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angelkurenai · 3 years

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Caution. Slippery when wet. - Sebastian Stan x Reader

Title: Caution. Slippery when wet.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: Some language, Sexual tension, Dirty stuff (we all get it)

Summary: Imagine promoting your newest movie with your costar and friend, Sebastian Stan, and reading thirst tweets. Only resulting in more flirting, teasing and sexual tension too much for you to handle.

“Hello everyone, I am Sebastian Stan.” Sebastian spoke once you got the green light to start.

“And I am (Y/n) (Y/l/n).” you added when he paused for a second to look at you.

“And we're here to read some of your-” he looked at the bucket he was holding in his hand and you did the same with yours “Thirst tweets. Cause let's face it, how bad can it get?”

“You really are so unaware of the dangers that it's almost cute. I can't wait for you to get the shock of your life, dear, cause twitter doesn't hold back. Trust me.” you chuckled, enjoying the look of weariness and suspicion that Sebastian gave you before you turned to face the camera “But let's make something clear, before we start. He is here to read thirst tweets, I'm here to read some thirst tweets and make sure my side account has not been discovered.”

“I-” Sebastian started but paused again, eyes narrowing slightly at you “I want to ask but at the same time I think I don't... Am I somehow involved in all of it?”

“When are you not, Sebby?” you smirked at him, winking in a way that earned a laugh from the man. Taking a second or two to admire the way he hang his head low and laughed softly to himself you turned to the camera “But let's get started cause I see we both have plenty of this! I'll go first, since I've had years of preparing for this moment.”

“Wait- preparing for yours or mine?” he raised an eyebrow.

“No further information must be given until I've got my lawyer here or until the game's over. Too much is at stake.” you shrugged innocently “So here we go-” you pulled out a piece of paper from your bucket first and read it out loud “I mean, not to objectify, but (Y/n) (Y/l/n) in her new Endgame suit left me pregnant. And I'm a guy.” the second you read the whole tweet, both you and Sebastian couldn't help but burst into laughter.

“The movie must come with a warning first now huh?” he shook his head with a laugh as he pulled a paper out as well “Though I definitely agree with that guy, you looked amazing.” he made sure to point out, looking at you as you were still giggling before focusing his eyes on the paper once more “Alright, here I go: Man, Sebastian Stan could run me over with a truck and I'd still... suck that dick?” he trailed off a bit and the last part came out as a question. He paused, blinking as he looked at the camera with a tilt of his head and you could hardly stifle your laughter, mostly at his reaction.

“Alright, that's-” he paused, looking down at the paper again just to make sure before shaking his head and saying with wide eyes “Wow. I uh... thanks, I guess?”

“You know-” you tried to calm yourself down “You know what's even more weird?” you asked.

He frowned and looked at you “No, and I'm not sure I wanna know either. But you're gonna tell me either way so, go ahead and make it worse. Though I doubt how easy it'll be to top this off.”

“Is that the order it would happen in?” you said and looked back at the camera “Because, man, it concerns me. It's 2020 and a zombie apocalypse is not far from possible right now.”

“Alright-” Sebastian huffed “It did get wore, yes. Seriously, the image I got is even more disturbing now.” he closed his eyes, lips pursed as he shoo his head.

“Oh honey.” you said sweetly, placing a hand on your friend's shoulder “And this is just the beginning.” you chuckled when he groaned more.

However, you could see a playfulness in his eyes, and the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips that gave away his whole act. So after giving him a small squeeze with your hand, you pulled away – completely trying your hardest to ignore the way you missed the warmth of the contact and convince yourself that it was nothing. You were becoming better at it lately as it seemed.

Convincing yourself of things that weren't true, such as you being only friends, such as you not longing for his touch or smile directed at you, such as him probably seeing you as family and no other way (no way which your heart longed for), had started being much easier with time. It was easier, and it certainly hurt less, to flirt and be playful with him, to touch him casually and to give (and receive) easy smiles and looks that you labeled as your thing, as part of your friendship, both to him and the rest of the world, and nothing more. With no more or any real meaning behind all of it. And he went along with it so there was no reason to even think of this as more than just a game, the way your friendship worked, even if your heart did crazy leaps each time his hands lingered or the way he looked at you had something about it.

You cleared your throat “Alright, let's get back to the game-” you tried to suppress a shudder when you felt his hand on your neck and his thumb rubbing soft circles, after all it wasn't the first time, as he leaned a bit over your shoulder to look down at the paper as well “(Y/n) (Y/l/n) could walk up to me and punch me in my face for no reason and I'd honestly apologize. Oooh no, no I wouldn't do that to you. I'm- I'm more of a tender and sweet lover, though of course it also depends on the guy I'm with.”

“Would you be tender with me?” Sebastian asked, small smirk on his lips but not as playful as... curious perhaps; the thumb on your back continued to bring pleasant shivers down your spine.

You managed a small, easy laugh before shrugging innocently “You'll have to take me out on a date first, Seb, and then you'll see for yourself.”

“Good thing I am free later then.” he shrugged, his smile too sweet for you to not reciprocate before his hand gave your shoulder a squeeze as well “Now, my turn-” he cleared his throat as he pulled a paper and frowned at it “I want Sebastian Stan to take my ass and fold my entire body inside out.” he paused for a second or two, an absolute silence setting on the room where Sebastian was looking at the camera with a straight face, you doing your best to keep yourself from laughing because of said expression “That-” he too a deep steady breath “Wouldn't be good for your health. You know that right?”

“It's something I did not want to picture is possible. That's what it is.” you chuckled, fishing for a tweet of your own “Wow your fans are on a roll, Sebastian.” you chuckled when he gave you a look as well “Ok, uhm Alright but (Y/n (Y/l/n) not finding her seat on that interview made me think like: 'Ma'am please use my face.' Wow now that's- that's the kind of tweets I had in mind. See, me not finding my seat on that interview had kind of became a meme and I'd laugh at it but this- this does give the whole situation a new kind of meaning.”

“Hold up a sec-” Sebastian spoke up, eyes narrowed “Is this person implying-”

“Because yes, I'd let her sit on my face.” you read the last part in addition “Not implying, he's stating it.” you shrugged slightly, chuckling a bit at how ridiculous and yet amusing this was. At first you thought it would get awkward with your crush sitting right next to you but right now you were beginning to think it was entertaining.

“I-” Sebastian pausing, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching in that way that distracted you for a couple seconds, before he turned to the camera “Is there a way to find someone's address through their tweets?”

“Pretty sure it could be possible yes.” his manager, who was also there behind the camera, shrugged.

“Oh my, don't encourage this!” you exclaimed, despite how adorable he looked grumpy and dare you think... jealous? Maybe, hopefully “It's just a tweet. Just read the next one, will you please?”

The man next to you huffed, eyes carefully following your motions as you placed the paper away – as if planning to snatch it later – before focusing back on his own “Alright, these are like in a list, one below the other but I'll just read it as I see it [someone mentions Sebastian Stan] Me: Caution. Slippery when wet.” another pause only because-

“Oh my- Yes!” you nearly exclaimed with a laugh “Yes, that's how it feels like! Wait, for a second there I sounded like Loki but-” you grinned, shrugging “I mean, it's true. Like, seriously- Same! And just imagine seeing him naked from up close, oh girl that's what I called a good morning.”

“Wait-” he looked at you with a raised eyebrow and you shrugged once more innocently, maybe a little too innocently to the point he could see you didn't mean it “What?”

“Long story which I will probably share first with the fans and then with you.” you winked and this time he narrowed his eyes playfully but you ignored it, or at least tried to “Is it just me or does seeing (Y/n) use that lasso in Infinity War make you think: 'Yes ma'am, tie me up and have your way with me' Is that a kink now? Cause it should be. I'm... flattered that me and the lasso of truth could do that? I don't know what to say, honestly.” you laughed, shaking your head and feeling the heat rise up in your cheeks.

“This is the same guy from before, isn't it?” Sebastian asked, nobody in particular, as he looked around at the cameras and crew “I just know it, you can't tell me otherwise. But-” he let a small breath, a smile on his lips that wasn't all that sweet and you knew that if the person that had written the tweet was standing there he would be dead just from the look on Sebastian's face “FYI: It's not as fun as you think my friend, it gets uncomfortable and the lasso is made out of a thick rope that leaves marks which last for uhm about four to five days. The makeup department didn't like that but luckily I wear mostly long-sleeved shirts and jackets so it's fine. Anyway, just sharing my personal experience on the matter seeing as you sadly won't ever get to live that dream out yourself.”

His shrug was anything but innocent to you and with a smile, not very open, but certainly far too smug for anyone to miss. You didn't want your heart to but that too was included, and it gave a skip in its beat when it felt the spark of hope within your chest. All you did was play coy and raise an eyebrow “What?”

“What?” Sebastian asked back casually and you blinked several times before he winked at you and turned back to looking through his bucket with a small smirk on his lips “My turn, let's see: Sebastian Stan is so lucky. He gets to touch Sebastian Stan's dick any time he wants. You guys are seriously-You're on a roll!” this time you both couldn't help your laughter, to the point you were wiping tears off your eyes.

“Man-” you sighed a little, a smile still on your lips as you both tried to calm down; but playing along with it you looked down at Sebastian and the up to his eyes, saying “Aren't you lucky Seb!” you nodded your head with a wishful look and it soon had you both erupting into a new feat of laughter.

“Well-” he tried to stay serious but his laughter gave it all away; he looked at the camera “See, it comes with the perks of being born in this body. And (Y/n) (Y/l/n) is the only one who gets a free pass on that, so I'm sorry you can't but uhm yeah, that's life.”

“I'm really really tempted to ask about that, and even more tempted to try it but-” you cleared your throat, pulling out a paper yourself and tried to focus “Heard (Y/n) (Y/l/n) has been doing some extra training lately for her new movie but she thinks none of it real fun. Why don't she use my-” you paused for a second there, trying to get the words out in between your laughter “Why don't she use my dick as a trampoline. 100% fun assured.” you didn't even know if your words were fully clear but you couldn't control it “Wow this I was probably not prepared for. Though I once came across a guy's tweet that went like 'Hey, (Y/n), if you're looking for a ride, zipper of my jeans is 24/7 open.' or something like that. This is a bit more creative I'll give them that.” you laughed a bit more when both of Sebastian's eyebrows shot up in surprise; you cleared your throat before continuing “I mean, I'll admit I like trampoline. Oh no, not that kind- Although, that kind is absolutely fine and fun and all too, but you kno-”

“Oh my goodness please stop. This-” he sighed, looking back at the camera “I had pictured many outcomes but this? This tops it all off easily.”

“Come on, you came here to read thirst tweets. Is me saying I'm good at trampoline or if you want a demonstration I'm always available, that off the realm of possible outcomes?” you asked, laughing wholeheartedly when his eyes widened and maybe taking a bit of extra pleasure in seeing the red color rise in his cheeks.

“That last one is not that bad.” he shrugged “Alright, I've got one last tweet let's see what twitter has to say about my- Oh it's not about it, alright.” he nodded his head “Someone: says something. Me: Yeah but have you seen Sebastian Stan's ass? I mean-”

“Hold up.” you spoke up before he could continue “Can you please get up?” you asked sweetly and he raised a curious eyebrow but he still got up. Without shame you took a good look at his ass before speaking “Alright, you can sit. See, every time someone mentions art, I must spend a couple seconds in silence admiring it.” you shrugged innocently, this time even members of the crew laughing apart from Sebastian himself “Everyone keeps mentioning America's ass and I'm like ok, it's fine, but have you seen this guy's? Work. Of. Art. I tell you.”

“Thank you, thank you! Finally someone said it, I mean-” Sebastian tried to hold back his laughter and shake his head with a heavy sigh “Everyone keeps talking about America's ass and while I do agree, it's hard to compete with that one, I'm equally sad nobody will give mine some love and attention!”

“I'll give it all the love it deserves, don't worry. People are just sleeping on it because oh if only you guys looked at it a bit more you would know just how good that ass looks with and without clothes!”

“Hey, yeah, you keep mentioning the naked part and I almost forgot-” he sounded actually surious as he turned to look at you “When did that happen?”

“When?” you blinked “Is that seriously what you're asking me? When?” you giggled and he grinned.

“Hey I'm just wondering in case I missed out on the best moment of my life or something. Besides-” he shrugged “I walk around my trail naked all the time on purpose and in hopes that you will just walk in at some point. I was hoping that when it happened we were more face to face than face to back, you know? Though I'm glad you appreciate the back view as well.” he was saying it as if it was the most casual thing in the world, and just because you knew him so well you had a hard time thinking it could only be a joke, unlike the rest of the people in the room who couldn't control their laughter.

“Yeah, I have a terrible habit of never knocking when I walk into a friend's place. Terrible indeed.”

“Eh depends on who you're asking.” Sebastian shrugged once more, smirking “I find it lovely.”

“Of course you would.” you muttered feeling your own face heat up “But for the sake of everyone in here, and to be able to give them a break from all these laughter, I think a slight change of topic would be nice. And I can happily say I am out of tweets to read. What about you?”

“Thankfully, for the both of us, yes I am done. Though it does beg the question-” he looked at you with a smirk “Did they discover your secret account about me?”

“No, no and it's a good thing. Because really, we wouldn't want everyone to know about all the spicy details concerning your front and rare view, as you call it.” you grinned “And, before you ask how, I'll tell you that's not a topic I'll talk about that easily. I will need the proper motivation to, first.” you giggled when he raised an interested eyebrow “All jokes aside, it's probably a really old account that I think I used when I was simply a fan and not an actress or part of the MCU and I didn't really use it to begin with.”

“That still doesn't mean I'm still not intrigued to find it myself.” Sebastian pointed out and you gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

“You say they didn't discover your account but didn't say any of the tweets weren't yours, too.” it was barely half a second later, and in between Sebastian's laughter, but you heard the words crystal clear coming from your manager and you glared daggers at her.

“Oh my-” Sebastian's eyes widened “(Y/n)... is any of these tweets from your old account? Is there some dirty little secret in one of these that belongs in your past?”

“You know what belongs in my past? My manager and our friendship, that's what.” you gave her a look as she laughed before you shook your head “That's a question I refuse to answer.”

“You say that as if I am ever going to give up trying to get it out of you. And don't worry I have my ways, I can be pretty persuasive.”

...

