#the fact that they are childhood friends has not left my brain all day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlinos · 4 months

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Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers, fluff

♡ CW: Implied smut, alcohol consumption. Twenty solid seconds of angst, but it doesn’t even really count. It’s just tooth-rotting fluff.

♡ Word count: 5.5k

♡ Synopsis: Minho has been your best friend since you two could barely form coherent sentences. He was there when your last baby tooth fell, he was there when you failed your high school exams, and he was there as you walked down the aisle.

♡ A/N: This was going to be just word-vomit fluff to make me cry, but I couldn’t control myself and before I knew it there were… so many words.

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back.

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday.

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist

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stqrgirlie0 · 3 months

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⋆✮theodore nott✮⋆

part 2 / part 3 / part 4

theo’s had a hard childhood, his mother sadly died and all he has left his father. his fucked up father. there’s no wonder as to why theo took up smoking, but this doesn’t change the fact that he’s completely addicted. every inhale and exhale takes him further away from the walls of the castle, just what he wants. just what he needs. despite his mother leaving him from a young age, theo continues his and his mother’s shared passion for learning, doesn’t necessarily mean he’s at the top of his classes but he’s doing pretty good if he says so himself. theo was also taught how to play the piano but avoids doing so because he thinks it reminds him of his mother too much. but if you wake up in the middle of the night, you might faintly hear a sweet sweet melody being played from the common room.. all the neglect from his father’s end corrupted his innocence growing up, and as a child Theo often spent his time in solitude. however he didn’t let this affect his relationships in his teenhood, and still chose to foster relationships- but only as far as friendships. Theo has never been in a relationship and the ‘sleeping around’ thing his friends so often did, didn’t seem so appealing to him. that is, until he saw you. he was sure you were new but when you first talked and told him you’ve been here since first year, let’s just say it wasn’t one of his proudest moments. from that moment he knew exactly what he was going to do. it took a while, his grovelling weirded you out at first- did he like you? was he trying to do this as a joke? eventually you’d realised it was in fact not a joke, and theodre nott actually did like you, yes. however did you know what to do in response? absolutely not, so of course you turn to everyone’s go-to flirting method: feigned dislike. it worked wonders while also creating a tense but playful rivalry between you and theo. did this confuse theo at first? slightly, yes. but was he also turned on by it? absofuckinglutely. in case it isn’t obvious, things did eventually get heated… everything about you had him going crazy- your smile, your eyes, your laugh, your comebacks, your scent, your hands, YOUR HANDS. gosh he goes absolutely feral over your hands (mainly because he imagines he’ll be putting a ring on it one day, but asides from that..) the way that they fit so perfectly into his alters his brain chemistry or something because trust me this man will be holding onto it and fidgeting around with it EVERY. SECOND. OF. THE. DAY. while everyone thinks he’s a complicated character, he’s actually not. there’s a limited amount of ways to get to his heart- food, hugs and hickeys. food: you know it, every theo enthusiast has heard this about a million times, all the more reason to believe it to be true!! he will literally eat his whole weight and won’t think anything of it, and will STILL be skinny af. hugs: this man needs his hugs just to relax and have a lil breather. a back hug, a side hug, a bear hug, straddle hug, you name it he will hold onto you like a koala! hickeys: alright, enough of our soft teddy, Mr Nott knows his way around your neck, shoulders, chest, EVERYWHWRE. there’s nothing sweet about this, he wants everyone to know who makes you a hot moaning mess every night.

#hmm should I do a part two??🤔🤔#y’all know I’ll do anything for my theo bby

#slytherin #slytherin boys #theo nott imagine #theo nott smut #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott x you #theodore x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott #theodore nott x slytherin!reader #lorenzo zurzolo

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jaquemuses · 4 months

Note

i’m an angst comfort GIRL so if you would be interested in writing anything maybe about childhood friends enzo and reader where it’s right people wrong time for years ( definitely mutual feelings, maybe reader always thought enzo was too good for them so they never really thought they had a chance but is oblivious to the fact that enzo was head over HEELS for them but was worried about dragging them into the spotlight as he grew more famous) until they finally end up together i’d be thrilled!! ofc no matter what thank you so much!! have a great day/night!!❤️❤️

GIRL ME TOO !!! so glad you requested it, i wrote this, hope u enjoy it ♡♡

Starry night | Enzo Vogrincic

Synopsis: Sharing feelings has always been challenging, but under the starry sky, sitting right beside his childhood friend on the eve of his movie premiere party, Enzo confesses a love that has lingered his heart since he was seven.

Word count: 1.5k

Content: Enzo Vogrincic/Reader, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluffy overall, no explicit content, focus on emotions, and strong affection for Enzo, references to ghibli's movies.

a/n: hi there !! i hope you guy enjoy this i pulled an all nighter just to write it lmaooo so bear with me if there's any typos or such; english isn't my first language, but I hope it's a good read!

- xoxo Kara ♡

Time slips away so quickly.

Beneath the starry sky, the weight of its passing moments engulfs you like a fuzzy tidal wave, heavy and suffocating. Sinking beneath its weight has become your routine.

A soft, resigned sigh escapes your lips, the midnight air crisp on your tongue, turning into vapor in the summer night. Beyond your sight, stars burn in tandem, the cosmos vast and immersive. The moon, tonight, is a big blob of reflected sunlight, smiling tenderly, casting a soothing glow like a mother's voice.

In the familiarity of the sight, there's comfort. The moon, always there, in crescents or hidden by clouds, a constant in a changing world. What a peculiar and lovely thing it is to be under the celestial dance, where even the moon, with its timeless presence, seems to join the ever-moving cosmic ballet.

As you lay on the rooftop, the distant melody of music from the house below reaches your ears. It's a reminder of shared laughter, playful banter, and the bond you once had with Enzo. The thought of losing him, not just as a childhood friend but as this life partner makes you wanna cry right there.

Another second lost, as you gaze into the nothingness of space. Time keeps passing you by, never stopping —seconds turning into minutes, minutes turning into months. that incessant moving of the hands of the clock; tick, tock, tick, tock. over and over again.

and, really, it's a little bit scary. you think you might be terrified of time. you're so afraid, afraid of being left behind, afraid that the world will turn its back on you and then walk away. afraid that everyone and everything will change shape before you know it

The music serves as a soundtrack to your memories, a bittersweet symphony echoing through the night. Enzo, your companion through the years, feels like he's slipping away, and the weight of that potential loss is heavy against the backdrop of the starlit sky.

But even in this always-changing, turbulent mess of a life

one thing remains the same;

"Ah, there you are," Enzo's voice, honeyed and familiar, breaks the silence. A small smile graces your lips at the sight of him.

That voice...

honeyed and smooth, but still rough around the edges, just a little husky. Deep and familiar, etched into your brain; even if you were to forget everything else, you're sure you'd still remember it. That familiar voice. It sounds like moonlit nights, and sunkissed kitchens.

it sounds like coming home.

A turn of your head. it's a subconscious reaction, as natural as the beating of your own heart, memorized down to the very marrow of your bones — muscle memory, to seek him out after hearing the low timbre of his voice. You do it as if it's the only thing worth hearing.

And Enzo is smiling, when your eyes meet his. That gentle upward tug of his lips, small yet sincere. The one that always puts your mind at ease.

"How'd you know I'd be up here?" you tease, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Lucky guess," Enzo replies, his grin revealing the comfort of shared moments.

Of course, he knew. Tracking you down was his thing, always has been. Like that time when he found you concealed under a table at your twelfth birthday party or the time he discovered you teary-eyed in the woods during your school field trip.

Finding you always comes easy to Enzo. Almost like he's always seeking you out, subconsciously or otherwise, always paying attention to your movements. You go south, and he follows, you go north, and he's already waiting up ahead.

"Damn, how'd you know?" you playfully pout, looking into him.

"I always know, silly" Enzo confesses softly, his eyes holding a warmth that speaks volumes. "I've known you since we were seven"

A gentle inhale passes between you as the silence settles, the moon casting its glow on your shared history.

"I thought you might be too busy with, you know, the whole famous actor thing," you admit trying to make it a joke but insecurity creeps into your words. "Congratulations on that, i always knew you'd make it"

The whole party underneath you both was for Enzo, you felt kind of stupid for leaving so suddenly, after all tonight's was Enzo's night. But before he realized it, you had slipped away, seizing the chance as soon as others grew too drowsy to take notice.

But he always notices you.

And he's worried. just a bit, is what he tells himself but truthfully it's more than that.

You look small, enzo thinks, curled up with your knees to your chest. Sitting all alone up on the roof of his home, a place you'd always go to on nights when you couldn't sleep. Together, sharing whispered secrets and hushed laughter until the sun began to rise again. Back then, it felt like the two of you were the only ones awake in the whole world.

(the safest world he's ever known.)

The distance between you grows narrower, as enzo makes his way over to you - and it always does, at the end of the day. No matter how much time you spend apart, that uncomfortable distance always, always ends up broached. One of you always moves closer. As if it's unavoidable, two planets spinning around each other's orbit.

Enzo sits down right next to you, crossing his legs and leaning back. his knee bumps against the side of your shoe, and his shoulder grazes yours. It's natural, as natural as the glow of the moon, this closeness between you. It reminds you of the gentle lapping of the ocean waves of Punta del este at your bare ankles; on mellow summer days when you were 10 and went to a trip with your parents and Enzo's, comforting and familiar. A warmth that never goes away.

The moon bathes the rooftop in a gentle glow as Enzo chuckles in response to your teasing remark. "Busy? Yeah, it gets a bit crazy, but it's moments like these that remind me of what truly matters. And you know im never too busy for you." He shifts, a thoughtful expression on his face, as he gazes at the city below.

A brief inhale, and your heartbeat settles into a tender rhythm again. The scent that always lingers on Enzo's skin drifts throughout the air, mingling with your own — it can be hard to distinguish between the two, with how often you end up wearing each other's clothes, but you could never mistake it for anything else. Cedarwood and earl gray, with a hint of coconut-scented shampoo enveloping every single one of your senses, grounding you in a way nothing else can.

Leaning just a little closer to him, subconsciously, youet a fond exhale slip from your lips. Barely audible. And Enzo mimics it.

The silence between you is a comfortable one. Always has been. A little fickle, always shattered by one of you before long —usually you, though enzo isn't much better. But this time, he stays silent.

He's waiting. You know he is, because he always does.

He's waiting, waiting for you to break the silence first. Waiting for you to say something, tell him what's wrong, explain why you're up here instead of celebrating with the others. Waiting for you to explain why your eyes have looked so tired, this past week.

Enzo is nothing if not patient. So he waits, unbothered by the silence. Admiring the stars, and the flicker of their light. A vague worry simmers in his chest, however, and he can't stop himself from glancing down at you every now and then.

An insatiable yearning to soothe you gnaws at his heart

—but he can't, not unless you let him.

A sigh drops from your lips, suddenly. Deep and heavy, ike a rock thrown into the depths of a lake. The silence breaks.

"En...?"

The guy stays quiet, just humming inquisitively. He avoids eye contact, showing respect. He figures you'll spill what's on your mind more comfortably without him staring.

Your fingers lightly tap the rooftop tiles out of habit. You take in a bit of the midnight air—it's got that summer taste. "Remember how we first met?"

Enzo glances at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. He can't resist the urge to peek at your face, savoring your expression. Then, a chuckle escapes him. "Are you feeling sentimental?" he teases, a playful note in his voice, light and airy like seafoam. "Did you come out here just to reflect?"

The corners of his lips lift when he hears you huff, pulling your legs closer with a furrowed brow. Cheek pressed against your kneecap, you meet his gaze.

"Come on," you whine, pouting childishly, a trick you know will make him give in. "Just indulge me a little."

Enzo smiles, soft around the edges, radiating unmistakable fondness. He always indulges you. "Of course I do," he assures you.

The quiet settling between your words holds a tender understanding, a silent agreement.

"Of course, I remember. How could I forget? You broke into my backyard."

A sigh, weighty and pointed, escapes your lips. Enzo fights back a grin; his eyes dance with teasing mischief in the darkness as you shoot a glare his way.

"Okay, first of all," you begin, "I didn't break into anything. I climbed over the fence. Peacefully."

Enzo raises a brow. "That literally doesn't matter; it's still trespassing."

"I was seven years old!"

"Damn! Some of you criminals start young."

Another playful huff escapes you as you halfheartedly attempt to sound annoyed. Unsuccessful, you hide your growing smile by tucking your face into your knees. "Whatever."

Then your gaze shifts, drawn to the expanding starry sky, the vibrant flicker of the moon like a moth to a flame, helpless to its charms. It resembles a giant sponge cake, reminiscent of the ones you and Enzo used to make when that was the only recipe you knew – you'd eat from the batter, and he'd scold you. Then he'd do the same when your back was turned.

A smile graces your lips. In each star, a new memory unfolds, and the warm nostalgia surrounding you makes your heart feel exposed. "I just wanted to pet Ada" you reminisce, softly rememberig how little the cat was back then.

Enzo nods, his gaze directed at you, reveling in the expression on your face – tranquil and at ease, a bit more of yourself. Effortlessly lovely, bathed in moonlight. "Yeah, I remember."

He lets the memory carry him away for a moment or two, recalling the sight of you all those years ago, an unfamiliar child in his backyard. It was as if you had fallen from the sky – quiet and shy, yet with an excited glimmer in your eyes as you looked at his cat.

"You just pointed to her and expected me to understand," he continues, a grin blooming on his face, hopelessly endeared. "You were so shy back then."

A raise of your eyebrow. "Um? I'm still shy?"

Enzo gives you a look. He doesn't have to say anything – it's written all over his face. The classic Vogrincic look, the kind where you can tell he's itching to say, "Oh, really now?" The kind where he tries to appear judgmental but never quite manages to hide the amusement in his eyes.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, and Enzo smiles once more, utterly captivated by your joy.

"Then we watched movies at my place,"

You hum. "It was fun."

"Yeah," he agrees.

Another spell of silence descends, tender and incredibly precious. The air is cool but not enough to make you shiver – a mild summer night, gentle on your skin and light on your heart. A soft breeze tousles your hair, and in the distance, cicadas buzz – a familiar, unchanging sound.

(If only everything else could remain the same, too.)

"Do you remember what movie it was?"

A lazy smile graces Enzo's lips as he turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised.

"Is there a point to this, or are you just trying to make m–"

"I just wanna reminisce."

Enzo pauses, observing your gaze as it wanders across the landscape, from the moon to the distant city lights. Absentmindedly fidgeting with the strings of your hoodie, you seem a bit lost, your eyes forgotten within the depths of the endless night sky.

No more teasing, he decides, choosing a more delicate approach. He answers your question softly, as if each octave of his voice could potentially cause you harm. "Whisper of the Heart," he reveals.

A little nod follows your hum of agreement. "Thats a top-tier one."

Enzo shifts his gaze away, muttering something under his breath. Still audible, though. "Spirited Away takes the cake..."

Catching a glimpse of your unimpressed look, he suppresses a soft laugh. His teeth graze his lip gently, just enough to avoid any sting.

"You're so basic," you playfully grin.

"You just want to feel special," Enzo retorts, quick on the uptake. "And you only like it because of Seji."

"You're only a Spirited Away fan because of Haku!"

Enzo closes his eyes, leans back a bit, crossing his arms in a somewhat childlike manner – a move aimed at drawing out laughter. "I don't know what you're talking about," he pretends.

"Oh, come on," you scoff. "Do you really think I've forgotten your sudden "enlightenment"?"

"Hm? What's that?" Feigning confusion, Enzo puts a hand to his ear, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "You'll have to come closer; I can't hear you from here."

Another unimpressed look accompanies your exhale, a mix of a scoff and a chuckle. "If I get any closer, I'll be in your lap, goofball."

Enzo bites his cheek gently, holding back the words that almost slip off his tongue.

(He wouldn't mind)

"Sorry, can you repeat that?" A playful nudge meets his shoulder as you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

The banter fades away as quickly as it came. Then, smiles break out across both your faces simultaneously, the atmosphere shifting into something more sincere. Doesn't it always when you're gazing at the starry sky with the one you love most?

As Enzo continues, his voice takes on that softer tone once again—the one thats only reserved for you. "I always liked imagining us as them," he confesses. "Me as Haku, and you as Chihiro."

A soft blink, and your smile sweetens like syrup. "...That's amusing," you cross your legs, palms flat against the roof, knee comfortably leaning against Enzo's. "I always thought of us as Seiji and Shizuku."

There's a distant look in your eyes, something Enzo can't look away from. Tentatively, his fingers press into the skin of his palms, and he speaks, absentminded and a bit uncertain. ".. they get married at the end, don't they?"

A pause, then your gaze locks onto Enzo's, suddenly mischievous – and he regrets opening his mouth.

"Oh?" you purr, almost beaming, closing the distance like a

predator sizing up its prey. "Oh, really? Is this a proposal, Mr. Vogrincic?"

"I'm just stating facts" he quips, hands raised in defense, hoping you won't notice the red tint creeping up his neck, hidden by the night.

"Incorrect facts," you grin. Whether you catch the blush or not, you don't mention it. "They get engaged, not married. Big difference."

Enzo huffs, small, trying to suppress a smile. The beat of his heart is faint, a gentle rhythm stirred by every move you make. He pushes back the words he longs to say. "I wouldn't mind that, either."

Once again, silence envelops you, weaving around the space between you. It's comforting, just being like this; you and your best friend under the moon's soft glow. As if you're the sole inhabitants of an otherwise vacant universe, free from space and time.

Like the night could pause and stretch on forever.

Yet, there's an unspoken question lingering. One Enzo is still waiting for you to answer. One you won't address until he does the same.

Both of you have noticed, even if no one else has – the turmoil in your eyes, the fatigue under his. Those subtle signs of stress as everything around you keeps twirling on, as the future approaches with every passing day.

"Remember how school felt like it would last forever, and now... it's all just a blur."

Enzo's eyes light up with nostalgia. "Yeah, the days when we believed we could conquer the world. Time goes by so quickly." He pauses, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "But hey, we had some pretty great adventures."

A soft laugh escapes you. "Adventures, mischief, and a fair share of detentions. I miss those days."

