#I normally don’t make edits until after I finish a series but here I am

[peachviz]

sometimes Star Trek mental health awareness episodes really hurt

[wildbluesorbit]

London: Holiday Prelude || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: Howdy! Here to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with twist on the London menu: A TIME JUMP! This is how I envision the first meeting between Jake and the reader unraveled. This one is very fluff (which is a bit off brand for this series) and is my gift to all readers who have remained loyal amongst the endless angst. I'm aware, holiday editions are normally posted before the holidays, but I have chronically delayed holiday spirit that doesn’t spark until about a week before Christmas which is when I started this. My holidays got a bit more hectic than I expected so I didn’t finish till just now, but I figured I’d pos. Also, know that my particular style of writing is shaped by an editing process of which requires time I did not have, so baby this is ROUGH. Anyways, I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think.

Summary || Before the storm, there was a calm. Your first interaction with Jake is less than ideal, but you give him a redeeming chance only to spark something more.

Content Warnings || holiday [stress], workload stress, slight verbal aggression, holiday party setting, depictions of affectionate displays

Word Count || 6.6k

– December 24th, London, UK –

Your arduous typing is disrupted by the groan of your office door as it’s hesitantly eased open. You rigorously resume your work, not even averting your eyes to make note of who has disturbed you. You already know it's your colleague. You know they have trouble for you. And you know it's a problem you don’t currently have the attention span nor time for. 

Eyes still pinned to the numbers on your computer screen, you address the damsel in distress dawdling in the doorway behind you, “Is it urgent? I’m on a deadline.”

“Um- There’s a customer out here who I have tried my best to help with the knowledge I have,” she remorsefully squeaks.

You mellow your tone as you can hear desperation shrouding her every word, “Tell them I’m unavailable.” 

“I did- He insisted he speak to some form of management,” she huffs exasperatedly.

You come to a stopping point in your numbers game and begrudgingly pry your hands from your keyboard. You spring from your chair and propel yourself through the doorway, already eager to crawl back to the stillness of your office. Your footsteps echo against the hallway of dark offices and storage rooms in a unison stride to your coworker a pace behind you; two valiant knights on their quest to the front of the store. 

Preparing yourself for battle, you dig for your finest customer service armor as it's buried beneath all the enervating adversities and blows of running the shop; a duty you normally carry so effortlessly and gracefully, but this year you had been the only manager who volunteered to work the holiday week. Your workload alone is enough to spook the average person, but the extra weight you foolishly decided to take on this year is a different beast. You have half a heart to gift yourself hair dye this Christmas as you’re already convinced the New Year would find you prematurely gray. 

“Alright, let’s see the prick who is harassing my-,” your finishing thought never arrives as you swing the door open to reveal the store.

Any and all resentment is momentarily tamed by the endless sight of musical paraphernalia. Every last inch of the walls are shrine to the greats; posters, pins, buttons, stickers, clothing, books, CDs, tapes, cassettes, and of course aisles and aisles of record vinyl LPs; all seem to celebrate your great escape from the confinement of your office. 

Your eyes adjust to the warm lighting that coats everything and everyone bustling about isles, faces beaming with joy as they discover new treasures to call their own; treasures you ordered and stocked the shelves with yourself. 

You take a deep inhale of the healing sight in front of you. You never tire of walking through this door after a long day; a portal to your favorite realm. Your spirit beams as you recognize the classic rock sonic of The Dire Straits pouring through the speakers at way too loud a volume. You find it almost impossible to be upset within these walls. Almost.

Though you want nothing more than to idly wander around the store, you redirect your focus to the task at hand; eyes scouring the floor for the customer that so desperately needs your attention. Within an instant, you undoubtedly deem a man within your gaze responsible for your unnecessary ordeals; no guidance from your coworker is required to know exactly who summoned you from your hideaway. 

He is an ornate scene; one that confiscates and pleases your attention all at once. He stands, bare chest proud and puffed, fingers fidgeting with the facial hair that roofs his protruding pout as he devoutly scans through titles of the nearby books. His narrow shoulders are cloaked by long chestnut waves that frame delicate facial features and a prominent nose. He’s rather small in stature, yet strong in physique. 

The pretty man is bewitching in the way he seems to have just hopped out of some antecedent reality; a walking, talking antique. Doused in all black, he wears a blazer and waistcoat with nothing underneath to properly clothe his tan skin except chunky chains weighed down by a ridiculous amount of pendants; all silver to match his oversized hoop earrings, reflectively gleaming as he saunters through trespassing sunlight. His torso is paired with black pleated trousers and seasoned black boots. This man looks as if he woke up and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a pirate or a rockstar. 

“You know, Halloween was almost two months ago,” you heedlessly blurt as soon as his golden brown eyes collect yours.

“Real original,” the customer retorts with a smirk and a slight shake of his head, “definitely never heard that one before.”  

His American accent nearly startles you; his features certainly tell an origin story of Central Europe, yet his phrasing is not harsh enough to miss the hint of something not quite American in his raspy tone.

You quickly steer away from your cheeky dig and towards a more professional rapport.

“What can I help you with today Mr.?”

“Jacob Kiszka,” he extends his hand to shake yours, “but you can call me Jake.”

The Jake Kiszka. You have definitely heard his name before. A guitarist whose discography is infamously compared to and even deemed gross appropriation of classic rock legends; and whose romantic track record has an even worse stench. 

You prematurely take the sincere offer of his hand before weakly falling back to your satirical ways, “Wow, lucky me- I’ve only heard stories of The Illustrious Jake Kiszka.”

He is not oblivious to your sarcasm but decides to take the cocky route anyway, “Oh- A fan, huh? Glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“I never said they were good stories,” your hand repels from the guitarist’s calloused grasp and attaches to your hip, “but what brings you to my store?”

“This is the only place in town not playing Christmas music,” his eyes flit around the store trying to commit every last detail to memory as if his knowledge might be tested later and questions you with an intimacy he hasn’t yet earned, “So this is your kingdom, huh?”

“I don’t own it, just run it, but yes- this place is my baby and I’m its sales manager,” you briefly answer out of the scarce supply of decorum you currently possess and efficiently reroute to the reason for his visit, “but I doubt you came all this way just to escape the holiday spirit.” 

“Well, I am currently in town and in dire need of a last-minute Christmas gift, and you came highly recommended as far as rare LP sets go,” his features stretch into a ponderous tightlipped smile. 

The musician either isn’t receiving your assertion of pace or blatantly holds no regard for it as he digresses once again.

You aren’t certain whether his narrative is spoken to you, himself, or some unseen force, “But this really is some marvelous little store you run here. I have to admit I'm a bit envious. Somedays, I swear I would trade it all in for a simple quiet life like this.”

Simple? Quiet? Who the hell does this man think he is to come in the day before Christmas and casually spend your time and patience, only to then reduce your entire world to simple and quiet?!

Your fists discreetly curl behind the secrecy of your back as you scrupulously monitor your highly explosive tone, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Kiszka, but maybe we can hurry this along. I have lots of work in my simple quiet life to return to.”

Instantly, his entire physique cowers to a posture of mortification and regret. If your composure hadn’t already been so far spent, you might have even felt a strand of empathy or reprieve for him.

His face takes on a shameful shade of pink as fragments of an apology trip over one another, “No- No- That’s definitely not what I meant- Of course, the work you do here is very important. The responsibility of granting access-”

You wave him off, bestowing him clemency in hopes of ending this interaction as fast as possible, “It’s fine, but I really do have lots of work to return to, so just follow me.”

You hastily string him to the glass cases in the back of the store, a stream of clicking and clacking trails behind you with every heavy-footed step of his boots. His footsteps gradually sound less and less, his pace a relaxed rhythm compared to yours. You impatiently arrive at your destination of high-valued items and turn to see he is only leisurely tracing your path, still gazing about the store as if he is in an art gallery.  

You inhale. You’ve dealt with worse. Today would not be the day you lose your patience with a customer. 

Once he finally rejoins you at the display case, you begin the tour of each LP, explaining its contents, history, value, rarity, and your favorite details about it. Showmanly, you set a scene of necessity for each set as to speed his decision process along by targeting his obvious lack of impulse control. 

You’re about done appraising almost five sets when a lack of opinions, theories, and questions registers from his silence. You transfer your vision to learn your audience had not at all been concentrating on your dissertation, those amber eyes studying you right back; eyes reflecting not a strand of cognizance for your vain words, pronouncing your breath wasted.

Your abrupt eye contact seems to burst his trance, clearly not expecting you to break from your sale. 

“Are you hearing a word I’m saying or-,” you fuss, condemning any remaining attempts at professionalism. 

His features reveal comprehension, your confrontation certainly registers but his ample lips only vacillate in a dumbfounded silence.

You flatly attempt to jumpstart his verbal reflexes, “Mr. Kiszka?”

Pressure-buildup from every imprisoned word rattling around his head with no escape, erupts all at once, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I heard you- It's just- When I asked for help today- I didn’t expect someone so-”

A brittle tone emerges before you can even take the time to contemplate what he is trying to articulate, “Young? A woman? A different stigma that probably has nothing to do with my knowledge of music or ability to manage a business?”

“No it's not that- It's just- you-,” he hesitates to catch the breath he forgot to take and decidedly abandons his current thought to expedite his next, as if they might trample over each other if he doesn’t, “This is very inappropriate but I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth and I would appreciate it if you let me make it up to you over drinks tonight. Also, please call me Jake.”

His unanticipated proposition hitches your breath and widens your eyes, “You’re right, that is very inappropriate.”    

He quickly shrinks yet doesn’t withdraw his offer, “My brothers will be there too if that makes you feel a bit better, but your expertise so far fascinates me, and I would love to discuss more with you.”

Asking you out. After insults. After disrespect. After no regard for your time-poor schedule. He is asking you out.

You take it back. You have not dealt with worse. This is definitely the worst. 

Panic and indignation concoct a bitter climb in pitch, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kiszka, there’s still so much that requires my attention before the year’s end. I’m as busy as someone with a simple and quiet life can possibly be. That leaves no time for idle pints with random guys in pubs. So will you be purchasing anything today?”

“No- of course- you’re right- I’m terribly sorry- I do need to get something,” his attention finally converts to the vinyl with an oncoming frown, “but nothing here stands out to me. I know you certainly don’t owe me any favors but is there any way you can show me anything else? You know- the good stuff?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blatantly feed him a white lie, “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to. However, the thought of sharing another second with this infuriating stranger threatens to ignite fire to your dwindling composure. So, you tuck away all opportunities that would admit him to take any step that isn’t towards the door. 

He drives his agenda one last time, “You know? The treasures that never see the shelf? Surely, you have a secret stash. Every great store has one.”

“I guess we’re just not that great of a store then,” the shit-eating grin that smears across your face wards off any other inquiries he might probe for, “I can assure you this is the best we have. Maybe next time, do all your Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve.”

You are immediately pricked by a pang of guilt. Even you can admit you are being impudently cruel; for which you expect at least a return of assailment. Yet it never arrives. 

Instead, his eyebrows turned upwards just above a sheepish smirk and a diffident man takes the place of the obnoxiously charismatic rockstar once before you. He just might genuinely grieve the score of your transaction. As if he knows something you don’t. As if he knows in some other time or place this narrative was supposed to take a different course and he is now mourning a great failure.

“Okay- well, I can take a hint,” he meekly forfeits, “I apologize for wasting your time. Thank you so much for your help.”

You can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any response, lost somewhere amongst the spate of regret that you might have misjudged him based on presumptions. Your mouth runs dry and you’re only able to blankly stare back at him.

In your silence, he impulsively shoves his hand into his coat pocket and shimmies out some small notebook. He flips through pages and pages of scattered notes and highlights and even some light sketches before he finds the first blank sheet. He materializes a pen from the same pocket that had been sheltering the notebook and quickly scribbles before tearing out the page, folding it in quarters, and gifting it to you. 

You’re not sure why, but you find your hand an open landing for the paper. Unconvincingly, you reassure yourself it's because you know little resistance will only usher him out of your store sooner. 

As soon as he successfully rids himself of the note, you witness a bashful movement emerge upon his face in what you swear is the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You aren’t allotted time to admire or commit it to memory as its life spans less than a second, quickly shrinking till it's gone.

He bids you a rushed, “Take care, Merry Christmas,” before he turns on his heels and rapidly weaves his way through the isles till he disappears past the glass doors without so much as another word or last glance. 

Your eyes gravitate back towards the paper in your hand. You inspect the folded thing before you decide reading its contents would hold no worthwhile benefit and absentmindedly place it in your own pocket. 

— December 26th —

You mentally file through your checklist: The doors are locked, the drawer counted, and the lights turned off. Your colleague took care of the floor prep portion of closing duties before she left; you stayed way too late to finish your end-of-year reports. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are forgetting something.

Your phone! You realize as you pat down your pockets you don’t have your phone. 

You race to your office through the dark void store to see your abandoned device sitting on top of your desk. As you grab your phone, the little forsaken folded paper you forgot you had placed on the work area earns your attention. Whether you set it aside for two days in a veto or for safekeeping is beyond you.

Now having endured your irrationally aggravated haze that always shrouds end-of-year stress, the only thing that remains is a flare of burning curiosity. 

You resist your own inquisitive demands and desert the mysterious note once more to hesitate towards the door, each step becoming more burdensome the further you trudge from your office.

Did you misconstrue him, seduced by mere whispers floating in the wind? Did you indignantly vilify him deceived by your own occupational duress? Despite being verbally clumsy, he was endearingly unconventional, and he clearly carried some remorse for your interaction.

You’re even baffled by the rumination this small piece of paper has conjured. Customers come and go, but you can’t seem to justify why he has become an unwelcome stowaway in your mind.

For the past two days, you’ve been choking on the bitter taste of rueful pining that you can’t seem to wash down. Suffocating under abrasive waves of what might have been if you’d only had patience to spare, till you can no longer deny your craving. 

You find your limbs and retrace the progress you’ve just made. You restively unfold the note to read confirmation of the exact information you imagined was inked into the little white sheet.  

Please, please, call me Jake.  And pretty please reconsider those drinks. (248)434.5508

You are alarmed by the giggle that sounds past your giddy smile, penetrating the silence of an otherwise lifeless building. Your chest is ambushed by an aching weight as your sight darts across the hall to the storage housing the “secret stash” as he put it.

You suddenly have no idea why you’d been so hard on him; just that you’re now certain of your looming resentment. You’re not sure if it’s this reasoning, or the way he looked stunned by you, or even the shape of his giant childish smile you can’t seem to recall, that drives your thumb as you dubiously dial the phone number on the paper. 

Each ring of another number entered descends you further on your fall from professionalism and floods your head with panic. As soon as the dial tone begins to ring against your ear you’re immersed into a fit of denial, convincing yourself his answer is an unlikely outcome; despite this being his phone number and you are, in fact, calling it. 

“Hello,” his vaguely familiar rasp becomes one of undeniable recognition.

Neglecting to even consider what you might say if he did answer, you awkwardly blurt, “Hey, Mr.- Jake-,” it occurs to you that you never properly introduced yourself, “It’s the girl with a simple quiet life.”

You possess no control over your hand as it impulsively smacks against your forehead amid your poor choice of words.

You’re mortified he might have heard your reflex as he giggles through the line, “Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping you might call.”

— December 31st —

You aimlessly pace about the bathroom, your platform loafers suctioning with every sticky step on the tile. You survey the sting of your angry nail plates, red and visible from an anxious nail-biting fit. 

A jiggle of the doorknob and a harsh knock on the door interrupts your examination. 

“Just a minute,” your voice shakes trying to overpower the blaring music.

You possess no concept of how long you’ve been hiding out from the party just beyond the bathroom door. You had been wading through a sea of strangers for almost an hour looking for Jake before you finally became overwhelmed, retreating to a random bedroom and locking yourself inside its bathroom. You’re beginning to question Jake’s attendance at the very party he invited you to.

Another bang at the door.

You squeak in panic, “One second!”

You run your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them as you shuffle over to the mirror to perform a last-second evaluation. You straighten the collar of your little black button-down dress and readjust your pantyhose so the hem isn’t visible from your dress’s high-thigh split. You quickly retrieve your wine-red lipstick to featherly dap it over your lips in reapplication and sloppily attempt to recoil any broken curls before you're startled by another thud on the door.

You growl as you stomp over to the entryway, “Who the fuck?! I said hold-”

You swing the door open to gather those wide honey eyes framed by pretty chestnut waves.

The weight lifted from your chest is quickly chased by the embarrassment of your reaction, “Jake?!” 

The both of you, relieved to see the other, spill your words out in unison, “Where have you been? I was looking for you!” 

You aren’t sure whether the uncontrollable giggle you let out is induced by amusement or nerves. Jake only gives you a peculiar smirk while scanning you up and down. 

He slightly tilts his head and tries to interrogate you through a chuckle, “How long have you been hiding in here?”

You’re only able to bat your eyes at him, clueless as to how to save yourself. The way he reads the situation with such accuracy makes you question whether you have the words “socially celibate” written on your forehead; which isn’t true about you at all. You are usually a social butterfly but something about Jake makes you want to gasp for air. 

“I’m not hiding,” you blurt the lie straight through your teeth. 

“It's blatantly obvious you're hiding,” he playfully rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, listing the factors that clue him in, “this is not the most accessible bathroom. There’s a bit of wandering you have to do in order to end up here.”

You attempt to redirect his heat back on him, “Well, what are you doing in here?”

His brows draw together in confusion, “You mean…in my bedroom?”

If your face wasn’t beaming pink before it certainly is now.

That night on the phone he had apologized profusely. After you reciprocated the remorse, he insisted on making up for the misunderstanding in person and invited you to a New Year’s Eve party. You spent the hours of that night learning bits and pieces about each other over the phone, yet not once did he make you aware it was his party. 

“I mean you invited me, but you failed to mention you own the place,” you shake your head and light-heartedly chide.

There’s a lot of attention that comes with being the host; attention you couldn’t compete with being that you have known Jake for all of five minutes. You have half a mind to make up some excuse to escape now and be done with this. 

Jake’s words soothe your storming thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re here and I found you. It's almost midnight and I was starting to think you flaked.”

From where your abrupt banter appears you’re not certain, just that you’re pleased with its arrival, “Wow, all these guests and those pretty eyes were searching for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I was only concerned you might be hiding in a bathroom somewhere,” he teases back.

You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom. Only now do your inhibitions hush, admitting you to espy Jake dressed essentially in the same ensemble as your first meeting, the sore difference being the color palette. However, this single change is not one of subtlety, as you discover navy blue is certainly Jake’s color.

Jake instructs you to reenter the party and he’ll come find you in a few before disappearing into his own bathroom. 

You almost scoff out loud. There is no way you are subjecting yourself back to that lion's den alone. You instead idle about his room. 

You presume this bedroom is the master due to its excessive space and height. Two walls of a deep timber green meet one of exposed cobblestone, where the head of the bed is positioned, and another wall that is made completely of bookshelves. Mounted on these walls are frames of various historic maps and sketches and what you assume to be sailing routes. The decor is accented by espresso wooden floors and leather furniture; everything within your line of sight could certainly tell stories of a life dating well before your own. 

You wonder how it hadn’t occurred to you before, this room might belong to him; Jake is almost the room personified in its rustic aesthetic.

You saunter over to the wall of books, extending your reach to them. The pads of your fingers ridge against the embroidered spines of various vintage books as you skim through their titles; from which you determine the wall displays are most likely of a piratical lore. 

As you scale the bookshelf you run into a bar cart. Surely, he won’t miss a sip of liquor as much as you’re in need of one. You grab a cocktail glass from its rack and start with an easy pour of sparkling water. You aren’t sure which liquor to choose as they are all top shelf but land on tequila, mixing in an extra shot to take off the edge. You dress your drink with the squeeze of a lime and drop it in with a plop of ice, the residual juice left on your fingers begins to sting at your bitten fingernails. You take a moment to admire the symphony of each bubble fizzing its way to the top while ice chimes against your glass; the mere song of a tequila soda already easing your nerves. 

As you sip on your elixir and further snoop, you notice there are not many pictures in the room. The few you do find tell the story of four siblings. Although, you struggle to pick Jake out amongst the bunch, having it narrowed down between two in every photo. 

A whisper from somewhere just beyond your shoulder shatters your sleuthing trance, “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your drink nearly escapes your glass from the jolt his ambush sends through you.

He further teases you, “Ah, now you’re going to spill stolen liquor on my floors too?”

“It’s not stolen if you owe me a drink, sir,” you quip, referring to his offer of your first encounter. 

He playfully reclaims your drink from you while declaring, ���Let’s see how good of a cocktail you can mix-,” he takes a swig and speaks through a stifled cough, “whoa, bit stiff there! I suppose you may just be able to keep up with me.”

You are on the verge of investigating the family pictures when his phone rings. He frowns, yet still retrieves the device from his pocket to read the notification. However, his eyes break from their summon within a second, elated to receive yours once again. 

Jake almost pounces on you, giddy to usher you back to the party, “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people!” 

You tail him down the hall to the main part of the house until you reach the outskirts of crowd congestion. He shifts his lead to your side, his arm still extended to precede you, parting the way through traffic. 

Parading through the guests, almost everyone attempts to greet their beloved host, stepping in front of or trying to walk between you. 

You feel Jake’s broad hand lightly rest against the small of your back in an attempt to stay tethered, your skin waking to the sudden warmth and weight of his touch. 

As you travel deeper into the heart of the crowd, it only multiplies in its density. Jake's fingers delicately travel from your back, over your hip, and wrap into your waist. He tugs you into his side, practically walking hip to hip; a measure taken to make certain you remain by his side.

Ordinarily, touch from any stranger is an unbearable concept you desperately flee from, but Jake’s hands are ones you’ve never known. He grabs you like he is certain your skin is his to touch. Simultaneously, it's assertive and amenable and affectionate. It grants status in a house full of strangers. You know you’ll only grieve its absence. Yet, you fear how you already crave more. 

Your buffer’s escort sees you into the kitchen and immediately draws towards a group of three men: two of a tall lean stature and the other petite like Jake. He walks before you and seizes their attention from whatever concentration previously held it.

You shadow Jake, shifting behind him so there is as little space as possible without physically touching him; weary of your new appetite. 

Even inches away from the men’s huddle, you can barely hear over the roar of the overcrowded house and the blaring music; your only indication of Jake speaking is the wave of his hands and the three boys’ responding laughter. 

You lean as an attempt to hear their conversation when someone stumbles past you, knocking you straight into Jake’s backside and sending him into a light stumble. 

Like some bashful toddler hiding from scary stranger danger, you stand straight and peek over Jake’s shoulder to see three wide-eyed men gaping at you. Jake loops his hand around your arm and casts you dead front and center as if you are a surprise gift he’d been concealing behind his back this whole time. 

He lightly rests his hands on your shoulders and leans towards your ear, you gauge he’s close not by sight, but by the warm sensation of his words tickling your skin, “These are my brothers,” then reverts his attention to the other men, “guys, this is who I was telling you about.”

You formally introduce yourself and one by one they do the same: Sam, whom you recognize from the pictures and assume is related to Jake, Danny, whom you’ve never seen before but seems to possess the same familial chemistry, and finally Josh, who you now identify as the other face you couldn’t differentiate from Jake’s in the photos; you know they must be brothers. 

You turn to confirm your suspicions with Jake and find he is no longer behind you. Eyes apprehensively detailing the scene, you scour till you recover him at the bar topping off your drink. You know he means well but the last thing you want is to be stranded.

As if he can access your thought flow, the man who earlier introduced himself as Josh is standing next to you now and gingerly places his fingers on your bicep to reassure you, “Don’t worry, you're in good hands.”

As your insecurity is driven away, curiosity remains, “So, what has Jake told you exactly?”

“Well- really, only that he came into your store and bugged the shit out of you-,” across from you,  a slightly tipsy and loose-lipped Sam is silenced by Josh nudging him, “ow?!”

“He told us that you hold an interesting perspective and a vast knowledge in the world of music,” Josh earns the title of damage control, “in addition to your immunity to his charms.”

When Josh laughs, it is a grand thing, his whole body participating in his colossal giddy smile. You can’t help but receive the glee he is emitting.

Only now does it occur to you, that pretty smile has graced you once before. It's the same one Jake wore for a mere second, of which the imageless memory has been bugging you for a week. Their wide smile seems to exist in exactly the same shape yet live in different lights: Josh’s a bit more generous and Jake’s a bit more significant.

It isn’t until now that you’re able to delineate all the same features about their face, noting now that they aren’t similarities at all but replicas. Only now can you see they’re twins. 

“Stop scaring her,” Jake’s voice rasps from behind you as a fresh drink is placed in your hand. 