“Just check your twitter people for more info on Sebastian's front view then!”

~~~

A/N: As always, love making interview fics, especially ones packed with flirting or innuendos so I am really happy to give you one again after so long! Would love to hear your opinion on it and even more if you’d like a continuation or another fic of the same kind, thirst fics of course, with another actor lemme know!

@stuckysavedmylive @reborn-rekall @littlemessyjessi @shesnotmaria @thatdreamingdrey @theblackmists @lokilove3112 @missionfoul @mariana-costa @random-sky-color @ramennoodles-dean-cas @husherstan @banjosanjo @fuckwby @plaidstiel-wormstache @vvipgot7be @wintersoldierslut @thevelvetseries

#marvel #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction #avengers one shot #avengers x reader #sebastian #sebastian stan #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian one shot #sebastian stan one shot

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sinnamonrasinslut · 3 years

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The Ease With Which We Hurt [I] ICorpse Husband x Fem!ReaderI

A/N: You guys. I have never simultaneously loved AND hated a piece that I wrote. I really don’t know how I feel about this, but I promised myself last year that I wouldn’t overthink my writing, so here we are. This is part one of most likely four, but we’ll see about that. Thank you to everyone in my inbox who gave me ideas to turn this into a multi chapter fic! They’re all coming, I promise :)

SYNOPSIS: Corpse loves her, she loves Corpse. But both of them are too dumb to realize it, and too afraid to admit it.

It started, like most good things in his life, out of the blue.

He met her three years ago. Well, not met, but befriended her three years ago when her podcast was just taking off. He remembers sending her a DM about how great her work was, remembers her being gracious in her praise of his own narrations after and he remembers talking to her well into the night until she fell asleep. The rest, to Corpse, is history.

And yet, all he knows of her is a voice, a name, and the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. she chooses to wear a mask every time they FaceTime, just for the formality of the entire ‘faceless’ situation. She’s told him she thinks it’s ironic, how she feels like he knows her inside out, and she’s still afraid to show him her face. It’s not like corpse can blame her. She doesn’t even know his name, let alone what he looks like, and it’s a miracle she hasn’t filed him away as some no face creep by this point.

But she hasn’t. She’s still here, after three years of being her friend, and almost a year of seeing her eyes and convincing himself that she’s his friend, damnit, she’s still here. It’s already a lot more than he can ask for.

He’s been holding himself back from falling in love. Or rather, he’s been in love for as long as he can remember, but he's been adamant on denying it; because he knows how this goes. It’s never gone well for him in the past. And he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s afraid. But sometimes, she tells him things that make his heart break, just out of the realization of how absolutely fucking stupid he's being, holding back from her.

He’s convinced that when he dies, she’s going to be the light at the end of his tunnel. That heaven means nothing more to him than a place in her world, however small, however insignificant, as long as he gets to see her eyes for the rest of eternity.

Every part of corpse tells him that it's love. But he tries to push it away, suppress his own feelings till he's nothing but a walking contradiction, overflowing with voices that only say her name.

But he’s tired. And he's scared. Because he’s been down that road before, opened himself up to people who haven’t liked what they saw and left with pieces of him he’s not sure how to tape back. He’s unsure if he's willing to let her try.

So, he settles for a small corner of her world, a little piece of her existence that gives him life, and every time he talks to her, hands flailing as she animatedly tells another story, he pushes the yearning to the back of his head till it crawls down and clings to his windpipe, unsure and immeasurable, and he can’t speak anymore without choking. But then she says things that make his heart jump into his throat, and then he’s choking but for entirely different reasons.

“What would you do if I was gone?”

He doesn’t mean it like that. Well, he does, a little bit, but his brain isn’t taking over every part of his body trying to convince him he’s unwanted, so he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s only curious, maybe in need of a little reassurance. And nobody does reassurance better than her.

She doesn’t say anything for a very long moment. Corpse knows the gist of her impending answer but the pause still blooms unnecessarily in his chest. But it’s not like they haven’t done this before.

“I’d write about you.”

“Huh?”

She only huffs a laugh at his confusion. She pulls a blanket closer around her and props up her phone to rest against what he assumes is a wall.

“You’re not easy to forget, Corpse,” her voice is soft, truthful without flattery, provides comfort without justification. “if you were gone, I’d write about you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, that’s the least I’d need to cope.”

It’s not what he thought he’d hear, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that it’s exactly what he needed. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“Besides,” she continues, hair falling in her face as she adjusts the blanket, “there is no place for me in a world without you in it.”

And he physically feels his heart stop and clench in his chest. The thought of meaning this much to anyone, to her in particular, is more than he knows how to handle. So, he doesn’t follow that up with a quip, no teasing laughter, no suggestive, exaggerated winks that only he can see. He only lets himself bask in the warmth of her honesty, lets her smile at him in that way only she does, the way that makes him freeze and ache and crumble.

He chooses not to talk after that, settles for listening to her tell stories about her childhood. Her voice is the purest thing he’s ever heard, he’d hear her talk till the world ended if he could, and the sweet lilt of her voice lulls him to sleep hours after she’s hung up the phone.

He doesn’t get to talk to her for almost two weeks after that. He misses her a little, but he keeps that to himself, and instead, tags her under dumb twitter memes and sends her pictures of cats that he’s saved specifically for times like these, and another video of two geckos fighting on a tree captioned ‘u and me’ .

There’s no place for me in a world without you in it.

The words wrap around his ribs like a noose, tightening by the second. Some days, when his heart is fast enough to beat out of his ribcage, it grounds him just as much as it hurts. But when she’d said it to him, it passed through him like a train wreck, distorting all semblance of control he’d convinced himself he had.

He knows it’s ridiculous, but he loves her. She’s only a voice through his phone and eyes on his screen and he has no clue what the rest of her looks like, but he’d be damned if he lets himself deny it one more time. He loves her. And that’s the most terrifying thought he’s ever entertained.

It doesn’t take long after that realization takes root, for him to send her a picture. He doesn’t let himself think too much about it. Taking pictures of himself is still new to him, but he tries his best. Don't think about it too much, he reminds himself, and unsurprisingly, it's her voice in his head that does all the soothing. He captions it something stupid, more out of habit than anything else (my hair makes me look like Dora the exploraH), with his name across his forehead and ‘Dora’ in brackets beside it.

Momentarily, he wonders if he’s ever asked her if she even wants to see his face. (He has, and he distantly remembers her agreeing as long as he’s comfortable with it.)

He hits send before he has the chance to stop and think.

Then he waits.

Her response is quicker than he’s prepared for, her name flashing across the facetime request on his phone. He’s giggling before he even picks it up.

“CORPSE, WHAT THE FUCK!”

For a very long moment, they just stare, taking each other in. This is his endgame, corpse thinks, he’s never going to need to show anyone his face after this, nothing, no one will matter as much.

With a jolt, he realizes that she’s not wearing her mask. He can see her, all of her, and that on its own should be enough to take him out.

And then she smiles.

If there was any doubt in his mind before about how head over heels he is, she’s taken it out of his mind and stomped it to the ground. He’s not the poet in this friendship, but he’s assured he could write entire paragraphs about the way she smiles. And he tells her exactly that.

“I’m curious to see how that would fit with fine lass nice ass cat ears and she uwu,” she teases, eye twinkling with mirth, “but I'm sure you’ll figure it out.”

He’s both amazed and amused at how quickly they go from fawning to bantering. But perhaps that’s the thing about her that feels so familiar.

“I will write a song about you baby, don’t tempt me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a confession,” he shrugs, suddenly shy, unsure of where to lead with this. Thankfully, she interjects before he has to say anything else.

“That’s an awfully bold confession for a man called Corpse.”

“I’m also awfully alive for a man called Corpse, but you don’t see me complaining.” Awfully alive and not enough husband, he wants to say, but he keeps that to himself.

“You complain about being alive everyday, Mister Husband,” she counters and Corpse groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“I say that to you in confidence,” he grits out, playfully glazing at her.

“You also tell about a million people on stream, I’m not special,” she laughs.

“You are very special to me.” His voice is soft, shy, almost afraid to tell her the things he’s saying, “I did say I’d write a song about you. Pretty special if you ask me.”

She hums, taking a huge gulp of water and nodding enthusiastically.

“Correct, me, the cat girl and the e girl. What��s the next single, Corpse? Faceless Girls are ruining my life?”

“You’re a rascal,” he chides as a familiar warmth settles around his heart, and grips.

“It is one of my finer qualities, yes.”

Distantly, some part of his brain registers that this is the first time he’s seen her, but there is no sense of hesitation in his head about her. It feels just like it always has, with her on the phone saying the silliest things, and him responding with equal enthusiasm. This is the way they’ve always been.

While she talks, hands animatedly moving around, Corpse allows himself a small moment of reprieve to think. He knows he loves her, but he wonders briefly if it’s too soon to be in love with her (he concludes that probably it is, given that she remains unaware of his feelings, but he finds that it doesn’t really matter)

Because while Corpse loves her, he’s sure he doesn't know how to love her. Doesn’t know her favourite flowers even if he knows her coffee order by heart, doesn’t know her ideal date even if he’s memorized every poem she loves.

The meanest parts of his brain tell him she deserves better, and he knows they’re wrong. But a small part of him can’t help but dwell. He’d rather have her and her unnecessary hand movements in his life as his friend than not at all. So he pushes away his feelings for another day, and just listens to her talk.

Corpse is perfectly content with that.

#corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband imagines #the ease with which we hurt #coco writes #friends to lovers #we love that trope in this household #if you reblog with stuff in the tags i WILL read it and cry #also if u reblog it with ur favourite part quoted i will cry #i just will cry thats a personality trait lmao #Sometiems i feel like the continuity of his chapter feels rushed #but idk i dont have the patience to fix it so i wont

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canonicallysoulmates · 3 years

Note

Just saw your post about the post phase 1 Marvel movies and the meme you used for CA:CW. So I'm here to ask and get you cancelled. What did you think about the movie? Are you Team Stark or Team Rogers?

........................................................I knew this day would come......okay, let's get me cancelled!

I hate this movie, I hate this movie with every fiber of my being. Watching it was torture, it as the longest 20hrs of my life. It was like living out one of those very confusing math problems I started this movie at 10am somehow 6pm rolls around and there are still 2hrs left! Coño cómo?! I watched this with my mom, and when we checked how much time was left we were left looking at each other like 'que carajo what twilight zone bullshit is this?' It's one of those Marvel movies that I am so glad I did not waste my money on, I wish I could get a refund for my time but I made my choice and I shall now have to deal with it.

I hate this movie for many reasons but I'm not gonna make y'all wait any longer for what you're really here for because I know what y'all really want to know is whether I am Team Iron Man or Team Captain America. When it comes to the political aspects ie. the Accords, I am Team Neither.

Now, I cannot get into a comprehensive debate about the Accords because the writers did a shitty ass job, in a 2 and a 1/2 hour movie that felt like a lifetime, at explaining what exactly the Accords are in the movie universe. Emphasis on the movie universe, because I have seen debates go on in this motherfucking fandom where some people will bring up aspects from the comics Registration Acts but we're not talking about the comics okay, we're talking about the movies! And they're two fucking different things! And the movie did a shitty ass job at explaining what the Accords are, and that's one of the reasons I hate this movie: that it's so badly written.

But back to the point, which is where I stand on the teams when it comes to the politics, I am Team Neither because ultimately they were both idiots on how they handled this, and I think they both have good points like yes the Avengers and other superheroes should 100% be held accountable if they fuck up, the fact that they are superheroes and the "good guys" doesn't mean that their actions shouldn't have consequences but at the same time Steve's mistrust of the government and concerns that the team and others could be weaponized are also valid so I think they both have good points when it comes down to it and the smart thing to do - and in my opinion what would have made a much better film- would have been to come together and make like a counterproposal, decide on amendments, try to ensure they can get a representative so they have a voice on the table.

So, there you go when it comes to the Accords I am Team Neither however when it comes to the characters and their actions I am 1,000% Team Tony. At the end of the day he wanted to do what was best for both people and for his team, he wanted to keep the team together because he knew they were stronger together, and he was thinking long term not short term.

And then there's Steve who is an asshole in this film and completely lacks self awareness, cause there's a scene in the film after they've found out about the Accords where Steve goes "that's because he already made up his mind" about Tony and I'm just like bitch so did you, pot meet kettle, Rogers you knew from the get go that you weren't going to sign those papers don't go acting different and then like- here's the thing Steve has some very good points when it comes to the Accords but one of his points is that the UN is filled with people with agendas and agendas change which true but also motherfucker you yourself have an agenda! The whole Sokovia mess is an example that they cannot be trusted to hold themselves or each other accountable because inevitably the time will come where they'll want to protect their team mate like we see in this movie Steve do with Bucky, or how he wanted to protect Wanda because he looks at her as if she were a child not an adult. Steve, you lot are not exempt from having your own agendas and biases.

And through pretty much the entire movie, he has this whole my way or the highway attitude like this man does not know the meaning of compromise in this film, and he has such tunnel vision for Bucky- and listen! listen, listeeeeeen, I get it, I don't judge Steve for making his bestie a priority; I understand that Bucky is incredibly important to Steve, that he's the one person who's gonna look at him as just Steve and not as the Steve Rogers, I get that he carries a guilt over what happened to his friend, I understand he misses him, I understand all of that and respect the ride or die game but goddamn he was so focused on being a good friend to Bucky that he forgot about everyone and everything else and was a shit friend to Tony.

Actually a lot of people in this film were shit to Tony for no goddamn reason but Steve was such a shitty friend not telling Tony about his parents, that was a shitty ass thing to do and listen! I know what some of y'all are thinking you're thinking some version of 'he wanted to protect Tony' shut the fuck up. No, no, that's an excuse and it's a cheap one, you know damn well that was a shitty thing for Steve to do and y'all know damn well you would have reacted the same way Tony did if someone who you thought was your goddamn friend knew about something horrible that happened to people that were important to you and they never told you; that kind of shit hurts, and finding out someone you thought of as a friend doesn't care about you as much as you care about them hurts.

And y'all know goddamn well how emotions work, you know emotions aren't gonna wait for the rational brain to kick in don't some of y'all go playing dumb as if you didn't know this shit. Same way deep down all of y'all know Tony was holding his punches, that man gave Thanos a fight and got some blood if he had wanted to kill Bucky he would have. Don't none of y'all motherfuckers try to play games and act like you don't know this info.

Steve was a shit friend to Tony. Period. The least he could have done is have some empathy or compassion towards Tony when he saw his parent's being killed- and I swear to motherfucking god to the person who is getting close to their keyboard thinking of saying he showed compassion by not killing him back the fuck away from your motherfucking keyboard what did I tell you about playing stupid, this is properly tagged, stay in your fucking lane. Some of y'all be acting as if it were still 2016 and we're gonna be talking about that too, anon wanted my opinion on this film so now I'm going off.

Back to what I was saying, in some ways Steve wasn't a perfect friend to Bucky either cause he kept looking at Bucky and thinking of the guy he used to know but Bucky's not that person anymore, he's been through a lot of shit and it feels at times like Steve didn't fully realize that.

I hate Steve in this movie, I wanna punch him in the throat; he's an ass, he thinks he's above the rules, he's unaware of his own flaws, he might be a good friend to Bucky but that's it. I don't blame Steve though I blame the writers cause they're the ones who wrote him this way; moving on from Steve, I wanna talk about Wanda real quick, I don't hate the character of Wanda but I do hate the way she was written in this film, I hate that the writers expect us as an audience to look at this adult and think of her as a defenseless child who should be exempt from consequences, I hate that instead of actually doing something with her and exploring some interesting dynamics they just give her an AI boyfriend and a pinterest quote which sounds nice but falls flat especially considering she says said quote as she uses her powers (which is what people are afraid of) to send her love interest down several floors of a building. They could have done so many cool and interesting things with her, shame they didn't.

Another thing I hate about this film is what it did to the fandom, and how it was promoted because it was very much promoted as a pick your fighter, pick a side type of movie and after this movie came out I feel like the divide between Tony fans and Steve fans grew toxically and the effects are still seen to this day like some people really do be acting as if it were still 2016 and attacking others for what side they went with or for who their fav between the two is, and I'll be very honest a lot of the hate I have seen has been directed towards Tony and Tony fans. I hate that, I hate when TPTB deliberately pits fans against each other cause it just encourages a toxic environment.

Let me think was there anything that I liked about this film- wait, oh my god talking about all these other things I hate almost made me forget the thing I hate the most about this movie: it's pointless. Its existence is unnecessary; the biggest aspect of this film isn't the politics of the Accords, it's Steve and Bucky and how far Steve is willing to go for Bucky and have him by his side...but Endgame exists. The end of Endgame turns this film pointless, because the only true point of this movie is the relationship between Steve and Bucky that's the biggest takeaway from the whole thing, but then you have the end of Endgame where Steve just leaves Bucky.

I hated this film before I saw Endgame but after.....I never plan to watch Civil War again but if I did I'm pretty sure I'd self combust cause I'd be so angry I'd scream every time Steve appeared cause that son of a bitch ends up leaving; tears the whole team apart only to end up leaving his friend behind in the end.

I hate this film, I hate everything about it, well that's not true I love the Tony and Peter stuff, but aside from a couple of things I hate this movie, someone give me time stone I'm eliminating it from the timeline.

So, there you go those are my thoughts on CA: CW.

In conclusion, I am Team Neither on the Accords, Team Tony on everything else, Steve I still like you but this movie demoted you in my eyes and makes me wanna punch you in the throat.

#i clearly had a lot to say #anon do you see the pandora's box you've opened #anti captain america civil war #anti civil war #anti cacw #steve rogers critical #pro tony stark #mcu negativity #mcu fandom critical #wanda maximoff critical #anti steve rogers #i'm not anti steve but i did say this post would be properly tagged #non spn #anon #ask #long post

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boneswriteswords · 3 years

Text

Just A Little Longer - Michelangelo

A/N: Here is my self indulgent Mikey goodtime lime. Let me live. (It isn’t a lime. Its a lemon. But lime rhymes with time.)

Unbeta’d because no one has the time for editing.

Also I have no idea if any of it makes sense so.....

~~~~~~

The bright neon LED lights of the alarm clock on your nightstand stood guard over you as you blinked awake. 2:04am. Awareness came slowly, your eyes dripping sleep even as the rest of you came online. You shifted, extending your body into a stretch, grinning when a muffled groan erupted from behind you.

A thick leg forced its way between yours. A heavy arm landed across your abdomen. A hard chest molded into your back.

Beyond your apartment walls, sounds of the city rage on. Waves of muted color trickle through the crack in your black-out curtains. Lines of yellow light bleed over the room. There are police sirens passing by as the house party three doors down blasts the newest Ariana Grande album. Someone honks their car horn in vicious repetition. If you strain, you can hear an muffled fighting and the shuffling of clothes as it turns physical.

All the noises harmonize and fade into nothing as you flip over, encouraging the limbs of your bed partner to stay entangled with yours. You’ve lived in the city long enough that the noises and the people and the lights don’t register much to you unless you focus on them. You know the sounds of danger from the sounds of the loud and that’s all you really need to know. Rainbow noise guided you, filtering through all the memories that you have access to you, and anything less has no space in your life.

Quiet nights are eerie after years of noise and you are more than happy having Mikey hold you in bed while the world keeps going around you.

REM does not return after closing your eyes again and you concede to being awake. It isn’t awful, not with the way Mikey clutches onto you as he shuffles - head nuzzling into whatever crevice he can reach. You can tell he is waking.

He can never remain asleep if he feels you are awake. He struggles to remain in a plan of existence where you aren’t. He fights himself awake and you never know if you need to be concerned or flattered by it.

You watch the lights as they bounce off objects in your room before looking back at him. Blurry lines. Soft shapes. Calming motions as they dance back and forth. They are beautiful but you’d much rather look at Mikey.

He has an arm curled loosely over your side while the other is resting under the pillow you both were using. You both liked long thick pillows that went from one side of the bed to the other. A small commonality made sweeter by your domesticity. His hand is curled limply and you remember that he had been stroking your head when you had fallen asleep earlier.

The muted light makes his green skin lighter. Shadows dip into the crevices of his skin and scars, revealing texture you usually only can feel. There is a darkness under his jaw and around his eyebrow ridge. You find yourself tracing the lines of shadow and light with your eyes, hurling the idea that anything could be more captivating out of the window. His breath is steady but his eyes are twitching behind his eyelids.

You see his eyes open. Three blinks and he is awake. You are jealous of how easy it is for him to go from one state of being to the next. He falls asleep quickly and he awakens even quicker. Deep blue eyes find yours and he smiles, moving his arm to drag you the tiniest bit closer. His lips twitch as he draws slow circles in the space between your shoulder blades.

There is an ache in your body, a reminder of the way he had rushed into your apartment as soon as the sun was down. The impact into the wall. Manic energy. Breathless laughter as pent-up passion bubbled over.

Your fingers trace down the side of his face, dipping down from the line of his throat to the pools of his collarbones below his plastron. He churrs the tiniest bit in response and it sounds a lot like the noise he makes when you tease the skin of his neck between your teeth.

You can’t leave marks on him. His skin just doesn’t color the ways a human’s might. Its thicker. Denser. Darker. Scalier. You can’t leave scratches either. It was a bit disappointing to find this out but knowing that he’d enjoy your marks if he was able to have them seizes you in ways you have never experienced. You imagine lining little rouge starbursts down his next and across the broadness of his shoulders and the way he would walk around with them proudly. Red lines connecting red flowers like vines.

His eyes scan over you. He is visual.

Its not always like this. You and him alone. Some nights its you and Mikey and the ghosts that follow you both. There are eyes in the shadows and they have many names and you never know who you are speaking to. They lurk while he cleans his weapons in the living room. They boldly take a seat next to you while you watch a movie tucked under his arm. Some nights, you pull up a seat at the table and serve them as Mikey makes a joke about something that happened during your day.

They exist and they try to make their home in your spaces and they take a toll on the nights when you are too weary to kick them out. A mix-match of traumas that spiral and float and smother and linger.

Mikey doesn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve. He rips open his chest and holds the organ up into the light directly. Makes you watch as it beats and pulses and moves his lifeblood through his body. There are no questions about what he does, how he feels. He is on display by choice, flitting about vulnerable as if there are no monsters in the world he lives in.

But there are days where he wraps himself up behind a glass wall to separate himself from the rest of the world. Deep-rooted hopelessness drains his light, his strength a house of cards edging towards collapse. His voice cracks and wavers. Its never his fault. No one asks for trauma. No one asks to be too late. No one asks for the life he’s lived.

Only recently has a door appeared in the glass. He always tells you where the key is so you can open it. You make sure to crack open the door and wait for him to invite you in further. If he does, you sit inside with him. If he doesn’t, you sit outside and wait for the wall to come down.

And then there are the days where you are translucent. You look down at your body and see through it, faintly incorporeal. A ghost. Light bleeds through you as you walk under the sun. Intangible and lost. You don’t feel real even as your ribs ache and the steady stream of your heartbeat remains. All that exists is quiet breathing.

All your worst nightmares are of you reaching out to hold Mikey’s hand but it goes through him. You can’t grip onto him and he walks away because he can’t see you.

Mikey tells you that he sees you. He grips your hand and squeezes and pulls you in close on the off chance that you feel like your floating away. He won’t let you but he doesn’t begrudge your fear. No one asks for the life you’ve lived.

Jeers erupt from outside but neither of you flinch. You just lean closer into each other. Mikey runs his hand up and down your spine, eyes wet, and you are astounded once more how stubbornly he loves you. How intensely he feels for you. How he believes so much that you both are it. The endgame.

You wish you could take the shadows that live behind his eyes and demand they leave. “You can’t have him,” you imagine you’d say, “He is mine. And I’m not scared of you. I love him too much.” If that meant pulling a seat up for them in the living room and offering them a whiskey laced with intention, you’d do it.

Mikey’s hand slips under your night shirt, his palm flat against the skin of your back and you melt against him. You have studied those hands and all the ways they make you feel things and you exhale harshly and slowly so as to not disturb the rays of muted light.

“You doing okay?” Mikey asks, voice dripping with drowsiness despite the awareness present in his baby blues. “Its late. Or early. Whatever. Was it a nightmare?”

“No baby,” you respond, pressing your mouth against his beak, “No nightmares tonight.”

“Good.”

You press another kiss to his beak before ducking down a little and pressing another one to the side of his mouth. The arm under the blanket shifts. His fingers stroke your head.

There is a lull.

“I love you.”

Its comes out unexpectedly but you aren’t ashamed of it. He already knows. That relationship milestone has long since passed. Even so, the words are splintered, cracked around the edges and easy to be drowned out by the sounds of screeching tires on the road and idiots on the street.

But the impact is till the same. The look he gives you is blue fire and he guides you closer for a kiss. It starts off light, gentle, a nudge against your mouth but his fingers cradled the back of your head as he deepens it. “Love you too. So much” is mumbled as he presses further into you.

Arousal simmers on the back-burner as an afterthought. You had fucked hard earlier - a frenzy, a reconnection after a week of only facetime calls and voice memos that left you worked up and over. You know you will fuck again when the sun is up because Mikey loves starting the days off right when you are both in the same place.

