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abibliophobiaa · 2 years

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Perfect Places (Chapter Two) - tasm!peter parker x f! reader

a/n: thanks for all of the love on the first chapter. chapter three is already more than halfway done being edited and i am so excited to watch these two loons navigate their fake relationship out in the wild.

summary: the little ruse gets an extra layer complicated - if that’s even possible. leah panics in italian. and you realize this charade might blur the lines you so desperately refuse to cross.

t/w: mentions of death. loss of a parent. alcohol references.

cross posted on ao3.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

The next few days move slowly. Peter and you resume your normal friendly relationship, which is exactly how you prefer it, and try to never bring up the elephant in the room. You’ve yet to tell your best friend, Leah, for fear she might smack you upside the head and tell you how much of an idiot you are, but part of you also respects it might be best for you at the moment.

Saturday dawns bright in the apartment. Or as brightly as it can for a February day in New York. It snowed last night, leaving a stark white dusting over everything. Moments like these, where the city is still only because the roads are mildly unsafe, remind you just how much you love living here.

Your morning is spent in the quiet. Peter came in late last night; you could always tell because you recognized the three-beat thump of his feet from the window he always landed at, before moving to strip out of his suit at the closet. Fortunately, he didn’t come to knock on your door in need of makeshift medical attention. He’s likely sleeping well into the afternoon today, given there’s not much to do anyway.

You pull out your stack of student papers and begin to grade them, marking the pages in red. Circling misplaced commas, inputting commentary, crossing out unneeded words, and the like. A methodical, practiced action at this point.

You’ve been a ninth-grade teacher for a few years now in the always enjoyable English department. Kids hate reading these days, a fact which shows in the grades being slashed across the top of the pages. You enjoy it, though. Something about being a part of the future minds in society. To you, it would be worth it to potentially impact one life for the better. So, you try to do your best to be a guiding light for these kids. That, and your father had been an English professor himself.

He died a few years ago now. A stroke victim. You brush away a stray tear at the memory, and mark another ‘C-’ on the top of the paper before you. You loved him—still love him. Could remember the day he passed so vividly. You were sitting in Peter’s dorm room at ESU when you got the call. A frantic mother crying down the other line. Her words didn’t make sense at the time. And you could barely hear them anyway before the ringing took over and the numbness followed.

Dad fell. Bedroom. Non-responsive. Hospital. Stroke. Gone.

Gone.

The finality of it sent you tumbling to the ground. Swept up in the rush of emotions oozing over onto every inch of your skin. Your head began to spin. And then there was black.

You barely remember the rest of that day. A product of grief, you suppose. But you do remember Peter holding you against him on the train ride to Long Island after. The way his fingers had curled around yours at the funeral before you gave your speech. How he gave you an arm to lean on as they, at last, buried the greatest man you’d known in your life.

You often wondered if your father was proud. If he could see you now, questioned what he would say to see you follow in his footsteps. It was the driving reason behind your career path and a lot of the reason why you were who you are now.

Your pen clatters onto the ground, breaking you from your stupor. Your fingers reach down to place it back on the countertop and your feet carry you to the coffee pot. iPhone in hand, you start scrolling through various social media posts mindlessly as the coffee pot serenades you with its gurgling. You ‘like’ four baby announcement photos, and then stumble upon two engagement photos before placing it down beside you. Yawn into your palm as you pour yourself a cup and stir some creamer within.

Just when you exhale and think things are going back to some sort of normalcy, your personal—self-induced, of course—hell continues. You suppose it’s punishment for your sins committed. Or try to tell yourself that as a familiar phone number lights up on your phone, with the glaringly bright face of Eugene on full display. It’s been a year since you’ve last spoken with him. The last time was a friendly gathering of friends from his high school and some college acquaintances as well invited over for a Super Bowl party.

Well, can’t avoid it forever, you think to yourself, before sliding the green bar to the right. “Hey, Flash.”

“Y/n! Hey—how are you?”

Peter steps into the living room. He’s fumbling with the neckline of his sweater with one hand and stretching the other arm above his head, revealing a chiseled strip of the abdomen. Stupid Peter and his stupid abs. Stupid arms, too. Stupid pair of plaid red plaid pants that dip low on his hips.

Stupid genetically enhanced spider.

You curse in your mind and watch his groggy eyes trailing your face as you mutter out a forced, “I’m great. How’s everything with you? Wedding coming up soon; that’s got to be stressful I’d imagine.”

Peter mouthes ‘put it on speaker’ and you acquiesce to his wishes. Stick your tongue out at him as he walks closer to the kitchen island. It should be illegal to look like that this early—quick, someone call 911, you think, averting your gaze to not look like a complete creep for ogling him. The fantastic moment of seeing Peter right out of bed is marred when he reaches over to fluff your hair, dodging your hand as you shove at him to make his coffee.

“It’s funny you ask that because that’s kind of why I’m calling,” he says, sounding a bit too excited.

You chew your bottom lip. “I’m listening.”

There’s a beat. “Jeremy told me about you and Parker. I just knew that would happen at some point. The guy always trailed you like a puppy”—Peter groans out a quiet ‘I did not’ in your ear—“and I just wanted to first say I’m so happy for you two. And I also wanted you to invite you both to the couples competition.”

“Couples competition?” Your voice cracks on the word, and noticing this you clear your throat.

Composure is hard to come by these days, it seems. Peter rolls his expert thumbs across the back of your neck as if he knows there’s already a twinge traveling up to your skull from the mounting stress in your life thanks to this whole mess.

If there’s a heaven, you’re sure Peter Parker has a first-class ticket right up there, and have to swallow down the moan of pleasure that bubbles at your lips.

“Yeah…so the plan is next Friday we are all going to get together at this rock climbing gym Rachelle loves. And then we were going to follow that up with a friendly game of basketball. Followed by a dinner party and some couples trivia.”

“Wow…” You giggle, gulping. “Hey—uh, Flash, Peter’s also here so…what are you thinking, babe?”

Peter’s forehead lowers against your shoulder miserably. You can feel him breathing against your skin, shaking his head ever so slowly. Naturally not a fan of you throwing him to the literal wolves like that. With an exhale, he grips the phone and takes it from your hand, leaning against the countertop. Flash’s voice is removed from the speaker and you pout.

“Hey, so that sounds great. Nothing like a little old competition. Yup, just like in high school.” Peter shoots you a glare and says, “We’re so excited. The both of us. It’ll be fun. Yeah, yeah. Look forward to it. See you soon.”

Peter and Eugene had never really been friends at all in high school. You remembered Peter telling you he’d bullied your best friend while they were teenagers. But somewhere along the way in college, the two managed to put aside their differences long enough to form some sort of relationship. You wouldn’t exactly call them best friends, but they respected one another more than enough to spend time together. Which was fortunate, seeing as you’re now taking part in a competition with him and his future bride. Alongside your fake boyfriend. This was great.

Peter hangs up the phone and you swallow, stepping backward slowly as he approaches you with calculated steps. “Should I run?”

There’s a moment, however brief, where Peter pauses, and it’s the moment you take off toward the living room and snatch a pillow from the couch. You wave it around like it’s a sword, shouting ‘get back.’

Peter launches himself over the top of the couch and, in your shock, snatches a pillow of his own. There’s a thwack and you’re skidding backward. You lash your pillow out in attack, still momentarily blinded by the surprise of being bested. Peter cackles like a maniac, thoroughly enjoying your struggle to keep up with his enhanced reflexes.

You lash out and try to hit him, but he ducks the onslaught and hits you in the hip.

“This isn’t fair. I didn’t get bit by some science-y spider.”

“You started this war,” he muses, waving the pillow out toward you. You smack it back on the offense. “Also, didn’t know you knew how to rock climb. Thanks for volunteering as tribute.”

“I don’t…but you have those nice sticky hands of yours.” You point out, whacking him in the back of the head.

“Which I cannot use. Wouldn’t be fair, so you, babe, will be the one climbing.”

You laugh, head jolting as he hits you again. “Couples call each other pet names; I wanted to sound natural. Also, I will definitely not be.”

Peter shoves you back onto the couch, raising the edge of the pillow to your neck. You concede defeat and make a grand gesture of pretending to die on the couch. As you dramatize the whole thing, Peter flops down beside you, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll be a good spotter.”

You whimper in reply. “Fine. If I fall, you better catch me or else, Parker.”

Your face warms at the realization of your words. The image of Gwen Stacy sitting prettily in a photo frame in Peter’s bedroom flashes behind your eyes, and you mentally berate yourself. How could you be so ignorant?

“I didn’t mean that…like that. I know you’ll always catch me, Peter. I trust you. I’ll climb the wall,” you say, clasping his hand in your own.

“I know you didn’t mean it any which way.”

He rubs a reassuring thumb across the back of your hand. To this day the very gesture makes every synapse in your body feel like it’s igniting with flames. You doubt that will ever change about the dynamic of your relationship; well, lack thereof of any romantic one.

“How do you feel about the whole thing?” You ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Sounds fun. Not that you gave me a choice.”

You wince. “You could have said no. I can call him back up and say we can’t make it.”

“No, I want to do it. It’ll be nice when we win,” he says, smirking.

“You sound so sure of that.”

He squeezes your hand. “I just have full confidence in my partner.”

Your cheeks hurt at that and you awkwardly clear your throat to distract yourself from the way your heart kicks up in your chest.

“I should go, I told Leah I would meet up with her. She still doesn’t know about what I did,” you say, moving to your feet.

“Should I call the police if I don’t hear from you in a couple of hours?” He smirks.

“You’re too good to me. Do you mind starting dinner at four? It’ll take about an hour. Cook it on four-fifty, okay?”

