakfast. Holding her plate, she got up to go put it in the sink, taking your plate for you as well. Literally an angel.

Suddenly, she leaned in to sniff you like the weird English professor you had your freshman year and cringed. “You’re gonna need all the time you can get. You stink.”

Never mind, not an angel.

Grumbling and cursing under your breath, you got off the stool to go take a shower. “And here I was about to offer to get you something for lunch while I was out.”

“A burger from the joint I like would be nice. So would a Coke and side of onion rings.”

“Size?”

“Medium for both.”

You would’ve caved in and bought her something, anyways. Might as well know what she wanted in the first place.

Showering took longer than expected. Most of your time got wasted by you standing under the shower stream and soaking in all the warmth. It wasn’t until Mikasa knocked on the door asking you not to use up all the hot water that made you actually start going through your routine.

The clock read 10:09 when you got out. You still had more time to kill until Eren came, so you elected to sit on your bed in your towel to scroll through social media. At 10:45, you started to get ready for real now.

Your makeup was just enough to cover any imperfections on your face, and your outfit cute enough for a lunch outing with your friend-fuckbuddy.

At 11:50, you stepped out into the living room with your belongings in hand to lounge around while you waited for Eren. You would’ve gone to bug Mikasa, but she had just stepped into the shower minutes prior.

12 on the dot, a rhythmic knocking was rapped on your door, meaning Eren was finally here. Skipping over to the door, you opened it to reveal him while slipping on your shoes.

“Hey,” he grinned when the door opened. He leaned in to give you a kiss on the lips after you’d straightened up from putting on your shoes.

A grin found its way on your lips during the kiss. It only lasted a couple of seconds, ending with you pulling away with a quiet smack. “Hi,” you greeted back.

“Ready to go?” he asked, one hand leaving his jacket pocket to jut his thumb down the hallway towards the elevators.

“Yup, ready,” you said. Over your shoulder, you yelled into the apartment to say goodbye to Mikasa and locking the door once you closed. “Okay, ready for real now.”

There was a new hot pot restaurant near campus, Eren told you, that he so desperately wanted to try. He overheard some people talking about the place in his Stats class, and he’s been wanting to go ever since.

“So, about what I told you last night,” he said, leaning on the table close to you after giving your orders to the waitress. “You said you would help me get Mina.”

“I said it was a bad idea,” you countered, taking a sip of your drink.

“But you said you would help me. For a price.”

“That I… did say,” you sighed. “What’s your plan?”

Smiling, he opened up his jacket and dug into the inner pockets, getting out a small notepad and a pen. Your eyebrows raised at the sight of them. “Okay,” he started, flipping through his notepad. “So I was thinking about it this morning, and this is what I have down so far.”

Sliding it towards you, he waited impatiently for you to read what he had.

Your lips pursed to prevent giggled from leaving your lips. Well, it was a plan, alright. Written in Eren’s chicken scratch of handwriting were a few very simple steps.

eren yaegers fool proof plan to get bitches get mina aka operation rent a gf by eren yaeger 1. talk to mina to get her interested in you ✓ 2. get hot girl ((Y/N)) to pretend to be your gf and show you can be a good bf 3. get mina jealous so she wants you even more and not poopy thomas wanker 4. “break up” with (Y/N) and pretend to be sad 5. get mina to comfort you 6. get bitches make mina your gf 7. pay (Y/N) for her services 8. ta-da!

When you looked up from the notepad, you saw Eren waiting for your answer. “Well? What do you think? Is it any good?” he asked.

“Were you high when you wrote this?” was the first thing you asked him. Eren shook his head innocently. “You’re 100% serious?” He nodded.

You bit your lip, deep in thought about Eren’s supposedly fool proof plan. “What makes you think it’s gonna work?”

“I know girls and how they act. If Paradis University let me major in women -- don’t get smart with me I don’t mean Women Studies -- I would be passing all my classes with flying colors. I know it’ll work, trust me,” he said cockily, leaning back in his chair.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do. I know you. I know everything about you, (Y/N). I even know how to make you scream my name in--”

“Okay!” you cut him off, not wanting the strangers around you to know the intimate details of your sex life with Eren. “Okay.”

“I knew you were gonna do that. See, I do know women.”

A moment or two passed, both of you staring at each other. You with a deadpan expression, and him with a proud one. You were the first one to break the silence with a heavy sigh. “Okay, say I agree to this. What do I get in return?”

“Anything you want,” he said. “Within reason, of course. Please don’t ask me to like, hide a body or something.”

Ignoring his last comment, you continued speaking, “You’re not allowed to back out of whatever I ask you to, right? If this plan fails or succeeds, you still owe me whatever you promised.”

Eren nodded. “Of course. I swear on it.” He shifted a little so his elbow was on the table, holding out a pinky. Instinctively, you held out your pinky as well and intertwined the both of them. Pinky promises were something you and Eren had been doing for years now. It meant that the other was dead serious on their promise.

The waitress came back with your broth and dipping ingredients, setting them on the table for you right when your pinkes left each other. Thanking the waitress, the two of you talked some more while you waited for the broth to heat up.

“We should make it official. With a contract and set of rules,” he said. “Like that one movie you forced me to watch with you. The Boys I Loved or some shit like that.”

“To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before,” you corrected.

“Yeah, that. They’re kinda doing something like us, yeah?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, picking up your chopsticks and a sice of pork belly when the broth started to boil. “After we eat though.”

Idle chatter was shared between the two of you as you ate. Even though you saw each other nearly every day, you never ran out of things to talk to. You could be talking about complete nonsense or how quantum physics made no sense, and you would still have the best time of your life.

By now, the broth had been drunk up and the table had been cleared out to be replaced with banana milk and ice cream. Eren brought out his notepad again to write down the set of rules for your fake relationship while enjoying your desserts.

Good progress had been written so far on the notepad. Both of you had given input and criticism on each rule made. In the end, you finally had a good set of rules written down.

(Y/N) and erens contract and rules for eren yaegers fool proof plan to get mina aka operation rent a gf by eren yaeger 1. act normally. eren and (Y/N) act like a couple already. just double the pda a little more 2. don’t tell anyone about the deal. the more people who believe in the relationship, the more likely it is for the plan to work 3. post each other on ig a lot. maybe add names and a date to bios to make it more believable 4. date night every saturday (go out or just hang out) 5. go to parties together 6. walk each other to class if you can 7. call each other cute pet names 8. after breaking up, the couple act has to stop including the sex 9. DON’T SLIP UP

payment for (Y/N):

Eren tapped a beat on the notepad, reading “payment” over and over again. Eventually he looked up at you, deep in thought. “Have you thought of anything so far?” he asked, clicking the pen to write what you wanted.

This was a tough decision. Eren was ready to give you anything to help him get Mina. You had to be wise and pick something big to take advantage of him. Something you were sure you wouldn’t ever regret getting.

“How about,” you started, trailing off, “you do my laundry for the rest of our time at ParadisU, buy me lunch every Wednesday even after we break up, recommend that godsend of a tutor you keep gatekeeping to help me too, and…”

“And?” Eren asked, looking up from his writing, waiting for your next words.

“All the orgasms I want during our relationship,” you finished, satisfied with what you chose.

“Is that all?” he asked, writing down the last of your words. “That’s a lot.”

“How about I let you know if I wanna add more,” you said. Eren nodded in response. His head hung to look at the notepad again, writing something down. Once he was done, he plaed the pen on the pad and slid it to you.

“Sign it so it’s official,” he instructed.

There were two lines beside each other, one already with Eren’s signature. Without hesitation, you signed your name neatly on the paper, giving the items back to Eren once you were done.

payment for (Y/N): eren has to do the (Y/N)’s laundry for the rest of university, buy her lunch ever wednesday, get tutor to help her and give her as many orgasms as she wants during the course of the relationship

signed x eren yaeger x (y/n) (l/n)

The two of you shook hands when Eren put away his things, to seal the deal again. The waitress came by again to give you the bill and collect your dirty dishes. Eren set down the cash needed to pay along with a tip in the check presenter before the two of you left.

You walked hand in hand back to Erens car before you realized you missed something. “Wait. What do we tell people when they ask how we got together?” you asked, pausing in your tracks.

Eren stopped with you, turning to look at you. “Um, you can say I confessed after lunch, and that this is technically our first date,” he suggested, tugging your hand to walk back to the car.

“Huh. Okay. That works,” you nodded.

The two of you got into the car a little bit past 2:30 in the afternoon, ready to go home. “Wait,” you said again, making Eren pause. “Mikasa wanted a burger from that one joint near our apartment. Could you take me there first?”

Eren smiled and nodded, starting the car. “Of course. Burger with medium Coke and onion rings?”

“How did you know?”

“She always gets that when we go there.”

“Huh… I guess you’re right.”

“When am I not?”

"Always."

taglist - @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag , @lazalee , @countthemoons , @se-va-muriendo-mialma , @liaxxx109 , @prxttyguardian , @jeansbabycake

italic names, it wouldn't let me tag you!

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leafs-lover · 3 years

Text

Because Two People Got Drunk

Rediscover

Series Masterlist

A/N: I wrote this pretty fast and didn't proofread it, so there's that. While likes are gold, reblogs are golden.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, a lightly dominant Freddie, but also a soft dad Freddie

Word Count: 2200

Waking up in bed your eyes scan to the clock and see its 6:16, the morning light slowly filtering in through a crack in the blinds.