Right now is the time to relearn the shape of his mouth as he kisses you lazily. You pull back slowly. You stare at him and he stares at you, movements slow.

A beat.

Two.

Three.

“You remember the talks we had?” you whisper before you could stop, brushing your nose over his, “when we had just met? The ones that lasted days at time?”

“Yeah,” he responds, his voice low, “That was a long time ago but I do. I don’t think I could ever forget.” There are flashes of light behind his eyes and you know he remembers each call. Each text thread that was either memes or philosophical questions that had you trying to unearth the truth of the universe. Each conversation that spanned days because real life creates lulls between responses.

“I fell in love with you there,” you whisper back, “Somewhere in those calls, I turned over to look into the phone and realized that you were mine and there would never be anyone else for me.”

“Yeah?” its a soft question that, from the look on his face, doesn’t require an answer, “You too?” You nod anyway. He deserves to see it.

He grins.

“I’m glad that we took our time,” you continue, wiggling as his hand scratches at your back the tiniest bit, “I like that we are friends. I like that I can say “Mikey is my best friend” when they ask me about my boyfriend. I’m glad that I got the chance to like you.”

“I like you too angel,” he whispers, his voice getting softer, warmth bleeding in the spaces between words. Heat singes around his eyes, “I like you so much.”

You hold him tighter, “no one knows my soul like you do.”

Mikey surges forward to kiss you again, his hand running down from your back to the side of your thigh. He rolls you both so he is half on top of you, maneuvering a thigh between your legs and pressing your chests touch as he slips his tongue between your waiting lips. You arms reach up to rest along the broadness of his shoulders, fingers dancing along the lip of his shell.

When he pulls back, his breathing is harsh, “you know mine angel.”

There is a sense of peace with knowing that all your exposed parts are being kept safe. The storms pass. Smoke is cleared. Petrichor sweetens the air. The dead are laid to rest so flowers can grow on their remains. The sun is bright.

Between you, pleasure kindles slowly. Hands roam and tug and cup. Kisses are scattered like constellations. There are murmurs of praise and whispers of awe. Time blurs as you sink down into it.

Mikey brushes his lips along the side of your face as he glances as the clock, the sun peeking its head above the skyline from the window, “Do you want me now?”

“Now.” You punctuate the word with a roll of your hips against his thigh. “I want to feel you.”

He sighs under his breath, hands shifting you until you are where he wants you. Your night clothes are removed and dropped by the side of your bed. His shorts follow, landing right on top of yours. He nestles firmly between your open thighs. “Okay angel. You can have me. You can have everything.”

The vulnerability in his voice shakes you. The slide of his cock into you has you gripping onto him. He draws it out, indulgent in the way you stutter and writhe against him. Its a seamless fit, despite his size. You are still prepped from earlier, wet and accommodating, and he drips like a faucet.

Mikey had never known sex could be like this. He always expected that sex would be purely physically, a thing that couples did to feel good and sate any hormonal urges. No one ever told him about how it feels when hands grip onto him, leaving trails of sparks and comets and tingles across his body that linger for days. No one ever told him that his lovers moans could vibrate along his vertebrate and resonate in the parts of his unknown. The void in his chest fills with liquid gold when he hears his named sobbed against his skin.

You hadn’t known either.

And even though you both do now, even though you crave each other more fiercely than you crave air, it always feels new when you collide. Every sensation has been redefined. Vulnerability has never felt so powerful.

You cry as you feel his cock pulse inside of you as he bottoms out and grinds forward. He grunts, his arms keeping your hips flush against his.

“How do you always feel so good?” Words emphasized with deep thrusts. Hard, slow, tapering into a grind before pulling back out. ”Always so good for me. Meant for me. Made for me to love. Made to take me.”

“Yes,” you hiss back, breath hot against his neck. Mikey adjusts, one of his hands remaining on your hip while the other slides to grip your arms behind your back. He presses you flush against his plastron, back arched off the bed and supported by the strength in his arms as he holds you. “Meant for you. And you found me.”

The casual, effortless show of strength spreads a warm haziness across your mind. You lean into it.

“Fuck - Mi...I-” There are tears in your eyes as you gasp and shudder as Mikey picks up the pace. Without warning, your mouth is covered by his and you can feel his smile against yours. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere and tapers off as the kiss turns hungry.

“Shh I have you,” he gasps between his own pleasured noises, “I have you. You are safe here. What do you need?” His hand strokes along your face as he rocks into you. His voice is breathless but full of intent. “Tell me what you want.”

“Everything,” you babble as he grind right up against your good spot, “I want everything with you.”

He groans, breathing deep as the colors blur into shapes. He tucks his arm back under you, grinding harder, your clit catching along the hardness of his plastron. Your legs tremble around his hips. Mikey kisses you again before he ducks down to your neck and shoulder, his mouth hungry and burning. Ravenous.

Something about romance ignites a wildfire inside of Mikey. You exploit it as often as you can and he lets you because you both know that nothing is said without intent, without meaning. Honesty burns under your skin and shines through your eyes every time you press words of love into his skin like galaxies in a telescope. He basks in the attention. He worships under it.

In return, Mikey spills filth into your ears. The kind that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is but god does he know what you need to hear.

(”You feel perfect, hot and tight.”/ “I’m yours.”/ “I can feel you. You are real.”/ “I know, angel, I know. You’ve been wanting me so much. You need me. I need you too.”/ “I’m going to show you I love you. You’ll never doubt it. You’ll never doubt that I love you.”/ “Angel I’m not scared of your ghosts. They are scared of me.”/)

Mikey’s voice is serrated in ways no one but you have heard. Raw and carnal and deeper than most would expect, flashing dark around the edges the more passionate he gets, the more he reaches down inside of you to pull out the parts of you only he sees.

You fall apart from the inside and can do nothing as the bottom drops out. You aren’t scared, not with the way Mikey holds you and chases away anything that could ruin this. His “I loves yous” bleed into your skin and you take hold of his pain and strangle it. There is no room for the grief and emptiness as violent tremors rack your bodies and hands cradle exposed hearts. The lights flash and dance as the decrescendo halts everything around you.

Heavy breathing fill the room. Whispered praise is soft and there is shuffling. You wipe each other down as best you can with the wet wipes you keep by the bed before pulling each other closer. The morning light is higher, peeking between the blinds and under the edges of the curtains.

Eventually you’ll get out of bed. Clean up properly. Make food and spend time together with your clothes on. Relax in the knowledge that the day is a good one with no dark figures hanging in the corners, waiting to come in. But, thats for later.

For now, you lay close, breathing each other in. Hands are still roaming. No one has faded and there is no cold glass protecting warm skin. Mikey murmurs something and you smile. Your smile meets his smile and laughter joins in, glimmering in the light. You peck at his mouth and his fingers dig into the skin of your flesh before he grabs the comforter and hides you both underneath it.