“Sure thing, girlfriend.”

You roll your eyes at his cheeky smile. “You’re so annoying.”

But you don’t mean the words. And a smile splits your face anyway, as you walk over to the hook mount near the door and grab your apartment key.

“I feel like you’re marching to your funeral,” he teases from the couch.

“Let’s hope not. Who else is going to fix you up every time you get your ass whooped?”

“I do not get my ass whooped.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Oh, of course not. Never. Last week you only tripped into that car, that’s right. Goodbye, Pete.”

Fortunately, Leah and her husband live only a couple of blocks away in a nicer apartment building than the one you and Peter currently live in.

This isn’t really saying much because anything is better than the ramshackle you share with him because of its location near to both of your jobs. It’s a compromise of aesthetics for convenience. Though you did wish for something just a little nicer. The idea, however, of moving out and potentially away from Peter makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. So your less than aesthetic apartment will do.

You’re barely knocking on the door when Leah appears before you and tugs you inside. Her husband, Lukas, has a book open on his lap. Though you notice he’s not wearing his glasses, which he’s blind without, and roll your eyes at the fact he’s just as interested in your massive hell hole called life as his wife is.

It’s like you’re in a reality TV show of your chaotic life, and everyone but you gets to enjoy it. At least someone is having fun in all of this.

“I need a glass of wine,” you say, dropping down onto the couch. You emphasize this with grabby air hands, frowning.

Leah immediately goes to grab a bottle opener. “I’ll start pouring, you start talking.”

So, you do just that. Starting with the food war, despite the fact it has no bearing on your decision to shout Peter’s name as your boyfriend when your mom asked. But it does explain your mental state at the time, so you decide to leave it in. Once you enter the topic of asking Peter to fake date you, Leah starts pacing around the living room, wine sloshing in her glass, speaking in Italian.

She always slips into Italian when she gets heated. This, however, is the first time you’re on the receiving end of it.

You can’t understand a lick of it. But Lukas shudders, choking out a “Honey, your mouth!”

“What’s she saying?” You plead, watching as your best friend stops in her pacing and looks at you in a way you can only describe as absolutely wild.

“Wait—wait,” Leah begins, snapping her fingers together in the air. Her eyes widen as if she’s seeing you for the first time again. “This is the best thing that could have happened.”

“What?!”

“Just think: you’re going to have to be touchy-feely with one another. You’re going to have to hold hands…kiss—”

“I’m not kissing Peter.” You gag for emphasis. Because that would be the worst thing ever.

And you’re a complete and utter liar, you think to yourself.

“You’ll have to.”

Leah begins her pacing again. Lukas tries to take the wine glass from her, muttering breathlessly about her ruining their brand new carpet, but is swatted away.

“This might be the way the two of you finally get out of the friend zone you’ve put each other in,” she says, waving her glass of wine in the air again. Lukas cringes.

“I like my friend zone. It’s safe here, thank you very much.” You huff.

“The two of you are dancing around an inevitable. Seven years of friendship between two people who conveniently enough live together?”

“We’ve lived together for two years and nothing has happened.” You point out, taking a sip of your drink.

Leah plops down onto her husband’s lap, earning a grunt. “Yes, but before that, you haven’t been in a situation where the lines might be blurred; you’re going to be spending a weekend away with him.”

You snort. “You are delusional. If nothing has happened yet, nothing will happen now. Plus, I don’t even think he sees me like that.”

Lukas levels you with a stare. “My eyesight might suck, but I was Peter’s roommate in college…so I’d like to think I know the guy. He stares at you like you are the center of the universe. I mean, the man had girls asking him on dates whenever we’d go out and practically throwing phone numbers at him, and he always chucked them into the garbage after. Why else would he do that if not for pining after another woman?”

The mental image of Peter being fawned over by dozens of women enters your head. Of course, that’s the one thing your mind decides to fixate on. But you know it’s true even to this day.

The man is attractive—disturbingly so. It’s a normal night out even with the two of you when a woman brushes shoulders with him at a bar and starts to flirt. You’ve seen it happen so many times before and always hated it. Yet you didn’t own him and always reminded yourself of that.

The part of Peter not entertaining any of these women wasn’t lost on you.

Heck, you’d even tried to set him up on blind dates here and there. He always seemed uninterested but would go out to appease you, and only come home at the end of the night and claim it just wasn’t the right person. Part of you wondered why that might be, though thinking of either of you moving on and marrying scared you.

It would take an extraordinarily understanding person to not feel intimated by how close the two of you were, and the logical part of your mind understood you might have to back off him when the time came where he decided to settle down or vice versa. So, you didn’t mind he wasn’t in a rush to find his person any time soon.

You were more than aware of how your relationship with him may be perceived by others. The two of you connected at the hip at all times. Spending Friday nights on the couch watching movies until you passed out. Ruthlessly teasing one another in an endless battle of wits. Always texting whenever you weren’t around one another—granted it was generally memes and gifs which made you laugh throughout the day—or calling each other while on your lunch breaks.

You spoke in inside jokes and finished each other's sentences. You joked sometimes you were soulmates, and though you found yourself in the perpetual cycle of the ‘friend-zone’ with him, you knew your souls were matched in an unparalleled way.

And you’d take that whichever way he would allow it for as long as he would.

“I’m just saying this might be the perfect way to test the waters and see if anything develops organically,” Leah muses, turning to her husband. “Don’t you agree?”

Lukas, knowing better than to go against his doting wife, nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely, honey,” he says, rubbing his nose against hers.

Bile rises in your throat, because that’s your best friend, and despite the fact they’ve been dating since freshman year of college when you introduced them to one another, seeing them get all lovey-dovey reminds you of the fact you’re stuck pining after your best friend.

“Regardless of all of that, at the end of the day, I just don’t want to lose him. What if we test things out and realize we are better off as friends? Or worse…what if things change too much and we can’t stay friends. I would rather have him in my life like this than lose him,” you say, twirling your wine around in the glass.

The red liquid sloshes against the walls of the glass; tumultuous, just like your mind these days. With a shaky sigh, you lean further into the couch, frowning at Leah.

“But honey, you’ll never know unless you try.”

“Well, then it’s settled.”

And Leah and Lukas frown now, too, because you’ve already made up your mind.

You’ll never know…because you’ll never try.

NEXT CHAPTER

chapter three preview: it’s practice run day. it’s also couples night at leah and lukas’ bar. peter reminisces on the day you met, while also formulating a plan of his own. you and peter realize what actually goes into a fake relationship, and that you might need some tips on intimacy.

Tag List:

@silverwindptv, @kdatthecastle, @haterpenny, @john-and-paul @agnesamarantheastwood @liz-allyn

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hansolmates · 4 years

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here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits / @chillingtae for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.”

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.”

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband.

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend.

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes.

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?”

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers.

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.”

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds.

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy. It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons.

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?”

“As if you care.”

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.”

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan.

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.”

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night.

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.”

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.”

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid.

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.”

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.”

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.”

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?”

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.”

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop.

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?”

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.”

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.”

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.”

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says.

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.”

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.”

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table.

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!”

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.”

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?”

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders.

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility.

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow.

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted.

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon?

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through.

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date.

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist.

“How was the walk over?”

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.”

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours.

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is.

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill.

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?”

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat.

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?”

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.”

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?”

“It… was mildly cute.”

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.”

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning.

“Is that why you never hung out with us?”

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.”

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.”

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.”

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?”

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon.

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth.

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.”

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.”

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass.

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.”

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple.

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place.

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?”

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says.

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.”

“I do like Valorant.”

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.”

“He’s ripped as hell.”

“I am ripped as hell.”

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.”

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry."

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.”

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.”

“Okay yes one bad example—”

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.”

“See? It’s a mutual decision.”

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!"

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now."

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.”

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair.

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.”

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace.

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish.

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!”

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.”

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!”

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.”

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?”

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.”

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.”

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.”

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin.

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her.

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.”

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.”

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something.

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?”

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head.

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—”

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.”

“Right,” you answer reluctantly.

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.”

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.”

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.”

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.”

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks.

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?”

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store.

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.”

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?”

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.”

“But, Namjoon got us a table—”

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.”

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.”

“Sounds good.”

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.”

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.”

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes.

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard.

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork.

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips.

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.”

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket.

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream.

“Pray tell.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.”

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.”

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.”

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.”

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?”

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—”

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that?

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it.

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon.

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words, “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.”

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside.

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.”

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist.

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place.

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly.

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.”

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around.

“We’re in Vegas, baby!”

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!”

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it.

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?”

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger.

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.”

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.”

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same.

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent.

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you.

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton.

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.”

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.”

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then?

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?”

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.”

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks.

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?”

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick.

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.”

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.”

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.”

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.”

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.”

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.”

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.”

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini.

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area.

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place.

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.”

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side.

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.”

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.”

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.”

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on.

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one.

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy.

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.”

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for.

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.”

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified.

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?”

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating.

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week.

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes.

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double.

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?”

“But this is different!”

“But Doyeon’s family!”

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party.

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.”

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.”

“Deal.”

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body.

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.”

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.”

“Excuse me—”

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.”

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?”

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.”

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.”

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive?

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.”

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features.

“Is it something urgent?”

“Well, no but—”

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.”

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline.

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest.

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.”

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting.

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food.

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?”

He shrugs, “Looked around.”

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this.

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time.

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products.

“I wanna come!”

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.”

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?”

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.”

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.”

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom.

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design.

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too.

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height.

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel.

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean.

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.”

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in.

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.”

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.”