Enzo grins, "Our secret base, the pranks we pulled, and the dreams we shared. Life was simpler back then."

You sigh, "Simpler, but full of possibilities. Now everything feels like it's rushing by, and I can't keep up."

Enzo reaches for your hand, offering a comforting squeeze. "You're not alone in feeling that way. I miss the simplicity too, but some things haven't changed." He looks into your eyes, his gaze holding a depth of emotions.

"Yeah, your talent and that dream that's not a dream anymore En. Its now your reality, and I'm so proud of you, I'd always knew you'd make it" You said with a nostalgic smile on your face.

Deep down, you knew you'd end up losing him; he had everything to succeed in the industry.

Enzo meets your gaze, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, sweetheart... It means a lot to hear that from you."

As Enzo utters the endearment "sweetheart," a fluttering sensation courses through your stomach, a delicate dance of butterflies that seems to synchronize with the newfound warmth in your chest. With a surge of emotions enveloping you, you can't help but wrap your arms around Enzo's body, hugging him tightly and feeling the size difference between the both of you. A murmured "of course" escapes your lips.

The moonlight paints a soft glow around you both, and the distant sounds of the party create a gentle background melody. Enzo takes a moment after the hug, collecting his thoughts, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

"There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time, You know?" He starts, catching your eye. "Oh look who's reflecting now" You say as you laugh softly. "What is it?"

"These moments, right here, remind me of the times when life was simpler, and we were just two kids dreaming under the same sky." He pauses, searching for the right words.

"You know, when we were younger, I used to take you to the cinema, to the lake, even on your 15th birthday... Each time, I wanted to tell you something important, but I never found the right moment. It's been on my mind, and I'm tired of postponing it."

Your heart quickens at his words, confusion mingling with anticipation. Enzo's expression shifts, becoming more serious yet tender.

"Do you remember those times? I was trying to say that..." He hesitates a little, his eyes looking straight into yours, noticing how every single star can fit on your gaze "I'm in love with you. From the days of our childhood adventures to now, you've always been the girl of my dreams. I wanted to share my success with you because you've been my constant, my anchor."

The weight of his confession hangs in the air, and your mind races to process the revelation. Enzo continues, "I know that recently the world sees me as this actor, but to you, I just want to be Enzo. The boy you've known since we were seven. I'm tired of hiding my feelings, and I didn't want to lose another moment without letting you know."

Silence stretches between you, the memories of your shared past intertwining with the present. You're caught between the familiarity of nostalgia and the unexpected confession, yet, suddenly, some things start to make sense.

Enzo's eyes search yours, vulnerable and earnest.

"En, wait... what do you mean? In love with me? Like, as a friend or...?" Your words trail off, searching for clarity.

Enzo takes a deep breath, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. You can feel him shaking. "No I mean, romantically in love with you. Since we were kids, I've tried to tell you, but I never found the right moment."

Your eyes widen, replaying moments in your mind. "Wait, are you saying all those times – the cinema, the lake, my 15th birthday – you wanted to confess your feelings?"

Enzo nods, a mix of vulnerability and sincerity in his eyes. "Exactly. I kept hoping for the perfect moment, but life just kept moving too fast"

Your mind races, grappling with the revelation. Enzo continues, "What im trying to say is you've been the girl of my dreams since i can remember. I wanted to share my success with you, not just as an actor but as the person who's been my constant through it all."

Silence envelops the rooftop, the city of Montevideo below seemingly hushed in anticipation. Enzo looks at you, his expression a mosaic of hope and uncertainty.

After a moment of processing, you break into a soft laugh. "Enzo, this is... I... i just never saw this coming... oh my god"

With a warm smile, Enzo pulls you into a hug, and you reciprocate, embracing the familiarity of his presence. "Its okay if you dont feel the same... but I... I've just been carrying this for so long; it feels good to finally share it with you." He says with a sad tone.

As you're held in Enzo's embrace, the vulnerability of the moment encourages you to share your own feelings. "Enzo, no... Its not that, its just that I... I never thought you'd see me that way. I always felt like you were way too good for me, like I'd never be enough, so i always thought it'll be pointless to confess because you'll end up leaving me... And its just the thought of losing you as a friend and now knowing you've felt this way for so long, it's just overwhelming."

Enzo loosens the hug, gently holding your shoulders as he looks into your eyes. "You were always more than enough. I never wanted to risk our friendship, but holding back these feelings became harder as time went on. Our friendship means the world to me, and the fear of losing you kept me silent."

Tears glisten in your eyes as you continue, "I spent so many nights up here on this rooftop, wondering if I was just another friend among many for you. I never thought I could be the one you'd be in love with."

Enzo wipes away a tear with his thumb, a tender smile on his face. "You were never just another friend. You were the one who understood me, laughed with me, and stood by me through it all. And I've been in love with you since we were kids."

The weight of unspoken emotions finally laid bare, you share a bittersweet laugh. "Guess we were both too scared to ruin what we had."

Enzo nods, his hand now resting on your cheek. "Maybe, but holding back feels like a bigger risk now. I don't want to waste any more time, not when i don't know how much of it we have left"

As the moonlight bathes both of you, you take a deep breath and finally say, "Enzo, I've always been in love with you too."

A shared understanding and a newfound honesty linger in the air as Enzo leans in and his lips meets yours in a tender kiss, a culmination of years of unspoken emotions and shared moments. In that intimate exchange, the rooftop becomes a sanctuary for a new beginning, and just for that moment: time seems to stand still.

#enzo vogrincic x you #enzo vogrincic one shot #enzo vogrincic fanfic #enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic fluff #enzo vogrincic blurb #friends to lovers #childhood friends

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mercurygguk · 8 months

Text

head over skates · jjk ; part iv.

··· SUMMARY; jeon jungkook is the captain of the hockey team and one of the biggest fuckboys on campus. you happen to have known him for as long as you can remember but he is not who he used to be and you simply can’t stand it.

so what happens when you’re suddenly stuck doing a project with him for three weeks?

SERIES MASTERLIST · # TAG · MOOD BOARDS · PLAYLIST

PAIRING; hockey player!jungkook x f. reader

GENRE; fwb au, childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, college au

WORDCOUNT; 1,098

RATING; 18+

WARNINGS; swearing, mentions of sex, jk being nice and getting shit for it lol

a/n; part 4 and ohmygodddd the angst is coming y'all !! i hope you enjoy reading this one – lmk what you think and tysm for reading <3

It’s a nice day today.

The sun is shining, it’s getting warmer due to spring, there’s not a single hint of a breeze in the air, and everyone seems to be in a great mood. It’s amazing what the changing seasons do to people and their mood – yourself included.

You’re working on the project for your photography class while sitting on your jacket on the grass quad on campus. You’ve almost finished the introduction and made sure to note down the plans for the project as well as set up the whole layout. The need to be organized has taken over but you always see it as a good thing; it keeps you focused and it makes school work seem less overwhelming.

It’s peaceful here on the quad, the faint sound of other students talking and laughing fills the atmosphere around you. There’s even a guy playing the guitar not too far away from you.

It’s nice, you think to yourself as a small smile spreads across your lips.

Until it isn’t anymore.

The evil spawn, also known as Jeon Jungkook, suddenly appears in front of you and blocks the sun as he grins at you, looking cheerful and happy for some reason you don’t care to know about.

Your smile has now turned into a scowl as you stare at him, ignoring the fact that he’s once again holding two americanos in his hands, “is this gonna be a thing now?”

Jungkook nods instantly, not noticing or simply just ignoring the glare you shoot at him.

“Yeah, it’s a tradition now, ____ – I bring iced Americano and you bring your moody attitude and then we work on the project together,” he says, his grin now a smirk that you suddenly feel the urge to slap off his face.

God, why is he so persistent on doing this project with you? Why can’t he just leave you to do it on your own? Why can’t he go do what he usually does – being a fuckboy and play hockey – instead of bothering you with his presence?

You can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at his words, choosing to ignore the comment he so casually dropped about you being ‘moody’.

“I can get my own iced americano, thank you very much,” you pointedly say.

“Oh, really? Where is it?” He asks, looking around on the grass surrounding you, “did you chug it?”

His quick retort circuits your brain as you’re left gaping at him. You then shake your head as if to clear your head and ask another question.

You’re not quite sure why you haven’t told him to leave yet…

“So what? Are you stalking me now?”

Jungkook snorts as you quirk an eyebrow at him in question, shooting you a look of amusement as he glances around at all the people surrounding you and him.

“____, you’re literally on the campus quad. Anyone with eyes in their head could find you here.”

You blink at him for a second, causing Jungkook to flash you a knowing smirk and offer you one of the beverages he so kindly brought along once again. You decide to ignore his smart retort and take the iced americano he’s holding out, instantly taking a sip and withholding the moan of satisfaction that was threatening to escape just now.

Jungkook huffs out a chuckle to himself as he sits down next to you and slips off his backpack, pulling out his laptop. You stare at him in bewilderment as if he has three heads when he sits down, wondering how he’s taking your hostility as an invite to sit down with you.

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” You can’t help but ask, confused as to why he’s sitting here next to you for the second time within just two days.

“To work on the project?”

There’s a look of confusion on his face as he looks at you, eyebrows pulled together in question.

“No, seriously – I told you, I’m doing this project by myself. What are you really doing here?”

Jungkook’s face twists in slight annoyance at your determination to work on the project by yourself, “you’re not the only one who cares about their grades, you know?”

He doesn’t care about his grades – there’s just no way that a stereotypical jock like him could care about anything but frat parties, getting laid and his sport. Old Jungkook might’ve cared but this Jungkook right here? He hasn’t given a single fuck about anything but hockey and his image since he became the popular and hot hockey player.

“Are you saying that me doing the project on my own will give us a bad grade? If anything, you working with me on the project will make it even worse!”

The tone of your voice has turned defensive as you cross your arms over your chest and stare at him. Jungkook scoffs, a hint of amusement within the sound. If he’s offended by your words, he doesn’t show it. Why would he be? He doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

“Excuse me, I have a 94 in this class right now!”

You fall silent.

A score of 94%.

You can’t help but let out a laugh, wondering how he managed to score a 94 in photography when all he ever does with his spare time is hooking up with girls around campus or spending it in the hockey arena with his teammates.

“And how did you manage to do that? Did you flirt with Mrs. Kim or something?” You huff out a mocking chuckle.

Just for a split second, you swear you see a flicker of hurt flash across his eyes before it’s replaced by his usual smirk.

“And if I did?” He taunts.

Your eyes roll before you have a chance to stop them from doing so, causing Jungkook’s smirk to turn into an almost devilish grin.

“Wow, ____, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

His words have you scowling at him – something you seem to do a lot when he’s anywhere near you. You then grab the iced coffee and take another sip, turning your attention back to your laptop screen, leaving Jungkook to sit next to you and work on the project in silence. You don’t say another word to him as you share the document with him so he can partake in the process.

His words affected you more than you wish they did because it was once the truth but if there’s anything you’ll never be again, it’s being jealous of something Jeon Jungkook does.

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its-time-to-write · 9 months

Note

Can you write a Jamie Tartt request where he and the reader are in the "between lovers and friends stage" and they finally get together when he has her sleepover at his place after finding out her ex was loitering by her apartment?

I’m alive (mostly!) and I’m starting to go through the asks in my inbox again! Sorry to all y’all who have been waiting. I love you!😇😍

p.s. I’ve been obsessed with the song “Margaret” by LDR, which is where the title comes from

(oh also I barely responded to this prompt so that I could write this dumb fic that’s been on my brain forever. so. apologies for that too)

maybe tomorrow you’ll know

It goes like this: boy meets girl, they go to the same primary school, girl kicks around football with boy and sneaks into his room to hug him when his dad’s a prick, boy moves away to become a Premier League footballer and girl cries her heart out because they’re best friends.

Fucking typical.

And yet, he still picks up every phone call. Still answers every text you send. He’ll never say the word “love,” especially not when he’s with Keeley Jones and their faces are all over tabloids and instagram. But you’ll feel it in the way he’s a prick to everyone but you. It’s in the way his voice goes soft when you call him at 2am crying about being dumped by your first boyfriend.

He doesn’t visit, doesn’t phone his mum, but he’ll send you a quick voice message when he can. Usually not saying much, just a snip about training. First it’s all about Pep and the lads at Man City, then it’s about some gaffer named Cartrick and the fact that he’s teammates with Roy fucking Kent.

Jamie never tells you that Roy absolutely fucking hates him, but you know anyway.

Jamie also doesn’t call you when Keeley breaks up with him. In fact, you don’t even find out about it until pictures of Roy and Keeley surface online. You call him as soon as you can, and in typical Jamie fashion, he picks up on the second ring.

You don’t ask him about Keeley, just let him talk about football and the new manager from America, and the fact that maybe Richmond isn’t so bad and maybe he can let his armor down just a little bit.

He’s sent back to Manchester the next day.

The bonds of childhood friendship run strong, because he’s on your doorstep in no time at all, and though it’s been years since you’ve seen him in person, there’s a part of you that feels like he never left.

It never goes beyond friendship with you two. You don’t allow yourself to consider him in any other light because this friendship is special and important and neither of you will let anything ruin it.

It’s so strange sometimes to see him on tv or in an interview, eyes sharp and mouth full of barbs. Always on the offensive, always cutting others down before they have a chance to do the same to him. You have a hard time believing it’s the same boy who’s on your couch staring at the ceiling as he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

He’s never spoken that way to you, and you have a hard time believing he ever will.

So you feed him and make him smile and go to as many matches as you can (he leaves tickets on your kitchen table so you won’t protest) and give him a house key so he can come and go as he pleases.

But then he’s gone again, it’s the off-season and he’s on some tv show and you’re watching him flirt and seduce and pull at people’s heartstrings like they’re marionettes, and you realize (perhaps for the first time) how deep the damage has gone.

He gets absolutely shredded online, called all sorts of names by fans of the show and football alike, and you wonder if you’re the only one who can see what’s happening. That it’s all a show and that person, that Jamie Tartt on the screen is not the Jamie Tartt who used to throw pebbles at your window to come see if you wanted to ride bikes together.

It’s different than when he went to the Premier League. He doesn’t answer your texts.

It’s fine though, because your life doesn’t revolve around him. You have other, real friends and a boyfriend and a nice little flat and a good job. So he can go do what he wants and when he needs someone to pick up the pieces, you’ll go because you understand that sometimes this friendship is a one-way street.

You miss him, though.

You don’t watch his season of Lust Conquers All until your boyfriend calls you and says, “Hey, it’s been fun, but I’m just not feeling it anymore, thanks for understanding,” and then you binge every episode right up to the current one.

So now you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re glad it hadn’t gone too far, but his words still stung. But you drown your feelings in ice cream and shitty tv and it’s alright because another episode airs in an hour, so you can see more of Jamie and hope he’s doing okay.

He’s not. He gets voted off and you think that’s stupid but also maybe a little bit good.

—

Jamie just thinks it’s stupid. He’s kicked off his only lifeline, and then Man City flat-out refuses to take him back and he has to find out on live television for fuck’s sake. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Ted Lasso to come back, because of course Ted will take him, what with his yeehaw can-do bullshit. Except Ted tells him no, and now he has nothing.

He’s cut out every friend, every family member and is resigned to life as a has-been before he’s even twenty-five years old.

Now, he’s at home with the blinds pulled. He’s not even sure what time it is anymore because it’s all meaningless, innit? So when there’s a knock at the door, he has to blink a couple times from his place on the couch before turning off FIFA and going to see who it could possibly be.

He hopes it’s you, even though he knows there’s no way. Not after he ghosted you for months. He ignores the uncomfortable flip-flop in his stomach at the thought of seeing you, and the way his heart beats a little faster when he thinks of holding you.

He won’t cross that line. Your friendship (if it still exists) is too important.

So he opens the door, ready to see who the fuck is bothering him.

It’s Ted.

Ted asks, “Can I come in?” but he’s obviously not going to accept no as an answer, so Jamie steps back to let him inside.

Ted’s just standing awkwardly in Jamie’s kitchen, not even pretending that he isn’t shocked by Jamie’s decor.

Jamie isn’t going to defend his choices to Ted of all people. Nor is he going to do anything to lessen his awkwardness. Finally, Ted clears his throat and says, “Well Jamie, it seems we need to revisit our last conversation.”

Jamie stares at him, refusing to speak until he’s sure what Ted is saying, so Ted continues.

“I think I was a little bit too hasty when I said you couldn’t come back to Richmond. I’ve been giving it some thought, and we’d love to have you back.”

Jamie looks at Ted, all rumpled in his sweatshirt and shorts, hair as undone as it’s ever been, and is supremely unsure of what he’s supposed to say.

Yeah, I’ll come back to Richmond.

Fuck off, you’re too late.

He’s saved from saying something stupid by the sound of the front door rattling as someone punches in the code.

“You expectin’ someone?” Ted asks.

Jamie shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No one has the code, except-”

The door is shoved open and you burst through in a flurry of motion. You call, “Jamie?” but you can already see him in the kitchen so you make a beeline to his location and launch yourself into his arms.

He’s solid as always, smelling like day-old Lynx. His arms are tight wrapped around you, body warm as you press your cheek against his.

He sets you down after a moment, and brushes away a stray strand of hair from your face.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly, still not quite letting you go. Ted notes that this is a new tone for Jamie. Or at least, the Jamie he’s interacted with. It’s not a performance, not something designed to make people love or hate him, it’s what Ted suspects is the most authentic version of Jamie. Whoever you are, you must be important.

“Wanted to make sure you were ok. I saw your interview.”

Jamie makes a face. “Fuck’s sake, has everyone seen that shit?”

You shrug. “Hard to miss it. Your mum sent it to me. She’s kind of why I’m here, actually.”

“You know Jamie’s mom?” Ted asks, surprised. It’s only then that you notice he’s in the room. Your face heats up because you wouldn’t have been that grabby with Jamie had you known he weren’t alone.

“Hi, I’m Ted,” he says reaching out to shake your hand, “Seems to me like you know this one from a while back.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “Which is why I figured something was wrong when he ghosted me for fucking ever.”

