#and I’m not even yelling at them‚ I’m literally trying to 1.) say ‘good afternoon folks!’ and 2.) tell them what the assignment is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvdsc · 4 years

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haha, what if we kissed? (lol jk... unless?)

fact! you’re secretly in love with your best friend, and so is he!

pairing :: zhong chenle x reader genre :: fluff / best friend, buzzfeed worth it au word count :: 5,072 words warnings :: none playlist :: sunny afternoon (red velvet) ⋆ about love (marina) ⋆ all about you (nct u) ⋆ love (x lovers) ⋆ bella notte (f. murray abraham & arturo castro) author’s note :: i literally just finished writing the rest of this in my meetings today and am posting during my lunchbreak, but happy (1 day late) birthday, chenle sweetheart!! ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

“Hello, and welcome back to another episode of Dream: Worth It!”

Chenle shouts loudly from the driver’s seat, waving excitedly at the camera attached to the dashboard as he waits for the traffic light to turn green. You visibly flinch in your spot on the passenger's side, startled by the sudden greeting, and even Jisung jumps in the backseat, almost dropping the camcorder he was fiddling with.

Your best friend continues to give the camera a dazzling smile, paying no attention to your and Jisung’s brief glares. “Today on Worth It, thanks to a fan’s suggestion, we’ll be trying out three different spaghetti dishes at three drastically different price points to find out which one is most worth it at its price!”

“Yes,” you chime in, nodding excitedly at the camera and giving a little wave. “So if you want to see another riveting episode of Chenle and Jisung going on three dates at three drastically different price points while I third wheel again, please stay tuned!”

“Hey!”

Both the boys wildly protest, but you blatantly ignore them, checking your phone quickly before beaming at the camera again. “So here’s our first spaghetti fact! The word ‘spaghetti’ is actually the plural version of spaghetto. Spaghetto comes from the Italian word spago, which means twine or thin string.”

“Wait, that actually makes sense. Spaghetti looks like thin strings,” Chenle says, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yeah, basically every language makes sense, except for English,” you remark, setting your phone down in your lap before turning to your best friend. “So are you excited for this episode’s dish?”

“Yes! Shout out to Moony for your suggestion,” Chenle calls out, driving forward before making a right. “If anyone else has any suggestions for future videos, please feel free to comment below.”

You start to explain the first restaurant to your viewers. “Our first stop is called Legalize Marinara! It’s a small hole in the wall place in downtown LA, and fresh pasta is made everyday. We’ll be talking to the owner and chef Johnny Suh about the daily process.”

“And cut!” Jisung calls out, and you stop there, pressing the off button to end the recording. Later on, the three of you will have to work on snipping up the recordings to create a smooth transition from there to a shot of Johnny and his restaurant before jumping into your quick interview with him.

You quickly scroll through the questions you had written ahead of time to ask Johnny on your phone, mouthing the words and memorizing them. You were always the one who asked about the history of the restaurant because Chenle wasn’t as good with the more sentimental questions and preferred the light hearted ones about the food specifically, which you didn’t mind. As long as you get to try good food at the end of it, you’re one very happy, very stuffed camper. You are very much looking forward to visiting Legalize Marinara.

“—and that’s how the pasta is freshly made everyday in the morning.” Johnny finishes up, giving the camera a very charismatic smile and a wink. “We also have a special brew of coffee created by my dad, but that’s a story for another episode. I’ll bring out the spaghetti once it’s ready.”

You and Chenle thank him before going over to sit at one of the small metal tables near the entrance. The place had a sort of modern, yet retro feel to it with an eclectic mix of vintage, kitschy furniture adding pops of color here and there to the otherwise simple space with a neutral palette. The name of the restaurant flashes as a neon sign, serving as the main wall decor along with records scattered here and there on the wall as well.

Jisung stands across from the two of you, propping the large camera on his shoulder in preparation. You and Chenle both take a sip of the special coffee drinks Johnny prepared for you each on the house, pleasantly surprised by the crisp, refreshing taste your taste buds are immediately hit with. Johnny appears minutes later, a pretty plate of simple spaghetti and meatballs along with some Parmesan and garnish on top in hand.

“Here’s our most popular dish: spaghetti with meatballs!” he announces, placing the plate in front of you both carefully. “It’s a simple tomato sauce, but it’s made with organic, local ingredients that we get from the farmer’s market every morning. We get the fresh meat from the butcher down the block everyday to make the meatballs and buy the cheese from local sellers as well. We also add the secret spice mixture created by my mom to the meatballs, which gives it a distinct flavor from other restaurants. Please dig in, guys!”

You immediately swirl your fork into the plate of spaghetti. It looks and smells absolutely fantastic, and your mouth is already watering. You cannot believe that this only costs thirteen dollars. This is an absolute steal. You are just about to take a bite when—

“Wait! We didn’t do a ‘cheers’ yet!” Chenle exclaims, sticking out his fork towards you. You clink your fork against his own metal utensil, and he’s finally satisfied, retracting his arm. Finally, you take the much anticipated bite. The flavors absolutely explode in your mouth, and you’re already reaching out to take a second forkful of the delicious masterpiece.

“This is amazing,” you declare, and Chenle nods enthusiastically, spearing a meatball with his fork. Jisung briefly pans the camera over to Johnny, who shows a double thumbs up before doing finger guns and giving an exaggerated wink.

“Here, try this.” Chenle cuts a piece of the meatball and offers it to you. You reach out for it, but he pulls back, smiling widely and eyes sparkling. “Nuh uh, that’s too easy. Say ah, Y/N.”

“I—” Your cheeks grow warmer than ever, and his grin grows broader, wriggling the fork in front of you. Face burning, you move forward and take a bite. You can hear Jisung fake gagging behind the camera and very much would like to flip him the bird, but you are a professional. You’ll get him back for that later. After all, revenge is a dish best served piping hot and spicy, and you have some Carolina reapers leftover from another video that may accidentally find its way into Jisung’s ramen next time.

You and Chenle spend some more time describing the dish in between bites as Johnny pipes in here and there with some well placed dad jokes that has Jisung shaking his head behind the camera. By the end of it, you both are very happy, and you switch places with Jisung who has a chance to try out the pasta himself at last. He silently eats it before tossing a thumbs up at the camera, and you stop the recording there. After thanking Johnny once more before the three of you leave, you all pile into your car and get ready to go to the next stop.

Up next: Penne for your Thoughts.

“Can we stop here?” Jisung pipes up, peering out the window with interest. His eyes scan the surroundings, peering at the empty space and the wide stairs in front of the spiraling columns of a grand building.

You furrow your eyebrows, glancing at your friend in the backseat. “We’re still a couple blocks away from the restaurant though.”

“This looks like a good spot to film a dance,” he muses to himself before sitting up straighter. “Can we take a quick break? We’re still early, and I wanted to film a quick TikTok before the sun sets.”

You look over at Chenle, who shrugs and pulls over. He backs up into an available parking space, parallel parking smoothly, one hand gripping the back of your seat and the other on the steering wheel. “Alright, do your thing, Jisungie.”

Jisung excitedly hops out from the back. You and Chenle follow suit, locking the car behind you. Your friend is busy setting up his collapsible tripod before placing his phone on it and calling over to you, “Hey, can you stand in front, Y/N? I wanna angle this correctly and check the lighting.”

You move in front of his phone, standing several steps in front of the stairs. Jisung fiddles around with his phone for a few moments, switching up some of the settings and zoom functions before straightening up, eyes bright. “Okay, stay there to mark the spot! I’m gonna press the start button to record. Chenle, can I borrow your phone? I need to play the song for the dance.”

Chenle hands him his phone, and the familiar intro to Doja Cat’s “Say So” begins to blast on top volume. Jisung hands it back to its owner and hurriedly moves to stand in front of his own recording phone as you step aside. “I kinda also need you two in my TikTok.”

“Wait, what? I don’t know the dance,” you protest, starting to back out, but Jisung grabs your hand, pulling you into view, as Chenle bounces over with a shrug of his shoulders, never one to shy away from the camera.

“You don’t need to dance. I just need you both to uh, kiss my cheek on, um, both sides when I tap on them both. It should be the fourth time she says ‘say so’ in the song,” he stammers slightly, face turning slightly pink. He avoids making eye contact as you give him a suspicious look, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What? Why?”

“It’s part of the dance! Now get out of the shot please because the chorus is finally coming up again!” He unceremoniously shoves you out of the frame, and Chenle quickly catches you before you faceplant into the ground. You have a few choice words to yell at your friend and are about to furiously march over to him, but Chenle tightens his grip on you. “Let’s just let him finish, and we can go on. You know how he is about dancing.”

“I’m paying Renjun to put another cockroach picture as his lockscreen again,” you huff, frowning at the dancing boy. “Why didn’t you say anything about the whole kissing request anyway?”

“Eh, I’ve done it before. It’s no big deal.” Chenle shrugs, and you start to stutter, brain malfunctioning, “Wait, you did wha—”

“Oh, it’s almost our cue!” Chenle pushes you towards Jisung as he runs behind the camera to the other side, and you find yourself stumbling for a second time before catching yourself. Grumbling to yourself, you catch Chenle’s apologetic expression, and you sigh, shaking your head as you wait on the sidelines for Jisung to do the move.

And there it is.

Jisung points at his cheeks, tapping them on both sides, and you and Chenle jump into the frame. You lean forward, pressing your lips softly against— wait.

Eyes widening, you jump back in shock, mouth popping open, and the same reaction comes from your best friend when you two realize that you just kissed each other. On the lips.

Crouched on the ground, Jisung looks rather smug after quickly dropping down mid-dance and orchestrating the whole incident. He quickly stands up, striding towards the camera and ending the recording, before efficiently packing up the equipment and walking back to the car without another word.

“Did we just—” you splutter, unable to continue your sentence, as your face grows increasingly warm. Chenle refuses to make eye contact with you, the darkening blush spreading across his face like wildfire. The two of you both direct your disbelief at the same target, rushing over to the car which he boredly stands next to, waiting for Chenle to unlock it.

“Jisung!” You both shout his name, and he just stares at you both, a small grin across his face that he struggles to hide. “What?”

“‘What?’ That’s it? What was that?! Why did you do that?” you exclaim, waving your arms around. Chenle is rendered speechless, unable to say anything after the quick outburst of his other best friend’s name.

“I was tired of listening to Che—mmph!” Jisung is abruptly cut off as Chenle throws his hand over his friend’s mouth, effectively interrupting whatever he was about to say. The two of them silently look at each other, maintaining some sort of telepathic stare that’s probably discussed in the universal book of the bro code. You’ve seen Jaemin and Jeno or Renjun and Donghyuck share the same look before and never really understood it. To be honest, it kind of reminds you of that one moment where the main characters of a chick flick gaze into each others’ eyes and then kiss.

The sound of a text notification cuts off your train of thought and breaks the intense stare down going between the two boys, and you check your phone, eyes widening. “Oh my god, we’re going to be late if we don’t go now! Taeyong just texted me to confirm if we’re coming.”

The three of you hurry into the car, buckling up in your seats. Your hand lightly grazes Chenle’s amidst the rush, and you freeze. You look up, heat spreading across your face, as Chenle meets your gaze, turning redder than spaghetti sauce.

“Alright, you can continue this moment at the restaurant,” Jisung says loudly, jolting the two of you out of your stupor. You quickly retract your hand, mumbling a quick apology, and look away, cheeks still growing warmer than ever. Chenle awkwardly clears his throat and starts the car up, driving to your second stop on the map.

Penne for your Thoughts is simply lovely. It reminds you of a place you would see on the shiny cover of Architecture Digest: a hot spot where all those social influencers would take aesthetic snapshots and post to their Instagrams. The restaurant is quaint and spacious: a large area filled with lots of greenery, hanging plants in simple white ceramic pots, white painted brick walls, and wooden tables with soft cushions on each seat. Once you wrap up the interview with Taeyong, you are seated next to an open window with a great view of a pretty koi pond in the back.

“We serve Korean fusion style food here, and our spaghetti has a freshly made tomato sauce that includes chopped kimchi infused in it. We found that using garlic marinated pork belly makes a more flavorful meatball, which we char slightly, paying homage to the wonderful KBBQ samgyeopsal. We also found that a raw egg yolk on top adds a richness to the pasta, which is similar to a bowl of bibimbap. And there’s some grated Parmesan and mozzarella on top.” Taeyong sets the plate of gorgeous spaghetti in front of you and Chenle with a shy smile. “I hope you both enjoy it.”

You don’t know how else to describe the dish, except that it is beautiful (Just like the restaurant owner, like have you seen his face? Lee Taeyong is the true modern day Adonis, but you digress). You swear you saw Chenle wipe a tear from his face out of the corner of your eye. Practically salivating, you impatiently wait for Jisung to take a few close up videos and pictures of the dish before you immediately dig in.

Fork awkwardly hovering in the air, you pause, turning to Chenle. “Uh, cheers?”

His own loaded fork is halfway to his mouth when he halts. “Oh! Right. Yes. Um, cheers, Y/N.”

The two of you stiffly tap your forks against each other before facing forward again and finally taking the much desired bite. The flavors are bursting like fireworks, and if someone told you that you had died and gone to heaven, you would believe them because there’s no other word to explain the taste other than heavenly. Dante had many circles leading to the center of hell. If you are to apply the same concept to heaven, Legalize Marinara would be the first circle you enter once you go past the pearly gates, and Penne for your Thoughts would most definitely be the second.

The clinking of Chenle’s fork against the plate breaks you from your thoughts, and your good mood falters when you remember the incident again. You plaster a quick smile as you begin to describe the dish to the camera. Chenle chimes in with a wide smile of his own that looks a little too forced, but the only one who seems to notice is you.

Once the recording is wrapped up, Chenle drops you off at your apartment building for you to change into a more dressier attire for the last stop. He and Jisung will change at their place before coming back to pick you up for dinner.

Up next: Terrazza San Valentino.

The place is positively breathtaking. It is an upscale restaurant with open seating on a terrace, leading to a beautiful view of the ocean. Wisteria vines and bright flowers weave their way through the twisting low iron fences encompassing the space as they climb the sides of the building. You have the perfect seat to witness the picturesque sunset over the rippling waters. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon had been brought out and now rests on the covered table, uncorked and already poured out into two glasses. It very much reminds you of the beautiful restaurants you visited along the Amalfi Coast, specifically Il Capitano in Positano. You only hope that the food here will be just as amazing as the pasta you ordered there.

You just wish your company was a little better. The atmosphere felt more awkward than the time your mom had set you up on a blind date with her coworker’s son. You had to text Chenle for help that time, and he came to your rescue, helping you escape after pretending to be your long lost son. Obviously, your date wasn’t dumb enough to believe that, but he did believe that you were completely off your rockers and immediately took off after that.

Sneaking a glance at your best friend, you sigh when you realize that he refuses to look your way. You carefully tuck the skirt of your wine red dress under your crossed legs. The sweetheart neckline emphasizes the simple gold necklace you have on, and the dress tapers off at your waist, accentuating your figure perfectly. You paired the outfit with a matching lipstick, a simple black clutch, and some elegant black heels with ribbons that loop around your ankles into a pretty bow.

In other words, you look stunning, and Chenle’s palms are growing sweaty. He undos the first few buttons of his white dress shirt, desperately wanting to take off his tailored suit jacket, but his attire would look much too casual without it. He avoids eye contact with you and remains silent, growing even more flustered by the second, and looks at Jisung helplessly.

Of course, his other best friend proves to be useless again (Disappointing, but not surprising). Jisung simply wriggles his eyebrows at him, eyes darting from you to Chenle, before zooming into his face at a very unflattering angle. Chenle throws him a dirty look, and Jisung merely sticks out his tongue in response. However, they immediately smoothen their expressions into much more pleasant ones when Jaehyun comes out with the plate of food on a small cart.

“This is our play on spaghetti.” He gives you a dimpled smile, and you briefly wonder if the customers rave about this restaurant because of the food or the chef. Perhaps it is a combination of both.

He continued to explain the dish, setting it down in front of you and Chenle. “We use strangozzi that is made fresh every morning. We infuse sun dried tomatoes that we dried ourselves into the olive oil for a minimum of thirty days. The pasta is cooked for sixty seconds, while we slightly sauté grated truffle in the oil in a pan. Once the pasta is ready, we transfer it to the truffle pan and cook it for another minute, making sure to coat the pasta in the sauce. And then we grate some Parmesan and truffles right on top at the table.”

Jaehyun pulls out the expensive mushroom, generously grating thin slices on top of the glistening strands of pasta. The smell is incredible, and your eyes are already hyper fixated on the dish in front of you. He puts down the mushroom and grater, picking up the second grater and the cheese from the cart before shredding the cheese perfectly.

When he finishes, Jaehyun places them back on the cart and smiles at you both charmingly once more. “I hope you enjoy your meal. If you need anything else, please feel free to ask.”

You thank him before he leaves, and Jisung takes all the necessary shots before giving the okay to start eating. You and Chenle offer up some comments about the elegance of the dish, describing its appearance and finally twirling some on the end of your fork. You murmur a quiet “cheers” as the two of you clink your glasses of wine together and take a sip before having the first bite.

The amount of money you have to pay to have a truffle dish is absolutely worth it. The taste is simply indescribable, and you truly have no words. You are blown away by the amount of flavor that can be created with just a few ingredients, and your taste buds are singing. Wide eyed, you turn to look at Chenle, who has the same astonished expression on his face, already staring back at you in complete surprise.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and your best friend agrees with you. “Holy shit indeed.”

You immediately go for another bite, and Chenle quickly follows suit. “This is— this is incredible. I don’t know how to describe it, except, except, wow. I can’t stop eating it, and the sun dried tomatoes, olive oil, fresh pasta al dente, and truffles just work so well together. It’s like a symphony in my mouth.”

“I agree,” Chenle nods enthusiastically, swiping another forkful of the yummy goodness. “This has to be one of the best dishes of the entire season.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” You spear a slice of the truffle with the pasta, and the ensuing bite is simply perfect and delectable. “I would come back here every single week if my bank account would let me.”

The stifled atmosphere between the two of you suddenly becomes relaxed at that point, the thick tension dissipating with food never failing to act as the perfect ice breaker and buffer simultaneously. For now, you can pretend the kiss didn’t happen and almost forget it (key word: almost).

“There’s a very popular fan suggestion,” Jisung pipes up, looking at the comment section of the previous video where you and Chenle announced your current recording’s star dish. “It got over twenty thousand likes and five hundred responses.”

“What is it?” You pause in eating, fork poised in the air, as you look over to your friend behind the camera. Chenle pays no attention, continuing to take another bite.

“Recreate the Lady and the Tramp moment.”

Your jaw drops, and your eyes grow round. Practically scandalized, your voice goes an octave higher. “You mean the kissing scene?!”

At the mention of kissing, Chenle chokes on a noodle, spluttering and nearly hacking up a lung, and you quickly reach over and firmly pat him on the back repeatedly until he stops coughing with a weak “thanks.”

“What? This is a food show! Why do they want us to kiss?” your best friend wheezes, and you pass him a glass of water. He grabs it from your outstretched hand gratefully and takes a large gulp.

“I don’t know, fan service? Anyway, it’s good for the views!” Jisung gives you a thumbs up, and you frown at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why don’t you do it with Chenle then?”

“It specifically says you and Chenle,” he informs smugly with a smirk, and you glower at him, much to his amusement.

“Well, if it’s for the fans…” Chenle trails off, a faint blush beginning to make its appearance on his face. He hesitantly pulls out one strand of the pasta, picking up one end on his fork.

You can’t believe this. Yet, you slowly reach out for the other end of the strand with your fork, twirling it onto the metal prongs securely. You move to take your end of the noodle, while Chenle does the same, both of you actively avoiding eye contact.

“Oh c’mon, at least make it a little more romantic than that. Jeno and Jaemin have more chemistry than you two right now,” Jisung complains, and you would very much like to chuck the half full bottle of wine at his big, annoying head (Chenle also has similar thoughts).

Taking a deep breath, you finally place the noodle’s end in your mouth. Cheeks burning, you can feel your heart rate already skyrocketing at the mere thought of kissing your best friend again. You know you’ll freeze up if you look at him, so you do your best to focus your gaze on the center of the noodle strand. You’ll have some time before the two of you meet in the middle, right?

Wrong.

It comes much too soon, and your palms are growing sweaty as your heart races in your chest at a breakneck speed. Your lips are mere millimeters away from his, and you pause. You can’t hear anything, but the pounding of your heart and the blood rushing to your cheeks, and you finally find the courage to peek up at your best friend. You find him already gazing at you, a soft expression on his face. His eyes dart down to your lips before meeting your eyes once more, and you suddenly realize that he’s waiting for you, that he won’t do anything unless you want it too, that it’s okay if you don’t.

But you do.

So you muster up all the courage you possibly can and close the distance, carefully pressing your lips against his for a tender kiss before biting off the noodle. When you pull back, you finally notice the awestruck expression written all over Chenle’s face. He lets out a small laugh of disbelief before he positively beams, bouncing in his seat, and you sport a matching smile, albeit a little bashful.

“Uh, anyway, who left that comment? We should probably give them a mention,” you say, clearing your throat and hoping the heat subsides in your cheeks soon. Chenle continues to grin like the Cheshire Cat and secretly grabs your hand underneath the tablecloth, intertwining your fingers with his. You can feel your face exponentially growing warm once again, but you still send a pleased smile to your best friend.

“Uh…” Jisung awkwardly laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “‘Insert goofy’s chuckle.’”

At Jisung’s answer, you freeze up entirely in your position before immediately turning and locking eyes with Chenle in complete horror, the both of you instantly coming to the same, dreadful realization.

“HYUCK?!”

One new notification: Dream: Worth It uploaded a new video!

insert goofy’s chuckle commented:

oh my god you guys actually did it. your relationship started all thanks to ME 🙆🏻 you’re welcome btw 😘 I take payment in the form of your first born’s name

notanimpasta replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle ok calm down rumpelstiltskin

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta what a perfect nickname for him. He’s an ugly little greedy man

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ jisung pwark LMAOOOO (and congrats, chenle and y/n!)

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ jisung pwark what tf no one asked???

notanimpasta replied: @ jisung pwark wait hold on you were supposed to edit that end part out????

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta i left it for the views ☺️

big head king replied: @ jisung pwark people watch for the food tho!!! 🙂

nana ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ replied: @ big head king I watched it for the kiss. Love is so beautiful 🥰💓💞🥺🥺💕💛💟✨💖

jenojam replied: @ big head king I had watched it for the food! but congratulations, y/n and chenle :)

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ big head king i watched it because ron jeon said you mentioned me

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle IT’S RENJUN!!!!!! 🤬🤬

mork lee rawr xD replied: hahaha I watch for the food~

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ mork lee rawr xD Thank you Mark, very cool!

winwin in past tense is wonwon!!! commented:

whoop whoop congrats lele 🥳🥳

rapperpunzel commented:

the pasta looks good 🍝

johnny’s communication center commented:

Thanks for stopping by! Come back for the couple’s special discount anytime 😉

baa baa yang sheep commented:

oh my god finally!!!

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ baa baa yang sheep you owe me $50 I was right, it happened before the season finale

baa baa yang sheep replied: @ ghosts are real so suck it hyuck suddenly i’m jared, 19

xiao dejasmine commented:

hahahaha cute ! 😁😁

ty track commented:

Thank you y/n and chenle for visiting ~~ congrats on your relationship !!! -TY

junguwu (◕‿◕✿) commented:

YAAAAAS CHENLE SWEETIE 😘😘😘

jisung pwark commented:

check out my latest tiktok video @ jisungpwark to see their actual first kiss!!! and don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe ☺️

notanimpasta replied: @ jisung pwark STOP USING US AS CLICKBAIT

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta no ❤️

jisung pwark replied: @ notanimpasta also red is sus

big head king replied: @ jisung pwark so when are you gonna do the best friend kissing challenge huh 👀

jisung pwark replied: @ big head king SHUT UP CHENLE

honeyfairy replied: @ jisung pwark 😳😳

gu ren gui god commented:

wow~ very cute, chenle! my angel 😊

FIGHTING HAEYADWAE commented:

YOOOOO CONGRATS, MAN 🤩🤪🤪

prince jae commented:

thank you guys for coming by! please stop by next year on your anniversary free of charge (:

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ prince jae omg mark and I will be there for sure ❤️

showmethemonet replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle my new boyfriend and I will be there too ☺️

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet I’m sorry, I was wrong, pls don’t leave me for bts jin even though i am so much more handsomer and talented than him 😌

apado gwenchana god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

1K notes · View notes

sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

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You Can’t Get Better Than A Thrombey

Summary- 4.7 Ransom x You. You and Ransom have a good thing going. Friends with benefits and nothing more. But Ransom’s selfish ways end up ruining it, and you are done. Gone. You moved on with your life. Until one traveling night that brings you back to the city you had left behind, and of course Ransom Drysdale shows up. Written for @imanuglywombat Wombat’s Ugly 4k Challenge.

Warnings- This fic has a spousal cheating element to it. Please do not read if that bothers you. Other warnings, Smut, Male receiving Oral and Swears.

A/N- Thank you @imanuglywombat for the wonderful challenge! It was so much fun. Congratulations on your follower count babes.

A/N Two- Moodboard Wombat made is at the very bottom of the fic, and the lyrics used for second prompt, Good Luck by Basement Jaxx will be in italiacs through the fic.

A/N three- if just occurred to me that the whole "you cant get better then a thrombey" came from @jtargaryen18 series Naughty Ransom Holiday Tales, which her Ransom Drysdale series is top tier and absolutely should go read. It's one of my favorites. Probably why the line got stuck in my head.

“Come on Baby, just one more.” Ransom hissed against your ear, his tongue swiping over the shell of your ear while tightening his hold on your throat, your sobs coming out half strangled from needing to come on his cock that he kept pounding into you. Feet planted on the plush hotel carpet, his thrusts into your cunt had you gasping with need while your channel fluttered around his cock. He grasped your hand that was currently buried in his hair and wrenched your hand down to press against your stomach. “Feel that Kitten, how I’m rearranging your guts and fucking you useless for anyone else?”

Your head nodded, as much as he allowed with the hold on your throat, causing his fingers to flex, closing around your throat tighter till you were seeing sparks blossom in your sight and that's when you couldn't hold back anymore. Behind you, Ransom's sweaty chest clung like wrap to your back, vibrating as he grunted against your shoulder. You ended up flooding his cock, gushing on your thighs and slicking against his as he pounded you harder now, grabbing your hips and rutting you now to reach his end. Leaving your limp body to be rag-dolled in his lap till he shot himself inside of you to paint your walls, and you both fell back against the ruined California King bed, the sheets sex sweat stained from earlier.

Gasping breaths and heaving chests were the only sound in the overheated room, and you eased off him, your back peeling away to roll next to him with a groan. You peeked at him from where you had buried your head against the crook of your arm, and admired the flushed cheeks, and still tensing tendons in his neck, his hair was all disheveled and out of its usual place from where he always had it groomed back. “Mmh, what are you staring at?” He questioned before turning to look at you, his ridiculously long lashes were swept against his cheek for half a second before cold crystal cerulean’s looked at you inquiring.

“I'm looking at your post orgasm face.” You respond, and prop a hand under your head once you turn to your side. “It's a good look on you Ransom, one of your better ones.”

He arched a brow as he reached over, tracing the curve of your breast before tugging on a still sensitive nipple to make you gasp, and shove your hand against his shoulder making him smirk in his signature way. “Fucking glad you approve, maybe we should do this more often.”

“Well next time you're in the city, give me a call.” You say swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, looking around at your discarded clothing.

“And where the fuck you going?” He tugged you back to tumble into the bed, rolling over you so you could feel his thighs wedge yours apart and his hips drop into place. You fold your arms across your chest and huff, looking up at him as he braced himself above you, tendrils of sweaty hair falling over his forehead.

“You can't be serious Ransom, again? I have to go back to my apartment. I have a work meeting tomorrow with my bosses.” You state matter of fact. “Besides, whatever happened to that no sleeping over rule?”

“Who says I'm letting you sleep? I barely get to come to the city anyways.” He lowered over you, pressing his soft pillowed lips in all your weakest spots on your shoulder and neck, a hand sliding between your thighs and into slick folds. Fuck this man, your mind thought till it went blank again in the sensation of his fingers so expertly playing between your petals that you already were stretching your thighs wider for him. “I haven't thoroughly fucked you yet.”

“God I hate you.” You moaned out as you felt your resolve fluttering into his favor, the metal of his pinkie rubbed against your clit and a long finger stretched you open once more.

“Well this sure isn't love Kitten, cause I'm about to destroy you. Admit it Y/N, you haven't had anything better than me.” He expertly gave you those long fingered strokes that had you keening his name, losing your entire resolve.

“That's my girl…” He praised above you while you grabbed his biceps and started to climb to the heavens all over again.

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A knock on the door disturbed your sleep. You stirred in confusion against the overly soft pillow that wasn't at all familiar. You lifted your head in confusion, looking around when another knock came, and you heard Ransom yell from the bathroom, snapping it open. “Fuck, will be right there.”

You clutched the sheet and sat up, rubbing at your eyes while he brought in a cart with covered trays. “I didn't think you would ever get up Y/N.” He said while wheeling it to a table, and it occurred to you that the sun was awful bright.

“Oh shit, Ransom, what time is it?” You shoot across the bed, looking desperately for your cell phone, and he gives a shrug while lifting the cover off one tray.

“Hell if I know… 10? 11?” he says while grabbing a piece of toast and biting the corner while you are moving aside pillows trying to find your phone.

“Ransom!” You snagged your phone from under a pillow, and checked the notifications. Closing your eyes in frustration. “It's more like 1 in the afternoon, and I was supposed to have a meeting at 10. I set my alarm.”

Ransom strode over to you as you were typing out a message to your office hurriedly. “Oh, yea I might have silenced it this morning. The fucking thing wouldn’t stop chirping.”

Your eyes lifted from your screen and said with utmost disbelief. “You… silenced it?”

“It was so fucking early and woke me up Y/N.” Like you had inconvenienced him. “I don’t know why you set the fucking thing anyways.” He said, and you felt rage well up in your chest, pushing up out of the bed, and grabbed at your clothes.

“You did it this time Ransom. You are a fuck buddy, and yet you take the whole thing quite literally don’t you.” You grab at your panties, shoving them on and then snatch your bra. “Fucked me over on the most important meeting of my life, I should have known better then to answer your fucking text.” You are ranting to yourself, searching for your skirt.

Ransom seems confused at your words, starting to follow you around. “You’re mad because of that job? I’ve told you a hundred times to come on as Harlan's assistant. He’s been looking for years and you would be perfect. Probably pay you better and you can come to my place more often.” His tone turned cocky while saying this, his gift to you apparently.

You pushed past Ransom without even saying anything, grabbing your shirt and shoving it over your head. “You sold me down the river now Ransom.” You grab at your heels and slip them on while reading the message on your phone sent back from your office. Basically telling you to get your ass in because the boss wanted to see you. Breathing out in defeat. “I hope you’re feeling happy now.” You drop it in your bag while he gives an exaggerated eye roll at you.

“Come on Y/N, It's not the end of the world.” He grasped your arm to stop you storming out, and you hiss at him.

“You don't get it Ransom do you, I worked hard for this, my whole fucking life. And I let you ruin it for me. I should be mad at you but it would be such a waste of energy on you. So I’m mad at myself more.” You look him up and down while wrenching your arm out of his grasp, and look up at him, committing him to memory, this exact expression of his. Signature sneer crossing his face that edged on his face with a smirk like he would fix this problem with the easiest way possible. It might have worked with another woman, one who thought that he ‘Loved Her’ but you were not fooled, there was no love between you. This was a way to scratch an itch. One that you needed to break away from. Now that the damage was done.

