#fakedating!soap | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lunarw0rks · 6 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/lunarw0rks/731568595581140992/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-fake-dating-with-soap

PRACTICING PDA! practice kissing, practice fucking—just in case yk!! 🫠

fakedating!soap | m.l.

this whole fake boyfriend act was beginning to weigh on you. the incessant bickering and strain of constantly having to look the part. soap was never a close friend, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t chemistry.

before the arrangement, he was the missing piece you needed. chaotic, spunky, and kind-hearted — always the man you’d call if you needed help.

why was now any different? it seemed, as soon as you two began faking a relationship, all natural chemistry went out the window. his determination to would clash with yours, instead of harmonize.

then came today. you weren’t sure why you showed up at all.

the faces that turned — fellow soldiers and staff — all looked at you like you’d been there a thousand times before. so, johnny had been bragging about you, just as you predicted. it didn’t matter, as long as he kept the spotlight on his ‘perfect’ self.

"why the hell am i here, johnny?" you ask, closing the door to his quarters behind you. he perks up, setting down the folder in his hands. this is the first time you're seeing him in uniform; cargo pants and a compression tee. and his mohawk is carefully maintained, slicked, and in place.

“calm down, bonnie.” to your distaste, he speaks nonchalantly, then takes a few steps closer. he begins fussing with the collar of your shirt, adjusting the necklace you have on until it’s straight.

you stand there and take it, rolling your eyes at his sudden tedious behavior; nothing else about the man is organized. why does he care if you are? it’s obvious his fellow men aren’t questioning the relationship.

before you can open your mouth and spit out another impatient question, soap finally speaks. “need to practice.”

you huff, “practice what?”

"bein' us." he asserts, cupping both your cheeks. you've grown used to his touchiness if that was even possible. though, you didn't have the slightest clue what he meant — and living in the vague seemed to be his forté.

“i won’t even pretend to know what that means, johnny.” you shook your head, an increasing frustration bubbling within you. it was no lie, if this arrangement was going to work, you two needed to be efficient.

he chuckled a bit, rubbing his thumbs against your cheekbones. "the only thing you should be knowin' about is being convincing." soap retorted, effectively silencing your compaints. "now... kiss me."

your breathing hitches, "excuse me?" first, you had him making up imaginary rules. and now he's bossing you around — this won't do. but you need him, whether you care to admit it or not.

"ye heard me. kiss me." his words finished with a grin like the Cheshire cat. it was then that you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face — but that was always damn near impossible. very little scared johnny off or falter his credence. especially where you're concerned.

"you can't just ask— no order me— to kiss you, johnny, and if you think—" you were jerked forward suddenly, yet felt no true pain. his nose clashed against yours, only giving way to when he tilted his head. at first, you had an urge to push back; and couldn’t.

he breathed heavily into the kiss, keeping it only a kiss. no tongue, no biting, no roaming hands — just “practicing” a kiss.

your hands hovered over his chest, frozen in the shove that you never followed through with. soap pulled back, a dazed expression despite being the one to initiate. “see? not so bad. it’s kissin’.” his lips glinted against the dodgy lighting, slightly puffy and glossy.

you wanted to take a step back, to argue, yet couldn’t. shouldn’t you have hated that more? shouldn’t you have kicked him in the jewels and fled the room? short answer: it felt good to kiss him. and you despised him for it.

eventually, you blinked away your daze and smacked his chest. “you don’t get to just… do that, johnny. that’s not how this works.” you motioned toward the both of you, but it had little effect. for someone so worked up, your attempts at distancing yourself were pathetic.

soap stepped forward and bridged the gap you had made seconds ago, once again playing with your necklace. he seemed to be ignoring you again, playing off your grievances; if that label could even be used. he kissed you and you liked it — that’s it.

although, the problem lies with enjoying the intimacy. it’s not supposed to be “intimacy” at all — the relationship should be more like a series of play acts.

you began to step backward again, feeling the cold cement wall against you, giving you a visible shiver. you had run out of room and he wasn’t giving him more. goddammit, you shouldn’t be admiring his dog tags dangling in your face; you should loathe them.

“johnny, don’t.” you muttered, reaching up to comb a piece of hair from your field of view. but he beat you to it — his thumb relocating the strand with a sweep across your forehead. the rough pads of his fingers made you buzz, made your cheeks singe.

still, he leaned in again, lips parted slightly as he pressed into your jawline with the same thumb, as if running it over his own blade. “do ye really want me to stop?”

he got you there; your protests sounded like encouragements. the aroma of his cologne made your head spin, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was on purpose. could you chalk the butterflies up to a love spell? something malicious on his end?

you met his gaze again, unable to find a sliver of sinister intentions in his azure eyes. “no.” a simple one word answer, one you weren’t surprised came out of you before you thought it through.

was it true what they say about anger, that the truth bleeds through while enraged? could the same apply for being flustered? that no surely wasn’t being regretted right now, whilst his lips brushed against the sides of your neck.

your fingers hooked under the sleeves of his compression shirt, merely fiddling with them as his breath tickled you. his hands lay flat on the wall, either side of your waist, as if you were a flight risk. that plan had long passed, johnny knew, but he didn’t want to let you go. not just yet.

his wet lips brushed against that sweet spot on the side of your neck, drawing a hitch in your breathing. you finally gathered enough courage to place your palms on his sides, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.

no sooner, the door swung open. “soap, there’s a—” your head snapped over, returning the same wide gaze as the young man in a blue cap. “—oh.” he cut himself off, assuming the two of you were seconds from ravishing one another against the wall.

minutes ago, his assumption would’ve been wrong. but now? he’d be right. of all the times for an interruption, it couldn’t have been when you two were bickering.

you took advantage of the awkward silence, reading the: Sgt. Garrick etched into the man’s shirt pocket. a name you didn’t recognize from one of soap’s babbles, but you sure as well wouldn’t forget it after this first impression.

johnny’s brows knitted together, obviously forcing more frustration than he actually felt. “knock, why don’t ya?!” he bellowed, using his body to shield your fluster. he had to pretend gaz interrupted a steamy moment, didn’t he?

“i’m gonna— i’ll go.” sergeant garrick stammered, a sudden stiff demeanor before he slammed the door shut. soap’s intense focus fizzled away quickly, you greeted by a clammy expression.

fixing your hair and shirt, you shimmied out of his way, making sure you had your bag back over your shoulder. “i’ll be going.” you spoke speedily, exiting his quarters.

gaz was immediately to your right, still waiting to relay what you can assume is work related. you avoided eye contact, practically jogging down the halls the way you came. he looked you up and down, trying to shake the images of you and soap’s possible hookup from his brain.

soap exited behind you, as if he was going to call out and stop you. yet, he didn’t have the slightest clue what he’d say to you — let alone with his mortified sergeant right there. “not a word.” he hissed, catching a glimpse of you as you turned the corner. admiring you, without shame.

in a way, maybe garrick had prevented you from making a big mistake; from fucking this whole thing up. sleeping together would surely do that.

let this be a lesson in restraint and… time and place for practicing.