Everything can wait. Just for a little longer.

~~~~~

#michelangelo #michelangelo imagine #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt imagine #lemon

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buckysflannelpajamas · 3 years

Text

Bleeding Hearts

Summary: Being Tony Starks daughter has its pros and cons. One of the pros being you get to live with your best friends, the Avengers. One of the cons you will soon find out is having to deal with the one and only, James Buchanan Barnes...

Takes place during the imaginary time after Civil War where everyone love in the tower and goes through to Endgame.

Trigger warning: Talks of depression/depressing thoughts

Chapter 5

2nd person POV

Fading. That's how you describe the feeling when you start to stoop into a depressive episode. You can feel your emotions fading to numbness, and eventually an all encompassing emotional down. Each avenger has their own way of trying to help you through it. Honestly you want to be left alone for the most part, alone to dwell in the sadness you think you deserve. It was harder when you first decided to move back into the tower after living on your own when you had been released from the hospital. In the beginning, you couldn't even get a moment alone. But eventually everyone got into a pattern of how they help you deal with your depression.

Wanda and Vision make you baked goods. Mainly strawberry cupcakes. Wanda comes to deliver them to your room every morning, and subtly implies she will be going shopping later and hinting at you coming. It worked a total of one time. But after having a mental breakdown in the Gucci dressing room you realized it probably wasn’t best for you to be in public when you feel this way.

Steve and your dad are always the most worried. They check on you multiple times a day. Steve also draws you caricatures of avengers and writes something funny underneath them. This is the closest Steve has ever gotten to understanding memes. Tony on the other hand tries to lure you out of your funk by bribing you with a trip to your favorite Korean food restaurant in South Korea via his private jet.

Pepper sends you flowers. The two of you aren’t close and aren't overly fond of eachother. You assume she mainly sends the flowers to please Tony.

Peter constantly sends you memes throughout the day, which you mostly ignore.

No one knows where Thor and Bruce are so it’s safe to say they don't know when you’re suffering, and no one wants to call Clint just to inform him you’re sad again.

Uncle Rhodey usually finds out because Tony needs to vent to someone about his worries. What he does for you by far one of the coolest things. He has a military buddy of his hack into the computers of major entertainment companies so you can see blockbuster movies before they are released.

Natasha, who is sort of a mother figure to you though the two of you would never admit it, comes to you late at night when your insomnia kicks in. Neither of you speak, she simply sits down on your bed beside you and braids your hair while the TV show ‘how it’s made’ plays softly in the background. The two activities always help you to sleep. And on the nights you can’t stop crying, she’ll lie there with you, rubbing your back like a mother calming her child until her tears stop.

Finally, Sam comes in the moment you need it most, right when you are so tired and drained that you’re ready to open up about how you're feeling.

It’s day 3 of your depression and you have just reached that point. Somehow, Sam always knows when you’re ready.

You’re sitting up in bed, bundled up in an exuberant amount of blankets and staring blankly at the wall in front of you. Your mind drifts through a series of depressing thoughts.

Pathetic.

Worthless.

Burden.

These are the words that are most consistently in your mind.

For a moment you consider no longer taking your meds. Sometimes it feels as though they don't work anyway.

That’s when you hear the knock outside your living room door.

“Friday, tell Sam he can come on in.” You mumble to the disembodied AI, your voice raw from all the crying you’ve been doing.

“Of course, miss.” Even Friday sounds saddened by your less than pleasant mental state.

You don’t bother to wipe your tears away, you would be crying soon again anyway.

You hear Sam make his way through your front door, passing through the living area and opening the door to your room.

You notice Sam holding a steaming plate of eggs, sausage, and hash browns in one hand. He must have found out from Friday that all you’ve really eaten this week is Wanda and Visions strawberry cupcakes.

“I would have brought some OJ too but then I wouldn’t have been able to open the door.” Sam jokes. He takes a quick glance around your room, trying to gauge how bad the episode is. Used tissues cover the floor by the right side of the bed. Worn pajamas are strewn around on the floor and the pile of clothes you leave on your chair hasn’t been cleaned up. You usually clean it once a week. Not to mention your greasy hair makes it obvious that you haven’t showered in a few days.

“Pretty bad, huh?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.” You answer honestly. You don’t need to bullshit with Sam.

He takes a seat by you on the bed, placing the food in front of you. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, but-“

“But you feel like you deserve the pain?”

“You know that.” You sigh.

“Tell me why.”

“You know why too.”

Sam pushes a fork in your hand. “I’m trusting you with this.” He jokes, earning an actual laugh from you before moving on. “I have a general idea, but I don’t like to make assumptions.”

You poke at the eggs with your fork. “I-“ it’s hard to speak. You know at any moment you’re going to break out sobbing. “I feel so weak.” You choke out. “I put the whole team at risk by being naive enough to think a guy wouldn’t try drugging my drink at a crowded party. Even if it is my house.”

Sam doesn't speak yet. He always waits for you to let it all out.

“How could I be so fucking stupid?!” You sob. “I was selfish. Why do you all even keep me around? I’m a liability and a burden to the team. I hate that about myself and I hate that I’m so weak! I hate that no matter how hard I train, I’ll never be strong like any of you! And I know that that’s also selfish because you all went through so much pain to be what you are, but I can’t help but feel insignificant. I’m just some dumb fucking artist that sits around all day doddling while you all are actually doing something meaningfull in the world!” There it is. The root of what triggered your episode. It’s not just about Authur. It's about the fact that you can’t protect yourself. It’s the constant feeling of insignificance that lingers in the back of your mind.

Sam puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “First of all, you’re not just some dumb fucking artist.” He quotes you. “You are a world renowned artist and you should be proud of it. More importantly, you are not insignificant or a burden. Ok? If we didn’t want you around, you wouldn’t be here. We all love you and want you to be here with us. You’re part of our family. You might not be on the front lines, but you do more for the world than you know.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah I doubt that.”

“I mean it.” Sam Insists. “You said so yourself that you know how much pain we’ve been through. How do you think the avengers would keep it together without their own little therapist.” He laughs lightly.

You furrow your brows. “Um, Sam, I’m not a therapist. I can barely keep myself together.”

“You might not be licensed but you are always there for us. Getting us to talk through our thoughts and feelings. Giving us advice and helping us come to a resolution.”

“That’s what friends are for.” You shrug.

“Yeah well friends don’t usually have to deal with their other friends' war trauma and helping them deal with finding out their best friend they thought was dead is actually alive and actively trying to kill them.”

You stay silent for a moment. “I guess that’s true.”

Sam pats you lightly on the back. “You keep the avengers sane so that we can help the world. Which is just as important.”

Finally, you take a bite of your eggs. “I disagree that it’s just important but I know that argument won’t go anywhere, so I’ll just accept it.”

“I know that this conversation won’t solve all of life's problems, but maybe it helped you feel good enough to to get up out of bed? Maybe get up and take a shower? No offense, but you don’t exactly smell like daisies.” He laughs.

You shove Sam in the arm. “Hey! You should take a whiff of yourself after you come back from a mission.”

“Touché.” Sam pauses, noticing something on your bedside table.

“Sour gummy worms? That’s not part of your usual routine…” Sam trails of, reaching over you to grab the box of candy before you have a chance to stop him.

“Wait-”

It's too late, he sees the note written in scribbly cursive on the piece of paper attached to the back of the box.

“Who’s this from?” He asks curiously, hoping from your bed and moving around as you chase him down, frantically trying to remove the letter from his grasp.

“Sam stop!”

“Dear y/n,” Sam starts to read aloud. “I don’t pity you. I relate to you. When I said I’m sorry I meant it.”

You jump, reaching for the letter but Sam moves it high above his head.

He continues to read. “I meant to tell you sorry before the party. I only blew up at the hospital because I was mad at myself for letting someone on the team get hurt. I shouldn’t have been such an asshole to you. I know it’s a lousy excuse but I was just jealous of your happiness. If you give me the chance, I’d like to make it up to you. I heard you like Star Wars. I haven’t seen the movies… maybe we can watch them sometime? Sincerely, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Sam looks at you with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. “You two got a movie date?”

You finally snatch the candy and letter from his hand. “See this is why I didn’t want you to read it! I knew you would take it that way.” You pout.

“How else am I supposed to take it?” Sam laughs.

“Like a guy with a guilty conscience is trying to be nice to the sad girl.” You say as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“You can be so blind to some things.” He shakes his head.

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

Sam takes a seat back down at the end of your bed. “Everyone living in the tower can tell he has the hots for you.” He pauses in thought. “Expect for Tony. Barnes would be as good as dead if he knew.”

“You’ve been talking to Nat and Wanda, haven’t you?”

“And Steve and Vision.” He grins. “We have a whole group text dedicated to the conversation.”

“Great.” You groan, rubbing your temples as you take a seat by Sam on the bed.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me. But you should at least give him a chance to make it up to you. I’m not Barnes biggest fan, but he’s really not a bad guy.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Sam interrupts you.

“Just think about it, ok?” Sam gets up from your bed, making his way to the door. “And take a shower in the meantime! You stink little sister!”

You grab a pillow and throw it at him, the pillow only managing to hit the door as he closes it.

“And eat some food too!”

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #sam wilson #bucky barnes x stark!reader #bucky barnes x reader

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lambourngb · 3 years

Note

For the first sentence meme: “I didn’t have the words then.”

TITLE: there’s too much smoke to see it

PAIRING: Michael/Alex

TAGS: hurt/comfort, temporary character death, getting back together, lots of talking, lots of sex, brief forlex, malex is endgame, canon typical friendships between everyone

SUMMARY: He had run out of time in making things right with Alex, which honestly was the worst part of dying in Michael’s opinion. It would have been good to die without leaving behind regrets and things unsaid. But then he survived and nothing changed, or did it?

This is finished, 15,858 words.

****.

“I didn’t have the words then.”

Michael glanced down at the fading bar of his cell phone battery in his hands, before turning to muffle the rib-shaking cough of dirt and grit from his throat into the bend of his arm. In their long history of loving one another, hurting one another, pushing each other, dragging each other back in, this was probably the cruelest thing he has done to Alex, leaving a goodbye message recorded on his phone.

The air was getting thinner in the cavern, the mix of carbon dioxide slowly taking over the available oxygen. Michael wasn’t sure if Mr. Jones wanted him to die from lack of water and food, or suffocate in the sealed space, only that he wanted Michael to suffer. That much had been made clear to Michael as he laid on the rocky ground with the depowering serum coursing through his veins. This was meant to be both his prison cell and grave, sentenced and executed for the crime of being his mother’s son. “I read up on these overly intelligent beasts you’ve surrounded yourself with, and I know they had your mother for a long time, tortured her for years, but it wasn’t by my hand, which lacks a certain emotional closure for me, I’m sure you understand.”

Collapsing the mouth of the abandoned mine with telekinesis, Michael’s last view was the self-satisfied expression of his brother but-not Jones, backing away with a sketched-salute.

After the dust settled and the walls stopped rattling, Michael had taken a quick accounting of the situation. A quick pat down of his pockets had revealed his multi tool, his truck keys and his cell phone, which was half-charged but with zero signal from the insulating barren rock walls of the mine. He had swept the meager flashlight over everything, hoping that he would find a place where there was water seeping in, or evidence that there was a forgotten shaft, only to be met with disappointment. What was even more concerning was that the mineral composition of the mine was unfamiliar to Michael, different from the patterns of strip-mined turquoise he recognized from the caverns that sheltered their pods.

He wasn’t in Roswell. It was possible he wasn’t in New Mexico at all. The black void from his last memory of leaving his bunker for the night and waking up on the unforgiving ground with Mr. Jones smirking above him could have stretched anywhere from hours to days.

Michael had paced around the small confines and had traced each crevice with his fingertips for some sign of give to attempt to dig himself out only to realize Jones had brought down the side of the mountain on him. Without access to his powers there was little hope of moving the rock debris on his own. The last time he had been dosed by Helena Ortecho, the effects had lasted for several days, including those frustrating moments when Jesse Manes had held a gun on Alex and then him at the Crashcon. Lucky for all of them that Gregory Manes had been there, and even more so for Maria’s quick thinking with the other bomb.

Luck took a faraway vacation from Michael after that night between getting unceremoniously dumped by Maria, to watching Alex move on easily with Forrest Long, to now.

When the feeling of his old friend, hunger, began to gnaw at his stomach, he had some hope that the serum would wear off in time to save himself, but then slowly that hope faded from his body when the desire to eat grew quiet, sleeping inside with the burrow his missing powers had made in him.

He was trapped and the executioner’s axe, swinging down on him inescapable, was time.

Thinking about time, like usual, sent Michael’s thoughts turning down the familiar roads in his mind and heart to Alex. At first, as he pillowed his head on his arms and stared up at the endless black of his prison, he had pretended there were stars above him and Alex was next to him. The rocky ground was just as unforgiving as the metal bed of his pickup truck. He was used to that fantasy, pretending Alex was there with him but just far enough away Michael couldn’t feel his breath or touch his skin.

It had kept him going during those years when Alex was serving overseas under a whole different starlit sky. It had fueled him during the surprisingly harder times, when Alex was serving in the next state over, one timezone, two at most, but the separation was wider than the Atlantic Ocean under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. It had kept him hopeful as well, waiting during the in-between times of those scarce visits on leave. And then finally, Alex was serving in Roswell, but by then it was Michael who was out of reach, pulled down so deep in grief and pain he couldn’t see a way forward at all, let alone picture Alex nearby in his mind's eye.

Now he was out of time to wait and see if maybe the fates would be kind enough to grant them one more chance at being together.

The screen on his phone went black during his too-long pause. That was happening more and more, thirst was not enough to keep his thoughts sharp and his mind on the task. He kept drifting off on tangents, and time slipped with them as he worked to find the words to say goodbye to Alex. The battery life of his cell phone was dying under every pause, goddamn it, he needed to focus.

“I didn’t have the words then, to tell you how bad things were that summer. You know the one. I know I was too much for you, for anyone, hell even for myself. But… I didn’t mean to do it though, to make you the only good thing in my life back then- that was too much to put on you, when you were just a kid too, trying to survive.”

His skin was tight and dry, he couldn’t spare the moisture to cry, but his eyes burned with the need. “I blame myself, you know, for you leaving that first time to join up. Going to war. I know you what you said, about wanting to learn how to fight battles and win, but I’m not dumb, Alex. I know your dad catching us together was the real reason. You were trying to fly under his radar, to get out of the house and disappear to California or New York once you turned 18, and I ruined it. And I’m sorry-”

Another rib shaking cough seized Michael’s body, ripping through his throat like a wildfire, leaving ash in its wake as he tried to close his lips around it and hold it in uselessly. It was futile, trying to protect Alex, but he hoped that Alex would hear this goodbye, hear how slow and sleepy the words were and perhaps picture Michael’s death as being a peaceful slip into oblivion. Not the true state of affairs, that he was fighting for air as the walls of the mine seemed to creep closer and closer with every inhalation.

Like the rest of his previous attempts to protect Alex in his life, he was failing again.

“So, that apology was twelve years overdue. It wasn’t your fault I was a mess back then. And, the shitty part is Alex, if I had to relive that summer again, I can’t promise I would do anything different… except, maybe I would have been there to say goodbye to you.”

The bar on the phone was slipping closer to the critical red line.

“Guess that’s what this is. This recording. My poor attempt to make amends and give you a proper goodbye. I don’t have enough room on my phone or battery life to apologize for everything I’ve done, and honestly, what good are apologies? They don’t change the past. I think we did the best we could at the time. It is just- I lied before when I said I used to think we’d end up together.”

That bittersweet morning of watching Alex walk away one last time had changed something inside of Michael though he didn’t know at the time. He had thought he could close the book on their sad story and move on, trying as hard as he had with Maria, only to have that same damn book hurled at his head after Crashcon by Maria when she had ended things. He had spent so much time holding his and Alex’s story open in his heart, that the book didn’t close anymore. The spine was cracked, the binding bent in all the places where they had loved each other and hurt each other, that it made it impossible to shelve again and move on. All it took was the softest breeze of memory; the cover would flip open, and then Michael was right back in the middle of their story again, knowing that he would love Alex forever.

His thoughts were wandering again, bounding down hallways of melodrama. He almost laughed at the metaphor he had crafted for Alex; that their love was a roughly handled book. Forrest would appreciate it, being a researcher and lover of libraries. Forrest seemed to appreciate everything that Michael hadn’t.

Michael forced his eyes open, struggling to make sense between the black that circled his vision and the black of the mine. “I tried to stop thinking about it, picturing it, you and me, making a life together. I might have succeeded for a little bit, probably long enough for you to think I got over you. But I didn’t. It never really took. So yeah. I really thought we were going to have more time together. Time to try again. Or like, really try for the first time. I was ready now, to be good to you.” His lips cracked as he smiled in thought, the taste of blood sharpening his attention. “I had these big future plans. I was just waiting for- for the right time.

“Now I’m out of time- fuck, is it cruel to tell you this? I don’t want to be cruel to you. I love you. So much. So, I’m sitting here in the dark, and I’m trying to think good thoughts. God, Alex, you’re every good thought in my head, and I was planning on showing that to you, if you still wanted me.”

If. Michael forced himself not to linger on that. It was a huge ‘if’, considering how happy Alex was at the moment with someone else. Amazing what sharing hobbies but not trauma could do for a relationship. Well, Michael could admit it, that he was selfish enough at this moment not to care. He had held all these thoughts inside for so long, their only company his lost opportunities and dead dreams about finding his family. If he was going to die here, so be it, he didn’t want to leave anything unsaid.

“Maybe you don’t, maybe all you have for me is love in the past tense and that’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve stood there before myself, when my tank was dead-empty, and I couldn’t trust that another go-around would take me anywhere but back to heartbreak. Just, if you could indulge me one last time? I want you to know how I saw us.”

His lips stung, the cut breaking open again as he uselessly tried to wet them one more time. Michael curled around his phone holding it close to his mouth, his head was too dizzy to hold up anymore, but he pushed on, this was the important part of his message. “So, the plan was this. It is the same plan I had when we were 17. We’ve both taken some detours, almost got lost even, but I think this was where we were heading. A house, a yard, kids. We were going to have it all. I was going to play the guitar, you would play the keyboard, our daughter would play the drums, our son the flute because fuck gender stereotypes, am I right? Of course, you would have to sing, my voice only sounds good when I’m backing you up.”

The battery hit the final red bar of warning. There was a splash on the phone screen. Carefully Michael brought it to his lips to lick the precious tear away for moisture. His body had surprised him one more time, with tears.

“And yeah, that’s the gist. I would back you up on everything in our dad band, but you have to let me be the disciplinarian about homework, okay? Also, you don’t know this about me, but I make the best breakfasts ever. That was going to be what I led with by the way, if you were ever single again. I was going to make you breakfast and woo you. Every day for the rest of your life if you wanted. Whatever you wanted. I just want you to be happy… I love you.”

He closed the recording, saving it as the phone shut down on the exhausted battery. It wasn’t perfect, his last message to Alex, but then, when had he ever managed to tell Alex everything and get it right? He never had, and would never get a chance again. Never.

Michael tucked the phone into the pocket of his shirt, resting it over his heart and shut his eyes. He was aware that he was breathing harder, his lungs were looking for more non-existent oxygen in the closed off mine. Hopefully, he would slip into unconsciousness soon and feel the weight of grief that had taken up lodging in his chest sometime after the age of 7, finally check out. Evict that pain at last, and he could be free.

It was the bitterest irony of his current imprisonment.

***

continued on AO3 -

#malex #alex manes #michael guerin #hurt-comfort #getting back together #angst with a happy ending #for the first line meme #aewriting #sorry if this ends up in the tags twice #just found a privacy setting that was causing issues grrr

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advanced-knocking · 3 years

Note

RQG for the music ask meme!!

1. Ghosting - Mother Mother

Probably Sasha as the sneakiest, the invisble one in the party, leaving her home, leaving London and then eventually leaving the entire world, but still haunting the memory of the party as they make their way through the destroyed remains of Other London

I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting alone

Ghost in the world, ghost with no home

I mean this was basically her whole life until finding a home in Ancient Rome. No I'm not getting emotional about Sasha again ;_;

2. Morton's Fork - Typhoon

Ok so this is unfortunate because I have that song from an RQG playlist. It's peak "Guard the pack so you that you will succeed together" "Taking a spear for Sasha" "Volunteering for the first night watch in Damascus even though he hasn't slept for 48 hours" Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam.

I won't lie to you, it will be painful

It's in your nature to fear what is natural

I mean just-

We are alone in this together

All alone in this together

Just-

I haven't slept in several nights and I'm not tired

Who protects the ones I love when I'm asleep?

Though there's little I can do, I say a prayer

That when the wolves come for their share

They'll come for me

Yeah. Pretty much.

3. High Hopes - Panic! At the Disco

S1 Amelia Earhart definitely. This song has crazy airship trick vibes.

4. 21 Guns - Green Day

It's angsty enough to fit the whole campaign I reckon but I don't know any specifics.

5. Loose Ends - Imogen Heap

Zolf and Hamid.

It's complicated

This time I think it could be

Triangulated

It could be just what we need

So what do you say, we give it up and walk away?

We're overrated anyway

Need I say more?

Not now, not ever, no, it's never a good time

How will the good times ever roll on?