Jamie winces and Ted takes his cue.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says. He points a finger at Jamie. “You let me know what you decide, son.”

“It’s a yes, Coach,” Jamie calls as Ted heads out the door. You crane your neck in time to see Ted pump his fist in the air before the door shuts behind him.

“So,” you say, arms crossed, “you have a big fucking excuse for not answering my calls. But you better never fucking do it again, or I’m showing back up here with Georgie and she’ll kick your ass.”

Jamie grimaces. Sure, Georgie was never violent with him, but there’s something particularly terrifying about the way she says Jamie Tartt you have got some explaining to do, while her eyes do that thing where they flash and stare straight into his soul.

“Right, yeah, I’m really sorry,” he says and he’s lucky that his tone backs up his words because if he had one ounce of prick in his voice, you’d make him really sorry. I mean come on, who ignores their family?

The thought passes through your mind just long enough for it to freak you out before Jamie’s tentatively reaching out to hug you again.

You let him rest his head on your shoulder as you scratch his the back of his head.

—

You’ve been on Jamie’s couch for the better part of two hours, talking and letting him pretend like he’s not on the verge of tears because at least he’s being open and honest for once, when he shoots up and says, “Jesus Christ, fucking Kyle.”

He turns to you, eyes wide as he asks, “Isn’t he gonna wonder where you are? Shit, and you’re with me. He’s not gonna like that shit at all.”

You shrug infinitesimally while you examine a spot on the wall.

“We’re not together anymore,” you answer as casually as possible.

Jamie sighs and settles back onto the couch. “Shit. Glad you finally dumped that prick.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t. He dumped me. And then I found him lurking in my fucking bushes yesterday like a total creeper.”

Jamie’s up again off the couch, this time heading for his car keys as he yells, “For fuck’s sake, love, you should’ve called me.”

“I did!” you shout back. “I did, and you didn’t pick up, did you? Anyway, it’s probably not going to be an issue anymore.”

Jamie returns to the living room, face ashen. “Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. I’m so sorry.”

You shrug and say, “It’s not a big deal. He decided that he liked certain body parts he owned more than he liked intimidating me.

Jamie grips his keys so hard that his knuckles turn white as he says, “Right, you’re sleeping over tonight because no one fucking treats my girl that way.”

Then he freezes.

You’re not frozen, because a single shiver has worked its way up your spine.

My girl.

It came out so naturally.

And it implied ownership? But of the mutual sort? And in a way that two best friends simply did notbelong together.

The entire house is so silent, you swear you can hear Jamie blink. Well, that is, if either of you actually moved a muscle as opposed to staring at each other across the room.

“What-” you start, but your throat is all weird and tight, so you clear it and try again. “What did you say?”

It still comes out much lower than you anticipated and Jamie has a split second to assess your body language and make a choice.

You’re fully angled toward him, eyes wide. You’re not giving him a look that says, shut the fuck up right now, Jamie Tartt, so he takes it as permission.

Permission to take one step closer, then another, then another until he’s standing right next to you. He slowly sinks down on the couch next to you as his says in a low, gravely voice, “I said, ‘no one fucking treats my girl that way.’”

Ah. So this is where over a decade of friendship has gotten you. On Jamie Tartt’s couch as your lips crash against his, both wondering why you hadn’t made a move sooner.

But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now and you’re sure you won’t waste a single second.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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angelwonie · 2 years

Text

CHERRY CHAPSTICK || hwang hyunjin

PAIRING: hyunjin x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

SUMMARY: being hopelessly in love with your best friend is bad enough in itself, but when you decide to spontaneously kiss him at a party and he kisses you back — that's when it gets complicated. or maybe it's not complicated at all.

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining

WARNINGS: smut [unprotected sex, fingering, praise, manhandling, use of petnames], consumption of alcohol, hyunjin is a simp

happy birthday deni @cosmic-railwayxo my gf!! i love you so much and i hope you like this gift babe

It’s not all that difficult to pretend Hwang Hyunjin is your friend.

Okay, clarification – Hwang Hyunjin is, in fact, your friend. For real. No pretending is required. You suppose that’s a given after he’s been by your side for the past seven or so years. And through all those years, he has time after time proved himself to be the shoulder you can lean on no matter what. Which means that your friendship is perfect.

In a perfect friendship, there is no room for secrets, though. No facades or lies. So maybe it’s not a perfect friendship, after all. At least not on your part. Because you do keep secrets from Hyunjin. One secret, actually. One thing you can never tell him, no matter how badly you want him to know, just because you’re way too scared of losing him.

The fact that you’re madly in love with him.

Your best friend. Hwang fucking Hyunjin. It’s the most annoying thing ever. Only you are unlucky enough to fall for the one person you shouldn’t fall for.

Your self-pitying is cut short when you hear your phone buzz and the phone caller ID shows up on the screen. Of course, it’s Hyunjin. You sigh, rolling out of bed as you pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m outside,” He greets you. “Are you ready?”

Ready? It takes your brain a second or two to process what he just said and then it hits you. You’re supposed to meet up with your friends and go to an art museum together. One look at the clock on the wall tells you you’re already running late – you’re supposed to meet them at the museum at 1pm, which means you have less than twenty minutes left. And you’re still in your pajamas.

“Uh,” You bite your lip, frantically searching for a shirt to wear as you hear Hyunjin giggle through the phone. That alone makes you smile despite your situation – he’s got such a pretty laugh. If you could, you’d record it and listen to it every night before going to sleep.

“It was a rhetorical question,” He says. “I know you just woke up. Just hurry up, okay? It’s cold out here, so wear a jacket.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up and you’re left smiling, not only because of his laugh, but also because he cared enough to tell you to put on a jacket. Of course, he did, you mentally scold yourself, because he’s your friend, dumbass. You put your clothes on quickly so as not to keep Hyunjin waiting for too long and apply your cherry Chapstick – the one you've been using ever since Hyunjin mentioned cherries were his favorite fruit.

You walk out the door with your jacket slung around your shoulders around ten minutes later.

He’s leaning against the wall of your apartment building, looking down at his phone with his black hair falling into his eyes in a way that looks totally planned, because there's just no way those hair strands arrange themselves like that naturally. What is he, pretending to be a model because God forbid if one day passes without some random girl asking for his number? You scoff a little too loudly at the thought, and it makes his head snap up, eyes meeting yours as he puts his phone in his pocket.

“Finally,” He drawls, dramatically as always, as the two of you start walking in the direction of the bus stop. It’s automatic now – when you’re going somewhere, you always take the bus together. “I would’ve freezed to death had you taken any longer.”

“Oh, shut up,” You nudge him with your elbow, smiling when he lets out an all too loud ‘ouch’, rubbing his arm like you just punched him with all your might. “Why are you so excited about this, anyway? Haven’t you been to that museum, like, seventy times?”

“So?” He furrows his brows. “It’s still refreshing to look at paintings, even if you've seen them thousands of times. Art is timeless, you know.”

You hold back a smile. Hyunjin really has a way with words. You don’t think you’ve ever heard anybody talk the way he does – like the whole world lies in the palm of his hand but he doesn’t realize it. But maybe that’s just your own feelings talking. Either way, the way he speaks is one of the things you love most about him, and so, it has simultaneously become one of the things you have to pretend to hate.

“And there you go with that hopelessly romantic talk again,” You’ve reached the bus station, so you stop walking, and so does Hyunjin.

The air’s not as cold as Hyunjin had claimed, but with how much wind there is, you don’t regret putting on a jacket at all. You lean against the bus stop sign, eyes darting to look at Hyunjin as you wait. He’s deep in thought, you realize, with his hands buried deep in his pockets and his gaze scanning the area like he hasn’t seen it a billion times before. He really does find beauty in everything, you think to yourself. The wind ruffles Hyunjin’s hair and he closes his eyes to feel the breeze – a simple act yet it’s enough to make you question whether you’ve got a hopelessly romantic mindset, too.

Maybe you only have that when it comes to him. Is that even possible? You suppose it’s just as possible as falling in love with your best friend – unlikely, but not impossible at all. You’re living proof of that.

The bus arrives and Hyunjin looks back subtly as he’s entering to make sure you’re following. It’s sweet. He’s sweet. Oh, what a tragedy this whole thing is. Probably even more tragic than those Shakespeare books you read unwillingly because Hyunjin said they were his favorites.

The bus is almost empty, so you plop down next to Hyunjin in some of the front seats. Your leg bumps into his accidentally and you snatch it back far too quickly, but he doesn’t seem to notice, glancing out of the window, tapping his fingers on his thigh to some tune. For a while, you look at his movements, trying to figure out what song he’s playing, but you give up soon enough when you can’t seem to recognize it. It’s way too early for that kind of thinking, anyway.

“We’re here,” You say when you arrive at your stop, well aware that Hyunjin knows it. That’s just another part of your routine, you guess. He picks you up, looks back when you enter the bus and you announce the stations for him even though he’s got it memorized. “They’re angry we’re late, aren’t they?”

“Probably,” He sighs. “I’ll just tell them the bus was late.”

It feels like your whole heart swells up at his words. Yes, Hyunjin knows you don’t like to get blamed for things and yes, he’s your best friend, so it would seem that it’s only natural he tells a white lie to save your ass.

Except Hyunjin doesn’t tell lies. He’s like the god of honesty or something, because you swear, all these years you know him, you’ve never heard him tell a lie. Not even when he and Changbin were planning your birthday party – when you asked him why he was busy, he told you straight up he was choosing what cake to buy. Changbin pretty much beat him up for that, and yet he did the same exact thing the year after that. Now there’s no beating up at stake and he’s willing to cover for you?

“Why would you do that?” You mumble to yourself as you walk behind him, the museum coming into view.

“Just ‘cause,” He says as you catch up to him, and you realize he must’ve heard you. “It’ll take up our time if they start whining about it. I’d rather look at paintings than hear them complain for half an hour.”

Ah. There it is. The reason he’s willing to lie. Of course, it’s because of the paintings, you should’ve known. He’s obsessed with them, after all. See, this is where having purely platonic feelings for Hyunjin would’ve been a major win. It would’ve been so much less painful if you weren’t getting your hopes up each time he did something remotely affectionate – you would’ve simply thought of them as friendly acts, not signs of his undying love for you. Guess you really are like Hyunjin, after all, if not a romantic, at least you’re hopeless.

“Good point,” You say, voice faltering just a bit.

After that, you just walk alongside him in silence until you reach the museum. As expected, your friends are standing out front, some of them talking loudly in between each other, and others smoking cigarettes. The smoke reaches you when you walk closer, and from the corner of your eye, you can glimpse how Hyunjin scrunches his nose up in disgust at the smell. Cute, you think to yourself, letting out a soft laugh.

“Hyunjin, Y/N,” Changbin is the first one to spot you, and soon every one of your friends is looking in your direction. “What the hell took you so long?”

“The bus didn’t arrive on time,” Hyunjin says instantly.

You look at him and he sends you a soft smile – one that drowns out the sound of Changbin’s annoyed voice and makes you zone out for just enough time to make Minho grab your wrist and pull you inside, muttering something about ‘wasting time’ under his breath. The two of you enter the museum first and show your tickets to the staff and stand in the hallway, waiting for the others.

“You’re making it obvious, you know,” Minho says as you smile in Hyunjin’s direction, and it makes you turn to him with a confused expression. “That you like him. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes it, too.”

You sigh in defeat. There’s no use in lying to him, he’s got you all figured out already, so instead, you just mumble a small ‘I really hope he doesn't’ and glare at him when he chuckles.

“You shouldn’t look this depressed even before he’s rejected you,” He comments and you scoff. Like he has any idea what it’s like to be in love with your fucking best friend. “What do you know, maybe he likes you, too.”

You roll your eyes at the way Minho wiggles his eyebrows at you, but you don’t get to do much more than that because all of a sudden all of your friends are there. Hyunjin is there, too, his shoulder brushes against yours when he stands next to you. How do you know that it’s him before you even turn to look at him? You have no idea, but you can just kind of tell the warmth you’re feeling is radiated by him. And it turns out to be true when you turn your head to the side, almost losing the ability to breathe when you’re met with his gaze already set on you.

He looks beautiful even in the poor lighting provided by the lamps above his head, eyes shining with this light they only hold when he’s surrounded by what he loves the most. Art. You can tell he’s happy even though he’s not smiling or laughing. It’s silent, his happiness, but for someone like you, someone who’s spent years looking at him, learning how to read him, it’s evident nonetheless.

“Someone’s happy,” You hum to Hyunjin after your friends have vanished to look at the erotic paintings, giggling like school girls and boys.

“Them? Yeah, they’re really enjoying this.”

“I meant you,” You follow him when he slowly walks to look at one of the paintings, examining it. His brows furrow and his jaw is set when he’s focused, and right now is no exception. “One would think you just won a million dollars from the way you’re skipping around.”

You don’t say that you think it’s adorable or that if it were up to you, you would come here every day just to see his eyes sparkle like that. His stare leaves the painting when you utter those words, moving to look at you with an expression you can’t figure out. Which is weird, because you know exactly how to read Hwang Hyunjin. Usually. But now, his eyes are a little widened, his lip pulled between his teeth, fingers tapping his hip like he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. It stresses you out a little and makes your heart jump in your chest because you could swear for a moment his gaze fans down to your lips.

This only lasts a second or so, though, because soon enough, he turns his attention back to the painting in front of him. No words, no nothing. You walk a little closer, feeling kind of hurt that he’s so uninterested in holding a conversation. Maybe he senses something is wrong, or maybe his timing is just perfect, because not even a minute later, you hear him gasp quietly, shuffling next to you.

“Look,” He says just as you’re about to ask him what’s going on, and you turn around to look out of the window like him. You immediately recognize the vehicle you’re met with, a smile slowly spreading itself over your face. “It’s that food truck you mentioned last weekend, isn’t it? The one with the hamburgers you wanted to try”

“Yeah, it is.” You grin wider. He remembered. You were rambling about that food truck while he was trying to finish his homework, so you didn’t really expect him to listen. But he did.

“Let’s go, then,” He smiles, eyes still trained on the vehicle and sparkling.

“Wait-” You start, but before you can say anything else, his fingers wrap around your wrist and he drags you through the hall in a hurry. The paintings surrounding you start to blur when he starts running, his hand tugging at yours and forcing you to pick up the pace, too. He runs out the door and you shiver when the cool air hits your skin – now you’re really regretting leaving your jacket in the dressing room. Sensing your slight hesitation, Hyunjin whips his head around to look at you for a moment, before pulling at your hand again and jogging up to the food truck,

You’re left catching your breath as he orders something, just now realizing that you left all your friends behind at the museum. Hyunjin seems pretty unbothered, though, handing the seller his card, his cheeks a little red – probably from the cold air or all the running. You’re a hundred meters away from the museum now, and surely, your friends have noticed your absence, but you can’t really bring yourself to worry about that when you see the satisfied smile on Hyunjin’s face as the seller hands him his order.

It’s only then that you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, and you pull it back so quickly you hit your thumb on your thigh. It hurts a little, but the pain is dull compared to how fast your heart hammers against your chest – it’s like when you’ve run a few laps too much around the stadium, and it makes you feel dizzy and nauseous as hell. Hyunjin sends you an inquiring look, but you avert your gaze, waiting as he takes the order from the man inside the truck.

You’re so stupid. What if he understands you like him now? What if you’ve just ruined everything? You can’t act this weird. You’re supposed to be his best friend. But a friend wouldn’t react like this to his hand touching yours.

“Let’s sit,” You say this as he walks closer to you, partly to break the tension, but mostly because he’s making you nervous with the way he’s eyeing you cautiously like he’s trying to look into your soul and find out all your secrets. “There’s a table over here.”

You plop down on the chair furthest away from Hyunjin, even though it sparks up a feeling of guilt in your stomach. He might look like he doesn’t notice this – to someone that doesn’t know him, at least. But you do know him, and you can see how his jaw tightens, gaze a little absent. You can basically see the thoughts racing through his mind. You wonder if one of them has the suspicion that you like him.

“You realize we can’t go back inside after running out like that? Our tickets are in Lisa’s bag,” You say after a while, breaking the awkward silence. You don’t want it to be awkward. Not with him. So the best thing is to just pretend nothing happened. Essentially, you think, nothing did. “You won’t get to look at your precious paintings.”

Hyunjin shrugs and his gaze softens. “You said it yourself, I've seen them a million times before.”

You nod, reminded of the hamburger in your hand. It’ll get cold at this rate, you realize, and bite into it, mostly because you don’t know what else to say to Hyunjin. The food is great, though, so you’re thankful he brought you here. And thankful he remembered. But instead of thanking him, you’re acting like a crazy person – all because you’ve got this stupidly huge crush on him and everything he does makes your heart beat faster. Even though he probably only means it in a friendly way.

Wow, this is getting impressive. At this point, you’re just friend-zoning yourself so he won’t have to.

“Is it good?”

“What?” You look up at him with your mouth full of food. Hyunjin’s lips quirk upward, and it makes you want to die as you swallow. Why do these things always happen to you, of all people?

“The hamburger. Was it worth it?”

“Oh,” You say, this time making sure there’s no salad between your teeth. “Yeah. It’s really good.”

“Good. Let’s go then, if you’re done eating,” He smiles and stands up. Looking down at the lack of hamburger wrapping in his hands, you realize he didn’t buy anything for himself at the food truck, and it makes you knit your brows together in confusion. Why did he run all the way here, then? Especially when he could’ve stayed inside and admired those paintings he’s always gushing about instead?

You stand up, too, but as you take the first step in Hyunjin’s direction you basically trip over your feet. Or, as it turns out once you lower your gaze, your untied shoelaces. “Shit.”

Hyunjin interrupts your intentions of tying them by kneeling down himself, making you freeze in place as his fingers come up to tie the laces. You don’t say anything – just look at him from above, the way he moves his fingers swiftly, the way his muscles flex when he does it, and the way he needs to shield his eyes from the sun as he stands up (way too soon, according to you), flashing you a smile. It’s genuine and cute – one of the rare times he’s not laughing at you or smiling because the situation requires it.