“Then more kisses?”

“Then more kisses.”

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?”

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!”

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college…

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two.

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button.

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.”

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u

You: lool, why do u look constipated

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest.

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge.

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.”

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind.

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin.

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.”

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator.

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet.

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.”

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?”

“Because it’s tradition!”

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?”

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.”

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down.

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite.

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure.

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down.

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better.

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!”

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship?

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you.

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?”

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family.

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different.

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together.

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room.

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes.

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?”

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!”

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?”

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods.

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor.

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down.

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?”

“Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy.

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process.

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!”

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons.

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice.

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.”

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you.

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.”

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words.

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.”

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double.

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon.

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you?

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist.

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.”

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.”

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?”

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook.

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.”

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips.

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.”

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.”

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.”

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face.

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands, “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.”

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you.

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.”

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs.

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.”

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt, a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash.

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—”

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?”

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back!

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you.

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment.

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer.

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.”

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.”

“Thanks, Jungkookie.”

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible.

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket.

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown.

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her.

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.”

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?”

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?”

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her.

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.”

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something.

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago.

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this.

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful.

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning.

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone.

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week.

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged.

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine.

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready.

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?”

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?”

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.”

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings.

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain.

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.”

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—”

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?”

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding.

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.”

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.”

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!”

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?”

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.”

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.”

“You’ll have to get through me, first.”

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress.

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.”

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin.

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.”

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.”

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground.

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision.

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel.

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.”

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.”

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t. Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle.

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?”

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.”

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations.

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie.

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon.

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family.

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online.

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend.

Or?

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs?

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter.

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.”

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.”

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric.

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon.

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself.

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…”

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.”

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.”

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.”

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.”

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips.

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline.

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair.

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?”

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs.

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.”

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now.

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.”

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.”

#jungkook x reader #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst

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enchantedblackrose · 3 years

Text

Flesh Wounds & Somedays

Jay Halstead/Reader

¡!Warnings: Infant abduction/kidnapping. SIDS. Violence against women. Swearing. Fluffy ending.

Still unedited, hoping to have the nice version up soon. Sorry in advance! Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! Please be safe ❤

Upon exiting the very stereotypical "mom van" you're greeted with harsh Chicago air stinging your face and it instantly makes your eyes water. You hastily blink back the tears though it's fruitless. Instead you pull the knit hat you're wearing further down your head and pull your scarf tighter. You keep the door open, huddling near the inside of the vehicle. Anything to stay warm. You scan the parking lot for any sign of your suspect. Anxiety starts setting in. It doesn't matter how long you've been doing this. The moments leading up to a confrontation always send your stomach plummeting

"Easy now," Jay, sporting the store employee smock, whispers as he rolls a grocery cart by, indicating to your foot mindlessly tapping against the cement. Immediately you stop. You give him a small smile. He winks in response. You pretend to dig around in your purse, anything to give the impression you're distracted when in reality all your senses are in overdrive.

Voight's voice barks your last name through your strategically placed com. "Suspect approaching from the east. You know what to do. Everyone else, stand down for now! We don't wanna spook him."

You open the back passenger door before closing the driver's. Your fingers work quickly at unfastening the baby from the seat. You then drape a blanket over the baby for protection against the cruel elements.

It's subtle, but you cannot ignore the feeling you're being watched. The reality is you are. Your whole team is looking out for you. But this is something different entirely, something sinister. You suppress a shudder. Securing the blanket once more, you hoist the baby from the carseat and hold the infant against your chest. With a push of a button, the passenger door slides shut. You fiddle with the keys, making sure the van locks before tossing them in your purse.

You coo at the little bundle snuggled against your chest. Your steps deliberately appear hurried.

And that's when he emerges from a dark blue conversion van parked one whole row over. You spot him out of the corner of your eye and he is unmistakably walking towards you. But you stick to the plan. Your pace slows just barely, not wanting your target to sense the change. You also don't want to actually reach the store entrance and potentially bring harm to the public even with Al and Ruzek inside.

He suddenly appears in front of you, eyes frantically dart around before resting on you. He's disheveled. clothes are wrinkled and slightly stained. His greasy, unwashed black hair is plastered to his head. He smiles which unnerves you. But you return it anyway. His grin disappears. "Give me that baby. And you won't get hurt...much" He removes his right hand from his coat pocket and you notice the blade he's gripping. That's new, you think to yourself. He's growing desperate. Still, you have to get him to attempt an attack or abduction.

"No!" You pull the baby impossibly closer to you. "Leave or I'm gonna yell for help." The threat is feeble on purpose but still seems to evoke rage inside the man.

He lunges at you. His body weight sends you stumbling but you remain on your feet. He wildly pulls at your arms and at the baby, trying to break your grasp. He swings his left arm and his fist perfectly catches your eye.

"Son of a bitch!" You cry. Your foot slams onto one of his and you use that moment to headbutt him square on his chin. He lets out a primal scream before sticking the blade into your upper thigh and you can't help but yelp in pain. He tugs the baby out of your arms. The blanket drops to the ground.

You watch the changing expressions dance across his ugly face: anger, elation at his success, confusion.

"What the hell?"

It's the opening you need. Your weapon is drawn on him. "That's right, you stupid son of a bitch. The baby's fake. Chicago PD! Get down, face down."

Still in his stupor, he obeys. You kick the blade away just as Antonio and Jay come running from opposite directions. Antonio searches and mirandizes him. You return your gun to its inside waistband holster.

As your adrenaline begins to slow, you feel exactly how much pain you're in. It's evident that your eye has started to swell and there's a throbbing sensation in your thigh. You stagger a bit, but a pair of strong arms steady you.

He sighs and you look at Jay. "Don't start," you warn.

"I should have been there. I ended up carrying groceries for this old lady..." Guilt is written all of his handsome features.

"Did she tip you?" You joke, but he stares at you. "Stop. We knew this might happen. He had to attack me." The rest of the team appears and Jay drops his voice to a whisper.

"Yeah, attack like come at you, not actually harm you." He looks as if he's about to argue more when the sound of tires squealing interrupts.

You flash concern. "He wasn't alone." Your eyes meet those of your colleagues.

Voight breaks the silence. "Antonio, get that piece of garbage out of here.Halstead, get her to Med. The rest of you let's head back." You open your mouth to protest, but Hank won't even let you get a word in. "That leg's gonna need stitches. Now go." He stares at you until you move. Jay lends his support as you gently lean into him. It's not as needed as it is comforting.

You were seen and stitched in no time; the wound to your thigh was mostly superficial. Your swollen eye, which was now bruising, was being iced. You would have left Med sooner if your weirdly overcautious boyfriend hadn't insisted that his own brother see you before checking out. It took Will saying it, but Jay finally seemed to accept you were, in fact, fine.

You want in that interview room more than you've wanted anything in a long time.

"Absolutely not," Voight answers when you ask. "This guy doesn't respect women. I don't need you going in there so he can admire his handiwork." He waves a hand indicating to your black eye you're still icing. Hank returns to the observation window to watch Antonio and Atwater interrogate a very non talkative perp.

You remain in the bullpen with Adam, Jay, Mouse and Alvin to stare at that damn board some more.

Alvin recaps; all of you hoping to discover something, anything at all, that could help solve the case.

"Here's what we know. 2 or more suspects working to abduct infants. 1 in custody. Greg Jones. Couple of parking tickets, nothing too serious. Attempted three abductions, not including today's, in broad daylight, over the course of two weeks. Only one was he successful, if you call it that, but the infant was later abandoned at Firehouse 51."

You interrupt. "That baby left at 51, was a boy, right?"

Al double checks before answering, "Yeah."

"The other two attempts were on baby girls," Jay adds, possibly sensing where your mind is going.

You nod. "And today, I had a lavender blanket to cover the doll. One would probably assume it was for a baby girl. Just hold on a sec. Mouse," you holler over to him, knowing he'll pull up what you want faster than anyone. "Check hospital records and obituaries, plesse! Any infant deaths in the last month? Can you look into Jones' social media, too? Girlfriends and such." You've hardly finished the request and Mouse has the information for you. "How many of the babies that died were girls?"

"Two."

"Do you have the mothers' names? Any link to Jones?"

Mouse 's eyes scan the screen in front of him. "Tiffany Young...girlfriend of Jones according to Facebook, lost her baby girl last month."

You nearly hop up from your seat. "Text us her last known." You nod to Jay, asking without words if he's ready. Before you can walk away, Mouse calls your name.

"She was reported missing three days ago."

The whole team exchanges uneasy glances.

In a bizarre turn of events, Tiffany Young had reported herself missing. Jones and Young had been working together to abduct a baby girl with a plan to then flee the state. You and the team discovered that Young was conspiring against Jones going as far as plotting his murder to take place after a successful kidnapping. He would look responsible for her disappearance and his death would appear as a suicide. At least in theory.

It wasn't the best thought out plan, but in these situations they seldom were.

"I still don't understand," said Adam. You were all gathered around a large table at Molly's trying to relax after a long day. Well not all, Antonio made arrangements to see his kids. Al had also rushed off. "Why plan to off Jones?"

"She blames him for their daughter dying." You say taking a sip of your drink. "I read the report, even though it was SIDS, he was the only one there at the time." Everyone is quiet for a moment, presumably lost in their own thoughts. It takes Herrmann coming around, asking who wants another round for the conversation to resume.