“If you haven’t done that already, I’m not sure what will,” Josh collects Jake’s warning with a banter of his own. 

Suddenly, the boys’ are uprooted by a slow bluesy ballad sounding throughout the house; not a conventional party tune but after all it’s not your party. One after another, each brother’s face lights with recognition of a happening and disappears from the kitchen to the heart of the house, dragging along a someone as their chosen company. You witness every bystander in the kitchen mimic the strange migration. You never imagined a change of song could so dramatically alter the behavior of a room. 

Immediately, consciousness of an unknown tenses in your muscles. Your eyes storm Jake for clarification, yet the coy grin that he produces does nothing to soothe your skies. 

“So it's kind of a Kiszka New Year’s Eve party tradition,” his hand finds the back of his neck as if he is trying to thread together bad news, “to have a last dance just before midnight.”

“Oh,” your chest drops at a much less severe diagnosis than you anticipated. 

Jake distances himself a step from you to offer his hand and bashfully beams, “Care to be my final dance in these last fleeting moments of a year’s dying life?”

“I- um- actually,” you panic grasping for any declination, only to find a confession in reach, “I can’t dance. Well, not slowly anyway.”

He feigns shock, “A beautiful girl of your musical knowledge and you don’t know how to dance?!”

Despite the urge to run far and fast the moment Jake calls you beautiful, you charge to your own rescue, “No one ever taught me!”

He raises an interrogative eyebrow, “You promise that’s the only reason?”

You give Jake a confused nod while also averting your eyes in shame, so you aren’t aware when he lunges to snatch your hand from its comfort zone by your side. 

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jake chimes while tugging you from the kitchen.

The unforeseen tow renders you almost tripping over your own feet, docking your sweating glass courage on the nearest counter. 

You’re dragged into a tempest of strangers waltzing about until Jake decides your destination in the eye, a center spectacle accessible for anyone to gawk at. 

Jake plants you in position by steading your shoulders. You pay him no mind as your consciousness is currently employed by the surrounding cloud of people. He lifts your arms by the wrists, resting them around his shoulders before drawing in close to place his hands on your waist. You’re once again consumed by the warm weight of his heavy hands that spell you starving for more. 

“Jake-,” you begin to fret, suddenly feeling like you might burst into tears. 

“Shh- It’s okay- Look- Look, it’s simple,” he consoles you like an eager child. 

Jak motions your sight to follow his to the floor as he steps out with his left foot. Paralyzed by your own nerves, Jake doesn’t give up when you completely miss his cue to mimic his movement. You barely process the light chuckle that leaves him as he retraces his step back to starting stance.

Nimbly, his palm delineates your pelvis as his grip runs from your waist to your hip. Jake then replicates his previous action, this time firmly swatting your right side to follow; the slight impact sends an unsolicited shudder down your spine that you pray goes unnoticed. 

Hesitantly, you pursue his step. Then again with your left. Retrace. Repeat. Again. Then again. And again. Until you are swaying along with the rhythm.

Jake's eyes have since left the floor, amused at the sight of concentration you are. He allows you a moment of beginner’s peace before disturbing your count.

“I think you’ve pretty much got it,” his finger lands under your chin to lift your hanging head back to eye level again, rejoining his honey-brown gaze, “you can look at me now.”

You recognize something perennial in his tired eyes and all at once you’re aware the road to unwind is undoubtedly a long one, but whether it routes through pleasure or pain is beyond your discernment; the only thing of which you're certain, is at this moment he became ineradicably and irrevocably undeniable. 

After a few confident strides, you courageously let your head fall to Jake’s shoulder, only tripping over your instructor’s feet a few times but he doesn’t appear to mind. If you were rhythmically inclined you suppose you might even enjoy slow dancing, swaying about solely to remain blissfully close to your pretty dance partner as the rest of the reality seems to wane from existence. 

You swear hours pass before the melody finally fades out, yet Jake and you take your time to rejoin the rest of the world, lingering in your bubble; a countdown to midnight being the hammer that eventually breaks your glass.

TEN! NINE!

You hastily revert back to your own, excusing yourself from any rejection or inquiry by joining the chant. 

EIGHT! SEVEN!

Rather than dwell, your abrupt modesty strikes Jake endeared. He simply restructures himself, respecting your space, with a regaling smirk as he now jumps into the sequence. 

SIX! FIVE!  

Achingly aware that you’re the one who broke it, you’re assailed by a twinge of loss, fighting the appetite to feel him pressed against you once more. 

FOUR! 

That is until you feel Jake’s slight caress against your wrist. At first, you assume it’s an accident. The remaining life of the current year dwindling provokes the roaring crowd to compact, dancing and hugging, in hopes for a better year. 

THREE!

Yet, Jake’s touch doesn’t retract. His fingers dawdle about your skin, dancing down till he climbs into your palm. 

TWO!

His vast hand is extensively more than you’re able to hold, so his calluses tickle as he swiftly rakes them against your skin to interlock his fingers in yours; the bond devoted and interminable.

ONE!

You expect a confession from Jake as he cranes his head to fall in close to yours, but instead, feel a pink blaze rise to your cheeks as he delicately places his pretty plump pout just before the corner of your mouth; the sensation of his facial hair, prickly against your skin, being one you’d like to know further. 

As he pulls back to revel in your bemusement, you’re finally caught in that beautiful beaming smile for the second time. Your ache to witness the entrancing sight again hadn’t registered until it surfaced long for you to savor this time; your hope for the year to come instantly blossoms from Jake’s smile. 

“Happy New Year,” his blessing is barely audible over the cheers of a new era.

Some unseen and unfamiliar force greater than lust, commandeers your limbs diminishing all conscious control as you impulsively cling onto his lapel and yank him back into your orbit. Recklessly, you devour those pompous pink lips into your own. Jake doesn’t hesitate to consume the small of your back and dip of your waist within the swallowing grip of his palms. His mouth emulates your hunger, letting your kiss flourish and thrive against your lips. You give into your need for an air supply only when you feel the shape of that giant ass smile break the seal of your embrace. Nimbly, you press a small pucker to Jake’s dimples while they exist. 

You remain within the gravity of your shared breaths, giggling your wish against his smile, “Happy New Year, Mr. Kiszka!”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

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[dearestones]

Pictures of Yesterday (Cater Diamond and Reader)

Warnings: N/A.

Summary: You don’t want your picture taken and Cater doesn’t understand why.

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There are a lot of things that happen to catch Cater’s eyes. 

Bright things, shiny things, interesting things.

He liked to be on top of the most recent and most Magicammable trends that are happening online, of the new fashions, and what media was hot and new. He liked seeing his notifications blast him with the newest of the new; it made him smile and his chest thrum. It made him feel like he finally meant something, that he was creating a persona for himself that he felt was actually palatable to others. 

He liked interesting things.

He liked things that were different and brand new.

But it was all the better if he could make something of it. 

So, on his posts that he would make on Magicam, he made sure to stand out and be the thing that everyone wanted to rant and rave about. Would his tags make him all the more alluring? Would he be able to hop onto the latest trend quickly enough before it got snuffed out like a candle under a strong wind? It was the useless vanity of it all, of things that didn’t matter in the long run, but kept Cater steady and calm in his day to day life. 

If he wasn’t on Magicam and if no one knew what he was doing at all times, then did he truly exist?

“I don’t want to be included in the picture, Cater.” Your voice sounded so shy, yet so sure of yourself. It was an odd combination and Cater wanted to laugh. Such contradictions were few and far in between the halls of Night Raven College: you were either as brave as your bluster or you were taken advantage of by bigger predators. Even Cater knew his place among the turbulent rankings. “Not today, but I can help you with the angle?”

Cater pouted, but gave you his phone after adjusting the settings. “Aww, come on! It would be so cute to have a picture of us eating this strawberry tart together, right? I could even add in a few neat hashtags like #berrynicetreat or #strobbery since we got this at a discount price!”

Much to his credit, you seemed to relax at his joking demeanor before gesturing for him to pose at his seat, the picture perfect strawberry tart tantalizingly placed on a cute plate. Here, he made a heart with his fingers, the slender digits crooked and poised correctly with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before. To finish off the look, he tilted his head at a slight angle before shooting a wink at you. 

“Am I cute yet?”

You stifled a laugh before focusing the camera app on him and taking a series of pictures to choose from later. 

“Cater, I don’t know why you have to ask. You always look cute!” 

You didn’t look up at Cater until you returned his phone back into his outreached hand. When you did, you were startled by the blank expression on his face. No, wait. There was something on his face, but you weren’t sure what. His eyes were downturned, almost contemplative. His lips were pursed in a straight line—a far cry from the usually bright smile that you often saw. What was even more concerning, aside from the combination of disturbingly somber facial features, was that the third year student was slouched in his seat and he had yet to start choosing and editing the pictures that he had taken. 

At this point, you were concerned and was about to ask, but he said, in a voice that was far more subdued than his normal high energy, said, “You look cute, too.” You were about to wave away his empty flattery with a smile, but his next question had you halting. “Why don’t you want your picture taken? Or get tagged in today’s post?”

You shrugged, not really understanding why Cater was taking this, of all things, so seriously. “Does it really matter? There are just some days where I don’t always feels like taking pictures of myself. Like today, for example. My clothes are wrinkled and I didn’t prepare for a photoshoot.” Attempting to laugh this all off did nothing to stop Cater from looking so… off. 

If anything, the third year Heartslabyul student looked even more disturbed, perhaps even affronted by what you just said. 

“Does it matter?” He muttered to himself. It sounded like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it was too late: you had heard it. His fingers, long, tapered, and well maintained tapped on the blank screen of his phone, the screen having long since shut down since he hadn’t interacted with it while he was speaking with you. He said something else, but quieter this time, so you couldn’t catch it. What you did notice, however, was that his bright green eyes flickered towards yours and held your gaze for an unfathomably long time. 

“Hey, um… Are you feeling all right, Cater?” Still no response—at least, one that you couldn’t detect on a physical level—so you had no choice but to address the elephant in the room. Or, the strawberry tart that lay tantalizingly on his plate. “Anyway, I know that the only reason you invited me was so that you wouldn’t waste the tart, so I’ll just—”

You maneuvered the tart onto your side of the small table, still aware that Cater was watching your every move and was likely trying to think of something to salvage the situation. On the other hand, this was the first time you had seen Cater so withdrawn and serious. It was an interesting development, but it was jarring. 

You wondered if Cater was sick or if he was always like this when there was something on his mind. 

Which reminded you…

After taking a small bite out of the tart, you asked, “Does it bother you? Knowing that I don’t put that much care into what my image is like online?” 

It wasn’t exactly your fault, if you recall. For the first semester at Night Raven College, you had gone without a cell phone until the Headmage decided to give you one during the winter holidays. A part of you thought that the Headmage would ask for it back, but he had surprised you with genuine generosity. Still, you were careful not to use it too much for fear that you would accidentally break it and well… You didn’t have to guess to know that the Headmage was magnanimous at a whim, but that didn’t mean that his patience was without a limit. 

In a situation like this, with a question shot into the air like that, you guessed that Cater would laugh it off and return back to normal. Even if this scenario was well within the boundaries of the unimaginable, you would be sad to let this opportunity go. It was rare that you could see your upperclassman look somewhat vulnerable, considering you often associated him with a more lackadaisical attitude, but it wasn’t in your nature to push too much. 

If Cater wanted to be aloof, then it was in his right to do so. 

What you didn’t expect was that Cater took you seriously. “It does, actually.” His chin fell forward onto his open palm, his bright green eyes uncharacteristically probing, lacking the happy go lucky disposition that he often afforded himself. 

“Do you…” You swallowed hard when you felt bits of the tart stick to your throat, the sweetness calling you back to eating more of the pastry instead of engaging in conversation, but you were adamant in asking. “Would you like to talk about it? About why it bothers you so much?”

Cater yawned a little behind his hand before nodding slowly before gesturing towards his phone. “Not really.” That’s what you expected. “But I am curious, why? I know that you always lug around that ghost camera from the Headmage, and you do take pictures now and then, but it’s mostly of other people. Even after you received your phone, you don’t even take pictures of yourself all that often.”

“I don’t find the need to document myself?”

He raised a brow, unconvinced. 

“I think it’s because… I don’t know how to explain it, but taking pictures is more than just posing correctly, getting the right tags in, and making sure that your filters and lighting is perfect. For me, it’s finding a memory worth keeping and immortalizing. I don’t have to be in the photos, per se, but I do want to capture the feeling of what it feels like in the moment.” You paused to think.. “Most of the time, capturing that feeling is spontaneous and candid. When you take pictures of yourself or with others, it feels so forced and unnatural. With the ghost camera, I take in everything: the good, the bad, and what is worth remembering.”

Cater leaned back in his chair, a darkened expression making itself known in his eyes. “Prefect… Am I worth remembering then?”

Even underneath all the glitzy lighting and filters?

Even when he tried to make the cutest tags? 

Even when he knew that the light in his eyes whenever he smiled for the camera was often teh result of wanting to look good instead of just being in the moment?

You held up your fingers on both hands and formed a box, made a feigned look of contemplation, and then said “Click!” as if you were actually using the ghost camera. 

“Of course, Cater.” You grinned at his bemused expression, the light returning to his eyes and ease loosening the line of his shoulders. “I don’t think I can forget you even if I wanted to.”

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If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

[authortobenamedlater]

EDIT: I don’t like editing posts after they’ve gotten notes but it’s hours later and I realized I didn’t copy the instructions 😬

Mundane asks for OCs/underused canon character you adopted. Tag 10 people.

@christian-latte-anon tagged me and since I DID just finish writing more for these two adopted side characters.

What is their favorite movie? This is hard to answer for a series set 500 years in the future, but Tom’s favorite movie is definitely NOT any of the Disney classics he has to sit through with Chyler 🤣

What is their favorite season? Again, hard for two people who spend most of their time in space. However, I’ll say summer for a weird reason. I’ve headcanoned that Tom and Chyler were stationed on Reach for awhile until the Covenant hit, and New Alexandria is on the northernmost continent. So the summers were probably very short and very pretty. Maybe the occasional moose or equivalent trespassed on the FLEETCOM grounds 😂

What do they find annoying? Tom: Chyler’s unending Disney soundtrack (but he also kind of likes it, don’t tell anyone). Roland, enough said, LOL. Paperwork. Rules that serve no purpose. Chyler’s bed-hogging. Chyler: Tom’s aversion to putting clean clothes IN DRAWERS or THE CLOSET like a NORMAL PERSON. Spartan-IV antics (I need to write a fic about this). Roland, but to a lesser extent because he’s mildly terrified of her 🤣. Her BDU vest as explained in For Better Or Worse. Tom’s complaining about her bed-hogging.

How would they like to spend their Christmas or equivalent holiday? I don’t think this is ever mentioned in the Halo world. If I had to guess, there’s probably a mash-up end-of-year holiday party aboard ship but the day itself isn’t a huge deal. The job must go on.

Do they play an instrument? If so, what? How good are they at it? Headcanon subject to change, but for now, no.

What's their favorite meal to eat? Chyler likes Mac n cheese with beef because her mom used to make it. Tom’s is…I’m not sure, but it’s something very spicy. Chyler doesn’t want his ghost pepper sauce in the same room with her and she won’t kiss him for at least an hour after he’s eaten it 🥵 Credit where credit is due, the spice thing is sort of stolen from @infinityactual but it’s also a scene that plays out with me and @mrtobenamedlater way too often.

Do they have a favorite video game or board game? Probably? Whatever video games look like in the 2550s. I imagine Chyler sitting there with her cross-stitching adding commentary while Tom plays.

Do they celebrate their birthday? Their birthdays are close together, Chyler is older by about six weeks, and every year they try to make the day(s) pass without fanfare and every year the crew finds out and throws them a party anyway.

What's their bedtime routine? They rarely make it to bed at the same time, so usually “try not to wake the other.” When they do manage the same bedtime, Tom has an awful habit of trying to finish work in bed. Chyler sometimes falls asleep on his chest while he’s working, unwittingly reinforcing the bad habit because Tom loves it.

What's an oc (or canon character) that they like to spend time around? What do they tend to do together? Sarah Palmer, she functions as the straight (wo)man to the Tom/Chyler comedy show 😂 I haven’t written anything about this one yet but Chyler runs into Veronica Dare a lot. As wives do, they end up discussing their husbands. Oh yes, and Roland 🤣🤣🤣

Made up some of these on the fly! That was fun. I spent WAY too long completing this and am out of patience to tag anyone. If you’re reading this, here’s your tag.

[bomberqueen17]

plato’s allegory of the fucking sunrise

I woke irrevocably at 4:05 this morning, with no cat intervention, and I was happy enough to lie there and rest, as I’ve found that can help me from getting too sleep-deprived in situations like that, but then I started thinking about Current Events so whoooo ok I got out of bed then.

(So! Many! Innocent! People! Are Getting! Hurt! *sobs*)

Anyway. So my original plan was that I was gonna get my next chapter up on Friday like my old schedule was, but then the chapter wasn’t done, so then I was like fine I’ll finish it over the weekend and do it Monday, and somehow? despite me working on it? for kind of a while? it didn’t write the rest of itself! Shocked and upset.

So anyway I worked on it *quite* a bit on Monday and to my dismay it is still not done. Come on I wrote like a bunch! How come I couldn’t find the end of the scene? I even know what happens. C’mon can’t I just like-- come on fill yourself in the rest of the way all we’ve got left is the-- oh.

oh the sex scene. C’mon that’ll take like. no time. No worries.

Ha. Anyway. I did get a bunch more done on that. Normally when I wake early in the morning I just get ready and go in to work. But I could not actually leave the house before 5am that would be actually insane. So I sat at Dude’s work desk and looked at my computer, and after a moment I heard a noise behind me and realized, there in the dark, Chita had been asleep on the guest-bed in that room, and she had seen me there and started purring. So she came and head-bonked with me for a while, and then crawled into my arms so she could get kisses while I kept working. (I lost circulation in one arm, where she had her little paws carefully draped over the crook of my elbow, but it was a very small price to pay.)

And yet the scene still isn’t done, so. I can’t put it up today either, likely. (Somehow I have outstripped my poor betas, despite this crawling agonizing slow progress. Yes, I just have betas read the live doc, we live on the edge. Mostly it’s that they’re saints. Yes, I went un-edited for years, and it worked out sort of okay, but I never managed anything this long before. Shit eventually stacks up, where you thought you said something you didn’t, and then the thing doesn’t hold together, is my working theory. I don’t know, but I’m off the edge here.)

I’ve done all the hard parts. But. Yeah probably I need to do a sex scene here. It’s already almost 5k long so it won’t be a long one. But it’s-- that’s maybe the worst part, it’s not even like this is a long chapter, it’s just taking me for fucking ever. But if I finish this story, then we’re solidly in the I-already-wrote-this phase and I could make faster progress, probably.

Ha I can’t even bitch that if I don’t post I get no comint, there’s someone doing a reread of the entire Meet Death Sitting series leaving me paragraph-long comments on every fucking chapter, and this person is a hero or possibly a saint, am beginning my petitions for canonization even as I struggle to focus my eyes on an entire analytical essay in my inbox when I first wake up-- bless you, darling, I did intend that character point but I had not until this moment noticed the underlying theme.

Also. Like. if you aren’t subscribed, sassaffrass/ @cacheth has been updating inclusions and I kind of mostly just keep looking at the pretty pictures. Also boner jokes.

Anyway my mood is real shitty but it’s not because of this, it’s because I’m at work and I’ve just noticed a reflection on the wall in the other room outside the windowless one I sit in, and I’ve confirmed it’s the light from a very pretty sunrise I can in no way see any of, and I can’t see the sky or anything of the outdoors and I live in this fluorescent hell and it’s too cold in here and the VHS transfer is making annoying fucking noises and I’ve been freezing since I woke up so everything seems very bad.

But actually the writing is going well. Just, slower than I want. And I’m not beating myself up over that, it’s just that everything else is beating me up.

[someonestolemyshoes]

Off the Record

Hello!! I am super excited to finally post my entry for @levihan-drabbles competition :D The prompt was super interesting and I had a tonne of fun writing this one! 

The prompt I received was: Hange posts a picture of Levi somewhere and it becomes a meme.

(For those curious, this is the meme I used for inspiration) 

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

Hange met Moblit in a small cafe a little way down the road from the newsroom. She was in good spirits—her morning had been productive; she'd made steady headway with research for her next interview, finished the final edits for a few smaller tabloid pieces she'd been meaning to brush up, attended three short, perfunctory meetings on tedious company policy, and laid the groundwork for another exciting interview opportunity.  

She felt good. And now she had the pleasurable prospect of a hearty lunch, a passable cup of coffee, and perhaps best of all, Moblit's company. His company, and his camera.

Hange threw herself into the seat opposite Moblit the moment she spotted him, hunched over his laptop in a corner of the cafe. He lifted his coffee cup just in time for Hange to clatter against the table, the thin metal frame rattling precariously. She offered him a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," she said, and then, "got anything exciting?"

"I don't know about exciting. Interesting, maybe, but no breaking news."

Hange flagged down a passing waitress with one hand, and waved Moblit off with the other. "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter," she said, then paused to order a drink and her favourite sandwich. "Tell me anyway."

"I got a tip-off from a waiter at Sina's."

Hange's eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She sat forward in her chair, folding her arms on the table top as she leaned closer. "Who?"

"Take a guess."

Hange grinned at him. Moblit was not one to play coy; he did his job and did it well, and reported his findings efficiently. To leave her to question it meant one of two things; he had photographed someone very high profile indeed, or it was somebody Hange was, for better or for worse, well acquainted with.

Or perhaps, if she were lucky, it was both.

"Let me see him, then."

**

Hange had taken far too much time in the cafe with Moblit. He had given her a rundown of all the details he'd gathered during his field work that morning, and shown her through his extensive photo gallery. It was impressive, the kind of archive Moblit could cultivate with only a 45 minute breakfast window.

Hange had been delighted. Moblit was right; it wasn't breaking news, nothing particularly thrilling, but there was a corner of the Internet, Hange knew, that would delight in a trashy little article just like this. Something quick and simple to bulk up the social media feed for the afternoon.

Plus, there was a series of pictures Moblit had snapped, a cluster he'd thought to be of no real merit, that Hange simply could not pass up.

She could lay down no facts with a story like this one. There was no hard-hitting investigative journalism to be had, but she could at least offer some speculation based on her knowledge of the subjects involved, and spin a tale juicy enough to get people talking.

It took little time at all to put the article together. Hange scribbled up an outline for the contents—the location; Sina's in downtown Hizuru, a luxurious restaurant serving five star meals at every hour of the day. High in quality, sickeningly steep in price. The time of day; 9am. To the best of Hange's knowledge, this was rather out of character for the subject. He was an early riser, but according to their interview last March pending the premiere of his newest movie, he wasn't the type to eat much at all before lunch time.

And then, the company. Eren Yeager was a relatively well-known actor, barely an adult at nineteen. He starred in his first role a decade earlier, and had seen commercial success in multiple movies and TV shows ever since. He had been something of a prodigy in his younger years, bold and precocious, possessing a natural talent many actors years his senior couldn't even hope for. As Hange understood it, he had recently hit a rather troublesome phase. An interesting line of inquiry, but despite his talent and his fame, Eren's presence was simply a cameo, compared to the subject of the article Hange was drawing up.

Levi Ackerman.

Levi is a fan favourite and a media delight. He's attractive no doubt, and his performance in any and every role is almost always met with critical acclaim. Outside of his career, however, he's an elusive thing, silent in any matters pertaining to his private life. He avoids any public event like the plague, and rarely shows his face at premieres or award ceremonies if he can possibly avoid it. He gives interviews only when required by some contractual obligation or other, or else when the journalist in question is so painfully persistent that it is simply easier to give in than to keep fighting.

Little of his personal life is known, but it is impossible for someone in Levi's position to avoid interacting with anybody at all, and even the great Levi Ackerman is not above scrutiny.

There are rumours. Several of them, accounts from fellow cast members, from staff, from directors, and even Erwin, his manager, has alluded more than once to Levi's sour disposition. He is prone, Hange has heard, to fits of anger, and is easily disgruntled by minor inconveniences. His dislike of anything unclean or untidy is the stuff of legends—Hange has seen this first hand, at their very first interview. He had entered the room, scowled at the chair before sitting in it, and given Hange a thorough once over before announcing, with no hint of humour, "your glasses are filthy."