“We’re all done Ransom, I can’t keep doing this shit anymore with you. The consequences outweigh the benefits of sleeping with you.” You started towards the door and you felt him spin you around, pressing you against the door.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Kitten?” He sneered down at you, and when you tried to push him away, he slammed you back into the door with a dull thud. “You don't throw away a good thing Sweetheart.”

You catch your breath, the hard masculine body crushing against you was all too familiar, and up to his expression that looked like he had won you over. Now you always have a sneer in your smile Ransom, you thought to yourself, thinking you have actual control over me. Your hands planted against his chest, and his gaze darkened as you made him back away from you with resolve. “But wake up, Baby, You’re so totally deluded… I'm throwing away this good thing right now.” Turning away, you were quick to open the door and look over your shoulder. “Don’t bother fucking calling me anymore.”

With a quick snap out the door, as you walked down the five star hotel hallway, you heard Ransom rip open the door and poke his head out. “Don't worry about me calling you Kitten, not like you are the only lay I can get in this town.”

You didn't even bother answering as you stepped on the elevator. Your last sight of him was striding towards the elevator doors as they shut, staring back at him coldly as he shouted your name and the doors blocked him from you, now your reflection staring coldly back at you in the steel doors as the elevator brought you to the lobby.

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That would be the last time you saw him in a couple years. You ended up losing your job that day, and decided that it wasn't just Ransom you needed to change in your life, but all of it. You put out resumes all over New England and found someone to take over the lease to your apartment. Within a couple months from that night, you were moving out of the city and to a small suburb, house, lawn and everything. You went to work as a legal aide at a small law firm. Dates happened here and there, but you didn't let any of them get close in the way Ransom was. Eventually dating turned into a matter of convenience for you. You settled finally. A lawyer that chased after you for a while, Neil. He made an excellent lover and you two were comfortable, you even loved him in a way. Just like he loved you in a way. He had long hours, and you always traveled. It became a relationship of sorts for you two.

This evening you sat in the swanky Boston bar, another business trip for the firm, sipping from a second gin and tonic while scanning the room when you saw a sight you never thought you would see again.

One Ransom Drysdale came in with some slim waisted woman clinging to him, chatting away but you could tell just from the way he scanned the room that he wasn't even paying attention to her. When his gaze fell on you, his brows arched in surprise, but then they darkened and he whispered to his companion. When she split away towards a table, he strode over to you sitting at the bar.

“Never thought I would see you slumming in this part of town again.” He said slowly while waving the bartender over. “You look good Y/N.” He said in a matter of fact tone, and you raked a gaze over him. In the two years you hadn’t seen him, he barely changed. Still wore the high end clothes, and that camel colored coat that was so soft to the touch, that pinkie ring shone just a bit in the low light. “Another gin and tonic for her to.” in which your drink was switched out with a fresh one.

“Business Hugh.” You snipped out, catching him scowl at mention of his name. How you got a thrill knowing how much he hated it. “And you don't look bad yourself. Still living that trust fund life, it treats you good.” You thanked the bartender and sipped from the much stronger gin and tonic now, feeling the tendrils of heat curl in your veins from the alcohol.

“Well I will have you know not entirely a trust fund life now.” He remarked your words back to you while he leaned in closer, his hand sliding along your thigh in that all too familiar way of his. “I took over part of Blood Like Wine just to piss Walt off. But I enjoy it, and have been doing some writing myself with Harlan’s help.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, tilting your head towards him. “You actually got serious in life? I’m impressed.”

Ransom shrugged while twirling his glass, the bits of ice clinking in the glass. “Got bored, needed something to do Y/N.”

You laughed hearing him, and glanced over your shoulder. “Isn’t your date waiting on your Ransom?”

He looked over his shoulder at the woman he had come in with, shaking his head. “Nah, she will be fine. See, she already is eyeing up someone else.” He stated, watching as his previous date scooted over, letting someone sit in the booth with her. Ransom turned back to you and smirked, settling in comfortably next to you. “Guess we actually get to catch up.” You didn't send him away, in fact you two fell back into easy conversation talking about the past two years. The evening turned to night, and the bartender gave you two the cut off. Before you could excuse yourself to leave, Ransom reached out and caught your wrist to keep you from getting up.

“Looks like I'm free tonight, what do you say… one more for old times sake?”

You pondered his offer, the last swallow of gin and tonic was probably that last push as you glanced at your old lover. His eyes showed promise that it would be good, and you knew full well that he had every right to be cocky. Setting your glass down, you nod.

“Old times sake… but this is it Drysdale.”

You two escaped the bar, Ransom knowing the streets like the back of his hand. It was like the old days when you two messed around, familiar in the sense you knew that you two would hit the subway. You hated riding in the beamer around the city, and he was well aware of it. Teasing looks and touches were shared on the subway, once in a while a dirty kiss before splitting apart. “Fuck you taste good Kitten.” He muttered your old nickname against your neck as he sucked a mark against your pulse. “So addictive.” You hide a grin in against his shoulder hearing him.

The thing that ended up surprising you was when Ransom didn't pull you to one of your regular meetup Hotels, but an actual apartment building. “What is this?” You stalled as he hit the numbers in the pad on the side of the building to be let in.

“I moved into the city. Made more sense then having to travel all the fucking time.” Pulling you into the building and steering you to the elevator, he crowded into you once the doors shut on you two. Your head tilted back to let him skim those lips over your pulse once more and tug your ear between sharp teeth, needy fingers bunching under your sweater, and trailing fire against your skin till his touch turned into a press of fingertips biting into your curves. Your hands fisted in his cashmere sweater, brushing your face against the hard planes of his jawline, sighing in such a needy way, its been so fucking long since you’ve felt this. Felt that physical urge to just get lost in the most primal of ways.

You two crashed into the apartment, tugging at each others clothes and stumbling into the walls, pushing back and forth till you shoved Ransom hard against the hallway wall, rolling into him with a clash of teeth and hisses when his hand fist in your hair, pulling you away to march you two closer to the bedroom, his enormous body crowding you where he wanted you. “Come on Kitten, remind me how good that mouth was again.”

You didn't hesitate to drop to your knees on the hardwood floor and your hands twisted in his trousers to tug at the button and zipper, yanking them down his legs till he stepped from them. “Open.” Ransom demanded while wrapping his hand around his hard cock and jerked it while you looked up at him with a begging expression, you wanted it, him. You tongue fell out to accept his offering. Perhaps you should have felt shame at your desperate actions, at how easily you turned into a whore for Ransom. You had been in a committed relationship with Neil for six months, and here you were breaking it all for a man you sworn yourself from. Ransom was not gentle about taking you apart either, which you had craved his demanding nature the past two years. His cock pressed past your lips into your wet heat, making you widen around him till he hit the back of your throat making you sputter. You tried to pull away instinctively but he held you there for a few seconds till you relaxed. “Thatta girl Kitten.” Ransom praised and his hips started to thrust into your mouth.

“Fuck I missed seeing you like this.” He grunted as he moved your head back and forth, his hands digging into your scalp and fucked into your mouth. You clenched your thighs underneath yourself, wanting to hide that desire to grind into anything for the friction, completely growing wet with the way he just fucked your mouth how he wanted. You slurped on his cock, hollowing your cheeks to tighten around him, fluttering your tongue against that thick vein while he pressed your mouth to take more, and your nose ended up against the tight dark pubic curls, drool dripped down your chin to leave you ruined looking.

“Grinding yourself against your thigh Slut, I can see those hips moving.” He yanked you off his cock, your tongue darting to kitten lick the red tip while looking up at him as your hands rubbed up and down his muscular thighs while he jerked himself. Seeing he was close you tipped back further as his hold allowed, whining.

“Yes I am Ransom, fuck you for making me this way.” You whined out as you shifted your hips, rubbing your cunt as hard as possible against the back of your foreleg, wanting to get that fulfillment.

He squeezed himself slightly to keep from cumming and dragged you back to your feet, snapping a hand against your ass to get you moving “Then let's take care of that Kitten.” Your fingers dipped into your waistband of your panties shimming them down while Ransom grabbed palmfuls of your ass and ground his cock between your cheeks. “I got to get inside you…” He panted into the curve of your neck and as soon as you reached the bedroom, he pressed you against the dresser just inside the door. Pulling your ass out and his cock pressed between slick folds, pushing himself into you, both of you sighed in relief at the familiar sensation. You stretched around him till you were full of him, and him feeling you wrapped around him so tight, your cunt seemed to swallow him.

He took you from behind, rattling the dresser with each pounding thrust, his hands digging permanent marks into your hips in a ruthless way. A way you had missed, hard demanding ruts, banging your hips into the hardwood of the dresser and your hands tried finding purchase against the wood when he angled and found that sweet spot that only he seemed to be able to find. Making you keen his name and he snapped his teeth, clenching his jaw till the tendons of his neck strained with the power he was slamming into you.

“That was all it took to flood my cock, Kitten, you must be needy.”

You sagged against the dresser but he wasn't over with you yet, it had been years since he had you with him. Man handling you to the bed, you went to your back and he fell over you. Snapping kisses against the sensitive part of your chest to the tops of your breasts, his hand dragged your bra down, the bands straining and lifting your chest off the bed while you dug your hands into his hair, pulling it hard enough for him to moan into your skin and his teeth sink into the top of your breast.

“Ransom, no more marks.” You tried to stop him but he muttered something between the curves, drawing a swipe till he got to your nipple, latching on and pulling on it for it to swell.

“Yea yea, got a boyfriend you can’t let see.” He said in a joking manner as a hand moved underneath you to release your bra, and he shifted your hips to settle underneath him. You slipped your hands along his chest, and curled around his neck, shrugging a shoulder.

“Perhaps, just don't mark me up.” you snapped, and he smothered you again, lip biting kisses as he thrust into you, your legs wrapping around his slender hips, and pulling him in closer.

As his hips rocked into you, slower than before dragging himself back and forth, he lifted to his elbows, looking down at you as you bit your lip, pressing your head back. “What's his name?”

Your eyes spring open as your fingers dig into his back. “W-what Ransom?”

He pressed forward, pinning you into the mattress while grinding into you. “His fucking name Kitten, what is it?” This time when you look up at him, you can see his mouth set in a thin line, and ground himself into you, making you clench around him.

“Why does it matter?” your nails loosen slightly and drag down his back. “You never cared before.”

Ransom then blessed you with that signature smirk, and moved his hand to your throat to tighten, and tighten enough to make you gasp out, the move making you flutter around him. “Because Kitten.” His mouth lowered over yours, teeth sinking into your lip and tongue filling your mouth and stealing the last air from your lungs. “I know you, you will never be satisfied with settling down Y/N. It's not in you. These past two years, have you actually been satisfied like this.”

“A lot changes in those two years Ransom.” You gasped into his mouth, fighting him back now after his words, working your hips back to meet him with each thrust. “Oh better to be like you? Just fucking around. You’ll end up old and lonely without someone in your life.” Your tongue lapped at the roof of his mouth and your eyes rolled up feeling him splitting you apart.

“Come on Kitten, you're not telling me you didn't miss this? Us? You are all I have ever needed, you know that.” Ransom demanded, and you shuddered under him, cumming just then, his hand around your neck tightened all that much further while he chased his own ending this time. Pushing you up the bed till you both were buried in the pillows. Soon you felt him paint your walls, burying himself into you till his body crushed yours down into the mattress, your thighs quivering around his waist and you were panting against his shoulder, trying to catch your breath. He lifted his head to look down at you, a brow arched waiting for an answer. “So?”

Your fingers slid up his back and over his shoulders, staring back up at him, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why do you have to make this anything more then a good one last time fuck?” You pushed on his shoulders to turn him to his back and straddled him, covering his mouth. “Just shut the fuck up, okay?”

Ransom's teeth sank into your palm, while grasping your hips and lifting you to sink you onto him.

“Make me Kitten.” he hissed at you in challenge.

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It was early morning when you both were tangled around each other, the sheets pushed off the bed, and you were using Ransom more as your blanket, soaking in that post sex haze that made you all limp. He was half snoring in your hair and you were staring at the ceiling. You closed your eyes with shame and disgust with yourself, since you were going to have to make some lame excuse to Neil about why you didn't answer your phone. As well as why you weren't at your hotel last night.

“I can hear you thinking” Ransom groaned from above you, and you tilted your head up to see an early morning beard starting to prickle his skin, and you shifted to pull back, giving a bit of space while resettling yourself to face him properly.

“You asked me last night if there was someone. There is Ransom… we've been dating just about six months. And he’s a good person, a decent man.”

He rubbed at his face to open his eyes and be able to focus on you, still sleep laced as he spoke once more. “And Y/N? Why are you worried? It's not like we haven’t done this plenty of times, dating someone or not.”

You worried your lip, sighing with a shake of your head. “That hasn't been me since I moved, I left it all behind when I left Boston. But then you come right back, and I’m stupid enough to fuck around with you again. Am I ever going to get you out of my system?”

That made him smirk, and lean into you, kissing you dirty so early in the morning. “Now you're making yourself sound like one of those crazy bitches on the ID channel. Should I be worried about you?”

You snorted against his kiss, pressing him against his chest to make him fall back into his spot in the bed. “If you didn’t get a bullet in your head already after the last time, you should know you're safe.”

His arm circled around your waist, his thumb sweeping back and forth across the small of your back. “I'm glad I’m forgiven for last time Y/N. And this changes nothing that you do with whatever his name is.”

You reached forward and let your fingers trail along the planes of his pecs, feeling guilty, but not regretting it, not really. Ransom had always fulfilled something in you that no one else ever was able to.

“Yea I guess you're forgiven, although it was still a shitty thing to do. Come on, even you have to admit that Ransom. And his name is Neil.” You pushed to hear him admit he was in the wrong, and he rolled his eyes at you, sliding his hand to grasp an ass cheek and squeeze it in his palm.

“Did I just have to say that last time for you to forgive me Kitten? Cause fuck, two years is a long time.”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No, I fucking hated you back then. I would have still left, I’m just now tolerating you.” You pulled back and moved to sit up at the edge of the bed. “And now I gotta call Neil with some lie about where I was.”

Ransom moved to the other side, reaching for his boxers to slip on. “Just tell him you met up with an old friend Y/N.”

You pushed off from the bed and tugged the first shirt you found, Ransom's sweater while leaving the bedroom to talk to Neil. With luck, he didn't answer, and you just left a message to call you back and that you were safe, that you had met up with some old girlfriends. Glancing around, it occurred to you that Ransom really did live here, not just stay here on occasion. There was mail on the counter, books and manuscripts on the coffee table in the living room, and coats hanging near the door, an abandoned dirty coffee mug near the sink. You started to pick up the clothing you two had scattered through the apartment when Ransom came out, watching you for a moment while leaning against the wall.

“Reach the boyfriend?” He said matter of fact, which you straightened, and glanced back at him while folding some clothes and shaking your head.

“No, but I should probably get ready to go, I'm supposed to be driving home today.” you pluck at his sweater you're wearing and he strides across the room, his fingers sliding under your chin to lift your gaze back up.

“You know Kitten we will never really be done with each other.” He said, tilting his head. “Week from now, five years down the road, it doesn't matter when it happens again. So lose the guilt, it's not good for you. It's just the way it is.”

He was right, you knew he was right and part of you hated him for the fact that he was right. “After all, you don't get anything better than a Thrombey, Kitten.”

Fuck this man for having this hold on you.

Moodboard Prompt- The City

#uglywombat4kchallenge #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fic #knives out au #knives out fic #knives out #ransom drysdale au #amber writes #sweater writes

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

Text

PROMPT #1

Based on this prompt - Malec au, University students. Alec is a med student, Magnus fashion design. Alec is trying to study anatomy for an exam but is struggling to remind the bones and ligaments of the body. Magnus offers to be his human naked (with boxers because 'you know how we get magnus') model.

“Why did I choose biology again?” Alec asked.

“Is that a rhetorical question or do you want me to answer that?” Magnus questioned, lying on his bed, his sketch papers and pencils sprawled all around him.

“It is,” Alec replied. “But why would I do this to myself!!”

“Listen to me,” Magnus pinned a pencil behind his ear. “Because you come from a family of surgeons, and you want to make them proud? But I think it’s mostly because you genuinely enjoy healing people and saving lives?”

“Ugh,” Alec groaned. “Why did I have to be such a good guy?”

Magnus laughed.

“You know, I should have been an arsonist or something. I have pretty good aim,” Alec pondered out loud. “But no. I had to choose this instead. Stupid, Alec!”

“Alright. Alright,” Magnus sat up on his bed. “What’s wrong, you drama queen?”

“I have an anatomy test on Friday,” Alec sighed. “And I can’t seem to remember all the names.”

“That’s it?” Magnus asked.

“What do you mean that’s it?” Alec demanded. “Do you know we have 206 bones in the human body? Why do we even need so many??”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question too,” Magnus chuckled. “Considering you’re going to be a surgeon and all.”

“At this rate, the only way I’m getting into a hospital is as a patient because of all the stress,” Alec closed his book dramatically. “Please make sure they have a closed casket at my funeral.”

“Okay. I’m sure it’s not that bad-”

“206 bones, Magnus!” Alec yelled. “206 bones! Why couldn’t we just have like 12 or something?”

“That would make us very grotesque,” Magnus grimaced. “And then I won’t be able to design us all these pretty clothes.”

“How is your project coming?” Alec asked, not wanting to hog the conversation. “You finished with the design?”

“Nope,” Magnus giggled and helped up a piece of paper. “But I did do a nice sketch of Harry and Draco.”

“He has his mother’s eyes,” Alec giggled back.

“Alright, we got this,” Magnus jumped off the bed. “How many do you know for now?”

“Let’s see,” Alec pouted. “First, you have the paired bones in the skull. They make a total of 28 bones. Nasal, Lacrimal, Maxillary, Zygomatic, Temporal, Palatine, Parietal, Malleus, Incus and Stapes.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?” Magnus raised an eyebrow. “You could be naming different kinds of spiders for all I know.”

“Why in the world would I know eleven kinds of spiders?” Alec rolled his eyes.

“Okay that’s valid,” Magnus shrugged. “And then what?”

“Well, then we have the torso bones – which are basically the ribs. There are 52 bones there. And I got those covered.”

“See?” Magnus patted him on the shoulder and Alec shuddered at the touch. “It’s not that bad. You are already know like most of them.”

“No,” Alec said. “I need to memorize the appendicular skeleton.”

“How many there?” Magnus asked.

“126,” Alec groaned.

“Yikes,” Magnus winced. “Well…Maybe it has one of those anagrams? Like you know a song that helps you remember these kind of stuff?”

“For 126 bones?” Alec rolled his eyes. “It’s gonna be bloody long song.”

“Hmmm,” Magnus put his hands on his hips. “Do you have one of those skeleton thingies?”

“A what?”

“A skeleton thingy,” Magnus repeated. “Medical students have them, don’t they? I think the visualization helps you memorize the bones or something.”

“Oh, those,” Alec said in realization. “Yeah those are expensive as fuck.”

“Isn’t there one in the biology lab?” Magnus asked. “I swear I’ve seen Simon practicing his flirting skills on one of those.”

“Yeah, we are not allowed to borrow them,” Alec muttered.

“Oh,” Magnus frowned.

“But we could steal it!!!” Alec said suddenly.

“Alec, no!”

“Think about it,” Alec said encouragingly. “If we don’t get caught, then I can study for my exam. If we get caught, then I don’t have to sit for my exam at all. It’s a win-win, Magnus!”

“Okay nobody is stealing anything,” Magnus showed a threatening finger. “You are not getting suspended again. I can’t let Raphael move into our dorm room. He is an ass. And he doesn’t appreciate my fashion sense like you do.”

“But you look good in everything you wear,” Alec said quietly.

“Right?” Magnus asked. “I’m not losing this. Nope. Okay I think have a solution for you.”

“You are willing to sacrifice your life so I can practice on your skeleton?” Alec asked dryly.

“Let's hope it doesn’t have to come to that,” Magnus laughed nervously. “But how about you just practice on my regular body?”

Alec blinked. “What?”

Magnus just took off his shirt in one move and Alec coughed loudly. “I mean, you can’t see my bones. But you can probably feel them.”

“I...What?”

Magnus reached out, grabbed Alec’s hand and placed it above his chest. “Which one is that?”

“Hhhh,” Alec said.

“What’s that?”

“That’s the pectoral girdle,” Alec cleared his throat. “This is your clavicle. And this is the scapula. And right here, in the middle of your chest is the sternum.”

“Sounds sexy,” Magnus chuckled. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Are you…Are you sure you want to do this?” Alec asked hesitantly.

“I don’t mind,” Magnus shrugged and then looked alarmed. “Do you…Do you not want to-”

“No. No,” Alec said quickly. “I do want your help. I just…I just wanted to know if you’re comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable,” Magnus smiled.

“Okay. Alright. Then let’s do this,” Alec smiled back.

“If we are going to do this, then let’s do this properly,” Magnus announced and took off his jeans without another word.

He was wearing tight black boxers underneath. Not the cute ones like Alec wore.

These were sexy.

Who wears sexy underwear on a Wednesday afternoon? Sexy underwear is only for special occasions, goddamnit!

“Oh god,” Alec gulped.

“Pardon?” Magnus asked, throwing his jeans on his bed.

“I said Thank God!” Alec corrected quickly.

“We got this,” Magnus grinned and laid down on Alec’s bed. Now it’s gonna smell like fucking sandalwood.

Alec already had trouble sleeping at night knowing that Magnus slept just a couple of meters away. This was not going to make things better.

“I’m waiting, Dr. Lightwood!” Magnus called.

Alec bit his lip. This man knew exactly what buttons to push.

Just be a professional, Alec. You just gotta be a professional.

Mercifully there was a knock on the door.

“Hold on,” Alec held up a finger.

He opened the door and sighed.

“What?”

“Can I borrow your notes from Monday?” Jace asked. “I need to-”

He blinked at Magnus and before he could speak, Alec pushed him out of the room and closed the door behind him.

“Um, why is Magnus half-naked on your bed?” Jace asked.

He couldn’t tell the truth. He knew Jace had to study too. What if he wanted to study with Alec?

Nope. Not happening.

“He is…sunbathing,” Alec answered.

“Inside the room???”

“He doesn’t want to go outside,” Alec explained, trying to sound casual. “He is…shy.”

“He can’t go outside,” Jace said incredulously. “Alec, it’s fucking snowing.”

Fuck. One look at Magnus and Alec had literally forgotten all sense of time and place.

“Exactly,” Alec said, trying to cover up. “That’s why he is sunbathing in the room.”

“But there is no sun. It’s hidde-”

“Don’t you have an exam to study for?” Alec demanded. “I’ll email you the notes. Now, off you go!”

Jace gave him a suspicious look before walking off. “I will get to the bottom of this!!”

Alec rolled his eyes and went back inside the dorm.

“The doctor will see you now,” Alec managed with a straight face before bursting out with laugher.

“Get over here, you dork!” Magnus laughed with him.

Alec sat down on the bed, his body now only inches away from Magnus’.

Alec hesitated. But Magnus reached out and took his palm and placed it on his abdomen.

“And what is this called?” Magnus asked.

Alec’s breath hitched.

Alec couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He couldn’t believe this was real.

Magnus’ skin felt warm – even though it was apparently snowing outside.

He knew he was supposed to focus on the bones. But Alec couldn’t help but focus on all of it.

The line of sunburn just above the waistband of his boxers.

The birthmark right next to his bellybutton.

The way his stomach moved up and down with every breath, the movement almost hypnotic to the eyes.

Alec was so focused (or out of focus?) that he didn’t even realize he hadn’t spoken in over a minute.

“You don’t have to feel weird,” Magnus said gently. “You’re my friend.”

Alec’s hand moved away as if Magnus’ skin had burned him.

Magnus thought of him as a friend.

Magnus was just helping out a friend.

This wasn’t reality. It was just another fantasy.

“I think I’ll go study in the lab,” Alec said, picking up his books.

“What? Why?” Magnus sat up hastily. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Alec said in frustration. “I just…I’m gonna go.”

“Alec, wait,” Magnus said. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“This is…This is weird.”

“I don’t mind you touching m-”

“I don’t want to touch you,” Alec snapped.

Magnus flinched and then immediately got off Alec’s bed. “Right. Of course.”

“Magnus, that’s not what I-”

“I heard you loud and clear,” Magnus replied. “You can stay here. I’ll go out.”

“Magnus, hold on-”

“It’s fine,” Magnus said shortly from his own bed, already picking up his jeans.

Alec grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “I don’t want to touch you. Not like this.”

“Like what?” Magnus demanded.

“Like a friend.”

Magnus blinked.

“When I touch you for the first time, I don’t want it to be like this,” Alec said quietly. “I don’t want to be memorizing stuff. Fuck, I don’t even want to think. I just want to lose myself in you.”

Magnus’ eyes softened. “Well, why didn’t you say that before?”

Alec tried to think of a reason. A proper reason.

He couldn’t think of any.

“Cause I’m an idiot,” Alec said lamely.

Magnus looked at him for a minute then and Alec wondered what he was thinking. He is probably making a plan to get out of here, Alec thought.

“Take off your sweater,” Magnus said.

“I-” Alec blinked. “What?”

“It’s for a project for my design class,” Magnus shrugged. “I want to analyse the fabric. Take it off.”

“But you hate my clothes,” Alec said in confusion. “You always criticize how ug-”

“Alexander!!” Magnus put his hands up in frustration.

And then it clicked.

“Right,” Alec said, taking off his sweater. “Of course. Happy to help. Would this project by any chance require you to analyze ratty sweatpants?”

The smile Magnus gave him in return was enough to make up for the hidden sun outside.

#I do be writing crack fics for yall instead of working #;)#malec fics #dani writes stuff #malec

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anxious2dsimp · 3 years

Text

Everything He's Not | Iwaizumi x GN! Reader | Short Fic

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Flavour: Angst (Reader x Cheater!Oikawa) to Fluff (Reader x Iwaizumi)💔→☁️

Reader: Gender Neutral!

Format: Short Fic (alternating between two sides of the story, y/n and Iwa's)

Part: 1 out of 2 (read part 2 here)

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Y/N, has dated the very popular Oikawa Toru for a while, through him becoming friends with his group. However, little do they know about a certain stoic ace's feelings for his best friend's s/o. When Oikawa screws up big time, will Iwaizumi's true feelings finally show? And what will Y/N do when everything goes down?

Warnings: Cheating, cursing, breakups, basically Oikawa x Reader angst turned into Iwaizumi x Reader fluff.

A/N: I wrote this for myself a while back but I edited it into a gender-neutral reader insert on a sleep-deprived whim (sorry if there are any mistakes, feel free to let me know!) Ik it's very random, but hopefully someone likes it :)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡*✧･ﾟ:˚۰˚☽˚｡･:

Your POV

Dating Oikawa Toru was definitely different from what you expected; at first you were weary about the volleyball star, but after giving him a chance you started to see the real him. Yes, he was the captain of a powerhouse’s Volleyball team and had a ton of fangirls, but really he was just a regular guy with dorky interests and an alien obsession, which was the side of him you fell for. It wasn’t all great, dealing with his fangirls was rough; luckily you were safe being from another school, but they’d take any chance they had to try and gain Oikawa’s interest, flirting with him as he did the same back, not with bad intentions, it was just his personality. It did slightly annoy you, but you knew he was clear that we were together and wouldn’t take things further, he was just keeping up his image, and he promised you that was all.

Since your Karasuno friends didn’t particularly like your relationship with the setter (though they did respect it), you two hung out with his Aoba Johsai friends; that’s how your friendship with Iwa, Makki, and Mattsun started. You all became good friends, so they all helped you keep Oikawa in line while at school (especially Iwaizumi). Since you got along so well your friendship became its own thing besides Oikawa, and before you realized it, you and Iwa were such good friends that you chatted almost daily on the phone.

You don’t know what exactly made you bond so much, maybe you were similar in the sense that you were both used to being lowkey, keeping things together behind the scenes; regardless, you both enjoyed each other’s company. That Tuesday afternoon was one of those days, Oikawa had something to do at school, so Iwaizumi invited you, Makki, and Mattsun over to his place to wait for the captain like you usually did since it was the closest to the school.

So, you just chilled like always, laughing and playing video games, talking about whatever came to mind. While you were in the middle of a Mario Kart match, you heard the front door of the apartment open, “(y/n)-chan! I’m sorry for the delay~” the brunette said in a sing-song voice.

“Hi to you too, Oikawa,” said Makki, poking fun at him, to which he just rolled his eyes and walked over to the couch. “Aren’t you gonna give me a kiss?” Oikawa asked standing in front of the screen, causing all four of you to start yelling at him to get out of the way, making him pout. “One sec, Toru-chan,” you said, biting your lip while focusing on keeping your first place intact for the last lap. The setter just giggled and got out of the way, walking around the sofa to stand behind you.

Iwaizumi’s POV

‘Eyes on the screen Iwaizumi,’ the ace told himself as he tried to focus on the game, attempting to ignore the way Oikawa kissed (y/n)’s neck while they played, trying to get their attention but failing miserably other than a giggle here and there. Iwa could tell by the way their (e/c) colored eyes pierced the screen that they wanted to win. The boy could see why his best friend liked them, unlike most people (y/n) actually treated Oikawa like a normal person, which definitely got him going. It wasn’t just that though, you all became such good friends because they’re smart, funny and beyond kind; but that’s all you were, friends. So why did it make him moody to see them be all couple-y?

After all, they were together while he was just the friend, the one who kept the fangirls off Oikawa so (y/n) didn’t have to worry because he couldn’t do it himself. Even though Toru was Iwaizumi’s best friend since they were kids, he couldn’t help but think that his friend wasn’t the greatest boyfriend. However, that was the same reason why he couldn’t say anything either, after all, they made him happy and vice versa, so he just kept telling himself to keep his damn eyes on the screen.

Luckily for him, the game was soon over so you all ordered takeout and sat around talking. “Yo, (y/n), there’s this new scary movie on Netflix, we should watch it this Friday night,” Mattsun stated, stealing one of Maki’s fries and throwing it in his mouth. “That sounds fun, but I can’t Friday! Karasuno has a friendly match against a few Tokyo schools this weekend so we leave Thursday after school,” (y/n) explained with a sweet smile, Iwaizumi’s eyes casually wondering over to Oikawa to see him looking upset.

‘Ugh, here goes,’ the spiker thought to himself. Lately, Toru had been restless and uncomfortable because according to him, his s/o was slipping away from him. Oikawa had somehow managed to convince himself that Karasuno had made it their mission to get their manager (y/n) to stop liking him and had been getting increasingly dramatic and jealous lately for no reason.

“But I thought we were going to hang out this weekend,” Oikawa whined as he pouted at his significant other, trying to seem jokingly disappointed though his best friend could tell he actually was upset. “Babe, we literally talk every day and we hung out all this past weekend, and today,” (y/n) said taking his hand.

“Plus, you have friends too, Shittykawa,” Hajime said, trying to get his friend’s mind out of that dark place since he knew he was more prone to make stupid comments when it was there. Oikawa didn’t drop it, insisting on how they were talking less as (y/n) continued to explain that school had been busy and how he also had responsibilities that took up his time. They eventually got him to shut up, but Iwaizumi couldn’t shake the concern that he was being too stupid, and it felt like he was getting closer and closer to making a mistake.

Your POV

You had to admit you did feel guilty when you told Toru you were leaving for the weekend, it was true that you had been way too busy with school and that neither of you had much free time, but you knew that your feelings for him were still strong. So, that Thursday after school you were happy and excited to hear that the trip had been postponed and you’d actually travel on Saturday morning because Sensei had a very important meeting on Friday afternoon. With the change of plans, you decided to go surprise your boyfriend, and it already being late in the afternoon, by the time you got to his place he would be home.

As you got off the bus by his place and got closer to his house, the sun beginning to set, a couple by a small park caught your eye, causing a soft smile to appear on your face. That park was always where you two would hang out when you wanted to be just the two of you. Walking closer, however, the smile quickly disappeared as you realized the “couple” was none other than Oikawa himself with one of his persistent fans he told you not to worry about. ‘Maybe they’re just hanging out as friends,’ or at least that’s what you told yourself as you squinted and kept walking.