Thanks to the refills and a few well timed jokes, the mood of the night has drastically shifted to a much happier one. An hour or so goes by when Jay lightly squeezes your knee under the table. You understand the gesture, surprised that he's waited this long to signal his want to leave. Jay hadn't really wanted to go out in the first place. "I'm gonna head out," you tell the group standing only when you've finished the last of your drink. There's a chorus of goodbyes. As you walk away, you hear Jay excuse himself to use the bathroom. You know he'll leave for your place afterwards. Neither of you know exactly why you keep the fact you're dating from your friends. Maybe the sneaking around is thrilling. Maybe it's just nice having something of your own. Regardless, it's the worst kept secret of the precinct, though no one has any proof and they ultimately leave you alone about it.

You've only changed into a tee shirt when a knock beckons you. You let Jay in. The door has just closed and he's ordered you to take your pants off.

"We need to work on your foreplay," you quip, but Jay's not laughing.

"I'm serious. I need to see again that you're okay."

You sigh, but shimmy out of your jeans. His genuine concern for you was slightly overwhelming in the best way, never having experienced anything like it before. Carefully, you pull back the adhesive bandage exposing your fresh flesh wound, still very bright pink and aggravated.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs.

"It's not your fault," you say, trying to reassure him.

"I hate that you were hurting and I couldn't do anything." He pulls you for a tight embrace while mindful of your thigh. He's completely still for a moment, breathing you in and finding peace in your arms.

Suddenly, he picks you up off your feet. It catches you off guard and you giggle. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he takes you to the bathroom and sets you on the counter near the sink. He starts rummaging through your medicine cabinet, pulling out gauze, bandages, and rubbing alcohol. He grabs a clean washcloth from the towel rack.

You raise one eyebrow in question. "I thought I had Detective Halstead, not Doctor."

"Tonight you have both." You bit down on your lip to keep from laughing, but the misconstruction of his words hit him. "That came out wrong. That's not at all what I meant." Laughter escapes from you and Jay joins in, shaking his head and telling you to keep your mind out of the gutter.

"Mm, it's difficult when you're around." You give him a quick peck on the lips.

He turns the warm water on, letting it run for a minute. He tests it, making sure it's not too hot before soaking the wash cloth. He rings it out and looks you in the eyes. "I'm not sure this is going to feel all that great.'

You nod your understanding and Jay very gingerly begins to clean your wound. You talk to keep yourself distracted. "I can't stop thinking about the case. Clearly, they're competent for trial and I'm not justifying what they did, or tried to do. But I can't imagine losing a baby. Just the thought…" Your voice drops off. You wish you could leave work at work, and sometimes you can, but tonight when you're struggling to do so, you feel extra fortunate to have someone who truly understands.

Jay has almost finished cleaning your wound, allowing it time to breathe before covering it with a fresh bandage. "I know," he says. "I kept thinking about if that had been us and our baby, what would stop me from going crazy."

Your heart flutters a little faster, "Our baby?" It's the first time he's ever said anything like this.

He suddenly avoids eye contact with you. "Yeah? I mean someday...down the road if we are still...and that's something we...you want...maybe?" His cheeks are flushed and he glances at you, his green eyes full of hope.

"Jay Halstead," you offer him a big smile, "have you been thinking about our someday?" He nods, giving you a smile of his own. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close to you. One of his hands rests on the countertop, the other lovingly brushes your cheek before you nuzzle into the spot just below his neck. You plant a kiss there. "Tell me more about your plans."

"Well they definitely don't include you getting stabbed again," he pulls away just enough to cover your thigh with the new bandage. A slight pout plays at your lips having not gotten the answer you wanted. Jay, seeing this, chuckles. "C'mon." He lifts you off the counter, carrying to the bedroom.

Gently, he places you onto the bed. You watch as he kicks off his shoes and strips down to his boxers. He catches you admiring his physique and shoots you a wink. But you pretend to still pout and cross you arms. It causes Jay to shake his head, bemused by you.

Pulling the covers back, he slides into bed and brings you to his side. He kisses the top of your head, fingers tracing a nonsensical pattern along your arm. "I see lots for us, love. So many ways things could play out, but it's always with you at my side."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah, definitely," and with that Jay launches into different versions of the future he's envisioned. Some are improbable, others imaginative, many seem possible, but all include you, just as he said.

#chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you

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bebepac · 3 years

Text

Masquerade

I am participating in @wackydrabbles prompt # 89 randomly selected by @lucy-268 “This isn’t what I had in mind, but okay.” which will appear in bold.

This is also chapter 3 of The Life of Riley Book 2 to catch up on what you’ve been missing of Book 2 so far please click: The Life of Riley Book 2

Or if you want to know the full back story that I have created for my Riley please click: The Life of Riley (Book 1) I promise you it’s an interesting read if you haven’t read my Riley back story.

Original Post Date: 4/5/21 at 2PM EST.

The Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All character’s belong to Pixelberry

Warnings: Connie being an butt wipe. That’s enough.

Rating: PG

Summary: Riley attends the masquerade ball. Liam makes his intentions for Riley clear by ‘social standards.’ Riley struggles with feelings of not belonging with the other suitors, and is honest with Liam about them.

Word Count: 1994

A/N: I had thought I would re-read book one TRR to keep things in line, but I decided that since very little of what I write is canon anyhow, why try to fix what’s not broke? So I’m going off of my memory of the book one of TRR bending it to my will, and changing things. So my recount of the social season may not fall in line or in order with canon. I promise you an interesting ride.

A/N2: Thank you again to @bay-lee for previous art work, as I used it again in this episode as it fit with my story so well

Song Inspiration for this episode: Feels Like Home -- Chantal Kreviazuk

Prince Liam sat on the dais in his throne next to Queen Regina and to her right sat King Constantine.

“You have quite an assortment of suitors Liam. Some from every walk of life. Is there one above the most that strikes your interest as of yet? We have arranged for some very poised and noble women to be here for you to choose from.”

Liam’s body language completely changed, a soft smile creeping across his lips as she walked in on Maxwell’s arm.

At that moment Lady Riley was announced into the ballroom. She was dressed in a floor length powder blue ball gown, a silver and white masquerade mask, and atop her head was a silver crown. Riley looked like a princess. Her confident stride proclaimed it too.

Constantine noticed the abrupt change in Liam’s body language too.

“Of course, it’s that one. The nerve of her walking in here with a crown on her head, when there’s not a drop of royal blood in her body. Did she follow you back here from New York, like a stray looking for a handout?”

Liam felt anger rising up in him. But he had learned to control it in public, as it was his duty to always present a united front that the crown was under one accord, in front of the people. Liam was almost seized with anger.

“No Father she didn’t. I invited her here. She is the suitor for House Beaumont. They see something special in her. As do I.”

Riley was laughing with Maxwell and Drake. Her laugh was beautiful and lighthearted and floated across the ballroom to him like a sweet melody.

“I think it's a rather bold move, Constantine. She’s definitely stuck out in your mind now, hasn’t she? I think that was her idea. She’s very intelligent.”

King Constantine scoffed at the two of them. Liam’s attention focused on Riley.

Riley glanced towards the Dais seeing Liam’s eyes on her. She smiled in his direction. Liam started to stand.

“No you will not engage any of the suitors as of yet. I want to watch them more.” Constantine grumbled.

Liam resumed his seat.

Regina followed Constantine’s line of sight to Lady Riley as he was sneering.

“Okay, Lady Riley, we need you to socialize with the other ladies. You can’t be seen as unapproachable by the media. You need to make friends and network.”

“Alright, but I really don’t like to ‘people’ Max.”

“Fake it til you make it.” He gave Riley a shove into the direction of the ladies.

“Fly my little Bluebird, fly!!!!”

The first people Riley approached were Lady Hana and Penelope.

Lady Penelope was going on about poodles. Hana was gently nodding. She couldn’t be really interested in this conversation.

Riley changed the subject, almost immediately there was a reanimation of life in Hana’s body language; she began to talk and laugh.

“So you’re really from New York Lady Riley?” Penelope asked.

“My accent didn’t give it away?” Riley did have a strong accent.

Hana laughed.

“Maybe you should think about getting some voice instruction to soften your accent Lady Riley.”

Lady Kiara strolled up to the group, “I can help you…..”

“No you won’t.” Olivia joined the conversation and shot a glance at Lady Kiara.

“I think the Prince is fine with the way I talk, as he has talked to me before, and he didn’t complain.”

“And how did you meet Prince Liam again?” Olivia lifted her mask showing her face to Riley.

“I met him while he was visiting New York.” Riley lifted her mask. “I think we made a very special connection.”

“Is that supposed to mean you have a leg up on us? We were born and groomed for this role. All of Liam’s suitors with the exemption of you, know how to live a royal life, and be the princess and later Queen that he deserves. What do you bring to the table Lady Riley?”

“My heart.” Liam had seen her heart, and what she could tell… he wanted her too.

Olivia laughed. “What’s love got to do with it?”

Riley was out of place with these people. She slipped her mask back on and left the group before the tears fell from her eyes. Really what was she doing here with these people? Riley slipped out the side doors out to the garden.

Liam slipped out to the garden behind Riley. He heard her softly sniffle.

He dropped the formalities as they were alone in the garden.

“My darling… are you alright?”

“People here are cruel Liam. I mean… Prince....”

He gently touched her shoulder and she wiped her eyes before she turned around.

It was clear that she had been crying.

He shook his head. “We’re alone.”

“I’ve been told in so many words, so many different ways that I don’t belong here. That I’m not good enough for you.”

“Who has said these things to you?”

“I’m not trying to rat people out.”

“Riley tell me.”

“People think it’s okay to treat people the way they have been treating me. I mean I couldn’t even get my dress from the boutique without the attendant looking down on me. Telling me I should know my place.”

“I will handle that.” Liam’s eyes were laced with anger.