“You should be more careful. Not tying your shoelaces is dangerous, especially for clumsy people like you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, but you don't really get to react in any other way because suddenly, your friends jump out from behind the corner of the building you ran away from, crying out when they spot you. They’ve been looking for you, that much you can gather, but your eyes linger on Hyunjin, and Hyunjin only.

Vaguely, you can hear how they’re complaining about you and him ‘leaving them out’, but you can’t really focus on the words spilling out of their mouths, mind occupied with replaying the picture of Hyunjin tying your shoes earlier, the way his smile made you weak in the knees. You seriously need to stop thinking about him this way.

But you can’t. Not when you’re so hopelessly in love with him.

—

Parties aren't really Hyunjin’s thing.

Of course, he enjoys spending time with his friends, and he doesn't really mind hanging out as a group and drinking. But these kinds of parties – sweaty bodies everywhere, all too loud music and cheap alcohol mixed with the sight of people hooking up in the open – he genuinely despises. There are way too many people and way too little space.

You don't feel the same way about parties. That much is obvious from how you're dancing with Changbin in the middle of the living room belonging to someone whose name Hyunjin doesn't remember. You’re on your third, maybe fourth, drink already, but who’s really counting. Except for Hyunjin, of course. Your laugh is louder than usual, it reaches his ears even though he’s standing a couple meters away, hiding in a corner. He’d never admit it, but the only reason he ever comes to these godforsaken parties is because you beg him to. And because, usually, he has to drive you home afterward.

He doesn’t mind it as much as he pretends to, though.

“Hyunjin!”

Your words are slurred as you fall into his arms suddenly, but it’s a miracle you even managed to spot him in that state of yours. He crunches his nose in disgust at the reek of alcohol surrounding you and pushes you away from him so he can grab at your shoulders. The way you pout is cute, he thinks and shakes his head immediately as if that’s going to get rid of his dumb thoughts. His eyes fan down to your outfit – the all-too-low cleavage of your top and the short skirt that hugs your hips. It’s shameful how his pants feel too tight all of a sudden, so he averts his gaze. He’s too late, though, because you already noticed.

“Do I look pretty?” You ask him and swirl around, like what he needs right now is to get a better look at your legs. It takes all in him to keep his eyes on the back of your head until you turn around to face him again.

“You look drunk,” He replies, albeit not very convincingly due to the light shiver in his tone, holding your arm tighter when you almost trip over your own feet.

“I’m not drunk,” You protest, but lean into his touch nonetheless. The way he holds you against his chest when someone tries to pass by leaves your heart pounding at a dangerously fast speed and makes you feel a little lightheaded. That has nothing to do with the fact that you’re drunk, though. But the words you let escape your mouth after that do. “I like it when you hold me like this.”

Due to the alcohol in your system, you don’t really realize what you’ve said, but Hyunjin does. And it feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He hopes you can’t hear it, because god, how embarrassing would that be? Here he is, feeling nervous over something you said while being both drunk and his friend. It’s natural for friends to like hugging each other. Right?

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Hyunjin can feel how you lean more of your weight on him, your smiling face a little too close to his own. He can hear your breathing clearly now, and the hand that holds onto his shoulder for support is burning his skin. “You’re lucky you look so cute right now or I would’ve gotten real mad at you.”

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t think you notice. Or maybe you do. He can’t really tell in this poor lighting and with the way your thigh rests between his legs. It’s distracting. You are distracting.

“But, then again,” You lean so close to him that your noses almost touch and he can feel your hot breath on his lips. “You always look cute. When you’re focused and you furrow your brows. When you’re looking at paintings and your eyes light up. Even when you’re scolding me and your jaw is set, I find it cute. Because you’re doing it out of concern for me. You’re always so nice to me. Always so sweet. It’s not all that weird that I fell in love with you, actually.”

That’s when it all slows down. It’s like the world outside is nonexistent. His eyes are wide, and he’s pretty sure his hands are starting to shake. He looks at you – your wide smile, the way your gaze drops to his lips for a second longer than appropriate, and how you’re tilting your head to the side. You’re going to kiss him, he realizes. You’ve just told him you like him and now you’re going to kiss him. He can feel your warm hand rest on his chest and he wants nothing more than to pull you closer, even though he shouldn’t.

What he should do is push you away. Tell you you’re way too drunk and you won’t remember any of this tomorrow. But he doesn’t. Because there's still that part of him that reminds him you haven’t even drunk that much, that you’re completely aware of your actions. It’s still you – your sparkling eyes, soft hair that smells of strawberries, and touch that drives him insane no matter how innocent it is. His best friend. The girl he’s in love with.

When your lips press against his, Hyunjin knows he wouldn’t be able to pull away even if he wanted to.

You taste of whiskey and cherries, the latter presumably from the chapstick you’ve been using for the past couple of years – the one Hyunjin has been dying to know the taste of for a shameful amount of time. It’s even better than he expected. Your hands are in his hair, and his fingers rest against the bare skin of your stomach, spreading goosebumps all over it. Experimentally, he urges you to open your mouth and when you do, he lets his tongue slip inside.

He pulls you closer, and you sigh contentedly into his mouth in response, pulling at his hair. It feels so good – feeling his lips on yours after only having imagined what it would be like to kiss him. And he’s kissing you back, just as fervently. It’s like a dream come true. You slip your hands under his shirt, way too drunk on him to even think about where you are and that you’ve just confessed your love for your best friend. Alcohol is good for something, after all, you suppose.

Feeling your fingers trace his abdominal muscles brings Hyunjin back to reality, and as much as he wants to let you touch him, he remembers you’re at a party. And there’s alcohol in your system. This is wrong. There’s no guarantee you even meant what you said, or if you’ll remember it tomorrow. So, as much as he doesn’t want to, he pushes you away.

“You need to go home, Y/N,” He says upon seeing your confused expression. “You’re drunk.”

For a moment, none of you move. You’re just staring at him with your lips swollen from kissing, pupils wide, and Hyunjin thinks you must be the most beautiful person alive. But there’s a hint of pain hidden in your eyes when he meets them and it sparks up guilt in his stomach. He wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. You’re drunk and overreacting. Tomorrow, if you even remember anything at all, you’ll be thankful he saved your friendship from going under. Because there’s no way you’re actually in love with him, after all.

“Come on, let’s get you home, alright?” He wants to grab your hand, but you pull away.

There’s no reason for you to be this upset. He’s drunk, you’re drunk, it happens. And so it’s only natural he wants to pretend nothing happened. You’re best friends, after all. But it still hurts and the alcohol still flowing through your veins only urges you to speak your mind.

“If you didn’t want to kiss me, you could’ve just said so.”

And before you can think twice, you leave him standing there and ask Minho to drive you home. He doesn’t ask any questions and you’re thankful for that.

Right now, it doesn’t feel like you have any answers.

—

You’ve never avoided Hyunjin before.

Not when you were mad at him for listening in on a fight you had with your mom, and not after he caught you making out with his best friend in high school. Sure, both you and him got mad sometimes, but you’d always talk it out. Or, as it would be more accurate to say, he would talk, and slowly, but surely, you’d come to realize there was no reason to be mad. And everything would be back to normal.

But the thing is – this time you’re not mad. Just embarrassed. And scared. Really fucking scared. And since Hyunjin is the source of those intrusive emotions, your smart brain came up with the idea of avoiding him until you magically fall out of love with him and will be able to tell him that the kiss was a mistake you regret making.

It’s a horrible plan, really. But it’s all you’ve got.

And it works just fine for, like, thirteen hours. Out of which you slept ten.

In the morning, Hyunjin calls you, but you ignore it. He doesn’t call again, probably coming to the conclusion that you’re still asleep. Then, you skip class to avoid him. Stupid move, because that just makes him send you even more messages, asking you if everything’s alright. And the worst part is, you want to respond to them. You really do. This is Hyunjin, after all. Your best friend. You’re missing him already. Why did you have to be so stupid and kiss him? You could’ve just let him live in ignorant bliss and saved your friendship, but instead, you chose this. You really are stupid.

All in all, dodging his calls and skipping class is manageable, but you can’t really keep avoiding him when he quite literally grabs your hand as you’re on the way to the bathroom, pulling you into some empty classroom.

“What are you–” You begin to say, but he cuts you off.

“You’re avoiding me,” It’s not a question. His gaze is hard and you look down – partially because you’re ashamed, but mostly because you’re afraid that if you look at his handsome face you’re just going to start crying, reminded of how he pushed you away yesterday. “Why?”

That is a question, but it’s so dumb it makes you scoff. Does he really not know why you’re avoiding him or is he just playing dumb? It seems pretty simple to you – you told him you like him, he rejected you, and now avoiding him is easier than facing the truth. But he doesn’t appear to understand that, eyebrows raised as he eyes you cautiously.

“Why?” He asks again, and so you cave.

“Because,” You lock eyes with him and feel all those emotions you felt at the party all over again. “I told you I liked you yesterday. So now I’m embarrassed to even look at you.”

Silence falls over the room after you say that, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wait for him to say something. Anything.

“You were drunk,” He sighs after a while. “I didn’t take it seriously. You don’t need to be embarrassed, so let’s just forget it ever happened if that’s what you want.”

One second passes. Then two. He thinks you weren’t serious. That’s amazing news – it means you can just lie about it and never talk about it with him ever again – so why don’t you feel relieved? If anything, it makes you feel even more miserable. Because maybe – just maybe – you’d hoped he’d say he’s in love with you too. Or at least that he’d take you seriously, because, fuck, this is serious. And honestly, lying about it for another seven years seems worse than telling him right now and getting it over with.

“I meant it,” The words fall off your tongue suddenly – an outburst of feelings you hadn’t originally intended to share. “What I said yesterday. I wasn’t even that drunk, that was just an excuse.”

You suck in a breath. One. Two. Three. It’s fine; you’re fine. Just say it. You can’t exactly back off now, either way. Hyunjin’s expression is unreadable, but that might just be your heart banging in your ears so hard you can’t focus on anything else. Okay. You can do this.

“I’m in love with you, Hyunjin. I’ve been in love with you since I can remember. It was bound to slip out sooner or later, I guess. This just kinda makes me wish it happened later.”

There. You said it.

Hyunjin’s face remains unchanged, only a small spark in his eyes indicating he heard you. A few strands of his hair fall into his forehead, but he doesn’t push them away. It’s like he wants you to step forward and do it yourself. You don’t have the courage to do that, though. Instead, you just stand there and look at him until he decides to say something.

“Why?”

His voice is soft and welcoming, so you reply right away.

“Because you don’t feel the same way about me. And I’m scared nothing’s gonna be the same between us after this.”

He looks at you and it feels like he’s staring right into your soul. Though you suppose he wouldn’t need any special powers to do that, since you basically exposed all of yourself to him right now. He’s only silent for three or four seconds, but it feels like years as you’re standing there. You’re in the chemistry classroom, you realize, so if you were to run away now you could just say you were afraid a professor would catch you. You never get that far, though, because, at that moment, Hyunjin decides to finally speak.

“You always do that, you know,” You furrow your brows, but he only smiles shyly. In surprise, you notice how his cheeks are tinted light pink. He’s blushing. You haven’t seen him blush since, like, sixth grade, when your mom called him handsome. “Jump to conclusions. I pushed you away yesterday because I didn’t want you to do anything you would regret later. Like drunkenly kiss your best friend that is hopelessly in love with you and give him false hope.”

It takes a minute for his words to sink in, but when they do, it feels surreal. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? He must notice your confused expression, because he walks closer and leans his face down so it’s parallel to yours.

“I’m in love with you, too, stupid,” His nose touches yours and you shiver. “Did you really think I would’ve gone to that food truck if it weren’t for you?”

You giggle as if trying to hide the way your heart is doing loops inside of your chest. “The hamburgers really weren’t that good.”

“I knew you were lying.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side. You can feel his breath on your face, his eyes sparkling in the poor lighting of the lamp above your head. When his hands settle on your waist, you feel like you’re about to float into the air. “Can I kiss you?”

There’s no hesitation when you nod and that’s all the convincing Hyunjin needs. He leans forward to close the space that is dividing you from him and presses his lips to yours softly – carefully, as if not to hurt you. His tongue swipes across your lower lip and you hold onto his shoulders like you’re afraid your knees will give out. The kiss, his hand settling on your cheek to caress the skin, the softness of his lips – it's perfect. All of it.

Until suddenly, the door flies open and you jump away from him like you just burned yourself.

“What are you guys doing here?”

Hyunjin’s fingers leave your waist, and it makes you look toward the person that interrupted your moment. You start fixing your clothing awkwardly as you lock eyes with Changbin, whose gaze flicks from you to Hyunjin and back again, before the realization hits him and he audibly gasps, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand.

“Oh my god,” His dramatic tone makes you roll your eyes, but really, you can feel your whole body heating up. “You’re hooking up and you didn’t tell me?”

“We’re not ‘hooking up’,” You’re not looking at Hyunjin but you just know he’s scrunching his nose up in distaste. “We’re… figuring things out.”

“Well, maybe you should figure them out somewhere else, because I have class here in three minutes.”

Changbin sounds amused, and you can see from the corner of your eye how Hyunjin glares at him before taking your hand in his and leaving the classroom. You’ve almost arrived at the dorms by the time it hits you that he’s actually holding your hand. Hwang Hyunjin is holding your hand. And not just loosely, like he’s done since you met him when dragging you off somewhere – no, this time, he’s deliberate about it, interlacing his fingers with yours and walking right next to you.

The warmth you feel settle in your chest isn’t just because of the temperature change that occurs as you walk into his dorm, that’s for sure.

“Minho’s not here?” You ask, looking around. You’ve been here plenty of times as Hyunjin’s friend, but this feels different somehow. It doesn’t exactly help your nervousness that the dorm is empty, except for you and him.

“Went out with his girlfriend, I think,” Hyunjin lets go of your hand to pull his sweater over his head, probably noticing the change in temperature like you. Maybe it’s stupid, but you can’t help the way your eyes linger a little too long on the stripe of skin that is exposed when he unintentionally drags his shirt up with the sweater, your brain going into overdrive when you see how his muscles flex as he drags it down to cover his stomach again. Unfortunately, it seems that this doesn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin. “Are you uncomfortable or something? Because if you need time to think this over or something, I’m okay with that.”

“What?” You look up to meet his gaze, feeling your face heat up. “No, I don’t, I was just… Thinking about how I like your kitchen.”

You’re fucking stupid. You could’ve said anything – literally anything – but you chose this? And just like you fear, Hyunjin notices your embarrassment, and you can clearly tell from the look he’s giving you that he’s got you all figured out already. That’s one of the disadvantages of falling in love with your best friend, you suppose.

“You’ve seen my kitchen, like, a thousand times,” He points out and you send him a glare when he purposefully leans on the counter so his muscles are even more visible. “I don’t think you’ve seen my bedroom, though.”

Your heart jumps up to your throat as his eyes scan your body, lip pulled between his teeth. It’s not like him to be so straightforward, and you can see how his cheeks are turning pink from what he just said. Cute. That makes you feel a little less nervous, though your heart still pounds against your chest when you walk closer to him, grabbing hold of his shirt to press your lips to his.

His touch is warm when he wraps his arms around you, his mouth moving against yours slowly. He’s taking his time, a sigh escaping past his lips as he parts them, letting your tongues interlace. You’re the one to start walking towards his bedroom, fingers pulling at his hair and he helps you open the door. His hand feels warm on your waist when he pulls away from the kiss to rest his lips against your cheek and sit down on his bed, pulling you along.

Situating yourself in his lap, you connect your lips to his again, but he doesn’t let you ravish in his taste for too long before he starts pressing kisses against your jaw. It’s not like you mind, but you grind your hips against him in revenge nonetheless, noticing how his grip on your waist tightens and he sucks down on the skin on your neck, making you moan out softly. One of his hands works to unzip your jacket and push it off your shoulders, the other slipping under your shirt and sending shivers down your spine.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know,” His fingers trace your skin slowly and the sound of his voice when he rests his mouth against your shoulder – all raspy and quiet – is enough to have your underwear soaking through faster. If he thinks you want to stop now, he’s insane.

“I want to,” He looks up at you with hooded eyes, smiling when he lifts your shirt over your head. Then, his hands come up to slide your jeans off and you help him by lifting your legs a little, now sitting down on his bulge with only your panties and his sweats dividing you from feeling all of him. He drags your hips along his experimentally and you whimper quietly, feeling how you’re soaking through your panties and probably onto the fabric of his pants. “I want you, please.”

His eyes grow a little wider at your words and you help him unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the ground. You whine when his fingers find their way between your legs, rubbing against the fabric of your panties softly. Wriggling in his lap to create friction, you hold onto his shoulders and he gives in quickly, pushing your panties to the side so he can press his palm against your clit and rub it, eliciting a moan from you.

“You’re so wet,” He mumbles against your shoulder, pressing kisses to it as he starts dragging his fingers through your folds, all while the palm of his hand keeps rubbing against your clit. “And so pretty.”

Your fingers work to get rid of his shirt, and he helps you by lifting your hands. This makes you whine at the loss of contact between his fingers and your pussy, but he only smiles as he brings it back between your legs, rubbing against your heat agonizingly slowly. You buck your hips into his hand to feel more, but that only causes him to retract it, looking at you disapprovingly.

“You’re so annoying,” You groan at him, feeling your pussy throb, hungry for his touch. “Can’t you just-”

But you don’t get to finish that sentence as he pushes two of his fingers inside of you, making you gasp loudly and hold onto him tighter. He starts pumping them in and out of you, stretching you out so well and making you squirm in his grip, your breath uneven. You’d expected him to start off slowly, but he doesn’t – he buries himself knuckles deep inside of you and his thumb rubs your clit in a steady rhythm. The kisses he litters all over your collarbones are soft – a contrast to the way he’s fucking you with his fingers that – as you notice upon looking down between your bodies – are glistening with your arousal.

“Feels good, baby?” He asks, and you clench around his fingers in response, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

He starts pushing his fingers in and out of you faster, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl and makes you moan his name. It’s getting hard to keep yourself up now as you’re approaching your orgasm, Hyunjin’s hand grabbing at your tits while the other makes you clench around him repeatedly. Your thighs are starting to shake, that familiar feeling of pleasure stirring up in your stomach. The feeling of his hard cock poking into your thigh doesn’t help at all, only serving for your moans to grow louder when he rubs your clit faster, more precisely.