Hange had found him both fascinating and quite delightful, in his own strange way. When he acts, Levi sounds eloquent; he is a master of emotive performance, wringing the last drops of anger, despair, or grief out of each and every word, or else injecting the perfect giddy jitter, or a tremor of humour when the scene called for it. As soon as the cameras stop rolling, though, Levi's tone becomes flat, and without a script, his words are clumsy and crass. He communicates poorly, quick to throw insults and crude remarks. Hange has interviewed him a number of times—she counts herself very lucky that Levi will consent to her requests without too much fuss, these days—and each time she finds herself spending half of their time together translating his answers into something a) family friendly, and b) understandable to the everyday reader.

There is nothing for Hange to translate this time. Moblit managed to speak to the waiter after Levi and Eren had vacated in hopes of gleaning any small tidbit of knowledge regarding their conversation, but the venture had been hopeless. The pair had grown silent upon the approach of any staff member, and spoke in tones too hushed for anyone nearby to hear. They learned nothing they couldn't extrapolate for themselves from Moblit's pictures; Eren looked sheepish, avoiding Levi's gaze in favour of staring into his drink, while Levi—

Levi looked furious.

Every picture featured his signature frown, which, in and of itself wasn't enough to assume Levi to be in any mood besides neutral, but some of the photos show a hint of bared teeth or pursed lips, with his brows pulled lower than normal, the space between them deeply creased. Hange found herself curious as both a journalist and as an acquaintance. They may not be friends, but Hange liked to think she knew Levi a little better than most people, at least. She could find nothing in their past interactions to suggest any relationship with Eren beyond the strictly professional. They had over a decade between them, and though they had worked together on more than one set, neither party had ever said anything to insinuate so much as a friendly attitude between them.

There was no resolution to her queries to be easily found. And luckily for Hange, this particular piece didn't require any. It was a gossip article, something spicy, jam-packed with buzzwords, what-if's and more questions than answers, designed to make people wonder. Levi's name in the title would be enough to draw people in; Eren's name was an added bonus. But the star of the show was Moblit's photography. Hange arranged the images she had chosen in a grid. In context, the pictures were intriguing, depicting a particularly ferocious part of Levi and Eren's exchange. Out of context, they looked a little ridiculous. Both would bring readers onto their home page.

Satisfied with her work, Hange queued the finished article for review, and turned her attention back to her schedule.

**

The article launched mid-afternoon. Hange watched, somewhat satisfied, as it was received much as she had expected it to be. The activity on their Twitter account skyrocketed, the tweet in question garnering more likes, retweets and replies in the hour after it's post than any other they’d dropped in the last month.

Hange had allowed it to slip from her mind after the first hour or so. She received praise from her bosses, and a text from Moblit, jokingly demanding she pay him even more handsomely for his work than she already had, and her cousin had called her in the evening on a quest for insider gossip she could share with her friends, but that had been the end of it. Hange thought of it no more until early the following morning, when she had stopped by the quiet little cafe beneath her flat for breakfast and her favourite coffee.

She had been polishing off her pancakes when the bell above the door chimed. She had paid little attention to the newcomer, until a shadow passed over her table, and a familiar voice said, "Oi, shitty glasses."

Hange looked up to see Levi Ackerman himself standing over her, his face twisted in a scowl.

There are perks of being reasonably acquainted with Levi. Hange always gets to conduct his interviews, and Levi only ever turns her down if her request is unreasonable. Like that time she demanded he meet her at this very coffee shop for "just a quick piece, about the cameo you did for the new season of Titans", only to show him she'd bought a new pair of glasses—"look, all clean!"—and, when pressed, admitted there was no interview at all. He had been far more hesitant to indulge her in smaller affairs after that, but Hange was still lucky enough to be his only regular interviewer after big releases.

More interviews means more commission for Hange, and more high profile work with other celebrities. Yes, being acquainted with Levi has its bonuses.

But it also has its downsides. Namely, that Levi will not hesitate to turn up at her regular coffee shop to berate her after she has posted some complete and utter wank at his expense.

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

Hange sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee. Levi's face was full colour now, a pale pink flush from his neck right up to his hairline. Hange gave him a measured look, then kicked out the chair opposite her.

"Sit," she said. "If you have issues, I'd be happy to discuss."

Levi looked for a moment like he'd like nothing more than to strangle her. Then he pulled out the chair the rest of the way, and dropped himself into it.

"I don't give a fuck about the article," he said. "It's shitty gossip anyway."

Hange raised a brow at him. She opened her mouth to continue when, without prompt, a young waitress approached their table, practically bouncing on the spot as she stopped and gave Levi a dazzling smile. Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and Hange would have thought she were simply starstruck, if it weren't for the light of mirth in her eyes.

"Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?" She gave Levi no chance to respond, before plowing on. "Water? Or tea, perhaps? Forgive me, but you seem a little upset. Might a nice tea calm you down?"

Levi grit his teeth. "No, thank you."

Hange almost apologised to the poor waitress on his behalf, but she didn't look bothered at all by his rudeness. In fact, she had barely turned from the table before she snorted in laughter, and caught her giggles in her hands as she scurried back behind the counter. A second passed, before all three waitresses snickered.

"That," Levi hissed, "is your fault."

Now Hange truly was confused. She furrowed her brow at him. "How does that have anything to do with me?"

"You and your stupid article," he said. Hange looked back to the waitress, who looked to their table again before falling into a fresh fit of giggles. Hange turned back to Levi, a little sympathetic.

"I think she just fancies you."

"You're trying to tell me you really don't know the mess you've caused?"

Hange shook her head slowly. Levi watched her closely, searching for proof of the lie, but Hange's earnestness must have shown through, for Levi's anger abated a little, and he slumped back on his chair.  

In lieu of a verbal explanation, Levi pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, typed something out, and scrolled a little way, before placing the phone on the table and sliding it towards her. Hange pulled it closer with a frown.

The screen displayed Twitter, and showed the feed beneath the search for Levi's name. Hange scrolled a few posts, eyes widening little by little as she went.

Levi was right. The contents of the article were of little significance at all. The photo grid, however, had gone viral overnight.

It showed four pictures of Levi and Eren, taken in succession. Each one showed only a portion of the back of Eren's head, but Levi's expression in every frame was more animated than Hange had ever seen him outside of his movie scenes, and each was more distraught than the last. Face tight, jaw clenched, teeth bared, with his finger pointed condescendingly in Eren's face. The second last picture shows his brows arched and his lips pressed into a thin line, and the final one—

Hange had laughed at it in isolation when Moblit had shown her. She had fully expected it to garner a few laughs, but she hadn't expected a photograph of Levi furiously slurping his tea to become a meme in less than 24 hours.  

"I see," Hange said, as she calmly slid the phone back to him. "In my defense, you don't help yourself. It wouldn't be half as funny if you didn't hold your tea cup so weird."

"In my defense," Levi snapped, "If you didn't post it online nobody would have anything to laugh at."

Hange crossed her arms on the table and leaned towards him, smiling pleasantly. "In your defense, you wouldn't have been so angry in public if it weren't for whatever Eren had to say. What was that about, by the way? I'm terribly curious."

Hange expected a very Levi response to her prying; a scowl, perhaps a quick kick under the table, an 'It's none of your damn business, four-eyes', if she were lucky.

What she got instead was a haughty sniff, and a gruff, "He's fucking my cousin."

For a moment, they were silent. Either Levi's anger at his new meme status had temporarily disabled the part of his brain that blocked any mention of his private life from slipping past his lips in the wrong company, or something about Eren's indiscretion had rattled him so much, he couldn't keep silent about it. Either way, he looked increasingly surprised—and horrified—at himself for saying it out loud. Hange's eyes were wide, and Levi's were growing wider by the second. Of all the people to slip up to, he had slipped up to her. An entertainment journalist, the one person in his life who thrived on this kind of insider knowledge.

Hange swallowed. Levi was still staring at her like a deer in headlights, no doubt painfully aware that there was no taking back what he had said now.

Hange doesn't take a great deal of pride in what she does. She feels satisfied when her stories receive the reception she'd predicted, validated in her ability to analyse their consumer base and make accurate assumptions about what will hit and what won't, but the work itself feels dirty, at times. An opportunistic scavenger feeding on whatever carrion they can find, no matter how rotten it may be.

This is a perfect opportunity. Salacious details of Levi's interpersonal relationships, right from the horse's mouth. If it were anyone else, Hange would be scribbling every word verbatim in her notebook.

But this is Levi. Levi, who seems jarred by her last article (though Hange will maintain this, at least, is no real fault of her journalism, and also, absolutely hilarious) and was clearly, for whatever reason, incensed by Eren's actions.

Hange brushed her palms over her thighs, and picked a speck of lint from her trousers.

"This is nice, isn't it?" She said, "having breakfast together. We should do it more often. It feels good to just talk, sometimes. Off the record."  

Levi blinked rapidly at her. He opened his mouth, but, still too shocked by his own loose tongue to speak, he said nothing. Hange pulled her phone from her bag and fiddled around with it some, tapping here and there, until she found what she was looking for. She turned it to Levi, and said, "I think this is my favourite edit so far."

Levi finally pulled his gaze from her, and looked down at the screen. It was truly something, the way the picture snapped him out of his stunned silence. Hange had never seen someone's face pinch up so rapidly.

"Come on, it's kinda funny. And look! That's Tony Stark, right? People are so creative. And maybe, if we're really lucky, Buzzfeed will do a compilation article of all the best ways people have used your new meme."  

Levi rolled his eyes at her. It looked strange, with his face so tightly twisted. Hange chuckled at him.

She nudged his ankle beneath the table with the toe of her shoe. "Lighten up, you look constipated."

"Oi, out of the two of us I'm not the one who's full of—"

"—Full of shit, I know, I know. That honour is all mine."

They lapsed into another silence, this one marginally more comfortable than the last. Hange finished the last of her coffee and checked her emails, while Levi tortured himself some more by scrolling through his Twitter feed. After a short while, he spoke again.

"That...doesn't sound bad," he said.

"Hm?"

"What you said about talking more. Off the record. It doesn't sound bad."

It was Hange's turn to flush. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she occupied herself by rifling through her bag in search of nothing.

"Yeah?" Her voice, an octave higher than usual, cracked around the vowels. She cleared her throat, "will you have more gossip for me? It's almost painful that I can't share it, you know."

"Good. I'll share as many secrets as I've got, if it'll bother you that much."

"Sounds terrible," Hange said. She tore a clean corner off her napkin and scribbled her personal number onto it. She slid it over the table to him. "Text me."

Levi pulled a face at the piece of napkin. "Is that used? Gross, shitty four-eyes." He pocketed it anyway.

Hange didn't know what else to say. Levi didn't seem to either, and so he stood, and tucked his chair back in. Hange turned her eyes down to her empty plate. Her stomach and chest felt strange, almost sickly, but in an oddly pleasant way.

Levi rapped his knuckles on the table. Hange jumped, startled, and looked up at the sound.

"This part is on the record," he said. The corner of Levi's mouth quirked into a small, barely there grin. "I heard from a reliable source that Eren was so scared on the set of Last War that he pissed his pants. Twice."

[snackhobi]

pairing: hoseok x reader / word count: 26.8k / genre: fluff, smut, mutual pining, best friends to lovers, slow burn, technically a buzzfeed unsolved AU but you don’t need to be familiar with BFU at all so dw!

summary: having hoseok as your best friend and co-host for your web series is a dream come true. the only hitch? you’re kind of in love with him, and it’s getting harder to ignore that fact, even if he doesn’t feel the same for you. 

warnings: idiots being oblivious, sexually explicit content, oral (f receiving + brief mentions of m receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), body worship + praise (f receiving), a lot of soft emotions and pet names, hoseok treating reader like a pillow princess

a/n: the more I read this the less happy I am with it but after the amount of time I’ve spent on it/how long it’s gotten, I’m calling it finished (even if it’s a lot lighter on paranormal related stuff than I’d initially planned OOPS...) please feel free to let me know what you think AHH x

--

Jung Hoseok is a lot of things. 

Jung Hoseok is: a work-friend-turned-real-friend-turned-best-friend, and one of your favourite people in the world. 

Jung Hoseok is: very easily scared, the opposite of a thrillseeker, Not A Fan of big rollercoasters, or haunted houses, or anywhere that involves jump scares or loud noises or anything vaguely dangerous or threatening. 

Jung Hoseok is: a man with ridiculous lung capacity who can also screech so loudly that you’re fairly certain he could shatter glass if he wanted to.

“It’s just a bat, hyung,” Jimin says, before the bat comes back round and Hoseok shrieks again.

Jung Hoseok is: clinging to you with a vice-like grip as aforementioned bat flutters above you, squeaking and trilling, and you stroke his hand in an absent, instinctual motion, trying to soothe him.

“I definitely heard footsteps as well,” Hoseok whimpers. “Why are we here?” 

Why are you here? Well, because Jung Hoseok is also: your co-host for one of BigHit’s most popular series, BigHit Unsolved.

It’s funny, in a roundabout sort of way, that Hoseok’s general fear of Most Things had been the thing that had cinched him his spot. You’d never expected Unsolved to explode in the way it had, starting off as a short video series with Yoongi beside you to bounce off as you described unsolved crimes, but then Hoseok had starred opposite you and the audience had just eaten it up: the way he got spooked at real life events, the modulation of his voice when it would rise or dip in fear, the way you riffed off each other- you, calm but enthused about your topic, and Hoseok, a quivering jelly of a man when scared.

Not to mention that Hoseok is just great on screen anyway, personable and bright and charming. He makes you laugh and brings out a level of exuberance in you in a way that no one else can, makes you do ridiculous things without even trying- your interactions are good video fodder, basically, and your audience loves how your friendship comes across on the show. 

And that’s another funny thing. You’d known Hoseok before Unsolved, of course, because everyone knows Hoseok, because Hoseok is wonderful, a sunshine of a man, loved by all. You, however, hadn't really spoken much to him- when you'd started at BigHit you'd been crushing on Hoseok in kind of a big way and you'd been worried about embarrassing yourself in front of him, so… you'd done the logical thing of avoiding him as much as was possible without being rude or weird. Face your problems and anxieties? In this economy? Haha, you don't think so.

Anyway. Because of this, your interactions had been pretty limited up until you’d asked him to appear in one of your videos. If anyone asked it was because you’d thought he would be a fun, one-off guest star, which was true, but the main reason was that Yoongi had cancelled because he was sick and no one else had been free when you’d been scrabbling around the office for a replacement. Despite not knowing you all too well, and despite being scared easily by true crime (“my mum watched CSI when I was a kid and it gave nightmares,” he’d told you afterwards), Hoseok had heard about your plight and was happy to replace Yoongi for the episode, and you’d found out that- despite your initial worry that you were going to make things weird- you get on really well.

Like, really well. Not just on camera, either. Before they’d started to roll, you’d been frantically making sure everything was in place, that you had all your notes, that all the pre-production was ready- and Hoseok had made you stand still, taking your hands in his, and he’d smiled at you in a way that had been so warm and comforting that all the tension had leaked out of you. After that it had just been so easy. You’d felt relaxed and the episode had come out great, and then Hoseok suggested that you grab lunch together in the cafeteria so you could get to know each other more. Of course you’d agreed- and the rest is history.

It didn’t take long for Hoseok to turn from a nice and funny colleague, to someone you actively looked for at work gatherings, to someone who you decided to ask to be your permanent co-host for the show, to someone who now has a spare key for your flat in case he ever runs out of snacks or just feels like dropping by. Which he feels like doing a lot, apparently, but you have a key for his place too, so it’s all even stevens. (You steal a lot of his face masks whenever you visit him and he never complains.)

Over time your huge crush on Hoseok has ebbed into a deep platonic love, fading and morphing into a comfortable friendship. Okay, sure, you still think he’s the most beautiful person in the universe and you’d immediately accept if he asked you to marry him and you kind of want to kiss him on the mouth sometimes (a lot of the time) or whatever, but that’s because you know how wonderful he is. It’s platonic. Not romantic. Mmhm. (Mostly.) Either way, you're completely comfortable around him despite any lingering feelings you might have, which is something you appreciate more than you can put into words.

So fast forward to now, multiple seasons into your show, and you’re more than used to Hoseok’s fear and touch. It had been startling, at the beginning, when Hoseok had grabbed onto you whenever he was afraid, but now you’re used to navigating places in the dark while Hoseok clings onto you like a particularly oversized backpack or holds your hand like a lost school child. (You’ve lost count of the minutes, nay, hours of footage that exist of Hoseok doing this, like some sort of gangly limpet, but you don’t mind.) Fans love to splice together footage comparing interactions over the seasons and it’s very obvious how wide eyed and stiff you used to go whenever Hoseok seized you, but now? This is your every day, baby.

Hoseok is still cowering behind you as the lone bat flaps above you, high up in the rafters of the old generator building you’re standing in. You and your crew and your guide are the only people at the abandoned gold mine, so Hoseok can’t have heard footsteps, other than your own- which is what you tell him.

“I think it was the building settling, Hobi,” you say. “This mining warehouse is pretty old.”

“Old and full of ghosts.” Hoseok moans. Jimin readjusts the camera and you know that, without a doubt, he’s zooming in on Hoseok’s terrified face. Namjoon’ll have some fun shots to edit later. Jimin is a very capable cameraman, and also unruffled by ghosts/loud noises/etc, but he does love to catch some interesting angles of the two of you. At least Taehyung refrains from doing that, although he does sometimes get too focused on making a shot artistic rather than capturing the abject terror on Hoseok’s face when it would be a good clip for the final video.  

“Well, we don’t know that.” You pause. “Maybe we should test it with the spirit box to find out?”

Hoseok’s face twists and you can’t help but laugh.

The supernatural half of the show wouldn’t exist without Hoseok. Your fans enjoyed his eternal suffering and fear whenever anything remotely spooky was mentioned, so they'd bandied about the idea of a paranormal-themed season and you'd taken the idea on board; the juxtaposition between yourself and your co-host was all the more defined when he was banshee shrieking at some innocuous sound while you stayed calm. You’re open to the concept of the supernatural but have yet to come across any evidence that you find compelling enough to make you a believer, while Hoseok is convinced in the existence of ghosts and finds the idea terrifying.

He doesn’t like the spirit box because of this, but you don’t mind it- although you don't really like the loud static it makes when it’s scanning through radio frequencies, trying to pick up if any spirits or ghouls are trying to talk to you. (They’re not, even if Hoseok insists that the random bursts of sound it spits out are definitely coherent words and sentences, rather than a mish-mash of random rubbish that it just happens to pick from normal radio waves.)

The spirit box, of course, is about as interesting as normal: that is to say, not really at all, though you have a good laugh after you ask for any spirits to give you a name and the only response is ‘pineapple pie’, which makes you feel hungry. Hoseok lets you rummage around in his pocket for a cereal bar, which you end up munching on between shots, as Hoseok swats bugs away from your faces. He attempts to karate chop a mosquito but misses by miles and you almost choke on a mouthful of oats as he makes the world’s most incredulous face and you giggle.

“We should make pineapple pie for a video at some point,” you suggest, and Hoseok is briefly distracted from his fear- he’d given up on the bugs and has been shining his torch over your shoulder at some old generator equipment and casting warped shadows on the walls behind it, dark silhouettes that could admittedly be considered a little spooky. “I’ve never had pineapple pie before.”

“There’s a Filipino bakery near our place that sells it!” Taehyung jumps in before Hoseok can respond, turning away from where he and Jimin have been making shadow puppets on the wall with their own torches. “It’s so good, you should definitely do it.”

Hoseok hums. “Jin-hyung would probably be happy to help out,” he says. You finish the cereal bar and tuck the wrapper back into Hoseok’s pocket, making a mental note to get in touch with the Tasty team member to ask him about it. He’ll leap at the opportunity. 

There’s a clattering noise somewhere far in the distance, probably rocks shifting or something, and Hoseok squeaks and crowds even closer to you, as impossible as that is with how he’s already wrapped around your back at this point, the harness for his chest-mounted camera digging into your spine. It’s a familiar sensation by this point. “Please can we get out of here now?”

“Sure,” you say indulgently, stroking Hoseok’s arm where it’s wrapped around your collarbones. “We need to drive down to the mining tunnels now anyway.”

Hoseok keeps hold of your hand as your guide drives you to your location, squeezing your fingers every time the car goes over a bump- which is pretty often on the rocky dirt track. Hoseok’s fairly touchy in general, always holding hands or hugging or kissing people, raining little pecks over their faces, and it had been Very Overwhelming when he’d first turned this attention to you. You’re not, like, not touchy, but back in season 1 you were definitely not used to spending time with someone who loves skinship as much as Hoseok does, and it had taken time for you to stop freezing up every time he casually touched or grabbed you.

It says a lot about how used you are to it now that you don’t even bat an eyelid when he wriggles into your twin bed at the hotel later, curling up around you once he’s finished his meticulous skincare routine.  “Your bed is over there, Hobi,” you say, although you immediately snuggle back into him, letting him spoon you. He’s always a lot clingier after you finish filming a supernatural episode- as if you can ward off any ghosts that might have decided to hitch a ride back from wherever you’d come from.

“I know,” Hoseok replies. He hitches a leg over yours, sighing happily when you reach an arm down to rub his calves. He always sleeps better if you massage him.

“I can’t wait to get home.” You dig your fingers into a muscle and Hoseok squirms a little. You huff out a laugh. “Arizona is so hot.”

“You look cute in shorts, though,” Hoseok says. He’s been saying the same thing all day.

“You just like shorts.” He’d been wearing shorts too, pretty much matching his clothes to yours; at this point you’re starting to wonder if he looks through your luggage before he packs his own stuff, because your outfits end up being eerily similar a lot of the time. You think he finds it reassuring, maybe, when you’re somewhere unfamiliar. Or maybe it’s because Hoseok’s fashion has influenced your own over the years. You definitely own a lot more bright clothing than you used to, not to mention the matching items you’ve both purchased together anyway.

Now that you think about it, Hoseok really has been a big influence on you, huh.

He falls asleep pretty soon after, going lax and limp as his breaths deepen and he dozes off. He always falls asleep before you do, awake one second and flat out the next; you envy his ability to drop off like that, usually taking a lot longer yourself, but you do find it good that he’s able to sleep so quickly despite his earlier fear. He always crashes at yours after you finish filming an episode when you’re home, too, otherwise he says he’s up all night with the fear- this is all part and parcel of Hoseok being your co-host and partner on the show, and honestly, you don’t mind it at all.

So you're used to this. When Hoseok makes a little noise in his sleep and starts shifting behind you, you lift his hand to your mouth and gently kiss his knuckles, running your thumb down his wrist- he settles immediately, going lax again. You'll chase away any nightmares with soft touches, shuffling around in his grip and holding him tight if you need to, before eventually drifting off yourself, safe and warm in the circle of his arms.

Even though you usually fall asleep after Hoseok, one thing you have over him is the fact you’re a morning person and find it a lot easier to get up with the sun. Despite your late night, you’re awake moments before your phone alarm starts to ring, turning it off before it can rouse Hoseok out of his sleep. When you slide out of the bed he stirs a little, instinctively reaching out for you in his sleep, and you carefully put a pillow in his arms so he can hold onto that instead; he settles down once he has the pillow hugged to his chest, and you take a moment to look at him fondly and gently kiss his forehead before you start to get ready for the day.

You’re pretty much done by the time Hoseok sits up at the sound of his own alarm, blinking blearily in your direction as you turn it off for him. He’s still holding onto the pillow as he sits up.

“Morning, honey,” you chirp. “You want coffee?”

Hoseok stares at you for a second, eyes squinting as he tries to wake up fully. “Morning,” he replies, voice hoarse from sleep, and you smile. “Please.”

When you’d first found out that Hoseok wasn’t a morning person, you’d honestly been gobsmacked. He’s just so bright and energetic that you figured he rolled out of bed like that- it just makes sense- but it actually takes him a surprisingly long time to get fully up to speed with his normal self. He’s a little slower, a little softer, draping himself over your back as you fiddle with the room's coffee machine to try and get some caffeine into him.

“We can always get some more at the airport,” you say conversationally, and Hoseok hums quietly into your hair before dropping a kiss there. “It’s a shame we don’t have time to eat at the breakfast buffet.” 

Despite his morning slowness, he’s still ready on time; he’s always punctual, is your Hoseok. You make up for missing breakfast at the hotel by purchasing tons of snacks for the flight to Pennsylvania, munching a pre-wrapped croissant as you read off your phone while Jimin dozes next to you, his head resting against the window. You’re sandwiched between him and Hoseok, who has the aisle seat- he cranes his head at your pastry and you tilt it against his lips so he can take a bite. You end up with a lapful of crumbs, but that’s okay. 

“So where are we off to next?” Hoseok asks once he’s done chewing, peering at your phone screen. Across the aisle from you, Taehyung very loudly unwraps a pain au chocolat, much to the irritation of the woman next to him. 

“We’re going to an old prison,” you say, and Hoseok meeps. “A penitentiary, to be exact.”