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚𓆩 divider cred. - cafekitsune 𓆪˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆

#fakedating!soap #soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap x y/n #john soap mactavish #mw2 #call of duty #task force 141

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aessedia87 · 3 months

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#FakeDating Soap and Ghost.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

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lopsided-whiskey-grin · 1 year

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Anon, I got your ghostsoap prompt for Warlord Ghost and Prince Soap and I am so intrigued by this idea!! Aaahh!! I've got a few ghostsoap fics in my queue that I'm working on at the moment, including a spicy fakedating fic, an epilogue chapter for Flashbang, and a couple others, BUT I promise I will be getting to this idea as soon as I can!! 🩷🩷🩷

#ghostsoap #prompts

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mylarena · 10 months

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Slowburn/fake date/enemies 2 lvrs

Ghost soap roach (the usual suspects ik but im curious)

THANK U!!!! FOR THE ASK!!!!

HRM. GOD UHHHH.

slowburn w roach,,,, fakedate with soap, and enemies to lovers with ghost,,,,, yeah. yeah thats good,

#myposting #asktag #soaptag #nudibranchpropaganda #thank u for the ask i appreciate it a lot!!!

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yuzukult · 3 years

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from home 04 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in future chapters word count: 7.4k prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: so so so thankful that from home 01 has reached over 400 notes! this is a huge milestone for me so thank you all that reblogged, liked, and replied to my chapters because it means so much to me! so grateful for all of your support because i never thought any of my fics would get any attention! honestly, not my best chapter, but i have plans for from home 05 that are more exciting to write lol please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera @strugglingartistno16-2 @taestannie @teresaisla @drumsofheaven @vampgguk @christiandosworld @madjammil @jungkookieyoongs @bananagguknim @shuttheelleup ← previous chapter || next chapter →

You’d never invite him over to your apartment without the company of Hoseok. So why did you ask him to come over and just him?

Jungkook is anxious. Other than the fact that you've requested for his company on a Friday night, he hasn't really spoken to you alone ever since that weekend at his parents' estate. You weren't avoiding him, at least that's what he speculates, but there wasn't much 'alone time' and he was starting to feel insecure about how you felt about your relationship.

Rephrase. Fake relationship, he means.

The brisk, heavy wind smacks his face when he steps out of his apartment, ready to be on route to your house with the address you sent over just minutes ago. Cheeks flushing crimson, he pulls his denim coat with sherpa lining closer, suddening wishing that Hyungjin was still driving him on days like this, oh how lucky Old Jungkook was.

15 minutes is what the GPS on his phone says, grateful that his mother hasn't cut off his line with the money because he honestly wouldn't have known what to do if he didn't have it. What did people use back then when they needed to go somewhere they've never been to before? He'd have to google that later. His hands are occupied, looking for warmth in his pockets.

His fingers are curled frozen by the time he reaches the front of your apartment, face pale with only the tint in his nose and cheeks. There's something swirling in his gut—whether it's gas or he's just plain nervous, he's not exactly sure, but he knows that this is the first time he's ever been to your apartment and it's not the same feeling he gets when he's at his one night stands.

Once you receive his text, the buzzer goes off, allowing him to enter into the hallway of your apartment building and how different it is compared to his is astonishing. Other than the fact that the wallpaper was tearing off and the carpets look like it's been years since someone last vacuumed it, the lights were dim, giving off a spooky aura despite Halloween being a month ago.

"Apartment 344," He reiterates to himself from your message, following the instructions underneath that had been oddly specific. "Don't go into elevator car six. Six breaks down after floor two, and five is missing a button for floor three, so only car eight works without a chance of you being stuck in it. There's a smell, so you'll just have to hold your breath."

Weird. So Elevator Eight then?

When he finally reaches your floor, he nearly faints when he walks out. It smelled like a combination of pee and weed with a sprinkle of air freshener which wasn't much help.

344. The black printed numbers are inscribed in the gold plaque that isn't real gold because it's peeling and the surface underneath it is brown. When you come to the door after he knocks, he can't help but gush at the sight of you.

Oversized hoodie and shorts with your hair tied in a low bun, strands that fall out effortlessly and frame your no-makeup face, his heart almost jerks out of his chest. It's not fair that someone so mean can be so pretty.

"Hey," You say, breathless. "Come in. I'm in the middle of cooking up dinner. Have you ever had a home cooked meal?"

He furrows his brows. "Uh, the chefs usually put something together at the estate."

"Is it even called home-cooked if you call your house an estate?"

"Well—" You wave him off, stepping aside for him to enter. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Your apartment is you in a version of a place. Outside entering in, he thinks it's intimidating and tends to throw people off, with the impression that it's not somewhere you'd want to be at. Yet your home itself— he finds that the confined space between where the TV sits on the shelf, books residing in the cubes beneath, across from where a grey love-seat couch is placed is a resemblance of serenity. The kitchen is relatively small, even smaller than his current studio apartment, but everything about it here feels cosy. "It's nice," He hums in content, slipping off his jacket to hang on the coat rack nearby. "I never thought your place would be so... comfortable."

"What'd you think it was going to be? A white void?" Well, you're not wrong, but he fears you so he figured it was best to not respond to that. "So... what are you cooking?"

"Couple things, actually. I even cooked some rice. What did you usually eat when you were living at home— I mean, the estate?" Leading him into the kitchen, which didn't really need much guidance with the short square footage of the apartment, he still can't believe that this place is your own. "American food? Italian? Just generally European? Our chef is from England, and studied somewhere in France. Not much Korean, if I'm being honest."

"Then... is it even home cooked? Take a seat."

He sits at the little round table centered in the middle of the kitchen, a couple recipe books stacked to the side, just enough room for the two of you to work with. "I guess not. You never answered my question, what did you make?"

"Mm... Kimchi Jjigae, bulgogi, and some stir fried veggies. I even baked something for dessert."

Something about this view of you working over the stove, plating the food and side dishes onto the table that makes it feel so domestic. He likes you like this—clear faced without trying so hard, despite thinking how beautiful you looked during the charity event, this felt refreshing.

"Alright," You cheer, handing him a bowl of rice and a pair of chopsticks. "Let's dig in."