Rolling onto your other side you don’t expect to see Fred. He came home from an extended road trip late last night, and was gone for eight days. If he was still in bed there would be an arm draped over your center, back pressed to his warm chest. You would be curled into him feeling his exhale on your neck, and when you would try to move he would groan, pinning you tighter mumbling about five more minutes.

But there he is.

Red locks needing to be cut sticking to his forehead, draped over his eyes. He has no shirt on and quiet snores slip from his lips. You wonder why he is in bed and so far from you. You have woken up from road trips almost being smothered by him, him subconsciously trying to be close to you after time apart.

That’s when you see it.

Tight ringlet (YHC) curls peaking out from under the duvet, her small body tucked under his arm. Her stuffed penguin squeezed between the two of them. Gently you brush some hair on her forehead, pressing your lips to her temple. She doesn’t stir, but you gently grazed Fred’s arm and his eyes flutter open.

“Hey," you whisper brushing your lips to his.

“Hi," he mumbles with a raspy voice full of sleep. His eyes are heavy as he struggles to keep them open. “Eight days is too long,” he groans bringing a hand up to gently stroke your hair causing you to smile. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too. What’s she doing here?” you ask eyeing down to you two and a half year old daughter.

“She was stirring when I got home," he gently rubs his eyes clearing some of the sleep from the corner and he pulls her closer to his chest.

“So you brought her into our bed instead of tucking her pack in to her own,” you tease raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, she had a bad dream,” he mumbles running a hand through his tousled hair, “couldn’t put her back to bed scared.”

He pushes a few stray hairs behind her ears and leans down to kiss her forehead and you shake your head. Fred has always had a soft spot for her, anything she wants all she has to do is look at him with big beady eyes and she gets it.

You have been on his case to be firmer with her. She is already two and a half, and you see signs of separation anxiety when Fred leaves and you don’t want it to get worse. You also know she sleeps fine when Fred isn’t around. Most of those nights she spends in her bed, though occasionally you have found her snuggled up beside Oliver.

“She has her own bed babe," you say shaking your head at him.

“What was I supposed to do?" he smirks.

“Put her back to sleep in her bed.”

“Last month you had Noah in here," he mumbles. “He’s three and a half.”

“He was sick," you laugh, “and that was only 2 nights. Every night your home she is here. If she wasn’t we could be having sex in our bed right now," you grin.

“So you don’t care she is here, you care because you can’t have sex," he laughs. “Am I not satisfying you anymore babe?”

“No," you laugh, “I mean I do miss having sex in our bed. But she can’t sleep in here all the time. It will be so much worse as she grows up if she spends every night here.”

Over the past few months because Elise always manages her way between the two of you; all you have managed is hurried sex in the pantry or a bathroom. Finding the couple of minutes whenever available, but even those days are sometimes interrupted by little voices on the other side, fingers under the door jam trying to get to you. Sometimes by the twins, but mostly Elise searching for Fred.

Without giving him a chance to respond you get up and wander to the bathroom before heading downstairs to start breakfast before Oliver has school.

You can faintly smell the coffee brewing as you walk out of the pantry and are met by a hard chest. His hands grasping your hips as your eyes find his. You expect to see soft drowsy brown eyes heavy with sleep, but instead are met with dark brown orbs laced with fire glaring down at you.

Trying to walk around him his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your shirt. Instead of letting you by he pushes you backwards, the stone counter digging into your back.

“Fred I have to make breakfast,” you groan reaching for his wrist to release his grip. Quickly he reaches behind you, grabbing a container from the shelf and sets it beside you. He doesn’t pull his eyes off you as he leans down. His breath is warm as his lips ghost over the skin on your neck.

“They can have cereal," he retorts with a dark grin plastered on his face.

“Fred," you warn.

“Apparently I’m not properly fucking my wife,” he growls sinking his teeth in to your collarbone making you hiss out. He brings one hand to cup your cunt over the fabric of your shorts. “So the kids are having cereal and I am going to bend my wife over the kitchen island and fuck her right. Then later when you go to do laundry I’m going to follow you and wear your legs as ear muffs.”

You shudder at the vulgarity spilling from your husband’s mouth. His hot breath and husky voice and has your knees quivering underneath you, your entire body getting clammy. Just as you are about to give in you feel him pull your shorts down. He moans, nipping your skin when he feels the slick that has developed in your core, his digits easily sliding in.

He thrusts his fingers in and out a few times, his fingers easily working you open. “Fuck baby you’re soaked," he bites your collarbone.

“Fred,” you hiss as his teeth sink further in, fingers thrusting in and out. Bringing his thumb to your sensitive bud he presses hard circles into it.

“Babe the kids,” you moan his fingers increasing their pace.

“They won’t be awake for another half hour skat,” he hums “I can do a lot with a half hour.”

Sucking hard on your sweet spot, thumb sweeping over your clit. Your hands move from the counter to grip his biceps, Fred almost fully supporting you. Your moans are getting louder while you begin to roll your hips increasing the tension in your core. “That’s it baby, fuck yourself on my fingers,” he mumbles mustache scraping your skin. “I want to feel you drip down my wrist.”

“Oh my…fuck…” you start to ramble “Freddie.”

Your head falls back and you can feel your orgasm on the cusp, nails dragging down his bare back. Incoherent mumbling, Fred’s name, swear words, Danish phrases; anything in your vocabulary tumbles from your lips.

“lad gå for mig skat” he grunts “lad gå for mig.”

Your walls tighten, his fingers rapidly moving in and out of your heat, each time covered with more of your slick. “Oh f-fuuuuck….I’m gonna -” the words die on your tongue as your orgasm explodes in you.

Clenching around his fingers, your nails harshly dig into his skin. As your pleasure rips through you, you stop rolling your hips but Fred continues to work you through your high. He slows his fingers drawing out your orgasm while you cry out in pleasure. You can hear his voice in your ear but you can’t focus on the words, static fizzling is all you can hear.

Finally as you come down from your high, vision refocusing you see the devilish smirk on Fred’s face. Your entire body still on fire, you feel his lips press against yours in a searing kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, fighting the other for dominance, lips crashing against the others. You kiss as if it’s your last minute on earth.

Finally coming free you both take a deep breath, starved of oxygen. You have a large smile on your face, Fred has a wide grin. You glance over to the clock and reach down to grab your shorts. Fred quickly grips your wrist pulling your gaze to his eyes. Dark and full of fire, a mischievous grin on his face.

“I said I was gonna fuck my wife properly, so I’m gonna fuck my wife properly. Now turn around,” he commands.

“The kids,” you mumble while he cups your breast, easily massaging it in his large hand.

“Are asleep,” he bites, pulling his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his abs. “Turn around,” he takes a breath “don’t make me repeat myself y/n.”

A small fishhook catches your lip, curling one side up slightly. “What are you going to do about it daddy?”

You watch his body shudder slightly hearing you call him that, but he takes a deep breath gathering his composure. A hand grips your throat and you chuckle lightly before his hand tightens restricting your airway.

“Such a fucking brat,” he spits steering you towards a wall. Reaching down to grab your thighs he pulls you up into the air, ramming his hard cock into your folds. Your legs wrap around his waist and he uses his other hand to grip your ass, supporting you while he fucks into you.

“Fuck,” you mumble feeling the familiar stretch of your walls.

“Think you can tell me I’m not satisfying you and then walk away before I get the chance to prove you wrong,” he spews gripping your throat. His mouth attaches to your neck sucking a biting on every inch of exposed skin. Your entire body jolts with his deep hard thrusts.

Your hands tangle into his hair, gripping firmly at the roots. He hisses at the pain but grunts thrusting further into you. Bucking his hips he bottoms out each time, strangled moans are all you can muster as your vision goes white.

“You don’t even deserve this.”

“So much attitude.”

“So much sass.”

“Thinking you can say that.”

“And then you call me that.”

His words are almost harmonic, perfectly in tune with his thrusts. Your second orgasm is getting close, his hand is high on your throat, resting just under your chin. Fred is spewing filth in your ear, as less and less oxygen gets into your lungs with each breath. He pistons at a fast and feverish pace, one hand tightly on your ass guiding you forward onto him.

You feel him getting sloppier with each thrust and you can barely manage to whimper. Finally your walls clench holding his cock inside you. Wave after wave of euphoria floods your veins, electrical currents igniting your extremities.

Fred works you through your high before you finally feel him spill deep inside of you. A few final shallow sloppy thrusts and Fred stills his hips, you slouching against the wall behind you. Releasing your throat Fred drops his forehead against yours with a smile. Pulling out he slowly lowers your legs until they land on the floor.

You can feel a mixture of juices spill from your core and down your thighs. His hand on your throat snakes up to your hair and he kisses you. Instead of heat and sloppiness, this kiss is laced with passion. His tongue dancing in your mouth, his hands gently cupping your face.

“So babe, I make up for the shitty sex I’ve been giving you recently,” he smirks pulling away slightly.

Smiling you reach down for your shorts while Fred grips his pyjama pants and pulls them up his thighs. “I never said it was shitty,” you chuckle.