Taehyung shoves the pain au chocolat into his mouth whole so he has his hands free, fumbling for his phone as he starts to film how the colour drains from Hoseok’s face as you give him a brief synopsis of the prison and other places you’ll be going to while in Pennsylvania. This isn’t even for Unsolved; Taehyung just likes to have video evidence and receipts for everything, if his camera reel is anything to go by. Even though you’re vague with your descriptions- you like Hoseok’s reaction on camera to be as unscripted and natural as it can possibly be, when you finally turn up at your locations and then set up so that you can talk about it- once you’re finished, Hoseok is curled up against you, hiding his face in your neck.

“Why can’t we go somewhere nice for once?” He whines, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Budget doesn’t cover it, that’s why we have to sleep at haunted hotels. They’re cheaper.” Hoseok meeps again, and you relent, lifting your hand to cup the back of his head. “Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you,” you say, stroking his hair as you use your free hand to clumsily scroll through your phone, double checking the details of your planned trip.

“I know.” Hoseok is uncharacteristically quiet against your collarbones. Taehyung gives up filming and rips into another pain au chocolat packet, smiling guiltily at his seat neighbour when she tuts at him. “You never do.”

Despite Hoseok’s fear of a lot of things related to the show, and the fact he jumps and screams at pretty much everything, he’s never asked to bow out or avoid doing something. He even agrees to go into areas alone when the two of you try to ‘make contact’ with spirits, even though he’s obviously terrified- but each and every time before you part, you promise that you’re not going anywhere and you’ll be waiting right outside for him. You would never abandon Hoseok (even though ghosts probably aren’t real and he has nothing to worry about), and he knows that, and takes strength from it. It warms you.

He keeps his head nestled against your neck for a beat longer, and then smacks a loud kiss against your skin, which makes you squeal and slap him away while he laughs. 

--

As fun as it is to jet around the country- especially with Hoseok and the other guys- it's also exhausting, and there’s always something nice about coming home. Even though the increased budget that you’ve been allocated as the show’s been growing in popularity means that you can stay at nicer hotels now, your own bed is still the most comfortable place in the world. (Well, tied with Hoseok’s bed, thinking about it. The two are basically interchangeable at this point anyway, if you consider how often Hoseok ends up sleeping at your apartment and squirreling his way under your blankets as you’re trying to sleep.)

On the other hand, though, in spite of a return to your regular creature comforts, coming home still involves work: there are Q&As to be filmed, footage to edit, later episodes to plan, research to be done. As the original progenitor of Unsolved you take the brunt of the last two parts; Hoseok is the one who reacts to the facts you throw out, he’s not the one who investigates the different things you talk about on the show, but he’s always there to support you and talk to you whenever you need it. 

(Your audience knows Hoseok as someone who is cute and bright and cheerful, but he’s also quietly thoughtful and surprisingly serious when he has to be. That’s the side of him that you get to see whenever you stay late at the office, your desk lamp the only one left on in the room, hunched over your keyboard as you trawl through conspiracy threads in the deep bowels of the internet that are discussing who D.B. Cooper is. You love loud Hoseok, of course, but you appreciate this hushed part of him, too- the way he'll deliver you a hot chocolate with a kiss to your forehead before quietly sitting beside you and waiting for you to finish so he can take you home.)

Anyway. Coming home means coming back to the office, means putting in shifts at BigHit headquarters, etc, etc, all that jazz, so here you are, sitting on Hoseok’s lap and scrolling through your tablet as he does something of his own on his PC. The first time this had happened, it had raised eyebrows- not because it was considered inappropriate or anything, as BigHit is the kind of place where people can make out in hallways to ‘test the longevity of this 24 hour lipstick’ for a video and no one bats an eyelash, but because up until this point, you’d been renowned for pretty much being glued to your desk while working. But you like Hoseok and his energy, even when he’s not doing anything, and his lap is comfortable, even if he doesn’t exactly have the world’s thickest thighs. You work better when you’re around him. 

You’re scrolling through Instagram comments for questions to answer in this week’s Q&A episode when someone clears their throat. Both you and Hoseok look up in tandem to find Seokjin standing there, looking decidedly more grey-haired than he had the last time you’d seen him. He pulls it off effortlessly, of course. 

“What’s up, silver fox?” You let your tablet droop into your lap as Hoseok takes his hands off his mouse and keyboard and secures them around your waist instead, so you don’t slide off his legs. His hands are warm where they splay across your stomach and you can feel the bumps and texture of his bracelets through the material of your shirt. “Liking the new look, by the way.”

“You look really good, Jin-hyung,” Hoseok says from over your shoulder, and you nod in agreement.

“I know.” Jin sounds flippant but he seems pleased. He doesn’t say anything more than that, though, and just looks at the two of you expectantly. You both blink back at him.

“So… did you come over just to be complimented, or?” You slowly start to lift your tablet, acting as if you’re about to start reading off your screen again. “Were the thirsty comments on your latest video not enough for you today?”

Jin raises an eyebrow as he pretends to inspect his nails. “No, no, there were plenty of comments, as always,” he says loftily. Unsurprising, considering his unofficial(/basically official) title of Most Handsome Face in the office as well as the leagues of fans he has. He lets his hand drop as he quickly gives up pretending to be aloof. “So when are you planning to fit making pineapple pie into your schedule?”

“Oh!” Hoseok squeezes you in his excitement and you wiggle a little in his lap. “I almost forgot about that! Did Tae mention it to you?”

“Jimin too. They burst into the kitchen while I was filming and they were both holding a piece of Filipino pineapple pie aloft like they were wielding Excalibur, so, yes, you can say that it was mentioned,” Jin says, and you can’t help but wince. Being interrupted while filming is one thing, but the Tasty studio can be hazardous on top of that (y’know, what with the knives and fire and stuff), so you can only hope that Jin wasn’t using a mandolin or something when they had appeared. 

“Oof.” You wiggle your hips again and Hoseok immediately catches your drift, turning his chair so the two of you are facing Jin fully rather than having to turn your heads to look at him. Jin makes a weird expression, something you can’t put a name to, but it slips away too fast for you to catch properly- maybe he just had a sudden chill or something, who knows. “Sorry about them. How about I email you our filming schedule and you can see when you’re free as well? We were going to film a 70th episode retrospective soon and the pineapple pie video might be a nice sort of bonus on top of that.”

Jin agrees easily. You use your tablet to open the Google Calendar that you have with Hoseok, which makes Jin pause when he notices. “You share a GCal?”

“Duh?” You flick a look at Jin through your lashes. You and Hoseok have GCal where you input your work schedules to avoid potential clashes when you need to film together, but you also put in other plans the two of you have outside of work, if it’s ever necessary. “Why wouldn’t we? It makes it easier when we need to plan things for Unsolved.”

“Uh-huh.” Jin sounds sceptical, but you decide not to address it. You miss the look he gives Hoseok as you scroll through your calendar, the two men having a silent exchange as you start to draft an email. Somewhere across the office you hear Yoongi shout out an expletive and two sets of cackling laughter that sound suspiciously like Taehyung and Jungkook; you and Hoseok turn at the sound, but you don’t spot anything from where you’re sat. “Alright, I think that’s my cue to leave,” Jin says, and promptly dips before he gets dragged into whatever’s going on.

Whatever shenanigans Jungkook and Taehyung have gotten up to seem to be pinpointed to one area, so you avoid any fall out, and Hoseok eventually excuses himself to go to the toilet. You take over his chair while he’s gone. Asides from yourself, both computers at this desk are entirely abandoned- Yoongi is still absent, nowhere to be seen- and you’re tapping away at your tablet when all of a sudden you have a camera shoved in your face. 

For once it’s not Jimin or Taehyung or Jungkook, and instead when you look up you see Irene and Seulgi, the latter girl beaming at you while Irene holds the camera. Seulgi says your name and points at you with a perfectly manicured nail, and you blink at her, completely caught off guard. Irene zooms in on your bewildered expression.

“Um, hey guys,” you say. “What’s up? Need me for something?”

“We wanted to ask if you wanted to guest star in the next Ladylike video!” Seulgi chirps brightly, and you’re immediately on guard. While the offer seems innocent enough on the surface you can’t help but wonder if the next video is one of their wilder ones (you don’t care if the underwear is silver-infused and apparently wicks away smell and moisture, you flat out refuse to wear the same panties for a whole week). Fortunately your fears are assuaged when Seulgi seems to read your mind and answers your question before you have the chance to ask it. “We’re trying to recreate elaborate Instagram makeup looks with dollar store makeup.”

Irene giggles behind the camera when you visibly relax. “I’m in, that sounds fun,” you say, and both girls seem inordinately pleased. “Um, when are you planning to shoot it?”

“Tomorrow! It won’t take long, we promise,” Seulgi says. “You just need to be free for filming, we’ll do all the editing and stuff.”

You finalise the exact time you need to be available by and by the time Hoseok comes back from the toilet both girls have just gone. You stand up so that he can reclaim his seat, eyes glued to your tablet as you open up your Google Calendar so you can put the Ladylike video filming in, but you’re interrupted when Hoseok grabs you. You squeal in surprise when he tugs you back down rather than letting you sit down yourself, tablet getting sandwiched between the two of you as you end up straddling him in a desperate attempt to catch your balance- but before you can resituate yourself he starts to tickle you and you end up laughing uproariously into his face.

“Cute, cute, my Y/n is so cute,” he sing-songs, and you continue to laugh as you try to bat his hands away.

“Stop, oh my God, Hobi!” There are tears of laughter in the corners of your eyes as you squirm in his lap, trying to get away from his hands but being prevented from doing so by the desk at your back; you’re trapped between it and Hoseok, entirely at his mercy as the two of you giggle at each other.

“You realise other people work here, right?”

Yoongi has finally reappeared. He sounds disgruntled, but you put it down to the fact he has KITTY AVAILABLE FOR ADOPTION and a phone number scrawled across his face in what appears to be permanent marker, rather than at the fact that you and Hoseok are making noise. As Hoseok’s deskmate he’s used to this sort of behaviour by now.

“Hey hyung,” Hoseok says, shameless as his fingers continue to dance up and down your sides, although the touches are light enough now that you can turn your attention away from giggling to appreciate Yoongi’s new look. “Did you have a good nap?”

“A cat nap,” you say, and then giggle at the unimpressed look Yoongi throws your way- it’s hard to find him scary with the multi-coloured letters scribbled over his face.

He grunts as he sits down. “I’ll kill those kids,” he says, but there’s no real heat behind his words, and he slumps into his chair with a resigned sigh. “I kept scrubbing at my face but this shit won’t come off.”

You exchange a look with Hoseok, the two of you thinking about the hand sanitiser you keep in your handbag- the alcoholic gel would probably lift the ink off Yoongi’s face, but neither of you offer up this information. “I’m sure it’ll come off by tomorrow,” you say, and Yoongi makes a hopeful noise at the back of this throat. "Any particular reason why you've decided to act as a walking billboard for abandoned cats?"

"Thing 1 and Thing 2 said they were raising awareness for a local cat shelter and asked if I wanted to help. I said yes." Yoongi sounds rueful. 

"I feel very aware of it, hyung, so I'd say they did a good job." Hoseok laughs when Yoongi just flips him off.

Hoseok’s hands have gone still by this point. It’s not until Yoongi starts to tap at his keyboard that you remember the position you’re in, straddling Hoseok in his chair, your hands on his shoulders and his hands on your waist as you lean back against his desk- but as questionable and potentially incriminating as this entire situation seems out of context, literally no one is batting an eyelid. People are used to seeing this sort of thing from you two, both comfortable and not awkward with each other at all.

Hoseok's hands are warm and steady where they wrap around your waist. You're struck again by how large they feel- supportive, as always, when he holds you. 

"Mind letting me go, cowboy?" You say. "I should go back to my desk to get some work done."

"You're more of a cowboy in this situation," Hoseok says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Seeing as you're the one that's doing the riding."

"Good lord," Yoongi mutters.

You laugh at the expression on his face before Hoseok wheels you both away from the desk so that you have room to swing your legs off him. "That's dirty, Hobi," you say, but it's said with a smile and wink.

After you've disappeared, waving at the two men, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Hoseok. "I know you two are basically married at this point, but can you try and rein in the flirting when I'm trying to work?"

"We weren't flirting," Hoseok protests. Yoongi looks unconvinced, his other eyebrow rising to match the first, and just shakes his head before he resumes Googling ways to get the permanent marker off his face.

--

Irene’s touch is light as she puts the makeup onto your face, surveying her work critically as she does. 

“Alright, that’s the foundation done,” she says, once everything seems to have passed whatever rigorous criteria she has. “So we're onto the concealer next.”

There’s something soothing about having someone else do your makeup. Not to mention that you don’t have to worry at all about the production of the video- with your usual projects, your level of investment means that there’s always something to think about, but right now all you have to do is sit there and look pretty. You do listen and react whenever Irene shows you the products and so on, but otherwise, you are literally just sitting there and letting the other woman put stuff on your face; you can relax and unwind and let her take the lead.

Irene has just finished blending the concealer under your eyes when your phone vibrates in your pocket. While she's rummaging for the next product- setting powder- you quickly check your phone to see if it's anything important. It's Hoseok, asking where you are, because he has a coffee and Danish pastry for you and he can't find you; you realise then that you never put the Ladylike video filming into your calendar, distracted by Hoseok grabbing you, and today you'd just disappeared without telling him where you were going. Oops.

You quickly shoot him a reply before Irene starts to brush the powder across your face and you're both surprised at how well it sets. "Your skin is so nice," Irene says with a smile, sweeping the brush over your cheeks. You try not to laugh when the bristles tickles your face, flattered at her comment.

She's just finished doing your brows when you hear the studio door open and you catch sight of Hoseok. He's staying off camera next to Wendy so he doesn't get in the shot, quiet and unobtrusive, but you can't help but perk up when you see him. Although you stay silent so that it doesn’t interrupt the filming, Irene notices how you brighten and pauses in her motions to look over where Hoseok is standing.

"Hi, Hoseok." Much to your surprise, despite the fact that the cameras are rolling, Irene still greets Hoseok. You thought she'd make him wait until you were done. "You're here for Y/n, I presume?"

"I have a coffee for her," Hoseok says, a little sheepish, holding up an iced macchiato and a paper bag that's got a small grease stain spreading on it, a tantalising glimpse of the deliciousness inside. "I just came to drop it off?"

"I don't deserve you, Hobi," you say, beaming, and he smiles back at you. 

Irene gestures for Hoseok to come into the frame. There’s a brief moment where you and Hoseok exchange a small, surprised look- Irene is rummaging through eyeshadow palettes and seems like she’s still going through with the video even though Hoseok is about to walk on set- but he acquiesces and steps into the shot. Irene points at the Instagram photo she has open on her iPad, which is propped on the table so she can use it for reference and zoom in if necessary. “We’re doing this look with dollar store products."

“Woah,” Hoseok says, leaning down to peer at the picture, and he sounds suitably awed. “That’s really nice. You’ve chosen one with all of Y/n’s favourite colours.”

“It’s cute, right?” You’re so excited to see the final product, even if it ends up not looking as good as what you can see on the screen, considering the cheapness of the makeup that Irene is using.

“Not as cute as you,” Hoseok says, and you blow him a kiss before looking at the iced macchiato in his hands meaningfully.

“Coffee, coffee?” You sound hopeful but Irene tuts.

“You’ll need to keep your eyes shut while I do your eyeshadow,” she says.

Before you can begin to feel disappointed, Hoseok comes to the rescue. “Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you.”

And so that’s how you end up with Hoseok holding the straw of your iced coffee up to your lips while Irene applies the different shades and shimmers to your eyelids, your eyes shut as she does so; Hoseok makes appropriate ooh-ing noises, bowled over by how she manages to blend the cheap eyeshadows before doing a cut crease- you have to keep your eyes shut the whole time, letting the concealer dry on your lids so that it doesn’t smudge, gauging how it looks based on Hoseok's reactions. 

Every so often Hoseok will make a small noise and then you’ll feel the straw press up against your lips, and you’ll take a sip of your drink while Irene is switching colours or brushes; you feel thoroughly pampered today and you’re enjoying it immensely. She’s been describing the different products and their quality to the camera throughout the whole video, but now that Hoseok’s there, he responds to what she’s saying, making her giggle with how enthusiastic he is despite not recognising all the terminology she’s using. Although your eyes are shut you can't help but smile: that's your Hoseok, always lightening the atmosphere and making people laugh.

“Alright, you can open your eyes,” Irene says after what feels like a lifetime. The liquid eyeliner has dried by the time your eyes flutter open, the stark blackness against the expertly blended eyeshadows the first thing you notice when you look at yourself in the mirror.

“Woah, Irene! This is incredible!" You turn your head from side to side, taking in how different your eyes look after the ministrations of Irene's skilled hands. "Hobi, look at those wings! I wish I could get mine that even.” You don’t often wear liquid liner and when you do it takes you eons to get them to match, making each side bigger as you try to match the other- most of the time you just give up.

“You do look incredible,” Hoseok agrees. You look away from the mirror to smile brightly at him and then take another drink of coffee when he lifts it back up to your lips; the straw makes loud slurping noises as you reach the bottom of the cup and you end up sucking up more air than liquid, much to your disappointment. He chuckles at the look on your face but then coos when you pout. 

“I’m not done just yet, you know,” Irene says, unperturbed by your interactions. You wonder how this footage is going to turn out after the edit. “We still have lips and cheeks to do.”

Despite the fact your coffee is finished, Hoseok still remains next to you and watches Irene work. She lines your lips and then paints them a pleasant nude colour, before going in with an extra touch to your contour, and blush, and highlight (you’re genuinely in awe at the selection of makeup you can apparently get for a dollar each). There are so many steps involved in the execution of this look and you wonder how long it would take you to try and do this yourself, before deciding there aren’t enough hours in the day, even if Irene makes it look easy, finishing your face with a flourish.

“Alright, done!”

You pick the mirror up to tilt your head at different angles. You catch the way the highlight shimmers on your cheekbones and cupid’s bow, the way your eyes look after they’ve been shaded with colour and glitter, the sharpness of your brows, the fullness of your lips. 

“I can’t believe this was all dollar store makeup,” you say, awestruck. “It’s so much like the photo! I look so good.”

“Irene had an already perfect canvas to work with,” Hoseok says, and you end up smiling so widely your eyes almost squeeze shut.

“Flatterer,” you say.

“You two are so cute.” Seulgi sighs wistfully from behind the cameras and Wendy muffles a quiet cough into her palm.

Irene asks for your opinions on the makeup- you, moreso on how it feels on your face, and Hoseok, if he thinks it looks close to the Instagram photo (he does, but he's clearly biased because you're involved, which he doesn't try to hide). Once the cameras have been cut and everything has been wrapped up, Irene says you can go and so you hop off your chair. Before you can get too far, though, Hoseok stops you, touching his fingers gently under your chin. 

“Let me have a proper look.”

You immediately relax and let him tip your head slowly from one side to the other, eyes scanning across your makeup, which feels a lot heavier than you’d expected, but you’re still happy with how nice it is.

“Wah, so beautiful,” Hoseok says, a small smile on his face; it’s one of his softer ones, one that doesn’t show his teeth or his dimples, but rather squeezes his eyes into crescents, his gaze warm. Still blinding but in a different way.

“Irene did a really good job, didn’t she?” You say, enthused. Hoseok pauses, but then his teeth show as the smile grows.

“Yeah, she did.”

"Maybe I should get her to give me makeup lessons so I can look prettier more often." You've never been all too great at the more refined parts of makeup- blending eyeshadow or contouring, for example- but maybe you should add it to your repertoire, you muse.

Hoseok's smile dims as he becomes oddly sombre, hand shifting to cup the bottom of your chin so your face is gently cradled in his hand. "You're gorgeous all the time, makeup or not," he says. "Makeup is fun and you do look great but please don't think you need it to be pretty."

A shy smile plays at your lips. You feel bashful but you can't hide from Hoseok's gaze when he's holding onto you like this, but it wouldn’t matter even if you did. Hoseok knows you well enough to read your moods if you attempt to hide them- but because you trust him you don’t try to. 

"Ahh, you're too sweet to me, Hoseok," you murmur. He always compliments you, but the thing with Hoseok is that he always means it, and although you should be used to it, it still catches you off guard every time. 

"You deserve it." The soft smile has returned to his face and he lets his fingers drop away from your chin to tangle with yours to lead you out of the studio. “Now come on, you still have your pastry to eat.”

“I totally forgot about that! Oh, but I’ll probably smudge my lipstick.” Your sudden excitement about food dips instantly as you realise this. “I mean, I doubt dollar store stuff has much staying power anyway, but it’ll definitely smear onto the pastry, like, immediately.”

“I’ll cut it up into small pieces for you,” Hoseok says, and you make a noise of happiness as the door to the Ladylike studio shuts behind you both.

Seulgi and Wendy and Irene all look at each other, the two of you all but forgetting that they'd been standing there and had thus witnessed that entire exchange in excruciating detail. Wendy and Seulgi both open their mouths but before they can speak Irene holds up a hand. “I know,” she says. “Trust me. I know.”

--

Around the office, Jin might be renowned for his silliness, propensity towards dad jokes and loud laughter, but on set- while he’s still very much himself- he’s a professional and takes safety in the kitchen Very Seriously.

“If you damage any of my equipment with your clumsy fingers, I will grate so much parmesan down your throat that you die of cheese asphyxiation.”

“Sounds kinky,” Hoseok laughs, but then he jumps behind you when Jin brandishes a decorative pineapple at him as if he’s about to brain the other man. 

“Babe, I’m not about to explain to your family that your final words were, and I quote, ‘sounds kinky’, especially if it was before Jin offed you via fermented dairy products,” you say, although you still shield Hoseok with your body- as if there was any chance you’d be able to stop Jin if he was on the warpath. His shoulders are so broad. Still, you’d fight him for Hoseok if you had to.

“My family love you, I think they’d be okay with it,” Hoseok says from behind you. Jin makes a weird expression with his face before he sets the pineapple back down onto the table next to the rest of your equipment, raising his eyebrows at something; before you can ask what’s up, you’re distracted by the sensation of Hoseok’s hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “It’s okay, Jin, Y/n and I cook together all the time. We won’t mess up.”

“Hobi’s really good at cooking,” you pipe up, and Hoseok affectionately nuzzles at the crown of your head. You cook dinner together at least once a week, trying to use different recipes each time- cooking is a great hobby because you get food at the end of it, and cooking with Hoseok is especially great because you get an excuse to break out the candles and fancy tablecloth your mother had gifted you, even if your food is something simple. 

(You never thought you’d learn multiple ways to fold a napkin, but Hoseok is always so excited whenever he sees you start to crimp them into shape, so you like to mix things up for him.)

Jin’s face shifts back into that look that you’re starting to think looks like he’s eaten something that he’s not sure if he likes or not- a little disbelieving, perplexed, resigned. You never get a chance to ask why, though: Jin claps his hands and tells you to put on your aprons so you can start filming, and you eagerly pull it over your head before helping Hoseok tie his behind his back. (Jin makes the face again, but you’re too busy tying a cute bow to notice.)

Jin seems genuinely impressed when it turns out that the two of you have been telling the truth. Of course, the Tasty team member is directing you and giving instructions so it’s not as difficult as it might be otherwise, but he ends up surprisingly uninvolved with the physical part of the process; you and Hoseok hand jobs off to each other and work in tandem to prepare the dough and filling, and once the pie is in the oven you even begin to clean everything up unprompted, moving around each other with an unconscious level of ease. 

Jin just ends up sitting on a stool and watching you do his ‘minion work’ although you think he just doesn’t want to get in the way. Hoseok hipchecks you gently and then giggles when you pretend to be pushed back by the strength of the motion and flop dramatically over the sink.

“How often do you two cook together?” Although the question is technically directed at the both of you, for some reason you get the feeling that Jin is aiming this more towards Hoseok, who answers him.

“Usually two or three times a week,” Hoseok says.

“Hmm. I see.” Jin looks thoughtful, and you can’t help but feel like there’s something you’re missing in this simple question and answer exchange. Hoseok has an expression on his face that you’ve never seen before- which you’d thought was impossible, because you know Hoseok inside and out, and it’s confusing. You feel surprisingly unsettled by it.

Your best friend seems like he’s trying to cut whatever tension’s in the air by turning his attention back to tidying up, but he fumbles when he goes to shut a drawer and catches his fingers. He’s barely had time to make a small ow noise before you’re there, lifting his hand and inspecting it carefully. “Stop distracting my boy, Jin, let him focus on cleaning up your messy ass kitchen,” you say.

“Excuse you, my kitchen is a temple, it’s only a mess because you’ve been in here,” Jin says primly.