Comparing photos then and now, now and then

Just wondering where it all went wrong

Just... ouch.

6. Little In The Middle - Milow

Ohhhh okay this song gives me Hamid vibes. It's specifically about a child's dream to join a circus but like...

For the fun and death defying

But in time you forgot life is small in the big top

And your dreams were slowly dying

What you wanted was not a crime

You could have done it

Hamid with his dreams of becoming a wizard which were shattered only for him to be plunged into a terrifying and wonderful adventure that makes him develop a new dream, of being a Hero.

Lions leap through hoops of fire

As the acrobats go flying

But what's the show all about

When did your north get turned to south

And the truth turned to lying

Only for the story to get darker and darker, he loses his sister, he loses his friends, he loses the world. He is more powerful than he could have EVER imagined but it comes at the cost of having to save the world and being ready to sacrifice everything he has.

Always just a little in the middle

It keeps your head from spinning round

And the party around him who are so much more pragmatic! We just saw it again, Cel closing the door because they knew that it was more important to protect the lab than to ensure they can all survive. Hamid really is just a little guy in the middle of everything and it makes me feel so sorry for him!!

7. Atlas Hands - Benjamin Francis Leftwich

It makes me think about Cel's old life. Like when they were living with their husband and his kids? Actually maybe it's that specific scene in the Garden of Yerlick where he appears and they tell him all about what happened since he died.

I will remember your face

Cause I am still in love with that place

But when the stars are the only things we share

Will you be there?

Like just that quiet reassurance there that they still love and remember him? It makes me feel something.

I've got a plan, I've got an atlas in my hands

I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons I've learned

Also these lines are very Cel. They're old! They've seen a lot! They've travelled the whole world! And now they're saving it!

8. Cough Syrup - Young The Giant

Early Sasha, definitely. It's about the "I don't have anything to lose", "I just need to get away"

If I could find a way to see this straight

I'd run away

The party being an opportunity for her. Protection, sure, but also a way out and, maybe more importantly, a reason to go. A goal that isn't just "escape".

9. Carrying Cathy - Ben Folds

Alright, so I thought "Haha it's about Wilde bc he sucks so bad at combat that the party has to carry him all the time" and then I thought some more about it and got very, very sad.

So obsessed was I and self-absorbed that I

Didn't see that she was crying

In Paris, when the party was fleeing and treated Wilde like absolute shit (like okay they saved his life but they treated him a little like they treat Barrett now). Especially told from Zolf's perspective to highlight how CLOSE they are now.

And she's different when it's just me and her, and I

After the whole party disappears and Zolf and Wilde found each other. How close they grew in that 18 months but also the fact that Wilde judged himself effectively useless except to do paperwork (tbf he was right and also very good at paperwork but still... ouch)

But to imagine a fall

With no one at all to catch you

There'd always been someone

And then he falls off the ship and dies. And they carry him again, in the hope he may be resurrected.

10. Purpose - The Late Night Call

This song is very Endgame lol. Everyone aware that they might need to sacrifice themselves and trying to find something good in that.

#rusty quill gaming #rqg #this got... mildly out of hand #lol thanks for asking

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another ace Good Omens fic written for @bingokisses - this time, the prompts “Smiling Too Hard Kisses/Pam Massage or Tracing.” Also managed to squeeze in a bit of nose-kissing, since I actually filled that prompt with a drawing.

Full fic available on AO3.

Part 2: The Next Fifty Days

On the fifty-first night, Aziraphale followed Crowley upstairs again.

As before, they held hands up the stairs, a loose clasp of palm against palm. As before, Crowley miracled up a pair of pyjamas, kissed Aziraphale’s cheek, and climbed into bed with a sleepy, “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale fussed with the duvet a little longer, smoothing it over Crowley’s shoulder, then stooped, pushing back a fringe of bright red hair. He was right; the hair was thick with sweat after a day of working in the sun, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He leaned a little closer to smell the sweat and earth on Crowley’s brow and, before he could talk himself out of it, pressed a kiss just under Crowley’s hairline.

“G…good night,” Aziraphale managed in a rushed breath, turning to go.

On the fifty-second night, Aziraphale lingered for a few minutes, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. It was tangled, and he worried the knots would hurt Crowley, but the demon simply sighed and relaxed a little more heavily against the pillow.

On the fifty-third night, Crowley wriggled a bit as he climbed into bed, moving just a little towards the center. He didn’t say anything, or gesture, or call attention to the movement in any way.

Still, it took until the fifty-fifth night for Aziraphale to work up the courage to settle himself on the edge of the mattress, stroking Crowley’s hair until he fell asleep.

He marveled, for a little while, at how his demon looked, so still, so quiet, face relaxed, burrowed so deep under the blanket that very little remained to be seen. It was strange, all those long limbs, stilled and compacted and hidden under a thick down duvet. He imagined his own wing covering Crowley instead, and Aziraphale’s face suddenly burned with a pulsing heat, and he rushed from the room.

Crowley didn’t even stir.

Beginning on the fifty-sixth night, Aziraphale sat on the sofa. At the far end, with as much space between them as possible, but nevertheless on the sofa. Crowley smiled, shifted his feet so they took up less space, a more compact sprawl.

Starting on the fifty-seventh night, Crowley sat upright in the other corner of the sofa. He scrolled through his mobile as they chatted, right hand resting lightly on the cushions between them. Aziraphale thought about putting his own hand down as well. He thought about it quite a lot.

On the sixty-fourth night, Aziraphale began organising his music collection while Crowley slept, humming softly to himself. On the sixty-eighth, he started bringing in selected books.

Now and again, he’d pause in his work, to make sure Crowley was still asleep. Adjust his blanket. Push the hair away from his eyes.

More than once he caught himself simply standing there, staring.

But whenever he finished his task for the night, Aziraphale retreated back downstairs and waited with a cup of tea until Crowley rose again in the morning.

On the seventieth night, he took Crowley’s hand as they sat on the sofa, no longer at opposite ends, but not quite close enough for their shoulders to brush. He glanced out from under his eyelashes – is this alright? – and without looking up from his mobile phone, Crowley gave his fingers a warm squeeze.

After an hour or so, he lifted Crowley’s hand to rest on his book, nudging his fingers apart. Tracing his own fingertips up and down the lines of Crowley’s palm, memorising them, mesmerised by them.

Crowley didn’t say a word, except to point out a series of pictures he’d discovered on his mobile. He grinned expectantly.

“It appears to be a cartoon. No, two cartoons cut and glued together. Look, they altered the caption, terrible job.”

“It’s a meme, Angel. It’s a joke.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale squinted at the fancy telephone. “Is the joke that the cartoon no longer makes sense? Some sort of Dadaist nonsense?”

“Nnnnh, you aren’t wrong,” Crowley conceded, returning to whatever he’d been doing.

His hand hadn’t moved. Uncertainly, Aziraphale pressed his own palm to Crowley’s, and the long fingers curled up to interlock with his.

Aziraphale smiled and let their hands rest on the sofa between them.

He followed Crowley upstairs, fingers still twined, palms pressed tightly together so that surely Crowley could feel his heart racing.

This time, when Crowley climbed under the covers, Aziraphale selected a book from his now-filled bookcase, and tried to approach the bed, the right side of the bed, the one with tartan pillow still lying where he’d dropped it. Every step was slower than the one before, until trepidation froze him, half a meter shy of his goal.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley watched him, golden eyes as unreadable as the glasses he usually wore.

“I thought…I thought…this might be…more comfortable. I can…sit on this side. As you – as you fall asleep.” There. Words spoken. It was out in the world.

“It’s an awful lot for one day,” Crowley commented, still not stirring. “Don’t rush yourself.”

He commanded his feet to take another step forward. “I’ve put it off rather a long time already, haven’t I?” Another step, knees now just shy of the mattress. “I’ve…forced you to wait…”

“You haven’t forced me to do anything. You never have.” Aziraphale stared at the crooked pillow, the slightly rumpled line of the duvet. “Angel. Look at me.” He glanced up, and now Crowley’s eyes weren’t blank at all, and that made this even harder. “I’m not…not waiting for anything. There isn’t some, I don’t know, some destination we have to race towards. There isn’t any endgame here. There’s just you, and me. What we have…this life…it’s enough. Whatever you want, whatever you’re comfortable with, it’s enough. Don’t ever feel like you have to – to be anything other than what you are.”

“I just…” Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the bed, and he stared at it so long he wondered why it didn’t catch fire. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am. Aziraphale, I am already as happy as I know how to be.”

Blinking tears from his eyes, Aziraphale reached out. Took the pillow that he had dropped seventy days before. Shook it out and placed it neatly against the headboard.

Then he placed the book on the bed in front of it.

“There, that…that should keep…another day or two.” He bit his lip. “That’s…that’s quite enough for one night.”

He circled around the bed and felt a strange rush of relief to arrive on the left side again. To perch on the edge of the mattress, as he already had so many times. Crowley sat up to kiss his cheek, as always, but this time let his lips rest a moment longer, his nose brush the side of Aziraphale’s. “Good night,” he whispered, and for once it sounded almost like a promise, a blessing, inasmuch as a demon could bless. “Angel.”

Then he flopped back onto his pillow, as dramatic as ever.

“Good night, dear.” Aziraphale tugged the blankets smooth and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Mmmh,” Crowley purred, leaning into his fingers, eyes drifting shut. “Hey, Aziraphale?”

“Y-yes?” They almost never spoke after saying good night.

“You want to tell me about your book?”

“What?” He glanced furtively at the other side of the bed. “The one I…”

But Crowley’s eyelids didn’t even flicker. “You read about twenty this week. Whichever you like.”

“Oh.” His fingers scratched a little deeper into the sweat-thick mane of hair. Aziraphale had decided he liked the way Crowley’s hair felt at the end of a day in the gardens. The texture. The smell. “Well. Er. I suppose. There is one you might like. Ah. It starts in the French Revolution—”

“Hang on.” The tiniest line of gold appeared in one eye. “Is someone gonna rescue someone else from the guillotine? Dramatically?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale tried to hide a smile. “Quite definitely.”

“Good. Proceed.”

“Where was I? Ah, yes. Paris. The teeming masses of humanity…”

On the seventy-third night, Aziraphale finally worked up the courage to slide onto the right side of the bed. Still fully dressed, still over the covers. Still a little awkward, as if he might change his mind and run.

He nearly did, when Crowley rose to kiss the side of his head. It seemed so much more alarming when done…well…in bed. But then he dropped down, red hair spilling across a black pillow, and wriggled under the blankets.

“Night, Angel,” he yawned, sounding even more tired than usual. They’d spent most of the afternoon exploring the paths through the woods and Aziraphale had – twice – briefly taken his hand.

“Good night, dear.” The words tumbled out without a thought. “Er. Crowley. Don’t you…usually sleep facing the door?”

Crowley blinked, which was rare enough, and glanced over his shoulder in confusion. When he turned back, his brow was furrowed. “Don’t be daft. I sleep facing you.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale didn’t know what to make of that. “Oh.” Crowley had rolled over a few times, in previous weeks, as Aziraphale moved around the bedroom setting things up. He’d never thought anything of it, but, yes, Crowley had always turned to face the side of the room Aziraphale stood on, like a daisy tracking the sun. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Crowley mocked, but not cruelly. He closed his eyes and settled down. “What are you reading?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced at the book he’d taken off the shelf several nights before. “Kinder- und Hausemärchen.”

“Uh…”

“The, ah, the Brothers Grimm.” He turned the pages idly. “Would you like me to…read it to you?”

A wide, toothy grin spread across his narrow face. “Only if you promise to do the voices.”

Smiling back, Aziraphale reached across and tucked some hair behind Crowley’s ear. “The first is the Frog Prince…”

That first night in bed, the seventy-third in the cottage, Aziraphale read a few stories, then quietly left once Crowley was asleep. He paused in the doorway and, sure enough, the demon turned over to face him without waking.

On the seventy-fifth night, he kept reading long after Crowley had fallen asleep.

On the seventy-ninth night, he stayed until after midnight.

On the eighty-third night (or very early on the eighty-fourth morning, but it was dark until well after breakfast this time of year), he put aside the book, and just watched Crowley sleep, without shyness, without fear.

On the eighty-seventh night, he noticed Crowley’s hand emerging from the blankets, and idly reached across to trace its lines once more. He tugged it towards him, thinking perhaps to hold it as he continued reading, but Crowley immediately moved, wriggling across the bed to press against Aziraphale’s hip.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called in alarm. “What are you…”

“Nrrgh,” Crowley muttered, and let out a noise almost like a snore.

This was most unusual. But it wasn’t bad.

That night, Aziraphale let Crowley press against him for almost an hour before gently disentangling himself and leaving.

On the eighty-eighth night, he let it go on a little longer.

On the ninety-fourth night, he lost all track of time, and barely slipped out of the room before Crowley woke up. It occurred to him, as he went down the stairs, that perhaps…perhaps he didn’t need to leave?

The ninety-fifth night in Aziraphale and Crowley’s cottage, winter arrived; perhaps not according to the calendar, but certainly by the weather. Warm jumpers emerged from nowhere, and Crowley grumbled that all his had tartan trim, then blushed to see Aziraphale’s embroidered with a tiny snake coiled into a heart.

Cold seeped in through the walls, but not in an unpleasant way. Aziraphale tried out a new soup recipe, and Crowley spent over an hour insisting he could light the fire the human way, before finally giving up and agreeing to a miracle.

That night, when Aziraphale tugged at his sleeping demon’s hand, Crowley looped an arm over his legs, pulling closer, seeking warmth.

When the angel finally convinced himself to slip away, he tucked his pillow under Crowley’s arm. He paused in the doorway to watch as Crowley rolled over to face towards him, chin still resting on the tartan pillow.

On the ninety-ninth night, the snow arrived. It was early; Crowley had complained all evening that he’d barely managed to get the garden settled for the winter; the greenhouse would have to wait until next year, and he seemed at a bit of a loss what to do with himself until the ground thawed. He shivered a bit – despite the warm fire – and Aziraphale squeezed his hand as they sat.

By the time they climbed into bed, the wind was roaring, whistling around the eaves and rattling the windowpanes. Aziraphale smoothed the blankets, settled atop them, then held out his arm indicating, somewhat indirectly, the space beside him.

“You, uh…you sure?”

“You’re cold, aren’t you?”

Crowley shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

Aziraphale smiled encouragingly. “Yes, dear. I’m sure.”

It was…not the same as when his demon pressed against him in the night. Crowley seemed to coil, twisting arms and legs, trying a hundred positions in a matter of seconds. Finally settled for having his head on Aziraphale’s lap, limbs twined all around him in an inextricable Gordian knot.

“S’good?”

It was almost perfect, except that somehow one of Aziraphale’s hands had become entwined with Crowley’s and the other was already burying itself in his hair. How was he ever supposed to hold a book like this?

But, it occurred to him, he didn’t actually want his book right now, not when the sight before him was so captivating.

“This is…yes. Jolly good. Ehem. Good night, Crowley dear.”

“G’night, Angel.” He wriggled even closer. Not wriggled. There was a word for this. Cuddled. It made Aziraphale’s heart flutter in his chest. “Nh. Aziraphale?” He sounded a little embarrassed.

“What is it?”

“Last couple mornings I’ve, uh…I woke up holding your pillow.”

“I…I know, dear.” Even if the actions were coming more easily, it was still so hard to put it into words. “The last, um, the last few nights you’ve been…reaching. For me. Moving closer. I felt, well, like you should…have something…when I left?”

“Mmrrrrrgh,” Crowley groaned, burying his face into Aziraphale’s thighs. “M’sorry.”

“What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“Didn’t ask.” He shrugged, a rather complicated gesture from this position. “’Nd. I told you I didn’t want anything more. Thought it was true. But I guess. Sometimes, it’s not?”

For the first time in ninety-nine nights, Aziraphale realised this might be as difficult for Crowley as it was for him. Of course he’d failed to notice. After all, he was a foolish, self-centred angel, hardly a thought for anyone but himself.

Instead of feeling guilty, though, Aziraphale felt…strangely relieved.

He leaned down to kiss the top of Crowley’s head. It was a bit of a stretch – he felt it in his back – but completely worth it. “Don’t worry about it, darling. Just sleep.”

On the hundredth morning, Aziraphale stood framed in the bedroom door, looking at the way Crowley held the tartan pillow, limbs in a complicated death grip that still managed to be extraordinarily gentle.

When the demon’s eyes fluttered open, Aziraphale lifted the mug he held, miracled to exactly the right temperature. “Coffee, dear?” he asked, heart throbbing in anticipation of the smile.

The snow had fallen more than knee-deep, and Crowley spent an hour clearing snow off the delicate branches of the saplings, shoveling the garden walkway, breath steaming in the wind, until Aziraphale emerged from the cottage and wrapped a black-and-red scarf around his neck, engulfing him from the bottom of his glasses to the top of his jacket.

“Let’s go for a walk, dear.”

“Can’t,” Crowley grunted. “Gotta make a path first.”

“No, you don’t.” Aziraphale stepped onto piled-up snow, and walked across the top of it, light as a cat.

“Well, not all of us are angels.” But Aziraphale could guess from the tone of his voice that the scarf hid a smile.

“You know, Crowley, if you hold my hand, you won’t sink either.”

This time, not even scarf and glasses could hide the way Crowley’s face lit up. His hand slipped into Aziraphale’s as naturally as if it had always belonged there, and together they walked out of the garden and into a forest altered into an exotic, white-puffed land.

“I think I was wrong,” Aziraphale said, looking at the branches of a towering oak, laden with snow and dripping with ice.

“Haven’t sunk yet.”

“No, ages ago. When you talked about getting trees, and I wasn’t sure if it was worth waiting ten years for the fruit. But I think…you don’t get a tree for the fruit.”

Crowley considered this, brow furrowed. “You do if you’re growing an orchard.”

“Are you? Growing an orchard?”

“No…” He tossed his head, hand flying up to catch his knitted hat before it fell off. “Gotta say, no idea where you’re going with this.”

“I mean, you don’t plant a tree because it might produce something you want, years down the road. You plant it because you want a tree. You want to see it bud in the spring, and sit in its shade in the summer, and watch the leaves change in the fall. You want to care for it, tend it as it grows, and then maybe – maybe – years later, you’ll also have apples to enjoy.”

“Hmmm.” Crowley swung their clasped hands with the next few steps. “Glad I didn’t wait for you to come around. It’s far too late to plant trees now.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I’m sure you knew that all along. That’s why you’re the gardener.”

“Better remember that if we ever need to infiltrate a mansion again.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said airily. “Next time, you can be the gardener, and I’ll be the driver.”

Crowley gasped, Aziraphale giggled, and they walked in silence a few more minutes.

“And you know,” the angel finally said, watching their feet pad across the snow without a trace. “It isn’t...wrong to, I don’t know, to want a bit more from a young tree. To imagine how the blossoms will look, to wish you could sit under the branches and read. I think, you know, part of caring for something is...is anticipating how it will grow and...helping it along.”

“It wouldn’t be...hurrying things?”

“No, I don’t think so. You can enjoy the moment without ignoring the past and...the future.”

The path turned towards what should be a little hollow between the trees, now filled to the brim like a bowl of snow.

“Speaking of...you know...the future.” Crowley said, glancing at the branches interlaced over them. “Future of trees. I mean. If you want something that just looks nice, you get flowers. Tulips. Really pretty, last about five minutes. But a tree, that’s...a commitment. Something you want to share your garden with for centuries.” He stopped walking, turning slowly towards Aziraphale, face still hidden between glasses and scarf. Aziraphale looked up at him, heart pounding. “You know. Never had a tree before. Didn’t work with my lifestyle. But now…here…”

Aziraphale reached with both hands to lower Crowley’s scarf.

Unfortunately, the instant he let go of Crowley’s hand, the demon collapsed, legs buckling at the sudden lack of support, until he lay on his back, buried up to his neck in snow.

“Oh, dear!” Aziraphale fought down a smile. “Oh, Crowley I—” No, it was no good. Watching the now snow-covered demon struggle to sit up doubled Aziraphale over with laughter.

“Funny, am I?”

Aziraphale scrubbed at the tears in his eyes. “Yes. No. It’s just—”

The snowball hit him square in the face before he ever saw it coming. Aziraphale toppled like a tree, sinking deep into the snowdrift.

“Angel!” The sound of Crowley scrambling to his feet. “Blast, I thought you’d—"

“Ah, I see how it is.” Aziraphale sat more slowly, scraping the snow from his cheeks. “You have declared war, Crowley.” He lifted his hands and piles of snow began to rise all around him, forming themselves into balls. “But I don’t think you’re truly prepared to face the wrath of the Guardian of Eden.”

That evening, they sat together on the sofa, Aziraphale’s head resting on Crowley’s shoulder. No books, no mobile phones, just a roaring fire, a thick blanket, and two cups of steaming hot chocolate.

Crowley had taken a hot shower after getting back inside, and Aziraphale was fascinated to see how his hair curled as it dried. Aziraphale had dithered a bit before miracling himself up a set of dry clothes – pyjamas, in fact, styled after Crowley’s, since the last time the angel had slept, loose nightgowns and caps had still been in fashion.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that,” Crowley whispered, turning his head slightly so his lips brushed across Aziraphale’s hair. “The way you did in the woods, I mean.”

“Nor I you.” He closed his eyes and tried to identify all the smells in Crowley’s bath soaps.

When the time came, Aziraphale was the first to stand.

He took his demon’s hand, led him up the stairs and to their bed. Walked around to his own side and lifted the blankets.

“Aziraphale…?”

“Yes, dear.” Everything inside him was bubbling, fluttering, rising up in his throat – but this was good. This was how Aziraphale wanted to feel.

He slid beneath the blankets and rested his head on the pillow.

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked, lying on his side, their faces little more than a breath apart. His hand lay in the gap between them.

“I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

“Angel, I told you—”

Aziraphale surged forward, pressing his mouth to Crowley’s.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect. They’d kissed like this, once, long ago, a few days after the world had failed to end. Aziraphale couldn’t remember much, except that he’d been almost sick with nerves, and had pulled away almost immediately. This time was different.

Crowley’s lips were...softer like this than they were against his head or his cheek. And his mouth tingled so much more. In a good way. A very good way. Aziraphale was already starting on a second kiss, tipping his head slightly, when he realised Crowley still hadn’t moved.

Scrambling back - face burning - Aziraphale tugged at the duvet. “I...I’m sorry...did I...get it wrong? I thought…”

Before he could say another word, Crowley’s mouth covered his, warm and welcoming, Crowley’s hand slid up his arm, Crowley’s leg hooked over his knee. Aziraphale leaned into it, hands clutching the black pyjamas, until he was completely and utterly surrounded by Crowley.

This was it. This was home. This was the bliss, the acceptance, he’d never felt in Heaven, that had always been held just out of his reach, pulled away when he came close to grasping it, until he learned not to desire it at all…