"Can I ask you something?" You're in the midst of putting some beef into his serving before looking up. "What is it?"

"Why... Are you being so nice to me? I haven't heard a jab since I got here. And why did you invite me over? Not even Hoseok joining in, just us two. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you were trying to avoid me ever since you got to see what it was like to be in my family but then you asked me to come over. I’m a little confused."

Chewing on your bottom lip, your shoulders slouch as you drop your body back against the seat. "Honestly?" He nods. "I've been putting you in a weird spot. I don't like you because you have money, look down on other people who don't have those opportunities, and to be fair, you're very ignorant to this life stuff. You almost bought something from the Supreme drop until Hoseok stole your phone away from you." Fiddling with the kimchi sitting in it's plate, you poke at it with your chopsticks. "You took me back to your family house but it wasn't a house. You called it an estate then you proceeded to show me that you have no real relationship with your brothers. I get why you'd come to those events drunk, and I felt bad."

He scoffs. "So you pitied me."

"Well— no, I just... I just wanted you to know the feeling of home. What home really feels like, and how it's a place you find yourself wanting to come back to. I'm trying somewhat to show it through food—" You gesture the meal that you spent hours on. "—and possibly other ways. I'm not pitying you, I just don't think it's fair."

Jungkook's face softens. "You... don't think it's fair for me. You've always said things aren't fair for you, how I get all these things and I'm provided with so many advantages and now... you're siding with the rich?"

"No, not siding with the rich. Siding with you, Jeon Jungkook. Or, Kookie, whatever your sister-in-law calls you." He can’t help but laugh, as embarrassing as the nickname is to him because he’s too elated that you see him in a different light now. Maybe Hoseok was right. Learning a thing or two from you would be beneficial for him, if anything.

“Here— have some more of this,” You say before hauling a load of veggies into his bowl and he can only smile at the gesture.

“So,” Jungkook begins, finishing washing the last dish in the sink. Truth be told, he offered because you so kindly prepared a delicious dinner for him, but he needed guidance on how to actually do the chore. “What’s the dessert?”

It’s cute— the way you squirt the bottle of dish soap into the sponge in his hands, teaching him how to properly clean after himself. He feels like a baby being taught how to do the basic life tasks, low-key wishing that he could just ask Hana or Nayeon to do it instead— but it’s you beside him, telling him he needs to thoroughly scrub in order to get the tough grease stains out. He’d say, “how can you tell if it’s still greasy?” and despite you rolling your eyes and responding back, “by touching it?” something about tonight feels different than when you do it at the grocery store.

“Cinnamon rolls!” There’s a sparkle in your eye, exuberant about getting a target to fixate on. “I can pop it back in the oven for a couple minutes to get it all warm again.”

He agrees, wiping his hand off on a rag hanging by the sink, watching as you eagerly pop two buns on a tray, slipping it into the pre-heated oven. “I want you to try the things I bake from scratch... since you’re kind of investing in me.”

“It’s an exchange, more like I’m paying you.”

You grumble, rubbing your face in your hands. “No, no, no, don’t just give me money, Jungkook. If anything includes you putting cash of any form into my palms, it means you’re investing in me because you believe in me.”

Jungkook frowns. “But I do believe in you. Why do I have to keep saying that? You have the characteristics of a trustworthy person. Why else would I have asked you to be my girlfriend?”

“Pretend girlfriend,” you rectify, pointing in his direction, “... you chose me to be your pretend girlfriend. Even so, what if I’m a bad baker?”

A chortle escapes from Jungkook’s lips, shaking his head in disbelief. “OK, ok. Keep baking me goods. If in the end, I think you’re a horrible baker, I won’t ‘invest’ in your business, but I’ll invest in you instead. You keep the money. Do whatever you please with it, even if it means opening a really bad bakery. You’re helping me out here by fake dating me. My father has already personally called me on four occasions, asking when we’re visiting again.”

There it sits. The cinnamon bun. Or roll. Whichever it is— but there you are, directly leaning against the table across from him, eyes watching him attentively. Thoughts start running in his mind like; what if it actually tastes horrific like the possibility you mentioned? What would he do then? You both had already gone as far as meeting his family, he’s too deep in.

“Stop thinking and just eat.” You say discernibly, impatient with his indecisiveness. Using the fork you provided, he pierces through the the pastry and the cut is buttery smooth, requiring no effort. When he brings it to his mouth, the moment it touches the tip of his tongue, it practically melts, dissolving in contact with his saliva, awakening up his taste buds. It’s sweet, the cinnamon with the brown sugar and butter, yet not overwhelming enough to turn it away because something about it just brings life into you again.

His mouth parts open, gaping in awe. “Oh my god,” he mutters with his cheeks full of the pastry, “W-what, oh my god. Did you drug me or something? Because there’s no way it tastes that good.”

“No— but then I made a home-made yeast dough where I added some more ingredients to transform it into an enriched dough, and that contributes to it’s soft interior with a more fragile crumb. Then the filling, I brushed on butter after rolling the dough out to a rectangle—“

“I-I don’t need the details,” Jungkook stutters with a nervous laugh but you were going to go off for hours if he hadn’t stopped you. “I think if all the things you make taste just as good as this, I’m impressed. You’ve sold me. But... I have to ask, why a bakery? I looked up what it means to be someone in your field with your degree and people go off to do product development, maybe research in processed foods— this isn’t necessarily close to being a baker. I honestly don’t know why my father asked you to take part of the restaurant chain he’s planning on building.”

“Oh,” Pursing up your lips you tap your fingers against the wooden table, heaving out a sigh. “I’m surprised you did some research.”

“Well, you taught me to do some extensive exploration before I invest in something.” He shoots back.

“I wanted to go to culinary school, simple as that. I told you, I love Guy Fieri and wouldn’t it be crazy if he went to my bakery and put me on his show?” Jungkook is keeping this in his back pocket for future teasing, but you seem so dazed when you talk about your dreams that he has to refrain himself. “But I couldn’t just go to culinary school, no, my parents would kill me. So, I chose something as close as possible and so here I am. I should get into product development, maybe I can be part of something that could be preserved and easily accessible to help feed third world countries but— I don’t know how long I’d be able to sit in a lab for. I want to make people happy, see them walk through the front doors and hear the bell ring along with their footsteps, see their faces lit up when they eat what I made.”