“Sounds like something a messy person would say.” You would roll your eyes but they’re focused on the reddened skin of Hoseok’s fingers. They just look slightly pinched, nothing major, but still. You’re careful when you touch him. You don’t want him to hurt any further. “Are you okay, baby?”

“No.” He sniffles and his lip wobbles dramatically and you laugh. You do what you always do when Hoseok hurts himself in some small, superficial way- you lift his hand to your lips and gently kiss the fingers he’d gotten caught, inflamed skin already fading back to its usual colour, pain clearly already gone. 

“There,” you declare. “All better.”

Hoseok’s expression is warm and tender as he looks at you, his fingers still cradled in yours as you look up from your touching hands, and your gazes lock. There’s a brief moment of stillness, a second that starts to crystallise into something more, and you’d swear his face had just started inching forwards when there’s suddenly an almighty clattering noise from behind you and you both jump, the moment broken.

“Oops,” Jin says blithely. You turn around to discover that all the pineapple related knick-knacks and decor on the table are now scattered on the floor around him, a tangle of paper decorations and plastic fruit that’s rolling across the room. “I seem to have slipped.”

“Weren’t you just going on about how messy we were?” You raise an eyebrow at him, but you’ve already turned away from Hoseok to squat down and help Jin tidy up, chasing down an errant pineapple. You don’t see the pointed look that Jin gives Hoseok behind your back, and when you turn around with the over-large pineapple clutched in your arms, both men seem to be acting like normal. “I’m going to pay Namjoon to keep that in the final cut so everyone can see how chaotic you are in the kitchen.”

“Joonie would never betray me like that,” Jin says with completely unearned confidence, just like he does with most things- but the sad thing is, he’s right. Namjoon is too much of a professional to keep unnecessary shots in the video, and besides, Jin seems able to get away with being outrageously chaotic because he’s so charming and pulls it off so well. If the footage of him somehow sending everything to the floor was kept in the video, people would probably love it.

Once the pie is done cooking and has finally cooled enough for Jin to cut it into triangular shapes, you’re so excited to eat it that you’re bouncing up and down on the spot a little. Hoseok is too. Jin humours your excitement with understanding- he loves to eat too- although he raises his eyebrows at the way you and Hoseok lock your arms together before you lean forward to take a bite of the pineapple pie. You let out a muffled little groan into the pastry once it finally touches your tongue, sweet tartness of the pineapple exploding across your tastebuds, pastry buttery and flakey as it melts in your mouth.

“Jin, this is so good,” you say, and Hoseok hums around a mouthful of fruit filling in agreement.

“I think your ghost was onto something,” Jin says. He’s already polished off his slice, while you and Hoseok are barely halfway through your own, disentangling your arms so you can focus on eating properly. Sometimes you wonder if Jin just unhinges his jaw and swallows things whole because you’ve never seen someone who can eat as quickly as he can. “They could see you pining.”

Your face twists in confusion. “What?”

“You know… pining… like a pineapple,” Jin says, before giggling to himself like he’s just told the world’s funniest joke. You raise your eyebrows at Hoseok, but then you take another bite of the pie and immediately forget about Jin’s cryptic nonsense.

“This is so good, isn’t it, Hobi?” You ask.

“It’s so sweet and light and delicious,” Hoseok says. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I thought we were talking about the pie, not me, Hoseok,” Jin says, and then lets out peals of squeaky laughter when you roll your eyes.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I think you can get a cream for that,” Jin continues to laugh, before you throw a paper pineapple at him.

--

There’s still pie left over the next day. Of course, you’ve saved slices for the rest of your crew. Jimin and Taehyung are snacking on slices of pie as they help each other set up the cameras and mics in the studio, making sure the lighting hits you and Hoseok so that you stand out against the room behind you. Today’s the day you’ve set aside to film the 70th episode, and you’re excited for the chance to do an official retrospective of the show so that you can look back at all the places you’ve been to and the things you’ve discussed, as well as plans for the future.

“Did the two of you coordinate your outfits for the video?” Tae says curiously, and you glance down at your clothes. It’s only then you realise that- although your outfit is darker than his- there are flowers on Hoseok’s bomber jacket and your dress is covered in a floral pattern.

“Huh, I didn’t even notice,” you mutter as you pluck at your dress.  “Guess we’re just telepathic.”

Hoseok stays silent, strangely enough, but when you hold your hand up for a high five he responds enthusiastically and continues to grip your hand afterwards, which makes you laugh. “That’s friendship,” he says, and you laugh again, squeezing his hand.

The two of you keep laughing as the cameras start to roll, watching the clips from your most popular episodes so far, between answering commonly asked questions from fans- one of the more frequently asked being ‘why did Hoseok agree to be a co-host when he always seems scared during filming and screams all the time?’

You read this question off your list and Hoseok’s answer is immediate. “Y/n is one of the hardest workers I know,” he says. “So I was excited to be invited on board for a show that she had created. And I wouldn’t say that I’m always screaming-”

“Yeah, when you have to pause to breathe,” you interject, and he laughs.

“Sure,” he says indulgently. “But, honestly, when Y/n is there it’s easy to forget that we’re standing in some terrifying old building or haunted tomb or whatever.” You rest your chin on your hand as you watch him continue to speak. “I would honestly be a lot more scared if she wasn’t there. She’s very good at distracting me if I’m getting too worried. She’s very comforting.”

“That’s a nice way of saying that I’m basically a defence mechanism for you.”

“Basically.” Hoseok grins at you so widely, teeth on show, gorgeous. 

Now that he mentions it, it’s true that as your friendship has grown, his fear has ebbed; although he still screams as loudly as before, it happens less often, but because sudden noises and jump scares always startle him, it still happens a lot. If you don’t take the time to reflect it’s kind of easy to forget how your friendship has grown over time, which is why it’s another good reason to have this retrospective- for the sake of the series, sure, but your relationship with Hoseok has grown as the show has, too.

When you flip over the final page to read the final question, you’re surprised to see an extra one tacked onto the end- you’d been the one to select them, after all, and this one has been added after the fact, someone’s messy handwriting scratched across the paper. You don’t recognise the writing. Honestly it kind of looks like someone had written it with their non-dominant hand to avoid detection, almost like a child’s writing from a cartoon, all but missing the backward E’s- but the question is pretty innocuous, so you figure you may as well answer it. You can just ask Namjoon to cut the footage later if you don’t like it.

“Y/n: If Hoseok decided to quit being your co-host, who would you want to replace him?” You squint at the paper as you decipher the scrawl, not seeing how Jimin and Taehyung exchange a sly, down-low high five off camera. “Huh.”

“You started the series with Yoongi, right?” Hoseok pipes up. “Would you bring him back?”

You’d chosen Yoongi as your original co-host for Unsolved because you vibed well and had pretty similar opinions when it came to a lot of things, and you’d worked well together in the past, but the truth is that- “No, I wouldn’t,” you say immediately. Hoseok seems genuinely surprised. “Honestly, if you stopped co-hosting with me, that would be the end of Unsolved. Hoseok and I are a package deal at this point and I would never consider filming the show without him.”

Hoseok looks stunned, but you keep going. “The show wouldn’t exist without Hoseok. Yoongi was great for the videos he was in, but- even if he didn’t have other commitments, he couldn’t take over from Hobi. Unsolved isn’t just a show about the supernatural, or crimes, it’s about us dealing with the supernatural or true crimes,” you continue, and then your nose wrinkles as you realise what you’ve said. “Well, we don’t directly deal with true crimes, fortunately. I’d make a terrible detective. My hand isn’t steady enough to draw one of those chalk outlines, y’know? I’d probably just end up drawing someone who looked suspiciously like Kirby. Anyway, Hoseok is my best friend as well as my co-host; if you get one of us, you get both of us, and if you don’t get both of us, you get neither of us.”

“I love you, Y/n,” Hoseok says. It’s not the first time he’s said this to you, but you think it’s the first time he’s ever said it on camera, and his tone is strangely earnest. He must be getting really nostalgic about the start of the show if it’s making him sound like that.

“Love you too, Hobi.” You beam at him. “I’m really glad we became friends.”

Behind the cameras, Taehyung makes a weird croaking sound and Jimin hits him hard on the arm.

“Uh, normally when someone's choking you hit them on the back, Minnie,” you say.

“I’m not choking, I’m fine,” Taehyung wheezes. Jimin punches him again.

“Uh-huh.” You raise an eyebrow. “Anyway. What was I saying. Oh! Yeah, referring back to the question- while I would never stop him if he thought it was the right thing to do, I certainly hope that Hobi doesn’t want to quit being a co-host.”

“I would never.” Hoseok’s expression is weirdly intense as he says this and you can’t help but laugh.

“Good! I’m glad we’re both in it for the long haul.”

Taehyung still looks kind of constipated once filming is over, but before you can ask him what’s up, Jimin pulls him to the corner of the room and the two men exchange some quiet words. They seem oddly serious and you purse your lips as you try to work out what’s going on, but then Hoseok’s hand slips into yours and your attention is drawn away from them.

“Celebratory 70th episode filming dinner?”

“I thought we were going to have a celebratory dinner with our minions when the episode actually aired,” you say, tilting your head at Taehyung and Jimin. “Didn’t you put it in the GCal?”

“I meant just you and me,” Hoseok says, squeezing your hand gently. “A co-host only dinner.”

“Ooh, we’re in an exclusive club, are we?” You giggle and squeeze his hand back. “Sure, why not. Can we have pizza? I’m feeling like pizza.”

“You can have anything you want, baby,” Hoseok answers, affection written across all his features. You go all wobbly inside, your insides melting into a puddle of goo at how warm and tender he is. You love your best friend so much. “Let’s leave those two to it, it seems like they’re busy.”

You look back over at your cameramen. Jimin has his cheeks puffed out and Taehyung looks chagrined. You purse your lips again, a little unsure if you should leave them if they’re having some sort of disagreement, but then Hoseok slips his hand out of yours and crouches down in a way that you recognise instantly. You make a noise of happiness and leap up, letting him lift you into a piggyback; you lock your arms around his neck and start to giggle as he bounces you a little, getting his hands comfortable under your calves.

“We’re off!” Hoseok announces. Jimin and Taehyung look away from their discussion to the two of you, their expressions both mirrors of each other as their eyebrows rise in unison when they spot how Hoseok is carrying you. “We’ll leave you to tidy the studio.”

“Enjoy the rest of the pie!” You wiggle your fingers at them in a little wave before squealing when Hoseok hitches you up his back again without warning, tightening your grip on him. “Pizza time, Hobi, let’s go.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows in a way that makes you laugh before you bury your head in his hair, stifling your giggles against his scalp. He smells so nice and soft and lovely, familiar, like home.

“Wow, they’re unbelievable,” Jimin whispers behind you, though you don’t hear him, more focused on not bumping your head in the doorway as Hoseok walks you both out of the studio. 

You end up going to your favourite pizzeria, sitting at your usual booth in the corner. You’ve been here so many times with Hoseok that you don’t need to look at the menu and just order your usual half-and-half, feeding each other slices of garlic bread and struggling with the gooey, molten cheese that seems to stretch endlessly from your slices of pizza. You feel warm and comfortable, your feet brushing under the small table whenever you shift your legs, laughing each time Hoseok traps your foot under his before letting you go.

“I can’t believe we’ve done 70 episodes,” you say, leaning back against the smooth leather of the booth seat after you’ve stolen a sip of Hoseok’s Sprite. “I never thought we’d get this far. I honestly thought you’d have died of fright by now,” you tease, swinging your leg gently against his.

“If I die, I’ll haunt you from beyond the grave,” Hoseok says, pulling a face at you that’s clearly meant to be ghoulish, and you laugh.

“I’ll take the spirit box home from work so you can talk to me.” You lean your elbow on the table and rest your chin on your palm, still smiling. “Obviously you’d do the same for me, right?”

“As long as you kept other ghosts away from it,” Hoseok says, shivering. “I don’t want to have to talk to them too.”

“I promise. I’ll be the only thing haunting you, don’t worry.”

Hoseok smiles at you, eyes warm. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

You share a banana split for dessert. You’re pretty full so Hoseok eats the majority of it, which gives you the opportunity to watch him, the way his dimples appear when he chews; you must have watched him eat a thousand times but you’re never any less endeared by the sight.

“I meant what I said, you know,” you say suddenly, and Hoseok looks up, cheeks bulging with ice cream and banana.

“Hmrh?” He makes a noise of questioning around his mouthful of food, and you laugh when you spot a smear of chocolate sauce on his chin. You swipe it away with your thumb before mindlessly sucking it off, too distracted by the sweetness bursting across your tongue to notice how Hoseok stares at the motion with wide eyes. He swallows. “What?”

“When I said that I was glad that we became friends,” you say. “When I first asked you to star in an episode I never thought we’d end up here, you know? But… I’m really happy. And I really do love you a lot, Hoseok.”

Hoseok smiles all the time. In fact, you’d say he spends more time smiling than he doesn’t, happiness always radiating from his face like sunlight shining down from the sky, golden and bright- but the smile he gives you right now is softer than that. It’s more like the softness of the sunrise, spilling over you through just-opened curtains, warm and gentle and comforting.

“I love you too, Y/n,” he says. “More than anything.”

You put a hand over your face as you giggle bashfully at the earnest look on his face. “Stop,” you whine. “You’re so cheesy, oh my God.”

“You said it first,” Hoseok points out, but he starts to laugh along with you, before the server comes over to give you your bill and you end up fighting over who pays- Hoseok wins, much to your disappointment, but lets you front the tip as a compromise.

As always he catches the subway with you and holds your hand all the way home, only letting go when you get to the door of your apartment building. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he says, and you glance up from where you’ve been rummaging in your bag for your keys.

“Bright and early as always,” you reply, smiling. “I’ll make sure to bring your casserole dish back tomorrow, it’s still on my counter. I’ll make you some lunch to make up for how long I’ve kept it.”

“Okay.” Hoseok watches as you finally unearth your keys, jingling them triumphantly as you do. “Baby?”

“Hm?” You look up from where you’ve been fitting the keys into the lock. “Yes?”

“I meant it when I said it, too.” He looks oddly sombre, none of the usual levity on his face. “I love you more than anything, Y/n.”

Your heart seizes in your chest, stuttering a little at his tone and his expression. He’s told you that he loves you, sure, and you always say it back, but Hoseok’s never said it like this: like there’s more meaning behind his words than normal. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, frozen in place, key still pressed into the lock- but before you can gather your thoughts Hoseok’s face is morphing into his usual smile before he dips forwards and kisses you on the forehead.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow! Don’t forget the casserole dish!” 

And then he’s bouncing down the steps just like he always does, turning momentarily to give you a jaunty wave before walking briskly back in the direction of the subway.

“See you tomorrow,” you echo faintly, feeling off kilter and off balance as you watch him disappear into the distance.

--

Okay. So. You’ve told yourself on multiple occasions that, nowadays, what you feel for Hoseok is entirely platonic. He’s your best friend, and you love him, and it’s very easy to feel romantically inclined towards your friends sometimes because friendship involves love, and you should be friends with your romantic partners anyway, so there’s a lot of overlap. You may have lingering memories of your crush, yes, but you’re over it. 

At least, you could have sworn you were. So why are you projecting onto Hoseok again all of a sudden? When he said he loved you, it wasn’t a romantic confession, despite what your instincts might be telling you. Your brain is screaming at you to look at it logically, and you’re trying your best to tell yourself that, that it Wasn’t Romantic and it was Just Hoseok Being Hoseok, the man who tells all his friends that he loves them on a regular basis, it wasn’t romantic.

“Morning, baby,” Hoseok says, smiling at you, before noticing both the coffees you’re holding. “Ooh, is one of those for me?”

“Hi.” Your voice is weirdly breathless. “Yeah, I got your favourite.”

Hoseok lights up and makes grabby hands at you, and you feel utterly helpless as you hand it over. You feel like Past-Y/n, a previous version of yourself, the one that was still new to BigHit and used to get all in a muddle when Hoseok so much as looked at you. You feel like you’re rediscovering your crush all over again, like some sort of giddy schoolgirl, and you kind of want to slap yourself- but then Hoseok takes a sip of his coffee and makes a little noise of pleasure and all that self-hatred turns to static, replaced with nothing but affection for the man holding the door open for you.

You manage to keep it together pretty well, for the most part, you think. It’s not until you leave your computer to speak to Hoseok about something that you nearly lose it. He sees you coming and smiles widely, instinctively wheeling away his desk and patting his lap in invitation. Your brain goes blank as you panic and you abruptly swerve and act like you were walking over to Jungkook the whole time, missing the way Hoseok’s face drops with disappointment.

You’ve been lurking to one side of Jungkook’s desk for a few minutes before the man acknowledges you, looking away from the video he’s apparently editing to raise an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you lost? Hobi-hyung is over there.” Jungkook starts to point but then you grab his hand before anyone notices, pushing it back down against his desk.

“I know where Hobi is,” you say through gritted teeth. Jungkook blinks at you as you continue to trap his hand against his desk, tightening your grip when his fingers twitch. “I am having a small crisis and I would appreciate it if you let me pretend to have a conversation with you about work.”

Jungkook looks baffled but doesn’t argue, clearly a little scared of how tightly you’re grasping his fingers. “Um, okay,” he says, slowly. “Do you need to hold my hand at the same time?”

You look down at where your hands are still connected before you release him. He flexes his fingers with a wince. “Wow, you’re a lot stronger than you look.” He sounds impressed. “Have you been working out?”

“I bench press the weight of my stupidity daily,” you sigh. Jungkook lets your words pass without comment, putting his free hand back onto his mouse and resuming his work. You squint at his screen, intrigued. “What are you working on?”

You end up perching on Jungkook’s desk as he talks you through his most recent project, and how he and Tae have almost finished putting together the cat shelter video- you coo at all the footage of the different cats, small kittens to mangy strays, scruffy and cute. You’re too busy laughing at the unflattering shots they have of Yoongi while he’d been sleeping before they’d written across his face and you don’t notice how Hoseok keeps looking over with a mix of confusion and almost hurt flashing across his features. 

He doesn't show any of this when you meet him later, though. You’ve recomposed yourself by the time lunch rolls around and you manage to return Hoseok’s casserole dish without fumbling. Despite your inner turmoil last night you’d still made time to pack lunch for the two of you, using the cute lunchboxes that Hoseok’s family had given you last Christmas- he lights up when he sees the dosirak you’ve packed, fluffy rice and other side dishes, all of his favourites.

“You are a blessing,” he says, and you smile as he eagerly dives in. You tackle your own food more slowly, having to approach the kimbap carefully because of how you’d been overzealous with the filling. “Ooh, can I have some of that?”

“Sure,” you say, gesturing at the bite sized slices in the tub in front of you. Instead of taking one of those, however, Hoseok leans forward for the piece of kimbap you’ve already grabbed. You’re frozen in place as you feel his lips around your fingers, teeth lightly grazing your skin as you instinctively surrender the food to his mouth, a light swipe of his tongue over your fingertips to catch the light sheen of sesame oil there, soft and wet against your touch. 

Hoseok leans back and chews like nothing is out of the ordinary- and to be fair, you’ve fed finger foods to him before, it’s not out of the ordinary, but right now you feel like you’re on the verge of a meltdown. Your brain keeps replaying the past few seconds, the softness of his lips around your fingers, the wet of his tongue against them, the way his eyelashes had fanned out against his cheek as he’d glanced down at the food in your hand. You are Very Much Not Okay.

Hoseok is still happily chewing his kimbap, swallowing it down and taking a sip of water before he seems to notice that you’ve gone eerily silent. “Y/n?” He blinks at you. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “Um. I just remembered that I. Have a thing? I have to? Go do? You can eat the rest, seeyoulaterBYE.”

You can’t let this crush rear its head like this again and make your friendship awkward. The two of you have shared the same bed more times than you can count, for God’s sake, and you’ve even discussed rooming together- the rent in LA isn’t exactly cheap, and if you pooled your resources you could get a pretty nice place- and that had all been okay! That hadn’t made you feel strange at all! But Hoseok eats food from your hand like he has a thousand times and you’re spiralling out of control like this? Why is this happening now?

Ugh. Ughughughugh. Stupid.

Namjoon finds you hidden away in the Unsolved studio later, where you’ve absconded with your tablet to try your best to get some work done with your limited resources, hidden away from everyone; it’s weird being in here when you’re not filming, without Hoseok in the seat next to you, so you’re not really doing a great job. (You’ve spent more time blankly watching Queer Eye on Netflix than you have being productive.)

“Hey, Y/n.” Namjoon’s gentle voice is like a balm to your soul. Hoseok might be your best friend now, but Namjoon was your friend first and the two of you are still close, both in and out of work. He’d made you feel comfortable and welcome when you’d first joined the team and continues to support all your projects. He’s a really great friend and colleague and an even better person.

You smile at him as he shuts the door. You can tell he’s trying to do it quietly but ends up accidentally slamming it loudly, and you stifle a laugh as you notice the guilt that appears on his face.

“Joonie! Come on in.” You beckon at the seat next to you, scooting away a little so he plenty of room to sit. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just wanted to talk to you about some editing stuff but Hobi said you’d disappeared somewhere for a, um, ‘thing’.” Namjoon doesn’t comment on the fact that you still clearly have Queer Eye open on your tablet, Jonathan’s face a blur on the screen from where you’ve paused it during a transitional shot. Instead he sits carefully down next to you and leans back in the chair, adjusting his glasses; he looks particularly cozy today, with his glasses and jumper and cardigan. He pulls off the Hot Academic look really well. “Any particular reason why you’ve squirreled yourself away here?”

You muffle a sigh, looking down at the notebook you have next to your tablet; what little handwriting is on the page is especially messy and disjointed, reflecting your distracted mind. Namjoon has a naturally reassuring presence anyway but his outfit today seems to accentuate that even further, like you could bury your head into the fuzziness of his jumper and find inner peace.

“Oh, okay, I suppose this is happening,” he says.

Yep, the jumper is just as soft as you’d thought, and it smells nice and soft too. Namjoon doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve smooshed your face into his shoulder and instead he angles himself so you’re both more comfortable, and he starts to pat your back soothingly. It’s nice, of course, but you can’t help but compare his touch to Hoseok’s- Namjoon is more methodical and measured, like he’s thinking about each motion, while Hoseok just seems smoother and more natural because he’s always touching you, second nature by now. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Ughughughughguhguh,” you say articulately into the weave of Namjoon’s clothing. He chuckles warmly.

“Long day?”

Good old Namjoon. A gentle question, open ended, offering you the opportunity to deflect, or tell him the truth. You turn your head to avoid getting jumper lint in your mouth, but stay leaned against him.

“Kind of,” you say. “It’s just…” You struggle to put it into words, but Namjoon just waits patiently while he continues to pat your back. “It’s Hobi?”

Namjoon’s hand goes still, though you’re not sure if it’s because of your words themselves or the tone of them, the way you pitched it up at the end like a question, like you weren’t too sure yourself. “Did he do something?”

“No! No. Yes? No,” you settle on. “No, no he didn’t. It’s not him, it’s me,” you say. “Ugh.”

You end up pulling away from Namjoon to scrub tiredly at your face, not noticing his expression, which he quickly reschools when you look back at him. “We were just doing our usual thing, you know,” you say, and Namjoon nods as he listens, even though your description is incredibly vague and could mean any number of things. “But then he said he loved me and like- we’re best friends, we say we love each other a lot, it’s not unusual or anything, but… I guess it got to me this time? Like it felt like something more than just friendship? He didn’t mean it like that, of course, but I guess it’s hard to, uh, shake that feeling now that it’s gotten into my head.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Although Namjoon seems a little perplexed he’s still clearly concerned, and your eyes widen.

“What? No, no, it’s fine! I don’t mind it. It’s more that-” You pause. You’ve never actually voiced your less-than-platonic feelings for Hoseok out loud, though you’re certain it must have been obvious to start with- even though no one had ever mentioned it or teased you about it, so maybe they hadn't noticed. 

Either way, it sort of feels like once you put the words out into the world then the truth will linger and be unavoidable in a way that you’ve been desperately avoiding so far. But it’s just you, and Namjoon, and you would trust Namjoon with your life, even if you wouldn’t trust him to hold anything fragile or delicate. “It’s not the idea of Hoseok loving me like that that makes me uncomfortable. I just don’t want things to be weird?” Namjoon continues to look levelly at you, waiting patiently for you to get to the point, and you take in a deep breath. “IhaveacrushonHobi,” you rush out. “And I don’t want to ruin the friendship by reading into things too much because I’m being overly hopeful or something.”