Here, freely, openly given. Not just now, but over and over, every minute for a hundred days, for hundreds of years, and a promise of more, on and on, into a future he couldn’t even imagine…

Crowley’s thumb brushed his cheek and suddenly the kiss vanished.

“Nrfgk.” Crowley pulled away, struggling to untangle himself. “S-sorry!”

“Ah…” Aziraphale tried to catch his breath. “What do...sorry?”

“Should have asked.” He pulled back to his own pillow, tugging it forward as if to make a barrier. “Look, I’m just - do you need me to go? I can wait downstairs until…”

Aziraphale pressed fingers to his cheek, where it still burned from Crowley’s touch, and found it was wet. His blinked through tear-filled eyes at the narrow, panicked face across from him and laughed. The long, loud laughter of a being that only breathed for the joy of it.

“Erf. Aziraphale?”

“You...you silly...ridiculous demon!” He scrubbed at his face, still laughing. “You absurd creature!” Aziraphale reached across the bed until he found Crowley’s hands and drew him closer, as he had so often at night, each time he brought Crowley to nestle against him. He slid across now, wide-eyed and wondering, to lay nose-to-nose once more. “I’m crying because I’m happy. Because I’m not afraid, I’m not...holding myself back, and it feels...wonderful.”

“Oh.” Crowley fidgeted. “Ah. So. Um.” His eyes flicked up to meet Aziraphale’s. “So you liked it? The kiss?”

He felt himself turning pink again as a smile spread across his lips. “Yes, I rather think I did. Er. Did you?”

“Yeah.” The grin stretched straight across Crowley’s face. “I did, I really, really did. You, um,” he waggled his eyebrows in what was probably supposed to be a charming way. “You want to go again?”

“Oh, yes please.”

Aziraphale smiled so hard his cheeks hurt, which unfortunately made kissing quite difficult. They couldn’t push out their lips properly, or quite line up their mouths, their teeth managed to collide more than once. More laughter followed, and Aziraphale felt the strange, heady rush of Crowley’s laugh echoing in his own mouth, against his chest, filling him completely.

In the end they gave up on the kissing, and held each other, Aziraphale’s face buried in Crowley’s neck and shoulder, Crowley’s too-wide smile still pressing into curling silver hair.

The angel still felt embarrassed, but not ashamed, and the difference was marvelous. He didn’t regret his actions, he didn’t fear some unforeseen consequence. Here, in his demon’s embrace, he felt safe, confident. Very nearly sure of himself.

“So what, um…” Crowley’s mouth hovered by his ear. “What brought this on?”

“I don’t really know. It’s been coming on a long time. But…” Aziraphale wriggled back, just far enough to see Crowley’s face without leaving the circle of his arms. Somehow they’d managed to fit both their heads on the tartan pillow, though there was very little room to spare. Best to stay close. “Well. Partly it’s because of what you said last night.”

“Last night?” His brow furrowed in worry.

“About wanting more without knowing it. I...I rather think I’ve felt that way for centuries.” He tipped his head forward, until his brow rested against Crowley’s chin, and felt those lips press against his hairline. “And I realised...It’s not about you being patient with me, or me being brave for you, or anything of the kind. We’re...whatever we are, we’re learning it together. We’re here together, and that’s...that’s what I want. That’s everything I want.”

“That’s…” Crowley swallowed, cleared his throat. “Yeah. Me too.” Cleared his throat again. “So, ah...now what?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale tilted his head back to give a sheepish grin. “I hadn’t really thought past, you know. The kissing.”

“Hmmmm.” Crowley lowered his head until their noses brushed. “I’m…actually not sure either.”

“You aren’t?” One more wriggle moved Aziraphale under Crowley’s chin, head resting against his heart. This felt right. Aziraphale tugged one of Crowley’s hands between them, running his fingers across the now-familiar lines and mounds. “Can we just…stay here for a bit?”

“Yeah. Sounds perfect, Angel.”

“And…in case it wasn’t clear…ah…I love you, Crowley.”

“Nk.” It was odd, to feel that tension – so familiar to Aziraphale – run through Crowley, to know exactly the way he must be panicking, stomach tight, heart shuddering. “I…glk…that’s…I…”

Aziraphale lifted their clasped hands and pressed his lips to Crowley’s fingers. “It’s alright, darling. Take as long as you need.”

Thank you again to everyone who read!

#good omens fanfiction #good omens fluff #asexual ineffable husbands #ace omens #good omens prime #south downs cottage #emotional h/c #anxious aziraphale #soft crowley #bed cuddles #hand holding #laughter #kisses #walks in the snow #all the good stuff #prompt fic #kisses bingo #ao3 link #my writing

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kimvvantae · 4 years

Text

puzzle; 6 (m)

➜ you and jungkook are best friends of a lifetime, even though your personalities are like unmatching pieces of a puzzle. the line between friendship and something more has never been crossed between you two - but that changes after a break up and a drunken night, when you not-so-accidentally cross this line to something much more. what happens when after this accident your non-matching puzzle pieces seem to match in a way you’ve never imagined?

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader

genre: smut, angst, comedy; friends with benefits au; college au

warnings: lots of swearing, unprotected sex (use condoms y’all kids)

rating: 18+

word count: 13k wooohoooooo

A/N: i listened to the same 4 songs over and over again while writing and i think it kind of sets the mood for this chapter so hm if you guys like listening to music while reading here goes a small playlist:

Jungkook - If you (read the lyrics pls)

Whitesnake - Is This Love

BTS - Jamais Vu

Sam Smith - Lay Me Down

enjoy!

➜ Chapters: check up masterlist in bio!

« playlist »

“You’re acting weird.”

You finally look up when you hear this, just to see Hoseok frowning at you.

“I’m not.” You’re quick to say, shrugging.

“You’re really acting weird. Is everything okay?” Hoseok insists, crossing his arms.

Hoseok is not what bothers you the most, though, but another pair of eyes watching you like a hawk.

Jimin knows why you’re acting weird. Since that day at Joy’s house, he has been staring at you like this constantly - half judging, half worried.

It’s very annoying, to be honest.

“I’m just… a little bit stressed.” You admit, shrugging again. Fortunately, Hoseok isn’t as observant as Jimin, so he seems convinced.

“So, what did you guys want?” You ask, changing the topic. They came after you in the cafeteria while you have lunch after all.

“Ah! I almost forgot,” Hoseok starts. “You quit your job at the coffee shop, right?”

“Yes. It was way too stressful and my boss was a bitch.” You huff.

“So you’ll be free this weekend?” He asks. You nod, but if he’s about to invite you to a party or something, you’re ready to say no. “The thing is, you know that me and Jimin have this job as waiters, right? There’s a wedding this weekend and they’re needing staff. So, if you’re interested, you can come with us on Saturday night. The payment is decent and it’s just easy stuff to do.”

Your mood lightens up at this. “Yeah, sure! I’ll go. I really need money right now.”

Hoseok smiles and claps his hands together. “Alright! I’ll send you all the information later. They’ll give you a uniform, so don’t worry about clothes. I have to go now. Bye!”

He leaves.

Jimin stays.

You just keep eating quietly, Jimin’s heavy gaze on you, until you finally get annoyed.

“Jimin, what do you want?” You cross your arms and glare back.

Jimin slowly quirks one eyebrow. “Won’t you ask me if Jungkook’s going?”

“Why would I ask if he’s going or not?”

“Because you guys aren’t talking anymore.”

“Thank you so much for reminding me of this, Jimin."

He realised that he went a little too far just by seeing your clenched jaw and the anger in your eyes. Jimin sighs and shrugs. "Anyways, yes, Jungkook is going. But not to work as a waiter, he’ll take pictures instead.”

“So what?"

Jimin swipes his hand over his face and shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. "I think you’re so stupid. Both of you. My fucking God.”

“You know what, Jimin? That’s none of your business.” You finally get up and take the tray rather roughly, walking away without looking back.

Maybe you were a little too rude with Jimin, but he’s being unbearable these days.

It’s been one month since that day at Joy’s house - one month since you and Jungkook have been avoiding each other like the plague.

And maybe you were a little too rude with him because deep down, you know he’s right.

As usual.

tae: wyd?? 👀👀

you: working

tae: ??? didn’t u quit ur job

you: yea

you: it’s one night thing

you: i need the 💸💸

tae: oh

tae: ok

tae: i’ll ask later then

you: wAIT

you: ask what??????

tae: later

tae: u should work first~

you: but im curious

you: i can’t work if im curious >:(

tae: 🙊

you: tae????

you: taeeeeeeee

you: TAEHYUNG

He doesn’t reply anymore.

You groan, shoving your phone on your back pocket again, and leave the restroom. The guests hadn’t arrived yet since the wedding ceremony is still ongoing, but the kitchen is already a mess: people yelling orders, the delicious scent of good food in the air, cooks cooking (duh) and waiters getting ready. The boss has already given you the last instructions, but it’s not as if working in an event like this is a difficult task: serve the guests, smile, be polite, walk around the hall, try not to break the crystal glasses that cost more than what you can pay.

The hotel is pretty fancy, actually. You were expecting a smaller wedding. Not that this is a problem, of course. The only problem here are the heels that all women are forced to use; it’s not too high, but walking around endlessly the whole night in these will be painful for sure. The rest of the uniform is that standard - black pants, white button shirt, black vest and bow tie, hair tied in a perfect high bun, simple makeup.

You walk to the hall to make the last adjustments in the decoration. Pretty much everything is in place, so there isn’t much to do. The tables are organized, the floor is pristinely clean, the white flower bouquets are in place. A DJ will be in charge of music tonight.

You stand at the back of the hall, almost hidden, just to check your phone once more; no new texts. Now, you can’t stop thinking about what Taehyung wants to ask. He knows you’d get all curious. You and Taehyung have grown closer these days: late phone calls, endless texts, random memes at random times. You hadn’t gone on a proper date yet, though - and you don’t think you want to.

Taehyung is a nice guy and a good friend, but you don’t want to take things to the next level - even though this seems to be Taehyung’s intention since the beginning. He has been insisting in you for quite a long time now meanwhile all you do is keep a certain distance. You didn’t really give him any real hopes yet and you’re afraid that Taehyung might be reading your actions in the wrong way. Truth be told, it’ll be so shitty of you to keep his hopes high when you won’t go anywhere with this.

Your feelings are all messed up.

Because you shouldn’t even be feeling anything in the first place.

Ironically, you’ve never been friends with benefits with anyone before. You did have some fuck buddies in the past, though - but you were never friends with any of them. You never got involved with any of your actual friends. Sure, there was that night when drunk-you and drunk-Jimin made out at a party (you don’t talk about it), but at that time, you had just joined college and neither you nor Jungkook were close to Jimin yet, so it doesn’t really count. Also, you and Jimin never had sex - you just kissed, nothing more.

But of course dumb you had to be friends with benefits with your best fucking friend. Of course you had to destroy your friendship like that. Everyone knows that sex is a friendship destroyer. Everyone!

One month without Jungkook felt like being in the desert without rain. You have good friends, but none of them are that special person that’s somehow able to read you mind and understand you even if you don’t say anything. None of them know the type of meme you’d laugh at, none of them sent you random snaps at random times of the day. Worst of all - you didn’t watch Endgame together, when you’ve been watching every Marvel film together ever since you both started obsessing over heroes years ago. Every. Single. Marvel. Film.

You didn’t get to see Jungkook crying during the last scenes of Endgame. Jimin didn’t say if he cried or not, but you know he cried.

That’s devastating.

Truth be told, you don’t even miss sex. Sure, you and Jungkook are the perfect match in bed, and you caught yourself masturbating at night wishing it were Jungkook’s fingers inside of you instead (touching yourself has never been so depressing), but what you actually miss to the point it hurts your chest are the small, familiar things. The comfortable silence. The funny banter. Going to Burger King together late at night after a party or when none of you want to cook. Showing each other funny videos or discussing about the latest chapter of the manga you’re both reading. Jungkook ignoring your texts for hours because he’s too focused on playing Overwatch. You even miss the way he never lets you eat the last slice of pizza, goddammit.

You simply miss him.

What leads you to another thought - something that has been growing stronger in your mind.

After days of self denial, you finally admitted that you were jealous of Jungkook and Joy.

There’s no other explanation for the way you acted that day at her house. You were mad that she was touching him and getting too close. That’s weird. You’ve never really been the jealous type. You never minded when people tried to flirt with Jungkook.

You’re not jealous of friends.

Even so, you had a jealousy attack and didn’t rest until Jungkook’s attention was yours again.

Being totally honest with yourself, you’ve been jealous of Joy ever since you found out she was interested in him.

…what the fuck?

Something inside of you have changed, and only now you’re brave enough to admit. Somewhere along the road, you stopped seeing Jungkook as just a friend. He’s currently in that blurry and confusing level - not only a friend, but at the same time, not more than a friend. You don’t know what the fuck he is anymore.

More importantly… do you want to be more than friends?

If you and Jungkook make up, will you be able to go back to what it was - just friends?

Or are you just being possessive? Did you start seeing him in a different way just because you realized you’re about to lose him?

You don’t know the answer to none of those questions. What you know at the moment is that being away from him fucking hurts. You have the same friends, go to the same places, study at the same university, but barely see each other anymore. What’s that thing people say? You just start valuing things after you lose them.

Jimin asked you not to play with Jungkook’s feelings. What he doesn’t know, though, is that you’re so confused about yours that you don’t have time to play with his feelings.

When you realize the guests are about to come, you force your brain to focus on your current task. You stand back with the rest of the waiters as, slowly, the elegant guests get into the hall, sitting at their respective tables, and soon the place is filled with conversation, laughter and music.

After everyone took their places, the main couple finally come.

The lights change. The DJ plays a special song. Guests stand up and applaud when they enter the hall, smiling, and walk to the center to have their first dance as a married couple.

You could have noticed how the bride’s dress was beautiful. You could have noticed how her front teeth was dirty with lipstick and how the groom tried to discreetly tell her about this. You could have even noticed how one of the kids was starting to have a tantrum and his mother half-screamed, half-whispered, if you don’t be quiet you’ll be grounded for one month!

But you don’t notice any of that, because the photographer enters the hall right after the couple does.

Your heart flutters in a funny way.

Jungkook is wearing a suit (you don’t even remember the last time you saw him in a suit); black and simple, but it fits him so well. He isn’t much different from all the other man, except for his long hair - his black hair is so long he can probably tie it now - and his ear piercings. He holds his camera to eye level, capturing every moment he can from the couple’s first dance, a backpack with other tools hanging from his shoulder.

Everyone else is focusing on the couple - but you can’t look at anything else but him.

He looks so handsome and focused and hot and-

Hey, you’re here to work!, you remind yourself angrily, shaking your head and walking back to the kitchen.

Drink after drink, tray after tray - you and the other waiters and waitresses walk around the hall to serve the guests. It’s not a difficult work, but still tiring nevertheless. It’s also hard to balance yourself and the trays with these high heels. Soon, you’re immersed in the work and momentarily forget about everything else, although (unconsciously) you try to avoid being seen by a specific someone.

Time passes by and the party goes on. Parents make heartfelt speeches, everyone cries. The DJ plays popular songs and soon the dancefloor is full. Alcohol already starts to get into their heads. Men are either speaking and laughing too loud or crying, hugging the groom. Women already forgot their high heels and their elegance, twerking shamelessly and screaming. Kids do the usual - run, yell, fall and cry - and they almost throw you on the ground twice. Someone spills champagne on the floor; you rush to clean it before someone ends up slipping. There’s the eventual noise of glass breaking. A certain dude has asked for your help far too much and you start to avoid him, noticing that he’s staring at your ass. Another guest pukes and is taken to the infirmary. As usual, you hear old women complaining about the food, how the decoration is ugly, how one waiter was rude, how the DJ doesn’t play the songs they want-

“The photographer is so hot! What’s his name?!” You hear someone giggling.

You gulp.

Jungkook is just doing his job, but that boy can’t go unnoticed, not even when he tries. You don’t know if he saw you yet, and honestly, you hope he didn’t.

Just do your job. Just do your job.

The night goes on. Your left foot hurts and you need to pee, but gladly most of the guests have already left - the groom and bride left first and the party went on without them -, the hall is almost empty, which means it’s almost ending. Now, you busy yourself with cleaning the hall.

“Man, I’m dead,” Hoseok groans, stretching his back. You nod, putting some empty glasses on a tray to take them back to the kitchen.

“Now imagine bearing it all in heels,” you say, not being able to keep your nice posture anymore. Not that there are many guests anyway - most are too drunk or sleeping on the tables. The DJ is still diligently playing, though.

“The night was productive after all,” Jimin chirps happily, approaching you two with a smug grin on his lips. You see he’s holding a small paper between his fingers… someone’s phone number.

“Son of a bitch,” you say under your breath. Jimin just shrugs and smirks. Much obviously, you apologized for your rudeness before you came. The fact that he forgave you so easily made everything worse, honestly. Jimin is a nice guy with his friends (way too nice for his own good sometimes) and it just shows how he doesn’t deserve to be treated in a rude way.

“I’m just taking the chances life gives me!” He chirps again, making you roll your eyes.

“Anyways, what’s wrong with Jungkook?” Hoseok wonders, crossing his arms and frowning. “He didn’t come over the entire night. Is he avoiding us?”

You gulp.

Instantly, your eyes travel to where he stands in the nearly-empty dance floor. He smiles politely to some women that stand around him. Everyone’s obviously too drunk and they’re probably talking nonsense.

He’s avoiding me, you realize sadly.

“He’s working, Hoseok. His job won’t end if the guests keep asking for pictures.” Jimin is quick to say, what indeed makes sense, but Jimin also knows very well why he has been keeping his distance. Hoseok is the only one that doesn’t notice the strange tension in the air.

When you notice you’ve been staring for an embarrassing long time, you immediately shift your gaze to the dirty plates in front of you, organizing them in a pile to take them to the kitchen. You came here to work. That’s it. Focus-

An excited scream tears the air.

“I loooove this song!” One of the girls on the dance floor scream, the one that has been clinging on Jungkook ever since the crowd started to dissipate. Much obviously tipsy, her eyes were glued on him the entire night (not that you’ve been noticing the people checking him out. Of course not). “Jungkookie, dance with me!”

You almost gasp.

Jungkookie?!

That’s when you finally notice the face Jungkook is making - and you try your best not to laugh.

He has that look that means oh my fucking God someone please take me out of this situation.

The two boys by your side don’t try to hide the laughter as well as you, watching the desperate Jungkook try to turn her offer down - an awkward smile, eyes shifting from her, a muttered apology (I still have some work to do…) but the thirsty girl is surprisingly insistent (you can stop for a little bit, come on!).

“I feel sorry for him,” Hoseok almost chokes as he tries to stop his giggles. You kind of feel sorry, too. He can’t be rude to a customer, otherwise he’d be punched by her relatives - not that Jungkook would be rude anyway. He steps back, scratches the back of his neck. The girl is almost climbing him. He looks around desperately, trying to find a way to escape-

“Why don’t you help him, Y/N?” Jimin says sweetly.

You side eye the sugar-coated snake you call friend. “Jimin.” Is all you say in a warning manner.

Someone that doesn’t understand the situation wouldn’t think anything weird, because you’re actually used to save Jungkook from crazy girls. The thing is, sometimes he’s too nice to turn girls down - and yes, girls do chase him. When he’s not interested in them, you’d usually understand the situation and run on his rescue, most times pretending to be his girlfriend so the girls would stop bothering him. It’s something funny and you’d always laugh your asses off right after.

Not now.

You definitely don’t want to laugh now.

Jimin is being far from innocent. He just wants to push you two into each other. He may have good intentions, but he’s not considering the fact that you don’t feel ready to face Jungkook - not when your feelings are so messed up. This ain’t happening.

“Yeah, Y/N. Jungkook looks pretty desperate,” Hoseok remarks, again, oblivious to the tension lingering in the air.

“Jungkook can handle himself very well. He doesn’t need my help.” Even though Jimin feels your menacing glare and sees your jaw clench, this boy is very brave and insists:

“Come on, Y/N! It won’t hurt.” He says innocently.

Yes, it will hurt. It already hurts, dumbass.

“Did you guys forget that we’re here to work? I don’t want to be reprimanded.”

“The hall is near empty. There’s literally nothing to do anymore.” Hoseok doesn’t understand why you’re glaring at him now.

You’re trying to control your nerves, but it’s getting hard not to feel your stomach jump in a weird way and your fingertips tremble. Just the idea of approaching him makes you weak, and not in a good way. Why these people can’t just leave you alone?!

“Do you think that avoiding him forever will work?” Jimin hisses on your ear, low enough so only you can listen, finally showing how pissed he really is.

What he says gets you.

Avoiding each other isn’t working, you know this very well. You remember the way you used to deal with things in the past - talking. Sure, you won’t be able to really talk right now, but at least you’ll have a chance to approach him.

You don’t want to. You really don’t. But at the same time, you want to. You miss Jungkook.

Besides, he can’t run away from you in this situation.

You take a deep breath and gulp, trying to ease the tension. Come on. I know Jungkook. He’s the same bastard I’ve known my whole life. Stop being a pussy. I’m not a pussy!

“Just to make clear,” you whisper back to Jimin. “I fucking hate you.”

“You love me.” You wish you could rip that triumphant smirk off his face.

You walk over to the dance floor.

The few couples dance slowly and intimately. Because of course it had to be a slow dance. Of course it had to be a romantic song. Haha. Of course. The Universe must be playing some trick on you.

Jungkook managed to run away from the girl, trying to hide in the corner of the hall, and she’s searching for him like a hawk. You wonder if she’s this drunk or if she’s just stupid. A guy literally running away from you isn’t already a message enough?

You walk quickly to where he stands, and the moment Jungkook turns around and lays his eyes on you, shock covers his features.

“Y/N-?”

“Quick, dance with me,” you say hurriedly, placing his hands on your waist. “She’s coming.”

Instead of questioning, Jungkook immediately starts to play along as you place your own hands on his shoulders. You discreetly watch when the girl finally finds you.

She stops on her tracks.

“She saw us?” He asks without looking back.

“Yes.”

“And?”

You see fire in her eyes.

“If she had a gun, she’d probably shoot me.” The girl looks outraged that you stole her chance to grind on him. “Oh, she’s turning away.”

Jungkook sighs in relief. “Thanks God. She’s been bothering me all night!” You can’t help but giggle.

For a millisecond, it feels like nothing has changed.

But then you look at each other for the first time.

It might be dramatic, but you almost feel that the temperature drops around you.

Oh shit.

You avoid each other’s gazes at the same time. It feels so tremendously awkward to be in front of him again - especially when you’re slow dancing in the dim light of the hall, almost hidden. It feels uncomfortably intimate. Especially because you’re both keeping a distance that normal couples wouldn’t. You probably look like a weird couple at a prom party that were forced to dance together.

It feels foreign.