There’s a lot of things he can point out in your expression when you talk about your dreams, them being how your eyes become the pools of chocolate cupcakes, swirling dark and sweet, and how your lips look so pillowy pink like a fluffy buttercream frosting. Within your voice, there’s so much certainty that holds it, credence along with each syllable you sing, words rising like the yeast in bread. Wholeheartedly, he wants to back you up on your aspirations, solely from the way you’ve sold them but at the same time, he feels this green-eyed envious being within him that wishes he had something to be equally as passionate about.

Money can only be ardor for so long, an inanimate object that can eventually lose its meaning if the world goes to shreds. It’s value will be there when emphasized but what if it didn’t exist? What did Jungkook like?

It’s a constant battle he finds himself placed in, especially when he absentmindedly scans the groceries for the customers, reiterating the same phrases every couple minutes with a new total tailing behind it. His uniform fits too well these days, stability making a name-tag on the chest pocket of his apron, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

He has an ivy league degree in international business, but what does he do with it? Currently, he’s asking customers how their day was, what the end price of their shopping run is, and hoping the rest of their day is well. Four years grinding hard at a prestigious university and for what?

He used to look down on people like you and Hoseok, with a belief that their placement in the supermarket was a controllable decision on their part, but visually seeing and hearing the other employees speak about their struggles of the inability to access higher education or finding difficulty in providing for their families so they throw away their dreams for a daily life in the deli section— he wants more because he’s able to, and he doesn’t want it given to him.

Yet, Jungkook still doesn’t have a dream. And according to you, he doesn’t have a home either.

Obviously, Jungkook has been through many flings. He's even said so himself and the women who have stirred up scandals on media outlets are evidence of it but never in your life did you think that you'd find yourself in this position, blankly staring at a girl weeping in front of you as you're in the midst of restocking laundry detergent onto one of the shelves in the middle of an aisle.

"He's supposed to love me," She bawls, eyes swollen from her crying previously. The girl is barely a couple inches shorter than you with long, straight black hair that stretches down to her lower back, waist so small you could wrap your hands around her. "Jungkook told me that I was the only girl for him and nobody else. So who are you? What'd you do? What's so great about you?"

"Uh, beats me," Rubbing the back of your neck in consternation, you're not sure what to do. There's about a handful of these supermarkets in Seoul alone, so how did she even find which one you worked at? "Um... Have you talked to him about this?"

"N-N-No," The pretty girl stutters, lips quivering. "I went to the estate and they kicked me out, said he doesn't live there anymore but I think they're lying to me."

"Jungkook doesn't live there anymore." You confirm, typing something into your price gun. "He moved out into the city."

"H-He did?" She retorts, eyes glimmering in hope. "That means they didn't lie to me just to kick me to the curb. He really moved out, he's not living there anymore?" You nod, glancing up at the girl who is supposedly Jungkook's ex-girlfriend or in his eyes, one late night affair. She really fits his ideal type—one that you've accidentally discovered when you came across an article of his on one of those gossip magazines... that you googled. Nonetheless, you learn that he's into girls like her—skinny, long straight hair, feminine with a soft, high-pitched voice. Nothing wrong with those things, you just observed that none of those things are you.

"Maeri?" Why does that name sound familiar?

Jungkook rushes his way down the aisle to stand by your side, gaze immediately glued onto you. "Hey, you alright? Did she say or do anything to you?"

"No," You respond, blinking rapidly at his sudden action. There's a girl who's crying her eyes out right in front of him and yet he's asking if you were okay? "But she claims to be your current girlfriend or ex—whatever it was, I don't remember. Kind of your problem and somehow I'm roped into this."

"And you picked her? Even though she speaks to you like that?" Maeri whimpers, nose pink and lips swelling. "She doesn't even treat you the way that I do. I can't understand why you would just drop us and pick her!"

"Maeri," He says, voice soft and gentle, completely different from what you're used to. Jungkook leans over, hand flatly pressed against her mid-back, rubbing soothingly to calm her nerves. "You're also my dad's assistant. It would've never worked out. He would've found out what we were up to and be completely against it." So that's why the name sounded so familiar, Jungkook's dad requested him to make an appointment with him through his assistant, Maeri.

... Question is, why would he do something so risky and get involved with his dad's personal assistant?

"B-B-But..."

"Listen," You quickly interject, dropping the price gun onto the car where the array of laundry detergent bottles sit. "This feels like a private conversation. You can finish this after you talk with her, I'll just find something else to do."

"Wait—" But before Jungkook could even grab you, Maeri already has her grasp tightened around his wrists, pulling him in close. "Jungkook, don't go. Talk to me, please?" He sighs when he sees you don't even glance back.

It's a bit infuriating, you think, to hear some girl complain about how you're not worthy enough for a guy that you'd previously thought wasn't even good enough for you. You were somewhat decently looking, right? Or so, that's what you thought.

"You good?" Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, brows furrowed in confusion. "Seem kinda lost there."

You hum, resuming back to stacking up the apples in the produce section because Jungkook was doing your task instead due to the incident. Truth be told, you hated here in produce, because since you first stepped foot into this section, six old women had already tried starting small talk. But anything to get out of that conversation between him and Maeri. "Well, I just saw Kim Maeri over there with boogers dripping from her nose because Jeon Jungkook suddenly has new arm candy."

Rolling your eyes, you threaten to throw the apple in your hand at him. "Not arm candy. Girlfriend."

"Ohhhh," Hoseok teases, hands slipping into the front pocket of his apron. "Not arm candy but rather girlfriend. Not so fake anymore? So, who confessed first? You or our clueless Kook?"

"Hoseok, not in the mood. I just dealt with some weird girl crying over a guy I'm not even really dating, weeping on for twenty minutes about how I'm not good enough for him."

"Why? Are you sad because you think it's somewhat true?"

Your glare nearly kills him. "No, but it's not easy to hear. I mean—he's this guy who doesn't even know what to prioritize in his spendings, can't even properly do his laundry without dying some of his whites, and he doesn't know how to clean after himself. And yet she thinks he's too good for me?" Scoffing in disbelief, you slam an apple onto the pile and Hoseok grimaces, hand on your wrist. "Please don't bruise the apples."

You sigh and he lets go of his grip. "Sorry. But am I that mean?"

"No, no, don't say it like that, of course you're not. Sure, you sound sorta insensitive sometimes but you mean well. Or else Jungkook and I wouldn't willingly spend time with you, right?"

"I'm your timesheet approver and Jungkook is using me to get back at his parents. I don't know about that."

Hoseok rolls his eyes, handing you the apples from the inventory cart as you continue to organize them onto each other. "If that's the case, I wouldn't actually help you out when we're not at work. You don't have enough authority here for me to kiss your ass my way up for a promotion here. And Jungkook— although, true, yes, he's asking that from you but he wouldn't just willingly see you or try to spend time with you outside of work. Stop being so insecure because some pretty girl came by."