Picking up your pace you got closer, now being able to see their faces more clearly in the dimly lit park only to watch them kiss, the girl’s arms around his neck while Oikawa’s hand slid up her thigh. You didn’t know what to do, so you just stood there in shock as silent tears began to fall down your face. Almost as if you were in a trance, you reached into your pocket and took out your phone, dialing his number as you saw the brunette react.

He looked down surprised at his phone screen as he scooted apart from the girl and picked up the call as if it was nothing. “Hey beaut-” he started to say before you cut him off, not having the strength to hear his happy tone. “How could you?!” you sobbed angrily into the phone as his face became anxious. “What’s wrong babe?” How could he try to play it off as if he had no idea?

“You lying, cheating, son of a bitch! We’re over,” you yelled angrily, hanging up right as his eyes met yours. You were close enough to see the horrified and heartbroken expression on his face, but before he could say anything you turned around and just ran. Grabbing the straps of your backpack you sprinted back down the streets, your vision blurry with tears as your (h/c) hair was pushed back by the wind. It was only when you were back at the bus station and were sure that Oikawa was nowhere to be seen that you stopped and realized; you didn’t know where to go next.

You could go to your Karasuno friends, but you weren’t in the mood to hear “I told you so” and couldn’t go home to not worry your family. As you sat there and looked at the screen blankly, tears continuing to fill your eyes, a notification appeared. ‘Hey loser, how’s the trip going?’ you read as your eyes looked at Iwa’s name by the message. He was your best shot, you were close and he wouldn’t judge, so without opening your phone again and ignoring all of Oikawa’s calls you jogged over to Iwaizumi’s place.

After ringing the apartment and hiding your teary and now out of breath voice in the intercom, Iwa’s mom buzzed you in, and once you got to his floor you were greeted by Iwaizumi looking concerned, more so once he saw the state you were in. “(y/n), are you ok?” Iwaizumi asked as he walked over to you, hugging you as you hid in his arms and sobbed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go. It’s Oikawa,” you explained as he nodded and got you inside. He made some tea and brought it with you two to his room, both of you sitting on his bed. “Ok, what did Shittykawa do now?” he asked as he looked up at you and handed over a warm mug. “D- did you know h-he was cheating on me?” you managed to stutter out between sobs, trying to sound collected but being embarrassed by your inability to do so.

“He- wHAT?!” His reaction startled you, and when you looked up from the cup and saw his horrified, furious expression it made you feel less like you were overreacting. “I- the trip got postponed to Saturday morning, so I went to surprise him to his place and saw him in our bench making out with one of his fangirls,” you explained, watching as Iwa’s face became angrier and angrier, realizing how you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this, “I’m sorry I came to you, I know you’re best friends.”

Iwaizumi’s POV

Seeing them like this was already painful, but learning what Oikawa did was too much, Iwaizumi couldn’t believe how his friend could do this to (y/n). The spiker had never cared when he did stuff like this or worse than this to his fangirls. After all, he thought, they were the ones stupid enough to be blinded by his charm, but he never fathomed Oikawa would be able to do something like that to someone as great as you. “What? Hey, don’t even dare apologize,” he stated firmly as he took both mugs and set them by the bedside table, hugging (y/n) tightly and feeling them snuggle into him as they cried. Seeing them like this killed him. ‘Fuck Oikawa,’ he thought to himself, ‘if before I had stayed out of the way because they were good for each other that’s no longer the case.’

“I’m so sorry he did this to you; I should have stopped him. If I had known I would have, I should have been paying more attention,” the ace rambled into (y/n)’s hair as they cried softly, getting angry at himself before being interrupted by them pushing themselves away from him gently to look up at his face. “Why are you apologizing as if this was your fault? Iwa, he’s the one who’s an asshole, not you,” they stated, wiping a tear from their face.

“Because,” was he really going to say this? Screw it, here goes nothing, he told himself before continuing, “I knew you deserved better than him, but I convinced myself he would be different with you because I saw how good you were to him, and how happy you looked.” (y/n) just looked at him, mouth slightly ajar as they seemed to process what the boy had said. He couldn’t take the silence anymore so to avoid the blush he felt was beginning to appear on his cheeks he asked; “so did you dump him?” They nodded, looking down at their cup of tea as they chuckled and replied; “on the spot, over the phone.”

Iwaizumi chuckled back, releasing some of the nerves; “serves him right.” They smiled weakly at his comment and absentmindedly ran their fingers through their hair, My god were they gorgeous, Hajime thought to himself, only then realizing it was the first time it was just the two of them in his room, suddenly becoming self-conscious. Calm down, he told himself while taking a deep breath, looking over at (y/n). 'They just broke up with their boyfriend, being here with you is their last concern,' or so he thought. “Do you… want to watch (favorite movie) and eat ice cream?” the spiker suggested after thinking for a moment, he knew that was their favorite movie, and ice cream helps get over jerks, right?

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#Cassie likes HQ!#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fanfic #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x gender neutral reader #oikawa angst #oikawa toru x reader #iwaizumi hajime fic #iwaizumi fic #iwaizumi x you

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chicksung · 3 years

Text

Can’t You See Me? || Choi Chanhee

part of @ficscafe fic exchange event!

Genre: angst, little bit of fluff, ghost!au

Pairing: ghost!chanhee x reader (ft. younghoon)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: death, depictions of depression, dealing with death, mentions of a car accident

Synopsis: You loved Chanhee, with your whole being. You didn’t what you would do without him. However, it seems like life intended for you to be without him for the rest of your days

A/N: this fic is for rani @letteredwings please enjoy lovely. sorry that it’s a little late :/ this is unedited. please ignore any mistakes

any and all feedback is appreciated

Choi Chanhee promised you that he would love you until the day he would inevitably stop breathing and cease to exist. You always laughed off the comment, thinking it was just a stupid saying he would be saying into old age. You wished you had taken it as a sign, maybe you would’ve been more cautious, maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided. What you didn’t know is that he had died a liar when he said those ridiculous words. He loved you after he passed too.

Chanhee stood helplessly in the kitchen, watching you stand there with an aching heart. You were wide eyed, shocked and frozen from the news.

“I’m…sorry?” You stammered, hoping, praying, that your ears were deceiving you with mean elementary school tricks.

“Is your partner Choi Chanhee?” The man’s voice seemed down, like he was scared to tell you again.

“Yes, he is. We’ve been together since high school,” You informed him, trying to push down the sickening churning in your stomach.

“I regret to inform you that your partner has passed away. We received a call this morning of an accident. A truck had collided with a car. The truck driver seemed to be okay, but your partner’s injuries seemed to be more serious.” Every word pricked your heart, which was as fragile as a balloon being poked with a needle, “We tried everything, but he eventually passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss.” You nodded, your chest tightened painfully, your vision blurry from the tears in your eyes.

“Alright, thank you for letting me know. Have a good afternoon, sir,” You signed off, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“You too, and again, I’m sorry for your loss,” The line went dead and you placed the phone on the kitchen counter. Chanhee? Dead? No, he can’t be. He had specifically said he would be careful on the road. Tears slipped down your cheeks like sweet raindrops, your knees pathetically giving out as you wailed, yelling out obscenities and curses. Chanhee ran behind you.

“No, I’m right here! Can’t you see-” He went to place his hand on your shoulder when he realised how pale, almost transparent, he was. He sat beside you on the floor, a million thoughts passing through his mind. He couldn’t comfort you, only able to listen to you cry his name in a desperate plea to bring him back to you. Chanhee’s heartstrings tugged harshly, but he was helpless. He was nothing but a memory now, a missing part of your shared apartment, a ghost.

You stood amongst crowds of familiar faces, his friends, family, distant relatives, colleagues, the list goes on. Who they were didn’t really matter to you, what mattered was the casket being carried away from the church doors and out into the miserable weather. Fitting, you supposed, that it was pouring with rain on the day of his funeral. Attendees moved outside, umbrellas creating a dismal cloud of sorrow above them. It had been two weeks since Chanhee had passed away now, but for some reason you could not bring yourself to cry. No matter how many times you felt his absence, not even after looking in his open casket, no tear stung your eye. You watched emotionlessly as his coffin was slowly dropped into the rectangular hole just beneath his headstone.

Here lies Choi Chanhee

Loving son, brother and friend

April 26 1998 - August 17 2021

Until we meet again, my love

You felt a hand slide across your shoulder comfortingly, Chanhee’s best friend, Younghoon’s. You didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You remained stone cold and kept your face void of expression. A different feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Irritation? Anxiety? Frustration? It was hard to describe, which typically meant it was complicated, and you didn’t really like complicated feelings. You could sense a storm coming, and judging from the storm clouds of emotion in your mind, it didn’t look like it would be clearing up any time soon.

A distance away from the gathering of mourners, a pale figure stood solemnly. Sure, watching his own funeral felt weird, but Chanhee could only think of you, and how you stood there, in a similar way to him, unable to display your emotions. He wished for one second, just one, that he could understand what you were thinking, feeling, praying. Maybe there would be a way to ease the pain you felt in your heart? He was technically responsible for said pain, so shouldn’t he try and fix it?

Younghoon had been coming over more, Chanhee would notice when he would be sitting on the foot of your bed, which you had not made the effort to get out of. Everyday, the time you would eventually get up would be pushed back. Before, it was only an hour later, then it was two, then three, then four, until one day, he noticed that you only got up to go to the toilet. He would listen to you cry, sniffle, send the occasional text to someone. Younghoon had seemed to notice, so had made it routine that he would come over at exactly 1:09pm every day to help you get out of bed and try to create a productive day together. Chanhee had memorised the sound of Younghoon’s footsteps, the sound of his keys jingling in the door’s lock, the way he would hum as he made his way to the bedroom. Younghoon had become the life inside of the dead quiet house. Chanhee noticed the way that his best friend would look at you, the sad sigh that would escape his lips when he saw you, sprawled out and weeping.

“Come on. You can’t keep moping in here,” Younghoon sauntered over to your bedside, crouching down to get a better view of your face.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Go away,” you hissed, pulling the covers over your head, childishly pretending that if you couldn’t see him, he would simply fade from existence.

“Bubba,” he called out sweetly, tugging the covers out of your grasps, “you’re running low on food. I don’t want you going hungry, and besides, it’s a nice day outside. Whaddya say?” With a low groan, you slowly rose from the safety of your sheets, loose hairs sticking up in wild directions. Chanhee rushed to your side, his cold touch to your cheek sending a cold shiver down your spine. He sighed somewhat sadly as he watched Younghoon help you out of bed. It should be him helping you out of bed every morning, it should be him trying to motivate you with small activities. However, deep down he knew that if it were him, you wouldn’t even be struggling to get out of bed in the morning. He was the cause of your lack of motivation, he was the cause of your pain, your suffering. Every emotion you were feeling right now was because of him, and somehow, in some way, he wished he was still there. He wished he was Younghoon.

“Where’s Uncle Chanhee?” Your young nephew looked up at you with big eyes, confusedly looking around to find his favourite uncle. You sighed softly. You knew you would have to have this discussion with him sooner or later.

“Uncle Chanhee...isn’t going to be coming today,” you explained, kneeling down to the four year old’s level. Chanwoo’s bottom lip quivered slightly, “Why not?” He asked with glossy eyes. He had been really looking forward to playing with Uncle Chanhee, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t wanna play with him. You knew Chanwoo was too young to understand death, but he had seemingly noticed Chanhee’s absence. You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to think of some sort of acceptable lie to tell a child.

“He’s not well today. He says he really wish he could play today, but he had to stay home,” You pet the boy’s head softly, hoping he would understand. The little boy nodded, seeming to understand.

“Can I make Uncle Chanhee a get well soon card?” He asked with wonder in his eyes, and you would have to be a monster to have said no.

“Of course, Woo. Go get your craft things.”

You helped your nephew decorate his ‘card’ which was really just a folded sheet of printer paper, but you weren’t about to rain on his innocent parade.

“I’m still sad that I can’t play with Uncle Chanhee. I wish he was here,” Chanwoo admitted, writing a sweet message in lopsided messy handwriting.

“Just because he’s not here in person, doesn’t mean he’s not here in spirit,” you explained, drawing a sun in the corner of the card for the youngster to colour in.

“What do you mean?”

“It's kind of like magic,” you pondered aloud, “like a hug you can feel from someone who is not there.” The child nodded.

“Yeah! Like it still feels like mommy is hugging me even when she’s not there,” it was your turn to nod.

“Exactly, Woo! You’re such a clever boy,” you ruffled his soft hair, making him giggle uncontrollably.

You were right, in a way. Chanhee was there, as a literal spirit. He felt a warm surge crash over his pale body, knowing that Chanwoo wanted to make him a card without fully understanding what was going on. A child too sweet for this world. However, it wasn’t Chanwoo he was focusing on. It was you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t wailing his name in agony. You seemed peaceful, collected, like you were watching the sunset over the sea. You were starting to come to terms with no longer having your boyfriend there. Sure, it pained you every morning to roll over and say good morning to someone who never even got into bed that night, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He was unsure how long you would stay in this peaceful mindframe, but only the best storyteller will tell, time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Younghoon asked softly, eyes just as gentle as his words. You nodded, confident in your decision. You were a little unsure when you first brought up the idea to him, but it had to be done. The both of you walked up the hill in the cemetery, hands intertwined. You two had been dating for some time now, but you always had this lingering feeling that Chanhee wouldn’t like what you were doing. You loved Chanhee dearly, but you felt the same about Younghoon. It had been almost seven months since you received that phone call, but slowly everything in your life was piecing itself back together, formerly shattered after the tsunami of emotions that wiped out everything that made you feel human. You stood at the face of his gravestone, his name etched prettily into the cool rock.

“Hey,” you greeted, your hand slipping out of your boyfriend’s. Chanhee displayed an invisible smile.

Hey.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence felt awkward and heavy on your tongue.

It has. How have you been?

“I’ve been doing well. Just trying to get by, you get it.”

Yeah, I get it. Is that Younghoon?

“I was getting to that. I’m not sure how it happened, but it did. He helped me a lot after you passed. I owe him a lot. Mainly ice cream,” You laughed at yourself, partially because of your bad joke, and partially because of how ridiculous you must sound to anyone passing by.

You’re dating now?

“Yeah. I just...I wanted to say thank you,” you blurted, playing with the tips of your fingers.

Why are you thanking me?

“You taught me a lot, Chanhee. How to cook ramen properly, how to make the best oven baked pizza anyone has ever had, but most of all, you taught me how to love. And while I love you so much, my god, you can’t even believe to comprehend it, I’ve found someone else that I love,” You felt tears spring to your eyes. You were the only one talking, so why did it sound like you were saying goodbye? You glanced at Younghoon, who only smiled weakly.

“Can I say a few words?” Younghoon stepped forward, placing his hand on your shoulder, the same way he had done the dismal day of Chanhee’s funeral. You nodded wordlessly, watching your boyfriend stride towards the grave of his best friend. Younghoon traced the etched marks of his friend’s name before giving a small smile.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he started, giving a sad chuckle, “and a lot has happened during that time.” Chanhee laughed silently at his friend’s words, slumping against the cold headboard of his resting place.

“But I will promise you this. I will look after them for you. I will care for, and nurture and love them for you. It’s what best friends are for, right?”

Chanhee nodded, a friendly smile finally adorning his features. He felt something new, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, peace. His body felt as light as a feather, as if it was drifting through the breeze. He dropped his gaze to his hands, only to see that the aforementioned body part wasn’t there. He was fading, an experience he had thought about many times before, but somehow, it wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be. Chanhee looked to you, and he could’ve sworn that for a moment, just one moment, you could see him, slowly dematerialising out of existence. He wasn’t scared anymore, scared of how you would cope without him. You had Younghoon, the only person other than you that he trusted his life with.

“Until we meet again, my love,” Chanhee bade his final farewell to this world, taking a small bow and with a slight change in the wind’s direction, he was gone.

You felt light, like the weight of an entire urbanised city had been lifted off your shoulders. Younghoon took his place by your side once more.

“Should we go home?” He suggested, earning a relaxed smile from you.

“Yeah. Besides, it’ll be dark soon,” you squeezed his hand, your eyes glowing in the reddened flare of the sunset. Hand in hand, you walked down the stone path and out of the overly large rusted gate. It was never easy letting go, not by any stretch of the imagination. You would always carry a piece of Chanhee with you, and even without him by your side, you felt closer to him than ever.

#ficscafe #kpopscape #kpop #fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #kpop fluff #kpop angst #the boyz drabbles #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fanfiction #the boyz new #choi chanhee #the boyz chanhee #the boyz fluff #the boyz angst #the boyz

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

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Becky's debut novel (Sugar Sugar fic)

A/N: So, @thelastsock gave me such a great idea: a snippet of Becky's book. So I have a snippet here, including a front cover, back cover and a little dedication page (because I am extra like that 😂😂, what else do you expect from me). Hope you like it xoxo

Chapter 1

YOU ARE NOT WELCOME.

Those are the exact words that greet me when I walk up our porch to our front door. Let’s just say that my mom has a special way of welcoming her quests. I step over the slightly offensive doormat to get inside. Not a lot of people would expect this kind of welcome from the mayor, but then again: no one expected her to win the elections in our town Starfall Fields in the first way.

Not to be mean, but even I never believed in my mom and not for a second did I think she had any chance of winning. Mom has been quite the controversy the second she moved into town. How on earth would she be able to be the mayor?

Weirdly enough, she hasn’t made a complete fool out of herself in these two months she has been mayor. Actually, she’s been doing quite well. It’s just that her housekeeping skills have been lower than low.

I open the refrigerator and scrunch up my nose when I notice there is barely anything edible in here. Great.

I grab my phone and send my mom a text.

Josie: You need to do groceries

Mom: Do it yourself, you lazy bitch

Mom: Still love you though 😘

I chuckle as I read her text. She’s quite something, my mom, and if we don’t call each other bitch at least once a day, there’s something up and we should worry.

People might find it odd that we call one another bitch, but it’s just our way of showing our affection towards the other.

Somehow I find some left over yogurt that isn’t expired already. I peel a banana (to only throw half of it away, because it’s brown and squishy, therefore absolutely repulsive) and cut it into slices. I drizzle some maple syrup on top of it and want to add some raisins, but when I open the jar, I find out there is only one raisin left in it.

‘Mom,’ I whine, though she can’t hear me. ‘Really?’ This is just absolutely fantastic. After a long day at school, a girl can barely enjoy a nice little afternoon snack. I grab my bowl and walk over to the dining table. My butt barely touched the soft seating of the chair, when my best friend Andy FaceTimes me. I place the phone against the fruit bowl before I press answer. ‘What do you want?’ I ask him. ‘You literally saw me half an hour ago.’

He smiles, two dimples appearing in his full cheeks. ‘You know I can’t get enough of you, sugar.’

Andy and I have been best friends since I can remember, but that is mostly because we’ve been in the same class the moment we both stepped foot into kindergarten and we’re neighbors. We’re literally the two houses in a radius of around half a mile (yes, we took the time to measure it) and he isn’t the worst guy to hang around with.

Okay, he is the only one that doesn’t make me that angry, I have to fight the urge to claw his eyes out. I’m not gonna beat around the bush: I love hanging out with him.

While we see each other the moment we step out of our houses to go to school, share every class of the day with one another and we walk from school back to our houses, it’s hard to function without the other one. Therefore, we usually FaceTime the second we can after separating.

We’re quite the symbiotic pair.

‘Spit it out, Andy. What do you want?’ I ask.

‘I was wondering what your plans are,’ Andy says. ‘Mainly for tonight.’

I can’t help but chuckle. ‘There was a plan of me hanging on the couch, watching a movie with my best friend while we eat junk food, but your voice is telling me that you have something else in mind for the two of us.’

He nods. ‘I was thinking about you and I doing some FindUrPricing tonight.’

‘FindUrPricing is not a word, you idiot.’

‘I don’t care, miss Doyle,’ he retorts with a sassy undertone. He shakes his head, gestures I have to wait (like I’m going anywhere) and comes back into frame, this time with a tablet in his hands. ‘I have like five of these things, so what do you say? Want to bury them tonight, while we try to find something cool for it in return?’

Andy has this obsession with solving puzzles in newspapers like the old soul he is and since he is quite good and really fast, he has won multiple prizes, including multiple tablets.

‘Only if I find a diamond ring,’ I answer with my mouth full of yogurt.

‘Yeah, that’s attractive. You’ll find yourself a boyfriend in no time with those manners.’

I show him the finger. ‘I don’t need etiquette lessons from you,’ I say.

Andy sticks out his tongue. ‘Are you coming with me tonight?’ he asks me. ‘You know I need you.’

I chuckle. Andy is a disaster when it comes to being in the dark, but since FindUrPrice is just more fun at night, I have become his personal guard. ‘Okay, okay, but only if I can sleep at your place tonight. I have no idea what time my mom will be back from work.’

Andy’s parents are going to the opera’s tonight and afterwards, they’re staying in a hotel near the big city. Normally, they aren’t the type of people to go to the opera’s, but when their son wins tickets, including a stay in one of the most luxurious hotels in the area, who are they to say no?

Since I have no idea what time my mom manages to pull herself from city hall (to say she is a workaholic is an understatement), I’d rather sleep at Andy’s, then telling her we’ve been wandering on the street late at night.

Especially on a school night.

Sure, my mom knows about FindUrPrice, but she forbade me to ever do it late at night, because “you never know what can happen”. I personally think it’s not that big of a deal, since Starfall Fields is boring as hell and absolutely harmless, but my mother wouldn’t be my mother if she didn’t envision my death.

FindUrPrice is an app for the younger folks in our city and the few around. The organization hid a few gifts and presents and whenever you follow the leads and find something, you have to place something nice in return. It’s cute and me and Andy do it from time to time.

‘You’re coming over now?’ Andy asks.

‘To help you do your laundry?’ I ask, nodding towards the screen, mainly towards the enormous pile of clothes on his bed. ‘Didn’t think so. See you in a few hours, Andy.’

‘Please,’ he begs, right at the same time as I hear his mom in the background yelling for him. ‘Yes, wait a minute!’ he yells. ‘Can I live with you? I feel like your mother never pushes you to do chores around the house.’

‘That’s because I do them voluntarily. If mom doesn’t do laundry, no one does it. If mom doesn’t clean the toilet, no one does it. Believe me, with a mom who all of the sudden turns a bit blind when it comes house chores, there is more to do here than there is at your place. Don’t you dare whine about it, Andrew Carter.’

We hang up and I grab a magazine from the table, reading through some of the articles. How to painlessly bikini wax yourself, how to get rid of strawberry legs, how to get yourself a man in a week.

Geez, mom, why do you read this?

No wait, better question: mom, why haven’t you gotten yourself a man in a week? This issue is three months old.

My phone rings again and without looking I answer, since I know exactly who is calling me. ‘Andy, I’m not helping you with your laundry,’ I say. ‘Shirts, sweaters and other items for your upper body go on a hanger and the rest with clothespins on a drying rack. How many times do I have to tell you that?’

‘Thank you for this wise, yet unnecessary lesson in laundry,’ mom says and I can hear her smile in her voice. ‘But laundry is your chore, so I pretend I didn’t hear it.’

‘What do you want?’ I ask my mom.

‘Wanted to know your plans for tonight.’

‘I was planning on hanging out with Andy,’ I say. Go outside, do some FindUrPricing. ‘Watch a movie. Probably sleep at his place. He is home alone, you know how he gets.’

Mom snorts. ‘Oh, do I know. How old was he when he rang our doorbell, nearly crying because he was afraid of the dark?’

‘The last time was a few months ago,’ I chuckle. ‘Why do you want to know my plans for tonight?’

‘You know,’ mom starts and I do know. ‘There is still a lot to do here at city hall.’

‘Right,’ I say, ‘and you wanted to know whether or not I mind. Mom, I’m your daughter, I truly don’t care.’

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ she says, mostly because she is trying to feel less guilty.

And I wouldn’t be her daughter if I wasn’t going to totally exploit her sweet offer. ‘So, you’re making breakfast for me and Andy tomorrow?’

She sighs. ‘Goodness gracious, really? I’m going to pull an all nighter.’

‘You wanted to be mayor and you’re also a mother. Deal with it.’

Mom scoffs. ‘And here I was thinking I was gonna get some sympathy from my daughter.’

‘Ew never,’ I say.

‘Well, I might just make breakfast for you, only if you eat it here. I might be your chef, but I’m not a waiter and I’m certainly not gonna walk it to the Carters.’

I scoff. ‘Okay, I think I can live with that.’

‘Alright, enjoy your night, Josie and don’t make it too late okay? Ten o’clock lights out, okay?’

No. ‘Of course. Bye mom.’

I look at the picture on the dining table. Despite not being blood related, my mom and I are really close. According to Andy’s mom, it never seemed like my mom would settle down. She moved to this boring place a few years prior to finding me on her doorstep. She was thirty and didn’t have a husband (nor had any intention of settling down with anyone—she turned down a lot of men who asked her out in Starfall Fields). Even back then, she was already a workaholic and worked over time as the mayor’s assistant.

One day, when she was getting herself ready for work, she heard soft cries from her front porch and when she checked it out, there was yours truly.

I was around a year old and in the cradle, there was a note saying that whoever found me, to take good care of me. My DNA wasn’t available in any database, just like there were no matches at all.

I have no idea who I am, who my biological family is and where I’m from.

Mom adopted me, because I only felt safe with her and since that moment, we were a duo.

A year and a half ago she became the mayor and since then she is everywhere in Starfall Fields, except home. I barely see her, but she does a lot for this town and I don’t think I have the right to whine about it, especially because it means many many sleepovers with Andy and many nights wandering around the woods to play FindUrPrice.

Sure, I miss her from time to time, because she’s still my mom. From someone who was home a lot, would wait for me on the porch no matter the weather when I came back from school and had chocolate pie ready for me and Andy, she changed to a real career woman who is everywhere in town.

But that’s okay, she’s happy and when she is, I am too. I should be, especially after everything she has done for me.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x becky kim #becky kim #asian ofc #sugar daddy!henry cavill #sugar sugar #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #becky kim is an author

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

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Bloom, Bloom, Pow! |2| - CHANGMIN

Again. The pining. I know I was okay with pining in Sunflowers, but BBP is just levels of stupidity that are incomprehensible and you will see what I mean here. Anyway, once more, thanks to @wingkkun for dealing with me screaming and helping me come up with plot points I LOVE YOU <3

(Suggested playlist for reading: Bloom Bloom, Just U, and DDD by The Boyz!!)

Pairing: Changmin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint, university!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 7.5k

Dancing with you, Changmin feels flowers blooming in his heart.

Part 1 | Part 2

TBZ Masterlist | Interwoven

~ you

It’s with narrowed eyes and a smile threatening to burst through your faked scowl that you confront Kevin the next day about him shoving you into a circle of random partygoers to dance with Changmin (“Y/N, that wasn’t even a dance, that was a mating dance or cult ritual or some shit – hey – don’t slap me, I’m right!”). He doesn’t even blink an eye when you hit him, just smiles that stupid shit-eating grin that he always wears when he knows he’s succeeded at something.

And God, even though it legitimately blows your entire mind, he actually managed to do something right. He somehow got you and Changmin to speak, no matter how unconventional the method, and as much as it pains you to say it, he did you a favor.

Look, normally a meddling Kevin just makes more messes (literal and metaphorical) and makes another when trying to clean them up afterward. This time, though, you have to give him a little credit for utilizing his singular brain cell to come up with this plan.

Because after several games of drunk mafia, wherein Jaehyun is accused of being the mafia three times despite being the narrator (“I thought Chanhee was smart?” “He only uses his brain for math, nothing else.”) and you and Changmin are paired up as the killers twice in a row, you get Changmin’s number, and he gets yours.

If you spend the entirety of the next day texting a certain doe-eyed boy with dimples deep enough to make you swoon, what of it?

He meets up with you for coffee the next week. Untouched by alcohol, your mind only registers his image in the real-life equivalent of HD when he stops moonwalking in place outside the café to fix you with the sweetest smile. It’s strange, the way just a single quirk of his lips or a slight squint of his eyes sends your heart fluttering to the next dimension, and his voice only makes the vision better. Changmin speaks in soft tones that wash across your skin like starshine, soothing with a slight bite of mischief that complements the sparkle in his eyes.

His soft sweater and large glasses only complete the lovely image you’re painting in your mind. Sitting down across the small table, you think your heart is either going to melt into your bloodstream or burst its way out of your chest.

He introduces himself again, as though you could’ve forgotten his name within the twenty minutes you stopped texting him on the way to the café. It’s impossible to resist saying a teasing “I know” and watching him shyly cover his face with a sweater-covered hand.

Even though it might be evil, you cheekily introduce yourself too, unable to contain a laugh when Changmin groans, putting his head in his hands. But when he lifts his face once more, it’s your turn to grow shy at the sight of his pink cheeks and the embarrassed upturn of his lips.

Once, for biology, you watched a video of a flower blooming overnight. It glowed in the dark as its petals stretched out, slowly, over the course of minutes that felt at once like seconds and eternities. Changmin’s smile is that blooming flower, petals blossoming into the widest grin that smacks of a beauty that sinks far deeper than the skin, that spreads through the blood and brushes the heart and mind with the gentlest, sparkling touch.

It stays with you, that blooming smile, on the bus ride back to campus (Changmin doesn’t come with you – he has to go to work, volunteering at a nearby dance center for kids). The memory presses warmth in your body for the rest of the day, horribly visible in the permanent (lovestruck) twinkle in your eye.

“Had a good date?” Eric asks you later, mischievous smirk on his face. He just laughs at your scowl and dodges your swat, mocking the “It wasn’t a date!” that bursts from your lips.

After all, it wasn’t a date, as much as your heart pounded throughout the entire two hours of conversation. It wasn’t a date, no matter how much you really wanted it to be. It was just two possible friends getting to know each other over a cup of coffee, right?

And even though it stings a little in your heart, you can be content with that. Seeing Changmin’s grin, that wide grin that shows all his teeth and scrunches his eyes into the cutest slits and makes flowers bloom in your heart, is all you could ever ask for.

. . .

~ changmin

Changmin just wants to know when getting punched in the chest repeatedly started feeling so good.

No, he isn’t actually getting punched in the chest every other day. It’s just that it feels that way, every time his phone vibrates with a text from you or he sees your sparkling eyes across the hall coming his way to do the dance you two have become so known for (what happened at the party went viral on the university Snapchat, sadly. Jaehyun denies taking the video, but it might just as well have been Jangjun). Your presence makes his heart thump once, twice, a thousand times in the space of mere seconds, and the force with which the thumps sound make it feel like someone is punching him in the chest over and over, but in a good way.

God, when did he get like this? Younger Changmin would cringe at these feelings, at the million metaphors he can come up with for your smile. But Older Changmin takes the feelings, stores them quietly in his heart, and lets your sparkling warmth illuminate his presence every day.

“You’re shining,” Chanhee remarks at one point after you pass by, leaving Changmin inevitably awestruck. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant. You’ve got that glow.”

He runs, of course, when Changmin leaps at him with teeth bared. Chanhee’s never really known when to shut his mouth (resulting in his entire friend group clowning him to high heaven), but, well, he’s kind of right, Changmin supposes. His lips have never spread as widely as they do when you’re trying to step all over his toes. He’s not pregnant and he’s pretty sure he isn’t glowing, but you make him feel like he might be. Glowing, that is. Not pregnant.

That’s definitely not it.

“Maybe suggest a date?” Younghoon says one day, face still half scrunched into a cringe from your biweekly dance in the literature building. “I’m so sick of seeing you two literally dance around your fucking feelings.”

“Don’t curse,” Changmin says, evading the question. “It doesn’t suit your puppy persona.”