The sound of your pussy squelching with arousal as he drives them into you fills the room along with the moans you let out into his ear, and you feel his cock growing harder from underneath his sweats. Even though it’s difficult to gather your thoughts enough to think of anything else other than how good he’s making you feel, you manage to bring your hand to palm him through his sweats, which earns you an even quicker pace of his fingers that’s making you see stars.

“Fuck, do that again,” He moans and you comply, grabbing his dick through his sweats and making his hips buck into your hand. You whimper at that, tightening around his fingers, nails digging into his biceps. “Want to fuck that pretty pussy of yours so bad. You want me to, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, pushing your hips further down on his fingers and moaning his name with each movement. You’re so close now, clenching around him like crazy, pretty much bouncing on his fingers to feel him deeper. He brings you to the edge quickly, continuing to rub your clit as you cum, soaking his fingers with your slick and moaning in a way that would’ve made you feel embarrassed if it weren’t for how lost in the pleasure you are.

“Oh my god,” You breathe out when he retracts his fingers, licking them clean of your juices.

He looks up at you worriedly. “Are you oka-”

You cut him off by kissing him, opening your mouth, and swallowing his moans when you palm him through his sweats again. He slips his tongue inside your mouth, and groans when he gets a taste of your cherry chapstick – he wants to bottle up that sensation and replay it every night. Your hands move to slide his pants down, and you grind down on his dick, now only divided from you with his thin boxers.

“I want you, please, Hyunjin,” You’re way past getting embarrassed, begging him without even batting an eyelash. “Want your cock.”

His worried gaze turns lewd, and he helps you pull his boxers down, letting his cock spring free. The sight is mouthwatering, and you know he notices you staring from the way his lips quirk upward in a soft smile, reminding you exactly why you’re in love with this man. He pulls you into his lap again, so close that your tits are pressed against his chest and his cock rests against your clit. You whine when he drags it through your folds, soaking it in your juices but not really creating any friction.

“You’re so impatient,” He coos, positioning himself at your entrance and pushing just the tip in, causing you to clench around nothing. “You want my cock, princess? Want me to fuck you stupid?”

“Mhmm, please.”

Hyunjin smiles, grip tightening on your hips as he pushes you down on his cock, a moan leaving your mouth when he enters you fully. It’s painful only for a few seconds – then, feel the throb in your pussy grow again and so you start moving up and down slowly, moaning softly each time you sink down on his cock. He’s biting his lip, watching your movements, and letting his hands come up to play with your tits.

You push your chest out into his hands, bouncing up and down on his cock and feeling your walls suck him in tightly like you don’t want him to ever pull out. And you don’t. It feels so good to have him inside of you – you can feel every bit of his dick clearly and he looks really hot, with his eyes half-closed and a sheepish smile on his features, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“You look so pretty fucking yourself on my cock,” How he manages to look so angelic while saying that, brushing your hair away from your face, and at the same time making you clench around him frantically, you don’t know. “Wish I’d fucked you sooner, princess.”

His words make you whimper, and you feel your thighs burn from the way you’re bouncing on his cock already. You hold onto him, but it doesn’t stop your legs from shaking and you whine, annoyed.

Hyunjin’s hands move to your hips when he sees you struggling, and you whimper a little when he lifts them with ease before pushing you down on his cock again. It’s a whole different sensation when he does it. He’s fucking you much harder now, driving into you from a deeper angle that makes you see stars, legs giving out completely, and letting him do all the work. Hyunjin doesn’t seem to mind that, though, small groans leaving his lips as he helps you ride him.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” He whispers and presses a kiss to your jaw, not slowing down in the slightest. “My pretty girl.”

You’re feeling a little dizzy from both the praise and the way he’s hitting all the right spots, fingers probably leaving marks on your skin from how he’s holding onto you, ravishing in the way you whimper his name with each roll of his hips. You can feel the knot in your stomach tighten yet again, and there’s no way you’re going to last much longer with the way he’s splitting you open on his cock.

“Fuck, Hyunjin, I-” The words die down in your throat as he keeps rutting into you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when his dick hits the spot that makes you curl your toes in pleasure repeatedly. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Me too.”

He groans and captures your lips in a kiss as his cock twitches inside of you, the feeling pushing you over the edge and making you clench and unclench around him repeatedly when you cum. He follows not long after, shooting his cum into you and moaning softly at the sensation of your walls sucking him in. You whine when he pulls out, but the sound is soon replaced by a hum of appreciation when he lies down on the bed and pulls you down so your head lies on his chest and he can wrap his arms around you.

“I love you so much,” He says, burying his face in your hair.

You smile. “I love you, too.”

And as you’re left regaining your breath in each other’s arms, Hyunjin still feels the faint taste of your cherry chapstick on his tongue. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

–

You never thought facing your friends after everything that happened would be easy, but it’s safe to say you weren’t expecting to hear party horns go off the moment you entered the cafe at which you decided to meet.

“Congrats on bagging your best friend, Y/N!”

“Are you out of your mind? Be quiet,” You really want to kick Changbin as he shouts that as loud as he can, but you settle on sending an apologetic smile to the people sitting by tables around you and glaring at him instead. Looking to your left, you meet Hyunjin’s gaze, but he doesn’t seem as if he’s about to run away, so you decide that Changbin hasn’t lost his title as your friend just yet. You’re really thankful for the way Hyunjin squeezes your hand reassuringly, winking in your direction – even if it doesn’t exactly help calm your heart down.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t care that much,” Minho comments as the two of you get seated. “Changbin’s pretty much spilled it to everyone, anyway.”

“What?”

“Not everyone,” Changbin protests immediately. “Just a few trusted individuals.”

“A few hundred, you mean,” Minho snickers. “Either way-”

“Stop lying, I literally only told those girls from NCTU-”

“Either way, we just want to say we’re happy for you. Even if this means I’ll have to witness you kiss,” Minho shudders playfully and you can’t help but smile. “You look happy together, and that’s enough for me.”

“Just please don’t break up before spring break,” Changbin adds. “It will make the camping trip so awkward.”

You smile at them, feeling as if a big weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. They’re happy for you. You feel Hyunjin squeeze your hand, and you whip your head around to look into his eyes that sparkle with adoration.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any plans of letting Y/N get rid of me that easily.”

Butterflies swarm in your stomach, just like they always do when he says something this cheesy and sweet at the same time. You suppose you’ll feel this way for another seven years. And then seven years more. You smile, and he smiles too. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips and you can’t help the way you feel like the happiest girl in the world when your lips move together.

“You guys are so gross.”

Hyunjin laughs as he pulls away, and so do you. Moments like these make it worth waiting seven years to have him.

#hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids headcanons #hyunjin x reader #skz smut

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kinardscoffee · 17 days

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Okay galaxy brain headcanon time. So Tommy's name tag in season two said Kincaid not Kinard. Maybe that was his original last name but he changed it when he finally cut contact with his dad - or his last name was something else entirely. He turns 18, says fuck you dad, changes his name from Thomas X to "just Tommy" Kincaid, joins the army and Tommy 2.0s himself, then years later he's like "i wanna be a pilot", im gay, no dad fuck off, new life, new me, new name, new station. Tommy Kinard is Tommy 3.0.

Tommy 4.0 is of course marriage to this hot firefighter named Evan and that means new name once again, but maybe with a hyphen this time.

Heyyy Anon!

First, I just want to say, well fucking done on catching that! I had to do a bit of research on this ask cause I, for one, missed it!

So, here's S2 Tommy in all his selfie glory:

And if we zoom in... that name tag does in fact say, Kincaid:

BUT... I think it's just a costuming error because I went back to watch the "Begin" episodes and everyone calls him "Kinard" and it's the name on his turn-out.

However, I do like the idea of an evolution of Tommy Kinard, so here's my two cents inspired by your two cents!

You can change your name at 16, and I agree he changed his legal name from Thomas to just Tommy. I imagine his father called him Thomas, and I believe that was a sore spot throughout his childhood.

Thomas can't do anything right.

Tommy can sneak out at night.

Thomas was a mistake.

Tommy has friends at school.

So, I believe Tommy joined the military the day after he graduated from high school, which would potentially make him 18. And he never saw his father again after this. A quick Google search let me know that the Army is actually the only branch of the military where you only need a high school diploma to become a pilot. So after completing basic training and the other requirements to become an Army pilot, Tommy could have potential received his pilot's license in roughly 2 years.

I'm not going into time served in the Army, so let's move on...

Thus, Tommy 2.0 is born.

He lands in LA, buys a house, and decides to join the LAFD, where he meets Captian Gerrard and Sal DeLuca. This ultimately shoves him into Tommy 3.0, which is the version of himself that I believe he hates the most.

He's wrestling with feelings he's always had but knows they're "wrong" in certain people's eyes and so I believe his first years at the 118 Tommy has never felt more like his father.

And he hates it. Despises himself even.

So, when Chim shows up, Tommy has this massive wall up, built by self-hatred and sadness. But then, Chim saves his life. And that wall begins to chip away, bit by bit.

We see the wall has almost completely crumbled when Hen arrives but with Captian Gerrard there he's prepared to put up barriers again.

Until Hen gives her speech.

I believe that speech cracked open Tommy 3.5. Maybe not someone who's ready to stand up and preach his truth in front of everyone but definitely someone who knows it's time to help be a part of the solution.

When Bobby shows up, Tommy is sailing nicely into Tommy 4.0. He's happy, he has friends that he can go out to drink with, and for the first time in his life, I think he's starting to feel as if he actually could belong somewhere.

Lou has said that Tommy likes to fly because it's his way to feel free and escape his problems. And I believe that with the happiness Tommy has found at the 118, his displeasure of not feeling true to himself is harder to ignore.

So, he transfers and stops lying to himself. New station, New him right? He gers the freedom of flying and being open about his sexuality.

Tommy 4.0 is officially here.

Then, years later, after a really bad breakup that left him ready to give up on the idea of ever finding love, he finds it in the most adorable ally that helped steal his helicopter, Evan Buckley.

And that's when Tommy Kinard finally finds the place where he belongs.

#im in my feels #THEY #tim minear do the right thing and give Lou a S8 contract #911 abc #bucktommy #911 fandom #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #911 speculation #911 meta #tommy kinard meta??#anon 🩵

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 8 months

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Part 9 - left its seeds while I was sleeping

“Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence.” -The Sound of Silence by Disturbed

Masterlist Part 8

It was the lack of air in her lungs that woke Jazz up, gasping for air and fingers desperately trying to find a beating pulse at her neck.

With a sigh of relief, Jazz rested her palm against the beat, counting as it started to settle into a resting pace again.

Another nightmare.

Back in Danny’s memorial Jazz had converted from a maintenance access space, she had slept there one Christmas weekend as she learned her little brother would truly never have a peaceful afterlife. The darkness was an old friend, like a worn blanket from childhood that you would hide under because you believed the monsters wouldn’t get you then- embraced her as she was and sheltered her as she mourned her lost humanity and childhood until there were no more tears to cry.

Nonetheless, it couldn’t shelter her from the dreams of death, the echo of Danny’s death scream ghostly wail ricocheting in her skull like the worst sort of pinball game she could ever have the misfortune of playing.

It was no longer Danny’s death or theirs that haunted her with dogged determination, but Jason’s.

(The same man she found herself missing more with each passing day that she didn’t wake in his arms.)

It was horrifically detailed, the nightmares, because Jazz’s imagination painted with vivid color even in sleep. The details Lady Gotham had shared with her were few and far between, considering she didn’t care for talking about her favorite bird’s murder.

(Beaten, betrayed… waiting for his dad to reach him in time.)

(Only the darkness would ever know how much Jazz cried for a younger Jason, who only wanted his mother’s love, died for it.)

(It spoke to her own childhood, wanting her parents to love her and care for her.)

(What a pair they were.)

Jazz threw off her blankets and got dressed for the day, hair brushed back into a low ponytail and Bracelets hidden under loose sleeves and a glamor. The metal was cool against her warm skin, a comfortable weight on her forearms as she went about her morning in silence, forcing the nightmare back into a box for her never to think about.

Danny emerged only a few minutes after Jazz began making breakfast for them, yawning and raking a scarred hand through his messy hair as he tried to wake up. Her little brother was completely healed from his traumatic experience physically, but she worried about him mentally. Though he was much happier compared to when she first dragged him bleeding and screaming to Gotham, which could also be due to the fact that he has a new Haunt and isn’t vilified by the city as Phantom.

Even if it came at the cost of life, Danny loved being a vigilante.

The signs were there in the little things most of all.

The pride in his voice when he introduced himself as Phantom, delivered puns and witty one-liners with his wicked sense of humor for all to see, thrived in the sense of duty he wrought in Protecting others, even complete strangers. Danny was a hero, but he didn’t need that distinction to want to help, he only wanted to not be hunted for his spooky nature.

Jazz would shoulder that burden for him, take up another mantle if it meant giving Danny a chance to be happy with his existence. Ancients only knew how far she would go for him.

One slash, two, three

Blood is on your hands already.

Fourth, fifth slash

Ask the ghosts if honor matters, buried amongst the ash.

So what if Jazz had a bond with the darkness? So what if she woke up with no air in her lungs, searching for a pulse?

There was nothing else for her to fight for, no greater purpose she could find then to be at Danny’s side through the ups and downs. Jazz had already given up so much, both willingly and unknowingly, to take the crown, to be more than a presence on the sidelines- she was more than a Liminal, Jazz was the damn Regent.

(She ignored the grating reminder of the title being temporary.)

It was only until Jazz watched Danny walk through the door of his school, that it dawned on her what she was feeling….

Jazz was becoming depressed.

-——-———–

With the subtlety of Jack Fenton barreling through a wall, Jazz threw herself into work- both Vigilante and Regent- to ignore the realization and subsequent horror that she was falling into a deep depression.

And it was largely because of Danny.

Ancients, Jazz wanted nothing more than to confront these feelings head on, much like she encouraged her little brother too, but she couldn’t even find where to begin.

She supposed she could find someone to talk to about all this, in a professional manner, but her options were limited.

Spectra was the only ghost with counseling experience, but Jazz would only be leaving a conversation with her worse than when she began.

Frostbite would be of little help with something so human, considering he was an ancient ghost Yeti.

Human. That was it.

Jazz hadn’t considered a human psychiatrist, since most of her health needs thus far were physical and treated by the Yeti tribe, thanks to her ecto-contamination and proto-core.

What if she found a human doctor to see? Jazz had no reason to discuss anything ecto related, only human adjacent, so she could very well find one that suited her and her needs.

Well, that might be a challenge in Gotham.

The Watchtower was host to nearly every possible hero who were to attend Batman’s urgent briefing, many lingering around and questioning what the Bat could’ve had in store for so many of them to be present.

Robin, Red Hood, and Red Robin were counted among the numbers of those present, though only Red Robin had the fully depth of what they were about to be privy to, having been one of three people to sort through the Ghost Files (as they were dubbed by the Batkids).

Robin had demanded to be included, citing his prior experience with The Regent in Crime Alley as reason enough.

(He would not admit that he had been petrified by the vigilante, the death aura freezing him down to his bones.)

Red Hood was there at the request of his younger brother (Tim), Oracle and Batman, though he had yet to understand why.

“Red Robin, begin the presentation.” Batman ordered gruffly as he entered the large meeting hall, Superman and Wonder Woman at his heels, the other heroes trickling in soon after.

Red Robin nodded, took a deep breath and started the presentation slideshow.

Slide #1: Ghosts, Fenton Family, GIW, Anti-Ecto Acts, The Regent and the Phantom

Despite the absurdity of the first slide, no one felt like laughing. Especially when it is in a meeting with the Batman, the Dark Knight and two (?) of his children. Not to mention the existence of Deadman was well known to the Justice League.

“Bloody Hell, Bats, took you long enough.” Constantine had no qualms about poking the man in question with a metaphorical stick, but he had fully expected this briefing to happen a week ago.

“This briefing will be disclosing information granted to us by one of these Ghosts or Ecto-Entities as they are officially classified by the Ghost Investigation Ward or GIW. A serious breach of the Metahuman protection laws has been created and exploited by this government organization, which is responsible for drawing the Human world into the beginnings of an inter dimensional war with the Infinite Realms.” Batman spoke calmly, even if he was holding onto his demeanor by the skin of his teeth.

(He was livid.)

(A dead child had to beg him not to send him to war.)

(A dead child was a Spirit of Protection.)

As expected, the heroes present were disgusted by the actions of the GIW, the diabolical Anti-Ecto Acts passed during Luther’s term.

The worst reactions came during the Fenton Family portion.

The Ghost Files had included so much info on them, Red Robin had to shorten the list of what he would include in the presentation.

The first picture was of the members themselves, posing in front of a brick building with a neon sign of ‘Fentonworks’ glaring annoyingly from the background, casting an off shade of pale green over the subjects.

“The Fenton Family, manufacturers of the weapons sold to the GIW for the express purpose of hunting and capturing ghosts.” Batman began, “The two adults are Madeline and Jack Fenton, ecto-biologists whose prejudiced views on Ecto-Entites seem to be the founding behind the Acts and the GIW.”

The man in the photo was large, a sturdy frame encased in an orange hazmat suit and bearing a wide grin on his face, with an arm around his wife and children. Madeline Fenton was a slight woman, standing at a possible five foot eight and wearing a hazmat suit like her spouse.

The children were the next to be spoken of, “The boy is Daniel Fenton, the youngest, and according to the information given, he was killed in a lab accident at fourteen years old.”

The gasps of horror intermingled with the muttered curses before the Dark Knight silenced them, “Daniel’s older sister, Jasmine, was the primary caregiver for most of his life and after discovering her parents dissecting the town’s protector, a ghost by the name of Phantom, in the same basement lab Daniel died in, Jasmine allowed the Regent to claim their souls so the violence done to Phantom would be avenged.”

It had been quite the shock for Red Robin and Oracle to read that, both at the evidence of cruelty and inhumane experimentation done to a sentient being (a child who died and protected the town) and the admittance that the Regent killed the humans to avenge Phantom.