"Uh, Hey." Jungkook appears out of thin air, startling both you and Hoseok. "I... restocked the detergent like you asked. I can take over this if you'd like, I know you don't really like working in the produce section because the grandmas like to start conversations up with you."

A smile tugs on the edges of Hoseok's lips, suggestively eyeing you before stepping back. "I'm gonna go find myself elsewhere..." Then he jolts before you can get a word in.

"I'm good," Turning back to the pyramid of fruits, you're content with how it looks so far yet Jungkook doesn't seem to share the same pleasant expression. "I'm almost done anyways."

"She's not... we've never dated," He says, swallowing his nerves. In all honesty, he's unsure why he feels the need to justify his relationship with her and elaborate the story behind it, but he gives into the urges nonetheless. "Just a fling. We slept with each other a couple times because I liked the rush it gave me, knowing that if my dad knew I slept with his favorite assistant of all time, I'd be done for."

Silent and brushing your hands off from the debris, you avoid chiming into his story. Was he telling this to you because you’re his supervisor or because of the weird relationship that’s going on between the two of you? “Uh, it’s fine. It happens. Wasn’t necessarily your fault, it was unavoidable. At least that over with, right?”

Jungkook scratches the back of his head quietly, the ponytail on his head bouncing slightly. “About that... there’s an event this weekend.” After brushing over the details, you don’t say much, striving to finish the pyramid of apples, Jungkook assisting by taking over Hoseok’s spot. “I have a question.”

“What’s up?” You don’t shift your attention away from the red fruit.

He clears his throat. “Are you and Hoseok a thing?” Letting out an airy laugh, your eyes finally meet his. “Of course not. He’s just a very involved and caring friend. Nothing more, and he isn’t really my type. Plus, I’m sure he’s not over Hyeri.”

Jungkook nods, pulling his lips into a straight line because he’s trying to hold back a smile. You and Hoseok were not a thing, which meant that there was one thing less he didn’t have to worry about.

Maeri found you through the instruction of Mr. Jeon; he said that his wife had mentioned your current employment at two of her chains and this was her second attempt after wailing over at the coffee shop, hoping that the second location was a charm. Meeting Jungkook there was really a coincidence, in all fairness, because apparently Mr. Jeon didn’t say anything about Jungkook being there—his main target had been you.

“He wants you to come with me to another event... but it requires some travel.” Jungkook told you, feeling a bit guilty because you had just spent a weekend at his parents estate barely a couple days ago. This means begging your supervisor at the supermarket and the café to let you call off for the next week. Hopefully in the end it’s all worth it...

When Jungkook says travel, this is not what you thought it was going to be.

“We can either take the private plane there with my family or ride the train.” You don’t hesitate to pick the latter option, evading the potential family argument that would blossom in seconds if you were to be stuck in a cabin full of the Jeons.

You don’t recognize the awkward position you put Jungkook in until you’re standing on the platform, waiting for your train’s arrival with a duffle bag in hand, body hidden underneath a heavy winter coat. “Oh. Have you ever rode on the train before?” He shakes his head ‘no’ and you frown. Maybe you should’ve taken the plane there, Jungkook would’ve been more comfortable. And as if he read your thoughts, he nudges you with his elbows, hands dug into the pockets of his jacket. “Since you’re popping my train cherry, take it easy on me, will you?’

He’s perhaps a little funny, but you’re not going to cave into that.

Busan— is what your ticket says, from Seoul to Busan. Honestly, you had never been in Busan before but you recall Jungkook saying that it was his birthplace and he’d be more than happy to guide you through the nooks and cranny of the largest port city in South Korea.

Once you reach the city, it’s completely different from Seoul. The buildings are condensed, there’s so many markets yet at the same time, there’s just as many people there are in Seoul. Hyungjin is holding a sign that says, “Jeon Jungkook,” written on it in bold letters, bowing when he sees your fake-boyfriend, just as eager as Jungkook. “I’m glad they asked you to pick me up again.”

“Well, I requested it, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh please, I’m sure you didn’t. You hated having to drive me home whenever I was partying.”

Hyungjin shakes his head with a grin plastered on his face. “I did, perhaps. However you are a new man now with a very intelligent woman by your side, so I can almost guarantee that you’ve changed. Much more likable, Mr. Jeon. Please, let me take you to your hotel.”

You nearly have a nosebleed just from the view from your room.

The sea is beautiful, despite the grey clouds that hover the water from the colder weather but the charm could never be hidden. Apparently, the hotel that Jungkook’s parents had booked for the two of you was a 5-star hotel, spas, pools, restaurants and everything included and some that you can see from your balcony.

“Holy shit, Jungkook, is there where you grew up?”

“No, not in a hotel.” He laughs, watching as you move around the room like a little kid to see every trinket the hotel had to offer. “My grandparents’ house is just down the road, and I’m sure they want to meet you. We can do some stuff beforehand and meet them for a late lunch with the rest of the family. How’s that sound?”

Jungkook is your tour guide for the day— taking you to the market where they sell merchandise with idols faces on it, snacks, and so on. He takes you to see the Gamcheon Culture Village, a place where homes are condensed that are splatters of the rainbow and filled with painted murals. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and everything is just a bit more enjoyable with a tall little kid standing by your side.

He takes you to the Haeundae Beach, where a story he tells is a place he recalls biking with brothers when he lived there during the summers. Once they were a bit older and found interest in girls, he stopped going since the only thing he looked forward to was spending time with his siblings there.

When you meet his grandparents at their humble home, his brothers are already there with his parents, paying their respects and doing their ‘routine’ to visit them at least once a month, apparently. You assumed the family would have neglected their grandparents with the presence of wealth, but it was nice to see that his parents still kept their roots.

“This is Jungkook’s girlfriend?” His grandma says in a mixture awe and disbelief, glancing back at his mother and you. “I’m so glad, he hasn’t been here to visit me in a long time. Did you convince him?”

You shake your head in response, bending down to sit across from her. “No, he asked if I’d like to come.”

“He wants to introduce his pretty girlfriend to his grandparents, of course! Why else?”

From the corner, Jungkook can see Jongseok twitching in annoyance at the attention you were gaining from their grandparents, complimenting while pinching your cheeks, pleased with who Jungkook had ended up with. “Smart and beautiful, will you wed her soon or else someone else sweeps her off her feet?”

“I’ll try,” Jungkook says with uncertainty, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “It’s really up to her though.”

“Then make it so that she can’t say no!” His grandfather chimes in.