“Like your obsession with horror movies suits your doe eyes,” Younghoon snorts, tossing his bread wrapper into a nearby trash can. “Don’t avoid the question. Why won’t you ask them out?”

That’s a good question, one that spins around Changmin’s mind every second of the day. It whirls even faster when something reminds him of you, like a pretty flower that might look nice tucked behind your ear, a notebook that’s the same design as the one you use for biology, or the special ringtone he’s set for your text messages so he can respond as fast as possible.

An awful lot of things remind him of you.

But as much as he’d like to form the words in his mouth, let those six simple words burst from his throat – “Will you go out with me?” – they die the moment they reach his lips. He’s analyzed this phenomenon from so many angles, worked through it after every time he’s met your lovely eyes, and there’s only one conclusion he’s come up with.

He, Ji Changmin, lover of horror movies and dolls and clowns and possession, is scared. Scared of asking you out, only to be rejected because you have your eye on someone else. Scared of asking you out, only to be faced with the fact that you don’t love his smiles the same way he loves yours. Scared of asking you out, only to have his heart crushed under your gentle, well-meaning hands.

The thumping in his chest turns painful and bitter when he thinks of this, unpleasantly cold and sharp, nothing like the sparkling warmth you evoke in his heart. It makes his mouth thin into a line, lips tight with the fear of splitting from your smile, never to see it again after your rejection.

“Y/N might not like me back,” is all Changmin says, though, keeping all of the metaphors and analysis hidden deep in the crevices of his brain. “I want to at least keep what we already have.”

Younghoon probably wants to start ranting about Changmin’s idiocy like Kevin always does, yelling about how there’s no way you’re not in love with him as much as he’s head over heels for you. He probably would, but Younghoon’s known Changmin for over a decade and a half so he knows there’s real fear in Changmin’s voice when he speaks of your possible rejection. His eyes soften as he pats Changmin’s head, and though he’ll complain about Younghoon messing up his hair, he’s grateful for his friend’s understanding. He’s grateful that he won’t push it further (at least for now).

So Changmin contents himself with looking forward to your texts, going on coffee dates that aren’t dates, seeing your smiles and hearing your laughs. He resists the urge to push back strands of hair that fall into your eyes, hugs you for only an appropriate amount of time, and does his best not to stare at your lips for too long, imagining what it would feel like to kiss them. Pillowy soft, sweet, gentle –

Hey. No. Changmin shakes his head. None of that pining nonsense. Your smile is everything he’s wanted to see in his life, and he’ll be content with that.

Just knowing you’re well and happy is enough.

. . . . .

~ you

It’s late afternoon, almost evening when Changmin calls. He sounds slightly breathless on the other end – he must have just finished dance practice – as he chirps your name, sending butterflies flitting into your heart. “Wanna get coffee?”

“It’s nearly six, Changmin.” You snort. “You want to get coffee now? You won’t be able to sleep later.”

“But coffee,” he whines. “I want coffee.”

“No coffee,” you decide firmly. “But I’ll buy you dinner. What do you want?”

Changmin squawks. “I can buy my own dinner!”

“You bought the coffee last time,” you argue. “It’s my turn to pay.” You can almost hear him getting ready to argue, even if he hasn’t said anything, so you head him off. “Don’t argue with me, I’ll fight you over this.”

“With what, your mediocre dance skills?” Changmin snarks.

“Excuse me?” you snap in mock indignation, secretly smiling as his laughs fill your ear. “Mediocre?”

“I’ll call you a good dancer when you actually succeed in tripping me,” he says, still giggling. “We can go to the ramen place just off campus?”

So instead of spending the evening at your dorm, working on a paper that’s due in a few days, you spend it in the dimly lit, cheap ramen restaurant across the street from the university entrance, laughing and talking with Changmin all the while trying desperately not to show how deeply your heart beats for him.

It’s so hard, you think, walking out of the restaurant a couple of hours later (after fighting over the bill – you’re pretty sure the waiter was going to have an aneurysm by the time you finally managed to toss your card to him). It’s so hard to pretend Changmin doesn’t mean something more to you, when everything about the doe-eyed boy just makes you feel like melting into the ground.

“You never stop dancing, do you?” you ask idly, watching his feet slide along the rough sidewalk. “How do your shoes hold up? They’ve got to be rubbed smooth by now.”

Changmin shrugs. “I manage,” he says, dimple visible as he twirls under a streetlamp, spinning neatly onto campus. “Dancing’s in my blood, I can’t just stop.”

“I can see that,” you say, amused. “Want some music?”

It doesn’t matter what song comes up on your phone, you’ve come to learn. You used to be a bit self-conscious of your music taste and would try to pick songs you thought he’d enjoy, but Changmin, you know now, will find a beat or a melody that he likes in anything that ends up playing. Sure enough, as soon as the first few bars sound from your phone, Changmin’s already grinning, arms floating, feet sliding in a slightly silly but nonetheless lovely dance.

For a few moments, you two stay where you are, Changmin dancing with the grace of a butterfly under the darkening sky, you watching from the side. His grin is bright, so bright, brighter than the streetlights and the moon beginning to glow behind the clouds. You can’t do anything but watch, rooted in place by his grace and beauty.

It’s a bit like touching stars, seeing Changmin’s smile. It should seem impossible to be within reach of something so bright that it can shine across unfathomable distances to light up the night sky, just as it feels impossible to be in the presence of Changmin’s blooming grin. His eyes crinkle like small beacons of light sparkling across the rippling blanket of night, his mouth curving into the brightest crescent moon.

And as you watch, mesmerized, with that lovely crescent smile comes a twitch of the fingers, a slight glint in the eye that’s all too familiar by now.

It’s more of a smirk than a smile, you muse, as the corners of your lips begin to turn upward as well. It’s endlessly alluring, pulling you into his space as Changmin’s elegant steps evade your awkward feet. Your laughs fill the empty university paths, smiles lighting the sidewalk as music blasts from the phone you’re still clutching in your hand, flooding the air, mixing with your yelps and giggles into one singular melody.

“Still mediocre,” Changmin sings as he steps around you once more, effortlessly avoiding your flailing arms. “When will I ever be able to call you a good dancer?”

Once again, like it often does in Changmin’s presence, your body makes a decision without waiting on input from your brain. All you know is that your mouth is suddenly yelling, “Today!” and then you leap.

His eyes widen in surprise, but even his graceful legs aren’t enough to keep him upright this time. You crash into his chest with an audible thump. For a split second, you feel yourself suspended in air as your feet leave the ground, and then the two of you topple over onto the soft grass lining the edges of the path.

Silence. Dead silence.

Then breathless, uncontrollable laughter erupts from Changmin’s lips.

It feels like seconds and it feels like hours that you spend there, embarrassed giggles turning to snorts as you realize how stupid this whole situation is. Changmin’s chest is warm beneath your body, heaving with laughs that burst from his throat and mix with the music still blaring from your hand. You can only follow his example, wheezing breaths from the pit of your stomach.

“Am I a good dancer?” you finally gasp, the last strains of the song fading in the air. “Am I, Changmin?”

His eyes stare into yours, crinkled with joy, twinkling under the rising moon. “Yes,” he says, lips stretched wide. “You are.”

The last vestiges of laughter have died by now. Slowly, silence takes over the moment as you stare into Changmin’s soft eyes, losing yourself in his gaze.

And only then do you realize the position you’ve put yourself in.

He’s right under you, chest pressed flush against yours. You swear you can hear his heartbeat – he has to be able to hear or at least feel yours, it’s hammering at a pace that’s definitely unhealthy – and oh God, your faces are barely inches apart.

You should move. This is a horrible, awkward position, and it must be even worse for Changmin, who’s being buried underneath you. But you can’t shift. You can’t. Something’s rooting you in place.

Changmin doesn’t move either, despite how uncomfortable he must be. If anything, he looks peaceful as he gazes into your eyes, his smile growing smaller but infinitely gentler, lips slightly parted and –

Oh.

His lips.

Your throat goes dry as you realize just how close you are to kissing him.

It isn’t just you, you swear. Changmin’s eyes move, too, shifting slightly from staring into yours to gaze upon your own lips.

Your heart races.

For a second, one blissful, agonizing second, you think you’re going to close the inch gap and press your lips to his, or maybe he’ll brave the chasm and press his lips to yours. For one single warm second, you really think that Changmin might return your feelings, that he might even feel as deeply for you as you feel about him.

Then the next song starts playing on your phone, and with that song, something snaps. The moment breaks. You become painfully aware of the cool night air brushing against your arms and making you shiver. The blissful moment disappears as Changmin moves, presumably to roll out from under you, and you quickly shift yourself off of his chest, freeing him. With fingers still trembling with adrenaline, you turn off your music.

He stands up quickly, brushing off his pants, smiling like nothing happened. Under the glare of the streetlamp, you can’t tell if you’re just imagining the pink dusting his cheeks, the red tinting his ears. “You’re a good dancer,” is all he says. His words betray nothing about his thoughts on what just happened.

Hot, shameful embarrassment rushes through your blood as you take his proffered hand, pulling you up. “I’m glad you think so,” you say, trying to sound as light and teasing as you always do while inwardly beating yourself over getting your hopes up.

How could you ever think a boy as lovely as Changmin would love you, after all? How could such perfection ever fall for you, someone with barely a hint of Changmin’s grace and fire? How could you be so foolish as to even think that way?

Changmin drops you off at the front of your dorm like he always does, smiles like he always does, hugs you like he always does. He’s as close as he always is, never more than a few feet away, yet even wrapped in his embrace, you feel further apart from him than ever.

You watch him walk away from just outside your dorm, waiting for the last possible moment to slip inside. Something’s different about him, something strange. Lost in your own disappointment and embarrassment, though, you can’t put your finger on it.

It isn’t until hours later that you realize he wasn’t dancing as he disappeared into the night.

. . .

~ younghoon

When Changmin walks into the room and immediately collapses on the wooden floorboards, the door swinging shut behind him with a bang, Younghoon knows something is wrong even before his friend’s head thumps against the ground with a loud noise that probably won’t mean good things for his few remaining brain cells. Judging by Changmin’s prone position, though, he doesn’t seem to care. And anyway, his brain cells have been malfunctioning ever since he met you. Younghoon doesn’t think losing a few of them will be too big of an issue.

Younghoon shuts the lid of his laptop with a brief sigh, resigning himself to a night of consoling an angsty Changmin and not catching up on all of the episodes of the dramas he’s missed. “So what happened with Y/N?” he asks, making sure to infuse his voice with as much exasperation as it can hold.

“How do you know it was with Y/N?” Changmin asks, voice muffled against the floor.

Younghoon snorts. Even after all this time, Changmin is still as dumb as ever. “Any time you get like this, it’s because of Y/N,” he says. “So tell me what happened.”

“I hate that you’re right,” Changmin mumbles, picking his head up off the ground just enough to look at Younghoon. He opens his mouth to talk, then shuts it. His lips press together and he raises his head further, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes with a groan.

“I’m waiting,” Younghoon sings, barely able to disguise his eager impatience.

Changmin scowls, which sends chills down Younghoon’s back, but he thankfully starts talking. “We went to dinner,” he begins, “at that ramen place. You know, the one right across campus?”

“Is this important?” Younghoon interrupts, then puts his hands up when Changmin gives him a death glare. Better not to anger the squirrel further. “Uh, never mind. Continue.”

“Okay, well, we went to dinner. And Y/N paid by throwing their card at the waiter.” Changmin’s lips jut out. “Then we left and were walking back and… I was dancing? Y/N was playing music? And, uh, we were kind of dancing together at some point when we got on campus and like, before, I told them I’d only say they were a good dancer if they could trip me up so Y/N actually just leapt at me and then we fell over and they were on top of me and, uh, we started laughing until…”

Oh, God. This is just a K-drama in real life. Younghoon leans forward, bunching blankets into his hand with a vice grip, waiting for the climax that he knows is going to come. “Until?” he prompts when Changmin stays silent.

Changmin takes a deep breath. “Until we realized what position we were in,” he squeaks. His head thumps back to the floor.

Younghoon shifts on the bed, now clutching his pillow as he tries desperately not to scream. “Tell me you kissed,” he says, voice strangled. “Tell me you fucking kissed. You better have.”

He better have, or Younghoon is going to pull a Changmin and start biting things.

Changmin rolls over and stares at the ceiling for a solid second in silence. For that one blissful moment, Younghoon really thinks that a stupid smile is going to break across his dumb best friend’s face, that he’s going to start waxing poetic about how your lips felt against his, soft and pillowy and so much better than he imagined (because there’s no way Changmin hasn’t imagined kissing you with how deep he’s fallen, absolutely no fucking way).

Then Changmin screams.

Years of growing up together have taught Younghoon which Changmin screams mean excitement or sadness or every emotion in between. This scream is nothing good. There is no happiness in Changmin’s raw vocal cords, no hidden joy in his tightly shut eyes, only pure angst and disappointment and frustration palpable in the screech that’s echoing between the dorm walls.

Younghoon heaves the pillow in his hand and throws it at his best friend. He picks up a nearby stuffed animal and throws it too. Then he throws another. And another. And another.

Changmin just takes it, soft things bouncing off his body into random corners of the room. His eyes are still squinched shut as though seeing nothing will erase the angst undoubtedly coursing through his blood. But Younghoon knows better.

“You fucking idiot,” he snaps when he’s run out of things to throw (hell, he even went so far as to throw Changmin’s Annabelle doll too). “You, Ji Changmin, are a fucking idiot.”

A muffled “I know” sounds under the pillow, which Changmin has taken and put on top of his face. He says something else that Younghoon can’t hear.

“Take that pillow off your face,” he says, feeling more like a long-suffering parent than a best friend (is this how his mom felt every time he did something stupid? If so, he’s now gained a whole new level of appreciation for her). “I can’t hear you.”

“I wanted to kiss them!” Changmin wails, sitting up. The pillow drops off his face, landing on the ground with a sad flop that Younghoon thinks very much represents Changmin’s current state of being. “I wanted to, but then their phone started playing the next song and it just broke the moment and I actually started thinking, what if Y/N doesn’t like me, what if I’m reading everything wrong, what if –”

“Ji Changmin.” Younghoon cuts in before Changmin goes completely off his head. “You are undoubtedly the dumbest human being I have ever had the displeasure of knowing for over a decade.”

“I –”

“I thought I was the dumb one in this friendship,” Younghoon continues, refusing to let Changmin even get a word in. “I thought I was the stupid one – I get worse grades than you, I have made questionable choices, the only things that run through my mind are anime and bread, but you – I have no words for you.” It’s Younghoon’s turn to flop facedown, though on his bed and not the floor. “You idiot.”

Silence. Then – “What if Y/N doesn’t like me, though?”

Younghoon very nearly groans as he picks his head out of his blankets, but the quivering note in Changmin’s voice keeps him from voicing as much of his frustration as he would like. “Ji Changmin,” he says carefully. “I’m dumb, unobservant, and I know I didn’t realize I liked my own partner before we had that confrontation, but even I’m smart enough to tell how head over heels Y/N is for you.”

More silence. Then Changmin speaks again. “I moved first,” he confesses softly. “I kind of twitched and I think Y/N took that as me not liking it, and then I just made things worse by pretending nothing happened.”

“You need to clear that up,” Younghoon says. “Talk. Admit that you really have feelings. Suggest a date. I don’t know what exactly you need to do, but I do know that if you let this go because you’re scared of rejection, you’re going to regret it for a long, long time.”

There’s still a pout on Changmin’s lips, his eyes wide and soft and sad, but there’s a slight steel to his gaze now, a sliver of determination glinting on his face as he nods the slightest bit. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Okay.”

Younghoon breathes a sigh of relief. “Please get this done within the next week,” he says, opening his laptop again. “I can’t stand the two of you pining any longer than that. And also, you’re picking up all the stuffed animals on the ground. I don’t care if I threw them, you caused me to throw them and you can’t deny that you deserved it.”

Changmin grumbles but he does as he’s told, tossing the soft things littering the ground back onto their respective beds. Younghoon just sighs, turning his attention back to his abandoned drama. If his best friend doesn’t get his shit together, he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands. In fact, some preventative measures might be needed. And he knows who’s ready to provide.

He opens the schemers group chat.

. . .

~ eric

Eric has done his absolute best to avoid acting like Kevin his whole life – look, he might be a nice person, but he’s a complete and utter mess – but when he reads Younghoon’s account of what apparently happened between you and Changmin earlier tonight, he feels the sudden urge to start screeching as loudly as Kevin does when things fail.

He looks at the texts one more time. Maybe he read something wrong. Maybe the ‘he didn’t kiss y/n’ actually says ‘he kissed y/n’ instead. Maybe his brain is just malfunctioning at a scale it has never attained before (which is insane, considering the heights of stupidity he’s already reached in his less than twenty years of life).

bread boy: so I ask him if he kissed y/n bc why wouldn’t he. why the fuck wouldn’t he

bread boy: and he just screams

bread boy: DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?

bread boy: H E D I D N T K I S S Y / N

There’s more after that, stuff that Eric doesn’t want to read a second time for fear of losing more brain cells than he can afford. Anyway, the little read by one message at the bottom of the screen has just turned to read by two, and Eric has a sinking feeling he knows what’s coming next. He counts one, two, three seconds of silence.

Then an ear-splitting scream sounds from the floor beneath him.

Yep. That’s Kevin, expressing all the emotions Eric can’t because Sunwoo is passed out on his bed not three feet away.

In lieu of a scream, a pained groan bursts from Eric’s throat and muffles itself into the pillow he’s pressed against his face. He’s always done his best to be understanding of people who can’t as readily admit they’re in love as he can – he knows he’s somewhat of a special case, really – but this level of dancing (literally) around each other is reaching levels of idiocy that even he can’t process.

moon boy: my ra just yelled at me and threatened to write me up

moon boy: but in my defense

moon boy: I cannot handle this

skater boy: neither can i

skater boy: I’m going to talk to y/n

This last text is the reason why the next day, at precisely one in the afternoon, Eric is waiting on the quad just outside the literature building, sitting on soft green grass that looks a little too bright for his current frustrated brain to be happy about.

After a few minutes of waiting, you show up, looking very tired, slightly unhinged, and in general like you spent the whole night thinking about a certain doe-eyed dancer. Eric raises an eyebrow at your disheveled appearance when you flop down on the grass. “Thought too hard about Changmin last night?”

Your head whips around so fast Eric’s surprised your neck didn’t snap. “How did you know?”

“It’s so obvious,” Eric replies. “You only get this worked up when Changmin does or doesn’t do something. So what happened this time?”

You narrow your eyes. “You already know,” you state. Not a question. A statement.

Embarrassment floods Eric’s face, but he just raises his arms and shrugs. “Guilty,” he says, mind racing for a way not to tell you about the schemer group chat. “Changmin spilled everything to Younghoon and he texted me to rant. So.” He leans forward, fixing you with a stare that won’t allow you to question his story. “That was a moment worthy of an entire fucking K-drama. So why didn’t you kiss?”

With a groan, you lie flat down on the quad. “Wouldn’t K-dramas drag it on, just for the sake of angst and extra views?” you mumble.

“Y/N.”

You groan. “I just… I wanted to,” you defend. “But my fucking phone was a cockblocker and it started playing a new song that ruined the god damn moment and, well…”

“Well?” Eric prompts.

Your eyes turn from staring up at the sky to looking at him. Something that reeks suspiciously of fear dances in your gaze. “I don’t know. For a moment, when we were just looking at each other, I really thought he might like me the same way. But, just… how could anyone like me that much? Especially him?”

For a second, Eric debates whether or not to say the words sitting on the tip of his tongue. They’ll reveal a part of himself that he doesn’t necessarily want you to know about. What he wants to say could sour your relationship, maybe even ruin it completely.

But his mind chooses this moment to throw caution to the wind, and the words slip out of Eric’s mouth before he can stop them.

“I liked you.”

Eric can pinpoint the exact moment his three-word sentence registers in your brain. Your eyes display a myriad of emotions – blank, then confused, then surprised, then something that looks like sadness and disappointment and terror rolled into one messy ball. You sit up. “Run that by me one more time,” you say slowly. “Tell me I heard you wrong.”

“I didn’t lie,” Eric says, trying to soothe the tiny pinprick of hurt in his heart. It’s much less painful than he expected, which is nice, but it’s still there. “I liked you the moment I helped you up after I hit you with my skateboard, but it was so easy to tell you were in love with Changmin that I wasn’t going to say anything about it.”

You put your face in your hands. “Eric,” you say, voice muffled behind your fingers, “just… why? How? We didn’t even know each other back then.”

Eric sighs. “I’ve always fallen in love too easily and with the smallest things,” he says. Years of working through this phenomenon have produced a coherent explanation that rolls off his tongue with ease. “Small stuff. A smile, or, like, a laugh. One time, I fell in love with this guy because of the way he tapped his pencil against his lips when he was thinking. I don’t know, you might just call it a crush, but… I don’t think crushes are supposed to be as deep as they feel for me.” He shrugs. “I fell in love with you because of your voice.”

Your eyes peek out just between your fingers. “My voice?”

“Yeah.” He plucks at the grass around him, nervously trying to give his hands something to do. “It’s… your voice is really soothing. Gentle. When you talked to me for the first time, it felt like… it felt like I could drown in it.” The words make him want to cringe, but they’re real. They’re truly how he felt, how he still feels, a little bit. “Really. I swear I’m not lying.”

This time, you fully put your hands down when you speak. “Are you… are you still in love with me?” you ask in measured tones, though he can still hear the slight shake in your words.

Eric debates whether or not to lie, then settles on the truth. You’d probably see through him, anyway. “A little,” he answers honestly. “But this isn’t about me. I fall in and out of love easily, that’s just part of who I am. You’re in love with Changmin, and this is about you and him. You just asked how anyone could fall in love with you, and I just wanted to tell you that it’s entirely possible for someone to fall in love with someone as amazing as you are. If I felt this way about your voice, imagine how Changmin must feel about your everything.”

Now you’re back to hiding your face in your hands, though it looks a bit like you’re holding back tears this time around. Eric waits in silence for you to gather yourself.

“Why are you helping me, if you liked me like… like that?” you finally ask, looking up once more. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Eric shrugs. “You’re worthy of love,” he says. “I knew I was going to get over this… crush sort of love at some point. You, on the other hand, are definitely going to regret letting Changmin go, if you do. You’re so obvious.” He snorts. “But yeah. You’re worthy of love. And I think Changmin can give you that sort of love that you deserve.”

Soft steel enters your eyes as your spine straightens slightly, exhibiting a determination that wasn’t there before. “Eric,” you say carefully, “anyone who ends up falling in love with you will be the lucky one. Not the other way around.”

It’s Eric’s turn to get shy. “Thanks, Y/N,” he mumbles, uselessly trying to swallow his smile and hide the pink rising in his cheeks.

The hug that you give him afterward feels sweet, soft, gentle in the grip of your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Eric,” you say when you pull away. “Remember what I said, yeah? You’ll find someone who falls as deeply for you as you do for them.”

“Only if you remember what I said,” Eric bargains, smiling. “Talk to Changmin.”

A tiny sigh leaves your lips, but you nod. “I will.” Your smile turns slightly scared, but the soft steel is still in your eyes, brightening your gaze. “See you later?”

Eric prays that the light in your eyes never fades. “See you,” he says softly.

You turn, just about to stand and walk away. Eric’s about to walk off himself when you spin back around. “Hey, Eric. For the record, you’re a great friend.” The smile on your lips is genuine, lovely, brilliant in the afternoon sunlight. “I’m glad to know you.”

Something blooms in Eric’s chest, erasing the pinprick of pain that came with your initial rejection. With those words, his heart grows warm, full, happy.

There’s no hurt left.

Eric smiles back, this time with full sincerity. “I’m glad to know you too.”

. . . . .

~ changmin

Changmin can’t believe that he isn’t even dating you, but he’s already gotten the heart-stopping text that consists of four deceptively simple and terrifying words: we need to talk.

He knows what you’re referring to. After all, the mere thought of your lips so close to his, breath puffing slightly against his skin and eyes sparkling under the starlight, brings butterflies to his stomach and makes his brain turn to mush.So he agrees, mostly because Younghoon knocked some sense into him, but also because he needs some closure or he thinks he’s going to explode.

A quick ok! when are you free? (hopefully) doesn’t hint at any of the fear squeezing his heart into the next dimension, and as a result, he’s standing on the empty green quad just outside the literature building, feet tapping uncontrollably against the ground. A few students glance at him as they pass by, but he can’t register their stares. There’s only one person on his mind.

You appear just a few minutes after he’s arrived. Somehow, his heart speeds up even more when you lock eyes with him – it feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. “Hi,” he says, barely able to keep the squeak out of his voice.

“Hi,” you reply, carefully coming to a stop just in front of him. “I, uh…”

Silence falls as the two of you look anywhere but at each other. Changmin can already feel the heat creeping up his cheeks. “Um,” he says, trying to breach the insurmountable gap building between you two, “I…”

A voice that sounds a little too much like Younghoon’s screams in his head just confess! as you look up hesitantly. “I didn’t want to move,” he begins lamely. “Last time. When, um, you know.”

The slightest dip of your head indicates comprehension. Nothing else in your face changes, save for a slight sparkle beginning to grow in your eye that gives Changmin a little bit of hope. “I got startled by the music from your phone,” he continues, voice still small but growing in strength. “And, um. It made me start thinking again. Because I like you, I like you so much, but, well, I just didn’t think you could ever like me that way. So I moved.”

Your gaze has dipped down once more, focused intently on your hands tightly clasped together. Then, just as Changmin’s beginning to fear the worst, you snap your head up. Your eyes glimmer with something that feels dangerously like the hope beginning to bubble in Changmin’s heart. “You like me?” you ask, gentle tones strained, desperate for something it seems you can barely even dream of.

Changmin swallows. “So much that it hurts,” he admits, voice softer than ever.

One terrifying second passes in silence after his admission, then a smile breaks across your face that’s so blinding, so bright it could rival the golden afternoon sunlight streaming from the sky. “Come here, Changmin,” you say. Your fingers twitch in a gesture he’s shown you so many times, and, like a magnet, he steps forward, following your words as though there’s nothing he’d rather do in his life.

And like a wave, like water crashing against the rocks at the bottom of a cliff, you surge forward, gripping the front of his shirt and pressing your lips to his with a gentle strength that physically knocks the breath out of Changmin’s chest.

Kissing you is everything he imagined and more, Changmin thinks once his brain catches up to the present. Your lips are still locked with his, eyes open just enough to gaze up at him through your eyelashes. Changmin can feel his own eyes beginning to flutter shut with heady bliss, but he forces them to stay just slightly open, just enough that he can see how you’re sparkling in the sunshine.

You taste of blooming flowers, of roses scenting the air, springtime, clear skies with not a single cloud marring the expanse of blue. His eyes finally close as he gains the courage to raise a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. Warmth blossoms in his heart as he deepens the kiss and you respond with gentle fervor, fingers still clutching the front of his shirt.

Air forces you to break away, shy eyes unable to gaze at each other for longer than a few seconds at a time. Heat has risen fully up Changmin’s cheeks – he’s sure his ears are bright red – and you can’t stop the smile that’s spread across your face, embarrassed and lovely all at once.

“I like you too,” you confess suddenly, as though the fact that you just kissed him didn’t give that completely away. “So much. I never thought that you’d feel the same.”

“Your smile is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen,” Changmin protests, ears burning even more as you cover your face, flustered. “I don’t think there’s any way I couldn’t feel the same.”

“Glad to hear that.” You uncover your mouth, letting Changmin bear the full force of your grin. “Because I’ve said the same thing about your smile to Kevin a million times.”

Changmin giggles, this time hiding behind his own hand. “Our friends must hate us,” he says.

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. Changmin thinks he’s in heaven. “They must,” you agree. “I mean, we started interacting with a… Kevin’s calls it a fucking mating dance, but, uh…”

“Younghoon calls it a cult ritual,” Changmin supplies, giggling as you snort with laughter. “But yeah. We must have put them through a lot, huh?”

“True.” Eyes sparkling like rose petals in the sunshine gaze into his with a softness that makes him want to melt. “Doesn’t matter, though, does it?” You smile even more widely, if that’s possible. “I’m glad that we met. That we’re here now, no matter how strange the beginning.”

Changmin’s smile turns smaller, lips no longer stretching as widely, but holding even more warmth than before as he raises a hand. This time, though, his fingers don’t twitch. He simply holds out his palm. “Dance with me, Y/N?” he asks.

When you tangle your fingers with his, Changmin feels flowers burst into bloom in his chest. Sunlight sparkles like glittering rain around your grinning figure as he twirls you on the grass, eyes crinkled and smiling with laughter, so much pure laughter that echoes in the air and mixes with the sunshine to create a golden warm aura of bliss.

(“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you two reach the front of your dorm. You’ve stopped dancing in favor of holding each other’s hands softly, tightly, gently, and Changmin thinks he’s going to melt in your gaze when you nod with the most brilliant smile on your face.

If the exchange ends in a kiss that feels like a dream, a dream of flower petals tinted with gold raining around him as warm as your fingers interlaced with his, well, Changmin doesn’t mind if Younghoon teases him about it later. He doesn’t mind the smirks, the nudges, the one too many pokes in his side.

His heart is too busy blooming, after all, blooming with thoughts of your love and your smile.)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 punch in the face for this couple for giving me so much pain while writing them)

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ushidoux · 3 years

Text

Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader (Pt. 3)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~2.5k words)

Warnings: again poor communication!!! angst, no sex in this chapter

A/N: Let me know what you think!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“Oi, you fucking bastard, you knew!”

Iwa losing his temper over the phone wasn’t exactly atypical, even if it had become a less frequent occurrence, but for once Oikawa was actually genuinely surprised to hear his friend this angry over the phone. Especially given that it was almost 2pm in San Juan, which made it the very early AM in Tokyo, so whatever had worked him up had also kept him up way past his bedtime, given that Iwa was now extremely careful about his sleep hygiene.

Oikawa took enough time to properly swallow the bite he’d just taken of his choripan before answering.

“What did I know, Iwa-chan?” He finally inquired, setting down his sandwich in the wrapper spread across his lap before leaning back into the park bench on which he was sitting. It was a wonderful sunny day, the type of day where it was a shame you were being yelled at, he mused briefly.

“About ___ and Ushijima.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows furrowed, not that Iwa could see the confusion on his face. There was a short pause which Oikawa broke eventually.

“Am I missing something or…?” His genuinely confused tone didn’t serve in any way to make Iwa less irritated.

“You didn’t say anything!” He hissed loudly enough that Oikawa winced, holding his cellphone a good distance from his ear before answering. “You used to tell me about that motherfucker’s every move, and now that it’s useful information, you have nothing to say?”

Oikawa frowned.

“Why are you blaming me for your communication issues, Iwa-chan?!” He all but whined.

When Iwa’s voice grew silent on the other line, Oikawa grew slightly nervous. But he was right. This was a particularly severe lapse in communication between Iwa and you that he was now projecting onto him, severe because clearly it had ended up being a bigger deal than it should have been in the first place.

As much as Iwa didn’t want to admit it, yesterday evening was evidence that something was very, very wrong in his relationship with you, or at the very least a residual tangled web of feelings to sort out, and it wasn’t exactly something he could easily fix or improve on his own.

Not that he wouldn’t try.

“What happened?” Oikawa finally asked, and Iwa retreated.

“Nothing. I’ll… talk to you later.”

The phone cut off on Iwa’s end and Oikawa sighed with mild irritation before returning to his lunch thousands of miles away.

On the other side of the globe, Iwa made his way from the balcony to the bedroom, setting his phone down on the nightstand and taking a glance at you who had appeared to be finally sleeping soundly, but betrayed by the intermittent soft hiccups of someone who had been crying just moments earlier.