Namjoon pauses. He looks thoughtful as he fixes his gaze on you through his glasses. “Y/n.” He sounds solemn, like he’s discussing something of deep importance, like your tiny breakdown over your best friend requires the same level of gravity as the rapid disappearance of bees, or climate change- like it’s something world changing and heavy and important. He’s not doing what you’ve done over the years, as in, desperately tried to minimise your feelings just so you can stay sane. “You sound unhappy about it.”

“I am unhappy about it,” you say, unhappy. “Hobi is my best friend and I do love him a lot, and I’m happy being friends, and I reallyreallyreally don’t want to make things weird. I should be used to this by now, it’s not like what he and I do is anything I’m not used to.”

“Things change when romantic feelings develop,” Namjoon says, ever patient, and you let out a pained little groan.

“It’s not- these feelings aren’t new, Namjoon.” You sigh, and for the first time since you started this conversation, Namjoon looks surprised. Guess your crush on Hoseok hadn’t been obvious in the beginning, then. “I don’t know if I ever told you that I met Hoseok before I even got a job here, technically?”

You’d come out of your BigHit interview feeling unsure. Off balance. You hadn’t known if you’d come across as desperate and too eager to please, rather than a go-getter team player, but all you’d been able to think about was how getting a job at BigHit would mean that you could finally save up enough to move out of the awful shared room you were in with the mould in the corner that kept coming back no matter how many times you cleaned it. The interview had gone on longer than you thought and you barely had time to get to Starbucks before your shift started- if you got a job at BigHit you could finally quit that place- and you’d hurried to leave the building only to discover that it was raining.

“Oh,” you’d said. 

You’d stood in the reception area, staring out of the glass windows at the torrential downpour outside; it had been sunny earlier that day, no indication that the heavens were going to open, and you hadn’t brought a coat or umbrella with you. Your one nice interview outfit was going to get drenched, and it was going to stay wet in your locker at Starbucks while you were working, and basically the entire month had been just terrible and after a potentially wasted interview you just kind of wanted to cry.

Before the tears could start to pool in your eyes, however, Hoseok had appeared. Not that you’d known him or his name at the time, of course, but he’d swept into the building like some burst of sunlight that had cut through the clouds despite the rain, shaking an umbrella off before laughing at Yoongi’s disgruntled face at the scattering water. You’d been stunned by the sudden flare of energy in the room and were still standing there when Hoseok’s eyes fell on you, on your stance, the way you were staring at the grey skies outside and the obvious lack of an umbrella in your hands.

And he’d just- he’d just walked up to you like you were friends, like he knew you, and he’d proffered the still damp umbrella, like it was nothing.

“It’s raining pretty heavily out there,” he’d said, and he’d been smiling, and you’d looked at him in shock, and he’d laughed. “You’ll need this.”

“I- what?”

“You clearly need this more than me,” Hoseok had said, bright smile fading into something a little more gentle, and you’d accepted the umbrella with unsteady hands, unable to say no to this sunshine of a man. “Feel free to give it back whenever.”

“I- I don’t work here,” you’d admitted, shamefaced. “I’m just here for an interview.”

“So you can give it back to me once you get the job.” Hoseok had said it like it was a done deal, like there weren’t other people vying for the position you’d applied for, people who were probably infinitely more qualified and better in interviews. “Okay?”

For the first time that month, you’d felt like someone believed in you- because you certainly didn’t believe in yourself. But Hoseok had been smiling at you, with his heart shaped mouth and his bright eyes, and you’d felt like a flower basking in his rays, turning towards him as your petals unfurled in his light, and you’d said- “Sure. Yes. I will.”

Here, now, in the present, you look down at your hands as you finish telling this story. “I just put the umbrella on his desk when he wasn’t around, after I got the job,” you tell Namjoon. “I didn’t talk to Hobi for ages because I didn’t- I didn’t have the strength to look him in the face without, you know. Without making it obvious that I had a raging schoolgirl crush on him. And he never said anything about it- I don't think he even remembered me at all, he'd just given some person his umbrella because they needed it, you know? And then we became friends and my crush died down and everything was okay, but- I guess the crush never really went away after all. Ugh,” you say. “This sucks, Joon. It sucks.”

The way Namjoon looks at you is compassionate and soft. “I know,” he says. “It’s understandable that you’re worried about this, because your friendship with Hoseok is important to you. But I don’t think you have anything to be concerned about, really.”

“You’re just saying that,” you mumble, and Namjoon chuckles.

“No, I’m not,” he says, gently. “I think you need to be more confident in what you and Hoseok have. Even if you admitted your feelings and he didn’t feel the same, you know he loves you too much to throw your friendship away, and it’s strong enough that it can survive whatever’s thrown at it. But, if you’ll forgive me for speaking out of turn, I would wager you’re not the only one with romantic feelings, Y/n.”

“You’re very sweet, Joonie, but I really don’t think that’s the case.” You let out a little self-pitying sigh. “Hobi’s just so lovely to everyone, it probably seems like that because we’re best friends.”

One of Namjoon’s eyebrows rises. “Is that what you really think?”

“Yes,” you say, a little miserable, looking down as you pick at a loose thread in one of your sleeves. “People mistake us as a couple a lot because we’re so close, you know? But Hoseok doesn’t see me like that.”

“Mm.” Namjoon makes a little noise of understanding, giving you a considering look as you continue to unravel your sleeve. “I see.”

He eventually coaxes you out of the studio, and when he discovers that you never finished your lunch he brings you to the café around the corner that all the BigHit employees love; you pick up an iced coffee for Hoseok, just the way he likes it. You feel better after talking to Namjoon and by the time you leave the café you feel pretty much back to normal. Mostly relaxed. You don’t feel weird when Hoseok lights up when he sees you, because he always does, because you’re his best friend, and this is normal. You can be normal.

“Again? It was my turn to get you coffee,” Hoseok says with a pout and you laugh.

“Don’t worry about it.” When you hand Hoseok his drink and your fingers brush, it’s okay. It’s okay. Your friendship with Hoseok is more important than your other feelings for him, and you’ll just focus on that. You’re not sure that’s what Namjoon was trying to communicate to you, with all his listening and gentle words, but you can bottle up these emotions and keep them on lockdown until the weird feeling passes. It’ll work. You’ll be fine.

A few hours later, you realise that you’re not fine.

“Joonie!” You pounce on Namjoon when you find him alone in the break room, filling a glass at the tap. He jumps and sends water sloshing over his hands when he drops his cup, though it fortunately doesn’t break when it clatters into the sink. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“I’m not going to point out that you snuck up on me from behind without making any noise, but, that’s okay,” Namjoon says, ever tolerant. He very carefully puts the glass upright in the middle of the sink before he turns around. “What’s up?”

“I, um, am maybe panicking a little bit,” you admit in a hushed voice, even though there’s no one else in the tiny kitchen with you. “So you know Unsolved has a bigger budget now that we’re more popular? And I’ve been pushing for us to go abroad somewhere on said bigger budget? And they said we could schedule some episodes for Britain because basically every other building in Britain is haunted?”

“Yes, I am aware,” Namjoon says. “I did help you to draft the emails that you sent management.”

“You did, and I’m still eternally grateful,” you say, truthfully. “But I’ve been so caught up in the 70th episode retrospective and my much more recent, uh, Hoseok related stuff, that I totally forgot how soon it was coming up and we fly to London next week?”

Namjoon blinks at you. “You have plenty of time to pack before next week, why are you panicking?”

You muffle a scream into your hands while Namjoon looks on with concern. 

“It’s not packing I’m worried about, Joon,” you say once you’ve pulled your face out of your palms. “It’s just that when we’re abroad I’m not going to be able to get away from Hoseok and I’m worried that I’m going to erupt like a volcano and spew all my emotions over him and then I’m going to have to change my name and drop off the grid forever when he inevitably rejects me, and I was always terrible at camping. I could never get the fire to light.”

Namjoon, for all that his patience seems endless and eternal, gives you a look that borders on weary. Like he’s the father to a child who keeps eating glue even after being told that there’s no nutritional value in it and they should be using it for macaroni art anyway, and also why are they eating the glue when it’d make more sense to eat the pasta that’s right there, even if it’s uncooked? 

“First of all, you can be off the grid and still have access to ways of heating that don’t require fire,” he says. “And second of all, why are you panicking so much about London?”

“Because Hobi always gets super clingy when we fly anywhere.” You shuffle from foot to foot, feeling awkward. “And that’s when we’re still in the US. I feel like if we’re in a different country it’ll be compounded? Even if I don’t say anything out loud, I feel like my feelings will be obvious just in the way I act?”

Namjoon pauses before he grips your shoulders. His palms feel so big and warm, a steadying presence. “Would that be so terrible? Think about it, Y/n. If that was the case, then it gives Hobi the opportunity to speak out if he notices. If your friendship is entirely platonic to him, then he won’t notice, right? You’ll be okay.”

You open your mouth to take in a breath and respond, but before you can say anything Seokjin comes sauntering into the cramped break area, entirely indifferent to the weird atmosphere he’s walked into. His eyebrows raise as he spots how you and Namjoon are standing. “Ooh, are we gossiping? Is there tea to be spilled? You both look very serious, let me in on it.”

“I was just asking Namjoon if there was any advice he could give me about travelling to Britain,” you lie.

“She didn’t realise that over there lemonade is like soda.” Namjoon lets his hands drop from your shoulders as he plays along with ruse, and your face twists up in confusion.

“It’s what?” You look at him for a second before realising that Jin is staring at you, and you pretend to laugh. “Ohh, yeah, haha! Yeah, that’s crazy, haha. Um, I should get back to my desk for my notebook, I should write this down before I forget,” you say, before scuttling out of the break room.

Once you’ve disappeared, Seokjin gives Namjoon a long look. “I can’t believe you haven’t broken yet,” he says. “I still personally think we should just lock them both in a room together until one of them confesses, but apparently that’s ‘inappropriate workplace behaviour’.” The air quotes he makes are exaggerated and theatrical, as if the entire thing is a farce.

“It is and I’m not going to take that statement back,” Namjoon responds. Seokjin rolls his eyes dramatically but Namjoon ignores him. “It’s better if they come around to it by themselves. I believe in them. Besides, weren’t you the one who intervened when it looked like Hoseok was going to kiss her? I had to edit that footage, I saw how you pushed all those decorations off the table.”

Jin raises his eyebrows. “Can you imagine the chaos if he’d done that without either of them confessing properly first? They’d both pretend like it never happened. I was doing them a favour.” He casts a sideways look at Namjoon, who nods in reluctant agreement. “You know the rest of the office has a pool on how soon one of those idiots actually confesses? Do you want in on it? If either one of us gets it, we can split it 50/50.”

“That’s also grossly inappropriate,” Namjoon says, before he pauses. “Hm. How much is in the pool?”

--

Turns out you didn’t need to worry so much.

“Oh my God, look at that!” Hoseok has his face pressed up against the glass of the pod, the London Eye giving you the opportunity to look down at the metropolis of the city sprawling out below you; Hoseok’s pointing at a weirdly shaped skyscraper, panels of glass refracting off alternate shades of blue. “That’s so cool!”

“I think it’s called The Gherkin,” you say and he makes a noise of delight. Beside you, Jimin and Taehyung take a selfie with the panorama of London behind them, and you smile.

It’s true that Hoseok has been clingier than usual. The thing is, though, you’ve been clingier too; you’ve had time between filming to do some sightseeing, and neither of you have been to London before, so everything is exciting and fun and new, and you’ve been holding onto each other throughout the journey, familiarity in an unfamiliar place. You’re too busy taking in the sights and travelling from place to place, you and Hoseok and Jimin and Taehyung cramming close together each time you take the Tube somewhere, or asking people to take photos of you, and you’re having too much fun to worry about anything else.

You even get recognised a few times, which is exciting. You know Unsolved is popular but there’s something gratifying about people an ocean away knowing who you are and enjoying your work- you look on fondly as Hoseok makes your fans laugh, putting the nervous ones at ease, before shuffling together so they can take photos with you. It’s lovely, really, and you’re so glad that you and Hoseok get to experience this together. There’s no one else you’d rather be with.

You’d had a brief moment of panic after filming the first episode, Hoseok sliding into your bed as per usual, but you’d both been so tired and jetlagged that you’d basically fallen asleep the second he’d finished wrapping his arms around you, so it had been okay. You weren’t as jetlagged for the second episode, of course, but there was something soothing about having Hoseok curled around you as he slept; despite how your heart probably should have been racing, it had just gone quiet instead, slipping into a gentle beating rhythm as you’d drifted into sleep.

So on the whole it’s been all been going a lot better than you’d thought. It feels natural to let your head fall onto Hoseok’s shoulder as you both stare out of the train window, watching the fields and villages slip by as you race out of London to your final filming location, only a few days away from jetting home again.

“We should come back,” Hoseok says suddenly, his voice low enough that Jimin and Taehyung aren’t distracted from the card game they’re playing together across the aisle from you.

“For more episodes? We’ll probably have to wait till the next quarter so there’s money in the budget.” You turn away from the view outside to look up at him, chin resting on his shoulder. “We can start looking up other haunted locations when we get home, if you want.”

Hoseok smiles. “I meant we should come back just for a regular holiday,” he says. “So we don’t have to worry about rushing from place to place. I know you’re disappointed we didn’t have time to see the Royal Botanic Gardens. I know how much you love flowers.”

Oh. You keep looking up at Hoseok, the way you have such a perfect view of the round apples of his cheeks, the swoop of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw- you think about walking hand in hand with him past bursting blooms, through delicate arching greenhouses, surrounded by colour and beauty, and you know you’d still think he was the most beautiful flower there. 

“I’d like that,” you say quietly. You’re almost drowned out by how loudly Taehyung yells snap! and the subsequent groan Jimin lets out, but you know Hoseok hears you by the way his mouth lifts into a smile. “Is there anything you wanted to see next time?”

Hoseok shrugs, but only with one shoulder, doing a little jiggle with the one you’re not resting your chin on, which makes you smile. “Nothing specific,” he says. “I’m happy as long as I get to see it with you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he says this, words settling deep in your chest, and you turn your head so that your cheek is resting on his shoulder again, shirt soft against your skin. “Love you, Hobi.”

Hoseok doesn’t respond straight away, but then he turns his head and kisses the crown of your head lightly. “Love you too.”

You arrive in Colchester in the late afternoon, and you don’t film until tomorrow, so after you’ve finished unpacking your stuff at your apparently haunted bed and breakfast, you make the group decision to just chill out for the evening and grab a couple of drinks. There’s a pub near your B&B so you and the boys pile into it, claiming a table in the corner so that you’re not in the way of the regulars, although every so often one of you has to venture up to the bar to order your drinks, trying to follow whatever sort of queuing system seems to be going on. (After the lemonade thing you had actually ended up actually asking Namjoon about Britain and the etiquette over here, and he was very insistent on following queues.)

By the time it’s your turn to grab the drinks it seems like it’s starting to get busy, so it’s taking some time for the bartender to get to you, but that’s okay- you lean against the bar and scroll through your phone, taking the opportunity to double check your schedule for tomorrow, when you feel someone tap your arm and you glance up.

“Hi,” the man says. He’s been waiting nearby, lounging against the bar, similar to you. “Are you waiting for a drink? You can go first, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no, no!” You shake your head and laugh a little. “You were here before me, that’s okay.”

When he hears your accent his eyes light up. “Oh, are you a tourist? I thought I hadn’t seen you around, because I definitely would have remembered you. How long are you over here for?”

“Uh, just a couple of nights.” You smile at him. “I’m guessing you’re a local?”

“Yeah.” He smiles back at you. “I could show you around, if you’d like.”

You startle at the sudden sensation of hands sliding around your waist, but it only takes you a second to recognise the touch and you relax against Hoseok, your back pressed against his chest as you turn away from the man to glance up at your friend. “Hi, baby,” he says. “Did you make a friend?”

“We’ve only just started talking, actually,” you say, turning back to the guy you have yet to introduce yourself properly to. “Sorry, I never caught your name?”

“That’s okay. I think my friends are calling me,” he says, and he pushes himself off the bar before brushing himself down and then walking away, giving both of you a polite little nod as he passes.

“He never even ordered his drinks.” You blink with confusion and then shrug. “Oh well, means we’ll get ours sooner. You can go sit back down, Hobi, I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m already here, I may as well stay with you,” he says, tightening his grip around your waist, and you don’t argue. He keeps hold of you as you wait and then helps you carry your drinks to the table before he pulls you onto his lap, keeping you in place with one hand splayed over your stomach while he uses the other to lift his glass to his mouth.

“Fuck chairs, right?” Jimin says. Taehyung elbows him.

“Don’t be jealous because I have the best seat in the house,” you say, before sticking your tongue out at Jimin. 

He gives you a mock affronted gasp and clutches his chest and you laugh before settling back against Hoseok, comfortable on your familiar perch atop his thighs. Hoseok might be the world’s biggest lightweight and easily gets tipsy over a single sip of alcohol- but despite this, his hold on you is firm and steady, even when he’s laughing over your shoulder, keeping you safe in his lap. He keeps stealing sips of your drink, dipping his head forwards to capture your straw whenever you’re not paying attention, but you don’t mind. What’s yours is Hoseok’s. (You’ve been taking sips of his beer, too, even if you make a face at the bitterness each time.)

By the time you shuffle back to your B&B, you’re all pleasantly drunk and keep giggling at each other about dumb and inconsequential things, although you’re careful to keep your voices down so that you don’t disturb anyone, trying to keep your footsteps light as you walk up the stairs. Jimin and Taehyung’s room is a little further up the corridor than yours and you clap your hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter when you see Taehyung trying to open the wrong door before Jimin redirects him.

You might not be too much better, but at least you remember which room is yours- you unlock the door on your first try, although it’s a little hard to step inside with how Hoseok is wrapped around your back, trying to time his steps with yours but failing a little with how tipsy he is. You keep laughing whenever he moves his feet forwards at the wrong time, a messy tangle of limbs that keep bumping together as you kick your shoes off, and you end up collapsing onto one of the beds with Hoseok still clinging onto you. He tips over backwards while your back is still pressed to his chest and you let out a little squeal at the sudden falling sensation, but he cushions your fall without complaint and still doesn’t let go, even when you accidentally elbow him in the sternum.

“We should wash up and get in our pyjamas,” you say, but you’re already wriggling into a more comfortable position, turning over so you can look at his face instead of staring up at the ceiling. Hoseok’s head has sunken into one of the fluffy hotel-style pillows, his hair a messy halo around his head, face flushed red from the alcohol. You smile down at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says. “I don’t want to move right now.”

“You’re so drunk,” you giggle, but you rest your head on his chest and let your body relax, muscles unwinding as you let out a long, happy sigh. “We can move later, then.”

Even though you’d genuinely meant to get up and do your nightly ritual, you’re so comfortable snuggled with Hoseok in the soft bed that you drift off. For once, you fall asleep before him, eyes fluttering shut as your breaths deepen with sleep; Hoseok keeps stroking a hand down your back, brushing tenderly down the line of your spine with his long fingers in a way he’s done a thousand times. He’s still grateful for the opportunity every time, though- that he gets to see you like this, that he can touch you like this, that you’ve allowed him so deeply into your life and made a home in his, too.

“Goodnight, baby,” Hoseok says, voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. You’re so deeply asleep that you don’t stir, but he’s still careful and gentle when he touches his lips to your forehead with the lightest of pressures, tender. “Sleep well.”

When you wake up the next morning, it takes you a long time to come fully to your senses. You feel warm and heavy, surrounded by the smell of fresh sheets and Hoseok, and you don’t want to wake up just yet; you’re in that soft place between waking and sleeping, drifting in wakeful limbo as you slowly start to regain a sense of who you are and where you are. 

Your brain flickers on, starting to pull itself together as the sensation of being a singular warm mass starts to dissolve, drawing up a mental map of how your body is slotted against Hoseok’s, where your limbs start and his end. That’s your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. That’s his arm around your shoulder, keeping you close even in your sleep. That’s your hand, resting on his hip, fingers hooked in his belt. Those are your legs, tangled around his, your toes pressed to his calf, and that’s-

Your eyes fly open. You’re still wearing your clothes from the night before, thicker denim of your jeans rather than the flimsy cotton of your pyjamas, but you know exactly what’s pressed against your hip bone. You’ve slept in the same bed with Hoseok enough times that this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve woken to his morning wood, but you’ve never been this tangled up before; you normally slide out of bed and pretend you haven’t noticed anything, and by the time Hoseok wakes up it’s normally gone, or he subtly shuffles off to the bathroom to deal with it, thinking that you’re none the wiser. 

It’s natural, it’s normal, it’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about, but right now all you can think of is the hand you have near his hip, how close it is to his arousal, how easy it would be to slip your hand past his belt and jeans and boxers to grasp that hard, heavy heat-

You stiffen. You would never, ever do that, not ever, never take advantage of Hoseok while he was sleeping, and you know it was just a flickering thought in your still sleepy brain, probably still a little drunk, too- but you feel sick. You can’t believe you would even hypothetically consider taking advantage of him like that. If you were more than friends, then, sure, you’d wake Hoseok up with a pleasuring touch- but you’re not. You’re not. 

It takes a real feat of slow, drawn out acrobatics, but you manage to extricate yourself from Hoseok’s grasp without waking him. He only wakes up to the sound of the shower rumbling through the wall, blinking as he realises that his arms are empty, even though he should be used to this by now. By the time you walk out of the ensuite, towelling off your hair, Hoseok’s got a cup of tea waiting for you by the kettle, a few scattered milk droplets nearby from the tiny, complimentary pots.

“Morning, baby.” He’s still sleepy and there’s a crease on his cheek from where he’d turned his head into the pillow, hair ruffled, shirt wrinkled after a night of sleeping in it. “Tea?”

You feel a little better after your hot shower, scrubbing all the dirty thoughts off your skin, but when Hoseok looks so soft and homely like this it’s hard not to want to just eat him whole. 

“Ooh, how British,” you say, trying to laugh- Hoseok still seems too heavy-eyed to notice how you’re a little bit off right now, thankfully. “Yes, please.”

Unfortunately, you can’t shake your lingering weirdness and feelings of guilt, and when Hoseok wakes fully, he notices. You’re not due to film at Colchester Castle until it’s night time, shooting the episode when it’s going to be dark, so you’ve organised a day trip to the town’s zoo- Colchester Zoo is huge, full of all sorts of animals and exhibits, and Hoseok’s been excited to visit it from the moment he found out about it. 

You’d even looked up the map online so that you could plan out the optimum route and ensure you didn’t miss anything, the two of you crowding around your phone screen and pointing excitedly at the names of the different exhibits, ready and raring to go.

So Hoseok is understandably a little stunned when you apparently seem to want to drag your feet and stay with Jimin and Taehyung instead. Both the boys want to just wander around the zoo willy-nilly, separating off from you and taking it slow- but after a brief, silent discussion between the two of them, eyes flicking at each other and then back to you, they agree to come with you on your planned route.

You send up a silent prayer of thanks to anyone who’s listening. You can use the chaotic duo as cushioning and put them between you and Hoseok if you need to.

You know you’re not being especially subtle right now, but every time Hoseok moves closer to you all you can think about is how his choice of outfit today is fraying your already delicate nerves, the loose fabric of his fashionable sweatpants doing nothing to protect the outline of his dick from your wandering gaze. You don’t mean to look, but you can’t help it, even if you’re fairly certain that half the time it’s just a crease in the fabric from how he’s standing and not actually his dick, but-

“I thought it’d be harder than that,” Taehyung says. “It’s so much hairier than I thought it would be.”

You freeze, eyes shooting away from Hoseok’s crotch. Luckily no one seems to be paying you any attention and instead the boys are peering into the armadillo exhibit, watching as the animal snuffles around the ground.

“They don’t call it a large hairy armadillo for nothing,” Jimin giggles. “And it’s still a baby, the armour hasn’t grown in properly yet. It’ll look harder once it’s grown up a bit.”

All the tension rushes out of your body at once. Jesus Christ. 

Hoseok notices you slumping a little, glancing up from the map when he hears the sigh of air escape your body. “Are you okay?” He seems concerned.

“Never better,” you lie unconvincingly, giving him a weak smile. “What’s next on the list?”

Hoseok seems concerned about you for the whole day, and even a little hurt when you keep slipping out of his grasp, but the truth is that you need to put some distance between the two of you right now, for the sake of your own heart and sanity. Being desperately head over heels for Hoseok is one thing and you’d just started becoming okay with that again, but this sudden wave of physical yearning (you’re too embarrassed to think of it as horniness) is out of the left field and it’s a lot harder to cover up. You hate seeing sadness on Hoseok’s face, and normally you’d be cooing over him and asking him to tell you what’s wrong- but you know what’s wrong. It’s you. 