Lunch had been nice with his family; it had been a lot tamer than the conversations at the dinner table in the Jeon’s. For one, it seemed like if anyone had anything bad to say, they refrained themselves from doing so in respect for their frail grandparents.

Back at the hotel, you stand with your arms rested against the rail of the balcony, your hair blows with the wind, strands getting into your face as you attempt to push them away, only for Jungkook to lean in, gently brushing them out your way. He’s close— so close that you can feel his breathing against your cheek and you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath when you exhale after he steps back. “There,” he grins, proud of his work, “looks good.” Was he talking about how he completed the task well or that you looked good?

“It’s... really nice here, Jungkook.” If it weren’t for this arrangement, you never would’ve found the time or money to come here unexpectedly, especially with how much money you were trying to save to open up the bakery. Enjoying the finer things in life proved burdensome since one of the things on the list of adulting was knowing what your priorities were. “I don’t think I would’ve gotten the chance to explore Busan if it weren’t for you.”

“You... you should take a break every now and then,” Jungkook suggests, leaning beside you. Everything about the sea at night is striking; the gusts of wind from the waves, the lights at the pool from the hotel, the sky, sparkling with stars from above that causes a glimmer in your eyes, swirls of mocha full of wonder and excitement. “You overwork yourself to death. You’re completely burnt out. Yet at the same time you keep making time for Hoseok and I when what you really need is a spa night.”

“It’s... it’s not that easy,” You frown. “I just have so much to do.”

“I told you, let me take care of you. If I can prove to my family that I’m capable, I get the money back. I can pay you for all the things you’ve done for me, all the things you’ve taught me, everything. You need to enjoy your life before you’re old and wrinkly because by then, you won’t have the energy to do the things you want to anymore.”

“Jungkook—“

“No, let me teach you something this time around. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I think I know everything now, I just... with chilling and relaxing, I think you should let me take it from here.”

“I just—“ Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he forces you to face him, pressing them together for your lips to purse up. “No arguments. No disagreeing with me, no more of that. I need you to listen to me for once and not tell me what to do.”

Assertive Jungkook is an inconsistent version of him that’s usually feeble in comparison to you. But something about Busan’s air and water gives him the confidence he needs to stand up to you for once, and it makes your heart skip a beat. You nod in compliance, caving into what he demands. His eyes shift, trailing from the bridge of your nose to the tip, oh how he wants to give it a peck, but once they reach your lips, he realizes that’s what he really wants.

He swallows, releasing some pressure off of his hands as you survey his distinct expression. “Jungkook, are you—” hastily, he pulls your jaw toward him, lips crashing into yours and it’s more than he expects. He swore in a not dramatic way that it felt like there were fireworks being set off behind him.

Noticing what he’d done, he quickly lets go, hands dropping at his side. “I’m sorry, I just, I couldn’t help myself but I know I said boundaries—”

Hands flying up, your thumb brushes against the soft flesh of his cheeks, hopping onto the tip of your toes, reaching up to meet as much of his height as you could, eyes hooded with your breath fanning his lips. Fingers slipping to the back of his neck, you tug him down, gingerly pushing your lips against his.

It’s gentle— the kind of kiss that Jungkook isn’t familiar with when he comes across his flings, but the way you ease your way into his parted lips and how your tongue brushes against his, it makes him feel hazy, drunk on your scent. His hands find purchase on your waist, tugging your hips to rest on his as your fingers run through his luscious hair. The length is something you’ve grown to love, a huge step from forcing him to tie it back because it hadn’t been ‘professional’ enough. And here you are, making out with your trainee on the balcony of your shared hotel room. He lets you lead the kiss momentarily before you break away, foreheads against each other, you’re both panting with tinted cheeks. “Don’t hold yourself back, please,” you beg in a whisper, completely intoxicated by everything radiating off him.

Reaching down your thighs, he puts those muscles to use when he grabs onto them, wrapping your legs around his frame as you yelp, arms immediately hugging around his shoulders. He slides the balcony door shut with his feet, dropping you onto the bed, falling along in unison.

There’s a smile upon his lips, a genuine one filled with admiration. Just when he’s leaning closer to you for a second round, there’s a knock on the door. Jungkook groans, dropping his face into the crook of your neck as laughter erupts from your chest. “Go get the door.”

“Whoever it is, they just ruined this moment.” He grunts, untangling your legs from his waist to open the door.

Jongseok is leaned up against the door frame, eying his younger brother suggestively. “What were you doing?”

“None of your business,” Jungkook hisses in return. He doesn’t need to say it though because Jongseok knew from his sibling’s disheveled locks, swollen lips, flushed cheeks and labored breathing. Jongseok wasn’t going to look, but he could already tell that Jungkook was supporting a boner in those sweatpants.

“Hm,” Jongseok hums, narrowing his gaze. “Alright then. Stopped by to tell you that mother wants us to have dinner with family tonight in about 30 minutes. Should be enough time for you to finish, right? How long does 3 pumps take?”

“Get out!” He responds through his gritted teeth, slamming the door on him.

Quickly standing up, you brush your clothes off and fix your hair in the mirror. “We should get ready to head out, I don’t want your mom to wait on us.”

“You sure? I mean we don’t have to go—“

“I still need to impress your parents too, right?” Hand pressed against his chest, he calms down at your touch and nods in conformity. “Alright then.”

When the two of you return from the trip, you don’t mention anything about the kiss and what it would’ve led to. Fearing that you’d back out from the agreement, Jungkook doesn’t bring it up either, despite having so many questions running through his head, discovering that there’s a small chance that he’s fallen for you.

Hoseok throws something in Jungkook’s direction, a confused expression on his face when he catches in his hands yet his body doesn’t move from the couch. “What’s this for?” He asks, opening his cupped hands to see a shiny gold key.

“That’s my apartment key,” Hoseok responds calmly, shuffling through some letters that sit on his counter. “For whenever you want to come over.”

In the past month, he found himself gravitating toward not just you, but Hoseok as well, a friendship blooming from being acquaintances. Reminiscing to a time where they would only say ‘hi’ in passing, mostly for politeness because their parents had worked together before, there had never been a real bond between the two of them. And ever since he started working at the market, their friendship had escalated to hanging out with each other on the weekends or any available free-time they had.

Jungkook has friends now.

Real friends, he notes. Ones he never thought he had, ones he had only ever dreamed of, and ones that he didn’t have to bribe for them to become. He admits that whatever he has with you is a bit rocky and unknown, but after having that home-cooked dinner with you that night, he feels like you’re opening up to him.

An action from you that he rightfully earned, he likes to repeat to himself, because he can’t believe he’s able to obtain relationships with people that didn’t include money.