He hadn’t meant to make you cry. In fact, he hadn’t even meant to force another discussion at all, but hours after the last guests had filed out, none the wiser about the fight that had just transpired earlier (even if Hinata had made a single innocent comment about the bruise blooming on Ushijima’s cheek), the elephant in the room had grown entirely too large for him to bear. Unfortunately, the simple demand for clarification had spiraled out of control and ended up with a shouting match which had culminated in you bursting into tears.

It wasn’t a good look for him to behave like this.

Even so, Iwa couldn’t stop thinking about how the subject of your argument had replied to his grumbled apology with the admission that he probably deserved the hit for all he’d done. Somehow, the persistent remorse in his voice made Iwa consider hitting him a second time for good measure.

That wouldn’t be the right move either. There wasn’t really a right move, was there? All Iwaizumi could do was hope that everything would blow over.

You loved him after all; he was sure of it.

---

you knew, didn’t you?

knew what?

You grit your teeth at the quickly returned text message, then set your phone down at your desk letting out a hushed but aggravated sigh, before picking it up again and typing furiously.

you texted me, ‘how’s everything going?’ right before all that shit happened.

that could mean literally anything??? What???

You didn’t know how much longer your friend was going to feign innocence, but it looked like not very long because once your eyes flitted back to the unfinished project proposal you had been working on, your phone quickly buzzed again.

By the time you had told her what happened this morning on your morning commute to work, she had grown a little too quiet, interjecting very little as you spoke and not asking any clarifying questions. You had assumed that she had just been being extra considerate, but now that it was early afternoon and there was a lull in your concentration, it occurred to you again just how clearly she must have anticipated the awkward situation.

YOU said you didn’t follow sports anymore + it’s been 3 years. HOW was I supposed to know you were going to overreact?

Overreact?

There was a small pause in which you saw her speech bubble pop up and then down, and then up again.

Not overreacting I guess, but I’m just confused… Don’t you and Iwa talk? How did it become a huge deal?

You decided you didn’t really have an answer to that. All you could do was return a noncommittal idk, letting the conversation die out and returning back to the task at hand.

---

“Mommy, why does he look like that?”

Ushijima glanced for a split second at the small child pointing openly at him, giving a small, understanding nod to the mortified mother trying to quiet her son’s whispers before continuing on his way back to his hotel.

His face didn’t exactly throb anymore, but the bruise he had been gifted with was very noticeable even if he had to be thankful he didn’t have a black eye. Iwa had hit him surprisingly hard, which was good. At the very least, he could count on him to protect you.

Getting hit in the face by your athletic trainer wasn’t ideal but he and Iwaizumi were both professionals. They could put it past them.

Even if they didn’t have a deep friendship, there was a sort of camaraderie since they’d met in California years ago. That relationship didn’t have to sour, he told himself.

He just needed to give you two a wide berth.

Even if he didn’t want to, he had to. It was the right, mature thing to do.

Even if he didn’t miss on the court, he’d missed a crucial set in life.

He had no right to demand a second chance.

---

You hadn’t traveled home alone in a while, you realized, as you set pace towards your apartment after a long shift. The subway was cramped as usual, but the closeness of the quarters felt more noticeable and uncomfortable now that Iwa’s hand wasn’t holding yours and keeping you close to him. He’d messaged you about an hour before you were about to leave work to give you a heads up that he would be returning late, and for a moment, you wondered if it were really true or if he was still mad at you.

But you knew Iwa well enough to be confident that he didn’t hold grudges, and if he were still uncomfortable he would tell you - he would never actively avoid you.

Then again, you hadn’t had a conflict like this before.

I don’t love him, I only love you, you’d said to him almost screaming, defensive because Iwa’s voice had sounded hurt when you failed to come up with the words to explain why you were so shaken still.

You’d meant that with your whole heart. So why exactly did you react so poorly?

Maybe it was the final death rattle of unresolved feelings, rearing their ugly head before being banished to whatever realm past hurts went once they were healed.

When you finally made it to your apartment, you stood for a moment at the entryway after flipping the light switch, taking a couple of seconds to blink away the fact that things didn’t look quite right.

For a moment, you couldn’t remember exactly when you had replaced your TV - was that before or after Ushijima? Had that couch always been in that position?

Fatigue even made you wonder where your houseplants had gone, until you remembered you had all but given them all away, telling yourself that those last vestiges of your relationship would have to vanish before you could truly count yourself moved on.

Now that the plants were gone, were you truly over it?

You let out a sigh and set your keys down before shooting a message to Iwa to let him know that you had made it home. That proposal wouldn’t write itself, and you could tackle it anew once you’d treated yourself with a warm bath and a modest glass of wine.

---

Seated in his soon-to-be minimally used office, Iwaizumi leafed through the short stack of papers before him, including prior athletic history and a formal written statement from the team physician. Satisfied, he gathered the documents and gently pushed them across the desk towards the silent, patiently waiting athlete sitting across from him.

“It looks like you’re cleared for practice tomorrow,” he said, offering a measured smile to Ushijima.

“Not that I expected any issues,” Iwa continued, compelled to keep speaking from the lack of response from the man before him. While he didn’t exactly sense hostile energy from Ushijima, it seemed like he was even more difficult to read than usual.

Then again, Iwa was unsure if he was projecting; he acknowledged that prior to this very moment in time, he had been more standoffish than usual, having avoided unnecessary interaction with Ushijima during the day’s orientation activities.

He took a surreptitious glance at the wall clock above his head. There were only two more members to clear after Ushijima and then he’d be done for the day and could go back home to you, maybe picking up sushi on the way home as a peace offering.

Ushijima didn’t exactly look like he was getting ready to leave, but Iwa hadn’t explicitly dismissed him.

The two sat in an awkward silence and Iwa wondered if he should apologize again to settle the stagnant air between them, not knowing that the man before him was considering the exact same thing.

What happens now? seemed to be the question du jour.

“How’s your father?” Iwa asked abruptly, shifting in his chair and leaning forward on elbows propped onto the desk, maybe a little too forward, in attempts to keep his mind off the fact that the volleyball player before him had also played with his love’s heart.

“He’s been well. Thank you for asking.”

Another pause ensued and Iwa was running out of ways to tell him politely to get out of his office for his next client, but for once Ushijima was the one to break the silence.

“I want us to have a good working relationship despite everything.”

The statement hung in the air for a second before settling and Iwa could feel irritation start to bubble in the pit of his stomach once again, but instead he forced a pleasant smile.

“Of course.”

---

With feet tucked beneath you, your laptop perched on the glass coffee table and a half-drunk glass of white wine (refilled once) atop the end table next to the couch, the sad truth was that you had only written about five lines in the past 45 minutes.

Instead, against all the advice you’d ever been given in your life, you had sleuthed your way into your ex’s Instagram and Facebook accounts, gleaning as much information as you could about what had happened after you were two, after you’d blocked him cold turkey on every social media application and vowed never to look back.

As expected, the pictures and life updates he posted were few and far between, but there were still some to learn from, especially when you looked through those snapshots taken by others in his life. You were initially surprised to see old pictures of you together still up if you went back far enough, but clicked past them quickly because the fact that you looked so happy was more irritating than sad at this point of time.

You took another sip of your wine, feeling a soft warmth in your cheeks and a light pleasant haze fill your head while you kept perusing. Some pictures you recognized from his prior team here, Schweiden Adlers, and then there were other promotional images from a new team, Orzel Warsawa... He had even traveled to Poland without your knowledge, you mused.

You took special note of women he looked all too close to for friendship as you browsed, noting a gorgeous, tall blonde in several pictures he appeared to have dated for a brief stint of a couple of months.

1 short relationship in three years. It was a shame, you thought. They could have had the prettiest kids.

And there, you finally realized your internal monologue was crazy. Why were you doing this again?

You threw back the final bit of wine and switched back to your Word document. Maybe writing while a little tipsy wasn’t the best of ideas but any words on the page were better than none.

…

It didn’t take long for you to doze off and your boyfriend to find you sprawled on your belly on the sofa, your glass empty and precariously placed at the edge of the sofa, and your laptop placed just inches above your head.

Iwa’s smile was immediate as he admired your silly position while setting down dinner, quickly walking over to gather you up for bed.

You murmured slightly as he scooped you into his arms, your face instinctively nuzzling his chest. He couldn’t help but think of how cute you were, kissing your forehead softly before tucking you under the covers. You had been so exhausted lately from work, so he’d let you get some early shuteye rather than disturb your peace.

Leaving the bedroom to eat dinner alone on the couch, he noted your laptop in suboptimal location, moving it to the table before sitting down to avoid a future accident.

It flashed on with the slight movement, revealing a lengthy document with heavy blocks of text, which he saved just in case because autosave failure would bring you to tears. He then clicked out, only to see the results of your cyberstalking session.

His heart may have skipped a beat or two but he closed your laptop instead, leaning back into his chair to finish eating dinner.

The uneasiness that filled his stomach instead had to be related to the raw fish he’d brought home.

There was simply no other explanation, couldn’t be.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwa x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #ushijima #haikyuu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #series: be my last #mae.writing

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Dreams, Chapter 16

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 16

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1754

Summary: Some of Sam’s efforts to ‘nest’ in their new life together reveal new possibilities.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w b u r n

Water laps at the weather-beaten wood of the dock underneath you slowly and the rhythm feels like hypnosis with the sun beating down a blanket. You sense Dean at your side without opening your eyes.

“So…was he any good?”

You can’t help but laugh, hearing the echo go out over the small lake, and get up to your elbows. It’s bright enough that you have to squint over at Dean where he lays next to a couple fishing poles and a cooler, t shirt hitched up to show a sliver of his stomach with his arms behind his head. His smile is devilish, made even more smug with eyes closed against the sun so his lashes cast an inch-long shadow on the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. “You can’t ask that!” you giggle.

His lips flatten into a knowing line. “So that’s a no?”

“Jesus Christ, of course it’s not a n—you know what, I’m not talking to you about this,” you smile, laying back down.

“Ooh, so it’s a yes,” he teases as he turns on his side to face you. “Go Sammy. That mean you two are, like, going steady now?”

You let your head loll over to him and roll your eyes. “Are you done?”

“Not yet. Is he going to let you wear his letterman jacket? Take you to junior prom?”

“I’m giving you ten more seconds.”

Dean laughs, free and easy. “Fine, okay, I’m done. Wait—did he wrap it?”

“DEAN!” you yell, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Okay, alright, okay.” He’s still chuckling when you open your eyes to look over at him and reaches over to slip a piece of hair behind your ear. “You, ah, you seem happy.”

You search his eyes for any hidden anger and find only the softness of calm affection with a pinch of solemnity. Where his hand lingers in your hair you turn into it, pressing your lips to Dean’s palm. “I am.”

Dean smiles, straight teeth a perfect row of pearls so white you think for a second they might ‘ding’ with sparkle like a cartoon, and he looks relaxed enough as he puts his hands back behind his head that it calls up images of a kitten falling asleep in a sunny spot like this even as he keeps his eyes on you. “Took you guys long enough.”

“And you’re still okay with this?”

“Yeah, hell yeah. That’s the best I could ever ask for, you two happy. So, what do you say? Want to see if we can catch some fish?”

Spring was a blessing; clean greenness breaking through the grey and white purifying the air and breathing new life into you, Sam, and the community you’d come to be a part of. The cabin was that much nicer with the new hours of sunlight pouring through the windows and all the upgrades you had put into it, to the point that you began to feel truly comfortable there. You even invited the Kaisers over for dinner a few times, feeling more like equal partners in your burgeoning friendship with them.

You started to feel stable enough to get things; picked up a bookshelf at the combination flea/farmer’s market that happened in the K-12 school’s field every Saturday morning and got higher quality spatulas to cook with, the kinds of nonessential stuff you never would’ve bought before knowing you were going to stay in one place long enough to get good use out of them. Sam, in turn, kept building: changing the locks to sturdier ones and erecting a shed big enough to hold a lawn mower.

You’d been cooking on an early Sunday afternoon when Sam came home and crossed the cabin in a few strides, giving you a kiss on the cheek before setting a thick paper bag down on the kitchen counter. “Smells great, what’re you making?”

“Ratatouille!” you buzzed, placing a slice of eggplant carefully into its slot. “I’ve never had it, but I’ve always thought it looks so pretty. Hopefully it’s good. Where were you?”

“Hardware store. I thought maybe I could build a greenhouse; see if we could grow anything. Might be enough to work against the cold.”

You raised your eyebrows in appreciative surprise. “Look at you! What’re you thinking? Poppies? Platinum OG? Purple Haze?”

Setting a box of screws down, Sam rolled his eyes through a smile. “My plan was more along the lines of tomatoes or something, but I’ll, uh, take those suggestions under advisement.” You had a sudden urge to twist a gentle finger into the dimple that stayed on his cheek as he unloaded the rest of his supplies but didn’t want to embarrass him, instead sweeping some garlic skins into your hand to throw into the small bucket Sam kept under the sink to collect scraps for the compost pile. When the bag was empty he refolded it and took off his jacket, passing by you to put it on its hook by the door. “Want any help?” he asked, sounding about as breezy as you’d ever heard him.

“It just has to bake for about an hour. Does a late lunch work with your construction schedule?”

Sam leaned over to slip a hand around your waist and kissed the top of your head before grabbing an armful of stuff to take outside. “Definitely. Just yell when you’re ready for me.”

You giggled and waggled your eyebrows suggestively. “I’m always ready for you.”

He tried his best not to blush but bit his lip in spite of himself, looking up at you with a bashful twinkle in his eye. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

In response you held up a spare slice of zucchini that Sam readily accepted, opening his mouth like an obedient puppy and chewing as he went out the back door.

You loved watching Sam work on his greenhouse in the weeks that followed, getting so excited about the tiny shoots sprouting up from the soil that he sometimes woke up early to check on them before starting his day. After a few weeks he woke you up one morning with a cup of coffee, bare-chested under slightly sleep-tangled hair and the hems of his flannel pants sloppily half inside his boots. “I wanna show you something,” he said, throat still gravelly. You accepted the mug and got out of bed, following him drowsily and jamming your feet inside your shoes at the door, too tired to worry about the laces.

He led you into the greenhouse with its clear plastic walls and pointed down at a petite bud on top of a green stalk. It had the telltale waviness of a basil leaf, and when you bent down to look closer at it the plant already smelled herbaceous. “It’s so cute!” you hummed. Sam practically glowed with satisfaction, an unbridled smile the perfect accessory to the broad span of his chest where it was backlit by the fuzzy light through the greenhouse walls. You straightened and rubbed his back in congratulations, staring down at the plant together with your coffees like parents on Christmas morning. Tucked in the corner of the greenhouse behind the basil, a scattering of bitty white flowers caught your eye against the burnt umber soil.

“Wait, you already have stuff flowering in here? What’s that?” you asked, tiptoeing around the wooden stakes in the soil to get closer.

“Oh—I, uh—” he stammered behind you.

At arm’s length the flowers looked vaguely familiar and you stopped short. “Is that—?” You turned back to Sam, who seemed not to be able to come up with anything to say, his face the kind of blank surprise that indicated he didn’t know whether you were about to be upset. “Really? Where’d you even…how did you get some?”

He tucked his hair behind his ears to stall for even a half second. “I—well, I found a guy who got me—got us—some.”

“You still have an African dream root hookup?”

Sam’s lips pressed into a well-practiced silent ‘I guess?’ and he reached back to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck, the movement stretching his side distractingly enough that if you hadn’t been so startled by the discovery of a plot of dream root literally in your own backyard you might’ve forgotten what you were talking about altogether.

You raised your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to explain.

“I made some calls, found someone in Milwaukee who got his hands on some and he mailed it here. I didn’t want to, uh, tell you in case I couldn’t get it to grow.”

All kinds of possibilities and frustrations raced through your head. “So you’ve had this for weeks? That’s why you built the greenhouse?” Sam didn’t answer fast enough. “Never mind, I don’t care,” you found yourself saying, and surprisingly, actually meaning. You took a deep breath to stop the words from jumbling together. “Do you think it’ll work?” you breathed, knowing he would understand the real question: would we be able to see Dean together?

“Only one way to find out.”

For whatever reason you’d gotten freshly showered, made up, and dressed before brewing the tea with Sam on your next day off of work. It felt like there should be some level of pomp and circumstance about it, this giant undertaking that might be able to change your whole life again, even knowing that your prep wouldn’t translate into a dream. You were giddy with anxiety and almost wished you could reasonably put it off, the idea of this new possibility being yet another dead end making you nauseous.

“Your place or mine?” you asked, trying to put a little sheen of humor on your nerves.

Sam chuckled but you could tell he was nervous too, rubbing his palms dry on the knees of his jeans over and over again. “You haven’t done it before, right?”

You shook your head. “Is there a learning curve or something?”

“Honestly it’s been long enough that I don’t really remember. Hold on—hold still.” He reached out and very gingerly swept a finger across your cheekbone, drawing back to show you an eyelash stuck to the whorl of its pad.

You straightened where you sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s as good a sign as any. Cheers, I guess.” Sam dropped the tiny hair into his mug and touched the ceramic to yours, his eyes hopeful and reassuring as you took tandem sips.

And then you were off.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 17

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

High School AU Part 8 (1...7)

---

16.k

---

The silence that follows Tony’s exit only lasts for a single, deafening heartbeat.

In the seconds that follow the aftermath, silent and struck with confusion at the lightning-quick turn of events, Peter doesn’t remember getting to his feet and excusing himself. He just remembers that the moment he decides to act feels impossibly longer than it should, punctuated only by the harsh slam of the front door.

Ed, understandably, seems suspended in the moment, torn between his guests and, well, his other guest. Without thinking, Peter stands and doesn’t bother to excuse himself before leaving the table and following the trail of fire that Tony left behind.

“Pete,” someone calls behind him.

“Stay here, I got this,” he turns for a moment, hands held up placatingly, before jogging through the living room, out the front door. Outside it’s bitterly cold, the snappish, freezing winds whipping at his face, his bare arms.

Stark is stomping furiously towards his car when Peter spots him, a shadowy figure against the dying sunlight. He sets into a jog to catch up.

“Tony,” he yells through chattering teeth. “Wait!”

“Fuck off,” Tony snaps without looking back, hands balled into fists as he heads to his car.

“Where are you going,” he rushes to catch up with him. “What are you even doing here?”

“You don’t have to worry about me ruining your little Hallmark family moment, Parker,” Tony pulls out his keys. “I’m getting the fuck outta here.”

“Wait,” he stresses, legs moving faster, not understanding what exactly is happening. “Tony, wait.”

He makes the mistake of getting between Tony and the driver's side door in a thoughtless effort to keep him from leaving, one that seems to backfire rather spectacularly when Tony gets inches away from his face, seething. This close, his fury is palpable, and he suddenly seems taller, larger, coming at Peter like a tempest, swift and devastating.

“Move.”

Face set in a snarl, he looks angrier than Peter has ever seen him. “Tony, wait for just a second --”

He flinches when two palms slam down on the car on either side of him and Tony is suddenly towering over him, his eyes dark and unrecognisable.

“I said get out of the way.”

“Calm down, can we just talk --”

“You have three goddamn seconds before I --”

“Before what? What are you going to do,” he juts out his chin defiantly, even though his hands are trembling. “You going to hit me, huh?” With courage he doesn’t really feel, he stands up taller, until they're nose to nose and he can feel his warm breath on his face. “Go on, asshole. Do it.”

The provocation gives Tony pause. His lips purse and his gaze flickers between fury and uncertainty. He doesn’t move his arms from where they have caged Peter in, but Peter can see the opening he’s created, as if Tony were a ticking bomb with seconds left before zero and he has once chance to cut the right wire.

Adrenaline racing through his veins, his circles Tony’s wrists with his fingers, pressing gently, intent on pushing him back or comforting him or something. But Tony doesn’t budge at all, he just stares Peter down until the offensive anger visibly bleeds into defensiveness. Tony dips his chin for just a second before meeting his eyes again, and it’s like watching a portcullis slam down behind them. In that moment, he feels any camaraderie they developed quickly vanished in a puff of smoke.

“I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you want, but just don’t be a fucking idiot. Ed was really looking forward to seeing you.”

“It’s Jarvis, not Ed, you braindead asshole,” Tony says finally, voice hoarse. “And stop holding my hands, I’m not your fucking prom date.”

Immediately Peter takes his hands away and Tony steps back, hands still balled into fists, albeit lowered at his sides; so it’s come to this again. Peter nods shakily, putting his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t know how you know them,” or what happened to you, Peter says, softly, as if not to spook him, chest heaving. “But you shouldn’t drive off. It’s late and you’re angry.”

“Yeah, because you’re here.”

He swallows around that particular sting.

“I told you about Margaret and May. Look, just come inside, okay? I’ll stay out of your way.”

The other boy still looks uncertain, but his anger is draining out of him fast, the rigid line of his shoulders slumping, arms crossing over his chest in a last ditch to protect himself from whatever phantoms Tony is seeing in Peter.

A little heartbroken by the sight, Peter croaks out, “Please.”

Tony’s face falls before the impassive, drawn expression returns.

“I’m - I wasn’t going to hit you. I’m not like that.”

“I know.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re - I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just -” he sighs, dipping his gaze to meet Tony’s. “Let’s go in. Foods still warm.”

Tony keeps his stare affixed to the ground for a long moment that has Peter waiting with bated breath, still outwardly appearing unsure and on edge, like the slightest misstep would startle him into racing off like the other day.

“Did Peggy make her pecan pie?” he then asks, very quietly, as soft spoken as Peter has ever heard him, arms unravelling to tuck his hands into his jean pockets.

“Yeah,” he smiles encouragingly when Tony finally looks at him. “It’s good, right?”

“The best.”

“So, you coming?”

“Okay…” he says, exhaling through his nose. “I’ll stay for pie.”

“I can’t think of a better reason to be here.”

“The company does leave much to be desired,” Tony nods agreeably, but there is no heat or sting in his words.

Their sides brush on the way in and Peter thinks, backwards and forwards, push and pull.

“Peter?”

He pauses before the front door, startled by the use of his first name.

“Yeah?”

For a second it looks like Tony is going to apologise again. But in the end he shakes his head, face closing off.

“Forget it. Let’s go in.”

----

Inside, Ed and Tony exchange some hushed words in the living room, while the remaining occupants talk idly about the spread, as if perfectly cooked green beans were the most interesting thing of the night.

When Tony re-enters with Jarvis, his demeanour a still a touch skittish, eyes low, but no longer appearing like he’s bracing for a fight. No one mentions the theatrics, and, like it was a deleted scene in real life, welcome him in. There’s a flimsy attempt to cover the awkwardness that lingers, everyone still clearly a little rattled, but May is the first to rise to give Tony a hug.

Margaret makes a big show of bringing in a spare chair and providing Tony a plate with a veritable pyramid of steaming meat and sides, taking his face in her hands and kissing his cheek.

And Peter sits there, awkwardly sipping his water far too frequently to be considered normal, trying to appear as unassuming as possible, and staring at the print of Caillebotte’s Rainy Day on the opposing wall, as if it were the most fascinating thing this night.

With a similar air of queer ineptitude, Tony seats himself at the table, settling in tightly next to Jarvis. As soon as he is seated, Friday immediately startles him by leaping upon his lap, tail flicking his face.

“You brought the literal embodiment of bad luck to the lake house,” Tony says. “That explains everything.”

It’s enough to break the air of tension in the room as the adults laugh and Tony breaks out into the first genuine smile of the night, dropping his fork so he can scratch Friday under her chin.

“Well, this is such a surprise,” May comments lightly, though looks genuinely pleased to see the other boy. “How do you guys know each other?”

Tony and Ed speak at the same time.

“They used to work with my dad,” says Tony.

“Tony works afternoons at the garage,” says Ed.

A beat of silence follows.

“They used to work for my dad and we kept in touch. Jarvis lets me work for him after school,” Tony corrects.

Peter blinks, a little floored by this revelation, mind rapidly connecting the dots. Not only did they know each other, but Tony had a job?

Torn between being confused and oddly delighted, he recalls suddenly each and every time that Tony was antsy to leave after school, about his ‘priorities’, he was just trying to get to work. Like a real job with money and taxes and responsibility. Holy shit.

Without voicing it, he queries what on earth a trust fund baby like Tony is doing working a blue collar job, certainly not for a lack of money, and certainly not because it was a quaint after-school activity.

But then Peter takes stock of his face - recalling all the injuries he has ever seen him with and he suddenly understands.

At once he feels very ashamed, and very sick.

From the corner of his eye he assesses Tony, eating slowly with one hand. Indulging Friday with the other, and Peter comes to understand that he’s either assumed too much about Tony or, given all the evidence, assumed too little.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Jarvis tops up his glass of wine, peering curiously between the boys.

May explains, when neither of them speak up. “They go to school together. They’re friends.”

She utters the last part with marked uncertainty, evidently the scene from earlier still on her mind. Peter understands. Tony’s anger and fear play over in his mind too, not just from this evening. With a sinking heart he recalls the night at the party, remembers drunkenly accusing Tony of getting into fights on purpose, that he would openly indulge in being violence. And Tony, nonchalant, not reacting at all like Peter would have. Took him home and took care of him.

He feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world.

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

“I didn’t know you had a job,” Peter says delicately, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “That’s cool.”

Tony shrugs, sneaking Friday tiny cat-size morsels of food from his plate, getting flicked in the face with her tail as a reward. He doesn’t offer anything other than forced, casual nonchalance, despite seeming so tightly spun he could snap without a moment's notice.

“Peter said you were good with cars, that you restored yours,” May mentions, salting her potatoes, missing the surprised look Tony sends the both of them. “Makes sense.”

“He’s a natural,” Ed beams proudly at his employee. “An absolute genius.”

“Told you,” Tony looks up from under his lashes and smirks at Peter, addressing him directly. Genius, he mouths, pointing at himself with his knife like an idiot.

Which is apt when Peter mouths back the word idiot at him.

“That’s perfect,” May says, clapping her nephew on the shoulder, shaking him a little as if to rouse some enthusiasm. “Maybe you can diagnose the Volvo. You’re staying for the weekend, right, Tony?”

“Oh, no I’m not - I don’t want to intrude on -”

“Nonsense, you didn’t come all this way for one meal and I’m not having you drive back in the dark,” Margaret cuts in, her voice stern, her eyes knowing. “Stay the weekend, darling.”

“You’re having family time.”

“Stay,” May reaches over from where she sits opposite Tony, briefly gripping over his hands with hers. “It’s no bother to us, right, Pete?”

The entire table falls silent and the weight of several stares fall heavily on him, almost oppressively, but he’s only looking at Tony, trying to gauge his reaction. He’s met with an air of casual indifference, but the line of his lips is thin, and he’s stopped stroking a disgruntled Friday.

Risking a sonic boom, Peter kicks him under the table, testing his reaction. He smiles when Tony’s expression goes from cautious to irate, eyes finally flickering with something more familiar, and he deservedly gets kicked sharply on his shin in return.

It hurts, but also floods him with relief.

“Fine by me.”

As if he was ever going to say anything else.

----

After dinner May and Peter corral their hosts into relaxing by the fire while they attend to the clean up, hushing any protests to the contrary with tried-and-true Parker stubbornness. Once they were sure the hosts were situated in front of the old TV they’d set to disposing of the scraps and cleaning the plates by hand. This, at least, feels like something familiar, something he knows how to do without fear of stepping on a landmine.

They work efficiently like they do at home, May scrubbing and Peter drying and returning the cutlery and dishes to their rightful place. It’s the least they can do for the hospitality they’ve been provided.

“It’s such a weird coincidence,” May says lightly, passing him a freshly washed gravy boat. Peter accepts, swapping to the drier end of his kitchen towel and swiping away at the porcelain. “Tony, I mean.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, a huff emitting from his nose, echoing the same sentiment. “Small freakin’ world, right?”

“Do you think he’s okay? With the whole,” she gestures to her face worriedly with a soapy hand. “You know, at home? Should I call somebody?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “He doesn’t tell me those kinds of things.”

“I just mean, I thought - You were - you’re, y’know...”

He accepts a dripping plate, still hot from the running water. It scalds his fingertips upon contact and he nearly drops it before securing his grip, lowering it to the sink. “I’m what?”

“Y'know,” she hedges, voice deliberately light in a way that puts Peter on edge. “Dating.”

“What?” He hisses, staring at her. “No, we are not dating. Why would you even think that?”

“It would be okay if you were, you can tell me --”

“We’re not,” he pauses his drying to look her in the eye, mortification surely written all over his face, heard in the suddenness in which he stacks the plates. “We don’t even like each other like that. That’s not what this is.”

“I’m just saying if it was, it would be okay with me -” “- oh my god, you did this with Ned, stop -”

“- it’s just you two seem awfully close.”

“We’re not close. It’s not a thing.”

“Well, no need to sneak if it was.”

“It isn’t.”

“Okay,” she turns off the tap, shaking her hands over the sink to rid the excess water. “I just never know. You’re awful good at keeping secrets these days.”

“Wonder where I learned that from,” he mutters, hastily drying the last plate, placing it back in its cabinet a little roughly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he gives his best try at a smile, wiping his hands on his jeans and backing out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay, just getting some fresh air.”

She stops him, gently grabbing him by the sweater.

“Just let him know he’s welcome, okay. I think he needs to hear it from you.”

----

It was a gentle stomp out the front door that brought him to the porch, a willingness to find calm in the stillness of the night, in the serenity of their surrounds, the chirp of crickets, the opportunity to see the stars, bright, crisp and speckled, like paint splatters against black paper, an inverse connect-the-dots.

A lot of people tell Peter the stars make them feel small, reminding them that they are just tiny specks in a gargantuan, ever-sprawling universe. But for him it’s the opposite, when he’s lucky enough to have a view of the night sky like this, he feels bigger, connected to the universe that he knows is alway there but often forgets. It’s a moment to marvel at the stars dying before him and revere them light years too late.

Perched on the top step and illuminated under the porch light, Tony has a burning cigarette between his fingers and, judging by the headphones over his ears, hasn’t noticed Peter’s presence. He’s not looking up at the stars like Peter has been, instead he stares out at the inky lake.

The yellow light does nothing to improve the discolouration on Tony’s skin, casting shadows over the contours of his face, he tries to not stare as he sits on the step beside him, careful and slow as to not spook the other boy.

They sit in relative silence together, Peter peering up at the round full moon as he digests the day, this arduously long day. It seems terribly wild that it was only twelve hours ago he was sharing pretzels with May and resigning himself to a delightfully boring, uneventful weekend with his aunt and people that he used to know, playing scrabble and skipping stones on the lake.

That was the plan, of course, before Tony blustered in like the thunderstorm that he is, and always has been since Peter met him.

Loud, dark, hard to ignore.

Tony slips his headphones down to cradle the back of his neck and takes a drag before speaking.

“You want?” He offers the cigarette, face impassive. “You look tense.”

Peter takes the offered cigarette, staring at the lit end, the pale wisps of smoke that curl from the end. Maybe it’s the guilt swirling in his gut that makes him do it, desperate for a distraction, or maybe it’s wanting to wipe away the morose contemplation etched on Tony’s face.

Instead of bringing it to his mouth, he stubs it out on the concrete, feeling satisfied when Tony makes an indignant noise.

“Those are expensive, you know.”

Peter shrugs, popping the stub into Tony’s makeshift ashtray. “Maybe you should stop smoking. You’re going to look like a leather bag by the time you’re thirty.”

He fishes another smoke from his pocket, lighting it and taking a deep drag.

“Wrong,” Tony tilts his head and exhales towards the sky. “I’m going to age like fine wine, princess.”

“You’re going to have emphysema before college,” Peter mutters, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands to keep them warm, tucking his arms to his chest. It’s so cold out here and yet, at a glance and in only a shirt, Tony doesn’t even seem remotely perturbed by the biting winds.

It’s because he’s hellspawn, it’s the only reasonable explanation.

“This is fucking weird,” Tony says after a moment, “I don’t like it.”

Peter nods agreeably.

“Yep, even in New York. Six degrees of separation. Could have connected the dots if you’d mentioned your job earlier.”