“And the suitors. Hana, is the only one of them I think I can talk to. Everyone else is so swayed by Olivia. And I’m sorry I’m not a follower. I will not be under her thumb like the rest of them.”

“Don’t you see Riley? That's what attracts me to you. You’re different than all of them. You will always have something of me that none of the others will ever possess.”

He gently stroked Riley’s cheek, softly kissing it.

“My heart.”

Riley smiled at him. Her smile was radiant.

“Don’t worry Riley. Everyone will know my intentions for you. There is a way to play things at court. The social part of the evening is about to start. People will be watching who I choose to dance with and in what order. I’m going to go back in now, follow me in a few minutes.”

Riley walked back into the ballroom a few minutes after Liam. She stood next to Maxwell and Hana.

The herald announced the first social dance of the evening with Prince Liam. Liam rose from his throne.

All eyes were on him as he walked out onto the ballroom floor. He stood motionless for a moment. His eyes traveled the room for a moment but stopped when they rested on Riley.

He chose her. Riley bit her lip as he walked over to her.

“Lady Riley, will you honor me with a dance?”

“I’d be delighted, Prince Liam.”

He held out his hand for her to take.

He kissed her hand, then pulled her to the middle of the dance floor.

This isn’t what I had in mind, but okay.

She thought to herself.

He bowed to her. Riley curtsied to him.

As the music began they stepped forward to each other. Liam could see the sheer panic in Riley’s eyes.

“I don’t know how to waltz.” she whispered.

Liam took her in his arms holding her close.

“Riley, you’re always perfectly in tune with my body, when you’re in my arms. Just follow my lead.”

They glided together across the dance floor. Pictures were taken as they looked into each other's eyes, both having a smile on their faces.

After the first dance Liam did his due diligence. She could tell in his eyes, he was begrudgingly doing his part as the prince to show the other suitors attention. The sparkle in his eye when he was around her had left his eyes when he was with them.

“You’re pushing him right into her arms. Constantine. You know that right?”

“For every negative thing you say about her, he’s going to find five things positive about her to defy you. They do have chemistry.”

“Regina, she’s an unacceptable choice for his princess. For future Queen of Cordonia.

“The media is already eating it up. Look how many pictures they are snapping of the two of them together.”

Riley sat at the table with Drake.

“Didn’t you even try to make an effort for tonight?”

“Tonight’s not about me Brooks. It’s about You and all the other suitors, and him. They don’t care what I wear, because I’m not one of them, and I don’t care to be. There is a truly ugly side to nobility here in Cordonia.”

“I see that now.”

“But if there’s anyone that can change that. Call me crazy Brooks. I think it actually might be you. Even though you’re not born from nobility, these people can’t keep their eyes off you. They’re drawn to you.”

“It’s time for the last dance of the night Riley, and I would love you to be the one in my arms for it.”

“You honor me Prince Liam.”

“I’ll see you later Drake.”

“Has your night improved?” Liam inquired.

“It has. Thank you.”

“I don’t want this night to end.”

“What are you proposing?”

“I want to take you someplace special.”

“Really?”

“You saw the garden maze right?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me outside in twenty.”

“Aren’t you quite the rule breaker?”

“I want to spend more time with you. I held up my obligation to the other ladies during this masquerade ball, but now I want to spend some time with my girl. Will you meet me?”

Riley nodded.

Liam stood at the garden maze waiting patiently waiting for Riley.

He saw Riley with her dress hiked up running across the lawn, her hair blowing wildly in the wind.

“Glad you could make it.”

He noticed Riley’s pink toes.

“You’re barefoot?”

“Yeah did you think I would be able to run in heels like that? I took them off. The grass here is so soft.”

Liam glanced at her taking off his shoes and socks as well.

“You’re right. I had never really noticed that before.”

“I know you have had all of this, your whole life Liam. But sometimes, simple pleasures are good too.”

“Then will you take a walk with me through the maze?”

Liam took Riley’s hand leading her inside the maze. Riley was already lost in her mind, all the twists and turns Liam took, that led them to the center of the maze. He plucked a flower free from the wall placing it in Riley’s hair.

“What is it about you Riley Brooks?”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like i’ve been in prison all my life, and with you, I’m getting my first taste of freedom.”

Liam let out an excited scream.

She slapped her hand over his mouth.

“Liam you’re going to get us in trouble.”

“This is what you do to me! I don’t care!!! I’ve never felt like this!”

Riley hugged him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Neither have I. You feel like home to me.”

Riley’s eyes filled with tears.

“And I don’t have a home.” Liam’s heart ached at Riley’s admission.

“Yes you do. Now… with me.”

He wiped her tears away.

“Dance with me.”

Liam took out his phone looking for a specific song.

Riley and Liam slow-danced in the garden maze under the twinkling lights holding each other in a moment of love that neither one would ever forget.

Something in your eyes

Makes me wanna lose myself

In your arms

There's something in your voice

Makes my heart beat fast

Hope this feeling lasts

The rest of my life

If you knew how lonely my life has been

And how long I've been so alone

If you knew how I wanted someone to come along

And change my life the way you've done

Feels like home to me

Riley laid in bed that night with a huge smile on her face remembering the night, she knew in her heart as clear as she knew her own name. “I love him.”

Tagging the comments!

#bebepac writes #the life of riley #book 2 #riley goes to cordonia #masquerade ball #trr fanfic #trr fandom #liam and riley #the social season #trr liam #trr riley #wacky drabbles #choices fic writers creations

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silverarmedassassin · 3 years

Text

Clandestine Meetings - Prologue

Bucky x reader | Word Count: 1012 | Warnings: Charming Bucky?

Divider by @firefly-graphics ❤️

[ Series Masterlist | Next ]

One year, six months, and fourteen days.

That’s exactly how long you’ve been graduated from college; exactly how long you’ve tried and consistently failed at launching your writing career.

It’s not that you’re bad at writing. According to every editor, blog-runner, and marketing director you’ve submitted work to, it was simply timing, not you. And as much as you try to not let it affect you, you’re one rejection letter away from throwing in the towel and accepting you’re going to work as an underpaid barista for the rest of your life.

That was, however, until you received a call from Stark Publishing, the leading publishing company in North America. It wasn’t a glamorous position, just something akin to an assistantship gig that you're sure you’ll still be underpaid for. At least you were getting your foot in the door, though, right?

Right. Or, that’s at least what you tell yourself as you settle into the high-tech elevator in the flashiest office building in New York City. You press the button for the 45th floor, stomach doing a few somersaults as you think of being up that high, and dare the doors to shut before anyone else can get in. You couldn’t get that lucky, of course, and right before the doors closed, a tan, perfectly kempt hand shoves its way in.

“Thank god,” the owner, a deliciously tall, wonderfully lean man pants as the doors part for him. “Already late for this meeting.” He vigorously pushes the button for the 43rd-floor repeatedly as if it will make the elevator move quicker.

You internally curse the universe. Not only were you losing your mind over this interview with Mr. Stark, the owner of the magazine, and his editor-in-chief Ms. Potts, but now you were also stuck in a small space with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on. As if you weren’t sweating enough.

Your hands grow even clamier as you grip your faux leather portfolio just a little tighter. You cast your gaze down at a kitten-heeled foot, which is now anxiously tapping on the metallic floor.

“Nervous ‘bout somethin’?” the handsome stranger asks, voice deep like espresso and as smooth as whiskey.

You chance a peek at the man and find two light blue orbs looking down at you, dancing with amusement. A little stubble shadows the sharp angles of his jawline, and his pink, pillowy lips turn up into a shy grin. The smile looks familiar, like something you’ve seen in a dream long ago, but you can’t place a finger on it. You know for a fact you’ve never met this man before - you’d remember someone like him. Plus, you doubt he runs in the same circle as you, considering the sunglasses perched on top of his perfectly quiffed Chesnut locks look like they cost double your rent. It made sense, especially if he worked for Stark. Maybe you’ll be in that position one day, you hope.

The man shifts a little, making you realize you’ve been staring a little too long without actually saying anything. You quickly avert your eyes as your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Uh, I’ve got an interview,” you say shakily. “With the big man himself.”

The stranger offers a chuckle that gently reverberates in his chest. “Nah, you don’t have anything to worry about. Stark’s all talk. Absolutely no bite.” You look back up at him and find that his grin has doubled in size. “You just gotta walk in there with your head held high and show him who’s in charge of this interview.”

“That’s easier said than done,” you mumble. You’ve been shy and a little unsure of yourself before you started interviewing, but after the endless stream of “we regret to inform you” emails and calls, your confidence is at an all-time low.

The man shrugs and crosses his bulky arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t know who you are. He may have a preconceived notion from reading your resume or stalking your social media, but he doesn’t know you. My ma always told me to fake it ‘till I made it and, well, it’s worked so far.” He flashes that smile at you again, a genuine smile with teeth gleaming even in the dim elevator lighting and crinkles creasing the corners of his eyes.

How is he so perfect?

“Even if you’ve got the confidence of a three-legged horse racin’ in the Kentucky Derby, you need to pretend that you don’t. You’re young, beautiful, and obviously smart if Stark is even considering you for a position. You just gotta believe it until you become it.”

The laughter that bubbles up from your tummy surprises you. “Do you do this often? Give pep talks to strangers in elevators?”

This makes his eyes crease again with joy, and you can’t help but preen a little at the fact you were, for the moment, the source of this man’s happiness. “Only when they’re real pretty.”

You feel your cheeks heat up again as the elevator dings, and an automated Irish-lilted voice chimes through the small space, informing you that you’ve reached the 43rd floor. You can’t help but feel a rush of disappointment now that your ride with this man is over. You wish you could channel some of that mock confidence he was just talking about and ask him for his name. But as luck would have it, you can’t make yourself speak.