It wasn’t until Hood grimly smiled and said, “Good for them.” that something clicked.

Phantom was killed by the Fentons and avenged by the Regent of the Ghost King.

(Jason had never been avenged, not like this dead kid.)

There was one file, a video, that Tim refused to share with anyone.

The death of Daniel Fenton.

…and the rebirth.

Contrary to popular belief, Danny wasn’t an idiot. He was born into a bloodline of brilliance, even if such wasn’t always used for the greater good. He had spent years fixing his parents failed inventions, doing the proper equations to figure out how something could work when in reality it had no business existing.

(Designed to view a world unseen.)

He’d learned how to fly a jet and build one at fifteen out of sheer desperation, defeated the Ghost King in the same year…. And was almost killed fully by his parents.

His vivisection scars had healed fully, his removed ribs having regrown, and he could transform without echoes of agony in his chest.

(They had gotten far too close to his core.)

Point was, Danny knew there was something going on with his sister. She had been less talkative since their escape from Amity, but Jazz had been withdrawn since they took Jason to the Batcave. He had suspected that Jazz missed having someone to care for, considering that was the kind of person she’d been for as long as he could remember, but it didn’t seem quite right. There was something sadder in her eyes.

Danny turned his focus back down to what he was doing, shoving the concern down to deal with later when he sees Jazz. Usually English was one of the classes he could relax in, considering he could now actually read the assigned books without worrying about ghost attacks eating into his sleep, but today Danny couldn’t focus on the teacher or the lesson.

He’d had an idea for the ecto-comms, his own creation made from broken Fenton phones. His notebook, which was a mix of notes and half finished designs, was open to the original design of the comms. Danny had to account for Jazz’s helmet when he designed her set, but it was awkward at best to activate it when she needed to talk to him.

Jazz needed armor to protect her vital organs even if her skin was incredibly durable. He’d seen some idiot unload a clip into Jazz’s back, not a single one had pierced her- that had been when she’d intercepted a smuggling ring from inside and had yet to summon her armor or sword.

(The creepy head turn Jazz did to face the idiot was the stuff horror movies were made from.)

(Danny was oddly proud.)

No, the armor was to protect against ghosts. Ecto-blasts would severely injure Jazz despite her liminalality, unlike Danny who could just go intangible or manipulate the ectoplasm in his body around the blast.

“Did you hear about the Anti-Ecto Acts?” one of his classmates whispered from somewhere behind him, causing Danny to automatic tune his hearing into the conversation.

“Yeah, that stuff is sick. Phantom is a pretty cool dude, even if he’s dead.”

“He’s got puns for days, man.”

“But still, ghosts?”

“We got aliens, dude and you’re drawing the line at ghosts?”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Just read the whole article, man.”

“It’s the daily planet.”

“It’s Clark Kent and Lois Lane, dude, it’s worth the gag factor of metropolis.”

Danny’s pencil snapped in uneven halves in his grip, confusing mix of emotions swirling in his chest.

Anger-relief-cautious hope

He’d given the Ghost Files to Batman as his last resort, believing in the hero and for his connection to Lady Gotham to sway him to give it a read through. Jazz had been adamant that if Phantom and the Ghost King was on that list, then she (as the Regent) would be too, though the two of them had argued against labeling Phantom as the Star King for the time being. Danny had grudgingly agreed to keep Phantom labeled as a Spirit of Protection, even if he went behind his sister’s back and gave Batman a list of his powers.

(Danny still had nightmares of Dan.)

(He lost his parents, but he hadn’t lost his family.) (He had to remember that.)

There were few things Jason would consider dear to him.

His books, kept neat and orderly in his apartment. His vigilante alias, taken from his killer to be a force of change. His grave, as a reminder that he came back. He’d been surprised to see Joker removed from the rogue list, hopeful that it meant he was avenged the clown fucker was finally dead and gone. Dick had held him again when he finally broke down and mourned himself, relief in the fact his killer would never hurt another innocent.

Never hurt his family again.

Barbie had framed the autopsy report and given it to her dad, where it proudly rested on his desk as a reminder that the clown was knocked off by a blessed soul and his daughter would never be hurt by him again.

The alley where his head remained mounted was a protected site in Crime Alley, enforced by both Red Hood and it’s people. A trophy for all of them to appreciate, because while they hadn’t been the ones to end him… they had survived to bare witness to the days free of Joker.

Harley Quinn was free, the happiest woman in all of Gotham- no, the world! The demon who’d made her in his image so long ago was gone for good and nothing would bring him back. She was free of her ex, her origin story was finally finished.

Jason counted the fact he was inadvertently avenged as the dearest part of what he was as equal parts man and shambling corpse. He was free of that burden.

And he had the bone-deep instinct that he knew exactly who to show his appreciation to.

Part 10

#dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dpxdc #jazz fenton #regent!jazz #jason todd #anger management ship #hardcover ship #Jason is about to enter simp mode for Jazz

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kentosbabes · 1 year

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hi i love your works! can i request brother’s best friend trope with nanami? thanks <3

You had always known Nanami Kento. He was your brother's best friend, and you had grown up with him always around. You had never thought much of him before - he was just another one of your brother's friends, after all. You made your way back up from university to surprise Gojo your eldest brother, but what she didn't know was that he gained a roommate called Nanami. You used the spare key to get in, carrying luggage and flowers for him, humming a song whilst you took your coat off. You shrugged off your jumper and slid into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Nanami who was having a shower and didn't hear the door being open, he left the bathroom with just a white towel around his waist and water dripping from his hair down his built abdomen. He did not expect to see a girl in the kitchen downing a glass of water. You turned around with a grin expecting to see your brother but were met with an unfamiliar face. Your smile dropped when you took in his whole appearance and looked down. You quickly averted your eyes and asked who he was and what he was doing in your brother's apartment.

Nanami had never seen someone so beautiful in his life, it rendered him speechless. You started to blush and he finally realised you had asked him a question, "I work with him and am his roommate. Who are you?" You replied, "I'm his sister, it's supposed to be a surprise." He wanted to ask you more but he was indecent, he stammered an apology and went into his room to put some actual clothes on.

You have never seen someone so fine in your life, attractive and polite. Nanami walked back out of his room wearing grey sweatpants and a black oversized top that hid his muscular body. He offered you some tea and you accepted, making small talk was difficult as you both felt awkward because of how you met- the image of him shirtless is engraved in your brain.

Gojo walked in and greeted Nanami, not seeing you behind the door. You tap him on the back and he squeals. You both hug and exchange pleasantries, he asks where you're staying and you reply a hotel nearby. "No, no, no, my sister can't be staying at a hotel when I have a room here for her." He has been persistent and stubborn from childhood and it's not like it would change all of a sudden, you roll your eyes and reason that you are only going to live there for a couple days until you have to get back. Gojo asked Nanami if it was okay if you could stay, "Of course, it's not an issue for me."

But one day, something changed. You saw Nanami in a different light, and suddenly you couldn't stop thinking about him. You started to notice the little things about him - the way he furrowed his brow when he was concentrating, the way he chuckled softly at a joke, the way his eyes sparkled in the sunlight. You tried to ignore your feelings at first, knowing that Nanami was your brother's friend and that it would be awkward if anything happened between the two of you. But the more you tried to push your feelings down, the stronger they became.

Nanami was a surprisingly attentive man, he took note of how you take your tea and the fact that you hate coffee. He places you a meal when he's making something and without fail asks if you would want some water. You started to spend more and more time together since Gojo had a project at the firm and was often working overtime, much to his dismay. Gojo tasked Nanami to hang out with you so you didn't feel awkward all by yourself in a strange city and home. Eventually, after a day of awkwardness, you asked him about himself, understanding why he's so kind and attentive- it's just in his nature/.

You found yourself alone with Nanami. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you looked at him, suddenly seeing him in a whole new light. To your surprise, Nanami was looking back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Hey," he said softly. "You okay?" You swallowed nervously, your mind racing. You didn't know what to say, or what to do. But before you could even think, Nanami leaned in and kissed you gently on the lips.

It was a simple kiss, but it was filled with so much emotion. You felt your heart swell with happiness as Nanami pulled away, looking at you with a mixture of tenderness and longing. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice low and husky. You smiled, feeling your cheeks flush with heat. "Me too," you said, leaning in to kiss him again.

From that moment on, you and Nanami were inseparable. You spent every moment you could with him, exploring the city and discovering new things together just before you left. You had a conversation about a long-distance relationship and put it out there that you would be moving anyways to be closer to your brother (that is the real reason you came over) so it wouldn't be a factor. He helps to apartment hunt for you and you find a perfect place, only ten minutes away from them. Although he was your brother's best friend, it didn't matter - you knew that what you had with Nanami was real and true, and nothing could stand in the way of your love.

Masterlist

#nanami headcanons #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami kento drabble #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento headcanons #jjk headcanons #kentosbabes #jujustu kaisen #gojo saturo #gojo satoru

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rosewaterandivy · 7 months

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Epilogue | for once in my life

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C: 5.7k

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, yearning, Tuscan summers, a flashback or two, a wedding, and my usual filth™️

A/N: Thanks for bearing with me while I worked on an ending for our two beloved idiots. 🥺 Truthfully, part of me put off writing the epilogue simply because I didn’t want to let Trouble and Steve go— they’re so near and dear to me! But, all good things must come to an end and I hope I’ve given them a fitting one. Thank you all for reading along and sharing your joy with me, it’s been incredible to experience! 💜💜💜

Series masterlist | Series Playlist | trouble will find me (for Trouble, most ardently) | rebel without a clue (for Steve, with love)

The distance was difficult, only mitigated by the positively unreal Tuscan summer. Though the university was in Bologna in the Emilia-Romagna region, since your classes centered on Dante, you along with a few other students, called Florence your home away from home for the summer.

The sun shone bright and hot against the ancient stones of Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and felt good against your back as you lazed in the garden and courtyard on a rare day off from combing through medieval texts in jam-packed libraries and dust motes floating through the air.

Crossing the bustling street you popped into your local gelateria only to be greeted with an exuberant, “Bella!” from Alessandro behind the counter. “Finally you grace us with your presence,” He teases, already scooping out a serving of arancia rossa sorbetto for you into a cup.

“Grazie,” You say with a smile, taking the sorbetto from his outstretched hand. “Had a slow start to the morning is all, Sandro.”

“Certo, I know how it is,” He says with a knowing wink.

To be fair, the slow start to the day was warranted, given the stress-induced dream you had last night. There you were, minding your own business, thinking about Steve and the voice note he’d left you earlier, and the next thing you know, your brain decided a trip down memory lane was warranted.

“But what do I do about the dress?” Your voice is choked, tongue stumbling over the words.

It hangs in your closet, mocking you. A pink dust bag with an elegant calligraphy card that lists your former wedding date and ex-fiancé’s last name. Robin’s fingers graze the zipper on the garment bag, fingers slowly settling along the pull.

“You could try it on?”

She says it as if she wishes she didn’t have to, as if the next time you would put on the wedding dress would be for the alteration appointment which you had already canceled, along with everything else.

Truthfully, the day you found the dress wasn’t at all what you expected it to be. Sure, you’d looked around online and at a few boutiques with Nancy, Robin, your mother, and would-be mother-in-law. Nothing struck your fancy though, each dress you slipped on had something wrong with it— too tight, too loose, too many embellishments, not enough embellishments, too heavy...

It was Steve who suggested the boutique, actually. One of his mother’s friends had a daughter who’d gotten her dress from a place in Indianapolis and said the service and selection were both top-notch. So you went and made a day trip out of it; Eddie and Steve would drop you and the girls off at the boutique and hang out in the city for the day.

Though, they really did try to weasel their way in to the appointment.

“The fact that you won’t let us join you is misandry.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “No, it isn’t, Eds!”

“Okay,” he relents, turning around to face you in the backseat, “Maybe not misandry, but definitely discriminatory. Dudes just wanna have fun!”

Steve laughs, pulling up in front of the boutique, waves to your mother who’s waiting on the sidewalk. “Y’never know,” he teases, “Could need a second opinion in there. Especially once they open the champagne.”

Eddie squawks at that, “You get to try on dresses and drink booze? I’m offended I’ve been left out here.”

Robin opens the backdoor with a roll of her eyes, “No boys allowed, dingus.”

You follow suit, giving Steve a small smile, “Thanks for driving us.”

His gaze softens, eyes meeting yours, “Happy to help. Now, go find a stunner in there for us, will ya?”

With a shake of your head, you bring yourself back to the moment. Sitting on the floor of your former home, moving boxes and tape littering the floor ready for you to pack up the pieces of your life. You look to Robin again, she’s unzipped the garment bag entirely revealing the bodice and skirt of the gown.

She watches you thoughtfully, “I mean, just to see if you still like it? That way we’ll know if we need to pack it or sell it.”

Sighing, you wipe your damp palms against your thighs and stand up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Okay.”

Between the two of you, you managed to wrestle into the dress. Robin securing the delicate straps as you adjust the cups and situate yourself. The door creaks open to reveal Nancy, her eyes bright with interest.

Robin gives up with her attempts to fix the zipper and numerous buttons on the back, steps aside for Nancy to intervene.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” Robin says, voice soft. “It looks amazing on you! Same as the day we found it.”

“It’s one hell of a dress.” Nancy agrees, the zipper pull sliding home. “No one would say no to you in that.”

Your laugh comes out as a choked thing, wet and raspy. You wipe your eyes in an effort to prevent any tears from falling. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have to see the dress to know that he no longer wanted you.

“Thanks, guys.”

Feeling brave enough to look at the mirror, you pause in perusal. And sure enough, it’s a stunner. Delicate lace embellished the corseted bodice, waist nipped just enough to amplify the bust. The skirt flowed down in layers of silk and tulle, the lace accenting the frothy peaks and valleys of it.

Turning, you noticed the low-dip of the back, highlighted by the beginnings of the train. It was a gown meant for a cathedral wedding, a long aisle as you walked toward the altar. A beautiful wedding dress for a wedding that no longer was.

It was getting difficult to justify keeping it.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, bursting into the room slack-jawed, “Your tits look great!”

Robin smacks him, “No boys allowed, dingus!”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you know what a closed door means?”

He grins, “I think we know by now that, no, I clearly do not.”

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, you turn to Nancy eyes wide. “Nance, the door–”

She shuts it quickly, keeping a hand on the knob. Robin and Eddie stop their bickering long enough to share a meaningful glance. You fist the full of the skirt in both hands and motion for Robin’s help in getting the dress off.

“Uh.” Steve says, voice muffled through the closed door, “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” You’re quick to respond, trying and failing to keep the panic from your voice, “Just packing up some stuff.”

“Riiiight.” He drawls, “Then do I hear Eddie in there talking about tits?”

“Hey man,” Eddie says in his own defense. “I just wandered in here, I know nothing.”

“And why is the door locked?”

Nance’s eyes go to the doorknob as it jiggles in her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what to do with the dress,” she says in a breathless rush.

If looks could kill, Nancy would have dropped to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her and turn with a huff.

“What dress— t-the wedding dress?”

“Yes, Steve.” Robin sighs. “That’s the one.”

The doorknob swivels again, “C’mon, just open the door guys. Eddie’s seen it and I am officially the only one who hasn’t.”

“No!” You shout.

Everyone stops to look at you, eyes wide.

“I mean,” you sputter indignantly, stepping out of the dress and throwing on your overly large t-shirt. “S’not a big deal, I’ll probably sell it, anyway.”

Robin and Eddie maneuver it back into the garment bag with a zip just as Nancy steps away from the door, gaze soft taking in your drawn face.

Steve stumbles in soon after to find you, pants-less, the hem on your shirt grazing your bare thighs, furiously taping boxes closed and scribbling in sharpie.

“Nothing to see here!” You say, stumbling into your bike shorts, tugging them back up. “No siree, nothing at all.”

His chest falls slightly, looking from you to the pink garment bag and back again. Robin catches the minute change in his expression before he’s picking up a box and carrying it out into the hall, not a word to be said about the dress.

And all that runs through your mind is a frantic buzz of ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress.’ Never mind that you were no longer a bride and Steve was never your intended groom. Any rational know-how kicked from your thoughts in an echo of your hammering heart.

Why your exhausted brain conjured up that particular episode, you had no idea. The instance was promptly forgotten, the dress stored at your parent’s place, and Steve never brought it up again.

Thank God for that.

Maybe it was because of Nancy and Jonathan’s looming nuptials. He’d popped the question not long after Nance moved in, and it had been full-steam ahead since March. The ceremony was to happen at the end of summer, just as your intensive was wrapping up.

She’d nearly had a coronary when you’d expressed your doubts about being able to attend.

“I’m not getting married without you Trouble, so sweet-talk those profs into letting you sit your exams early and get the fuck back home.” She sighs down the line, “There’s only so much of moping Steve we can take— Eddie is about ready to strangle him.”

You huff a laugh, “Yeah, I’m surprised he’s held out this long.”

“Yeah, she agrees dryly, "We all know you two'll take any excuse to get Steve in a headlock.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” You scoff. “That punk needs to be put in his place.”

You’d taken up Nance on her no-nonsense advice and your professors had graciously allowed you to submit your final papers early in order to make the wedding. Unfortunately, you’d miss out on a few of the celebrations like the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner— your flight would be landing just as the festivities began— but, Nancy and Jonathan had agreed to help you surprise the gang.

For all Robin, Eddie, and Steve knew there was absolutely, positively no way you could get out of your scheduled final exams. It sucked, as Robin rightfully pointed out, that you’d have to miss your best friend’s wedding but they all understood.

Steve was more hangdog about it than ever.

“Thanks Sandro,” You call out, plastic spoon in your mouth as you quickly step out the door, leaving a €5 note on the counter before he could stop you with a, “Your money is no good here, bella!”

Your phone buzzes in your bag, ducking under an awning your scramble through your well-worn tote bag to find it, throwing your sunglasses on in the process.

“Hey Fratty light,” You greet with a smile, spooning another cool helping of blood orange flavored ice into your mouth. “Do any good keg stands lately?”