“Would have, but it’s not exactly any of your business.”

Right. Because they’re not friends. They aren’t anything.

“I didn’t lie,” he says, “in there. I think it’s cool.”

“I’ll head out in the morning,” Tony offers, in lieu of responding to Peter’s faint adulations.

“Don’t be dumb,” he sighs, a little frustrated. “I don’t care that you’re here. Might be nice to have someone around my age, actually.”

“What, you think we’re gonna sing Kumbaya by the lake and tell each other ghost stories at night, or something? Thanks, but I’d rather jerk off with a potato peeler.”

“I’m not saying that. I told you I’d stay out of your way, if that’s what you really want.”

It’s disappointing to even have to say it. He thought they were getting along.

“You don’t gotta do that, it’s fine,” Tony flicks his ashes onto the steps. “Just leave me the rest of the pie and we’ll call it payment for putting up with your ass. But I draw the line at hymns by the fireside.”

Not the pie. Anything but the pie.

Peter opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it quickly, eyeing the other boy as he puts out the cigarette in the ashtray. It’s a small price to pay, isn’t it really, for all of the time Tony has fed him, to absolve some of the guilt he’s carrying like a stone. And for respite, as he himself has had a long, topsy-turvy kind of a day - but undoubtedly not as onerous and difficult as Tony’s must have been. And a small price to pay to keep him here, safe.

For Margaret and Ed’s peace of mind, of course.

Also, because the mental image he’s conjured of Tony sadly eating pie all by himself is deeply amusing.

And maybe to soothe the weird ache in his chest, too.

“You really got a sweet tooth, don’t you,” he states, silently agreeing to the deal.

Tony sighs.

“You should see me on Halloween.”

----

When they head back inside only Peggy and his aunt are still awake, though looking far closer to the verge of sleep, blearily watching a Charmed rerun, bottles of beers and mixers littering the coffee table. They perk up, however, when both boys enter the living room, and maybe it’s roaring fire, or the near darkness inside, but Peter suddenly feels as tired as they appear, warm and weary all at once, like a plug has been pulled unceremoniously from the base of his spine.

Knuckling his eyes like a small child, Tony looks much the same.

“Bed time,” May croaks, her back audibly cracking upon standing. “Come on, boys.”

Peter politely averts his gaze when May draws Tony into a hug, pretends not to hear how happy she is that Tony is staying. He extends that particular pretence when his counterpart stands stock still, hands reluctantly returning the embrace seconds too late to be natural.

While May washes up, Margaret leads them to the last room at the end of the hall. It occurs to him very quickly, that he hadn’t quite factored in the math when he implored Tony to stay the weekend. Their approach turns trepidatious when he realizes that there are only three bedrooms in this house and five people; a couple, an adult, and two teenagers.

The hinges squeak horridly when Margaret opens the guest room door, revealing a double bed, a dated quilt and a musky smell revealing the extent of the rooms disuse.

“If Peter doesn’t mind you sharing,” she says, gesturing to the bed that Peter had already dumped his stuff on earlier, “or one of you can sleep on the sofa, but you’ll have to share the bathroom. There are spare blankets in the closet.”

Peter’s heart pounds as they’re left alone in the room, staring at the bed, experiencing the sort of breath-stealing trepidation one he imagines might have when the roller-coaster you’re on gets stuck mid-way through a loop.

“I can...” he clears his throat roughly, gesturing to the living room. “I wouldn’t want to make you - unless you want to sh- ”

“I’ll take the sofa, we can alternate,” Tony says with finality, already backing away, duffel slung over his shoulder.

Peter, blissfully glad that Tony cut him off before he could embarrass himself by suggesting something foolish like sharing a bed, says, “Okay, yeah.”

As a rare act of partisanship he locates the blankets and helps set up the couch, giving him one of the spare pillows from the bed.

While Tony uses the adjacent ensuite to brush his teeth and empty his toiletries, Peter waits, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the material between his fingers, listening to the tap water run and waiting his turn. It’s not a large bathroom and brushing their teeth together would be weird, too intimate, even though he and Ned or he and Bucky did it all the time. He and Tony aren’t friends, in fact, Peter doesn’t know where their boundaries lie anymore, especially after tonight. He supposes, for a start, that he isn’t supposed to feel electricity around friends and frenemies.

Because maybe their elbows would brush as they crowded the sink and maybe they’d meet eyes in the mirror and maybe Peter might like that and, yeah, it would be super weird for them.

When Tony emerges he’s dressed only in his shirt and boxers, jeans slung over his arm, the glow of the bathroom light on the back of his head like a fiery halo. Somehow, seeing his bare legs for the first time, the curve of his calves, his naked feet, somehow was a lot more intimate than the idea of sharing a bathroom.

“So you do have something under all that denim,” he swallows, then cringes.

“You gonna cream yourself at the sight of skin or something, Parker?” he asks on a yawn. “Hmm?”

“No. You’re just...so pasty.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I’m out.”

Peter calls his name without thinking and Tony pauses in the doorway, the muscles in his back tensing for a moment, as if bracing for a fight, before relaxing again.

“I,” he says, unsure what he wanted to say. Settles for, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The look that Tony sends him over his shoulder is quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of gratefulness, and in Peter’s imagination, reciprocated fondness. That is until Tony taps on the door frame and opens his big mouth again.

“Night, Parker, I shall rid you of my pasty legs. Try not to get the sheets sticky thinking about my bare ankles.”

Asshole.

----

“You’re up late, kid,” May says the next morning, peering amusedly at his bleary-eyes and morning-induced disgruntlement over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Couldn’t sleep, his voice is hoarse with sleep, pouring himself his own cup of coffee and sitting beside her. “I kept hearing this clicking and beeping all night. You didn’t hear it?”

She shakes her head. “Was out like a light. Maybe someone was up watching TV.”

“Yeah, maybe. Where is everyone?”

“Peggy’s and Jarvis are in Syracuse.”

“Black Friday?” Peter wonders, recalling the hauls of gifts in his younger years whenever the couple would return from their hectic, discount driven ventures.

“Yep.”

“And Tony?”

“Out front, working on the car.”

“You really put him up to work?” He asks, leaning against the counter, bringing the cup to his mouth to hide his disapproving slope of his lips. “He’s on vacation.”

May holds her free hand up in defence.

“Don’t blame me. He offered and I turned him down. He’s stubborn, that one.”

“I’m very aware of that.”

“Once you’ve finished your coffee, be a darling and take out some water for him, won’t you? I would, but,” she winces, shifting on her seat. “my back’s killing me.”

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she waves her fingers at him dismissively. “Just slept funny.”

“Do you need anything?”

She pats his cheek, smiling from ear to ear. “Maybe another biscotti, bubby, if it’s not too much trouble. Love you.”

There’s something to be read in the way that she doesn't meet his eyes to follow her statement. In his heart he knows May, knows that she is still lying despite his attempts to have adult discussions with her, in the frank and embarrassing way he’s had to open up to her when he was younger and felt frighteningly not himself - except he’s nearing adulthood now. And maybe that’s the kind of transparency he seeks from her, because that’s what adults do, don’t they, they bring down the curtain when it comes to serious things.

And of course he brings her another biscotti, and while he’s up, he does as requested, filling a glass of water in the squeaky kitchen sink and takes a muesli bar from the pantry, pocketing another one for himself.

It’s chocolate covered. Not his favorite, more of a yogurt covered oats-bar fan, but it’s the least Peter could do for Tony’s free labour.

Outside it’s chilly, fog hangs low over the lake and frost clings to the grass in tiny ice crystals. There is a family kayaking out of The Narrows, a far away blur of bright boats and hi-vis life jackets, paddles parting through the still water like hot knives into butter.

Taking a moment to breathe in the clean air, Peter marvels at just how quiet it is, compared to the city. No traffic noises, no subway nearby and no neighbours creating all kinds of racket at ungodly hours. The only apt words that Peter can think of to describe it is: still. Nothing changes here. Or everything changes here and the houses and the lake and the trees have the good grace to stay the same while the rest of the world is in constant metamorphosis.

Peter likes it here, mostly as a novelty thing, and even more so for the company. But he’s a city kid through-and-through, loves the people, the awe of the tourists, the near helter-skelter way of life. It was a reflection of the orderly chaos in his own mind.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his thoughts.

Tony is bent over the open hood of the car, an old boom box by his feet playing Don McLean, a socket wrench in hand, twisting away at the insides of the car. He looks alive, happy. In his element with his hands smeared with rust and oil, dexterous fingers at ease with the tool in his hands.

Here, there is nowhere to run from his feelings.

Because there it is again, Peter pauses, struck by the rudeness in which it blooms; that feeling from the other day.

Not butterflies. More like pushing down on a bruise.

An exquisite ache.

It radiates through his whole body, his sternum the epicentre. Without thinking, he rubs at his chest, as if it might make the ache go away, but it doesn’t. It’s always been there, locked up in a little cage behind his ribs, set free these last few weeks.

Tony turns as he’s approaching, twisting the wrench in his hand like a cowboy with a pistol.

“If it isn’t Sleeping Cootie,” he greets. “He wakes.”

His mood seems to be greatly improved from the night before, seemingly back to his usual self. Whether that’s a good night's sleep, or their surroundings or getting his hands dirty, Peter’s not sure, but he’s not complaining.

“Here,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the radio, holding out the water and the muesli bar.

He accepts with muttered thanks and drains the whole glass back, sticking the bar in his back pocket. Peter, for some silly reason, doesn’t stop looking at Tony’s bottom lip the entire time.

The ache ebbs and flows, the closer he gets, and when he boldly presses their sides together, it’s almost completely gone and unbearably worse at the same time. And so he lingers, for a moment that stretches far longer than a passing interest in the innards of a Volvo.

Tony seems to notice.

“You know anything about cars?” he asks, pinching Peter’s side, smiling cheekily when he squirms, ticklish. “No?” he asks, dodging Peter’s protesting arms and pinching him again.

“A bit,” he elbows Tony back, their hands settling close enough on the mouth of the hood that their fingers brush. “Not much.”

“Stick around then, cotton-tail. Let me teach you a thing about radiators.”

----

Peter knows a lot about robotics. He knows a lot about computers. Cars, albeit a different species, aren’t all that different. He knows the basics.

But watching Tony explain in-depth the specific parts needed for specific models, the tools that are necessary, it’s another thing. It’s more than just soldering and nuts, bolts and pliers. Each model and make is like knowing a person. A Ford from a Peugeot, from a rear wheel to an auto transmission. It was like being a veterinarian, for big machines.

And so Peter watched as Tony explained that morning, and well into the afternoon, as enraptured as he’d ever seen him in what is evidently a deep love, flanked by the autumn trees and yellowing grades of sunlight. A memory he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

He shows Peter the track of water through their radiator, the leak, the speed of water versus engine output. They will need a new replacement part, he says, he can probably do it for free with Jarvis’ approval, which is so guaranteed, he assures, it’s called a discount, hello, Tony had said, but they will have to order the part in because this car is ancient and no one should drive these deathtraps -

“But in the meantime, we can put in some Chem-i-Weld, that should get plug up the leak long enough to you to the garage and we can replace it -”

Peter just nods, allowing Tony to manipulate his hands to drip coolant into the narrow opening of the radiator, the bright-green fluid dripping into the grass below when some spills over the steel mouth in their haste.

At some point Margaret and Ed return with their purchases, bringing them lunch from the diner they’d stopped at. Ed hangs around for a bit, listening to Tony’s assessment of the vehicle’s ails, nodding and immediately agreeing to the free repairs without needing to hear a pitch.

It wasn’t all that bad, he guessed, even when Tony deliberately smeared engine oil on Peter’s cheek and Peter punched his arm in retaliation.

It was kinda fun.

And maybe Peter didn’t mind so much that their shoulders brushed, when he once would have shuddered.

And maybe he didn’t squirm when Tony put his hand on the small of his back when he was pointing something out, but leaned into it.

In all honesty, it’s one of the best days he’s had in a long while. He tries not to read in too much that some of his best days lately were the ones where Tony was in it.

But of course, nothing is impermanent, and even good days go bad.

----

Some time mid afternoon, Tony heads out to an auto store in town, keen on doing a full oil change on the car, which was completely unnecessary, Peter had argued, and was told to shut the fuck up in return.

Which, fine. He could afford Tony the distraction he was in clear need of.

He heads inside then, hungry and a bit sweaty and wanting to check in on May. He feels a bit bad for having left her to her own devices all day.

It doesn’t take long to find her, she’s in the living room, fast asleep and snoring on the sofa. Margaret sits beside her on the armchair reading a newspaper, glasses perched upon her nose, bags of her purchases by her feet.

He reaches over to gently retrieve the glasses from Mays face without waking, placing them on the table. Knowing his aunt she’d probably flail in her sleep and smack herself in the face and break them. She’s done it before.

So has he.

“Poor thing has been through the gamut, hasn’t she,” Margaret mutters, without looking up. “I keep telling her to get on stronger medication.”

“For what,” he slowly rises. “What does she need medication for?”

She stares at him. “Her pain, darling.”

“What pain?”

Margaret swallows. “She hasn’t spoken about it with you.”

“No,” Peter says, “but I know something is wrong. I’ve asked. She won’t tell me.”

She sighs, dropping the newspaper to rub tiredly at the bridge of her nose, her glasses nudging up with the motion. “Right. Of course she wouldn’t. Look, Peter, it’s not my business to say, but she’s okay. Don’t fret. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“If there was nothing to worry about, why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“For the same reason you keep things from her.”

“I don't --” he stops himself. “She doesn’t think I can handle it, does she.”

“Darling, you know that’s not why.”

No, he doesn’t know that. What he knows is that May always has his prescription filled every month, always two days before he’s due to run out of meds. He knows that when things start to go south for him she cries when she thinks he’s asleep.

But he voices none of this, says instead, “I’m just gonna get some fresh air. Do you need anything?”

She doesn’t, and he can’t get out there quick enough.

----

Once, when Peter was thirteen, some jerks in his class found out that he did gymnastics. They teased him all day, called him a fruit, a fairy. That it was no wonder Piggy Parker was queer. Which wasn’t untrue, he was indeed very queer, but it wasn’t because he did gymnastics and they didn’t need to shove him against a locker for it or call him a pussy.

That was the first time that Flash ever stood up for him.

And it was the day he first thought about quitting gymnastics.

Not because he didn’t like it. But because of the way Ben looked when he picked Peter up that day, how his face twisted when he saw Peter’s black eye through the rear view mirror. And then the way he spoke to May in low tones later that night when she had gotten home from work when they thought he was sleeping.

He was good at gymnastics, and he thought he loved it. But nothing was worse than the feeling he’d had that day, something monstrously dark and twisted in words like burden and shame.

He’d always been an anxious kid. He’ll never really know if it was the result of losing his parents young, the fear of abandonment, or if that’s just the way he naturally was. There were the panic attacks, the social anxiety, the waking up in the middle of the night so sure the world was ending.

And now this.

He didn’t want any more pity or coddling.

The next day, on the way to school, he told Ben that he didn’t want to do gymnastics anymore. He didn’t have to tell him why. Ben already seemed to put two and two together. They argued about it. Ben said he was giving in and giving up and it doesn’t seem like he ever told May about how Peter wanted to quit because of that day, she never brought it up and he never told her.

But none more so than the day Ben died. The vehicle that would later become known as the May-Mobile was at a mechanic somewhere, something else had gone wrong with it, once again. So, keen to get Peter to gymnastics, despite his vehement protestations, Ben had borrowed a car from his work colleague, just for the afternoon.

The front passenger seatbelt hadn’t been working, it kept getting stuck and couldn’t be buckled properly, so Peter had been sitting in the backseat. At the time he was tight lipped, giving one word answers, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. He wasn’t being taken seriously. Again. He was so mad that day, he hated everyone. Wished everyone would just leave him alone.

Then they were at a stop light.

Having gently tolerated Peter’s childish indignation the entire ride, Ben had turned around in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other steadying himself on the passenger seat to implore with Peter.

To tell Peter to just give it a shot, just keep going with it, that he shouldn’t give up what he loved for anyone --

If he hadn’t been looking away from the road, maybe he would have seen the drunk driver that crossed traffic before it plowed head-on into their car. He might have been able to avoid it.

If he hadn’t been such an ungrateful, insolent child, Ben probably would have swerved and survived.

Peter never told May about the arguing. That Ben’s death was his fault.

She had enough on her shoulders. It was enough that he knew - and it was his to live with.

So in a weird way, he kinda gets it.

Doesn’t make the jackhammering of his heart ease any though. If anything, the air in the house starts to get thinner, the occupants more intrusive to a cohesive stream of thought, even if they aren’t in the same room.

Spying his sneakers by the door, he slips them on, too eager to get out to bother with socks. foregoing socks and taking a run by the lake.

He has blisters by the time the house has disappeared in the distance, but he doesn’t stop. Not when Tony drives past him, looking at him with surprise through the window, not when he feels blood slipping down his heels, not until he’s out of breath and his feet can’t carry him anymore. Even then, the thought of going back inside makes his stomach curdle.

It’s not even that he’s mad. He isn’t.

It’s just that everything in his head, the catastrophe of it all, is too big, and the house is too small to contain it. The thought of stepping foot inside has him feeling claustrophobic.

So he walks along the dock and sits, hoping the outdoors will swallow his thoughts.

----

There was something about this lake at this time of year. The leaves of the trees flanking the water, ruddy and ocherous, the way the water was so still as if it were straight out of that Monet painting, Morning on the... something or other, he can’t remember. But if Peter sat down long enough and stayed still it felt like he became a part of the canvas. If he didn’t move he could stay, etched forever in the sublime tranquility.

But something always moved, even if he didn’t. A bird. The light sprinkle of rain rippling across the lake. Tony settling down next to him on the dock, jostling him when their shoulders brush.

“You look like a sulking pomeranian,” Tony says, apropos of nothing.

“Well, I’ve been called worse, I guess,” he says quietly, digging deep to find amusement in the comparison despite the maelstrom of thoughts, the heaviness in his chest.

Tony nudges his side. “Spill. Tell me what’s earned your scorn today.”

“You remember the letter? The one from the hospital?”

He feels, more than he sees Tony stiffen beside him, the mockery gone from his voice when he answers. “Yeah. What ended up coming from that?”

“Nothing. May insists she’s fine. Peggy knows something but won’t tell me what, but says it’s fine.”

“Could it be possible,” Tony says dryly, “that everything is fine?”

“If it was, then why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“Don’t know, princess.”

“I just wish they’d tell me so I can stop,” he points to his head and makes an explosion noise, “you know.”

“Adults,” Tony shrugs. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Well, at least according to state law.”

He looks over to the bruising on the boy's neck, chest going tight at the sight. It must have really hurt. It must have been scary.

“You seem to know a bit about that,” he hedges.

“I guess,” Tony looks down at his hands. “Doing my best to live without one particular adult.”

Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite.

He clears his throat, willing his nerves to settle before he says the next part, the memories of the previous night at the forefront of his mind. “I know we’re not,” he gestures between them, “y’know, and I’m not your favorite person, but If you need a place to stay, you can always stay with us.”

Stark is quiet for a long minute as he looks out to the lake.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any handouts. I can take care of myself.”

“Not saying you can’t. Is that why you work at the garage? And take money to help others cheat?”

“You know about that, huh,” Tony grins wryly, but it quickly fades, voice getting darker. “Yeah. Been saving up. And now I don’t have to ask anyone for anything.”

“You know that’s not a bad thing, right. You can ask for help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“But do you want it?”

“Just leave it,” Tony says as gentle as he’s ever heard him, as if Peter were the one who needed comforting. “I made it this far. I know what I’m doing.”

Peter twists his lips, wants to be defiant and try to give this guy hope from where it had clearly and literally been beaten out of him. But it’s not right to insert himself like he knows anything more about the situation than the glaringly obvious. Like it was with Bucky, all he can do is be there, if someone wants him there.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re heading into a pity party, Parker, I’m going to stop you there.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry I just assumed that you were just some rich asshole, that you were an angry kid. That you were violent.”

“I am angry,” Tony interrupts. “I am violent.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. You don’t know me.”

Peter scoffs, shifting on the dock until his knee nudges Tony’s thigh, a small point of contact meant to keep them both grounded. He releases a breath when Tony doesn’t move.

“I know that you drove me home while I was drunk and paid for my meals when you didn’t even like me. I know you could have hurt me when you hated me, but you didn’t. You made sure I had a ride when it was raining.”

“No need to get all starry-eyed,” Tony shakes his head. “I’d clock Rogers’ stupid fucking face again if he wasn’t too chicken shit to come near me. I’m not a saint.”

“No,” Peter bumps their shoulders together. “But you are a sucker. And angry, violent people just aren’t suckers.”

“Says who.”

“Science.”

“That’s some pretty questionable science, Elle Woods.”

“How about you shut up and take my word for it?”

Tony exhales, shaking his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

They sit quiet and unmoving for a while, becoming still with the scenery again, becoming surreal with it, sitting long enough for the moment to process, and for Peter’s heart to stop beating so fast. But something always moves.

By the time Tony moves to light another cigarette the kayaking family are back, tiny patches of yellow in the far distance. The sun has started to get low, taking the precious few degrees of warmth with it.

This time when Tony offers his cigarette, Peter doesn’t turn him down.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting my cooties,” Peter asks dryly, accepting the cigarette, placing the filter between his fingers, inspecting it. He’s never smoked before, never thought about it, never wanted to. May would lose her damn mind if she ever got whiff of nicotine on him.

“Terrified,” Tony nods seriously. “But, in the common interest of getting you to unclench, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“I am unclenched,” Peter mutters, bringing the cigarette to his lips, right where Tony’s lips were before and inhaling.

Tony’s only response is to lean back on his hands to leer at his ass, no doubt to evaluate that claim, his eyebrows raised dubiously in Peter's direction when he straightens.

There’s only a split second for heat to curl pleasantly in his stomach before he inhales too quickly, smoke seizing the breath out his chest. The other boy laughs, whacking Peter on the back as he catches his breath, taking the cigarette back from his fingers.

Despite himself, a little embarrassed, Peter laughs as well, vowing not to take up that particular habit, not even when he wanted Tony to look at him like that.

“Alright, toots,” Tony says loudly, and without warning reaches over to tug the brim of Peter’s cap over his eyes. “Enough feelings for one day, I’m starting to break out in hives. Let me show you how to do an oil change.”

----

They head back to the Volvo then, Peter’s stomach growling which he ignores, his feet aching. He’s sure that these shoes must be ruined now, the blood from his heels tacky, sticking to the fabric of the insides of the sneakers. He just should have worn socks, for fucks sake.

“I hit him first,” Tony says suddenly, breaking him from his thought. “I’m not a victim. I hit him first.”

His throat is immeasurably dry when he goes to answer, even though he’s not sure of what to say. He swallows and tries to buy himself time to find the words, to be the person that a kid like Tony might need.

“He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t have hit you back.”

“Yes, he should,” Tony’s voice is like gravel. “You don’t get to hit people and not get what’s coming to you.”

He gets the acute sense that Tony isn’t talking about himself and, for once, he wisely doesn’t prod him on it, can see in the tautness of his body that he’s wound so tight the barest brush could have him snap.

“Why’d you hit him?”

“He was talking shit about my mom. He wouldn’t stop.”

“Where is your mom?”

“Cliffside.”

“Where’s that?”

From the corner of his vision he observes his profile. Tony’s lips twist derisively.

“Malibu.”

Tony is quick to change the subject from there, though the conversation is light, the gravel never really leaves his voice much as he explains the relatively simple, if not tedious ways to do a complete oil change on the car.

While Peter’s sure he’s never really going to need to know, he let’s Tony gravitate to other easy repairs, apparently while he was getting oil he’d bought a new air filter as well, and also new brake pads, but without a ramp or a hoist, the pads couldn’t be changed, but keep them in the back seat and he’ll change them when he fits in the new radiator.

Peter lets him talk and talk and talk until his voice grows hoarse and the buzzing swarm of thoughts in his head go quiet.

----

“What are you smiling about,” Jarvis asks later when Peter enters the kitchen, keen to help out with dinner. A lasagna, if the minced meat and flat pasta sheets are a sign of what's to come. He washes his hands free of all the dirt and oil before putting them to culinary use.

“Nothin’,” he treads over, taking the wooden spoon over by the sizzling pan, homemade marinara sauce underway. He dips a pinky in, tasting it. It’s far too acidic, verging on metallic, like as if it came straight from a can. “Needs sugar,” he says, scrunching his nose.

Ed leans over to taste, humming with agreement before pausing midway, sniffing his hair.

“You smell like cigarettes and grease. What on earth have you been doing all day.”

“Tony taught me how to do an oil change,” he says, spooning in a touch of sugar into the sauce.

“Did he? He’s a good lad, that one.”

Momentarily distracted by the sound of daughter, Peter pauses to sneak a glance into the adjacent living room where Tony is regaling May with some story, his expression open and comical, his gestures exaggerated and broad. She’s laughing though, snorting through her nose, which catches Tony by such surprise it sends him off too. Then, the ache is back, sharp and unexpected.

It’s like the pain he sometimes gets in his right humerus, the pain he always gets on a rainy day. He broke his arm when he was eight, falling from the still rings during gymnastics training. The ache isn’t so bad.

Peter declines to respond, lest it get back to his protege, but silently agrees.

----

Tony, it would appear, does not hold the same reservations as Peter when it comes to domestic tasks, like brushing their teeth together, if the way he barrels right on in, shoving Peter a bit when he reaches for his toothbrush, is any indication?

“Don’t you knock, asshole? What if I’d been naked?” Peter asks around the toothbrush in his mouth, a little disgruntled by the constant jostling as Tony vigorously brushes his teeth, nearly elbowing Peter in the head.

“Why would you brush your teeth naked?” Tony gives him an odd look. “Weirdo.”

“That’s not what I -” he starts, stopping himself with an annoyed, minty huff. “Nevermind. You’re such a dick.”

As he suspected, it is oddly intimate - for him anyway - the heat of Tony’s side pressed against his, their bare arms brushing. Peter pointedly looks away from the mirror and gets a rush of self consciousness, and a little vulnerability, as he rinses and spits. Wiping his mouth free of any lingering suds, he makes the mistake of looking into the mirror. There, Tony addresses his reflection.

“You done yet? I need some quality time with the crapper.”

Peter scrunches his face up, shoving Tony out of the way so he can exit, the boys snickering following behind him as he heads to the sofa for his turn that night. Friday vacates her spot on the sofa, as if sensing his need for rest, leaping on the armchair with a disgruntled purr.

It’s pretty lumpy and smells faintly like mothballs and a bit like May’s perfume. He turns on his side, body exhausted after the long day. Body exhausted, yes, but as standard, his brain doesn’t know how or when to click off. The house is too quiet.

He takes his phone out and texts Nat and MJ and asks them about their weekends, hoping desperately for an opening in which he can talk about his own.

They’re two of his most reasonable friends. While the laughter and mockery he receives isn’t entirely uncalled for, and eventually subsides over the course of the next hours, he values their opinion almost above all of their bloated circle of friends, classmates and teammates.

Call me if you need an out, MJ texts as a bookend to their conversation sometime near midnight. Seriously. My cousin Drew is here and he keeps talking about his anal fissure.

Say the word if you want a rescue, I know how to hotwire Yelena’s bike, is what Natasha sends.

He loves his friends.

He closes his eyes, thinks of Tony the next room over, and drifts, drifts away.

----

He wakes while it’s still dark, not remembering having fallen asleep.

There’s an ache in his neck, and a blanket over his shoulders that he didn’t put there himself. Odd. But then, maybe he did, he doesn’t remember falling asleep either.

Before sleep again tugs him under, he hears a faint click, clack.

----

On Saturday, Tony wakes up to the sound of Northern Cardinals tapping at his bedroom window and the occasional chirp, and quite immediately regrets not bringing ear plugs or having an extra pillow to suffocate himself with.

For some reason everyone says the red bird has a lovely song.

Tony thinks they sound like squeaky toys being stepped on.

Consciousness is a horrible thing, and as soon as his brain becomes aware that he is, in fact, conscious, there’s no going back. Because now he’s all too aware of how unfamiliar the mattress underneath him is, the scratchiness of the sheets that bind his legs and how badly he needs to pee.

It’s with his eyes half cocked that he stumbles over to the adjacent bathroom, waking incrementally. He shivers as his bare feet hit against the tiles and relieves himself, groaning deep in relief, heading into the shower after.

Lucky for him, the water is blissfully hot and lasts long enough for him to wash and to soothe his aching lower back, compounded by sleeping on the sofa the night before and being bent over the hood of a car for hours yesterday.

Once out he wraps a towel around his waist and brushes his teeth, wincing when the cut on his lip stretches a little bit with the motion. Once done, he slaps his face with cold water to wake up a little more and prays to any deity listening that someone has put on a pot of coffee for him to guzzle.

Yes, he thinks, inspecting the fading bruises around his neck, refusing to think about how they got there. What’s important is caffeine, mother-fucker. The life source. Piping hot, right down the gullet. That’s what the doctor ordered. The doctor, being Tony.

He’s so distracted by the idea that, as he turns to leave, he doesn’t notice the bathroom door being opened and walks straight into a tired looking Peter Parker.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry - “ Peter immediately apologizes, clutching a towel and a change of clothes, “I didn’t realize you were -”

It’s when Peter’s eyes not-so-subtly rove over his body that Tony quickly remembers, hair dripping droplets down his neck, that he’s half-naked and covered in a towel.

His hands fly to cover his stomach and his nipples and he gasps, pretending to be scandalised for being caught in such a state of dishabille.

“Buy me dinner first, hornbag,” he chides disapprovingly, deeply amused when Peter stumbles back, gaze averted to the ground, mumbling more apologies. Tony can’t tell if he’s shy or just exceedingly polite, but his cheeks are blooming pink and he looks as if he’s trying to melt through the floor. It’s funny.

Clearly a virgin.

“I’m just gonna...” he trails off, squeezing past Tony to get into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Tony places his hands on his hips and grins to himself.

Great start to the day.

----

Despite the rough, splenetic start to the weekend and the shit-show that he knows he has to go back to tomorrow, Tony is actually, surprisingly, in rather high spirits. He’s not a dweller, so, that helps.

And it’s the location. The great outdoors and all that garbage, as people say.

Maybe it’s the company as well. Parker excluded, of course.

And it’s definitely assisted the hot brew of coffee in his hands.

“You complete me,” Tony whispers over the rim of his mug, taking another sip. It’s hot, almost scalding the roof of his mouth, but it’s so freaking good, his desire positively carnal. “Hell fucking yeah, baby. Get in me, that’s it, just slide on inside.”

Jarvis, across the table, blinks at him. “Are you quite alright there, Anthony? Do you two need a moment alone?”

Tony shakes his head, taking a bigger sip.

“No, we don’t mind people watching.”

Friday enters the kitchen then, and upon spotting Tony, hurries over on her delicate paws to rub her head against his calves, her purr rumbling as she weaves through his legs like an infinity sign. He indulges her then, leaning down to scratch her tiny face with his free hand.

“Hi, stinky,” he greets, delighted when she butts her head against his palm.

Pets were the best. Not that he has any.

“Don’t feed her,” Jarvis warns, “I already gave her breakfast.”

“Sure,” Tony lies, already sneaking her a sliver of bacon from his plate.

What. He’s helpless against big, water eyes. It’s not his fault.

Speaking of, Prissy Parker is taking forever in the bathroom. By time he comes out, hair gelled perfectly into submission even though it’s mostly hidden under a Mets cap - of course this loser goes for the fucking Mets - Tony’s already on his third cup of coffee and is silently working on his ability to disassociate on command after having heard more anecdotes about May and Peggy’s college life than he ever cared to know.

“Long shower,” he whistles as Peter heads for the near depleted coffee pot. “Took my advice about not getting the sheets sticky, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, punching Tony in he arm as he passes.