“Well, this is where I say goodbye,” the man says as he fixes the sleeve of his jacket - not quite a suit but much nicer than your average sweater. “Good luck on your interview!” he cheerfully says as he steps out. “Remember, you’re great, and you go this.”

You can hear the echoes of his voice greeting staff members as he turns to make his way down the hall. You longingly watch as the doors close slowly. You suddenly found a motivation other than paying bills and eating for wanting this job. And it just so happens to be heading for a meeting.

#Bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #actor!bucky #actor AU #marvel au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #clandestine meetings

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 years

Text

chapter 9

Fake Making-It

Social Media AU

previous chapter

tag list: @allthewayornowayy @wedarkacademia @lockerfivethreefive @yellowballoon @gucciboner @nora-keinwitz @moonskam @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @akucecilia @hischbabe @evaksobbe

~^~

Sander is about to throw up, and it’s no surprise Lucas is laughing at him.

He huffs under his breath from the seat next to Sander, shaking his head as he leans up against the window. They’re already at the cafe Robbe had told Sander they’d be meeting at, have already been here for about fifteen minutes, and Sander is getting more and more antsy by the second. He expects Lucas to be irritated by now, but he seems too amused to be annoyed, bumping Sander’s jiggling leg with his own and giving a fond roll of his eyes.

Lucas doesn’t seem to share any of his nerves at all. He looks like the actual celebrity of this meeting, reclining in the strips of sunlight shining through the window. The silver bracelet on his left wrist and his collection of rings twinkle in it. His curls fall in an artsy mess over his forehead, and the top two buttons of his loose, silky, navy shirt are undone, exposing a triangle of pale skin and the sharp lines of his collarbones.

He looks ready for a night out, or to be the subject of one of his own photoshoots. Not like he’s meeting two relatively famous guys in a quiet, mainstreet cafe.

Sander is wearing a beige sweater with his leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. Bleached strands of hair keep dangling in his eyes, and he’s sure there are more sticking up on his head with how often he’s been shoving his hand through them. His lips are tingly from how often he’s been biting them.

He doesn’t look half as put together.

“Why were we so early?” Lucas questions. “They obviously aren’t as eager.”

“Because, there could have been traffic.”

“Twenty minutes of it?”

“Yes.”

Lucas stares at him for a moment then gives another huff, leaning back against the windowsill. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s a job interview,” Sander reminds him. “You’re not supposed to be late for those.”

Lucas holds his hands up in surrender, slouching further in his seat, one arm slung carelessly over the back and the other resting on the table.

Sander taps his foot and resumes his task of staring at the door, only to come face to face with Robbe.

Robbe.

Robbe Ijzermans, manager for musician Jens Stoffels, filmmaker extraordinaire, and love of Sander’s life. That Robbe. Is standing right in front of him.

Lucas kicks him under the table and Sander realises he should probably close his mouth.

Of course he’s gaping. How should he be expected to control himself in the face of an angel? Never in his life has he thought he would end up in the same room as Robbe, but now he’s right here. He stands barely a few feet away from Sander, his hand already resting on the back of the opposite chair. He’s smiling in faint amusement, top teeth digging into his bottom lip in an attempt to hide it. He’s wearing his brown jacket, the one Sander has become familiar with through a year of following him on social media.

He looks more beautiful than Sander ever thought possible.

Even with Jens standing right behind him, flicking his gaze between Sander and Lucas with something suspiciously like nerves.

“Hi,” Lucas says, taking the leap and breaking the silence, instantly earning Jens and Robbe’s attention. “Are these seats alright?”

Robbe’s smile widens, turning friendly as he nods and pulls the seat out to sit down. “Yeah, this is good. Sorry, have we kept you waiting?”

Sander does his best to ignore how Robbe’s feet bump against his before the smaller boy fully settles with his coat thrown over the back of his chair. Sander shakes his head. “No,” he says softly.

Then Robbe turns his eyes on him and his smile widens even further. He sticks his hand out across the table as Jens slips behind him and settles in the seat across from Lucas, dropping his own coat on the windowsill and adjusting his beanie.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” Robbe says, and after a moment Sander realises he’s supposed to shake his hand and return the greeting.

Even Robbe’s hands are beautiful. Small and slim, but strong around Sander’s. Sander holds on for a little longer than necessary. Robbe doesn’t seem to find it odd, still wearing the same smile when Sander snaps out of it enough to say, “You too.”

Robbe holds his hand out to Lucas, and Lucas shakes it easily, and Robbe seems pleased.

Then Jens mimics the gesture, holding his hand out to Lucas, and Lucas raises his brows and asks, “Is the beanie supposed to be a disguise?”

Jens stares at him for a second, then touches the hat on his head, then shakes his head and pulls it off, hastily brushing a hand through his hair. “No.” The single word comes out hoarse. Jens runs his hand through his hair again and clears his throat. “No, it’s just—just cold.”

Lucas hums. He has leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest—a clear indication that he won’t welcome that handshake. Sander bites the inside of his cheek and nudges Lucas’s leg under the table in a silent reminder of their deal. If Lucas behaves during the meeting, Sander will finally clear out the spare room in his flat and build the bed, so Lucas will no longer have to share his.

It doesn’t matter that it’s a win-win for them both for Sander to do it. Lucas is still the one being pissy about it, and Sander has simply used this to his advantage.

“You won’t get recognised here?” Lucas asks, still staring Jens down critically.

“Uh, everyone recognises me here. I live here,” Jens points out. Then he scratches the back of his neck. He seems like he wants to look away from Lucas and yet fear is holding him in place.

Sander resists the urge to drop his head into his hands.

“So you just walk around, wherever you want, not thinking there might be crazy fans or something?”

Jens huffs, smiling slightly now, amused but unsure if he’s allowed to be. “Who do you think I am?”

Lucas simply cocks his head. “I know what fangirls can be like.”

Sander chances a glance at Robbe, who is watching the interaction like a tennis match. He seems entertained, and not upset. Sander supposes he doesn’t have to shut Lucas up yet.

Jens’s smile widens slightly, and he leans on the table now, arms flopping over each other from elbows to hands. “Are you worried about me, or something?”

This is where things could begin to go downhill. Jens has evidently found his confidence, somewhere, and is teasing, as Lucas had claimed he was wont to do. Sander expects that Lucas will retaliate in kind.

Instead, Lucas frowns slightly, looking entirely serious as he leans himself on the table as well. “I’m worried for Sander and myself. Did you even consider that you could put Robbe in danger?”

Jens flushes slightly, shrinking back with a glance at his friend, before raising his brows at Lucas. “Are we supposed to be hiring you as bodyguard instead, or something?”

Now Lucas bristles.

Robbe sets a hand on Jens’s shoulder and squeezes, and Sander stares at the point of contact with something revolting in his gut. “Okay, speaking of hiring. Should we talk about why we’re here now that...most of us have been introduced?”

Jens slumps back in his seat with his gaze dropping and Robbe squeezes his shoulder again. Sander feels sick. He wishes he hadn’t asked Lucas to come. He wishes he’d asked Robbe if they could have a one-on-one meeting first. He wishes he’d approached Robbe on his own, any time in the past year, when he could have been open with his feelings and Robbe could have rejected him politely. Upfront.

Now he’s supposed to work with him. Professionally. A situation not made for personal feelings and affairs.

It’s just that, Robbe already seems detached from those rules, considering his multi-relationship with Jens. He has been so friendly with Sander since that first message. This had seemed like the perfect opportunity, for Sander to get close to and impress the other man at once.

Instead he’s watching Robbe smile so fondly at Jens that he expects to see heart eyes.

How is Sander supposed to gain his attention when a talented musician, whom Robbe has known for years, already dominates it?

“I can reassure you both too that Jens is right,” Robbe says quickly, when none of them respond to his question. He directs most of his attention to Lucas. “Everyone knows us and we know everyone. We chose this cafe too because it’s run by friends. Perfectly safe, I promise.”

Lucas pumps his eyebrows in acknowledgment and then leans back in his seat again, silenced for the moment. Sander is appeased by the realisation that he’s at least kind enough not to interrogate or argue with Robbe.

Sander clears his throat and tries not to falter as Robbe looks at him again. “So are there contracts, or something?”

“Uh, not yet,” Robbe flushes. “That’s something we could draw up together, a separate one for each of you depending on if you’re interested. But we really just want to discuss what you are interested in. If our ideas match up with yours. We’re not looking for any legally-binding, long-term commitments, just genuine collaborations. Something mutually beneficial.”

Lucas snorts, then seems apologetic for it as he flicks his gaze to Sander. Still, he has earned the attention of Jens again, so he says, “Because we should be grateful to work with someone of your status?”

Robbe frowns, now, and for the briefest moment Sander allows himself to hate his friend. Robbe seems to be searching for a response, already shaking his head, but it’s Jens who speaks up.

“Of course not. It’s no question that I’d be getting the most benefits from working with either of you. You might actually make me look good,” he jokes. He also looks so nervous that Sander considers he might not be joking.

Then he decides it’s probably just because Lucas has gone back to staring him down.

“Why don’t you look for actual modeling gigs?” Lucas presses. Sander detects a tiny bit of genuine curiosity under the accusation.

Jens licks his lips, shrugging slightly. “I have,” he admits. “And I did get some offers, a while ago, but they were either super weird or pure monopoly or both. That’s not the kind of thing I want. The work you do...it’s genuine.”

This makes Lucas pause. “Genuine?”