“Do you think something happened?” Taehyung whispers quietly to Jimin, the two of them watching as you act like you’ve been distracted by the Koi fish and walk away from Hoseok as he’s just about to reach for your hand.

“I think we’re reaching critical mass.” Jimin pretends to read from the zoo map. “We’ve nearly hit the nuclear reaction and one of them is finally going to blow. It might get messy.”

“I hope not,” Taehyung says, watching the way Hoseok stares at the back of your head as you peer into the tank of glittering fish. “I’ve never been good at cleaning up.”

It’s a little easier once the evening finally rolls around and Hoseok replaces those delicious sweatpants with marginally more professional jeans, as ripped as they are. It’s also easier to slip into the natural rhythm and rapport you have when you’re being filmed- it’s not that you’re ever any faker on camera, but it’s just an unthinking response to the sight of them, your body switching from Normal mode to Work mode. Taehyung readjusts the camera rig you have looped around your body while Jimin sorts out Hoseok, night vision lens pointed towards your faces, before letting you go.

“Ready?” You ask, glancing at your co-host. Hoseok seems less enthusiastic than usual, and you internally cringe, contrition shooting through you at how you’ve managed to dampen his mood because you’ve spent the whole day being distant.

“Ready,” Hoseok says, subdued. Your face crumples and you reach out for his hand, squeezing his fingers, trying to communicate a silent apology for something he isn’t even aware of. 

“I won’t abandon you, okay?” You keep your fingers tangled with his as you speak and grip them hard. “There’s a lot of scary stuff in this castle and I promise I won’t leave your side.”

Hoseok pauses but then squeezes your hand back, and he seems to brighten, even though he’s still a little dimmed. “I know,” he says. “I know you won’t.”

Even though he says that, he spends less time clinging onto you than normal. It’s probably not noticeable to the average onlooker, and with how most of the footage is going to be cut later, you’re certain your audience won’t notice either- but while Hoseok still screams and jumps at things, he seems to separate from you as soon as the fear has passed. He doesn’t linger or keep hold of you, even when he seems visibly shaken, eyes wide as you ascend the stairs and hear what sounds like singing even though there’s no one else here- it’s probably just wind whistling through the ancient corridors and walls of the castle, but you know that Hoseok is terrified.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” You look over your shoulder and proffer your hand but Hoseok just shakes his head.

“I’m fine.” He’s clinging onto the banister, both hands white knuckled around the metal railing. “I’m fine.”

Even though you’ve been the one who’s been avoiding touching him all day, it hurts when he says that, as hypocritical as you know you’re being. You draw your hand back to your side and don’t offer again after that, although you still pat him soothingly when he instinctively grabs you later, jumping at a clattering noise in the distance. You’re not easily spooked, but Colchester Castle definitely has some weird vibes, so if you’re feeling like this, Hoseok must feel even more scared than normal.

At one point you walk through a spider web and flinch in surprise when you feel it on your face, jumping backwards and swiping at your face. Hoseok is immediately there, eyes wide as he stares at you, immediately protective despite his fear. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Uh, it was just a spider web,” you admit, chagrined. “I overreacted, sorry.”

Hoseok nods and immediately backs off, giving you room as he turns around. You can’t help the hurt that flashes across your face as soon as he looks away.

“Critical mass,” Jimin mutters to Taehyung, who nods sagely.

The worst and weirdest moment of the night actually happens once the episode is over. Hoseok is oddly quiet as you both get ready for bed, not talking to you through the open bathroom door as he meticulously massages cream into his face like he normally does- and once he flicks the light off, plunging the room into blue tinged darkness, you’re stunned as you watch his silhouette slide into his own bed instead of into yours.

He’s never slept in his own bed after a supernatural filming. Even after your first paranormal themed episode together, when you’d still been mostly strangers. He’d been bashful and hesitant despite how obviously scared he was, asking if he could sleep in your bed, and of course you’d said yes, wanting to do anything you could to soothe him and help him feel safe. So the fact he’s not sleeping in your bed now, it’s- it’s- it’s not right. 

The only light in the room is from the tiny, faint red numbers of the digital clock, and you watch as time trickles slowly by- you stay awake for what feels like hours, laying on your side as you stare towards Hoseok’s bed. Your eyes adjust to the near darkness, room painted in low-contrast sfumato, and you can see how Hoseok is turned away from you; he’s unnaturally still and silent, and you know he hasn’t fallen asleep either, too scared and wound up to drift off.  

Outside, a vehicle rumbles past, and you can see how Hoseok stiffens at the noise of the loose fan belt, a high squeal that’s admittedly startling after the silence of the night. The shine of the headlights through the drawn curtains is muted but still more than enough to throw the room into brief, sharp relief, the tension in Hoseok’s shoulders screaming out to you- you can’t stand it anymore and you slip out from under your blankets so that you can make your way across the dark room. 

Hoseok turns when he hears you stumble over something on the floor- you think it’s a pair of socks- and makes a little noise of surprise when you throw back the corner of his duvet so you can slide in next to him.

“Y/n?” He sounds tired, but still fully awake- you were right, he’s been struggling to sleep.

“Hobi,” you say. “Why are you over here, all alone like this?”

You can barely make out the details of his features, as curved towards each other as you are; you can see the faint darkness where his hollows of his eyes are, his pretty mouth nothing more than an undefined line in the muted room. 

“I- I didn’t want to disturb you.” His voice is a quiet, unhappy murmur, and you feel your heart break at the dejection in his tone.

“Oh, Hoseok.” You cup his face in your hands, running your thumbs back and forth over his cheeks; you can feel the tension in his face, how he must be frowning. You might not be able to see everything all too well, but you’re more than familiar enough with Hoseok’s face to know where the furrow between his brows is, and press a little kiss to it. “My Hobi,” you say, and start to litter kisses over his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. “My baby. My darling.”

You keep touching your lips to his skin, wanting his unhappiness and fear to fade away, whispering pet names between each kiss. You tilt your lips against his chin, and Hoseok makes a little noise before his hands come up to grasp your wrists, pulling them away from where they’re still cupping his jaw. You go still, eyes widening, even if he can’t see it. “Hoseok?”

“Did I- did I do something wrong?” He sounds unsure. “You were avoiding me all day- I thought you didn’t want- I thought you wanted me to leave you alone,” he says, and you can hear guilt in his voice. “I thought I’d scared you off somehow.”

You make a little, unhappy noise. “No, baby, no,” you say. You shake your head, faces still so close from your kisses that your noses brush, but you don’t pull away- you need him to know that it’s not his fault. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t that at all.”

“Then what was it?” His grip slips away from around your wrists to slide his fingers between yours instead, holding your hands. “Tell me.”

You go still. His tone is so imploring: he wants to know what’s wrong, so he can fix it, make it better. “Hoseok.” Your voice is quiet. “You’re my best friend, Hoseok.”

“And you’re mine,” he says, squeezing your hands. Your heart feels small and feeble in your chest, a weak little thing that swells up at Hoseok’s words, but immediately shrinks again in fear. “You can tell me anything.”

“You’re my best friend, Hoseok,” you repeat. Hoseok goes silent. “You’re my best friend, and I-” You take a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs, get some oxygen flowing through your terrified heart, taking bellows to a dying ember, trying to grow it into a flame. “Honestly, I’m just selfish, Hoseok,” you say. “I’m just- being your best friend is already everything to me- but I’m so selfish-”

“Y/n.” Hoseok’s voice is a hush.

“I’m in love with you, Hoseok.” 

There. You said it. 

You can feel how Hoseok stiffens, how his fingers go utterly still in yours as you continue to speak.

“I’m in love with you, and I was just so scared you’d realise how head over heels I’ve always been for you and you’d end our friendship because everything I feel is just so much, and I just needed space today, I needed space to try and get my head straight and not scare you away by making things weird, and I’m sorry I hurt you, I didn’t mean to, I never want to hurt you, Hoseok. I’m sorry. I love you. Please don’t hate me.”

You take in a deep shuddering breath once all the words have spilled out of you, so much air. It’s out in the world, now, and you can’t take it back. 

As the seconds tick by, the initial heady rush of terror starts to fade and is instead replaced with resignation, unsurprised at how Hoseok is still frozen against you. He’s deathly silent. He’s probably mentally drafting the nicest way to gently let you down, always so kind and lovely, so wonderful, your Hoseok. 

A twinge shoots through your heart as you mentally correct yourself- he’s not yours, and he doesn’t want to be. You should have just kept your mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. Your voice is a miserable whisper. “You’re just so easy to love.”

You try to pull your hands out of his so you can slink back to your bed and wallow in your misery, but Hoseok just tightens his grip. You tug again, a little more insistent, and this time he lets go- but before you can roll out of his bed he’s grabbing your face, long, beautiful fingers splaying over your cheeks and jaw, locking you in place as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Y/n.” His voice is uncharacteristically serious, low. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re-”

You’re cut off when Hoseok presses his mouth to yours. He’s kissed you before, on your forehead, your cheeks, the bare skin of your shoulder when you wear the sundress he likes so much- but you’ve never felt his heart shaped lips against yours, never felt them soft and warm as they catch your own, and it’s so much. He keeps drawing his mouth across yours, catching your lips between his own, tongue pressing out to swipe across them, and you shiver as the kiss slowly turns slick and wet, even as it stays so tender.

His hands wrap around your waist and he rolls over you, pinning you down with his weight as you keep kissing and kissing and kissing. Your hands are in his hair while his cup your face, holding you like you’re something delicate and precious, palms warm against your skin. You don’t separate to breathe, keeping your lips locked as the kisses turn open-mouthed, Hoseok’s tongue gliding against yours, the lingering taste of your shared toothpaste mingling with his saliva- you shiver underneath him when he nips at your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue, and you crane your head forward to press further into his mouth, kisses slow and deep, and by the time you finally separate, you feel dizzy and breathless.

“Hobi,” you breathe out. “Hobi, turn the light on, I want to see you.”

Hoseok leans over you to flick on the bedside lamp, illuminating you both with its bright light- you can see how kiss swollen his gorgeous mouth is, how the sheen of your saliva on his flushed lips glows gold from the lamplight, how his hair is a mess from how you’ve been running your hands through it. He looks like your best friend, and also nothing like that at all, something familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Hoseok, forever changed by the touch of your lips.

“My baby.” He’s smiling at you, all warmth and fondness, and you squirm underneath him, embarrassed by the weight of his affection for you. “Y/n. I love you too.”

You probably shouldn’t be surprised, considering how Hoseok has just kissed you breathless, but you still feel your heart stutter in your chest. You’re staring up at him with your wide eyes as he bends forward again- he mimics what you did earlier, trailing kisses over your forehead and cheekbones and nose before he kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, then your cupid’s bow, then just under the swell of your bottom lip. “I love you, love you, love you,” he says, punctuating each kiss with the repeated confession, as if each time he says it it’s not punching the air out of your lungs.

“Hoseok?”

“Yes?” He’s still smiling, those warm little creases under his eyes as he looks at you, every inch of him just screaming out happiness. You did that. He’s happy because of you. 

“Do you- do you remember when we first met? Years ago?” You don’t want to break the moment, but he’s never mentioned the umbrella thing and you’ve never asked before and you have a burning desire to know if he can recall-

“Do you mean the first time we actually met, or the first time you officially introduced yourself to me? I remember both,” Hoseok says. “I always knew you’d get the job. Besides, if you hadn’t, you would have had to keep the umbrella,” he adds, smile edging into something a little cheeky. “And then there would have been a pretty girl out there thinking about me every time it rained.”

Your eyes widen before you hide your face in your hands, overwhelmed at the idea that Hoseok had thought that you were pretty before he’d even known you; he coos at you and pulls your hands away to reveal your flustered expression, trapping them against the pillow so you can't hide your face again. Hoseok’s smile has faded into something a little more serious, but no less loving, and although you feel open and naked and vulnerable right now, it’s not because you think he’s judging you. 

“You never said anything, so I thought you’d forgotten,” you admit. “But from the second you smiled at me as you handed me that umbrella, I knew I was a goner. I’ve been in love with you for a long time, Hoseok.”

It’s not often that you see Hoseok look like this, his eyes so serious and deep, but his entire face is still so soft, smiling. “Me, too,” he confesses. “Me too. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to risk our friendship and I love you too much to want to give that up.”

The smile that splits your face is so wide it almost hurts. “I love you,” you say again, for the sheer novelty of hearing it out loud, seeing how Hoseok lights up- the fact you can say it without fear of his reaction, because he loves you, too. He loves you. He’s in love with you. “I love you, Hoseok, I-”

He cuts you off with a kiss, swallowing your words of love into his curved mouth, the two of you smiling and laughing as your lips come together again and again- but when he presses his tongue to your lower lip and you part them, he licks into your mouth in a way that’s almost lewd, warm and wet, and you shiver as you think about exactly how long that tongue is.

Hoseok still has his hands around your wrists from before, and you feel how his grip tightens imperceptibly when he feels you tremble underneath him. Your cheeks feel warm when he pulls back and you wonder if your blush is visible, but Hoseok seems intent on other things, dipping his head forward to catch your earlobe between his teeth for a sharp moment, nipping it before licking it with his hot, wet tongue. Your entire body shudders as he starts to kiss down the side of your jaw, and you tilt your head to give him better access, gasping when he draws his tongue over the oversensitive skin of your neck; you can feel how he smiles against your skin before kissing your throat.

“Hobi,” you breathe, and then gasp when he draws the flat of his tongue over the hollow of your neck. Each teasing touch of his tongue and lips is trickling straight to your core, your panties growing wetter and wetter with your arousal. “Hobi, oh.”

“I’m going to worship you the way you deserve to be worshipped, princess,” he murmurs, lips moving against your collarbones as he speaks. “I’ve been waiting to do this for so long." He keeps kissing you between his words, punctuating them with sweeps of his tongue over your skin, and it's so much. "Hold still for me, baby, there you go.”

Hoseok releases your wrists and you flex your fingers but stay in that position, your hands palm up as they rest either side of your head. Hoseok leans back to stare at you underneath him, laid out for his gaze; you’re in an old t-shirt and faded pyjama bottoms, face bare, hair a haphazard mess where it rests against the pillow, but he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Like you’re draped in diamonds and gold and silks. He looks at you with reverence and love, like he wants to cherish you- but there’s also something deeper in those half-lidded eyes of his, like he wants to swallow you whole.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. You bite your lip, swallowing down a needy noise at the tone of his voice, hands clenching into fists where they rest beside your head.

“Hobi, please,” you say. “I need you.”

“You have me.” He takes one of his hands and slowly pushes the material of your shirt up, dragging his palm over your skin as he reveals the softness of your stomach. He lets the material bunch just under your breasts, ignoring how your nipples have hardened and stand out through the thin cotton of your old tee, running his fingers over your sides; you buck a little underneath him, sucking in a breath at how his touch is almost ticklish. “So sensitive.”

“You haven’t even touched me properly yet,” you say, a little snarky despite your breathlessness, but then you’re cut off when Hobi’s hands slide under the t-shirt to cup your breasts, palms and fingers cool against your overheated skin. Your pussy clenches when he flicks his thumbs over each of your hardened buds, running the pads of his fingertips over them, and you arch into his touch.

“So sensitive,” he says again, a little smile behind his words as he watches how your chest rises and falls under his hands, sucking in air when he pinches your nipples between his fingers. “Do you like that, baby?”

“Like it when you touch me,” you sigh. Hoseok smiles, flashing his teeth at you before leaning forward to kiss you again. He coaxes you to lift up a little so he can pull off your shirt, smoothing your hair when it gets ruffled by the motion, but before you can smile up at him for his tenderness, he lowers the heat of his mouth over one of your nipples and you gasp.

One of your hands flies up to grasp his hair when he circles the bud with his tongue, and you let out a low moan as he continues to lave attention on it, flattening his tongue and dragging it over the sensitive flesh. He alternates between your breasts, using his hands and fingers on whichever he’s not suckling between his lips; goosebumps erupt over your skin, and you keep biting back whines and gasps each time he does something particularly wicked with his mouth. 

You feel so, so wet, arousal pooling between your legs, and you need him to touch you there. But he's slow, taking his time until your chest is heaving and your skin is flushed and your nipples are slick from the wetness of his mouth, his fingers just the right side of rough whenever he pinches the hardened peaks, and you mewl beneath him.

You’re just about to beg Hoseok to give you more when he finally lifts his mouth from your nipple, and you go tense as he starts to trail his lips down the valley of your breasts, across the sensitive skin of your stomach, hands roaming over the rest of you; he slides down the bed until he’s resting between your legs, and all you can think about is how close his mouth is to where you want it to be. 

You’re so wet that you’ve soaked right through your panties, a touch of dampness clinging to the flimsy material of your pyjama bottoms too, and you shiver at the way Hoseok seems to drink down the sight before he hooks his fingers into the loose elastic waistband, and starts to inch them down. He’s moving torturously slowly, kissing your bare legs as he reveals your skin, touching his lips to your thighs, your calves, your ankles. 

He does the same again with your panties, even more slowly; palms sliding up the side of your legs so he can curl his fingers around the fabric of your underwear and peel it off you. You shiver when your pussy is finally revealed, your inner thighs slick with your arousal and cooling from the touch of the air- Hoseok continues to suck and kiss trails across your legs even as he stares at your naked, weeping core, his gaze heavy as he drinks down the sight.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, running his fingers over your bare skin as you tremble beneath him. “So gorgeous and perfect. Look at you, all laid out, just for me. I love you.”

“Hoseok,” you whimper. He’s still entirely clothed while you’re naked and bare, and you feel utterly debauched in comparison to him, the sheen of his saliva still shining over your body, nipples hard, your pussy lips flushed from arousal, every part of you begging for more- meanwhile he’s still got his surprisingly cute matching pyjama set on. The contrast is making your dizzy. He cups your foot in one of his hands, turning his head to press a kiss to your inner ankle, and your toes curl. “Please, baby, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, princess,” he murmurs. He drops one last kiss to your ankle before shifting towards your canting hips; his breath curls out over your core and you shudder, another flood of arousal shooting through you, your cunt clenching as Hoseok stares at it shamelessly. “Look at you,” he says, reverent. “So pretty and wet for me.”

“Hobi,” you whine. You bite back a gasp as he hooks your fingers behind your knees and forces your legs apart, spreading you open, entirely helpless underneath his hungry gaze. You watch in wonder as he lets his tongue curl out of his mouth, looking sinfully dirty as he does- but then you let out a whine when he turns his head away from your pussy and licks the inner seam of your thigh instead. Your hips jump at the sensation, your skin so sensitive from the attention that he’s lavishing on you, but it’s not where you want his mouth to be, even if the lingering kisses he’s giving to your inner thighs feel good. “Hoseok, please.”

He hums indulgently, and you’re about to start begging again when he purses his lips and blows out a puff of air over your flushed lower lips; the sudden chill against your damp folds has you tensing, and before you can gather your wits Hoseok drags his hot, wet tongue up the seam of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You cry out from the sudden explosion of sensation when he repeats the motion but presses past your lower lips to tongue at your slit, lapping up the juices at your entrance before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, your spine arching as your hips buck. “Oh, God, Hoseok, yes, right there.”

He slides one of his arms over your stomach, trapping you, holding you down as you try to cant your hips towards his mouth. You sob with pleasure as he continues to drink down your juices, leisurely licking at the most sensitive parts of you, in no rush at all. “Hobi, please,” you beg. “Please, I need more.”

Hoseok turns his head to lightly bite your inner thigh, your leg twitching at the sensation, surprised at how pleasurable it is. “Ssh,” he murmurs. “I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time. I want to savour it,” he says, and you let out a whine when he dips his head back down and starts to lap at your clit again, his dark eyes watching each of your reactions, the way you writhe and curl your toes each time he dips back down to your entrance, pressing his tongue inside you. “You taste so good, baby. Your pretty little cunt is so perfect.”

You whine at the praise, writhing when each swipe of his tongue over you is fanning the flames of your arousal higher and higher, and you can feel how the coil inside you is tightening, so close to reaching your peak. Hoseok’s still eating you out, nice and slow, and you’ve never felt an orgasm creep up on you like this- you moan as Hoseok finally buries his face in your pussy, tongue sliding from your slit, to your clit, over and over. 

It’s so, so good, and then you watch as he slides one of his long fingers inside you and curls it inside you just right- “I’m gonna cum, Hoseok, I’m- oh!”

The intensity of your orgasm hits you like a freight train, exploding from deep inside you. Your back arches off the bed and your toes curl as you cum and cum and cum, Hoseok keeping his mouth on you the whole time, your entire body shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over you, wetness flooding out of your cunt that he drinks down eagerly. 

The build up was slow, and the come down is slow, too, aftershocks rippling through your body for longer than any orgasm you’ve had before, and Hoseok keeps licking and sucking you through it all until you’re almost crying out from the overstimulation and you have to push his head away. The aftershocks are still rippling through your body as Hoseok rises, your pussy clenching each time, and you feel boneless and strung out- but you know Hoseok isn’t done with you yet.

“So pretty when you cum for me,” he says. You reach out for him and he comes so easily, fitting himself between your arms. His lips and chin shine with evidence of your arousal and when you pull him in for a kiss you can taste yourself across his tongue, a noise bubbling up at the back of your throat when you feel how slick his lips are against yours.

“Wanna make you cum too,” you say, your voice weak after the strength of that orgasm; you take in a deep breath, willing the oxygen to bring some energy back into your body. “Baby. Hoseok.”

“Mm.” He kisses you again. “You will, baby, don’t worry, you’re always so good for me.”

Your fingers fumble when you try to unbutton his shirt, but when Hoseok laughs, it’s not patronising at all; he just sounds fond. He takes over, deft fingers making quick work of the shirt before he throws it aside, revealing the slim line of his body to you. He’s beautiful and lean, nipples dark, skin golden, with a dark trail of hair that dips down into his pyjama bottoms- your eyes zero in on the way Hoseok’s loose pyjamas do nothing to hide his erection, the hard strain of his cock against the fabric, and you let out a little sigh of happiness that you’re finally getting to see what you’ve been desperately staring at all day. When you reach out for him your fingers barely brush his skin, and you make a greedy little noise, hungry for more.

“Need you,” you say. You want Hobi inside you, splitting you open, as close to each other as you can physically be. “Clothes off now.”

Hobi lets out a loud laugh, and you melt at the utter joy in the sound, how his face is so open and bright. 

“God, I love you,” he says, before unceremoniously shedding the offending garments. He wiggles his hips in an entirely unsexy manner, and you end up laughing too when he gets one of his legs caught and has to kick the pyjama bottoms off in an entirely graceless way. You’re still letting out quiet giggles even as Hoseok is finally bare in front of you, beautiful and unabashed in his nakedness, and you love him. 

You feel like liquid sunlight, overflowing with happiness; you’ve never laughed like this with anyone before, both naked yet still somehow amused, flipping from all-consuming arousal one second to laughter the next, but it just feels natural. Because it’s Hoseok, and everything feels so easy with him.

“I love you too,” you say, and then, when your eyes drop to his cock, you say: “God, you’re beautiful.”

His cock is gorgeous, curving up towards the ceiling, a drop of precum beaded at the tip; it’s not completely straight, hanging just a little to the left, but it’s Hoseok, so it’s perfect. He wraps his fingers around your hips and you let out a little squeal when he tugs you down the bed towards him so that your legs are dangling off the side and your hips are practically flush; his cock bobs when he moves and you shiver with how close it is to your heated core. Just like the rest of him, it’s long and lean and gorgeous, and you can’t wait to have it inside you. Although-

“Don’t I get to taste you?” You can’t help but say this with a pout, and Hoseok’s face splits into a wide smile.

“Next time, baby,” he promises. “Tonight is for you.”

Next time. The realisation that tonight is just one of many, just the start of an entirely new chapter in your life with Hoseok- that you’ll still be friends, best friends, but also more- settles inside you, warm and soft and safe. Your face creases into a smile and you slide your hands up Hoseok’s body, over his stomach and chest, touching all the skin you can, relishing in the fact that you’ll grow familiar with it all in a way that you never could have dreamed of. 

“You’re always so good to me,” you say.

“You deserve it, princess,” he replies. You tilt your hips towards him and you see how his eyes darken at the motion, tenderness swallowed by lust, and your body lights up like a livewire in preparation, ready to feel him push inside you. You’re already loose and wet from your first orgasm, but you don’t protest when Hoseok starts to run his fingers over the seam of your thigh; he presses straight in with two fingers, your body opening up for him so easily, and you gasp at how deep they move inside you, so long and pretty. 

“There, Hobi, right there.” He’s clearly not trying to bring you to orgasm again but he still listens to your directions, keeping the motions of his hands the same, fingers rubbing over your inner walls so perfectly. 