“I’m off today, called the sitter a couple days ago. I’m taking you on a date. Dress hot,” he winks.

“When am I not hot” you scoff eyeing yourself up and down. You have on track shorts and a loose t-shirt with a hole near the hem of your waist, hair has yet to be brushed and is in a very messy bun

“Never said you weren’t hot,” he chuckles.

Before you have a chance to respond you hear a little voice. Turning towards the hall you see Elise rubbing her eye with a big yawn, her stuffed penguin tightly in her grasp. “Daddy” she repeats.

Fred immediately walks over and pulls her into his embrace, placing a soft kiss to her temple. You hear some stampeding footsteps and two small bodies come barreling down the hall. They almost knock Fred over laughing and squealing “daddy” in the process while you grab the cereal.

#fred andersen smut #fred andersen fic #fred andersen x reader #fred andersen #freddie andersen #freddie andersen x reader #freddie andersen fic #freddie andersen smut #frederik andersen smut #frederik andersen x reader #frederik andersen fic #frederik andersen #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl fic #because two people got drunk

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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

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Navigating Fatherhood - Fred Weasley

Title: Navigating Fatherhood Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Fred knew being a dad would be an adjustment, but he never imagined it would be this hard. Early mornings, tantrums and meltdowns are all new territory for him, and each time something goes wrong he can’t help but feel like a failure. Complete and utter exhaustion seems to be his new normal, and he can’t seem to keep up with his kids’ ever changing moods. Luckily for him he’s got the best co-parent in the world who knows just how to make him feel better. And it helps that the good parts of being a dad certainly outweigh the bad ones. A/N: first part of the dad!fred mini-series!! I really wanted to showcase some of the more difficult times I think Fred would experience as a first-time dad to small children, but also make sure to show some of the more tender parts as well! Feedback is always appreciated!! Tags: @feltondarling @pandaxnienke @raerae27 @thefifthweasley

Series Masterlist Based on Honey, Flowers and Pinky Promises

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“Oof,” Fred groans as a little elbow digs into his thigh. One of his eyes slowly opens and he can’t help but smile when he sees Phoenix looking up at him sheepishly.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Phoenix whispers as to not wake up Y/N.

Fred yawns and sits up a little. The room is still dark, so he figures it’s only a little past midnight. “That’s alright, little man. Come here.” Fred opens his arms up, melting as Phoenix crawls up the bed and onto his chest. He wraps his arms around the little boy in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “What’s wrong, Phoenix? Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Because I’m done sleeping,” Phoenix answers, looking up at Fred.

Fred chuckles and brings a hand up to stroke his son’s fiery red hair. He’s only been in Phoenix’s life for a few days and Fred can’t believe how much he already loves him. Every time he thinks his heart can’t fill with more love, all he has to do is look at Phoenix or his sister and it swells ten times bigger.

“What do you mean you’re done sleeping?” Fred asks, his tone light. “It’s only,” Fred pauses to look at the clock on the bedside table, and he has to do a double take to make sure he’s seeing it correctly. “It’s 5 am?” Fred is still exhausted, as if his head had just barely hit the pillow before Phoenix crawled into bed with him and Y/N.

The door to their bedroom creaks as it slowly opens then, and a moment later Fred can see Electra’s head poking through the opening. She smiles when Fred’s eyes meet hers, and she runs into the room to launch herself up onto the bed. Electra crawls up towards where Fred and Phoenix are, pushing her hair out of her eyes and Fred lifts one of his arms up so she can burrow into his chest as well.

“Good morning, Daddy!” she greets happily before turning to her brother. “Mornin’ stinky.”

“Good morning to you too butt face,” Phoenix greets, sticking his tongue out at her.

“It’s wonderful to see you Angel but what are you two doing awake?” Fred asks, causing both kids to look up at him. “The suns not even awake yet.”

Electra gives Fred a look, and he can’t help but chuckle at how confused she looks. “What do you mean? We always wake up before the sun! The we get to say good morning to it when it finally wakes up too!” Phoenix nods along in agreement.

Fred raises his eyebrows. The last time he’d been awake at 5 am was because he didn’t go to bed until 6 am. “You guys get up this early every day?”

Y/N laughs then, causing Fred to look over at her. She rolls over to face Fred, a bemused smile on her face. “Every single one,” she answers, stretching out her limbs. “Good morning my monkeys.”

“Good morning Mummy!” Electra greets happily, crawling off of Fred so Y/N can cuddle her into her chest.

Fred reaches down to stroke Y/N’s cheek, a soft smile appearing on his face when she turns her head to press a kiss to the palm of his hand. “Mornin’ love. Hope we didn’t wake you up.”

Y/N shakes her head with a chuckle, reaching out to ruffle Phoenix’s hair. “Don’t worry about it, Freddie. I’m so used to waking up this early my body just kinda does it on its own these days.”

“Really?” Fred asks in disbelief. But he can tell that Y/N is being truthful with him just by her appearance. Her eyes are already bright, not an ounce of sleep still clinging to them and her voice is clear. Fred can still feel the heaviness of exhaustion in his eyes and his voice is still deep and grumbly. “I feel like I barely slept.”

Y/N gives him a small smile. “It’s okay, Freddie. You’re still getting used to all this.” She sits up then, and both kids look over at her. “Come on then, monkeys. Let’s head downstairs while your Dad gets some more rest before he has to go to work.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Fred insists. He’s already missed out on so much of their lives, and just a few nights ago he’d promised Y/N, Electra, Phoenix and himself that from that moment on they were going to be a family, and it’s a promise he intends on keeping. “Let’s go do some coloring, you guys can make me some pretty pictures to hang up in my office.”

Fred clutches Phoenix to his chest as he stands up and settles him on his hip. Electra abandons Y/N and runs at Fred, jumping into his outstretched arm. He starts to head downstairs then, both twins giggling as Fred tickles their sides.

By the time Fred actually has to start getting ready to leave for the joke shop he feels like a zombie. Coloring only kept Electra and Phoenix occupied for so long, and Fred has spent the last hour and a half alternating between chasing them around the living room and tossing them up in the air and catching them. Thankfully they got distracted in a game of hide and seek and Fred was able to sneak upstairs.

“Blimey. What have I gotten myself into?” he muses with a shake of his head as he starts to head over to where his suit is hanging up. This is the first time that Fred has spent the night, and while Y/N did warn him that the twins can be a bit much in the morning, a 5 am wakeup call was not what he was expecting. He gets dressed slowly, already plotting how to sneak upstairs to his bedroom for a midday nap without George noticing. Today is their long day at the shop, they’ll both be there early to restock, and Fred is sure he’ll never make it to closing time without at least one nap.

Fred has just started to do up his tie when the bedroom door swings open and Electra barges in.

“Found you!” she shouts, looking around the room. When all she finds is Fred, her smile turns into a pout. “Oh, sorry Daddy. I thought Phoenix was hiding in here.”

“It’s alright, Angel,” he assures her with a chuckle. He sits down on the end of the bed to pull his shoes on, watching as Electra climbs up to sit down next to him.

Electra reaches out to grab Fred’s tie, her eyes focused on the blinking pin in the shape of the shop’s logo on it. “Woah,” she sighs, sounding completely mesmerized. “That’s so cool!” When she looks up at Fred her eyes are wide, and he can’t help but laugh.

“You think so?” When Electra nods wildly Fred leans down to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll get you one, then, Angel. Then you can match with Daddy.”

“Wicked cool,” Electra announces. She watches Fred tie his shoes for a moment, a frown on her face. “Why are you getting all dressed up?”

“I’ve gotta go to work, Angel,” Fred explains. He kisses her on the top of the head one more time before heading to the dresser so he can fix his hair in the mirror.

“Work? What do you mean you have to go to work?” Electra asks, her disappointment evident in her tone. “Mummy works from home, why can’t you?”

When Fred turns around his heart breaks in his chest. Fat tears are rolling down Electra’s rosy cheeks and her lower lip is wobbling. “Oh Angel,” Fred coos, reaching out to her. Fred picks her up and holds her against his chest, one of his hands rubbing her back to try and calm her.

Electra presses her face into Fred’s neck as she sobs, her breath coming out in sharp pants. “I don’t want you to go!” she wails.

“Shh. It’s okay, baby,” Fred soothes, starting to gently sway her back and forth. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? And I’ll have a pin just like mine for you to wear. And we’ll play together, and I’ll tuck you into bed and read you a bedtime story.” He pauses to press a few kisses to her forehead. “Does that sound good?”

Electra’s sobs start to quiet down and she pulls away to look at Fred. “I guess,” the little girl sniffles. “Will you be here tomorrow when I wake up?”

“Of course, Angel,” Fred promises with a smile. “I’ll be here every day when you wake up no matter how early it is.”

Electra holds her pinky out and Fred immediately hooks his around it, squeezing tightly.

After a few days of waking up early with the kids and going to bed late after finishing up some work Fred is practically dead on his feet. Normally he’d stay at the shop to take care of the day’s paperwork after closing, but ever since he found out about the twins he’s been skating out right after closing and taking it home with him. Between helping Y/N with the kids all evening and dealing with the massive amount of paperwork he always seems to have, Fred figures he’s only getting four or five hours of sleep before the twins are crawling into bed to start their day all over again.