The way you touch each other doesn’t feel right. You have touched each other in the most intimate and obscene ways, yet the simple touch of his hands on your waist doesn’t feel right. Despite this, you feel your blood boiling with a strange type of excitement; you missed him so damn much. Even in this uncomfortable situation, you can’t help but feel a little bit happy. You didn’t know you’ve been craving for his touch so much up until now.

What’s weird is that you don’t even feel like this in a sexual way. You’re not aroused. Considering how your relationship became strictly sexual these past months, your lack of arousal to be around him is weird.

The butterflies in your stomach and the way your hands are shaking a little bit is also weird.

For some moments, you just sway from side to side in an overwhelming silence. You have no choice but to listen intently to the song being played. As if you already don’t feel fucked up enough, you’re forced to listen to a love song - an 80s love song on top of that. Of course it has to be Is This Love by Whitesnake. Of course. Haha.

“Uhm… thanks.” Jungkook finally breaks the silence. His voice lacks confidence. He probably never talked to you like this.

“Just helping out a friend,” you say and instant regret smashes you. You don’t know if he’s still your friend.

Jungkook looks scarily annoyed for a second. “A friend. Sure.”

Is it inappropriate to notice how he looks handsome when he clenches his jaw?

Honestly, has Jungkook always been this handsome?

Sure, he has always been like this. Maybe not seeing him in a long time made you feel this way. His hair has grown a lot. He looks extra fine in this suit. Every man looks better in a suit, but Jungkook looks like a deity.

The butterflies in your stomach are going crazy.

You did miss him a lot.

The silence makes you pay attention to the song again.

Wasted days and sleepless nights

But I can’t wait to see you again…

Hah, I know how it feels, you think - what makes you widen your eyes, shocked with your own thoughts. No. You won’t suddenly relate to a cliche 80s love song.

Right?

“H-How’s school going?” You stutter. Are you trying to do small talk? For real?

“It’s doing fine,” he simply says. Oh fuck. Not good. He sounds so uninterested in your weak attempt at engaging a conversation it hurts. You came here to try and talk about what really matters, but you don’t feel ready to do it yet. Can’t he understand it?!

It looks like your presence bothers him, honestly.

That’s new.

Wow. Your heart suddenly feels clenched.

Awkward.

Why am I feeling this way?

A heavy silence weighs on you again. This isn’t going as planned - not that you planned anything in the first place. You’re going through a lot of weird sensations now.

Why is that?

You look at Jungkook timidly (timid and Jungkook are two words that used to not make any sense together in the past), but he doesn’t look back. You avoid his gaze again.

Being hit by a truck would hurt less.

What’s happening?

Why are you so damn confused?

When the song hits its chorus, you start to think the Universe is definitely playing with you. The deep voice of the singer floats in the air:

Is this love

That I’m feeling?

Is this the love

That I’ve been searching for?

Fuck you, Whitesnake.

For real.

Fuck. You.

“Did Taehyung ask you?”

This brings you back to reality in an instant.

“What?” You look at him, confused. Why is he talking about Taehyung of all people out of nowhere?

You’ve always been very good at reading Jungkook, but right now, he’s unreadable.

“So he didn’t.” He says blatantly, devoid of any emotion. “I thought he would have already.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He talked to me about a double date.” Jungkook replies, looking back at you for the first time - again, a blank face. “You and him, me and Joy.”

Your blood honestly feels like frost.

It’s like you lost the ability to move or talk for a moment. You blink and gulp, trying to keep composed.

“What? Why?”

“Because he said it’d be fun. And less awkward, since I’m not very close to Joy yet and you’re not very close to him.”

Again, you don’t say anything for long seconds.

“But we’d just be cockblocking each other during the whole date,” you say.

“I know. I think the idea of a double date sounds weird, too. It’s not as if we don’t know them.”

You remember what Taehyung texted you earlier today; he said he’d ask something later. Is he going to ask you out?

He thinks that, since you and Jungkook are best friends, you could ease the tension and even help each other out.

This is so fucked up.

The immediate answer that comes to your mind is no. You don’t want to go on a date with Taehyung when you’re not interested in him. It’d be cruel; you don’t want to keep his hopes high.

But as you’re about to say it, you stop.

What if Jungkook wants to go?

All this time, you’ve only been considering your feelings. Your confusion, your wishes - it’s always about you. You don’t know if you want to be just Jungkook’s friend, but you don’t know if he wants to be more than a friend - or if he wants to be your friend at all. The fuck buddies thing started because you asked. Not even once did you think about him.

Is this what Jimin meant when he asked you to not play with Jungkook’s feelings?

How selfish you’ve been acting all this time?

What if he’s been developing feelings for Joy and now decided to try something? He’s probably feeling hurt because you’ve not been acting like a good friend. You’re always putting yourself first.

That’s why you hear yourself asking:

“Do you want to go?”

It’s scary how every tiny little piece of you wishes he’ll say no.

But Jungkook tilts his head and says:

“Yes. I know it sounds weird, but we can part ways as soon as we get there.”

And this is the moment you feel as cold as you’ve never felt in your life.

It’s as if your ears got obstructed for a moment, because you can’t hear anything but your heartbeat. You can’t even see properly for a second. Yet, you ignore all that, gulp and nod.

It’s time to be a good friend for once.

It’s time to put Jungkook’s wishes first - even though it crushes your heart.

“Okay.” You say quietly.

You’re coming to the conclusion that you’re a walking disaster.

You’ve never been so nervous before a date in your life - but this is not the usual type of nervousness, when people are excited to meet their crush and impress them etc etc. You’re nervous because you don’t want to go. You thought of coming up with a thousand excuses (from the classical “I’m sick :(” to “Seulgi’s sick I gotta take care of her :(” to “my cat’s sick :(” but then you remembered you don’t have a cat to “I’m being chased by the police and I gotta leave the country :(”), but in the end, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

Not when Taehyung sounded so painfully happy when you said you’d go.

That’s why you should have said no: Taehyung doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good person and he will certainly get hurt when you tell him you’re not interested. Who cares about Jungkook? That fucker can go on a date by himself, he’s not a kid anymore.

But…

There’s something very tiny and mean inside of you called jealousy that didn’t let you simply text an honest apology to Taehyung.

And now it’s too late, because he’s standing at your door.

Handsome as always, Taehyung wears casual clothes: it’s almost as if he didn’t put much thought on it, but he still looks drop dead gorgeous on his black baggy pants, white shirt and black beret (no other man in this planet can manage to not look stupid in a beret other than Taehyung). As usual, your brain malfunctions as it tries to process his beauty.

He has a small, beautiful smile on his lips.

Shit.

“You look beautiful,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. You did put some effort on your clothes, makeup and hair after all. Being complimented by him feels nice.

Shit.

“Thanks. You too, but that’s just your usual self,” you say thoughtlessly and instant regret slaps your face again. Yes, bitch. Flirt with him. Make things more difficult.

Taehyung looks shy for a moment. The sight is endearing.

S. H. I. T.

“You’re just being nice to me.” He tilts his head. “So, let’s go?"

It’s too late to go back now, so you have no choice but to take his arm and show your most plastic smile. "Yeah.”

You’re definitely a walking disaster.

You two arrive in the park first and, instead of just showing your tickets and getting in, you’re forced to wait for the bastard and his hot date.

An amusement park of all places.

Not that you hate amusement parks, it’s pretty much the opposite. It’s just that everything feels so wrong. Especially how Taehyung is making a lot of effort to keep the conversation alive while you wait. It’s not hard to talk to him, though, because he’s an interesting person, but seeing his efforts hurts.

What hurts more is the sight of Jungkook and Joy arriving with locked arms.

You hope Taehyung didn’t notice you holding your breath.

Joy looks hot as always, but you don’t even look at her (yes, it’s not nice to be mad at someone that didn’t do anything wrong), eyes glued on Jungkook instead. Just like Taehyung, it seems that he didn’t put much thought on his clothes, only their styles are completely different: Jungkook wears an oversized grey t-shirt, black pants and sneakers. It might seem simple, but he can manage to look good in anything. Joy surely didn’t mind his choice of clothes.

You lock gazes for one second and proceed to avoid it.

The four of you greet. It’s hard to act natural, but you try to; you don’t want the two others to notice the weird tension between you and the black-haired bastard. Joy looks happy, too.

…

Shit.

Soon, you get into the amusement park. As expected, it’s crowded with kids, families and couples. The weather feels nice this afternoon.

“It’s been a long time since I don’t come to an amusement park,” you confess.

“Really? Then this was a good choice. I was worried if it’d be too cheesy…” he also confesses sheepishly.

“It’s not!” You reassure him. Joy agrees with you. Jungkook keeps silent. “I just have some traumatizing memories about amusement parks.”

Taehyung quirks one eyebrow. “What?”

You sigh.

You and Jungkook end up saying in unison:

“5th grade.”

You look at each other and avoid your gazes again.

“What? What happened on 5th grade?” Joy asks excitedly.

“Our school came to an amusement park that year,” Jungkook explains.

“Why was it traumatizing?” Taehyung still seems confused.

“Because… well…” you hesitate to say.

“Because she was so short back then that they didn’t let her go on the rollercoasters. And she cried the whole trip,” Jungkook suddenly says.

You glare at him.

He has a playful smirk on his lips.

“Oh, so what about you?” You can’t help but smile, too.

“What happened to him?” Joy asks.

“He laughed at me because I couldn’t ride, but he puked his lunch after he went on the coaster and spent half of the trip in the infirmary,” you reveal.

“You’re still bitter that you stayed with me in the infirmary?” He inquires.

“Of course I am! Also, you puked on my shoes!”

“I already apologized. Besides, I paid you banana milk for two entire weeks. Isn’t it enough?”

“It isn’t!”

“Are you saying that banana milk isn’t enough?!” He gasps. “You psycho.”

You both giggle.

Again, for one moment, it feels that everything is back to normal. You feel comfortable having these old memories, as if you never stopped being best friends, as if you have the intimacy to play like this again.

But it’s only for one moment.

You avoid gazes. It feels so out of place.

At least the sadness in Jungkook’s eyes shows that he feels the same about this all.

Before the tension between you two can become too strong, you change the topic and engage both Taehyung and Joy in the conversation - during that moment, you two forgot about them. As wrong as it is, Taehyung is your date for the night. He’s the one you should pay attention to.

So you try to completely ignore Jungkook’s existence for a while.

You only look at Taehyung and don’t even touch your phone. You answer his questions and ask things about him. It doesn’t feel like a punishment, though, because he is an interesting person and you genuinely enjoy his company.

But you can’t help but look at Jungkook from time to time.

You can’t help but notice his smiley-eyes as he looks at her. You can’t help but see their closure.

You can’t help but feel your heart clenching.

And then, you see yourself locking your arm with Taehyung’s.

“What’s that?” You say excitedly. “I wanna see it!”

You drag Taehyung away from the other couple until they disappear in the crowd. Only then you remember how to breathe again.

Considering all the odds, this going better than you expected.

You tried your best to completely erase Jungkook’s and Joy’s existence from your mind, and at some point it finally worked. Taehyung is a funny guy to be around. There’s something very particular and endearing about his personality that captivates you; he’s obviously trying to impress you, but he’s still being very honest. He has some type of innocence that makes you realize that this guy is seriously one of a kind. You can’t think of a single sign that he might be a bad person.

You’re genuinely enjoy this.

But not in the way Taehyung expects you to be enjoying it.

As wrong as it is, you unconsciously end up comparing him to Jungkook.

If Jungkook was your date, the first thing you’d both want to do is try all the rollercoasters and the wildest rides in this park. But Taehyung is scared of heights. You didn’t want to make the boy vomit his own stomach, so you ended up avoiding it - even though you really wanted to go on that orange coaster that looks high as fuck.

Taehyung didn’t really get your jokes. The fact that he still laughed politely is cute, but still - Jungkook and you have the same sense of humor. You two like the same stupid type of meme. It felt strange when you had to explain more than once a certain joke so Taehyung could understand.

Taehyung didn’t know your favorite ice cream flavor or your favorite soda. He doesn’t know the kind of movie you like, nor your favorite series, nor your favorite singers. You know you’re being stupid - the whole point of going on a date is to get to know each other, but every now and then you end up remembering how Jungkook knows every dumb detail about you…

What makes you realize that, as much as Taehyung is an amazing guy, you are too different from each other.

What also makes you realize that, maybe… you don’t really want to get to know anyone else.

And suddenly, an image starts to build in your mind - an image you try very hard to erase, but it’s already too strong to be forgotten.

Instead of Taehyung, you arm is locked with Jungkook’s. You’re both laughing and having fun, just like things used to be. Only now you’re not just friends.

It’s the first time in all these years that you see yourself dating Jungkook clearly. Painfully clearly.

The cotton candy you’re eating suddenly tastes like iron on your tongue. You feel your throat tightening. All of this became painful. The fact that you’re trying so hard to forget Jungkook for a few minutes, yet he’s everything you can think of. The fact that he’s in the same park as you having a date with another girl - said girl that is a friend, by the way, someone you encouraged to be with Jungkook, and now you’re hating her existence even though she did nothing wrong, all because of jealousy. There’s also the fact that Jungkook is much obviously avoiding you.

And the most painful fact of all-

“Are you okay, YN?” Taehyung asks, the smile vanishing from his lips the moment he sees your expression.

The fact that this incredible person likes you much more than you expected. It’s obvious now that you look at his eyes. He really likes you - a funny, smart and special guy, someone that didn’t check his phone not even once ever since this date started, someone that has been trying his hardest to make sure you’re having fun, a guy that is usually very confident, but at the moment looks very uneasy around you.

He’s the perfect guy. He wasn’t disrespectful, wasn’t trying to get into your pants, treated you very well. You went on dates that were far worse than this. There was nothing wrong with him. You’re also sure he’d be a loving and caring boyfriend.

But all you can think of is Jungkook.

And even though you knew this date wouldn’t work, you still accepted to come anyway. You kept Taehyung’s hopes high. Just because you were jealous.

You’re definitely the worst person on this planet.

But this has to end before Taehyung gets more hurt.

“I’m not feeling very well,” you hear yourself saying. Worry covers Taehyung’s features. “What’s the problem? Was it something you ate? Do you want to go to the infirmary?”

Damn. It hurts to see him like this.

“No. Can you… can you just take me home, please?” You ask sheepishly.

If Taehyung feels disappointed, he doesn’t let you see; he just nods instead. “Okay. Let’s go.”

And this is how you managed to destroy a perfectly fine night.

You still try not to think of Jungkook and Joy on your way back home; you don’t want to know if they’re still in the park or if they went somewhere else. The idea of what they must be doing makes your stomach twirl in a bad way. It feels like a weight installed itself on your shoulders. Everything seems too oppressive and suffocating. You can’t wait to be alone and peaceful to process all of these feelings. Fortunately, Seulgi isn’t home - she went to sleep at a friend’s house to finish a project.

For the first time, being with Taehyung feels awkward as you walk to the front door of your apartment. You can see he isn’t exactly glad. It makes everything worse.

You stop in front of the door and you turn around to face him. Everything you have to say must be said now.

“I’m so sorry, Taehyung.” You say in an embarrassed tone, scratching the back of your neck. “I ruined everything.”

“What? No!” He’s quick to reassure. God, his eyes are beautiful… “It’s not your fault. People feel ill, that’s normal.”

You gulp. Oh Gosh. He believed what you said. This is getting worse and worse… “I had a lot of fun today. Really.” You sigh and tilt your head tiredly. “Honestly, it was the most fun I had in a long time…”

“I had a lot of fun, too.” His smile is able to melt any frozen heart. “I noticed that you had a lot in mind, so I’m glad I was able to distract you at least a little.”

It gets you off guard.

He’s way more observant than you expected.

“You noticed…?” You gulp, even more embarrassed. He nods. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine. Everyone has a bad day every now and then. I just have to admit that I’m kind of worried about you.”

You stare at each other in silence for a while.

“Are you?” Why suddenly all you can do is make stupid questions?

Taehyung tilts his head. “Yes. You’re always such a bright person. Seeing you being quiet these days makes me sad.” First of all: did people start to realize that there’s something wrong with you? Are you acting this weird?

Second of all: that was adorable. He’s so honest about his feelings.

“To be honest, Taehyung… I’m not really a bright person,” you end up confessing in a quiet, weak voice. You don’t know why you’re saying this. You were supposed to push him away, not pull him closer. “I think I’m just used to pretend I am.”

“You don’t have to,” your eyes widen when you feel his fingertips brushing on your cheek as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine when you’re not. To suppress this type of feeling… it hurts. Believe me, I know.” For a moment, you feel your breath hitch. The skin where his fingers touched feels warm. He’s mesmerizing. His voice sounds like a sweet melody on your ears: deep, silky. “So, if you ever feel like opening up… I’m here, okay?” He widens his eyes for a second. “I-I mean- you can open up to Seulgi or Jungkook or Jimin, sure… anyone.”

This moment of shyness coming from him makes you giggle. “I don’t feel like opening up to anyone right now,” especially not to you, you think. “but thank you, Tae. It… it makes me really happy. I’m glad I went on this date with you.”

You shouldn’t have said that.

You shouldn’t have called him Tae.

Even though you’re saying the truth and there’s no second intentions hidden, Taehyung hears something else.

His hand is still resting on your cheek.

And he says nothing.

He just… stares right into your eyes.

You can’t move.

You clearly see when his face starts coming closer and closer to yours, slowly but surely. You see his heavy-lidded eyes, his clouded gaze, his parted lips. You feel the thick tension in the air around you - the electricity.

That’s when you should have pushed him away.

But you can’t.

Instead, you unconsciously close your eyes. You feel his lips ghosting over yours for a second - until his lips finally touch yours.

The kiss is suave - gentle and delicate. He doesn’t move his lips at first, merely pressing his against yours. Your body warms up in a way you haven’t felt in a long time; not because of arousal. It’s the pure excitement of being kissed.

Maybe that’s why you let him kiss you. You had forgotten how it feels like to be touched without any sexual intention. Kisses are too intimate, so you and Jungkook didn’t really kiss that often - and when you did kiss, it was always heated and obscene, tongues entangling wildly until both of you could barely breathe. It’s been a long time since someone kissed and held you like this: with gentleness and care. Taehyung isn’t treating you like a sex toy.

You melt.

Your lips part as he deepens the kiss; he is undemanding, careful and delicate. His lips taste like lip balm. No one is fighting for control, no one is desperate. It’s slow and synchronized. It’s sweet and innocent. Most importantly - it’s way different than you ever expected it to be. You never thought he’d kiss like this.

When Taehyung pulls away, the purest smile adorns his features.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I should have asked permission.”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You shouldn’t, but you liked it.

“I'll… I’ll get going.” He says, the smile never disappearing. His eyes are also smiling. He stands there awkwardly in an adorable manner. “Can I text you later?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Good night. And thank you again.”

Taehyung grins. “Good night.”

Before leaving, he presses his lips on yours quickly one last time.

You watch until he disappears inside the elevator, entering the apartment and standing there alone in the dark for a few seconds.

Then you unceremoniously slam your forehead against the wooden door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You hiss between gritted teeth. “What have you done?!”

You were supposed to push him away. You should have told him the truth - that you don’t have feelings for him, that you’re confused and almost certainly in love with another guy. Instead, you just stood there and let him kiss you. You not only kept his hopes high, you increased them.

How will you get yourself out of this situation now?!

You throw yourself on the couch, grab a cushion and scream into it. I’m the worst of the worst. I’m a walking catastrophe.

For a long time, you just lay there and torture yourself with bad thoughts. Taehyung is the nicest guy you’ve met in a really long time. If you gave him the opportunity months ago, you’re sure you’d be dating right now - and the idea isn’t even unpleasant. He’s hot and smart and funny and sweet. It’s even hard to believe that someone like him is interested in you.

But…

No. Don’t think about him.

You want to punch yourself and scream and eat tons of ice cream and cry - all at once. You’re the queen of taking bad decisions. You’re the heart crusher and friendship destroyer-

There’s someone knocking on the front door.

You sit up in a jump and frown. Is it Seulgi? Did she forget her keys?

You walk slowly around the living room, defeated as if you’ve just came home from war, your hair a mess and shoulders shrinking. You turn the doorknob and open it-

And gasp.

Because standing at your front door is the person you least expected to see.

Jungkook is casually leaning on the door frame as if his presence didn’t make you burst a lung. He looks down, eyes avoiding yours; although the hallway is considerably dark, you can see his expression well. You know him too well. You see sadness and guilt and fear in his eyes.

Your heart beats so fast that you’re afraid it’ll stop suddenly. Nervousness crawls over your skin and makes your stomach feel cold.

“J-Jungkook? What are you doing here?” You’re brave enough to stutter. You completely forgot that Jungkook used to come over so often that you gave him full permission to enter and leave the building whenever he wanted.

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he lifts his left hand and shows you what he’s carrying: a plastic bag full with a pack of…

Banana milk.

“I think we really need to talk.” He says quietly, his eyes meeting yours for the first time.

You inhale sharply.

He’s right. You need to talk.

The cold night breeze makes you tighten your coat around your body. Yours and Jungkook’s hairs sway softly with the wind. You can hear the sounds of the city from up here, in the empty terrace - cars, sirens, voices. A glowing map of endless streets and buildings extends itself in front of your eyes.

You’re both leaning on the railing side by side. You’re hyper aware of the distance between you - both physical and… spiritual. You’ve been standing here in silence for quite some time now, quietly drinking the banana milk he brought, and none of you were able to engage a conversation. The tension is heavy. It overwhelms your whole being. Nervousness makes your nerves tense. You can’t even look at him.

Dozens of questions float around your mind; what is he doing here? Why did he decide to come in the first place? What happened to his date? It’s still very early, he could have stayed with her much longer…

You also can’t help but feel helplessly excited that he is here. With you. Not with Joy. He took the initiative to meet you.

You can’t lose this opportunity.

“It’s kinda cold.” Is the first thing you say. It doesn’t even sound like you.

“Yeah.” He agrees, and he also doesn’t sound like him.

The awkwardness is almost solid right now. Things used to be so different… you can’t remember one moment in the past when such an uncomfortable feeling lingered between you.

“Hm…” you cough. “What, hm… what about you and Joy?”

Why the fuck are you asking this?, you yell at yourself.

Jungkook looks down and shakes his head. “Let’s not talk about Joy or Taehyung right now, okay?”

You shrug. “I’m just trying to start a conversation.”

“That’s not how you do it.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to do it anymore.”