Steve’s laugh nearly eclipses the warmth of the sun on your skin, a surge of heat building low in your stomach.

“At least I didn’t fall off the keg.”

“That was one time!” You scoff, jogging across the street before an aggressive Vespa can mow you down. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you give the driver the ombrello gesture and shout, “Vaffanculo!”

He chuckles at your outburst, “Tell ‘em babe!”

“I’ll have you know, I stuck that landing Harrington and, it was quite the crowd-pleaser if I recall.”

“Sure Trouble,” You can nearly hear the eye roll at your expense, “It was the landing and not the fact that you were wearing those panties.”

The fact that he remembered the pair in question has you reeling, you nearly run into a fellow pedestrian in your dazed state.

“Anyway,” You say, cleaning your throat. “What’s on the sad boy agenda for today? Getting into divorced dad rock, any Matchbox-20 or Creed in your future?”

“God, you’re awful, and no, thanks very much.”

You hear a door slam and a car engine turn over. Someone muttering about Steve’s ‘utter lack of taste’ in music— Eddie, without a doubt.

He sighs down the line, pulling on your heartstrings because you miss them all so damn much, but Steve most of all.

“Just helping with some wedding stuff.” His voice is softer, sadder knowing you won’t be there to celebrate with them. “Boring shit, you know.”

You hum in agreement, “Well I’ll let you get to it. Don’t let Eddie flirt with too many bridesmaids!”

“You got it, chief,” Steve says, “Take care of yourself babe.”

“You too, big boy.” A huff of laughter at hearing his scoff, “Byyyeeee.”

And maybe it happens like Nance said it would, things just fall into place when they’re meant to.

After a flight from hell— a toddler would not, for love or money, stop kicking the back of your seat on the evening flight from Milan to Berlin, and you were stuck in the backmost row from Berlin to Indianapolis on the red-eye. It was a miracle you rolled up to your parents' house in one piece. You’d arrive at the venue to get ready with the rest of the bridal party where you’d hopefully be able to keep Robin sworn to secrecy.

You weren’t above putting her into a headlock, if it came down to it.

Dress, shoes, and make-up bag hastily thrown in your mom’s car, you drove to the venue just outside of Hawkins. A lovely little outdoor property owned by a local family, groves of trees and the finest collection of wildflowers you’d ever seen— fitting for Nancy and Jonathan.

You arrive in a slightly mussed frenzy, arms weighed down with your bridesmaid dress and a weekend bag that did fuck-all to protect you from the sudden onslaught of summer rain. Cursing the permeability of Indiana summers, you walk swiftly toward the bridal cottage.

The squelch of your shoes and drops of rain accompany you across the tiled path. Breathe. A steady inhale pulls the comforting scent of petrichor to your lungs, tucked safely behind the cage of your ribs. A shift in the light, a cloud makes way for the sun to shine once more; you scramble for the club masters perched on your head, impossibly tangled (of course) in a damp nest of hair.

Pried free, you rest the glasses against your nose bridge and stroll to the door. Before you can wrestle a hand free to knock, the door swings open to reveal a tipsy Vickie and bemused Nancy. A smirk settles on your lips as the two shuffle you into the cottage, tutting at the state of your hair and general tardiness.

“It is a wedding y’know,” Vickie teases grabbing the canvas bag from you. “Could make an effort to be on time.” She drops a wink your way before absconding toward the vanity table to deliver your belongings elsewhere.

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, taking the dresses from your arm. “Ignore her,” she soothes, “Seems the title of temporary co-M.O.H. has gone straight to her head.” She shoves a flute of champagne into your empty hand and leads you inside. “But you’re here, so the title can rightfully fall to you.”

“And how is the blushing bride?” You smile, taking in her cool, calm demeanor.

She’s notoriously hard to ruffle, so you’re not surprised to find Nancy the same as ever, albeit a tad buzzed from the champagne.

“Fuck a duck!” Robin shouts, colliding with part of the doorway as she takes the corner to quickly in her haste to get to you, having heard your voice from down the hall. She trips falling into you in a quasi-hug that’s mostly all elbows jabbed into your ribs.

“Walk with dignity, you overgrown toddler,” You laugh sipping some champagne, wrapping your arm around her in a proper hug. She buries her face into your neck with a smile. “And before you even ask, no you cannot, under any circumstance, tell your emotional support Steve about this.”

You feel her frown before she pulls back from you, “I can keep a secret y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it Bucks, just wanna surprise him is all.”

“He has no idea? Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” She says with a cackle before trotting off to help Vickie with her dress.

“Alright Wheels,” You announce polishing off your flute of champagne, “Let me at it, where’s the hairspray?”

After furious coating of L’Oreal’s finest to her hair after you’d secured a few flowers in place, you cough in a haze of hairspray and sagely advise, “That’s good for three slow dances, two fast ones, and one Lambada…” You warn, capping the canister to set it aside. “But if you wanna mosh, I’d suggest another coat.”

Nancy laughs at the suggestion, “I think we’re good.” She checks your handiwork in the mirror with a smile, “Can I ask you something Trouble?”

“Shoot.”

She turns to face you and lowers her voice to a whisper while the other bridesmaids are busy with false eyelashes and zipping up dresses. “Have you given any thought to what I said back in May?”

Ah, that conversation. The one where she (lovingly) warned you off of Steve if you weren’t certain about your feelings for him. Your big, overwhelming feelings. As if you could forget them, even thousands of miles away.

“You know,” You begin, voice pitched to meet hers, “I had a bit of time to think over the summer, no distractions, just me and the Tuscan sun.”

She stands to slip into her dress and you follow to assist— it’s a beautiful number, all minimal sleek lines and fitted to her like a glove. Nancy is gorgeous, but Nancy on her wedding day is otherworldly. She dutifully turns for you to button up the back and arrange the train for photos.

“And?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, hers curious but not prying, yours wide, reeling from it all— the pro/con lists, numerous conversations with your mom, Eddie, and Nance, the letters, emails, voice notes, calls and texts from Steve. Somehow, some way they all amounted to this:

“You remember my twenty-first birthday?”

“How could I forget,” She chuckles knowingly, “Spin the bottle, right?”

A nod, you busy yourself smoothing out the few lines in the silhouette of the dress. “And a bit of liquid courage.”

There is no good reason why the eight of you should be doing this. Back at the loft after a night of carousing and bar-hopping, imbibed enough complimentary birthday drinks that spin the bottle seemed like a good idea. Even if the bottle in question is some ridiculously expensive high-roller shit swiped from Mr. Harrington’s study.

You’re warm, leaning on Eddie’s shoulder and whispering in his ear— goading him about kissing someone. Steve hopes it’s not you.

The glass mouth of the bottle spins to a stop in front of Jonathan who groans loudly before clambering over the whoops and hollers.

“Lay it on ‘im Munson!”

You tip backwards and shriek in glee when their lips touch. Eddie returns to your side with a roll of his eyes, pokes your knee with his finger. “Pucker up, buttercup. You’re next.”

Argyle cracks his knuckles, taps his chin thoughtfully, “Alright chica.” He says, “Hope you get Nance or Vic. Make it nice and steamy up in here.”

Steve hopes it’s him and not Nancy, selfishly. The rest of them be damned, if the bottle lands on him he’s going to frog-leap over Eddie, shove him to the side and kiss you good. If it lands on anyone else, he may get arrested for murder tonight.

There’s really no excuse for it— the longing. Best friends since childhood who drifted apart because, as always, he was a dumbass. Kissed you all of one time after the Homecoming dance freshman year and that was barely a peck.

The bottle lands on Vickie.

Slightly tipsy and putting on a show, you bite your bottom lip and lean in, slanting your mouth over hers with a soft sigh. The sound sinks into Steve’s gut and he groans in agony— jealous you’d rather kiss his ex or the redhead rather than him. Nevermind that the bottle was nowhere near landing on him.

“Keep it PG, ladies!” Robin calls, “This is taking way too long!”

“Bucks, shut up. I’m trying to take a video.” Nancy slaps the phone from Eddie’s hand.

Having had enough of it all, Steve stands. “Not that this isn’t how I want to spend my night…” he mumbles, hands patting his thighs. “But I’m peacing out.”

You look up, distracted, and bottom lip a little wet from Vickie, eyes hazy from the long night of celebrating, and quirk your head. “You leavin’, Stevie? Wan’ me to walk you?”

“What— like he’s gonna get lost from here to his room?”

Steve is going to get arrested tonight for murdering Eddie. Tries to keep his cool, regardless.

“S’okay birthday girl, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

You hop up anyway, a bit blundering in your step, and grab his hand to yank him forward. “C’mon… I gotcha.” Fortified with liquor, you tug him along, turning a corner and chattering about how as much as you appreciate that expensive whiskey, you’d rather have a beer. There’s nothing better than some pretzels, beer, and a movie.

“Oh, uh, s-sorry.” Your hand loosens before you pull it away, self-consciously.

“For what?”

“I know we haven’t been, like, close for a while now. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Oh. The realization dawns on him now, like a crash of lightning— you think he’s guarded… but he’s only been reserved for your sake.

He calls your name, followed by a murmured, “C’mere for a second.”

You lean against his bedroom door, dazed but curious. Steve steps forward until you’re nearly chest to chest, back against the wood. Your mouth opens with a nearly inaudible gasp, but he can see your pulse kick up in your throat. “Yeah?”

"You remember our first kiss?" He waits for you to nod before continuing. "I think I owe you a do-over."

Confusion flits across your face, a solitary brow quirked up in interest. "You wanna mulligan my first kiss, like... seven years after the fact?"

He ducks his chin in embarrassment, skin flushing with heat. "Yeah, I mean, if you're open to it?" He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles, "I just think you deserve better."

You bite your lip in thought, and Steve wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die— but then, you nod, and before he can think better of it, he takes his chance.

Purposefully, Steve tilts your face up fingers, trailing along your chin and jaw, thumbing the full of your bottom lip. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, all whooshes and erratic beats, almost enough to drown out the words that fall from his lips.

And then, the perfect genius that is Steve Harrington leans down to close the distance between you. Satisfied that your face is tilted just so, his hand sweeps back your hair to cradle your head as his lips descend to yours.

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in world— like it isn’t past three in the morning and you’re about a minute from slipping under. He kisses lazy, slow, and sublime. Presses you closer to him, an arm winding around your waist to pull you from the wall. More, kissing—tongues and lips and teeth— more of that touch you’ve only dreamed about and you want to kick yourself for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage, struggling to refrain from bucking your hips up into him like you so desperately want to do. Steve pulls back with a contented sigh, and you’re surprised there isn’t a string of saliva strung between the pair of your for all the swapping spit that just occurred. There’s nothing but you and him. His gaze, so tentative and sweet, meets yours briefly as he stands back hands shoved quickly into his pockets.

“I meant something like that.”

Your mouth tugs at a corner, as if you could laugh or cry. Or smile.

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle, brandishes a small, hopeful smile, and runs a hand through his hair.

You nod. And it’s enough.

“I–I think I’ve known for a while.” You admit sheepishly, looking for any last-minute adjustments that need to be made before the precessional. One hand grasping her train, you follow Nancy toward the door. Taking a shaky breath in, you say, "Guess some part of me has been in love with him since I fell off the fence and into his backyard that first summer."

She stops short and turns back to you elated because she knows the story all too well. Steve doesn't get drunk enough to talk about it often–- the man has a wooden leg, hand to god. But once in a blue moon, it'll happen: how the new neighbor's daughter nearly busted her ass sneaking back home way after her curfew, too buzzed on shitty wine coolers and reeking of weed to realize that she'd fallen on the wrong side of the fence.

Hastily, Robin thrusts a bouquet of flowers into Nancy’s hand. Just before the band starts up, Nancy gives your hand a squeeze and advises, “Sometimes what’s meant for you comes back, Trouble. Don’t let it slip by, okay?”

Steve is just looking to survive the day, he’ll be grateful to get through, honestly.

He was beyond bummed you couldn’t be there for Nance’s wedding and that he’d be sitting with her cousin instead— she’d talked his ear off during the rehearsal dinner last night about her current rewatch of Sex and The City. He’d never been so relieved to be pulled into bridal party duties by Eddie than he was that night.

And, to top it off, you weren’t answering your phone. Logically, he knew you’d be in exams for most of the day but you normally sent him a text or voice note once you woke up or before you made it to class for the day.

He’s pathetic. Eddie forced him to leave his phone in the groom’s suite and now he feels phantom vibrations from something that isn’t even in his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he lines up ready to escort Vickie and mentally preparing himself for a detailed recounting of the havoc that Samantha’s absence has caused the SATC franchise from the Wheeler cousin.

“You know,” A lazy, familiar voice drawls to his right, “If I was a riptide, I wouldn’t take you out.” An arm loops through his, comfortable and intimate.

But no— it couldn’t possibly be…

“Hey, Harrington.” You say, quietly, knocking your hips to his, casually holding a bouquet in your hand, all easy smiles and warm touches. When Steve finally does turn, he blinks a few times to confirm that you're not some hallucination.

Because you’re here, impossibly, you’re home, and everything is finally right in the world.

You reach over to straighten his tie, the alexandrite ring gleaming on your right hand and catching the light.

“How did you—” He stammers, bereft of language.

But then there’s that smirk he adores. “Some of us are stealthy, y’know. Like a ninja.”

“Oh, fuck me right in the mouth.” He laughs loud and bright, a few people turn back in their chairs to look.

You sputter briefly as the precessional begins, hand lighting on his arm with a gentle squeeze. “Uh, that can certainly be arranged, Harrington.”

In that moment he knew, with a certain sense of finality, that he had no choice but to love you; all his love and, if he’s being honest, fear, reflected there in your eyes.

The ceremony is beautiful, of course, and the reception is now in full swing. The new Mr. and Mrs. Byers shared an adorable first dance to “At Last” by Ella Fitzgerald, which nearly had you tearing up before Steve twirled you out onto the dancefloor.

“Hey, good lookin’,” He says with a smile so sweet, it almost makes you weak in the knees.

It’s a slow song, something to get the couples up and out of their seats. Over his shoulder you spy Robin and Vickie making goony eyes at eachother while Eddie and Argyle stumble around both trying to lead the other— idiots.

“Hi, Steve.” You reply, eyes making their way back to him. “Y’know, they say you should never trust a man who can dance.”

“And why’s that, honey?”

You shrug, “Dunno. Apparently they’re all heartbreakers or something.”

Steve, thanks to his mother’s needling and his father’s need to keep up appearances, could dance. He’d escorted many a debutante, including yourself, during Cotillion. You can still hear Savannah’s nasally “Did you know that five out of six debs marry their escorts?”

But, then again, she was also drinking from the fun flask at the ripe age of sixteen. So, do with that what you will.

He spins you easily, like it’s nothing, and before you know it you’re back in his arms. His brow is furrowed in thought, but what he could possibly be thinking you hadn’t a clue. So you continue to follow his lead across the dance floor and silently thank Mrs. Harrington for forcing you and Steve into those dance classes way back when, even if he stepped on your toes and you retaliated with an accidental elbow to his ribs— knock-kneed teens the pair of you.

So much has changed since then.

The music pauses, as someone announces that the bride will toss the bouquet. You go to find the bar, but Steve promises he’ll come back with a drink for you instead and then Eddie is hustling you toward the crowd of “single ladies.”

“Eds, no.” You attempt to swat him away, but he’s having none of it.

“Far as I know, you and Harrington are fuck buddies. No declarations,” His eyes fall to your left hand, “No ring. Beyoncé would insist, sugar.”

You’ve always had a sixth sense about things. When you were younger, your family and friends often thought it was an ability— but in truth, it’s just a mixture of careful perception, logical thinking, and educated guessing.

But not even your sixth sense could explain how you’d ended up catching the bouquet. Especially with a vodka and tonic in one hand and standing at the rear of the gaggle of gals gathered for the event. Didn’t even want to take part, far more interested in finding the coat check room and seeing how long it would take Steve to blow his load once you finally got your mouth on him.

So it’s a surprise, either luck or Nance’s killer aim, when her bouquet lands in your hand, the ribbon wrapped stems falling neatly into your palm just as you turn to shout something at Eddie behind you. Catching Steve’s knowing smirk and hearing Eddie’s piercing wolf-whistle, you give him an exaggerated wink before tossing back your drink.

It’s not long after that, a few more spins around the dance floor, some cake, and more liquor, tasteful toasts from you and Argyle, fond farewells to the newlyweds and bags thrown into cars for a quick getaway, that Steve tosses you— bouquet in hand, over his shoulder and dips out of there. Ignoring Eddie’s teasing of Irish exits and Irish twins, he sets you on your feet again to lean you against the car and kisses you positively stupid.

But it’s not a surprise when Steve finally asks you the question he’s been dying to for nearly the entire summer on the drive home, Nancy’s bouquet resting against the dash as you toe off your heels.

“Hey mind-reader, how long did it take?”

“Hmm?” Pleasantly sleepy from jet lag, your mind struggles to spark a fuse of comprehension. Steve raises a solitary brow in interest.

"Whaddya mean?" You mumble out between stifled yawns.

His hand rests on your leg while he drives, big and warm, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. Steve, bless him, won't press you on it, but he also wouldn't have asked something so casually for no reason. He's crafty like a fox when he wants to be.

You take a breath and let yourself really think about it. If you’re taking the question seriously, which you damn well should, he deserves an explanation. Hesitantly, you remind Steve of the near fiasco with the wedding dress back at your old place. He nods at your rambling, how guilty and scared you felt at shutting him out.

“So, yeah, between the moving-in playlist and me being bat-shit terrified of you seeing me in a wedding dress,” You summarize, fingers finding their way to his once more. The warm glow of the streetlights cast shafts of light through the windows. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Steve Harrington," You conclude with a smirk.

His eyes widen in realization, “Oh, so that’s what you were apologizing for before left for Joshua Tree.” An annoyed sigh before a sharp inhale takes its place. “You’re so stupid.”

Back at the loft, fumbling hands in elevators lips spit slick and ruddied, Steve bats away your grabby hands with an exasperated huff as they light upon his chest. Nearly dropping his keys when they find a better way to occupy themselves.

Once inside, he presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collarbones and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs, kicking the door close, and instinctively pulling everything off.