“I don’t know how you did it on your own for so long,” Fred sighs as Y/N cuddles into his side. The kids are upstairs playing before bed and they’re having their first quiet moment alone together since the night they got back together. “Even with you to lean on I feel like I’m falling behind.”

Y/N looks up at Fred, smiling when he kisses her on the forehead. “You’re doing great, Freddie. The kids love you and all that matters to them is that you’re there with them and that you love them too.”

“I do love them. So much. More than I ever thought I could love anything,” he says softly. “But you make everything look so easy. It makes me feel like I’m never going to be good enough for them.”

Y/N sits up so she can look at Fred properly and grabs his face in her hands. “It wasn’t always so easy for me, Fred. I can’t tell you how many times I would mess up or forget something and end up crying endlessly. I spent a lot of time feeling like the worst mother in the world while the twins were growing up. Being a parent takes time to get used to, you gotta figure out what works best for you and your kids. Hell, I still feel like there’s loads more for me to learn as they grow up. All that matters is that you’re trying, Fred.”

Fred leans down and capture’s Y/N’s lips in a slow kiss, letting the movements of their mouths melt all of his stress away. She’s always known just what to say to talk Fred off of a ledge, and while his chest is still tight with worry, he doesn’t feel it as strongly anymore. Fred’s just started to deepen the kiss when the phone rings, and he pulls away with a groan.

“Your Mum has the best timing,” he jokes, pulling away from Y/N so she can go answer it.

“It’s time for the twins to go down anyway,” she chuckles. “Can you go up and start getting them ready? I’ll join you in a bit.”

Fred nods but stays on the couch until Y/N disappears into the kitchen so he can watch her hips sway as she walks away. Once he’s alone Fred bounds up the stairs, determined to get the kids to bed quickly in the hopes that he and Y/N can spend some time together in bed. There is a stack of paperwork that needs his attention on the kitchen table, but he can deal with George being cross tomorrow if it means getting to spend some time alone with Y/N.

When Fred reaches Electra’s doorway he leans up against the frame, just watching the twins play together for a moment. They’re talking to each other excitedly, passing toys between them. Fred never thought this would be his life at 22 but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He still can’t believe that these two pure, cheeky little Angels are his and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with them.

“Daddy!” Electra says suddenly, pulling Fred out of his thoughts.

Fred smiles down at her, opening up his arms to grab her off the floor as she runs at him. “Hi, Angel. Long time no see.” In reality, it can’t have been more than 30 minutes since Fred saw them last. He’d been helping Electra and Phoenix with some kind of art project when they both got bored and abandoned it to head upstairs to play.

“You’re so silly, Daddy! We just saw you downstairs!” Electra reminds him with an eyeroll.

“You’re right Angel, my mistake,” he chuckles pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Have you guys been having fun?”

Electra nods and wiggles in Fred’s grasp so he’ll let her go. Once her feet are back on the ground she’s running back towards her brother. “Load and loads and loads of fun!”

“Uh huh!” Phoenix agrees happily. “We built a tower, and then we knocked it down and then built it again. Then we played restaurant but that got really boring, so we’ve been playing with our stuffed animals!”

Fred nods along as Phoenix talks, amazed at how much energy they have in their tiny bodies. He makes a mental note to send his mum the biggest box of chocolates he can find as a part apology, part thank you for dealing with him as a child as he steps into the room. “I’m so glad you guys are having fun! But it’s time to start getting ready for bed now, okay?”

The energy in the room goes flat as both the twins turn to look at Fred.

“No, it’s not,” Electra insists, picking up one of her dolls.

Fred sighs, clearly this is going to be harder than he anticipated. “Yes, it is. Now let’s all clean up your toys so they’re ready for you to play with tomorrow and then we can get ready for bed and pick out a story for me to read to you. Sound good?”

“Sounds rubbish,” Phoenix responds, making both him and Electra laugh.

“Come on guys, let’s start cleaning up,” Fred encourages. He starts to pick up some of the things strewn about on the floor, trying to ignore the way Electra huffs at him.

“But I want to keep playing,” Electra whines, giving Fred her best puppy dog eyes.

Fred’s insides melt at the adorable look on her face, but he knows that if he gives in now he’ll regret it later. “I know you do, sweetheart. But it’s time for bed.” Fred pauses to put some of the things in his hand in their proper spots. “You guys can get up tomorrow and play all day, but for now it’s time to clean up.”

Phoenix and Electra share a look before they reluctantly start to clean up.

“Good job guys,” Fred praises, hoping it will motivate them to keep doing.

When they don’t say anything, Fred frowns and helps them pick up the few remaining things on the floor. This is the first time he’s had to be stern with them, and while he knows it was the right thing to do, he can’t help but feel like he’s messed up somehow. Fred continues to get them ready for bed, trying everything he can to get them to say something. But they continue to do as he asks in complete and utter silence, angry looks on their faces.

“Alright, what book do you want Daddy to read?” he asks quietly as they settle into Electra’s bed. Getting the twins ready for bed has somehow exhausted Fred even more and he’s ready to just read them a story, take Phoenix into his bed, and kiss them both good night.

“We don’t want you to read us a book,” Phoenix grumbles, looking up at Fred.

“Yeah, we want Mummy to read us a book. She’s nice to us,” Electra adds with a huff.

“Oh,” Fred says softly, feeling defeated. All the worries Y/N had washed away come flooding back, and Fred’s chest tightens so hard it feels like he can barely breathe. “Alright then. I’ll send her up.” Fred heads towards the door, pausing in the entryway so he can turn to look back at them. “Goodnight. I love you both.” He waits for a moment to see if they say anything back, and when they don’t he heads back down towards the kitchen, his heart heavy in his chest.

Much to Fred’s surprise, when Electra and Phoenix come to wake him and Y/N up the next morning, they both snuggle into his chest first. He thought they might still harbor some anger towards him, but they both demand he hug them 5 times before he leaves for work in the morning, and they’re both waiting by the front door to jump into his arms the second he gets back in the evening. It confuses the hell out of him, but he gladly accepts the snuggles and kisses.

“Alright, what movie are we watching?” Y/N asks as she enters the living room, a giant bowl of popcorn in her hands. It’s Friday evening, and they’ve decided to start a tradition to solidify their new family, so from now on every Friday will be family movie night.

“Frozen!” Electra announces excitedly as she bounds over to Y/N, a DVD case pressed close to her chest.

“Daddy’s never seen it! Can you believe that, Mummy?” Phoenix asks as he climbs up onto the couch, pressing himself as close to Fred as possible.

Y/N shakes her head with a laugh, handing Fred the bowl of popcorn so she can take the DVD from Electra. “I can’t, baby. We’ll have to be sure to sing the songs extra loud for him, okay?” She settles onto the couch, waving her wand to get the movie set up. “Come here, Ells, sit next to me.”

Electra doesn’t move from her spot in front of the couch. She’s facing Fred and Phoenix, her arms crossed and a deep pout on her face. “I wanted to sit next to Daddy!”

“Snooze you lose!” Phoenix taunts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“You can sit next to Daddy next week, Electra,” Y/N suggests softly. “Just come sit next to me so we can start the movie.”

Fred watches in amusement as Electra turns to glare at Y/N. Last night both Electra and Phoenix wanted nothing to do with him and now tonight they’re fighting over who gets to sit with him. He tries his best to keep the smile from his face, not wanting to encourage her behavior, but he’s struggling. It makes him feel good that his kids both love him enough to fight for his attention.

“But I wanted to sit with him tonight,” Electra whines.

“Here Angel, how about this,” Fred starts, causing her to look at him. Fred hands Y/N the bowl of popcorn so he can pick Phoenix up and move him closer towards his mother. “We’ll all move down a bit,” he continues, moving down the couch so he’s sitting next to Phoenix again. “And now there’s room for you on Daddy’s other side.”

Electra smiles brightly and scrambles up onto the new spot Fred created for her. She immediately snuggles into his side before looking up at him happily. “I love you Daddy.”

“Love you too, Angel,” Fred responds, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.

Phoenix makes a noise, snuggling into Fred’s other side. “I love you too, Daddy!” he announces.

“And I love you too, little man,” Fred says with a chuckle, kissing him on the forehead as well.

Y/N rolls her eyes fondly, her chest warm from the amount of love she has for the three of them. “Are you monkeys finally ready for the movie to start?” When all three of them nod she waves her wand, letting the opening song begin.

Electra and Phoenix both start singing along excitedly, and Fred kisses his plans of falling asleep goodbye.

“You sure you’ll be alright with them by yourself?” Y/N asks, eyeing Fred wearily.

Fred rolls his eyes, hitching Phoenix up onto his back higher. While bedtime had been a disaster the other night, Fred has been feeling more optimistic after family movie night. Clearly both Phoenix and Electra love him, and while he still feels like he can barely keep up with them, being able to spend this time with them and bond with them makes it all worth it.

“Y/N, we’ll be fine,” Fred assures her. There’s some kind of issue with one of the ads Y/N had written for tomorrow’s issue of the Daily Prophet and she needs to head into the office to take care of it.

“If you’re sure,” she responds, shrugging on her coat. “They can color or play with their toys but absolutely no screens and no sugar. It’s too close to bedtime,” Y/N reminds.

Fred chuckles and leans down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Y/N. We’ll be fine. Right guys?”