Jungkook goes silent with this, the quick aggressiveness disappearing as soon as it came. He gulps and looks down at the banana milk between his fingers again.

More silence.

“Can I… can I ask you something?” Jungkook says after a long while. His voice is quiet, hesitant, almost being carried away with the wind.

“What?” You feel your body heating up in anticipation.

He finally looks up to you, and in the moment your eyes meet, you have this weird feeling that everything except him looks blurred.

“Why did you start dating Mike?” He asks. “I warned you about him. I mean, you used to listen to me in the past.”

Oh.

Certainly not the type of question you were expecting.

What a mood killer, Jungkook.

You avoid his gaze again, trying to hide your disappointment. “Why are you asking me this now?”

“I just really want to know.” He takes one more sip of the banana milk.

A sigh escapes through your lips and you stare at the shiny city ahead. You didn’t think you’d have to bring up memories of Mike. It’s been a long time, but it still hurts to remember him.

“I… I just…” you start, trying to organize your thoughts. “You know that Mike had like a… bad relationship with his parents, right?” Jungkook nods. “Mike opened up about this to me. I saw how much it hurt him. He was lonely, broken. And I…” this is being way harder than you expected. You shrug, shake your head. “I don’t know. I was just being my stupid self. I thought I could… I wanted to fix him. I realized that I have this heroine complex, you know?” You side eye him sheepishly. “But there are a lot of things I can’t fix… I’m better at breaking things, not fixing them.”

“Don’t say that. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help people.” The confidence in which Jungkook says this makes, yet again, an odd sensation set in your stomach.

It is probably the first time Jungkook managed to make you blush in your entire life.

A little more silence.

“Did you actually like him?” You can barely hear his voice.

You have no idea why he’s making this questions. Why is he bringing up Mike after so long?

“Well… yes.” You can’t lie right now. “I did.” You make sure to reinforce the did. It’s in the past.

Jungkook nods and says nothing. He takes another banana milk from the plastic bag and opens it.

You inhale, building up your courage to ask something you’ve been wanting to know for a long time. He touched this subject anyway.

“You asked me something, now it’s my turn to ask you something.” Jungkook nods. You have the feeling that he already knows what’s coming. “Why did you break up with Yeri?”

“She broke up with me.”

Oh.

“Why?” You repeat. You can see that Jungkook gets clearly uncomfortable, but you’re not letting him go without an answer - and he already knows how stubborn you can be, too. He shifts, tilts his head, exhales heavily.

“It just didn’t work out.”

“But you liked her. And she liked you, too.” It was pretty obvious to anyone that saw them together.

Jungkook takes a long while to speak again. “I did like her. A lot.” The way his voice sounds fragile surprises you. Seeing him like this is very rare. Jungkook isn’t one to get all emotional too often. It seems that confessing this to you is important to him, somehow.

It also scares you a tiny bit. What if Jungkook still likes her, just like you suspected in the past?

“I didn’t want things to end the way they did.” He continues. His eyes are far away, watching old memories. His shoulders seem tense. He fiddles with the small banana milk bottle between his fingers. “But… some things aren’t meant to be, it doesn’t matter how much you want them to.”

This answer sounds… way too vague. Not what you want to hear. You know there’s more behind their break up, but just by looking at Jungkook you see that he isn’t telling you anything else. Well, this is the most he ever said about his past relationship in almost one year. It’s better than nothing.

And back to silence.

You want to push this awkwardness away. But how? You don’t feel as close to Jungkook as you always were. It’s not as if you could simply say anything in this moment… especially because, somehow, you feel that Jungkook expects you to do something, even though he came all the way to your apartment just to talk.

Say something, goddamnit!

“I’m sorry.” you blurt out.

Jungkook looks at you, but you’re not strong enough to look back at him. You hold the tiny bottle so tightly that it might get smashed at any moment; that’s just how nervous you are.

“Sorry for what?” he asks quietly. You hear the expectation in his voice… almost as if he’s holding his breath.

You can’t help but gulp. I’m not good with this type of thing.

“For everything.” you hate the way your voice sounds so damn fragile. Being sincere like this is somehow… painful. But that’s what Jungkook expects of you: sincerity. So you keep talking, although you don’t know the right words to express yourself. “I… I don’t know why things got like this between us…” you almost gasp. “I mean, I know why. We know why. And I feel very responsible.”

“You have this habit of taking the blame to yourself, isn’t it?” He murmurs. Jungkook shakes his head softly and passes his hand on his hair.

“But I was the one to propose it in the first place.”

“And I agreed.”

“Okay, but…” you have to stop for a moment to recover your breath. “I don’t know, I just feel sorry. I didn’t think of anyone except me all along. I’ve been an awful person to you… and awful friend. Also…” you need to stop again. Why is it so hard to speak? It feels as if there’s something obstructing your throat; the words hardly come out. “What I did that day at Joy’s house… it was wrong. I’m sorry that I made you upset that day.”

Jungkook sighs heavily. You’re still scared to look at him.

“I’m sorry about that day, too. I was rude to you.” Is he apologizing for calling you a slut while you had sex in the bathroom? Well, you definitely didn’t care about that. “I feel sorry too, Y/N. The way we drifted apart from each other…” he gesticulates with his finger between you and him. “The fault is on us both. I already told you, you shouldn’t take all the responsibility to yourself. We were both stupid.”

“Very stupid.” you both chuckle. You feel your heart lightening up for a moment; that strong tension still hovers around you, but now it feels like a different type of tension. Seeing that tiny smile in Jungkook’s lips makes your heart race.

You finally look at each other.

The shadows of the night paint Jungkook’s face. His hair sways with the wind softly. His dark eyes shine as much as diamonds. You never really understood the expression “to get lost in someone’s eyes…”

Well… now you do.

The small moment you two share feels fragile… featherlight. You’re scared that if you say or do something wrong, it’ll break and disappear. You’re scared to break him. To break yourself. This makes you remember that, ever since you were kids, Jungkook has always been the most fragile of you two. He has always been the most sensitive, the one to get hurt easily. Jimin was right all along. How could you do this to him? Why did you let this happen between you two?

“I missed you.” your voice is barely a whisper. Admitting this makes you feel exposed and relieved at the same time. Your throat feels even tighter.

“I missed you, too.” he confesses.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

You smile at each other.

That’s the moment you almost confess something more… your confused feelings for him. You feel the urge to say that you don’t see him as just a friend anymore; that you don’t want to be just a friend anymore.

But something holds you back.

This is maybe the moment when you’re finally being able to reconcile. You don’t know if Jungkook feels the same about you; you don’t want to push him away by throwing your feelings over him. This might destroy you friendship forever.

Then, you decide to keep it all to yourself. At least for now.

“So,” Jungkook says, sighing. “What about that group project?”

You quirk one eyebrow up. “I’m pretty sure you know about the group project.”

Jungkook giggles. “Jimin has been annoying you, too?” you nod. He shakes his head. “He’s a little shit, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He had good intentions, at least.” You shrug.

“He could be a little more subtle, though.” You can’t help but agree. “Congratulations for getting the highest grade.”

“Thank you. Jimin also told me that you’ve been talking to some important people…”

Jungkook smiles beautifully with this. “Yes. It’s a director. He said that he likes my work and that I have talent. I think he’ll invite me to work with him as a trainee for a while.” Your eyes widen in a surprised expression.

“Really?! That’s great, Kook!” It feels so nice to call him Kook again after so long. Slowly, you feel that unbearable tension vanishing and all that’s left is you and him. Two people that know each other better than you know yourselves for most of your lives. In a matter of seconds, the distance that put you apart for months seems to disappear.

Suddenly, you feel a cold drizzle start falling over your heads. Jungkook frowns. “I think we should get down there.”

“Yes.” Before you can think better, you blurt out: “You can sleep here if you want.” Perhaps you shouldn’t have said that, because Jungkook’s frown deepens as he stares at you with suspicion. A shiver of fear runs down your spine. “Hey, that’s not what I mean.” You’re quick to say, waving your hands. “Before this sex thing started there was just us, remember? I… I miss us.”

Jungkook thinks for some moments, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, a tiny smile makes its way to his lips - and you’re happy to see that the smile reaches his eyes, too. “Okay.”

“Wait- so Irene and Jennie made up?” Jungkook asks from the kitchen, surprised.

“That’s what it looks like. I mean, they did post some photos together on Instagram.” you say while adjusting the pillows and blankets on the mattress you placed in the living room. Yours’ and Seulgi’s friends come to sleep over a lot, so you’re used to do it - you even bought some spare sheets and blankets for this occasion.

“But you can’t be sure that they are together just because of some photos.”

“Yeah, but you know Seulgi. She jumped to conclusions. Being honest, they don’t look like a couple in these photos… but I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will change her mind at this point. I tried everything.”

“I don’t really think that they’ll make up this time.” Jungkook admits. You walk over to the kitchen and lean on the counter, opposite to him.

“I feel bad for her. Seulgi still loves Irene and she can’t get over it. I think it’s the first time she spends the night out in a long while… and it isn’t even to have fun. I’m worried.”

He pouts and shrugs, eyes focused in building up his sandwich. “Maybe we should just let her figure things out by herself.”

“But she’s doing nothing.”

Jungkook stops adding ketchup just to stare at you and quirk his eyebrows. “Y/N. I think I already said that you should stop trying to be a cupid, like… a million times.”

“I didn’t say I’d do something!” You do your best to sound offended.

“I know you, woman. I’ve seen this face many times. You look like an evil gremlin.”

“I don’t!” you cross your arms. You forgot how annoying it is that Jungkook knows you so well, because you did think of doing something to help her. You’re so tired of seeing you friend being sad all the time. All she does these days is watch Netflix and complain. She already started to look like a zombie at this point. No one can blame you for being concerned. “Besides, gremlins are cute.”

“You’re the only person on this planet that thinks this.” He shakes his head slightly, his hair waving in the process.

“Why did you let your hair grow so much?” You ask, resting your chin over your palm.

“Because I look good with long hair.” Jungkook shrugs, a smug smirk on his face.

“You cocky little shit.”

“Am I wrong for telling the truth?” He looks up at you again, playful. You can’t even tell he’s wrong: that long hair really matches his looks and personality.

“Hey, are you still helping Namjoon and Yoongi?” you ask when Jungkook starts to make a fourth sandwich. Yes, you guys do eat a lot.

“Yeah. I haven’t been to the studio in a few days, but they still call me whenever they need me.” Jungkook presses his lips together and shifts a little: nervousness. “I… I kind of helped them write a song.”

“Really? But you said you were just ‘lending’ them your voice to record demos.”

“Yeah, but I felt kind of inspired. It was just for fun, though.” He shifts his eyes to you then back to the sandwich very rapidly. “Maybe I’ll let you listen to it any other day.”

“Aw, come on! I’ve been wanting to listen to your songs for so long!” you whine.

“I said maybe. When the right time comes.”

You don’t really get what he means with it.

For a while, you just sit there and watch Jungkook. He looks so carefree and relaxed; he moves around the kitchen as if it’s his own house. He knows where everything is in the cabinets. In a way, this really is his second house considering how often he comes… even when he used to come just to fuck during these past months. It feels so nice to see him not being all tensed up and uncomfortable around you anymore. He even starts to sing quietly, his voice as sweet and smooth as cotton candy filling up the entire house. You’re one of the few people that Jungkook feels confident enough to sing around. It’s almost a privilege.

You have been staring at him unceremoniously for so long that Jungkook frowns and looks back at you, frowning. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head. “It’s just that… Namjoon is right. You could’ve been famous with this voice.” Jungkook smiles shyly. “And this face.” He turns around to open the fridge. “And this ass.”

He frowns. “Seriously?”

“What? I’m being honest. And don’t act like you don’t stare at my ass all the time.”

Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head in that way that means I can’t stand you.

“Done.” He claps his hands together. Four giant sandwiches, coke, popcorn and m&ms (let’s say that you and Seulgi don’t have exactly the healthier type of food at home).

“Okay. I’ll take these, get changed first if you want,” you say while taking the plates to the living room. Of course there would be some of his clothes at your place.

When Jungkook sees the clothes you chose, he stares at you with an outraged expression. “My grey hoodie!”

“…yes.”

“You said you didn’t know where it was!”

You stop and click your tongue. “…funny how I found it at the bottom of my drawer tonight, huh?”

He knows you’re lying. But you won’t tell him that slept wearing his hoodie some nights because it smelled like him. He doesn’t need to know this.

“Hoodie thief.” He says and taps your head jokingly, making his way to the bathroom. You’re wearing sleeping clothes as well - and you made sure to choose your ugliest and largest ones. You don’t want Jungkook to think you asked him to sleep here just to end up having sex.

He comes back and throws himself on the mattress by your side. You’re very aware of the immense space between you; another person could fit in here. “What are we going to watch?”

“I think I’ve watched the entire Netflix catalogue at this point because of Seulgi.” you admit, shoving popcorn inside your mouth. Jungkook takes your phone and scrolls down the Netflix page.

“There’s always something more to watch.”

You end up arguing about what movie to watch. Actually, you spend more time arguing and scrolling down through the Netflix endless catalogue than watching something.

You don’t touch each other not even once. The physical distance almost feels like a living being.

You end up giving up on Netflix and watching Avengers Endgame for the hundredth time anyway.

And yes - Jungkook cries at the ending of the film.

You wake up with the sunlight touching your face.

It’s awful. You close your eyes tightly and yawn, a little bit confused at first. What am I doing in the living room? You search for your phone to check the hour: it’s seven in the morning. Shit. Whenever you can sleep until late hours, you end up waking up early…

You turn your head to the side and freeze.

It’s Jungkook.

Now you remember everything. The TV is still on, which means both of you fell asleep while watching it. The empty plates and glasses are placed over the coffee table.

You never slept together before.

There was only one time when it happened - the first and only, when you two got wasted and the whole story started. Other than that, you never slept together. First, because you had more interesting things to do other than sleep. Second, because sleeping together feels way too intimate. It didn’t matter how tired you were after fucking, when you finished cleaning up, you’d both put your clothes back on and walk back to your respective homes. You vehemently avoided doing anything that might feel too intimate - kissing, sleeping together… after a while, you even avoided looking at each other right in the eye while having sex.

You’re not touching; there is still a great space between your bodies. Yet… just the thought that you slept with Jungkook makes your heart race.

You don’t move a single centimeter. You just lay there and… look at him.

His long hair is a mess. His face is adorably puffy, lips slightly parted. He looks peaceful. The way his chest moves up and down as he breathes is hypnotizing.

He’s seriously so beautiful.

But now, you don’t think of it in a sexual way. Back then, you’d always admire how hot Jungkook is, his godlike physique, how lucky you were to be having sex with a guy like him… not now. You just feel mesmerized by his features. The long eyelashes touching his cheeks. The tiny moles on his face and neck. Some old acne scars.

It’s odd, but right now, you realize just how much you’ve been missing him. It doesn’t make sense - Jungkook is right here, barely an arm apart from you. You made up last night and it seems that everything is back to normal. Still, you desperately miss him.

Your chest fills up with something strange and unknown. It’s sweet and painful. It makes your heart feel tight, your nerves feel like burning and your eyes well up with tears.

This is the face of the person that has been with you during most of your life.

He’s a part of you.

The most important part of you.

In this moment, your feelings for him are so great that it seems that they can’t even fit inside of you anymore.

You watch him sleep for a long time, too scared to move and wake him up. But eventually, he sighs heavily and moves his head, indicating he’s about to wake up.

His eyes finally open and he yawns.

“Good morning.” He says when his eyes focus on you, smiling softly. Jungkook’s voice sounds deep and raspy. He stretches his arms over his head. “I mean… if it’s still morning.”

“It is,” you say softly.

He stares at the ceiling with heavy-lidded eyes. “I dreamed that babies came from eggs. Like ostrich eggs.” He chuckles. “And women gave birth to the eggs like chickens.”

You don’t say anything and just keep watching him instead.

Jungkook finally turns his head at you and frowns, still smiling softly. “What?”

“Nothing.” You say so quietly that he can barely hear.

He gazes back at you.

Slowly, the smile on his lips disappears.

You feel the tension building up around you - but this time it feels different. It’s not a bad tension like what you experienced last night at the terrace, nor is it dense like when you two were aroused and desperate to find a place and please yourselves. This time, it feels delicate but heavy nevertheless. It makes your blood boil and your heart race.

Jungkook’s eyes are serious, heavy and intense over you. All the playfulness is gone. None of you say a word. You don’t even know if you have the power to move considering how heavy the tension is.

He extends his arm and his fingertips touch your cheek. Your skin feels burning hot. Delicately, he puts a strand of hair behind your ear. It’s strange how he’s doing the exact same thing Taehyung did, but with Jungkook, this simple touch made you feel like exploding right there.

Jungkook is the one to come closer. Closer and closer and closer. Your breathing is heavy. He caresses your cheek his his thumb. Soon, his face is right in front of yours - noses touching, eyes locked and burning with something you can’t quite name.

You stare at each other like this for a moment until his gaze finally drops to your mouth.

You both lean in for the kiss at the same time.

You have already tasted these lips multiple times before - but now, it’s different. The kiss is slow; you move your lips unhurriedly and sweetly. Yet, this kiss feels much more intense than any other you have shared before. None of those times when you kissed him desperately with luxury being the only thing on your mind comes even close to the intensity of this kiss.

It almost feels that this is the actual first time you kiss Jungkook.

Your breathing gets even heavier as the kiss deepens. His hand rests on your waist, while yours hold his neck. The sloppy sounds of your lips and tongues moving together are the only audible thing in the apartment. Your whole being screams in excitement and anticipation when Jungkook moves his body to hover over yours, not even once breaking the kiss. Your right hand grabs his smooth hair while the other travels up and down his back; your body is getting burning hot. Jungkook moans very softly. You start to feel the familiar wetness on your panties.

Jungkook leans away for a moment; his lips are red and swollen, his hair is even messier now, his dark eyes are clouded with want and something you can’t name - something so strong that he’s able to make you shiver with that look alone. He leans down again and starts to kiss and suck your neck very slowly, making soft moans escape through your lips. His hand sneaks under your baggy shirt and he squeezes your breast. Soon, his lips are on yours again and the kiss becomes much deeper. You can already feel sweat forming on your forehead. Jungkook starts to grind on you; you can clearly feel his clothed erection rub against your own core, what makes more and more strangled moans come from both of you.

This is the hottest make out session of your life. The entire atmosphere is not what you’re used to; it’s not playful, none of you say a word. No teasing, no dirty talk. All you do is try to touch each other the best you can, never once breaking the kiss. It’s as if, with this kiss, you’re having a conversation… you’re telling each other everything you’re not brave enough to say out loud.

Soon, the desperation becomes too big. There’s no time to play, you just want to have him inside of you and feel his warm skin against yours. Unceremoniously, you start to undress yourselves, kissing every spot you can find in the process - neck, chest, stomach. Your clothes are thrown around the living room. You lay on your back again and Jungkook hovers above you once more, your legs entangling around his hips as he positions his hard member on your entrance.

You always avoided this position because it is too intimate; you’re forced to look at each other like this. This time, though, it doesn’t matter. You want to look at him - and the sight of his face contorting in pure pleasure, lips parted and eyes closed tightly as he eases himself inside of you, is almost as good as the feeling of being stretched after a long time.

Jungkook doesn’t move at first. He knows he’ll hurt you if he goes too hard right from the beginning. Instead, he waits until you call his name quietly in a strangled moan - the sign he needs to start thrusting. He rests his head on your shoulder and grabs the pillow under your head tightly as he picks up his pace, slow and steady, soft groans coming from the back of his throat that make you feel goosebumps. You hold his back with both hands. You can’t shut the moans anymore.

Sweat makes your skin slippery as he thrusts faster. Jungkook licks and bites your ear, moaning right into it, and it feels that this alone could make you cum. He then leans away for a moment, creating some space between your bodies to have a better angle to keep smashing himself into you - faster and faster, stronger and stronger. The usual sound of skin hitting skin, heavy breathing and moans is all you can hear.

You said that you didn’t ask him to sleep here just to have sex - and you weren’t lying.

But this doesn’t feel like just sex.

This isn’t fucking.

The pleasure is getting unsustainable and you both feel it. You close your legs around him even tighter and pull his face with both hands, sealing your lips in another intense, desperate kiss. It’s sloppy and unsynchronized. It’s raw and rough and so full of emotions you can’t comprehend that you feel your eyes tearing up again.

What you’re experiencing right now isn’t just two people finding pleasure in each other. It isn’t simply carnal instinct.

It is the deepest and most sincere way to connect with another being - without any words, through touches only.

You never felt anything like this in your life - not with Mike or any of your past boyfriends and hook ups. This is beyond lust. This is beyond sex.

Jungkook breaks the kiss apart for a second to look at you. Your gazes lock. God, he’s beautiful. Not only his appearance, but everything about him is beautiful.

And it is right now - stating deep into his eyes - that you come to a conclusion.

Jungkook has always been a part of you. But, in this exact moment, it feels like more.

It feels that you two became one.

He leans down and kisses you again. Your lips are tightly sealed when you both come at the same time.

Your trembling fingers still hold the strands of his damp hair tightly. You caress his face softly, putting some hair away from his eyes. Jungkook kisses you again. And again, and again, and again, and again.

You’re glad when he rests his head on your shoulder again, because like this, he can’t see the tears trickling down your temples.

It’s still hard to understand what just happened. Honestly, you think you’ll never fully understand.

But one thing you do understand, one thing that became as clear as the morning sky, is that your feelings for Jungkook are deeper and stronger than you ever imagined. He’s so much more than a friend.

Yet, you don’t know if he sees you the same way.

You don’t know if he felt the same things you did or if this was just one more time having sex with you. You don’t know if he still has feelings for Yeri or if he’s developing any for Joy.

You know nothing - and this fact makes your heart hurt as if it is being stabbed…

Because Jungkook, the best and most important part of you, might never be truly yours.

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