Jarvis, who had been enjoying his tea, looks up in mild alarm.

“Gee, he’s so sensitive,” he leans in to whisper.

Peter’s eyes flash over to him as he waits for a new pot to boil, a flare of anger that Tony is all too familiar with. The fire in his eyes reminds him of when they first met, when Tony turned down his offer of friendship, a brilliant, flawless augury of many moments to come.

But Tony can see the heat for what it is, just a front.

Because he knows, it’s all a mirage, isn’t it. Both of them. It makes him think of how their sides brushed yesterday while working on the car, something that would have incensed the both of them in another life, would have had them flinching as if they’d been burned. Disgusted with themselves. Each other.

Sometimes still are.

But Tony knows; a flame manifests and scorches in resoundingly different ways.

What a fucking world, he thinks, that fire and singe. He sips his scalding hot coffee again, locking eyes with Peter.

The smirk around the rim of his cup is sidelong and gleeful. What a fucking world indeed.

----

Tony doesn’t know why he does it. Doesn’t know why he does anything, really, barring the gratification he gets from succumbing to his impulses.

Maybe that’s why he does it.

Or maybe it’s because of the terse conversation he overheard between May and Peter after lunch that day. Something about pain and medication, Tony doesn’t know, he wasn’t meaning to pay attention. They were on the porch and their voices drifted in through the open door. He really was too busy kicking Peggy’s ass playing Super Smash on the dusty old Gamecube to pay attention to it.

But what he does know is that May came inside and went to go lie down in her room after and Peter didn’t come back in.

It wasn’t until he went out for a cigarette some hours later that he spotted Peter, sitting by the docks, much like he had been yesterday. He stares for a moment, trying to reconcile the figure hunched over on the dock with the person he knows Peter to be.

For all of Tony’s memories are worth, Peter has always been this annoying larger-than-life figure. But, emphasis on the annoying. From the moment they met, Tony had pegged him to be some old-money, football playing degenerate like everyone else on his team.

The moment he tried to befriend Tony two years back was jarring, infuriating, because the kid was new and had clearly sniffed out the influence where he could smell it. He’d had Barnes and Rogers on either side and although Tony wasn’t at the top of the social pyramid, his familial connections had him in the upper echelon of the so-called food chain.

That’s what he thought it was, back then.

He didn’t need to think about disdainfully slapping away Peter’s literal and metaphorical hand of friendship, it was obvious to him what value he was after and it had nothing to do with Tony.

But, the assignment taught him in many ways that his impulses and his own assumptions were categorically erroneous in this instance.

Because he didn’t have enough data to base his hypothesis on, then, just a petty first impression. How was he to know that the torn jeans and ratty hoodie weren’t a fashion statement. How was he to know that Peter was genuine, when his smile looked as practiced as everyone else's.

He’s not proud to admit that it took a real peek into his life to know that Peter wasn’t who Tony thought he was.

Turns out he really was larger than life. Tall and strong. Handsome, even with his dorky glasses and signature scowl. Super smart and modest and what Tony had thought was pandering was really just Peter giving away love like it was for free. Everything Tony wasn’t.

But right now, at the edge of that pier, Peter looked small. Scattered. Like a short gust of wind could knock him over.

Tony didn’t like that much.

And maybe that’s why he does it.

Maybe that’s what convinces him, half-burned cigarette tucked between his pursed lips, to shed his jeans and sunglasses right there on the porch, despite the frigid air. It’s the impulse, and he hasn’t ever been real good in saying no to those.

It’s definitely the urgent impulse that convinces him to set off into a run, leaping over the stairs and sprinting for the dock. Perhaps that’s what convinces him to hurdle himself over Peter’s hunched figure and cannonballs directly into the lake, knees clutched to his chest.

It’s worth it, to hear Peter shriek in surprise as the water splashes over him until he can’t hear anything.

And the look of outright indignation when Tony resurfaces?

Bliss.

“Asshole,” is all Peter says, wiping his phone free of water. He tugs his cap further over his eyes, and directs his attention back to his phone as if Tony had not just executed a perfect dive into a dirty, rotten lake.

That is not acceptable, Tony thinks.

He swims for a bit, gliding on his back, and staring at the sky. The clouds are grey and swollen, lingering overhead and threatening a deluge of something unpleasant.

“You think it’ll snow?” Tony asks, moments later.

Sullenly, Peter shrugs, attention focused on his phone.

Larger than life Peter may be, he’s still inexorable when he wants to be.

Not that he’s ever been particularly chatty with Tony even on his best days, but it’s hard to miss how he’s been growing steadily more quiet this entire weekend, giving clipped, one-word answers. And Tony’s pretty sure that the fidgety fingers and the restless legs have a lot less to do with him and more to do with whatever existential crisis a sixteen year old might have, or perhaps with his ailing aunt.

Tony tries not to take notice for all of about four seconds before he gives in. In the peak of the noon sun, Peter has abandoned his sweater, donned in only a graphic tee and jeans, slouched so low that his spine almost looks like a sagging crescent, the sleeves of his shirt riding up on his remarkably toned arms.

Oh, I do declare, Tony thinks amusedly, fanning himself in his mind.

Anyway.

Priorities.

“What’s up with you, hmm?” Tony presses, wading closer. “What's gotten stuck up that bubble-butt of yours?”

“Nothing,” says Peter, tapping away at his phone, not even acknowledging Tony’s backhanded compliment. “What are you so happy about?”

“Your misery.”

“I really hate you,” Peter mutters without feeling, putting his phone away to stare moodily out at the lake.

Well, that will just not do.

“C’mon now, chin up, frog-face. You look like you’re about two seconds away from needing to breathe into a paper bag.”

Tony’s probably not far off the mark. He saw the half empty bottle of Klonopin with Parker's name on it stashed in the bathroom cupboard. You learn something new every day with this guy.

Not that pharmaceuticals were a personality trait.

But, well.

Moving on.

“Don’t call me that.”

“You really do have your panties in a twist, don’t you,” Tony says, mostly to himself. Peter doesn’t even bristle like a snooty cat like he usually does. Just stares forlornly to the distance like he was in some indie film. It’s weird. “You know, someone who pulled one off recently isn’t usually this tense.”

Finally, Peter’s attention is firmly on him.

“I’m not tense and I pulled one off just fine.”

“Oh, did you,” Tony teases, enjoying how pink Peter’s complexion suddenly turns. “How saucy. Did you think of me and my pasty skin, hmm?” he prompts. “It was the sight of my perky breasts, wasn’t it, you little perv.”

“No,” Peter adjusts his cap, cherry-cheeked. “You’re weirdly bent on when and where I jerk it and I’m the perv?”

“I’m not bent. I just think you’re uptight and need to relax. Ergo, penis-colada.”

“I am very relaxed. Ergo, you are an idiot.”

“Oh, precious,” Tony flicks water up at him. “Come on, be honest.”

“What,” he says defensively. “If I’m uptight it’s because you deliberately wind me up.”

“In a sexy way?”

“In a ‘I’m going to disembowel you and feed you to Friday’ way.”

“We’ve talked about your sweet nothings,” he tuts. “Terrible. Zero out of ten. My dick just shrivelled in on itself to seek shelter. Look.”

He holds up a single pinky finger and wriggles it.

It has one of the possible intended effects when Peter laughs through his nose, the tight line of his shoulders easing. And this, this is what Tony has found in recent days that earns him a great deal of satisfaction - winding Peter up just the right amount when warranted, and getting him to uncoil when it’s not Tony that’s done the winding.

“C’mon, stop being such a buzzkill,” Tony implores. “We’re not at school. Could you stop being chronically constipated for a minute and have some fun.”

Peter looks at him suspiciously.

“And what happens when we go back to school?”

Well, he hasn’t considered that yet, and doesn’t really want to.

Instead, he makes a show of scanning their surroundings and appearing contrite, peering up at him through his eyelashes. He watches as Peter’s defensiveness gives way to curiosity, the tautness in his arms melting as Tony swims closer, beckoning with one hand as if he had a secret to tell.

“Don’t tell anybody,” Tony whispers, hands sneaking up to grip at Peter’s wrists, “but here’s the plan. I think we should --”

“Tony, no,” Peter realizes a second too late, already pulling on his hold, voice raised with barely restrained laughter. “Do not, stop, stop - don’t you fucking dare - ”

Then he pulls, Peter shrieks loudly before he hits the water.

“Tony!“

----

Peter emerges from the water furious, a scowl that could rival the mythical scorned, cheated out of their fate, water dripping from his eyelashes, his perfect hair a sodden mess over his face, snorting lake water inelegantly from his nose.

For his troubles, Tony gets an angry splash of gross lake water in his mouth and hands pressing down on his shoulders, pulling him under.

And Tony gets the uproar, because this lake is really not made for swimming. It’s dirty and more suited to kayaking than it is accidentally inhaling the water in any orifices, but Tony is nearly seventeen and if he wants to play around in scum and dubious bodies of water, that’s his decision, poor or otherwise.

He’s close enough to the lake floor that he can plant his feet on the rocks and thrust upward, thwarting Parker's half-hearted attempts to drown him, laughing at Peter’s put-off expression even as he fights to catch his breath.

“You are the fucking worst, I could kill you right now,” Peter says, low, with what Tony guesses is supposed to be a menacing expression as he wipes his glasses free of water with his abandoned sweater. It’s quite adorable.

He spreads his arms wide and grins.

“Do your best, baby.”

----

There’s a lot of things that Tony would never have thought he would say.

Like, for example, that peanut butter and cottage cheese on toast were a good combination.

Or that The Black Parade was the modern incarnation of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Or that Peter Parker looked strikingly handsome, wet and sputtering after being unwillingly pulled into a dirty body of water, and that having a water fight with him would constitute as a good time.

And it’s not that Tony hasn’t ever thought that he wasn’t attractive. Of course he was, with a body and a face like his, sprung to life as if it came carved from marble, it was undeniable to anyone with functional vision. But while Tony lumped him and his dumbfuck teammates and friends in one category, it never struck him just so.

“You didn’t answer my question about school,” Peter says during a truce, wading in the water, seemingly content with his new habitat.

“What, my dear, was the question?” Tony blinks, eyelashes laden with droplets, genuinely having forgotten. “Be precise.”

“What happens when we go back? Do we just... ignore each other like before?”

Tony places a hand on his own chest. “I never ignored you.”

“You were an asshole to me.”

“And you were such an angel to me,” he rolls his eyes. “What’s your point. You wanna hold hands in public or something?”

“No,” Peter flushes. “I don't know, just act like we don’t actively despise each other?”

“Don’t we? Are we friends now?”

“No.”

“You crushin’ on me?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“You don’t hate me,” Peter breathes, swimming closer. “And I don’t hate you. You know what, yes, actually. Let’s hang out. Come to the game next week. It’s against Aldrige.”

“Football?” Tony huffs amusedly, locking his eyes with Peters. “You think the path to reconciliation is in me watching a game I don’t even like played by the future, festering dregs of our society? Think again, dollface.”

“I think you think too much,” Peter says before splashing him in the face with freezing lake water.

“And I think I have better things to do on a Thursday night.”

“Like what,” Peter swims closer until they’re nearly nose to nose.

“Becoming one with my bed, cutting my toenails, crying myself to sleep,” Tony ticks off his fingers. “Literally anything that isn’t sport. If I wanted to watch a bunch of repressed angry dudes jump all over each other and hump grass I could just watch porn.”

“So, I’ll see you there?” Peter grins in that cheeky-cherub way of his.

“Are you even going to play?” Tony tries, his will faltering.

Peter had taken the brace off his wrist over the weekend, but that didn’t mean he was done being benched.

“I’ll get cleared next week. Just don’t rub one out in the bleachers if the grass humping becomes too much for you. They frown upon that.”

“For the record,” Tony says flatly, “I dislike you very, very intensely. Especially right now.”

“Feeling’s mutual, bub.”

Neither of them move, and somehow they’ve managed to gravitate disconcertingly close to one another during their back-and-forth. The fire is back in Peter’s eyes, utterly magnetic and a gust of unexpected want barrels into his body.

Tony wants so excruciatingly in that moment to bridge the gap, wants with his whole body, whether it’s to dunk him under the water or to pin him to the dock, kiss the cocky out of him. Wrap his arms around him and keep his lips and body warm from the freezing water.

God, wouldn’t they be something. All push and pull.

The want just keeps building like a score reaching crescendo until he can feel it like a suffocating pressure, right to his very fingertips, in his nails, and it just makes him want to reach out and do things he has no permission to do, even when they’re so close that he can feel Peter’s breath on his face, even though Peter’s eyes have gone dark and heated, so all that’s left to do is -

Peter’s outraged squawk when Tony splashes him again is terribly satisfying.

Not as satisfying as kissing him might be, he imagines.

But it will do.

----

Tony has learned a lot about Peter since the time they started working on their assignment, but nothing near the information he’s managed to accrue over the course of this weekend. How his nose scrunches when he sneezes, that he’s allergic to nickel, that he’s the worst type of human being: read, a morning person.

Peter fucking Parker. Really?

This guy wears punny shirts and hums the Star Wars theme as he’s studying, Tony’s been on the unfortunate receiving end of it so he really, truly has to ask himself. This dweeb?

Yeah, his heart beats in response. This fucking dweeb. What are ya gonna do about it?

If he had a Magic-8 Ball to shake it would likely land on some ambiguous and unhelpful advice.

Who the fuck knows?

----

They’re saved the disgrace of having to walk back dripping wet and half frozen into the house - while they have been dilly-dallying the day away in a cold, dirty lake, the adults have set up a bonfire between the porch and the dock, largely without their notice.

By dusk Tony is starving and accepts his pyramid-like stack of food graciously as he settles in a rickety wicker chair by the fire, diving into his helping of steak, corn on the cob and potato salad. Jarvis heartily offers a boat of mint-flavored gravy which Tony declines because he hates mint in anything that isn’t gum and even then cinnamon is clearly the superior alternative.

Once dinner is finished the marshmallows and crackers are distributed - and Tony is shit, he means shit, okay, at getting the marshmallows right, too bored to keep an eye on it, but Parker does it right nearly every time. He passes his best around the fire and keeps the few horribly charred ones to himself and that used to be something that Tony would want to sneer at him for.

Goody-two-shoes.

Now, it just makes Tony want to watch him.

Beside him, Peter shivers as the warmth of the flame starts to burn some of the chill from his skin, their clothes slowly starting to dry. It makes him think back to how May had tutted fondly at their wet appearances after they had emerged from the lake, flocking to the fire like overgrown human moths, running back into the house and emerging soon after with towels for them both, tugging Tony’s around his shoulders playfully like a scarf.

She’d been so… patient. And warm. The reprimand never came, not from anyone, despite Tony's expectations.

Now, he stares at the bonfire, idly listening to the faint music and yelling from a party at the other side of the lake, finally allowing himself to relax.

You can never be surprised by someone's actions in the heat of the moment if you’ve already tested their limits beforehand. That’s what people were. Full of variables, yes, but predictable once you knew how they responded to particular stimuli. It wasn’t a perfect methodology by any means, but at the very least Tony could count on knowing what might earn him a fist to the face with most people. Or a flinch.

It’s the first proper Thanksgiving he’s had since he stayed with the Potts two years ago. Rhodey and his parents always go to Minnesota each year to see family and last year Tony’s mom came up from California, and, well, wasn’t that was a fucking disaster.

So this? This is one of the nicest nights he’s had in a very long time.

Nobody expects him to be proper, to sit upright, to only be seen or heard if he was being useful. He wasn’t being useful. He was getting the seat wet underneath him and he planned on convincing Peggy to let him have a beer and he’s sure his unexpected presence was akin to a meteor collision on this otherwise quaint family weekend.

But no one looked at him like he should be punished, or like he was an outsider. It was like he was supposed to be there all along.

His own mom, as much as he adores her, wouldn’t be caught dead in this scene.

But still, Tony might call her later and tell her about it.

They stay out there for a while, Jarvis’ boom-box playing Cold Chisel on some local radio station, but it's just slightly not tuned right and the noise is a bit pixelated.

It’s a long time before he draws his eyes from the fire. The adults are laughing about something and Peter is on his phone again, though his features are much lighter than earlier in the day.

“Your hair is curly,” Tony observes, they’re both dry now. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Peter’s hand flies to his hair, running his fingers through it, chip dipped in what Tony can construe as a self-conscious habit, his low laugh short and void of genuine amusement.

“Hah, yeah,” he tugs a lock in front of his brow, pulling it straight before releasing it. “You can see why I don’t walk around like this all the time.”

“No, I don’t,” Tony says, not understanding.

Peter looks at him oddly.

“I should head to bed,” he says eventually. “We have to leave early in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t want to be out here alone and he doesn’t want this weekend to end so he nods, stands and follows him inside.

It’s good timing then. It doesn’t snow, but the sky does finally split open and it rains.

----

At first observation it seems everyone has already gone to bed. Save for the TV playing Jeopardy the house is quiet, dark and still. However both stop dead in the living room, pausing when Jarvis, asleep on the sofa, snores loudly.

They stare, transfixed, as he mumbles answers to the game show in his sleep.

Friday is curled on his chest, looking very pleased with herself.

“Right. Well, I can just,” Tony gestures to the floor after a moment, as it’s his turn for the already appropriated sofa, “the carpet is fine.”

It won’t be a comfortable night, but it can’t be any worse than the time he camped out in the cramped backseat of his car after a fight with his father.

“We can share,” Peter rolls his eyes, already heading to the room. “The bed’s pretty big, so. As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Tony follows with an air of casual disinterest and aims for puerile with his next words, just for the small thrill of winding Peter up.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school you propositioned me to get into your bed.”

“Shut the fuck up or sleep on the floor,” is all Peter says before he locks himself in the bathroom. Tony grins to himself.

Success.

They settle very awkwardly on either side of the bed after they’ve both had the opportunity to piss and brush their teeth, looking around each other but not really meeting eyes, flinching any time their skin nearly touches. Yes, the bed is fairly big if you’re a teenage kid and the sole occupant, but, as it were, the bed looked impossibly small now, as if it had shrunken overnight

Well, no time like the present is there. Tony’s the first to move, pulling back the sheets and climbing in. Peter’s quick to follow suit, lowering himself gingerly, shuffling awkwardly until they’re both settled on their sides, facing away from each other.

“You better keep to your side. I swear to god,” Peter says in the darkness, “if your butt or any other part of you touches me...”

“And sully my reputation as a perfect gentleman? Please.” Tony fakes a yawn. “We both know you’re the sexual deviant here.”

“You’re a moron.”

Tony smiles in the darkness.

----

It’s been twenty minutes of rigid backs, carefully measured breathing and staring at walls, glaring evidence that neither of them are asleep or even close to it.

“Can you hear that noise?” Peter whispers. “That clicking noise?” He imitates whatever his freakishly good hearing is picking up, sounding like a vaguely predatory, foot-high dinosaur, but Tony knows what he must be referring to, even though his own hearing doesn’t pick it up - or is so used to it by now it doesn’t even register.

Tony’s eyes widen as he thinks of his bot, stashed in his duffle in the closet, the zip slightly open so he can ‘breathe’.

“Nope,” he says. “Don’t hear anything.”

----

An hour later, both still very much in the same place they were before with added sighs of annoyance and the occasional cough. Sleep isn’t coming any time soon. Sleep and Tony have had regular disagreements for as long as he’s known it.

“You wanna watch Gordon Ramsay yell at people?” Tony says, turning onto his back.

“Okay.”

After fishing out his laptop, Tony has to very carefully open an entirely new window to stream an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, lest Peter see the thousand and one tabs Tony has open on his main window. Some of them benign, like google results of what does fremdschämen mean, others a little more embarrassing like the numerous PornHub tabs and the YouTube playlists of questionable reality TV shows.

Best to avoid that situation completely.

----

“It’s fuckin’ raw,” Tony does his best impression of the accent an indeterminate time later, the laptop stowed away, the room pitch-black save for the strip of light under the door and warm, sleep finally tugging him down to its dark depths.

“I’m shutting it down,” Peter imitates with vigour, laughing softly to himself.

Tony closes his eyes and allows the sandman to do his work.

----

When he wakes he notices three things.

One, is the sound of the kettle boiling, a screech of noise as it hits crescendo. The second is that it’s very cold, the heat of the fireplace not quite sufficient to reach the guest room, the snappy, waspish wind against the window a sign of the conditions outside.

The third is the warm huff of Peter’s breath on Tony’s face.

And that leads to the observation that they’ve drifted closer to each other through the night, facing one another, faces inches apart. This close, like earlier in the lake, Tony can count Peter’s eyelashes, the stipple of pale freckles upon his nose. His face is lax with sleep and his lips are parted slightly.

He’s snoring, just slightly.

Also, he fell asleep wearing his glasses.

It definitely is not endearing.

The bedside alarm clock says it’s only just past five, which would explain the tired ache around his eyes, and why Peter is dead to the world, motion behind his closed eyelids as if he was in a dream.

For some reason, the only thought that accompanies the sudden swell of emotion in his chest is, Toto, I've a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.

There’s a warm looking flush dusted over Peter’s cheeks, and of course there is, Tony thinks, he’s gone and stolen all the blankets through the night, leaving Tony little more than a pitiful square to cover his torso. That’s why he’s shivering.

Shit-head, Tony thinks, sliding closer under the comforter, hoping to share some of Peter’s heat, desperate to go back to sleep.

Except sleep doesn’t come, it never does.

Not when Peter unconsciously shifts closer, sighing softly as his bare legs brush Tony’s, not when he gravitates like a planet in orbit, close enough that they’re sharing a pillow, lips smacking drunkenly on their combined body heat.

Not when Peter wakes some moments later, eyes opening confusedly before dimming with fondness, like maybe that was what more or less than what he had expected. The thing that annoys Tony is that he doesn’t know which - they’re so close their breath mingles, and their toes and knees brush under the blankets and it’s more intimate than friendly - so which is it, he wonders; more, or less?

“Hey,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony can feel the soft brush of Peter’s hair against his forehead. “Morning.”

Tony’s betting on more. Peter is braver than Tony is - and this - this is.

His stomach drops, courage slipping from his grasp.

“Do you know what really annoys me about you?” Tony whispers in lieu of returning his greeting, his voice shaky and easily blamed on the lack of sleep. “What really annoys the shit out of me?”

“What,” Peter queries softly, eyes still closed.

“This,” Tony extends a finger to flatten the hairs of Peter’s ridiculous wayward eyebrow, stupidly captivated by the way that Peter leans into the touch ever so subtly, like a cat being pet.

He feels the huff of laughter over his lips before he hears it.

“My eyebrow?”

“Yes,” Tony mumbles, stroking over the hairs again to ensure they remain flat, like a normal eyebrow should be. “Why is it always like that.”

“Not sure,” his bed companion hums, careless and minute, slurred with sleep enough that Tony might not have caught if he weren’t already studying the lines of his face. “Maybe it just likes to annoy you.”

“It’s very successful in annoying me. As is every other part of you. You’re infuriating.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

To steel himself he takes a deep breath, drawing on his remaining reserves of courage as he breathes out, encouraged ever so slightly by the way Peter hasn’t yet flinched away.

Tony allows his finger to trail from Peter’s eyebrow down the slope of his nose, his skin sleep-warm and smooth. Then his finger moves to trace the curve of Peter’s cheekbone, and that’s when Peter’s eyes open.

His stare errs on soft, curious and Tony doesn’t know why he’s doing it, except that the need to touch is too great, feels drawn to him, like this is the perfect state of being, intertwined and silent. And that the way Peter shifts closer to him until their foreheads touch means maybe he feels that way too.

Curiously, always pushing boundaries, his finger trails from his cheek, to gently stroke his philtrum, and then down to the soft bow of his upper lip.

“This weird?”

“A bit.”

Ever so gently, he traces the curve of his lips, sighing when Peter’s hands come to clutch his shirt, not flinching, not looking away.

“Do you like it?”

Peter just nods, shifting even closer until the tips of their noses touch.

“Can I -” he asks, cutting himself off, letting go of Tony’s shirt to raise one of his hands until one of his fingers touch the apex of his shoulder, stroking down over his arms, the bump of his elbow and down the sharp slope of his forearm, resting at the underside of Tony’s wrist where his pulse beats fast and fierce.

They remain like that, the moment sweet and gentle in a way the two of them rarely were. Courage builds at the same time that his fear escalates, like standing at the precipice, sick with nerves but elated at the prospect of taking the leap.

He wants to lean in so badly and capture those lips with his own. Wants to climb over Peter’s body and press him down. To bite that full lower lip, to cradle his hips with his thighs and pin him down, make him gasp, beautiful and breathtaking.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, pressing his lips against his thumb. He thinks he will move it and lean in and replace it with his own lips.

But before he can there is a loud knock at the closed door.

They still, lips the barest width apart.

It’s May.

“Pete?” She raises her worried voice through the wood. “Time to wake up, kiddo. We gotta go soon.”

“Okay,” Peter calls back, still staring at Tony. After the footsteps retreat from he inhales deeply before letting the breath go and taking his hand away from Tony’s.

Neither of them move for a moment, Tony’s thumb still resting on Peter's plump lower lip, their gazes heated and locked, but then, Peter’s hand slowly slides up from his wrist, feather-light, to rest over Tony’s hand, clasping around it.

At this moment, their only point of contact were their touching foreheads, their hands and Tony’s finger on Peter's lips, but his whole body felt as if it were floating, buoyant, like being grounded and suspended in the air at the same time.

Underneath Tony’s thumb, the lips stretch into a resigned smile.

“I gotta go.”

For a moment he doesn’t let go and wishes that the universe would go his way, just for once, wishes that time would do him this one favour and stretch these seconds interminably, hit the breaks, play itself out like the movies where everything pauses.

If it did, he would shift, slide his nose against Peter’s and wait for him to give Tony a sign, or for Peter to bridge the distance. But time doesn’t work that way and the universe rarely indulges him such hedonistic impulses.

As it was, in real life, his finger drifts to stroke the sharp line of Peter’s jaw until it reaches his chin then, down his throat, just for a second he lets his touch linger, not knowing when or if he will get this chance again.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, soft.

Conceding the moment to the whims of time, Tony pulls away then, shoving down the floaty feelings. A mocking grimace crosses his face as he decides to go for push, instead of pull.

“If you lift up that blanket and hotbox me I’m going to break your nose.”

And just like that, the moment broke.

Peter snorts before sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed. “Your dirty talk needs work,” he mocks.

“You shouldn’t fart the bed, honey,” he leans up, resting on his elbow. “How’s that?”

As has become the impulse of the day Tony sneaks his free hand from under the comforter and pinches Peter’s side where he knows he’s sensitive. As predicted, Peter squirms and bats away at Tony’s offending hand and takes grip of his wrist, laughing breathily.

“I’m going to tell everyone at school to call you Farty Parker.”

Peter squeezes his wrist, thumb stroking the underside, his expression, Tony might dare say, indulgent.

“No, you’re not. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

No, he wouldn’t.

Well, maybe he’ll tell Rhodey. Then he’ll look at Peter with judgement and Peter will know what Tony told him and it will be hilarious.

Tony watches while he gets to his feet and reaches his arms over his head, back cracking with the effort. Neither of them say a thing when makes no effort to hide the way he stares appreciatively at the sliver of skin that gets exposed when his shirt rides up before he saunters to the bathroom.

He stays in the bed and listens to the sound of the shower running, the creak of the old plumbing, replaying the last few minutes in his mind. Tony was going to kiss Peter.

And Peter was going to let him.

Tony’s lips stretch to capacity.

“What are you smiling about, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, when he returns. Something soft hits Tony in the face.

“Nothing, Mr. Parker,” he says, clutching what appears to be a forest-green hoodie, one he knows he’s seen Peter wear before, and often. It’s the same one Tony pulled the strings on to annoy Peter those weeks ago. “What’s this?”

“Collateral,” Peter replies, towelling dressed in a white shirt and jeans he slings a duffel over his shoulder, looking like James Dean, eyes roving Tony up and down. “Until I give back your jacket.”

Tony manfully waits until Peter leaves the room to bring it to his nose and breathe in.

Fuck.

----

“You come over whenever you want, sweetie,” May hugs Tony at the open front door, kissing his cheek again. “You’re welcome at any time, remember, I mean it.”

“Thanks,” he hugs her back, warmth blooming in his chest, giving her a grateful smile when she releases him.

Peter walks back slowly towards the car, waving a hand and visibly softening when he gets a wave in return. “See you tomorrow,” Peter calls back, adjusting his cap and biting his bottom lip, managing to make it sound like a promise. Cute tells, Tony thinks, those are the variables he can work with.

“So,” Jarvis says once they’ve driven off, a knowing look on his face, “that the guy?”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“I’m not smug, Anthony, I’m English.”

Tony sighs. He can’t really argue with that, can he.

What a weekend, he thinks, throwing an arm around Peggy and Jarvis, steering them to the kitchen for coffee. What a world.

For once, he can’t wait until tomorrow.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #iron spider #starker high school au

186 notes · View notes

btsmakesmehappy · 4 years

Text

Sweet Scent | 3

Genre: Agent au. Colleague au. Mutual pining. fluff. Angst. Light smut.

Pairing: Agent!Jungkook x Forensic Doctor!reader

Word Count: 7,3

Rating: 18+ (M)

Warning: little spoiler for the next story. Mention of guns. Kissing-make out without consent. JK is drunk-kisser boi. But not too descriptive.

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | completed

Summary: Why does he always look so nervous in front of you? Is it because of your excessive flirting? But how come you don’t tease him when he looks so incredibly cute every time he blushes?

Series Masterlist: The Company

A/N: Thankyou @arizonapoppy to beta-read mine! I love you. And to you all who reading this story, I am very grateful. Also I’ll be more grateful if you send me asks about how you think about this story. I know, this is taking too long to write, but I enjoyed it!

“Come on! Just show me!” you begged.

“I told you right? That’s impossible to use that gun at such a far distance,” the female agent said with hands on her hips. She looked relaxed in this firing range, even though it smelled terrible, sweat mixed with gunpowder, in contrast with you who kept scrunching your nose.

You pouted. “Just do it. It’s an order,” you said sternly, but still, your eyes kept avoiding her eyes and you kept fiddling the hem of your shirt nervously. You cleared your throat when you met her gaze. “Please?”

The female agent laughed at your quirk, which she found it cute. “That’s why those male agents all fell for you.”

You tilted your head, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing. Fine, I’ll show you.” The female agent put her earmuffs and took a gun on the desk, then walked to the firing line. She positioned herself and aimed at the dummy. “Close your ears.”

With that instruction, you brought your fingers to your ears, closing them as tightly as you could. Your mouth gawked as she did it so beautifully, hitting the target easily.

Your amazement was interrupted by a sudden bulky man behind you.

“Wow, you are always this good, aren’t you?”

The female agent removed her earmuffs and walked to him. “Hey Kook, what are you doing here?”

Kook, the man in question, beamed a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the same time. “I want to help you; also I want to see you shooting. Can you teach me again?”

She giggled at the younger man, ruffling his hair. “You don’t need me, you do it just fine!”

“Noona- come on!” he whined as he tried to sneak his head away from her hand.

You couldn’t help but smile at that sight. You couldn’t believe what you saw. He was bulky, wrapped in a leather jacket, why did he sound so adorable?

“Fine, let’s see how well you shoot then.”

His eyes changed suddenly when he was behind those firearms. Your heart raced, and not because of the sound of the firearms blazing on your ears. This man was somehow captivating. You couldn’t help looking at him. And when he stopped shooting, you walked closer to him.

“Hey!” you yelled as the effect of the firing sounds still ringing in your ears. “What’s your name?”

The man turned his body to face you, his face turned red, and aghast. You felt confused in the way he reacted, but still, you found him adorable.

“Jung-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” he stuttered.

Jeon Jungkook, the name fell on your lips.

It just somehow felt right.