Electra cheers from where she’s gripping onto Fred’s leg and Phoenix nods wildly over Fred’s shoulder.

“Daddy is the bestest Daddy in the world, Mummy! We’re gonna have loads of fun,” Phoenix promises.

Fred bites his lip, trying to contain the emotion he feels buzzing around in his chest. He’s had a hard few days parenting wise, but hearing Phoenix call him the best dad in the world has certainly made the struggle worth it. “See? Go on, get to work and sort everything out like you always do. And when you get back everything will be fine.”

“Alright, alright. I love you my monkeys, okay? You might be in bed when I get back, but I’ll come in to give you kisses, alright?” Y/N reaches over to ruffle Phoenix’s hair before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Electra’s head.

“Love you!” Both twins shout as Y/N steps into the fireplace, watching in awe as green fire swallows her up and takes her away.

“Hey Daddy?” Electra asks sweetly, plopping herself into Fred’s lap.

Y/N has been gone for nearly an hour and so far everything has gone smoothly. Fred brought their large box of blocks down from Phoenix’s room, and they’ve all been sitting on the floor together building random structures for the twins to knock down before building something else and repeating the process. Bedtime is quickly approaching and while Fred is a tad nervous that he’ll have to go through it alone again, he’s optimistic that it will go well.

“Yes, my Angel?” Fred responds, pressing a light kiss to her hair.

Electra looks up at Fred from under her eyelashes and the softest look she can muster is on her face. “Can we pretty, pretty, pretty please have some ice cream?”

Fred gives her a look. “No, sweetheart. It’s too close to bedtime.”

“Please,” she begs, sticking out her lower lip.

“No, Electra,” Fred says firmly. “And that’s the last time I’m going to say it.”

Electra glares at Fred and scrambles out of his lap, her cheeks turning red at her frustration. She storms over to where Phoenix is standing and knocks over the tower he’d been working on.

“Hey!” he shouts, his little fists clenching up. “What did you do that for?”

“Electra,” Fred scolds. “That wasn’t nice. Apologize to your brother.”

“No,” she responds firmly, kicking some more of the blocks. “I want ice cream!”

Fred sighs and stands up. “Alright, that’s it. It’s time for bed, let’s go.” Fred moves to grab Electra’s hand and she slaps it away, stomping her feet.

“No! Not until I get my ice cream!”

Fred fixes her with a firm glare. “This is not appropriate behavior, Electra. I said no ice cream and that’s final.”

Electra’s face is red with anger, and Fred can see tears welling up in her eyes. Her fists are clenched at her sides and when she stomps her foot again, several things in the room fly off of their shelves and move in every direction across the room. “I want ice cream, now!” She starts to scream as she rips pillows off of the sofa and the frustrated tears start flowing down her cheeks.

Fred ducks as a picture frame comes flying at his head, his mind moving quickly to decide what to do next. If the other night had been disastrous, this is nuclear. The living room is slowly turning into a giant mess and Phoenix grabs on to Fred’s leg in fear.

“Fine!” Fred says suddenly, grabbing his wand from his pocket. Electra is still crying, but several of the things that had been flying around the room clatter to the floor. “I give up. Eat the damn ice cream.” With a wave of his wand the freezer opens and the pint of ice cream inside of it starts to float over towards them. A spoon from one of the drawers joins it, and all of Electra’s anger disappears as she grabs them both out of the air.

“Daddy,” Phoenix says quietly, tugging on his pant leg.

Fred looks down, his heart breaking at how upset his son is from his sister’s meltdown. Tears have started to roll down his cheeks and his bottom lip is wobbling.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” Fred coos, gathering him up in his arms. He hugs him close to his chest and starts to head towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s get you into bed, yeah?” Fred rubs Phoenix’s back as he takes them upstairs, his mind racing about what to do about Electra.

20 minutes later Fred is finally heading back down the stairs after getting Phoenix to fall asleep. His shoulders are tense, and his mind is still trying to figure out what exactly to do with Electra. He’s never seen a meltdown quite like that before and he has absolutely no idea what to do. Fred’s never had to punish a child before and this is certainly the worst place to start.

“Why aren’t you in bed, Electra? And why in the world are you eating ice cream?” When Fred finally reaches the living room he can see how mad Y/N is just from her body language. Her shoulders are tense, and her hands are planted firmly on her hips.

“Daddy gave it to me,” she answers calmly, licking her spoon clean.

“I can explain that,” Fred says quietly.

Y/N turns to look at him, her eyes narrow. “I thought this wasn’t your first rodeo, Fred? And yet this room looks like a bomb went off and I’ve got a kid not in bed stuffing her face with ice cream.” Fred opens his mouth to respond, but Y/N puts her hand up to stop him. “We’ll talk about it later.” She turns back to look at Electra. “Bed, now Missy.”

Electra begrudgingly gets off the sofa and heads towards the stairs, putting the ice cream and her spoon in Fred’s outstretched hand. Fred watches as she stomps up the stairs, Y/N following close behind. He sighs heavily before shuffling to the kitchen to put the ice cream away. Once the freezer is shut tight he waves his wand so the living room can start to put itself back together, before collapsing in a chair at the kitchen table.

“Can you not yell at me,” Fred asks when Y/N comes into the kitchen a bit later. “The past 45 minutes have been hell on earth, and I can’t take anymore yelling.”

Y/N sighs as she hoists herself up onto one of the counters. “What happened, Fred? You were so confident when I left and now you just look, broken.”

“Everything was going so well. We were all playing and laughing, and then Electra asked for ice cream. And I said no. And she asked again, and I said no. Then all hell broke loose. She went full meltdown. Crying, screaming, shit was flying all around the room. I didn’t know what to do. Phoenix was scared, she was throwing pillows all over the place, so I gave her the damn ice cream.” Fred runs a hand through his hair before he looks over at Y/N. “Which I know is probably the worst thing I could have done but I just needed her to calm down and then Phoenix was crying, and it was all just one huge shit show.”

“I’m so sorry, Fred,” Y/N says softly. “Electra can throw some explosive tantrums and I should have warned you. And I shouldn’t have left you alone with them. That was my fault.”

Fred rubs his forehead, trying to relieve some of the tension in his head. “They’re my kids too, Y/N. I should be able to handle them on my own. But the second something goes a little wrong my mind goes completely blank. I’m a terrible father.”

“Freddie come over here.” Y/N’s tone is firm, yet gentle and Fred slowly makes his way over to her. When he gets close enough her legs wind around his hips and she pulls him in. “You are not a terrible father,” she starts, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re a new father. There’s a difference.”

Fred buries his head in Y/N’s neck, taking a deep breath in. Her scent of honey and flowers overwhelms his senses, and Fred can already feel himself starting to relax. “I love them both so much that I think my heart is going to explode. And I thought that would be enough but I’m very clearly in over my head.”

“Then walk away,” Y/N says flatly, surprising Fred. “Walk out the front door and never come back. “

Fred pulls away from Y/N’s neck and grips her face so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. “I would never do that, Y/N. You have to know that.”

Y/N smiles at Fred, rolling her eyes. “I know that you dummy. You know how? Because you’re not a terrible father. A terrible father would walk away when things get tough.” She grabs Fred’s chin and tilts his head down to kiss him on the forehead. “Becoming a parent is a huge adjustment, Fred. And honestly you’re doing amazing, love. I promise you that. You know how I know?”

“How?” Fred murmurs, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Because Electra and Phoenix are giving you a hard time. I know it sounds weird, but kids tend to be extra naughty for their parents,” Y/N chuckles. “They could be throwing the biggest tantrum for me and the second my mum walks in their all smiles and hugs and kisses. They’re testing your boundaries. It’s what kids do.”

“Who knew being a parent was so confusing?” Fred muses with a chuckle. He leans down to kiss Y/N softly. “I couldn’t do any of this without you, you know.”

“Well duh, I’m the one that gave birth to them,” Y/N jokes.

Fred rolls his eyes, letting his hands wander to her hips. “Well yes obviously. But that’s not what I meant. You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better, to motivate me to keep going.”

“I will always be there to motivate you and support you. Because I love you, and I love our family and I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have you three in it with me,” Y/N admits, a pink blush on her cheeks.

“I love you too,” Fred whispers. “And I love our kids. And our family.” Fred pulls Y/N into a slow kiss, trying to convey every feeling he has for her through his mouth. “I used to dream about having this life with you. And now that it’s come true I’m never giving it up. I promise you that.”

Fred comes up behind Y/N as she stirs something on the stove, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Hi, love.”

“Hi Freddie,” she greets with a laugh. She tilts her head back slightly, allowing Fred to kiss her briefly. “You’re up to something.”

Fred gasps in fake shock. “Me? Up to something? Couldn’t be,” he teases. His grip on her waist tightens and he starts to press a few open-mouthed kisses to Y/N’s neck. “I just couldn’t help but notice how quiet the house is.”

Y/N lets out a quiet moaning, letting her head fall ever so slightly to the side to give Fred more room to kiss. “Yeah the kids are out back running around.”

Fred hums as he kisses Y/N’s neck, smirking when she shivers. “I think that means we should sneak upstairs for some, mummy and daddy time,” he suggests. While Fred expected that they wouldn’t be having sex every night as they adjusted back into their relationship and into this new normal, he had figured he and Y/N would have been intimate again by now. But with Phoenix and Electra always sneaking about, the closest they’ve gotten is some heavy petting while making out in bed before they both practically pass out.