Sander should have known. He would never get a chance to speak to Robbe like this. He is, however, getting the chance to stare at him in peace. He takes in those soft curls, doe eyes, pouty lips, as Robbe remains oblivious, returned to the tennis match next to them.

“Yeah. I mean, you actually have a passion for it. You have to, to do something self-run like that, I know. It’s obvious you have your own vision, your own ideas, your own vibe, and you’re dedicated. Self-made, like me. And I mean, you use recycled clothing and everything, right? And you base yourself on it. You don’t try to come off as expensive or whatever. You just do you. And that, I mean you—you’re crazy fucking talented to top it off.”

The silence that follows this little speech is rather loud. Enough so to make Jens embarrassed, at least, as he scratches at the back of his neck again and colour floods his cheeks. He had even managed to draw Sander’s attention away from Robbe and his growing grin, too surprised to ignore it any longer, and while that seems the most impossible thing, Jens has also gone a step further.

He has rendered Lucas entirely speechless.

Sander watches his friend as he simply blinks, staring at Jens with parted lips, utterly absent of any comebacks. There might even be a little red in his cheeks. Sander has learned recently that Lucas is weird about semi-famous musicians, but he’s always been aware of Lucas’s inability to take compliments.

Mixing the two seems to have broken him.

Robbe pinches Jens’s cheek and Sander’s attention snaps back to him, takes in his wide grin and the teasing glint in his eyes, and feels the touch pinch at his own heart. “Bet you didn’t think to worry that Jens himself is the stalker,” Robbe says to Lucas.

Jens bats him away with an ease borne only by familiarity. Sander wants to climb across the table and settle himself between them and find out what that touch feels like. Take it for himself. Become that familiar.

The more distant Robbe seems, the more Sander wants.

He wants this. Exactly this. Robbe’s warm smile and easy touch, his familiarity and his fondness. He wants it. He wants what very clearly isn’t his.

He wants to leave. He wants the floor to swallow him whole.

Where has his confidence gone? His surety? All this time, he has known. From somewhere deep down, from an inexplicable place, he’s felt it. There’s something about Robbe that speaks to him. That reels him in. That is made especially for Sander.

He can feel it. Has always felt in. Even now it’s there, a force he can’t ignore, holding him in Robbe’s orbit.

Robbe isn’t even looking at him.

Still, Sander feels completely unmoored.

Oddly enough, Lucas seems to be in the same boat.

He’s still staring at Jens, at a loss, and Sander is becoming more and more concerned by the minute. Lucas isn’t usually one to struggle with finding words, or to hold back, but now he seems to be doing both. Eventually, he comes up with, “Are you interested in fashion?”

Sander looks at Jens’s hoodie and jeans combo and barely holds back a snort.

Robbe doesn’t bother to, but he then covers his mouth with his hand and shares a look with Sander. Cheeks dimpled, eyes twinkling, faintly apologetic. Sander’s heart flutters and flops in his chest.

Jens flushes in response. “I might not be an artist the same way that you are, but I know something good when I see it. And your work is good.”

Lucas seems to falter again. Then he gathers himself. “But you’re not actually interested in any of it,” he presses. “So why are you so set on working with me?”

“I believe in taking a shot.” Jens shrugs, even as his blush deepens and he sinks down in his seat. “Seizing every opportunity.”

“So it’s about the money,” Lucas says.

Jens instantly shakes his head. “No. It has nothing to do with that. None of this does. I don’t make music for money in the first place. It’s not about that or publicity or whatever else you’re thinking.” He pauses for a moment, then glances at Robbe, who gives him an encouraging nod. Jens nods back, swallows, and leans towards Lucas again, resting on the table. “It is about building myself. I won’t deny that. I want to be able to make a successful career out of music, and deals like this benefit that. Promotional shit, branching out. I never really wanted to do any of that, because I hate all these business politics and contracts and shares or whatever the fuck everyone looks for. I didn’t want to work with anyone who just did it to do it. I try to be as honest as I can with everything I do and I want to work with people who have the same values. I saw that in you.” He spares a glance towards Sander. “Both of you.”

Sander smiles, shooting a look at Lucas as he places a hand over his heart. “It’s nice to be included.”

Lucas’s lips twitch as Jens begins to stutter, but Robbe interrupts by leaning up next to him. Towards Sander.

Robbe smiles, placating, instantly grabbing all of his attention with his sweet expression. “Sorry,” he laughs slightly. “We just assumed Lucas would want more convincing. Jens spent a lot of time preparing his pitch.”

Jens slumps back in his chair and mutters, “That’s not true.”

Sander hears Lucas huff, but it’s Robbe’s fond smile he’s once again focused on. Robbe directs the smile back over his shoulder, at Jens, and teases, “No, of course not. It’s just natural charm.”

“And it’s very cruel of you to suggest otherwise,” Jens agrees, relaxing a little now as his lips finally twitch in a smile. He shoots a glance at Lucas. “Is it working?”

Sander finally offers his own friend some more attention, though not all of it. He still has a little focus on Robbe, out of the corner of his eye. He can’t quite draw himself away completely. The longer he looks, the harder it gets.

Everything becomes more desirable, he supposes, when you realise it’s something you can’t have.

Lucas bites his lip and looks to Sander, who simply raises his brows. It’s answer enough to him, makes him sure that it is working, and Lucas just doesn’t want to admit it, to any of them. He lets a heavy breath out through his nose and turns to Robbe. “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm to discuss what the deal would entail.”

Sander knows it’s already a yes, and going by Jens’s grin, he does too. He supposes getting Lucas to agree to that much either way is a win in itself.

Jens and Robbe both certainly take it as one, growing relieved and twice as friendly all at once. Robbe immediately goes into a spiel over the main details, rhyming off what they’d expect and what they’re offering in return with only a few questioning glances towards Jens here and there. From what Sander gathers, they’re ready to pay him to help out with Jens’s promotional work, but the situation with Lucas is somewhat more complicated.

“No, I get that,” Lucas admits. “If you were asking me to design something specifically for you then it would be different, but if it’s just to promote my line then I’m usually the one doing the hiring and paying.”

Robbe nods, suddenly all business. Sander shouldn’t find it as endearing or attractive as he does, especially considering he has already had a number of conversations with Robbe in this exact fashion.

All their conversations have been for business, Sander supposes, or just Robbe being nice. Buttering up a potential coworker.

Sander shoves the thought away and swallows down the bitterness that comes with it.

“We get if that doesn’t exactly help our appeal,” Robbe assures Lucas. He spares one of his glances towards Jens. “Which is why we were actually interested in asking you to design something for us. Not really anything out of your usual, but just with a small addition that would signify Jens. It would only have to be a couple of items. I’m sure Sander is capable of working some photo magic and getting a bunch of great shots out of one outfit.”

Sander lets the compliment seep through him, accepts Robbe’s smile with one of his own as warmth spreads through his chest and softens him up. It’s impossible not to like Robbe when he says things like this, looking like that.

Lucas seems more hesitant. “I usually do my own shoots. Unless I’m modeling it myself or doing a collaboration.” He gestures at Sander.

Jens perks up again. “Wait. So most of the pics on your page, they’re your own?”

Lucas looks to him with a raised brow, faintly amused. As subtle as it is, it’s a stark shift from his earlier indifference that had bordered on irritation. “In all your stalking you didn’t see the ‘photographer’ description in my bio?”

“Uh, no,” Jens admits. “I kind of zoned that bit out, I guess.”

“So really, you could just hire me,” Lucas says, shooting Sander one of his cheekiest smiles.

“No,” Robbe admonishes, still smiling, turning placatingly to Sander again. “We’re super happy to work with you both. There’s no problem with splitting the photography load, Lucas, if you want to do your own. We’re hiring Sander in the first place for the promotional work for the album, after all.”

“Are you releasing an actual album?” Sander questions, impressed. So far, Jens had released a couple of singles and an EP, but less than ten songs overall. An album could be double that.

Jens smiles slightly, nodding. “That’s why we’re reaching out right now, yeah. Months of writing and recording and other behind the scenes shit finally getting to the stage where we have something to promote,” he huffs.

“Nice,” Sander approves. He might be dealing with a rather intense level of jealousy over the other man, but he can’t deny such an achievement. Sander has always been a music lover himself. He found Robbe through Jens, after all.

“We’ll get some sneak previews of it,” Robbe grins, sitting back to nudge Jens’s side. It’s clear that he’s already had a front row seat to all of it. He turns back to Sander and Lucas with an even wider smile. “It’s amazing, honestly.”

Jens flushes, nudging him back, starting a mini battle between them, and something hot and sharp spikes in Sander’s stomach.

He tosses his arm over the back of Lucas’s chair and smirks, trying to regain some of his usual cool, trying to convince himself to speak. “Lucas hasn’t heard any of it.”

Robbe blinks, surprised as he looks to Lucas, and Sander suddenly regrets speaking without focusing the attention on himself.

Jens seems disappointed, but he brushes it off with professional grace. “Not everyone has,” he says simply, offering a smile that looks somewhat tight.

Lucas’s lips work for a second as he shoots Sander a dark glare, and he argues, “I hadn’t before, but I have listened to it.”

Jens brightens, leaning forward and tilting his head. “Which song?”

“What do you mean?” Lucas raises a brow. “I said I’ve listened to it.”

It takes a moment for understanding to sink in, and then Jens’s eyes widen, pleased. “All of it?”

“When?” Sander demands, equally surprised.

“Last night. You only have eight songs on your Spotify, it didn’t take long.” Lucas looks between them all, Sander’s amusement and Jens’s delight and Robbe’s gentle smile, and blushes. “What? I wanted to see if it was the kind of vibe I was even interested in working with.” He focuses in on Jens. “You’re not the only one capable of doing your research.”