“You’re giving this to me? You trust me with it?”

“Well, yeah,” Hoseok nets his brows in confusion, making his way to sit beside the other male on the couch, switching his PlayStation 5 on, handing Jungkook a controller as he stares dumbfoundedly. “You come here almost every weekend, or well, recently almost every other day since I got the PS5. You’re a bro now, we’re not just some dudes that acknowledge each other at parties anymore.”

Jungkook feels like he’s soaring. His feet are hovering in the air, and his heart feels light. If this is what it feels like to have a friend who cares and enjoys spending time with, he doesn’t need to get high and wasted to obtain that feeling anymore.

“Mom, I’m not really in the mood to come back so soon.” You sigh, fingers raking through your drenched locks. It’s supposed to be a relaxing Friday night in; Jungkook bringing the pizza with wings and Hoseok grabbing the beers from the supermarket when he finishes his shift tonight. Figuring that you had some time, you’d give yourself a relaxing shower, knowing damn well you were going to need some peace and quiet temporarily with two rowdy boys coming later.

“Please,” She begs, attempting to raise her voice in a baby-ing manner. “Your sister said she was coming tomorrow morning. I would love to get the family back together. And you said so yourself last week, you’re free this weekend!” You’re starting to regret calling your mom with life updates.

The door swings open, the sight of Jungkook hauling in bags and a box in his hand. “Jeon, you can put it on the coffee table,” Pointing in the living room, he nods as you trail behind him. “You can move the books off the table and put it by the TV.”

“Jeon?” Your mom reiterates, suddenly intrigued by whomever you were at your apartment with. “Who is Jeon?” Ignoring her, you press the phone against your shoulder and cheek, freeing your hands in attempt to help Jungkook clear out the table. “Oh, Jungkook, can you close the door? It’s cold for some reason.”

“Jungkook?” She gasps the name into the phone, squealing afterwards. “You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?”

“What?” You reply sharply, Jungkook coming back from your request, brows knitted in confusion. “Who’s on the phone?” He mouths, you retort, “my mom” back faintly.

“I heard you calling some guy named Jungkook. It’s just him in your apartment alone, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have some guy with you unless he’s your boyfriend, right? Oh my god, I thought you were going to be alone forever—” She yammers on, not even taking a second to breathe. “You know what? Bring him tomorrow. Don’t say no, I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. I’m letting your dad and siblings know. Goodnight, dear! Sleep well! Tell Jungkook I said hi!” And with that, she hangs up.

Throwing your phone on the couch, you grumble, hands rubbing your face. “I’m assuming she thinks I’m your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you exhale, plummeting your body onto the couch. “As much as I don’t want to do this, she’s going to attack me nonstop if I don’t bring you. Are you free tomorrow? Would you... like to meet my family? If not— it’s totally fine, I mean we’re not even really dating anyways and—“

“Of course,” He grins, settling down beside you. “This doesn’t have to just apply to my parents, you know. I am your boyfriend, not just you being my girlfriend.”

In all honesty, he finds this as an opening. Ever since your trip to Busan, he couldn’t help but see you differently out of the blue. He admits, maybe right now isn’t necessarily the best time for him to start a relationship, especially one where a business deal is involved, but he can’t help it. Something about you, since that night, he saw you underneath those lights and you’re not the same mean supervisor that he thought you’d been.

And don’t even get him started on the way you kiss.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts #bts smut #jungkook x reader #gyukultfics

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ofwolvesandbutterflies · 4 years

Text

like that | ii

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

Genre: fluff, t i n y bit of angst if your squint

Tags: roommate!mark, fakedate!mark

Warnings: none

day 20 of 30 days of NCT

Synopsis: in which your fake date shows you how to really slow dance

// you give me butterflies when I simply just look at you // (x)

[22:28]

How had you ended up here, trapped oh so delicately in his arms, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, swaying to the beat of an unnamed love song? Mark pulled away to rest his forehead against yours, something akin to the fluttery feeling in your stomach dancing about in the deep darkness of his irises.

Surely it wasn’t the alcohol that caused the rapid beating of your heart in your chest. Surely it wasn't the romantic atmosphere of another wedding reception that had you yearning for something more than friendship with the handsome man before you. Could it have been- No. This wasn’t because you asked him to be your plus one tonight. No. It couldn’t be that. Anyone could have asked their attractive roommate to be their plus one to their cousin’s wedding. Closing your eyes, you thought back to the night before... Surely last night had some significance.

“So, tell me, Y/N,” Mark hummed. Dark eyes followed your figure as you bustled about the kitchen in one of his hoodies and a wistful sigh left the smile painted over his face. He knew you were only inviting him to the wedding because you were roommates, but as you scowled down into the water, using a forearm to brush the hair out of your eyes... he couldn’t help but wish you were asking because of something else. Resting his chin in his hand, Mark blinked the silly thoughts from his mind, watching from the counter as you spared him a quick glance from your place behind the sink. “Should we come up with some elaborate story about how we started ‘dating’ for your cousin’s wedding tomorrow? Or is that too extra?”

“Sounds kind of ridiculous,” you scoffed down at the soapy dish water, submerging three different plates into your tattered reflection, scrubbing the ceramic much harder than necessary. You had lost rock, paper, scissors this evening which meant you had to wash all the dishes while Mark got to sit back and watch you.

The angelic smile on his lips immediately flipped into a frown. “Come on, Y/N. No one’s gonna believe us if we don’t have a dumb, cliche story about how I found you, my dream girl, you realize that right?”

“Well-” turning off the water, you paused in your scrubbing to squint up at your roommate. “I mean, we can, but if it’s really cliche, you might as well stay home because my mom’s not dumb. Like, if you pulled up to her and said something like, ‘Hi Y/N’s mom, I’m her boyfriend, Mark Lee… Yes, it’s lovely to meet you as well… I met your daughter one afternoon after accidentally spilling coffee down her white shirt and offered to pay for dry cleaning and another coffee, but she refused, saying that my number would be sufficient payment’... she’d immediately smack me for trying to mess with her.” The brunette in front of you sighed and pushed himself off the stool to pace about the dining room.

“Damn, here I was thinking I could say something along those lines and fool everyone.” With his eyes downcast, eyebrows furrowed, and bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, Mark went quiet, trying to think up another somewhat believable story of how the two of you met. Having forgotten the chores for the time being, you let your gaze wash over your handsome roommate.