Before Y/N can respond there’s some kind of commotion outside before one of the kids bursts into tears. They break apart and just as Y/N reaches the back-door Phoenix is approaching, his hair damp from the light snow that started to fall, and tears streaming down his cheeks. Y/N squats down and holds her arms out for him, and to both of their surprise he pushes right past her and heads over towards Fred.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Fred coos, leaning down so he can pick Phoenix up. He settles him on his hip before he starts to wipe away some of his tears, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I-I fell down and hurt my elbow,” he gasps in between sobs.

“That’s no good. Want Daddy to kiss it better?” When Phoenix nods Fred presses another kiss to his forehead before gently placing him down on the counter. He helps him out of his jacket before slowly rolling up his sleeve. Fred leans down to press a few kisses to his elbow. “All better?”

Phoenix nods at Fred with a smile, sniffling through his last few tears. “So much better! Thank you Daddy.”

Fred tickles his sides a bit, laughing as Phoenix starts to giggle. “You ready to go back outside and play with your sister?” Fred helps Phoenix put his jacket back on before putting him back down on the ground.

“Love you!” Phoenix shouts as he runs back out into the yard.

“I can’t believe he just did that,” Y/N muses with a shake of her head as she comes to stand with Fred.

Fred chuckles and pulls her into his chest. “I detect a bit of jealousy in your tone there, Y/N,” he teases. He hugs Y/N tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s the first time one of them has chosen to get help from me over you, did you know that?” Fred’s chest feels like it might burst from how happy he feels.

“See, love? You’re navigating this fatherhood thing just fine,” Y/N responds, pulling him down into a kiss.

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fanfiction #fw #golden

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livexdolan · 3 years

Text

The Cage - Part One

A/n: so hi! This is a UFC based fic about Grayson Dolan. This is an AU with an OC. There is no face claim as of now but they might change idk. I’m not going to ramble lol I’m just very very nervous. Anywho please enjoy and let me know what you think! There will be many parts to this series by the way lol so this part is kind of slow but just wait aha

Word Count: 5924

Warnings: fluff, mentions of death, explicit language, and triggering topics (maybe?) mentioned

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be famous- never telling anyone but I’ve always wanted to know- wanted to get in the head of someone famous and see what they go through- but I could’ve never guessed this was how I was going to find out.

It all started when I was 22, fresh out of college, with a crappy assistant job at a publishing company in Los Angeles, California. Having been stuck at this job for almost three years and never even having my articles read, I was starting to lose hope that I would never be more than an assistant. Until one day…”

“Lily! Get in here! And bring me a coffee!” I scurry to Mr. Lane’s office, clutching the coffee I had just gone and grabbed for him, stopping by my desk to grab my notebook and pen.

I opened his glass door and put his coffee down on his desk, pushing up my glasses as I opened my notebook and clicked my pen, looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say what he needed me to do. He looks at me, his eyes bright at first but quickly losing their color and he sighs as though he’s already exasperated, “What is this?” He holds up a copy of a story I had put on his desk.

Oh jeez, another rejection. I push my glasses up again and start to stutter out an explanation in a quiet voice, “Well, I-I heard you talking to some of the reporters about need-needing a new story for next week's issue and well, I-I already had an idea so I thought I’d-” He cuts me off with a quick raise of his hand and a stoic look on his face, giving nothing away.

“Look,” he sighs and rubs his face with both hands before continuing, “It’s not a bad story, but it’s a half-baked idea. That’s your problem. That’s why you haven’t gotten a byline yet- you can never deliver a full idea- let alone a full article, do you understand?”

I look down, refusing to let him see my cheeks burn red and my eyes water. This is what he says every time I give him an idea. “Do you want to be a journalist?” He questions.

I make eye contact with him quickly lifting my head and squaring my shoulders to try and seem more confident, “More than anything, sir.”

“Well then, I have a proposition for you.” He gets up from his chair, his tall, lean body going to perch on the corner of his desk as he looks up at me his blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, “I’ll give you a lead, and if you can follow through and get me a full 12000-word article by Monday, you can keep your job and I might throw you a lead here and there. But if you fail to deliver…” He pauses momentarily, thinking over his next words carefully, “you lose your job.”

I gasp and try to reason with myself for a second, making a mental pro-con list before replying quietly, “What’s the article on?”

He shakes his head and smirks lightly, filling my stomach with more unease, “No, you have to agree to the proposition. Then, I will tell you the story.”

Can I do this? Can I risk everything? I mean, that’s what my life’s been so far, a lot of risks and sacrifices. But is this a sacrifice I’m willing to make?

What would mom do? I sigh, “O-ok. Okay, I accept. Now, what’s the story?”

He claps his hands together excitedly and looks up at me with a boyish grin, he moves swiftly behind his desk and grabs an envelope, handing it to my shaky hands, “Grayson Dolan, he fights tonight here at the arena, go with a press pass, get an interview with him and ask him a couple of questions. Oh, and make sure we get a quote.”

I stare at him open-mouthed, frozen to my spot, “What? The Grayson Dolan?! You and I are both very aware that he refuses to do interviews. This isn’t even possible.” I say without trying to raise my voice too much.

Jace just leans back in his desk chair, lacing his fingers together and putting them behind his head, “Not my problem- it’s yours now. If I don’t have that story in my hand Monday morning, just pack your things up and leave, got it?” He smirks up at me.

I just silently walk out of his office and back to my desk, sitting down and putting my head against the cool wood surface. I don’t know if I want to cry or punch myself in the face.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And then he told me that if I accept- but fail to give him a story- I lose my job!”

“Wow! I never liked that guy, you know. He gives off such- such a douchebag vibe.”

I can’t help but chuckle at my dad’s voice dropping a little, he hasn’t been big on cursing since mom passed. At first, it was weird because both my parents cussed when I was growing up. But after mom passed, dad decided that, ‘there’s enough hate in the world’ and that he’s not going to add to it with foul language.’

“I know Dad, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t accept it! You should never risk your whole career on whether or not some guy is feeling up to an interview!”

“Ok, one-” I start, “it is not just some guy! This is Grayson Dolan! And two,” I lower my voice and chew my lip, a bad habit I picked up in middle school, “I already agreed.”

“Of course you did!” he sounds exasperated and I pull my phone away from my ear a little out of reflex, “You are just like your mother, you know that?” he sighs and the line goes quiet.

“Daddy?” I whisper into the phone. He stays silent. It’s my turn to sigh and fall back onto my couch. I mutter into the phone, “He wouldn’t tell me the story until I accepted. I have to go get ready, I’ll talk to you after the match. I’ll be sitting ringside so look for me, ok?”

“Ok, I will. I’m still not happy about this.”

“I know Dad, you’re not happy with two-thirds of the things I do.”

That gets a reluctant chuckle out of him, “I guess you’re right. Good luck, by the way. If anyone can get an interview out of Dolan- it’d be you. And if you can’t, your childhood bedroom would love to have you back.”

“Ha-ha. Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too baby, I’ll see you soon?”

“Dad,” my stomach drops at his hopeful voice and I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth, “Maybe, bye.”

I hang up the phone before he can say anything and I sink into the couch.

I wake with a start, my neck sore from the back of the couch. Oh no. I grab my phone in a haste, I turn it on and my whole body sags in relief when the time shows up; 6:45.

I have about an hour and a half to get ready, that’s enough time!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Wrong. Very wrong. I feel a wave of heat wash over me, igniting my anxiety as I look at the time on my phone; 7:45.

I quickly put on my normal, light makeup consisting of moisturizer, skin tint, blush on my cheeks and nose, giving me an almost sunburnt look. I shape my eyebrows a little, fix my glasses, and put on my chapstick. I quickly brush out my short, wavy hair and clip back the front parts. I shake my head slightly to get my bangs in place and do one last check in the mirror before heading to my closet.

Too pink. Too casual. Too tight. Too- ugh where did I even get that from? I start moving the hangers faster, getting frustrated with my lack of options. I move past a pastel purple dress- wait. I go back to the dress and grab it off the rod, holding it up in the light.

When did I buy this? My eyebrows furrow as I look at the beautiful and delicate dress that I must’ve forgotten about. I pull it off the hanger and slowly put it on, saying a silent prayer that it fits.

I smooth the soft material out and look in the mirror. I’m pleasantly surprised by how the dress fits. It’s silk with spaghetti straps and is a lilac color with little flowers all over it.

I don’t have time to overthink my outfit now. I throw on my roommate’s white Timberlands, grab my black purse, making sure my ID, wallet, and phone are all tucked safely inside. I grab my press pass and put the lanyard around my head carefully.

Taking a deep breath, I walk out to the living room where my roommate is sitting waiting for me to come out.

I clear my throat and try not to look too awkward. Ryan looks up from her MacBook and gasps, tossing her laptop onto the couch next to her, she moves over to me, her long legs gracefully walking around the coffee table.

She investigates every part of my outfit, making me feel small and self-conscious. Before I can stop myself, I start rambling in a quiet tone, “Is-is this too much? Do you th-think it looks okay?”