He peels his shirt off and throws it onto the floor while you shimmy out of your dress. His mouth hasn’t left yours for anything other than to breathe.

His hands stop at the curve of your hips. The room is spinning— the entire world moving too fast in a feverish haze. Years of close-quartered friendship and the first intimate touches in months have jumped right into the deep end. You don’t even know when the two of you made way back into his room, but the door clicks shut with a kick from his foot.

“Hey, mind-reader, I got two questions for you,” Steve calls teasingly. “First, how big did you think I was, y'know before? When you accused me of, how did you put it... harboring a fugitive?”

Your brain briefly short-circuits at that, mildly embarrassed. He laughs at your slow, owlish blinks while you formulate a response other than, "Well, I, uh..."

"Okay, okay," He drops a kiss to your brow, soothing your worries away, “Second…”

You gulp. Your legs feel like jelly— all the smart words in the entire world wiped completely from existence. The pause he takes is punishingly long and the grin he gives you nearly makes you faint.

His pants are shucked somewhere near the bedroom door. One of your hands goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

"S'been a while, do you think you can take it?”

“Oh,” A smirk quirks your lips, hand scrabbling for purchase on his tanned skin, “I think you know I can.”

Later, after frenzied forays in tangled sheets and revelling in the afterglow, you place your hand over his chest, selfishly counting his heartbeats.

You breathe, soft and sweet, “Steve,” the sound of your voice a warm balm in the inky dark. “Steve,” You say again and kiss his neck, turning toward you on the rumpled bed he kisses you, as if he could ever get enough.

“I love you.”

He pulls back, just enough so that you wrap your leg around his hips, sheet slipping off as his fingers trail up your thigh. Grazing the tip of his nose ever so lightly against your temple, you feel the rumble of laughter through his chest as it heaves against yours.

Rolls you onto your back, legs falling open to cradle his hips while he holds himself above you, hair falling into his face, “Took you long enough,” he grins, kissing you again. Your cheeks, your jaw, your chin. “I love you too, honey.”

His love is heavy and you delight in the gravity of it as he slips his way back inside, your hands pulling him closer than anyone can ever or will ever get again. It feels fated— the way your body moves and his responds in kind.

Steve only keens your name in reply.

Spun clear out of your body in the haze, pure joy erupts from your mouth, hands scrambling for him, so woozy and giddy you can’t help it.

So this is love, after all.

Finis.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #stranger things fan fiction #modern!steve #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewateverandivy #Spotify

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unchained-hound-dog · 1 year

Text

Mommy? My Daddy Doesn't Love You.

Just a little something, I was feeling rusty so it isn't the best.

Nothing your 3 year old said ever shocked you, she had such an incredible vocabulary and her constant chatter had left you totally un-phased by anything she said. You often put her chatty-ness down to the fact she was constantly around different people, listening in on adults talking and picking up on words and phrases here and there. You often had to remind Jack and his friends to watch what they were saying around her, you'd caught her telling her aunts dog off once by calling it a 'bad bitch'. Jack found it hilarious how much she spoke, facetime calls lasting hours sometimes as she gave him and full detailed report on everything you'd done that day, who she'd spent time with and how many naps she'd had.

So as you're walking to the car after collecting her from pre-school, her words don't really phase you at first, a hum escapes your lips as you lift her into her car seat and start buckling her in.

'Mommy, my daddy doesn't love you' she repeats, looking up at you.

You watch her face, noticing how she is dead-serious and normally a statement as random as that would have you both laughing, but she seems almost concerned and it fills you with the same feeling.

'What do you mean baby? Of course daddy loves me' you finish buckling her in but stand at the car door, waiting her response.

'Brandon told me today that 'cause daddy is away all of the time, it must mean he doesn't love you. His daddy left him and his mommy because he doesn't love them anymore, that's what his mommy told him' her eyes never leave yours as she spoke, her fingers playing with the zipper on her jacket.

'Baby' your voice catches and tears fill your eyes for a moment before you swallow, leaning in and pushing some hair out of her face.

'Daddy loves me so much, and he loves you so much and we love him, right?' you wait for her to nod before continuing 'and daddy has to work away sometimes and we don't see him around the house but, that doesn't for a second mean he's left us and he doesn't love us' you watch as she nods, her face showing that her brain is working to think of a response.

'So daddy isn't going to leave us like Brandon's daddy did?' her little face makes your heart melt as you lean in and press a kiss to her forehead.

'No baby, daddy isnt going to leave us. I promise'

After being content with how she felt, you shut the car door and got in the drivers side. You started the car and began your drive home, eager to tell Jack about the conversation you'd had.

'Hi daddy!' your daughter ran through to the living room, diving on her dads lap and hugging him tight.

'Hi bug! How was school?' he pressed a kiss to her head before setting her down, her little legs running out to the kitchen where she knew you'd left a snack on her table.

'Glad it was a good day' he called after her, moving into the entryway where he found you taking off your shoes and putting your daughters book bag down.

'Hi babe' Jack's hands slid across your hips and to your stomach, resting there as he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder and neck, you sighed at the feeling and melted back into him

'Hi gorgeous' you turned in his arms, you both met in a soft and breif kiss before you pulled back.

'You'll never guess what she said to me when she got out today'

Jack went through a range of emotions, at first he was mad at this kid for telling his daughter that he didn't love her mom, then he was angry at the parents for telling their kid that in the first place, and now he was upset. Upset that your daughter had possibly accepted the fact that her parents didn't love each other, would she be questioning if her dad was coming home everytime he left for tour or for work? Would she spend her childhood worrying about her parents?

You both agreed to sit her down and talk to her. You'd spoken to her before about how Jack works away and sometimes you can both go with him but other times you both had to stay, but she was older now and maybe she'd understand it better.

'So you do love mommy?' she asked Jack after you'd both finished talking.

'So much' Jack smiled down at her.

Your daughter climbed up onto his lap, her tiny hands cupping his ear as she spoke in a whisper to him.

'More than you love me?' her brows furrowed slightly.

'Hmm not as much as I love you, no. But almost, don't tell her' he whispered back, causing a giggle to erupt from the small girl, the two sharing a pinky promise as you looked on in amusment.

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader

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izvmimi · 1 year

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cw: angst. mermaids. childhood friends. a/n: picked @strawberrystepmom's brain and came up with this. based on her super cute commission from @/54prowl

you hear the tinkle of a bell that announces his arrival under the moonlight, and without holding your breath, dive down again, just below the surface of the pitch dark water gently sloping against the rocky shore.

from here you watch carefully. at this depth you know the young man can't see you for sure yet, although just years and a couple months before tonight, the bright reflection of your tresses flowing too superficially had revealed your existence, drawing his attention to the very point where you lurked shyly before you sank further into yourself and into the belly of the sea.

after that day you were no longer a secret, or secret admirer, for that matter.

you confirm that it is, in fact, the young boy you've known most of your waking life, now older and more familiar to you, who has arrived and let your tail propel you closer, yet still quietly, to the point where land meets sea. there, you see him gently set down his bicycle as he has so many times before and step carefully but surely to the deep water, then sink into a sitting position, staring at the half-moon. he's waiting for you, fingers thumbing the newest shiny rock you've left for him at your special place.

when you raise your head with a soft splash and look at him, smiling, he smiles back. as usual, he tells you about his day, and you listen intently, eyes bright and ears hungry for any bit of conversation he has to offer you. after years of meeting like this, his voice no longer is an incomprehensible song to you, some words holding meaning that allows joy to bubble up into your chest.

hello, i missed you, are you well? i had a nice day, did you?

you've learned how to shake your head no and nod yes, opting for the latter twice as often. you've learned what the young man means when he motions with his hands, and you've learned his name is wakatoshi, enough to whisper the name with your lips.

wakatoshi talks to you often, even if you can't always engage him back.

sometimes he brings presents. today he's brought you something sweet, a bread with a paste inside it, and smiles softly as your eyes widen with every bite, as delighted as the first time. other days, he reads aloud to you from the pages of a book, and once he's brought you the same book with the pages laminated as though you could leaf through the pages in your free time.

(you wish he would teach you to read, and perhaps you would write him letters.)

today, he repeats a new word, and from the way he pronounces it and his eyes soften, it sounds like a name. he says it so dearly and kindly, but it doesn't sound like how he calls your name, mermaid, even though wakatoshi calls you this with affection.

"mermaid, i made a new friend," he tells you. you thought you were his friend, but you've since learned that humans sometimes have many.

you nod, and he repeats the name of the friend again and again and again all night, then the next night, then the next night.

the full moon arrives eventually, and there are two bells. you hear wakatoshi's voice, and a new voice, unrecognizable, and you wonder if you should hide or meet as usual. there is a string of pearls you've made that you've set in your special place. humans like pearls, diving often from that. you believe wakatoshi will like these too.

wakatoshi descends with a young woman who looks an alarming amount like you. your stomach turns, and you're still not sure if you should approach, but he calls your name, mermaid and you gently swim to him.

the young woman looks at you with curiosity, then whispers something to him. he smiles.

"mermaid is one of my closest friends, ___."

that name again, you hear. this is the other friend, whose name he says differently than yours. she nods, not much unlike you, and adjusts her dress to kneel on bare rocks that scrape her skin, all to greet you. she stretches out her hand and smiles but its warmth is not the same as wakatoshi's. you look at him, and he looks concerned that she is kneeling, urging her up.

"hello, mermaid."

you don't like how she says your name, but take her hand anyway and squeeze it. it's dry to your wet, but softer than wakatoshi's.

"hello," you repeat. your voice is unpracticed but mesmerizing nonetheless and she seems enraptured by it. she peels her eyes away to look at wakatoshi.

"she's beautiful," she utters.

wakatoshi agrees, and you swell a little with pride.

"she's very special to me, and i've known her for a very long time," he explains. the woman nods in acceptance, but slower this time, then gazes at you again, mouth slightly agape.

you would be prouder if not for the fact that wakatoshi then holds her hand tightly, fingers interlocking with hers in a way that he's never done with you.

they both sit, and he talks to you as usual, but you've learned something new from him.

and in that moment, you wish you were still a secret.

---

her pearls, your pearls, gleam brightly around her neck.

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #thoughts: ushijima #daydreams: hq #cw angst #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #mimi's notes

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gyuhanniescarat · 5 months

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Take a Chance with Me | CSB | Prt. 1

: ̗̀➛ summary: on a night when your friend group forces you into a sticky situation, the only thing you're left to decide is if you're willing to take a chance or not

: ̗̀➛ pairing: choi soo bin x curvy!fem!mc (ft. small appearances from yeonjun and some le sserafim members)

: ̗̀➛ genre/au(s): angst (maybe? i guess? idk my writer's brain was struggling), forced proximity, major buildup

: ̗̀➛ rating: M(18+)

: ̗̀➛ word count: 1.409k

: ̗̀➛ warnings: written with a curvy/plus size mc in mind, talks of meddling friends, brief discourse on puberty and crushes

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: none (for this part)

💌 MESSAGE FROM JESSI: Hello my dear @anyamaris , it is i, your cod net secret santa!! I come wishing you a Merry (belated) Christmas and a Happy New Year!! sorry it's not my best work, i wanted to do so much more with this idea but my perfectionist side and my writer's brain were engaged in an all-out war (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

A big special thank youuuuu to my beloved bby @wongyuseokie for your fabulous creative work on this beautiful banner ♡ mdni & support banner crdt cafekitsune

This is my last piece of 2023, as well as my FIRST time attempting to write a piece with an angsty element... And it is also my FIRST time writing a piece for a member of TXT. So please be gentle with me, but I do hope you all enjoy my work.

: ̗̀➛ network tags: @cultofdionysusnet @ksmutsociety @kvanity-main @svthub

There are very few things your friend group loves more than meddling in the social aspect and love affairs of your life. But especially the details of your love life. In fact, it's their favorite thing to do. See, for some odd reason, your friends absolutely love placing you into situations that test how either your crushes or those who harbor feelings for you will act. This has been the dynamic of the clique for years… since the days when the transition from carefree childhood to the point of the pre/pubescent years in which one begins exploring sexuality as sexual attraction runs rampant, and those awkward, obsessive, puppy love type crushes bloom. Since the 5th grade, for whatever reason it be, your proactive, kooky, loyal, mischievous, tight-knit crew had taken a rather strong interest in the events of your life. Hell, they would jump through flaming hoops of fire just to help you — their talkative friend — finally find a guy whose actually interested in you, and help you get laid by a hottie disguised as a cutie, even if you are their little gremlin of a friend who likes to start shit and then play innocent.

Which is exactly what brings you to your current predicament. A very sticky situation at that. Suddenly, and greatly betrayed and singled out by your best friends. Friends who have subtly manipulated you and forced you in this mess. A group of friends that have once again placed you into a rather testy situation due to their interest in your love affairs. How dare they conspire against you and trap you. God, the audacity of those guys and girls to create a whole scenario in hopes of hooking you up with whoever it is they see as a good match for you. How dare your lovingly mischievous best friends try to push you into a situationship or full-blown relationship right now.

After the long ass road trip, you finally pull up to the beach house your friend Yeonjun’s auntie owns. Upon your arrival, you’re quite surprised to find no presence of your friends anywhere in the vicinity of the property. While shifting the gear into park, your gaze moves over towards your phone that’s resting in the dash mount. Then you reach your right hand out and hold down on the home button, using your voice to command Siri to initiate a FaceTime call with Chaewon. After about two rings she finally picks up.

“Hey, Chae, where are you? Are you Kkura, Zuha and Yuyu on the road yet? And where's everyone else at? I just barely got up to Yeonjun's aunty's beach house, and I'm so confused. What happened? The place seems to be totally empty. D-Dd-Did we change plans? Or? Oh my God. Did I get here too early? Chae, you should’ve told me!” You worriedly question and stammer, turning off the engine. It's weird. Chaewon is usually super good at telling you about the spontaneous decisions the others in your friend group make. But this time she didn’t for some reason.

“Ohh, heyyyy babes! Huh? What are you talking about, Aeri? Wait a minute girl… WHAT?!?!? So, you’re already at the house? And you’re saying no one’s there? But… What about Soobin? He should be there by now. Is- Is Soobin not there?...” Chaewon suspiciously replies, wordlessly communicating with the girls. Chaewon is then strongly interrupted by the sound of Yunjin, Kazuha, and Sakura animatedly giggling in the background.

Why are the girls suddenly acting so strangely? Soobin? Choi Soobin? Huh? What the hell is going on? What about Soobin? What is Chaewon talking about? And why on earth is she mentioning Soobin specifically? “Hahaha. That fool. What a fucking chicken. Soobie Boobie better get up off his ass and make his move on our girl Aeri now. Lest we forget about how homeboy basically owes us all big time now.” Yunjin sassily interjects, dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Amen Sister! Our squad did a huge favor for the man. We all took an L so his cringy simp ass could finally have his opportunity to swoop in on our girl Aeri.” Kazuha scoffs, majorly appalled by the idea of Soobin chickening out after all this planning to help the man finally confess his feelings for you. Kazuha and Sakura exchange some very disgruntled looks before rolling their eyes in unison. “Damn straight girlie! We gave Soobin a big chance here. He told us all about how he was finally going to go for it and tell Aeri everything. So, if he doesn't take the chance, and shoot his shot now… well then, I’mma go kick his ass and then yeet him off a steep as fuck mountain.” Sakura quips, passionately describing how she plans to “take care” of Choi Soobin should things fail him.

Okay. What in the fuck is going on with your besties right now? Clearly there is something that seems to be pretty damn major going on… but like, what? What is it? Why did the conversation flip to some strange talk about Soobin? And then there’s yet another question, what exactly were Yunjin and Kazuha trying to insinuate by saying things like “Soobin should swoop in on you”, or that Soobin “needs to get up off his ass and make a move on you”? Oh, and also there's Sakura passionately going on a whole bit about how she's got this whole plan to unalive Bin if he “doesn't take his chance to shoot his shot”.

Why is there all of this vast discourse on Choi Soobin popping up out of nowhere? Swoop in on you? Make his move? Shoot his shot? Did you fall into an alternate universe or some strange dimension? What on earth is even happening? This all really doesn't sound anything like the Choi Soobin you know. None of it makes any shred of sense. At least not in your mind of all spaces. Especially since you and Choi Soobin are only just best friends. Although, you really shouldn’t have expected any less. What are the odds an event like this would happen to you? 99.9% of course.

Far worse things have been done by your girlfriends before, so how can you distinguish whether or not this time is another pity party, or if there's truly some weight to the words coming from your girls. What exactly are your friends up to? Is this another act of the whole friend group trying to discreetly arrange a romantic situationship for your benefit? Or, is this perhaps a real scenario, and this indeed is a whole orchestrated plan by Choi Soobin?

Yeah, you’ve had a bit of an inkling that in Soobin’s eyes, he might see you as something more than a childhood best friend. But, even if there is a slight, miniscule chance that he holds more romantic feelings towards you, you don't allow yourself to believe it.

Loudly smacking your hand against the center console between your seat and the passenger seat, you succeed in somewhat scaring the four girls on the other end of the call. “Uhh… girls! Y’all have got some explaining to do right now. What the hell is happening and why are you guys being so aloof about everything right now? “Chae, what's going on, bestie? Why is one of the first things you asked me, whether Soobin is here or not? And Yuyu, Zuha, Kkura… can anyone of y’all please be so kind as to tell me why exactly you three are talking to me about our dear mutual friend Soobin rizzing me up?” You interrogatively rant.

Your confusion and grand desperation only grows even larger at the range of reactions exuding from the four girls sitting on the floor of Kazuha's home dance studio. As a result of your rather intense inquiry, your friends audibly gulp and silently exchange fearful glances, wordlessly pleading with one another to speak up and answer your line of questions.

“Sorry sweet sweet Aeri. But, we can't share anything with you. And besides, even if we did by chance want to spill the beans to you… you see, we have all been sworn to secrecy by one Mr. Choi Soobin.” Yunjin comments.

“Nothing we can do, Aeri. Sorry to keep a secret from you, but it is what it is. If you wanna know so bad, then you're just going to have to ask Soobin about everything.”

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