Not a single part of you wanted to admit you had fallen for Mark long ago. Because if you had to pinpoint the moment you fell for him, it was a month after you moved in together. You could remember that evening clearly; he had been blasting music in the kitchen, banging all the pots and pans with drumsticks made out of the wooden spoons you had just bought while belting out the lyrics to Chris Brown’s song ‘With You’. And you… you had been trying in vain to finish an essay due that evening. Furious and fed up with his ‘music’, you burst out of your room and stomped towards the kitchen, full rant sitting at the tip of your tongue.

However, all the frustration festered up inside you died the moment he turned around, the widest smile appearing across his face when he saw you. Still humming to the lyrics, Mark transferred both of the spoons into one hand, stretching his other hand out to you. “Wanna dance?”

A light giggle fell from your mouth at the memory until you remember that same roommate was making you wash the dishes. Said roommate’s head perked up at the sound.

“What’s up? Did you figure out a different background story for us?” Within seconds, he was at the edge of the counter. You forced your gaze away from the way his bangs settled just above his eyes, away from the curve of his jaw, away from the soft pink of his lips and back down to the remainder of the dishes in the sink.

Shaking your head ‘no’, you shrugged silently, pushing the precious memory back to the recesses of your mind. He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t believe you…”

“What? Why?”

From his perch on the kitchen counter, Mark reached out - eyes narrowed in faux suspicion - to bop the tip of your nose. “Because you’re smiling like you just thought of something good.”

Oh. Rolling your eyes playfully, you flicked a handful of soap suds in his direction. You hadn’t realized the smile your memories had brought still remained on your lips. Again, you shrugged. “Nah, that’s just the face I make when I think about you.”

Still a day later, the words you had spoken the night before had yet to leave your mind. You downed another shot, trying with all your might to forget the sober truth you had admitted to your roommate even without an ounce of alcohol coursing through your veins. But alas, even after the initial burn of the drink had subsided, there lingered still the way his lips parted in disbelief the moment the words exited your mouth.

Mark didn’t say anything after that. Just shut his mouth, offered you an unsteady smile, and excused himself.

Earlier this afternoon as you were getting ready, it was as if the conversation from the night before hadn’t even taken place. You sat in front of your vanity, already in your cocktail dress, make-up half done and curling iron held taut above your head when he knocked. A mere second later, he entered and you nearly dropped your iron.

Mark, the boy you had frequent and spontaneous midnight dance parties with… Mark, the tired college undergrad who lived eternally in large sweatshirts and ripped jeans… Mark, the young man your heartbeat sped up exponentially for... Though you had been living with him for 2 years, never before did you have the chance to see just how good he looked in a suit. His long, muscular legs were wrapped in a pair of black dress slacks and a dark button-down covered his lean torso. A matching tie hung loose around his neck and his hair was combed back, revealing his piercing eyes.

He just smiled, greeting you with a steaming cup of coffee and a simple “you look beautiful.”

For the nth time that evening, you released a small sigh, eyes once again resting on your date and the way he laughed, chatting casually with your family. Your mother had been immediately smitten with your handsome roommate. Polite and charming as always, he spoke earnestly - one hand resting around your waist - about all the things he ‘loved’ about you. If only your relationship was real, if only he meant all the things he had told your cousin, all the things he told your mom, all the solemn lies he promised your childhood friend.

Glaring deep into the empty shot glass, you nearly jumped when he appeared, right beside you.

“Y/N, my love,” Mark whispered. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine and you looked up at him helplessly. How could he do this to your heart? How could he say those words so casually and smile so easily when you were hurting so visibly? “This is the second time tonight you’ve left me for the bar, I’m beginning to get jealous.”

“Oh shut up, Mark,” you groaned. When you spoke, your words slurred ever so slightly, eliciting an amused grin from your date. “I’m just trying to forget I saw my childhood friend - my best friend in high school, mind you - staring at your ass. I mean, come on, Mina, this is my date and only I can stare at his butt.”

“Jealous or something, baby?” Mark snickered mischievously. The sweet chill of the evening air was quickly replaced with the warmth of his firm body as he snuck his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I promise I’ll spend the rest of the night with you.”

When you said nothing, he sighed, pulling away only to tug the empty glass out of your hand. You turned to frown at him, parting your lips to say something, to dismiss the butterflies flooding your system from the way his heavy gaze drank you in. But before you could say anything, the soft melody of a slow love song played out of the speakers and the voice of the bride came on the microphone, inviting all the couples to the dance floor.

Perhaps it was the way the lights hung around the outdoor venue, highlighting all the best parts of your roommate or the way his touch sent tingles of excitement through your body... Or maybe it was the way he pulled you close for the second time that evening or the way the stars shone brightly in his eyes… Whatever it was that sent your heart racing and your mind reeling, you knew right then and there, there was no chance you were going to let that feeling go.

Mark tilted his head to look down at you. In his gaze swam a tender desire that made you more than weak in the knees. “Dance with me, again?”

In mere seconds, Mark pulled you back out onto the dance floor. Earlier in the night, he had brought you out during a rap song. Not a very good opportunity for slow dancing. But now, as the beat played out, relaxed and the tiniest bit sensual, a thrill ran through your body. Perhaps now you could get that slow dance you had been waiting all night for. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you were reminded of all the romance movies you’d watched. According to those movies, this was the moment where his hands were supposed to find their way to your hips and yours, his neck. Once you were situated, his eyes would meet yours and the two of you would lean closer until your lips touched in a groundbreaking kiss.

However… his hands never fell past your ribcage. Instead, Mark placed a hand under your left shoulder blade, tugging your left hand up to rest on his bicep. With his free hand, he grabbed yours, clasping them together without intertwining your fingers. And rather than swaying back and forth like everyone else was doing, Mark began to dance. One step forward, side - together, closed. A step back, side - together, closed. The confusion must have settled visibly in your eyes and your date released a low laugh.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“N-nothing,” you stuttered, both in your speech and your step. “I just… this isn’t how you slow dance?”

Mark chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement. “You’re right, this isn’t how you slow dance.”

“Then what is this?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stepped in time to the music, nodding his head along to the lyrics. But I just could not figure out why you give me butterflies when I, simply just look at you…

“This-” he said, tugging you closer ever so slightly. The affection in his smile was dizzying, yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away from it. “-is me looking at the only girl I’ve ever felt this strongly for.”

Just like that, your breath caught in your throat. Mark leaned closer, a flush covering his cheeks and nothing but honestly in his voice as he continued. “This is me, holding the girl of my dreams in my arms and trying to tell her how much I care.”

He lifted his arm, sending you under for a slow turn. After eight counts, he brought you back into his embrace, lowering his lips to your cheek in the softest kiss imaginable. “This, my love, is a waltz.”

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