She grasps my shoulders and a wide smile makes its way onto her face, “Of course, you look amazing!” I smile at her and she winks at me, “When that pretentious ass sees you- he might want to do more than just let you interview him.”

I snort and roll my eyes and she laughs, “Yeah right,” I mumble.

She walks over to our coat rack and pulls off a small black cardigan, “Here, I know it gets cold in there,” I smile gratefully and take it from her, folding it over the crook of my arm and taking a deep breath.

I start to walk towards the door and she calls my name, I look back at her as I open the door, “You look hot Lil- knock ‘em dead,” I smile at her and nod, walking out before I get sappy.

I pull into the busy parking lot of the arena and gulp down my bubbling anxiety. I find a parking spot, towards the back of the lot seeing as I don’t get bothered by having to walk a little. I go up to the line, seeing a sign that says, ‘PRESS ENTRANCE HERE’ I smile at the worker looking at me and pointing to the Press sign and then at my pass hanging around my neck, he nods.

I go towards the other entrance and show a different security guard my pass and he opens a door for me, I smile up at him, “Thank you-” I glance at the small name tag, “Don.” He blushes slightly and coughs.

I blush too and walk through the door quickly. I realize that I’m ‘backstage’ and can hear the fans cheering for one of the main card fights happening. I check my small watch and see that it’s going to be another hour or so before Grayson Dolan fights.

I take another deep breath and start walking forward, trying not to look like a lost puppy and failing when a man wearing a UFC crew shirt comes over to me with furrowed brows, “Who’re you looking for?”

I look at him, his deep voice vibrating against the walls, “Grayson Dolan,” I answer back.

He gives me a once-over and I try not to make a face when he meets my eyes and smirks, “Oh, he’ll like you.” I furrow my brows but decide not to question it as he points down a long hallway, “Four doors down, take a right, then the last door on the left is him- the one that’ll say, Grayson Dolan.” I thanked him even though he was a bit rude, and made my way down.

Once I turn down the hallway I see someone sitting outside one of the rooms on a single chair. I make my way closer and my heart drops into my stomach when I see it’s a girl sitting outside Grayson Dolan’s room, “Hello? Are-Are you okay?”

The girl looks up at me from her phone and gives me a once-over, except it’s different from the way the worker did- she looks annoyed with me. She stands up, her high heels making her about an inch or two taller than me, “Who are you?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage up.

I cough to clear my throat a little, taken back by her abrasive tone, “I’m a reporter- Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, and if you’re here for Grayson Dolan- he won’t talk to you.”

“I- I’m sorry, why do you say that?” The woman steps closer to me and I try not to gag at the smell of her cheap, overused perfume. I step back from her and she straightens up slightly, glowering at me.

“Just run along, maybe you’ll understand when you’re grown,” She says, looking back at her phone, when she glances up and sees I’m not leaving she rolls her eyes, “Grayson Dolan doesn’t talk to reporters. I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t actually a reporter anyway, you’re probably just here to fuck him, huh? Get in line,” She laughs.

My whole body feels like it’s on fire. I don’t understand why she’s being so rude and malicious towards me but I have to get this interview. I can’t let people like her bring me down anymore. When she gives me a fake smile and sits back down, I decide to be the bigger person. Not snapping back at her and ignoring her. Because she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t know what I’ve been through.

The door opens before I can say anything anyways and we both look over, startled. A man looks over at us, then turn and glances back inside the room before he nods, looking at me, and asking what my name is, “Lily Taylor, here with Ace Publis-” I try to tell him but he cuts me off opening the door wider and my eyes widen as he tells me to come in. I try to keep from laughing when the girl asks if she can come in but he just shakes his head at her, I turn around quickly before he shuts the door, “If I were you- I wouldn’t lie to others and say you’re around his age, it’s very obvious that you’re old enough to be his mom,” And the door shuts on her shocked face.

I realize my heart is pounding in my ears and that is probably the meanest thing I’ve ever done, “I should probably apologize,” I whisper to myself and jump slightly when I hear a deep chuckle.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Taylor?” My shoulders tense at the familiar voice and I turn around slowly, facing a couch with a very amused Grayson Dolan sitting on it.

“I- I’m so sorry for being so rude to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“Why do you think I’d care about her? She’s been sitting out there for two hours,” He laughs and I think he caught the raise of my eyebrow but ignores it, “I asked you once, Ms. Taylor, I don’t like repeating myself.” He reminds me of his question.

I square my shoulders, “I’m here with Ace Publishing & Co., I would love if you could answer some questions for me,” I smile at him, trying to come off as friendly.

His amused expression drops and he scoffs, “You’re one of them? God- here I was hoping you were a die-hard fan. Was going to make you feel very special,” He smirks at me and I scrunch my nose out of habit at his gross words. I quickly stop, realizing I need this, “Frank- show Ms. Taylor out please,” He sighs, and my eyes widen and I stick my hands out and Frank stops moving for a second.

“Wait! Wait! Please I-” Frank huffs at my refusal to move and grabs my arm as I move closer to Grayson, “Please. I wouldn’t be this adamant if I didn’t need this. Please. My career is counting on this moment. Please, I will get down on my knees and beg if I have to, please,” I put my hands in a pleading gesture, hoping he’d take pity.

He holds his hand up to Frank and he lets go of my arm, I sigh and straighten up a little, hoping to gain back some of the dignity I seemed to have lost, “What do you mean?” He cocks his head to the side curiously and I blush, glancing at the ground.

“My boss he uh- he told me that if I don’t get at least a quote from you I can kiss my job goodbye and well, it’s not the best job but I’ve worked my ass off to get where I’m at and he’s being unfair and I understand that this isn’t your problem and I understand why you don’t like to talk to interviewers-”

He cuts me off, “You know why I don’t talk to interviewers?” I look up at him and nod meekly, “Why? Explain it to me,” he crosses his arms and I think he might be upset with me.

I look back down at the ground and take a breath, glancing back up at him through my lashes, “You don’t do interviews because doing an interview is personal and revealing. You’re scar- scared to let the world see who the Grayson Dolan is because you don’t think they’ll like you as much.”

He cocks his eyebrow and uncrosses his arm, sighing, looking away from me to the wall, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he contemplates for a minute, “You got like 20 minutes to ask me whatever you want, and no stupid questions that all the interviewers ask, okay?” I nod and move to sit in the chair next to the couch.

“Do you mind if I record this? I’d like to keep this paper-free, meaning I don’t have a notebook out and try to write everything down. We’re just going to have a conversation and let it flow. I can stop recording at any time if you say something you’d like erased. I’m not here to expose you, just here to get to know you. As a person. Not as a fighter. I’m not going to ask you anything about how being a fighter’s been or what your inspiration is. I’m going to ask you about you. As a whole. Because the UFC is not your personality,” I explain to him, pulling my phone out and pulling up my voice memos app and looking back up to him, waiting for an answer.

He stares at me until finally, I say his name quietly, hoping he’s okay, he blinks and flushes, shifting, “Sorry, y-yeah, that’s okay. I just- I didn’t expect you to be like- acting like a human.”

I laugh and start recording, “Maybe that means I’m a bad journalist? I don’t know- I feel like it’s easier to connect and get the questions in without papers and cameras and all that other stuff.”

(this part is going to be a dialogue as though we are just listening to the recording)

“That makes sense, and no I can tell you’re going to be great, you treat me like I’m just- a guy, which doesn’t happen often.”

“I bet, you don’t deserve that though. Okay, I’m going to start us off with some icebreakers- so tell me what your childhood dream job was, your favorite ice cream flavor, and 3 things you do on the weekends.”

“Oh, jeez, what is this- first day of 6th grade? Fine- Uh, I always wanted to be a pro wrestler, that was my dream job as a kid. My favorite- vegan- ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip. And, uhm, three things I do on the weekends...okay okay I got it; eat, sleep, workout. Now you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Reporter. If you want this to flow you gotta participate as well.”

“Okay, fine. Uh- as a kid I always wanted to be a veterinarian, and then when I was like 10 I realized I wanted to be a writer. My favorite ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip as well. And on the weekends...I’d probably say; read, watch fights with my dad, and drink tea with my best friend at a cafe.”

“Every single weekend?”

“Yeah, my dad lives on the other side of the country so we do a FaceTime call and watch UFC together. My roommate has a job that takes up a lot of her time during the week so we go to this small cafe by our house every weekend.”

“Wow.”

(this is where the rest of the interview would be but, for later in the timeline, we aren’t going to cover every question she asks him :))

“Okay, now tell me about your family. Where you grew up, were your parents married, did you have a dog, and how do you think this all helped make you the man you are today?”

“I grew up in New Jersey; my dad left when I was 10. I’m allergic to dogs and cats, so I have a parrot named Gizmo. My mom never remarried and my sister lives with her. My brother and I moved to LA when we were 18, with no money, no job, just hope. We went to a gym and asked them if they’d train us. The next thing I knew, my brother was getting a job working at the gym and becoming one of my trainers. I learned how to fight and used my wrestling experience and worked my way into the UFC.”

“You didn’t answer my last question.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you told me how you got started in the UFC. I don’t want to know about that- everyone knows that story already. I want to know how you think the things you went through as a child have shaped you as a person.”

“I- I guess- I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t think much of who I’ve become so that question is hard to answer.”