Jens grins. “I’m flattered.”

Sander snorts, tugging at the back of Lucas’s hair, and Lucas brushes him away as his blush begins to fade. He’s saved from any further embarrassment by the buzz of his phone, which he pulls out and only gives a brief glance at before stiffening.

He curses under his breath and looks at Sander apologetically before showing him the screen. It takes a moment for Sander to make out the message, a request to call Lucas, and then another to notice the contact. Lucas’s mother only reaches out in such a way when she deems it a last resort. “I have to go handle this,” he says quietly, and Sander nods, knowing he couldn’t possibly have the heart to argue.

“You’re leaving already?” Jens questions, even more disappointed than before.

Lucas offers them both a smile that’s more a simple pursing of lips. “Sorry, really. Family emergency. But I’m interested, in working with you. Sander can pass on whatever details you all work out. Is that okay?”

Robbe instantly nods, smile soft and understanding. “Of course. We can contact you directly if there’s anything important?”

Lucas murmurs an agreement, then stuffs his phone in his pocket and turns back to Sander. He presses an apologetic kiss to his cheek, giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze as he stands and lifts his denim jacket from the back of his chair. He offers Robbe and Jens another brief glance. “It was nice to meet you both, and I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

They both nod, and Robbe returns Lucas’s goodbye, watching after him as he shrugs on his jacket and heads for the door. Jens, however, lingers on Sander and the spot Lucas had vacated until Sander catches his gaze and he hastily looks away.

Robbe turns back to them and raps his hands on the table, then reaches up to squeeze Jens’s shoulder. “Okay. How about we discuss the rest over actual food? You look in need of some fries.”

“And a burger,” Jens agrees.

Robbe huffs and raises a brow at Sander, tilting his head towards the counter. “Do you want to come order with me?”

“Oh.” Sander blinks. They’ve been sitting here long enough now that he should be accustomed to Robbe’s smile already. He’s been looking at it for a year before now. It shouldn’t throw him the way it does. It’s not so surprising that the offer to have a moment with Robbe alone makes his stomach flip. “Yeah, sure.”

Robbe’s smile widens as he twists his legs out from under the table, but Jens catches his arm before he can get up. Sander has already risen, and he lingers next to the table awkwardly, watching how easily Robbe succumbs to the touch, leaning back towards the musician like a moth called to a flame. He keeps watching as Robbe leans right in, tilting their heads together, and Jens whispers something quiet that makes him flush, shaking his head with a tiny laugh before he gets up along with Sander.

Robbe doesn’t even look at him on the way to the counter, and then he rests on the wood and keeps his gaze forward with his smile still in place. It would be fine, normal, for Robbe not to be looking, if Sander was able to draw his own gaze away. But he’s staring, blatantly, and he thinks Robbe’s flush may have darkened slightly, but he hasn’t given any real indication that he has even noticed.

Sander might as well still be looking at him through a screen.

The realisation hits very suddenly that he isn’t, because he realises he can feel him. Robbe’s presence next to him is a tangible thing, radiating warmth. There’s a faint scent wafting from him and invading Sander’s senses, a mixture of an aftershave Sander recognises and something else intrinsically Robbe. Sander wants to get closer and figure out what it is, breath him in until he can call up the smell from memory. He wants too much. All things he’s quickly realising he can’t have.

He urges himself to say something now, to take this one big chance, to make an impression. To leave an imprint, at the very least.

Robbe beats him to it.

“Sorry, really,” he says, finally turning to look at Sander with a sheepish smile. “This probably wasn’t what you were expecting to get out of the meeting.”

Sander hadn’t really been expecting anything, but he’s been wanting. All he ever wanted to get out of this was Robbe. He doesn’t care about the job, the contracts, the money. He cares about the harsh thump of his heart, the raucous roar of his pulse, the yearning stemming straight from his soul at the mere sight of those eyes on him.

It’s ridiculous and impossible, to have feelings like this for someone he doesn’t even know. But he knows Robbe in a way that doesn’t require any actual knowledge, any facts or details, interactions or memories. Sander’s very being recognises Robbe, responds to the light buried in the man’s chest with a hopeful flicker of its own.

It leaves Sander swallowing down the ball of emotion in his throat before he can manage to smile, shrug, and speak. “It’s not over yet. Anyway, it was weirdly entertaining to watch Lucas slowly realise he was running out of arguments.”

Robbe huffs a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve seen Jens determined, but that was something else,” he agrees. “I don’t really know what’s up with the whole thing, but I think he’s just really worried, you know? The album feels like the actual start of things and he’s just constantly thinking of what could go wrong, I guess.”

“So is this almost like a distraction, or something?” Sander asks, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to keep Robbe talking to him.

“Maybe,” Robbe hums, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to Sander with another smile. “I’m happy about it either way.”

Sander blinks, heart racing. He tells himself he shouldn’t ask. “You are?”

Robbe shrugs, smile widening. “Of course. More fun and less stress in my future now, too.”

“Really? I would’ve thought all this organising and hiring and everything is more work for you.”

“Well, maybe it is.” Robbe shrugs again, crossing his arms over each other atop the counter. “But you and Lucas don’t seem like you’ll make it difficult.”

“Lucas doesn’t seem difficult?” Sander raises his brows.

Robbe laughs, then raises his brows back, pursing his lips and widening his eyes in an exaggerated expression of exasperation. “No more so than Jens.”

Sander’s humorous mood slips and leaves him biting his lip. “You do a lot for him,” he says, and it’s as much a question as a statement.

“Yeah, well, like I said. He needs a little guidance sometimes.” Robbe grins. “He’s not that difficult, most of the time, and even then he’s still Jens. I know what he’s like and what to expect, which I guess is more than most people can say honestly.”

They could leave it there. Sander has no reason to push any further. He doesn’t even know what he’s pushing for. “And it never bothers you? That idea of his fame?”

Robbe shrugs, biting his lip. “He deserves it, and I know he’d never leave me behind, so. It’s a little scary sometimes, because it involves working with a lot of scary people and having even scarier fans sometimes, but,” he pauses, glancing over his shoulder again. His face softens completely, eyes brimming over with it, and Sander’s heart crawls into his throat and threatens to choke him. Robbe turns back to him with the faintest but warmest smile. “But I love him, so.”

Sander’s heart splinters. A jagged piece cuts through his vocal chords, rendering him momentarily speechless, before everything clatters uselessly back into his chest and leaves him offering an empty smile. He tells himself that it’s no different. He could say he loves Lucas, and it wouldn’t mean anything heartbreaking.

But when Robbe says it, that’s how it feels. Robbe says it like he means it.

Robbe says it in the way Sander hoped he’d one day say it about him.

He’s saved from having to answer when a cashier finally makes her way over to them and apologizes for the delay. Sander can barely acknowledge her, but Robbe offers an easy smile and places his and Jens’s orders, and then turns to Sander. Sander fumbles out something and now finds himself entirely unable to look at Robbe.

He’s only able to once Robbe pats his pockets and then curses under his breath, blushing slightly as he glances at Sander from underneath his lashes. “Forgot that my wallet’s in my jacket.”

Sander just gives a gentle huff and a smile as Robbe walks back to the table. Jens looks up at him with furrowed brows, then laughs and sets his hand on Robbe’s arm, saying something as he rises from his seat. Robbe rolls his eyes, but drops back into his seat as Jens squeezes his shoulder and slips out around him, coming to join Sander at the till.

Sander quickly looks straight ahead again, even as Jens attempts to offer him a smile. He’s a lot taller than Sander expected, and he hates how small it makes him feel. He suddenly understands what Lucas has been warning him about.

“Sorry, about not even introducing myself properly,” Jens says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Sander glances at him. “That’s fine. I mean, I know who you are, so.”

Jens huffs a laugh, nodding in acceptance. “Okay, cool. I promise I’ll be more into it now. I don’t actually know why I was so nervous,” he laughs again, nervously. “It’s just, meetings. Professional shit. Professional people.”

Sander’s lips twitch. He doesn’t like it, but he likes Jens. He always has. He can’t quite bring himself to be angry or anything close, but jealousy still rages in him. “Not your thing?”

“Nope,” Jens admits with an easy shrug. “I usually let Robbe do the talking. He’s better with the whole people thing. Friendly.”

“Yeah,” Sander agrees, quietly. “I can see that.”

Jens’s lips purse, and then he’s bumping Sander’s shoulder with his own. “I think we’re more alike. You didn’t really seem to mind Lucas taking over the talking. You were pretty quiet.”

Sander shakes his head. “Usually I’m not, but I was nervous, too, I guess. And tired.”

“Not settled in yet?” Jens questions, brows furrowed.

“Not really,” Sander huffs. “Lucas is a restless sleeper.”

“Oh.” Something unreadable takes over Jens’s expression for a second, and then he looks away. For a moment he’s silent, and Sander thinks that’s it, but then Jens swallows and purses his lips and speaks again. “I didn’t realise you were together.”

For a split second, Sander is confused. Then he realises what Jens means, what he thinks Sander implied, and then he wants to laugh. He should laugh. Because it’s wrong, it’s so wrong, that it is actually funny, and Sander should clear things up immediately.

But.

Everything becomes more desirable when you realise it’s something you can’t have.

He stares at Jens blankly, then with a furrowed brow and parted lips, and then the cashier returns with their food. Jens pays for everything before looking back at Sander questioningly, and then Sander does the really stupid thing.

He says, “Oh, yeah.”

~^~

next chapter

#wtfock #skam nl #sobbe #robbe x sander #van der stoffels #vds #fake making-it #now it’s starting

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