“Are you sure you want to work? It’s gonna be hard for you to type anything.” Jungkook faces you, his eyebrows furrow in worry. You are both in the elevator. After that incident, he decided that you should work on the seventh floor. You’re not gonna complain about it anyway. Since your office was trashed, you can barely stand to work at your desk anymore. Well, it’ll take a good amount of time for you to gladly work at your desk again.

You look at your bandaged hands, slightly clenching them. “Argh,” you cry in pain. Jungkook immediately takes your hands, examining them right there. “I’m kidding,” you say as you poke your tongue out.

He pouts but still holds your hands gently. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry. But you’re just so cute worrying like that.” You bite your lower lips, trying to hide your smile.

He drops your hands and turns his back to you. “I’m not cute.” He stomps away from the elevator as you follow behind him.

“Please don't be mad at me.” He walks faster since his legs are longer than yours. You begin to speed-walk to match his pace. “Kook, wait for me!” And as you are finally just behind him, you reach his elbow, trying to catch his attention, but the pain starts shooting through your hand. You bite your lips to hide your wince.

You hope that he doesn’t hear you, but not only is he good at fighting, he has sensitive ears too. Jungkook turns back and sighs. He reaches for your hands, stroking them lightly to soothe the pain. “I’m not mad… Just please be careful.” He carefully looks at your hands and his eyes widen when he spots a red spot on the bandages. “It’s still bleeding. Let’s just go to the hospital. I think you need stitches.”

“I don’t need to. The cuts are not deep, really.” You retract your hands from him, but he stops you.

He holds your hands again, not wanting to let you go. “That’s what Jimin said! We need to know what professionals will say about your wound.”

“Kook,” you look at his eyes. “I’m literally a doctor.”

He pouts again. “It doesn’t change anything. We need to go to the hos-”

“I’m fine, Kook. It’s just a little painful sometimes,” you interrupt. “Only because the wounds are still fresh. It’ll be better over time.”

“Really? Are you sure you’re okay?”

You smile. “I’m sure.”

Jungkook sighs and brings your hands to his lips. “Please stop making me worry, I beg you...” he says it softly, not loud enough to make you hear it. When he realizes what he’s done, his cheeks turn red as he drops both of your hands immediately and walks away.

Your heart aches, longing for the lost touch. Longing for the warmth enveloping your hands again.

It is weird how he just does it so easily. Only a few hours ago, he couldn’t even stay with you comfortably in the same place. And now? He just holds you like it is a usual thing for him. It is weird that your heart keeps skipping a beat whenever he touches you. It is weird how he makes hope blooming inside your chest.

You just can’t get used to it yet.

You’re used to being with a shy-Jungkook, and when he drastically changes, a thought begins to circulate in your mind, trying to find some reasonable reasons.

Maybe he simply feels guilty. There’s no way Jungkook will like you.

“I think we should work in the meeting room. Your stuff is there, right?” He opens the door for you, gesturing for you to come in.

“Ye-yeah.” You stutter as he raises an eyebrow at your sudden silence. Well, to you, he is the weirder one, you should be the one who looks at him quizzically.

You sigh as you sit in the meeting room, opening some of the reports. You shake your head to clear your mind. There’s no time to think about this kind of thing. You worked so hard for this case. Let’s just get it done, and move on. This isn’t some romance novel, for god sakes! Control your mind, Y/N!

You try to ignore Jungkook’s presence beside you by drowning yourself in work. Not only that it’s hard, it’s simply impossible. Just the way he props his chin on his hand, looking at you working, it is too distracting.

“Why do you want to be a forensic doctor?” he asks abruptly.

Your jaw drops as you turn to face him. “What is this? Are you interviewing me now?”

He shrugs. “I am just curious.”

You blink your eyes several times in disbelief. “Because I like it?”

Jungkook snorts. “Other than that.”

You bite your lip, turning silent for a moment. “I’m scared of needles,” you whisper; you feel the heat rush on your cheeks in embarrassment. “Maybe? I don’t really know. I just hate seeing my patients in pain from what I did to them and needles is one of them.”

He nods in understanding, and just as he is about to open his mouth, you interrupt him.

“You really don’t need to fill the silence with some useless conversations, you know.”

He pouts. “Why do you think it’s useless? I want to know more about you.”

You look at him weirdly. “Kook, are you okay? Did you hit yourself in the head? Or did you eat something funny?” Why are you doing this?

He sighs and presses his lips into a line. “You know what, just forget about what I said. Do you need any help?” His eyes fall to your bandaged hands.

You tilt your head in confusion. This is really weird. “I just need to copy some of those reports into the computer. You’re right, it’s kinda hard to type.”

He smiles as he moves your laptop to his side. “Let me type it.”

“Thanks, Kookie.” You said it lightly, but it somehow had an effect on him, like it’s triggering something in him, something that makes him freeze.

His face turns serious as he leans to you, turning your chair to face him and caging you with both of his arms. He is too close to you; his cologne smells cotton-powdery-fresh, sneaking softly through your nostrils.

Like newly folded-laundry.

“With one condition: please stop calling me Kookie,” he whispers closely to your ear, his sweet voice rings your eardrum, sending shivers to your spine.

Your heart races. You’re holding your breath when he moves away from you, only to look you directly in your eyes. Why does he sound like he tries to sound more manly? You clear your throat, hoping it also clears your clouded mind. “Alright, I’ll work on it myself then.” You reach for your laptop, ready to slide it to your side.

“Y/N…” He whines as he holds your arms gently. “Just please stop calling me Kookie.”

You hide your smile again. “Fine, I’ll try.”

Jungkook pouts as he begins to work with your report, with you guiding beside him. He types faster than you; you’re glad actually, since it will finish your job faster.

It’s almost afternoon and the meeting room is hotter than before. The big glass window along the wall is facing directly toward the sun at this hour. Not only does it warm the room, the sunlight also gives you an opportunity to see Jungkook’s face more carefully.

In this natural spotlight you trace his jawline, his soft lips, and his long lashes, and how his curly hair frames his face perfectly. You even see the small scar on his left cheek. It is just insane how he keeps taking your breath away. This man is definitely beautiful.

Noticing the attention on him, he turns his face to meet yours, catching you in action. His cheeks turn reddish as he finally realizes that you’ve been watching him for almost five minutes. “Wh-what?”

“You have a beautiful face, Kook.”

He blinks his eyes several times, confused with the sudden confession. He turns his eyes back to the laptop and laughs awkwardly. “And you just noticed it now?”

You snort. “That’s ridiculous. I knew it since I saw you for the first time. I just want to say it again right now.”

He chokes in his own saliva, coughing repetitively to help him calm his racing heart. “Th-thanks, I guess?”

“Why do you want to be an agent?” you ask, unconcerned that he is still struggling with his breathing. When he looks at you in disbelief, you raise your eyebrow. “You can ask me, but I can’t ask you? Uh-uh. This is a two way street, sir.”

He sighs. “Why do you want to know anyway?”

“We’ve worked together on several cases, but I barely know anything about you except for your name, your job, and until just a few hours ago, your number.” You pout. “I also want to know you better.”

“I was recruited after I won a Taekwondo competition.”

You tilt your head. “Just that? Why this Company anyway? Why not the police, or army?”

“I saw Namjoon-Hyung in the briefing.”

“Ah, you mean that tall clumsy man who has feelings for that female agent?”

Jungkook laughs at your description. “Well, first of all: even if he is that clumsy, he is maybe the most elite agent in this Company. That guy is a genius. And secondly: how do you even know about them?”

You shrug, casually rotating your chair. “Just a hunch. They have the I-want-to-kill-you attitude with I-also-want-to-rip-your-clothes-apart-in-a-sexual-way eyes whenever they’re together. So yeah, it’s not that hard to figure it out.”

His laughs don’t stop as he throws his head back and almost knocks the back of his head in the process. You’ve never heard him laughing this much before, and it is captivating. He brings his hand to wipe tears from his eyes. “Well, they’re dating now.”

You widen your eyes. “What? I thought you can’t date a colleague or another agent in this Company. You know, since the incident with Jin’s wife.”

“Well, there’s actually no rule about it though.” He furrows his eyebrow and looks at you quizzically. “I didn’t know that you know her. It happened before you’re here, right?”

“Yes, she is my senior in med school. So, yeah, I know her. We’re kinda close.” You smile as you look at the window, gazing to the buildings lay in front of you.

He hums and turns his head to where Jin sat before. “Jin-Hyung never talks about you.”

You give a bitter laugh. “Has he ever talked about her for real? Nope. And besides, I think he hates me because of what happened with his wife. Well, that’s not my business.” You turn the chair to face him. “So, do you regret working in this Company?”

Jungkook smiles and turns back to the laptop, typing the report again. “Not at all. I love working here.”

A smile beams on your face too. “I know right? It’s such a pity that I have to leave this Company soon.”

His fingers pause and he turns slowly to you. “Ar-are you leaving?”

“Yeah. My rotation is over soon. Time does fly fast, doesn’t it? It’s just like yesterday was my first day working here.”

Jungkook swallows dryly. “So where will you be working after this?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t chosen yet. Maybe I should try the posting in Australia?” Out of your sight, Jungkook tightens his hands into fists and puts them under the table. “I am gonna miss teasing you, Kook.”

Jungkook rises up from his chair suddenly, eyes facing the window. “I am gonna report to the other agents. You should double-check the report, now I’ve finished it. I’ll be right back.” He walks away from your spots at the conference table and out the door, not even glancing at you once.

You look at the door with confusion. Did I just say something wrong?

Hoseok is puzzled. Why in the world was he stuck with cleaning the trashed office? He even cleans up the problematic cadaver’s heart alone, but not without a lot of yelling and curses leaving his mouth. Yoongi is probably checking the security footage again. Jin is reporting to the higher-ups, Jungkook stays with you. And Jimin and Taehyung? They’re supposed to help him clean the office, only God knows where the hell they are.

He props his chin on the end of his broomhandle. The room is cleaner than before. He laughs bitterly. Well at least there’s no glass shards on the floor and an organ speared on someone’s desk.

His mind wanders to what Jiseok said to him before.

“Did you just think you can stop The Black by locking me here?”

Hoseok shivers. Does it really mean he has an accomplice out there? Sure, Jiseok is manipulative, but Jiseok was serious about what he said.

Hoseok sighs. There has to be something in the hall yesterday, or someone.

"Hyung. What should I do to help?" Jimin pokes his head around the door.

"How's Y/N?" Hoseok points with his elbow to another broom in the corner of the room, which Jimin takes right away.

"She's fine. She's with Jungkook right now." Jimin steps gingerly around the mess and begins sweeping the floor. "They are just so adorable together."

Hoseok laughs and plops in a chair, moving it closer to the desk with his feet. "I know, right? It's just a pity that we can’t see them together."

Jimin stomps over to him and widens his eyes. "What do you mean? Of course they’ll end up together, why wouldn't they?"

Hoseok shrugs. "Jungkook's gonna need a huge push for him to accept his own feelings and tell her. I just can't see it happening."

"Hyung, trust me. He'll tell her his feelings and they’ll date each other. Happy ending."

"Even a man like you gets scared of telling a girl that you like her. How long has it been? Ten years? No, it is longer than that, isn't it?" Hoseok asks Jimin mischievously.

Jimin pouts, a blush forming in his cheeks. "Jungkook's situation is different from mine. Just stop bringing it up! I'm telling you, Jungkook will date her."

“What are you talking about?” Taehyung asks as he casually enters the room.

“Jimin keeps telling me that Jungkook will date Y/N soon.” Hoseok rolls his eyes and tosses his broom to Taehyung.

Taehyung catches it quickly, but just puts it on the corner. He had no intention to clean the room. “Meh, I doubt it. Jungkook doesn’t even realize that he likes her. I’m starting to pity Y/N a bit. Oh let me correct, I’m starting to pity both of them.”

Hoseok laughs loudly. “See? Even Taehyung can’t see it happening.”

Jimin sighs, but he still hasn’t given up yet. He is sure about it. "Wanna bet?"

“You all should go home.”

Everyone in the meeting room looks up from the briefing packets in front of them. Your eyes widen at the sudden announcement from a fifty-something man who just barged into the room. Jimin, who had been cut off mid-sentence by the newcomer, flaps his mouth wordlessly. Why was the newcomer spouting nonsense to you and the other agents?

“But, Mr. Lee…” Jimin pleads.

Lee shoots him another glare. “You’ve done enough. You can go home now.”

You look around the meeting room. All of the agents are avoiding your gaze. No one wants to talk some sense into the man. What is this? You look back at the man in the suit in front of you. “If this is about the threat, I’m fine with it. I’ll still finish the report.”

Lee’s eyes dart to you, he has an intimidating aura coming from him. You can’t help to step backwards a little. “We’ll send Chanyeol and Wendy to the police in a few hours. Since they admitted that they killed Baekho, they’ll be under arrest for murder.”

You gulp and gather all of your courage to open your mouth. “But, Baekho was killed before that. If you give me some time to finish the report…”

“There’ll be no need for that, especially since the victim’s body is destroyed. There’s no evidence.” Lee steps forward to you. “And shouldn’t you work under Sehun’s supervision? Why are you working alone?”

“But…” you want to protest, instead Hoseok’s hand grabs your arm softly, stopping you from saying more. You bite your lips in frustration. This is just so unfair. Lee, the Boss, knows that it’s not the truth, yet he still proceeds with it.

After the Boss leaves the room, the room is still silent. You can see the look in their eyes that they don’t like it a bit, but they simply do nothing. And it only makes you madder.

In fact, you’re disappointed.

You scoff and begin to gather all of your stuff. “This is all just so fucked up.”

“Sorry, Y/N,” Jin says warily. “The higher-ups thought that it would be better like this.”

You sigh. Holding your stuff in your tiny arms, you exit the meeting room quickly, not bothering to reply to them. You’re so mad at them, mad at the boss, mad at yourself. You’re so mad that you want to cry in despair. This is so unfair.

You push the elevator button quickly and wait for it to arrive. You control your breath, trying to hold back your tears. You don’t want to cry here. You shouldn’t cry here.

You hate it. This is not the reason you chose this field. You should do something, but the fact you can do absolutely nothing is frustrating to you.

Rapid footsteps on the tile sound behind you. “Y/N...” You don’t need to turn around to face him. You know his voice too well, he’s your favorite person in this Company, but you don’t really want to see him right now. “Are you walking home? Let me give you a ride.”

“I can walk by myself,” you hiss. You do know that this is not his fault, he’s just a mere field agent after all, but you’d want him to do the right thing. Or at least, be at your side, not on the side of some man in a suit who’s just barged out of nowhere.

Jungkook sighs. He knows that you’re as stubborn as him, but still he doesn’t want to back away. Somehow, he just can’t leave you alone like this. “Please? You’re too tired anyway.”

Well, he’s not wrong. You barely slept or ate anything since the incident; your body is in pain. Sure, a ride won’t be a bad idea. You’re too tired to fight for your pride. “Fine.”

As the elevator’s door opens, Jungkook follows you inside the elevator, snatching your reports and laptop from your hands. You are going to stop by your office to get your bag. You hesitate at first, but since your apartment’s keys are in your bag, there’s no other way.

When you arrive at your floor, you gulp. Is this a bad idea? Your heart beats faster and your hands turn clammy. You take a few deep breaths but still you feel afraid. The memory of the trashed office is fresh in your head, making you nauseous, making your hands tremble. Even the floor’s usual silence turns eerie.

Sensing your hesitation, Jungkook grabs your hand softly, guiding you out of the elevator. He walks in front of you with your hand in his. Even when you arrive in your office, he doesn’t let your hand go. His thumb draws soothing circles over your bandaged skin, slowly and carefully. No word escapes from his lips, no verbal reassurance.

Just his touch.

His warmth.

Only when both of you stop by your desk, he releases your hand. Jungkook packs your laptop in your bag quickly and slings it over his shoulder, then tidies the other reports on your desk. “Is this all?”

You nod weakly and he takes your hand again in his. The two of you leave your office as quietly as you entered.

His hand still holds yours when you’re back in the elevator, going down to the carpark in the basement. The only thing you can hear is your own breathing, as it quickens with your troubled mind. You’re too busy concentrating on yourself, you can’t see how Jungkook looks at you with worry. How his hand tightens every time you take a deep breath.

He finally lets go of your hand when you sit in his car, putting on your seatbelt carefully, like you’re just a little frail kid, like a fragile glass in a high table, sitting on the corner.

The car ride is also silent and feels longer than your usual car ride, well, taxi ride. You don’t have a car, so you go to work by bus or sometimes you walk, if you need exercise. There’s just a handful of occasions when you’ve been too tired to walk or take a bus, and you’d take a taxi. It’s more expensive, of course, and if you take a taxi any more often than that, your residency salary won’t leave you with a lot of money.

Again, you don’t notice how Jungkook keeps stealing glances at you, too busy with your own thoughts. You don’t notice how his fingers flutter as if to reach your hand sitting on your thigh, too busy looking at the window.

And just like that, you arrive outside your apartment.

Jungkook unbuckles your seatbelt quickly and exits the car to run around to your side. With your laptop bag on his hand, he hesitantly starts to give it to you, but then he rethinks and takes it back again. “Let me bring it to your door.”

The energy in your body is draining, you don’t bother to protest again. You just walk to the building with Jungkook tails after you. And after two flights of stairs, you arrive in front of your door, sending a tired smile to him. “Thank you, Kook.”

Jungkook sighs and scratches his neck, nervously he opens his mouth, “I’m sorry again, Y/N.”

Taking the bag from him, you shake your head. “That’s fine. You should go.”

“You need plenty of rest. I’ve already asked Sehun to give you some days off.” Just when you want to protest again, he interrupts. “It’s an order. Please, just rest.”

Sighing, you rummage your bag to find your keys. “Okay. Thank you, Kook. Have a safe trip back.”

And just like that you leave him alone in front of your door. Jungkook is frozen on the other side of your closed front door, looking at your apartment. He clenches his fist tightly until his knuckles turn white. Your tired face, your passion for your work-- he just can’t get them out of his mind.

His stomach wrenches. Not only has he brought you into danger, and got you hurt physically, now he’s worried that he’s hurt you emotionally.

He sees it in your eyes, how disappointed you are in him, in the other agents. How sad you are that you can’t do anything. How weak and useless you feel when you walk back to your apartment.

It somehow hurts him too. He doesn’t know why his heart keeps aching today, how it aches harder when he sees you, how it aches again right now. He can hear your sobbing even from outside and it makes his heart drop to the ground.

Jungkook raises his hand to knock on your door, but before he does it, he pulls it back to his side. He turns his back to your door and walks away, thinking that you may need alone time.

But that thought simply vanishes as he sits in his car. It’s his own car that he bought with his savings, his car that he cherishes the most, his car that he always washes every three days even when he is tired, but now, his own car smells like you.

And it just makes him miss you even more.

It’s Monday.

Your phone ran out of juice last night and it had been dead all night. It gave you an opportunity to sleep better without disturbance, but still you can’t feel refreshed no matter how long you sleep. It just annoys you, even though you slept right away after you cried your eyes out last night.

There’s a lot of ringing after you plug your phone into the power socket.

Sehun 8 new message(s), 17 missed call(s)

Sejeong 2 new message(s)

Jungkook 1 new message

You automatically sit up on your bed, scrolling through the message to look at the message from Jungkook. A tiny part inside your heart wants to check Jungkook’s message first, but there’s also a part inside that is still mad at him. So you decide to check on Sehun’s messages since it can be about work anyway.

Sehun 10.29 pm: Yah. are you okay?

Sehun 10.30 pm: JK told me about what happened. I’m sorry.

Sehun 11.12 pm: Please call me back T_T

Sehun 11.53 pm: why are you ignoring my calls? T_T are you mad at me? T_T

Sehun 00.43 am: are you sleeping?

Sehun 01.03 am: fine. Also you don’t need to come for today.

Sehun 01.05 am: you should take some days off.

Sehun 01.05 am: just please call me whenever you read this.

Sejeong 00.13 am: Unnie! T_T Sehun told me what happened. I hope you’re doing okay. I am so thankful for what you did for us. Let’s have dinner sometime T_T

Sejeong 00.29 am: Also please answer his calls, he’s worried. I’m also worried T_T

You smile at your phone. You’ve always known that he is a sweet guy, but why is Sehun so overreacting? Not to mention his girlfriend who you’ve only met twice, Sejeong, the sweetest girl, is also doing the same thing as her boyfriend. Right after you first met her, you just clicked so much with Sejeong. She’s like a little sister to you. And you’re glad they found each other. At least, you still have both of them on your side.

The smile on your face falls when you accidentally open the message from Jungkook.

Jungkook 07.27 am: I hung some food on your door. Heat it up first. -JK

You raise an eyebrow and walk to the door. Your jaw drops as you find a paper bag on the handle. You take it and set it on the counter in your kitchen, opening it slowly to find a bowl of Gukbap.

It’s weird how it sends a warm feeling in your heart. Still, you can’t shake a thought of why’d he do it. Guilty?

You pour the bowl into a pot and put it on the stove. You walk back to your room to call Sehun while you’re waiting for the food to heat it up.

It only takes two rings for him to answer, “Y/N?”

“Hey. where are you?”

Sehun sighs. “I am at the Company. The office looks so bad still, I can’t imagine what you saw yesterday.”

You scoff. “Don’t you even try to imagine it.”

“Anyway, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I am fine. I got a few cuts on my hands, but that’s fine.”

You hear rummaging from the other end. “Wait, turn your video on. I need to see your wounds.”

You sigh and you turn your phone call into a video call. “Is this even necessary? There,” you say as you point the camera to one of your hands.

“Fuck, a few cuts my ass. They’re all over your hands!!”

You turn it back to voice call. “They’re not deep. It’s fine! Talk to you later. Thanks for the day off.”

You hang up on him before he says anything else and head to the kitchen, getting the warm food from the stove. There’s no need for you to put it into another bowl. It’s easier and more efficient that way, by any means, fewer dishes to wash. The only thing that you have to be cautious about is that you could get burned. But still, eating from a pot has a different feel to it.

You take a big spoonful of the gukbap and blow on it, making it less hot, and eat it slowly. This is what you love about gukbap, how it is easy to eat and digest. And just when it goes straight to your stomach, the warmth fills you right away.

The warmth is familiar.

You sigh. Why is Jungkook doing this?

Your reverie is broken by a ring from your room, indicating a message. You lay your spoon on the table and walk back to the room. When you spot the phone, you look at the screen quizzically.

Jungkook 11.23 am hope you had a good sleep. And again I’m sorry-jk

You throw your phone to the bed and ball your hands into fists. He’s just feeling guilty, he’s just sorry. You should know better. There’s no way Jungkook suddenly cares for you. You should know that, but why do you feel disappointed? Why does your heart ache so much?

You rush back to the kitchen. The gukbap is still steamy in the pot. It is one of your favorite foods but right now, you dislike it the most. The delicious smell has turned into a nauseating one. The taste of the broth lingers stubbornly on your tongue, even though you try to wash it away by drinking a lot of water.

A little part of your brain wants to throw the food away but a bigger part in your heart stops it. Your brain wants you to stop hoping that something’s gonna happen with both of you, to recognize that he’s just playing with your feelings. But instead, the feelings just grow stronger, hanging on your feet, not letting you go.

And just like that, you’re back sitting on your table, looking at the steamy pot in front of you with tears in your eyes. Slowly, you begin to pick up your spoon and devour the gukbap quickly, trying to trust your feelings again. You don’t care if you get burned right now, you’ll just have to worry about it afterwards.

There’s nothing.

Jungkook lays on the bed and just stares up at the white ceiling after checking his phone for a millionth time. He sneaks another peek at the screen and he finds nothing.

Nothing.

Why doesn't she reply to me?

Jungkook lets out a deep sigh, a loud one that makes the man beside him stir in his sleep.

“You know, when you told me that you wanted to crash at my apartment, I thought it’s gonna be a silent one,” Yoongi grumbles. “And what’s with that phone?”

Jungkook bites his lips. “Nothing.”

Yoongi sits up and squints his eyes to Jungkook. “Come on! Just spill it.”

“It’s nothing!” Jungkook stands and walks to the glass window. After all of the team were sent home yesterday, he decided to stay in Yoongi’s apartment. He didn’t tell Yoongi the reason, he didn’t even want to admit to himself that it’s because Yoongi’s apartment is closer to your apartment.

The sunset sky turns red. It’s almost twenty four hours since Jungkook saw you, yet he still thinks about your face, especially the expression he saw your wear in front of your apartment. The one that makes his heart drop to the ground whenever he remembers.

He couldn’t unsee it.

It sticks in his mind like a stubborn pieces of gum.

“Fine. suit yourself.” Yoongi sighs and scratches his head lazily. “By the way, I don’t have any food here. Let’s have dinner outside.”

“I’m even okay with instant noodles, Hyung. Let’s just eat here.”

Yoongi snorts as he walks to the bathroom. “You should open all of my cabinets! There’s literally nothing here,” his voice echoes from the bathroom along with the sound of trickling water. “Lamb skewers?”

“Fine.” Jungkook answers lazily. He takes his phone again and sighs when he sees nothing there. Again. He takes a deep sigh again and puts his phone in his pocket. “Shouldn’t your apartment be filled with some food at least now? You have slept here for a month!”

“Been busy.” Yoongi looks at the younger man with a faint smile on his face. Jungkook looks miserable? Troubled? He doesn’t know what to name it. But Yoongi decides, he can’t leave Jungkook alone right now. “Alright kid, let’s go have some drinks too.”

You’re always a working woman. Even in your college days, there was only a little amount of time that you spent in your dorm, and that only involved sleeping and taking a bath. The rest of your time you spent in the lab, library, and some club activities. There were even times you didn’t come home at all, too busy making the reports which made you fall asleep in the lab. It happened so often to the point of you even kept some spare clothes and your toiletries inside your locker. The only thing you loved about your dorm was the feeling of your tired body when it touched your bed.

That’s why when you’ve spent more than twenty-four hours inside of your own apartment, you’re getting anxious. But there’s no way you could go back to the Company at such an hour, especially not after yesterday. You just need to do something to take your mind off the recent disaster.

You decide to go shopping, your second favorite thing to do. Grocery shopping to be exact. You love how you can spend hours there, just walking from one aisle to another aisle, reading ingredients in the shampoo rack, calculating which tissue roll is the cheapest out of there, testing every sample in the food area, and observing the other people shopping for their monthly groceries. Plus, there’s no food in your apartment anyway. It’s just a perfect time.

A perfect time to take your mind off of Jungkook.

Although, after a couple of hours of shopping, several bags of groceries, and slightly pained hands, you still can’t wipe the man in question out of your head.

Especially when you see him in front of your door when you come home. The grocery bags drop to the floor with a rustle.

You shake your head and blink your eyes several times, thinking that you’re seeing things, but you still find him sitting in front of your door.

“Jungkook?” you call cautiously.

His head perks up to see you. “Y/N?” Jungkook smiles widely as he stands up clumsily and pulls you into his chest. “Where have you been? I was worried sick.”

You freeze with the sudden hug. “Wha-What are you doing here?” you struggle to break free from him, and when you see his eyes, your eyebrows purse together in a frown. “Are you drunk?”

Jungkook giggles and tries to hug you again. “Maybe a little..”

“Kook! Are you okay? You want me to call the others?” You hold his hands midair, stopping him from touching you. A door creaks open behind you, and you turn your head. You nod politely to the old man, your neighbor, who is glaring at you from his doorway. Mr. Baek always gets upset about the slightest noise in the hallway. You swallow hard. “Alright, let’s go inside first.”

Just after the door closes, Jungkook hugs you again, making it hard for you to walk. “Will you let me go first? I need to take care of my groceries, otherwise my ice cream will melt.”

Jungkook lets you go with a pout on his face. He leans against the white wall, his eyes never leaving your figure, as you unload the paper bag on the kitchen table. “You know, when I met you for the first time.. You kinda smelled like an ice cream cone.”

Your head tips toward him a little, and then you give your attention back to the groceries in front of you, ignoring his antics. Good thing that you bought a little more than you needed, just enough to distract you from him, several packs of instant noodles, canned hams, some eggs, dried laver, milk, cereal, beers, canned coffees, and some vegetables. And a pint of chocolate ice cream.

“Yes, you smelled like chocolate ice cream. Did you know that chocolate is my favorite flavor? Well, not really, I love mint chocolate more. Oh, Namjoon-hyung and Jin-hyung really hate that flavor, they always say that it tastes like a toothpaste. Like why do they know in the first place they taste toothpaste?” Jungkook giggles.

“What do you want to say, Jungkook?” You walk over to him with your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“What I want to say is, I also love chocolate ice cream but strawberry is a good flavor too. Oh also you just smell different now, are you changing your shampoo or perfume or something? I don’t mean it’s bad, but it’s jus-”

“Why are you here?”

He blinks his eyes several times, a little surprised with the sudden interruption. “I-I don’t know. I think I just wanted to see you.”

Your heart suddenly beats faster. He is mere inches in front of you. You can faintly hear his breathing. “Why?”

Jungkook sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “I think I just want to apologize.”

You look into his eyes, still red from the alcohol-- God knows how much he drank before he came here. “That’s okay.”

You step back but he grabs your wrist tightly, not letting you walk away. “I know you’re still mad at me.”

Raising your eyebrow, you look at him quizzically. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” His grip turns tighter, eyes bored into you. “Why don't you reply to my messages then?”

“I’m not mad at you, Jungkook.” You try to brush him away, but you can’t release yourself from his grip.

He turns around with you still in his arms, trapping you against the wall, sending a sudden pain through your back. He looks straight into your eyes. “Yes, you are. What can I do to make you forgive me?”

You sigh in frustration, “Again, I am not mad at you.”

“You like me, don’t you?”

A sudden heat rushes to your cheeks as your heart beats faster, like you’ve been caught doing something bad. “Wh-what?”

He pouts, “so, if I give myself to you, you’ll forgive me right?”

“What? What are you talking abo-”

Your lips are silenced with his lips on yours. He kisses you hungrily, fast, taking your breath away. His tongue swipes over your lower lip, asking for entrance, but you keep your lips closed. You simply freeze, not knowing what to do, how to respond. Jungkook on the other hand, senses it and moves his lips to your neck. “You want me, don’t you?”

Of course you want him. But not like this.

Not when he’s this drunk.

Not when he thinks of it as a redemption.

Not when he doesn’t love you the same way you love him.

“Kook, stop it.” Tears start trickling from your eyes. You try to push him away, but he’s stronger than you, he doesn’t even budge. And so you slap him on the cheek as hard as you can. “Stop it.”

Jungkook finally stops and looks at your face. His eyes widen when he sees you slump to the floor, your shoulders shaking. “Y/N? I’m so sor-” He reaches down to you, but you flinch at his touch.

“Just go.” You barely see him through the haze of your tears. Your hand trembles from slapping him; you try to stop it by hugging yourself. Your heart aches, you’re almost sure it broke into pieces. You feel humiliated. You feel sad. You’re confused. You gather your strength to open your mouth. “Please just go.” you whisper in between sobs.

“Y/N…” his eyes turn panic, realizing the enormity of what he’s done.

“GO!”

Jungkook bites his lips and steps back from you. He’s unsure whether it’s right to leave you alone, but he knows he shouldn’t be here. “I’ll be going then. I’ll call you tomorrow okay? Let’s make sense of this when you’ve collected yourself and I’m sober. Okay?”

Your eyes are still flooded with tears and you turn your head away from him, not wanting to see him at the moment. And when you hear the door close behind you, the grief breaks over you even more heavily.

Jungkook is a jerk, he never liked you.

You should hate him.

You give a light hit on your chest, where the pain is the worst. See? That’s for trusting your feelings without giving it much thought. You hit it again, hoping that you can turn your feelings into hatred.

But in fact, you can’t hate him. You still love him.

You just can’t control it. It just grows so fast, like a fire in a dry forest. Everything he did and everything you did, are like winds blowing to the fire, letting it spread wider and wider. And one thing for sure, it burned you.

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