“Why do you say that? You are one of the most accomplished men in America.”

“To others, but this- I wasn’t supposed to be a fighter. Everyone sees me as accomplished but I just feel like this was an accident. There was no great event in my life that caused me to become an MMA fighter- it just happened.”

“You don’t believe in fate, Mr. Dolan?”

“No, I don’t. Do you, Ms. Taylor?”

“Yes, I believe that we all have a path we are meant to follow and that everything happens for a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because- I don’t know- it’s nicer than the alternative to me, I guess. I don’t want to live in a world where nothing has a reason behind it. We’ll move on to the next question. You don’t disclose personal information; relationships, family, children, etcetera.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Why is that? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“The same reason I said earlier as to why you don’t like interviews; you are scared people will see the real Grayson Dolan and not like you as much or think you’re different.”

“Are you like- a profiler or something? Why do you think that?”

“I’m not a profiler- I’m a journalist. It’s my job to look for clues, pick up on the small things about someone no one else would notice.”

“Ok, I’ll accept that. Is it my turn to ask you questions?”

“No that’s not how this works.”

“You said you wanted this to be like a normal conversation, did you not?”

“Yes, I did say that, but-”

“Okay, well, I don’t know about you but normally when I’m getting to know someone- I get to ask questions just like they do.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know...if you’ll go out with me?”

“What? Like on a- like on a date?”

“Yes, a date, Ms. Taylor.”

“Uh- I don’t know, maybe, I-”

“30 minutes to the fight, Dolan! Gotta get you warmed-up!”

(the story is back to normal now)

“So?” He questions as he stands up and I try to gather all my stuff. Trying to push down the butterflies while I stop the recording. I just continue to get more flustered, especially when he puts his hand out for me and I shyly take it, he pulls me to my feet and I stare at him through my lashes.

“I- sure. On one condition,” I smile slyly up at him and he raises an eyebrow at me, I ignore the unfamiliar feeling between my thighs at the look on his face and continue quickly, “You have to win this fight. I’ll be in the front row watching. If you win- I’ll go out with you.”

He smiles and then chuckles, “I thought you were going to make it hard? I could win this fight in my sleep baby, I’ll let you know the time after the fight, just stick around, yeah?”

I snort and roll my eyes, ignoring the pull on my heart when he calls me baby, “I’ll be there,” He smiles at me again and I jump a little in surprise when I feel his warm, large hand on the small of my back, he opens the door for me and leads me into the hallway.

I try not to laugh at the face of the Instagram model when she sees Grayson’s hand on me, “I’ll be looking for you in the front row, just so you know.” He teases.

I smile at him and kiss him on the cheek, “I’ll be the one cheering the loudest. Knock Em dead!” I walk away quickly and glance back seeing him standing there, his right hand gently going up to touch the spot I kissed and we both blush. My heart drops into my stomach when he looks over and sees the model. I have to turn the corner and get to my seat so I don’t see how he reacted. He wouldn’t sleep with her right after asking me out, would he? My subconscious snaps back; you barely know the man! Maybe he does this all the time! I push her down and ignore the bad feeling in my gut.

As I sit down in my seat, everything that just happened hits me and I slouch into my seat, what. the. fuck. I’m going on a date with Grayson Dolan! I got an interview with Grayson Dolan! I kissed Grayson Dolan on the cheek! I bite back a smile and take out my phone, taking a video showing me smiling at the camera, then flipping the camera around and showing off how close I am to the octagon. I sent it to my dad quickly.

He responds almost immediately.

*From Daddy: Wow!! So cool! Have tons of fun! Not too much though! Not ready to be a grandpa...yet ;)

I snort and roll my eyes, responding and then turning my phone off when the lights in the arena dim.

*To Daddy: Lmao, shut up. I’ll try to have fun though! The main card is starting! I’ll talk to you later, love you <3

After I watch a few of the fights before Graysons’, I take some pictures and jot down some information about the fights and who won, knowing it’ll add more substance to my piece.

I watch as the whole arena transforms and the whole place is bursting with barely-contained energy and the place goes dark. Suddenly, lights start beaming and music starts playing, I smile at the Kid Cudi (each fight he uses a different Cudi song) choice for tonight- Enter Galactic as it blasts through the speakers everyone goes wild, Grayson moving swiftly to the octagon with his head low and singing the song softly to himself. I can tell he’s not the same Grayson I was talking to, he has flipped the switch- as he told me he does- and is now The Grayson Dolan- UFC Fighter and Champion.

He takes his shirt off and I blush at his tan skin, the rippling muscles making my brain go straight in the gutter. The ‘doc’ pats him down and puts vaseline on his face. I try not to laugh at how weird he looks with his eyebrows slicked down.

He makes his way into the octagon and I see him scanning the front row when his eyes land on mine. I smile at him but he just gives me a curt nod in response before turning away. I’m taken aback by his attitude but I know he has to stay in his fighter mentality.

The other fighter, Dominick Reyes, comes in and he has a good amount of people cheer for him but the majority of the arena boos when he comes out. I know that having some of how this fight goes in my article will make it look better because it’s such a big deal, so I jot some notes down, some about Grayson and some about Reyes.

I subconsciously chew on my nail, scolding myself when I realize what I’m doing. He’s going to win. I tell myself to calm down, I’ve never been to a fight before so the chaotic and anxiety-filled energy around me must be getting to my head.

The ref announces them both, and then they go to the middle, Grayson goes to touch Reyes’ fist, but Reyes pulls back and smirks at Grayson, “C’mon pretty boy,” he sings.

Grayson’s jaw clenches and he starts moving around the octagon, Reyes slowly falling into a pattern of chasing him around. Grayson continues to step to the right until suddenly, he moves to the left, and Reyes doesn’t see it. I watch in astonishment as he puts all of his power into the punch, hitting Reyes perfectly on the temple. Reyes drops to the ground and Grayson’s about to follow him to the mat but the ref stops him, officially calling the fight. Grayson looks over at me, my mouth hanging wide open and he smirks, winking at me.

That asshole just winked at me.

I stand up quickly, cheering loudly with everyone else and he shakes his head, turning back to his team as they run into the octagon to hug him. Once Grayson is done with everything and the crowd starts shuffling out, Grayson comes over to me, “D’you see that?” He smiles and I smile back.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” He chuckles and grabs my arm pulling me into him.

I gasp as I hit his hard, sweaty chest, “You’re sweaty,” I scrunch my nose up and try to pull away but he tightens his grip, staring down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You owe me a date,” He responds and I roll my eyes, ignoring the hammering of my heart at how close we are to each other.

“What time and where?” I say, acting bored.

He chuckles down at me, “I’ll pick you up at 5:30. This Saturday. Just bring your beautiful self and don’t worry about anything else.”

“What’s the dress code?” I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs.

“Whatever you want to wear, although I’ll tell you right now they might frown upon you wearing lingerie or something like that.”

I snort and as he moves away from me a little and we start walking behind his team I realize that I’m a lot colder than I realized, rubbing my arms subconsciously and realizing that I left my sweater in the car damn it.

Grayson notices me rubbing my arms and bumps my shoulder, “You cold?”

“A little. I have a sweater in the car, I’ll be fine.”

He frowns as he opens the door to his dressing(?) room, “I have a jacket you can wear.”

He goes over to a chair in the corner and grabs a big, soft black jacket with DOLAN on the back and the UFC and Reebok logo on the front. I shake my head, “No, r-really it’s- it’s okay,”

“Just take it, you can give it back later, s’not a big deal, I don’t need it. I’m way too hot right now.”

He hands it over to me and I look down at it in his hands and then glance back at him, crossing my arms. He rolls his eyes and comes over to me, putting it on my shoulders and looking down at me, “Just wear it. Please?” He whispers and I flush, seeing that if I moved too fast our lips would be touching.

I nod softly and he steps back. I take a deep breath and put my arms through the sleeves and the jacket immediately warms me. I relax into the warmth and pull it tighter around me and he smirks, “Like you in my clothes.”

I blush and look down, “I- I should be goi-going,” I point my thumb at the door and he bites back a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll see you Saturday then?”

I nod and stutter out a response as I walk back to the door, “Y-yep! 5:30! Wait- I didn’t give you my address o-or my phone num-Ow!” I yelp in surprise when the door handle digs into my lower back and he can’t hold back his laugh as he walks over to me, trapping me between him and the door.

I swallow at his large frame covering me up, his arms resting on each side of the wall by my head, I can see his large biceps and the veins running up his arms in my peripheral vision. He smirks and leans down, “Check your pocket,” he says softly and I look up at him with furrowed brows.

I slowly move my hands to the jacket pockets and after digging around a little I feel a small piece of paper in the right pocket. I pull it out and open it up. I glance up at him in surprise at the digits scribbled onto the paper.

“H-How did you- why-” He cuts me off by moving away from me, my body on fire from how close he had been to me.

I move off the door when he motions for me to move and he opens the door, “Ms. Taylor,” He says, trying to hide a smirk.

I scoff incredulously and walk past him, stopping outside the door in the cold hallway, I turn back to look at him before I walk away to go have a panic attack in my car, “Mr. Dolan.”

A/n: okayyy so I know it’s bad and I’ll be editing it soon but I’m posting this on an ipad lmfao so please cut me some slack.

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