You can hear it, noises slick and dirty before he pulls them out, and you watch as he uses your arousal to slick up his cock, rubbing your juices over his hard length. It’s lewd, how he does it, pumping himself as he spreads it over his cock, wet noises vulgar and obscene, shooting straight to your core; you don’t think you’ve ever seen or heard anything so arousing in your life, the way Hoseok has his lip caught between his teeth as he looks at you, cock stiff between his legs as he runs his fingers over it. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper. “Hoseok, fuck.”

You arch your back when he grips his cock in one hand, guiding himself towards you- but rather than pressing into your entrance he runs his throbbing length back and forth through your lips, gathering even more of the wetness there, the slide so easy and smooth. It’s the most delicious, glancing pressure against your clit, not enough to satisfy, but enough to have you gasping again, the way you can feel the silken heat of his cock against you. 

“Hoseok, please.” You don’t attempt to hide the desperation in your voice. “I need you.”

Hoseok lets out a guttural groan at your words; he drinks in how blown your pupils are, the flush from your orgasm still visible over your chest, the way your fingers are clutching the bedsheets, white cotton tangled in your grasp. “Anything you want, baby,” he says, and finally, finally, he grasps his length and tilts it to your entrance. He rests there for a second, the tip barely touching you, and you see how he steels himself as he grasps your hips, before he starts to sink into you.

“Oh!” He fills you so well, inch by torturous inch, your body opening up for him so easily it’s like his cock was made to fill you; once he bottoms out you can feel how snug he is inside you, cockhead pressed against your cervix, and you shiver. “Oh, yes, Hoseok, so good.”

He stays still for one long, drawn out moment, before his hands slip off your waist and he reaches for yours. You entwine your fingers with his, staring up at him as he leans forward and kisses you; the motion has his cock shifting inside you and you whine a little against his lips, before biting off a gasp when he rocks his hips forwards. The motion is fluid and rolling, and Hoseok sets an unhurried pace, languidly filling you up with his cock, over and over and over.

The pleasure that’s growing in you is slow and relaxed. You’re not chasing your orgasms- you’re revelling in the closeness, the connection, the slip of skin against skin, how Hoseok is filling you up, how you’re drawing him in. You end up staring into each other’s eyes, Hoseok’s forehead pressed to yours so there’s nothing in your vision but him; you only break eye contact when one particularly deep roll of his hips sends a shudder through you, your eyes squeezing shut as you gasp.

“Feel so good, baby,” Hoseok murmurs. “So good for me.”

You make a noise of confusion when he lets go of your fingers and leans back, straightening up, but then he hooks his hands under your knees and you lift your hips; you drape your legs over his shoulders, arched towards him, lower body lifting off the mattress. Hoseok drives forward and you immediately gasp at how he hits your sweet spot straight on, the change of angle forcing the head of his cock to brush the top of your inner walls, each drag of the blunt head sending shocks of pleasure shooting through you.

“Wanna feel you cum around my cock, princess,” Hoseok says, and you shudder. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Hobi, yes- faster- oh-”

Hoseok starts to ramp up the pace, snapping his hips into yours with the sound of slapping skin, and you can feel how you’re starting to tighten around him, pussy clenching with each thrust of his hot cock inside you. “Gonna cum for you, Hobi,” you say. “So close, fuck.”

He takes one of his hands off your waist and slides three fingers over your clit, and you cry out with pleasure as he starts to rub at your bundle of nerves in tight circles; the added stimulation is just what you need, and you tumble over the edge into your second orgasm of the night. Hoseok moans when he feels how your cunt clenches around him, rippling tightness around his cock, and your eyes fall shut as your mouth falls open and you rock your hips into the sensation, grinding against Hoseok to prolong the pleasure, and he continues to snap his hips forward.

You go lax, almost limp, but Hoseok is still hard inside you, so you try your best to keep your back arched towards him; the fluid roll of his thrusts is starting to fall out of rhythm as he approaches his own peak, and although your pussy is crying out at the oversensitivity, you try to match his pace, canting your hips towards Hoseok each time he drives forward.

“Want your cum all over me, Hobi,” you say. “Want you to cum on my tits-”

Hoseok curses, composure slipping entirely for the first time all night, and you feel how he fumbles his rhythm before he catches himself. His thrusts are fast and choppy before he pulls out and drops your hips to the mattress; you whine at the sudden emptiness, but then he’s shuffling his knees onto the bed and he has his hand wrapped around his slick length, jerking himself hard and fast as you arch your back and push your chest towards him.

“So fucking beautiful,” he says through gritted teeth. “So pretty, baby- fuck!”

He gasps in air before he lets out one long, drawn out moan, and then there’s hot cum splattering across your breasts, whiteness painting itself across your skin. Hoseok continues to pump himself, cock letting out more ropes of cum, and you can’t help but let out a noise of satisfaction at the sight, lifting your hands to run over his hip bones and waist and flexing thighs, watching the way Hoseok’s face draws together as he rides out his own orgasm, until his hand falls away from his cock and he’s slumping forwards over you, panting.

You hum, reaching for him and pulling him down so you can brush your lips against his. “You’re so hot when you cum,” you say. “I could watch you cum all day.”

Hoseok lets out a breathless laugh before he kisses you again, properly this time- you’re content to keep kissing regardless of the cum that’s starting to cool on your chest, but Hoseok is insistent on being a gentleman and excuses himself to the bathroom to get a towel so he can clean you up. When he drags the damp towel over your skin, he’s so soft and gentle, although you still shiver a little when the rough fabric drags over your nipples; he bends down and kisses you in apology. 

You feel warm and small and soft, watching as Hoseok walks around the bed, still naked; the paltry lamp light is still more than enough for you to see every line of his beauty, the way each of his muscles shifts under his skin as he walks and moves, bending over to gather some of the discarded clothes from the floor. You sit up and lift your arms so he can help you back into your thin t-shirt, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him with a firm press of your lips, before he shimmies back into his boxers, though you personally don’t think he needs them.

When you finally settle down for the night you both curled up on your bed- because Hoseok’s is rumpled and sweaty from your previous exertions- and nestle up gratefully under the sheets, warm from the weight of the duvet and Hoseok spooning you from behind.

“I love you,” he murmurs, nosing at the side of your neck.

“I love you too,” you reply, and then end up giggling a little, stomach jumping under Hoseok’s hand. “I need to buy Namjoon a thank you slash apology gift when we get home, you know,” you say thoughtfully. “He had to put up with me having a meltdown about you, and it turns out he was right.”

Hoseok brushes his nose over your ear. “Jin kept making pretty blasé comments to me about us,” he tells you. “But he does that about most things, so.”

You hum lightly before pressing back further against Hoseok, who tightens his hold around you in response. “I guess they knew before we did,” you say. “We’ve been acting like a couple for a long time, to be fair.” Thinking back on it, it was pretty obvious, but hindsight is 20/20, as they say. 

The next morning, as always, you wake before Hoseok- and this time when you feel the hardness pressed into your ass, you don’t panic. You do what you always do and slide carefully out of Hoseok’s arms, but unlike every other morning, he doesn’t wake up to an empty bed. Instead, he wakes up with a small gasp to the sight of you with your mouth around his cock, your eyes wide and innocent as you stare up at him; you work him up while he’s still half-asleep and slow, swallowing down his cock until he cums down your throat. You litter kisses over his hips and thighs, smiling into his skin as he comes down from his peak, his pupils blown.

“Morning, Hobi,” you say, kissing the divot below his hip bones. “I love you.”

“Come here,” he says, voice still a rasp from his sleep, eyes hungry as he reaches for you.

When the two of you eventually stumble downstairs for breakfast, Jimin and Taehyung are already there; you’re much later than normal but neither of the boys seems to notice anything out of the ordinary, Taehyung asking Hoseok to pass the pepper mill as soon as you’ve sat down.

Taehyung is enthusiastically grinding pepper over his bacon and eggs when Jimin pipes up. “You know, the ghosts in this B&B apparently like to watch the guests while they try to sleep and make noises to keep them up,” he says conversationally. “You didn’t happen to notice anything out of the ordinary in your room, did you? Taehyung and I could have sworn that we heard moaning or something at some point, but I think it must have been a trick of our minds.”

You and Hoseok exchange a quick glance. “Uh, nope, can’t say that we did,” you say, and Hoseok nods emphatically in agreement.

Jimin pauses. He squints at you, before turning to Taehyung and pulling the pepper mill out of his hands to get his attention. “I told you it was going to happen soon,” Jimin says. “They finally hit critical mass and confessed. I knew that moaning wasn’t from ghosts.”

“And there’s no mess to clean up, even if we didn’t win the betting pool.” Taehyung sounds pleased. “Can you pass the salt now please?”

You watch incredulously as both boys continue their business as usual, Taehyung swapping the pepper mill for the salt grinder while Jimin opens a tiny jar of raspberry jam for his toast. 

You turn to Hoseok, scandalised at the idea that a) your friends/co-workers heard you last night and b) there’s apparently some sort of office bet about your relationship with Hoseok, only to find that the man in question has a look of alarm on his face.

“Do you think the ghosts were watching us last night?” He has an expression that’s a mix of affronted and also scared. “That’s dirty.”

“No, baby, I don’t think we had ghostly voyeurs in our room,” you say, stroking Hoseok’s hand with reassuring fingers, before you frown and look back at the other two boys. “I hate our friends. You have a betting pool?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty big,” Taehyung says. “I’m not sure who’s won the money, I’d have to check the spreadsheet when we get back home.”

“I bet Jin was the one who came up with it, wasn’t he?” Taehyung and Jimin exchange a look, but neither of them say anything, which is more than enough to answer your question. “I’m going to shove a wedge of parmesan down his throat when we get home and see how he likes it.”

“I love you,” Hoseok says.

“I love you too,” you reply, turning your head to accept the kiss he gives you.

“You’re so cute,” Jimin says.

“Why parmesan?” Taehyung asks, before twisting the salt grinder with enough gusto that he pulls the bottom off and salt goes cascading over his breakfast. “Oh, oops. Do you think they’ll let me have more eggs?”

--

Your thank you/apology gift to Namjoon is a tin of Scottish shortbread that you find in a cute tourist shop, although when you find out he’s actually the proud winner of 50% of the betting pool, you take the shortbread back for yourself and Hoseok instead.

When Yoongi arrives at his desk to the sight of you sitting in Hoseok’s lap and feeding him between kisses, he just rolls his eyes, mutters ‘finally’, and makes no further comments. You laugh into Hoseok’s mouth and allow Jungkook to steal a piece of shortbread on his way past, too busy kissing your boyfriend to care.

“You can have the last bit of shortbread,” you say, and Hoseok grins up at you.

“You’re just saying that because I ate you out this morning,” he says, and you giggle.

“I can’t believe you just made me listen to that with my own two ears. I’m in hell.” Yoongi sounds so tired. “I think I preferred it when the two of you were dancing around each other. Go back to doing that.”

“No can do, Yoongles,” you sing-song. “I love Hoseok and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

“I love you too,” Hoseok says, looking up at you with bright eyes, and you giggle before dipping down to kiss him again.

“Everyone else knew before you did,” Yoongi mutters, but neither of you pay him any mind.

[hangovercurse]

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About v

Pete and you make amends, but after a series of break ins you end up staying at his apartment when an unexpected visitor shows up.

Colson Baker x Reader

Warnings: Drug use, cursing, heated make-out session

Word Count: 3161

| i | ii | iii | iv |

You spent the next week moping around your apartment, your phone turned off. All inspiration you’d had for writing seemed to have drained out of you, causing you to cancel writing sessions.

After not answering your phone for a few days, Pete came by your apartment, finding you deep in your depression. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you.” He said, taking a seat on the couch next to you. You shrugged, eyes not leaving the TV screen in front of you.

Your brother scoffed, grabbing the remote and turning it off, leaving you with no other option but to pay attention to him. “It’s fine Pete.” You muttered, reaching over to try and grab the plastic from him.

He frowned at you, “obviously it’s not. I shouldn’t have called you selfish and I shouldn’t have made it sound like I wanted you to get your heartbroken.” He explained calmly. He’d been through enough of these episodes himself, so he knew how to navigate the sadness that ran in your blood.

You sighed but didn’t say anything. You felt guilty that he was blaming himself for your mood. In reality, your fight with him was the last thing on your mind.

Pete continued explaining himself, “I’m just trying to protect you, you know?”

You nodded, trying to find the words to respond. “I know.” You whisper, “You’re right, though. Getting involved with your friends would be a bad idea.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “did something happen that I need to know about?”

You took a deep breath, preparing the lie in your head, “no, I just have been thinking about it. You’re right, it would just end up messy and someone would get hurt.”

You could tell he was trying to hide an “I-told-you-so” smirk. “So, there’s nothing going on between you and Colson?” he asked.

You tried to cover the fact that your breath caught in your throat. You guys were pretty obviously flirting the first night, but you didn’t expect Pete to jump to that assumption. “Colson?” You prayed your lie was convincing. “Why’d you assume I was thinking about going out with him?”

Pete raised an eyebrow at you and you let out a fake laugh, “bro, no. I was talking about Douglas.” You lied through your teeth. If music didn’t work out, maybe you could be an actress.

Your brother actually laughed at you for that, “wait, seriously? Doug?” His eyes closed and he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah, I mean Colson’s hot and everything but that British accent really does things, you know?” You giggled, trying to ignore the sinking feeling from Colson’s name rolling off your tongue.

Pete rolled his eyes, “whatever, weirdo. Trust me, you dodged a bullet. I love Doug, but he could not handle you.” He got up from the couch. “I’m out, just wanted to come check on you. Maybe answer your phone some time?”

You smiled; happy you were on better terms with one of the men in your life. “I’ll try my best.” You called to him as he moved to the door. “Oh and, uh, Pete?”

He turned towards you, the sight reminding you all too much of Saturday night. “I’m sorry for being a bitch and calling you unstable and shit. I mean, you’re an asshole, but that was uncalled for.”

Pete shrugged, “I mean, I am unstable, but thanks.” He waved, leaving your house.

 A few weeks past and things were getting back to normal. You were back writing and editing tracks, Pete and you were talking again, and you felt like yourself. Part of you was glad that things ended earlier rather than later with Colson, so you hadn’t had time to get too attached. Still, the thought of what could have been made you upset from time to time.

You were on your way to the studio one morning when you got a text from your floor group chat.

Wanted to let you guys know, there’s been a series of break-ins in the area. Keep your doors locked. So far no one has been in the apartments, so if you can try to stay somewhere else until they catch him. Be careful floor 5 fam!

Your floor was almost exclusively younger millennials, so you all got along decently. Andy, the one who had sent the text, was actually a pretty good friend of yours, despite you rarely leaving your apartment.

You had an irrational fear of people breaking into your house. You couldn’t explain it, but the thought of being attacked in your own home was one of the worst things that could ever happen to you. Because of this, you decided to text Pete.

Hey, can I stay at your place for a little while. There have been break ins near my apt and I really don’t wanna be there if it happens to me.

You knew Pete was probably rolling his eyes, but you didn’t care. There was no way you were gonna stay in your apartment until you felt safe.

Sure

You have to buy groceries though

Deal

And thus began your week-long sleepover at Pete’s house.

 On day four, Pete walked into the guest room where you had set up camp, finding you scrolling through your phone on the bed. “Hey, Colson’s gonna come over tonight and we’re gonna get high on mushrooms and watch SpongeBob. Wanna join?”

The thought of seeing the blond again made your heart race, but you hid behind a fake smile, “no thanks, I’ll probably stay in here all night and get some work done. Have fun though, don’t bother me.”

“Yeah, you look like you got a lot of work to do.” He said sarcastically but left you to your own devices. “I’m ordering Pizza, I’ll get you one.”

You thanked him, trusting he knew your pizza order by heart by now. Once he left you let out a worried sigh, trying to figure out how you were going to hide the awkwardness between you and Colson from your brother. Hopefully, he would be too high to figure out anything was up.

You were also upset that you had to turn down a night of shrooms and SpongeBob, something you would’ve loved. But you figured you could skip out on one night of fun if it meant avoiding the guy that you probably could’ve fallen in love with if he hadn’t given up on your relationship before it even started.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t as over everything as you told yourself you were, but he had put you in a shitty situation. Of course, you weren’t going to be happy about it.

Three hours later you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, laptop in lap, and headphones in. You’d been listening to one of Lea’s tracks for the past hour, scribbling some general edit notes in your notebook and cleaning up some of the notes with your virtual tuner.

You vaguely heard a knock on the front door but ignored it, focused on adjusting her vocals for the bridge. Truthfully, it wasn’t the best song you’d written with her, but she liked it and she was your boss at the moment, so you did what she asked.

But when there was a knock at your door, you paused, removing one earbud, and calling, “yeah?”

You weren’t expecting to be met with those all-too-familiar blue eyes. “Hey.” Colson said, his confidence fading as you made eye contact.

“Hey.” You replied softly, feeling like his hand was wrapped around your heart and squeezing it.

He cleared his throat, stepping further into your room with a pizza box in hand. “Here’s your pizza.” He handed you the box awkwardly. You had expected him to leave the room after you thanked him, but he lingered for a moment. “You’re not skipping out on tonight because of me, right?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, confusion on your face. “No, I have a lot of work to do tonight so…” You trailed off, lowering your gaze down to the box in your hand.

He nodded, “okay, I just- you told me how much you liked doing shit like this with Pete and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t…” He paused, letting out a breath, “if you want to join, you should. Like I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have fun just because I’m here.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not not hanging out with you guys tonight because of you. I’m just doing work.”

The man nodded again, scratching the back of his neck. “O-okay. I’ll just, uh.” He turned towards the door, moving to leave before turning back to you. “If you get done and feel like it, you should come watch SpongeBob with us.”

You nodded, sucking your lips into a straight line, feeling the awkward tension in the air that you desperately wanted to avoid. “I’ll think about it.” You said and with that, the blond left your room, pulling the door behind him.

You hated to admit it, but even when he was being nervous and awkward, he still managed to be fucking attractive as hell. You let out an annoyed huff, falling back against your pillows and covering your face with your hands.

You then spent the next 45 minutes trying to finish your edits, but your mind kept wandering to the boy with the sky in his eyes and an art museum on his body. Realizing you wouldn’t be getting any work done for the rest of the night, you thought about his offer.

Shrooms did sound good right now, and as much as you hated it, so did spending time with Colson, even if it was just friendly. And now that you had gotten Pete off your back about the events that had gone down weeks ago, he wouldn’t be suspecting anything anyways, especially not if he was tripping out.

Fuck it, you figured, climbing out of your bed and grabbing the box of pizza. You shuffled out of your room and into the living room where the bright colors of the TV lit up the dark house.

“Y/N! You decided to join us!” Pete cheered as you took a seat on the edge of the couch, curling your legs under you.

You giggled at your brothers very faded state. “I got bored of working so, shrooms.” You shrugged, reaching over and grabbing the bag off the coffee table. You could feel Colson’s eyes following you but you tried to play it off.

The mushroom was chewy in your mouth and tasted like dirt, so you ate it as fast as you could, focusing your attention on the tv. You leaned back into the arm of the couch, your legs falling to your side. From the corner of your eye, you could see Colson take a long swig of the bottle in his hands. It was too dark for you to read the label, but you could tell it was some form of alcohol.

Biting your lip, you considered the idea of toying with him, remembering how awkward he was earlier. Deciding he probably would be too high to care; you leaned over and grabbed the bottle from his hand. You brought the drink up to your lips, eyes locked on his and a smirk on your face. He watched as you swallowed the burning liquid, and it was then that you processed just how glazed his eyes were.

Handing him the bottle back, you giggled. Something about Colson being completely faded yet still watching your every move made you feel giddy inside. He smiled at your actions, accepting the bottle, and taking another sip of it. This time you watched him, his Adam’s apple moving with the liquid.

So, you were definitely not over him. Not even in the slightest.

You took in a breath, turning to the screen and waiting for the drugs to kick in. They were playing the episode where SpongeBob had to get a new spatula after his broke, a classic. Every so often you reached over and drank from the bottle of what you figured out was some form of whiskey, probably Jameson knowing your brother. Colson didn’t seem to mind, moving closer to you as subtly as possible so you didn’t have to reach as far. If Pete picked up on anything he didn’t say.

Around the 20-minute mark, the shrooms definitely hit. The lights from the TV got brighter, the pictures seeming to blend together in a different way. You loved this feeling, everything seemed so much funnier and every bone in your body felt 20 pounds lighter.

Your movements felt slower, your limbs turning to jelly. Colson happened to glance over to you, seeing the smile on your lips and knowing, even in his faded state, that you were high. The image reminded him of that first night, you on the same couch passing the blunt to him. Your eyes were glossy and your smile was beautiful then and now.

As the episode ended and rolled into the next, you shifted slightly, your legs starting to fall asleep. You moved to dangle them off the couch when you felt a soft hand on your ankle. You looked over to see Colson staring at the screen, but his fingers wrapped around your right foot, pulling it onto his lap. He then reached for the other one and pulled you so both of your feet were propped in his lap, your back against the arm of the couch.

You sent him a smirk, but if he saw it, he ignored it, continuing to watch the cartoon. His hand ran up and down your leg, sending shivers through your body. You tried to pay attention to what was going on on the screen, but you felt like your entire body was on fire.

You let out a little giggle at the sensations, causing him to glance at you, bringing a finger up to his lips in a shushing motion. You pouted jokingly towards him before turning back to the TV. He continued to look at you, the drugs making every feature of yours pop.

After another episode ended you heard quiet snores coming from the other side of Colson. You looked over to find Pete passed out, head hanging off the side of the couch. You laughed quietly, grabbing Colson’s attention. You motioned towards the sight, making Colson laugh silently as well. His whole face lit up as he took in his friend’s sleeping state.

You moved your feet off his lap, scooting closer to him. Your cross-faded state made you much more confident than you normally would be, and much more reckless. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.” You whispered, looking up at the man.

He smirked down at you, blinking slowly. His eyelashes were so long and pretty, you wanted to steal them. “I guess it is.” He said, voice matching yours.

God his voice was sexy.

In a moment of brilliance, or as anyone else would call it, stupidity, you climbed onto his lap, straddling his waist. He raised an eyebrow but made no effort to move you. Your hands rested on his shoulders, a drunken grin on your lips. “I was really sad when you left.” You murmured, searching his eyes.

He took his lower lip between his teeth, taking a deep breath. “I hated leaving.” He responded, leaning his head closer to you. “Took every ounce of strength I had not to go back.”

You frowned, leaning so that your noses were touching. “I wish you had.” You whispered before closing the gap between your mouths. His lips collided with yours so familiarly, so naturally. Your hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers toying with the hair there. His found your waist, pulling your body further into his.

Every inch of your body was tingling in the best way. You felt like you were flying, adrenaline coursing in your veins. When you pulled away for air you smiled up at him. “You’re really cute.” You giggled.

He grinned, “you’re cuter.” He pecked your lips as you shook your head in disagreement, “yup.”

You both knew better. You had ended things for a reason, a reason that was passed out next to you. But in his arms, you just didn’t care. You kissed him again, deeper this time. You felt like you needed to make up for the lost time.

And Colson kissed you back, missing your intoxicating lips. Your hips started moving against his, the friction in his pants making him moan quietly against your lips.

It felt good, but he knew something wasn’t right. So, he pulled away. “Y/N.” He mumbled, earning a small whine from you. “Shhh.” He shushed you, “we can’t do this, remember?”

You pouted, moving back from him. His thumb rubbed circles into your hip, a frown on his face. “We said we weren’t gonna do this because of Pete.” He whispered.

You sighed angrily, “why does Pete get to tell us what to do?” You asked.

Colson smiled softly, “he doesn’t. But we decided that it was best if we stopped seeing each other.”

“We did!” You whisper-shouted. “Obviously, that doesn’t work.” Colson chuckled at your small outburst, knowing you were right. “Doesn’t this feel right to you?” You asked, pressing your forehead to his.

He wanted to kiss you so bad, but instead he just said, “we can’t do this.”

You pushed yourself off of his lap, a frustrated expression covering your face as you stood up. “You’re both assholes.” You said, making Colson’s eyes go wide at your volume.

He stood up, hand going to cover your mouth so you wouldn’t wake up Pete. “Y/N please.” You glared at him but made no attempt to continue. “You’re right, even if we avoid each other it doesn’t work, so let’s scratch that idea.” He paused and you nodded, agreeing with him. You didn’t care what happened, you just wanted him back in your life. “Let’s be friends. Just friends. We can hang out together and have fun, but we don’t get involved with each other. That way, we won’t be tempted to do this every time we see each other.”

You hated the idea, but you knew it was better than the alternative. So, you let out a small “okay” against his palm. He smiled, removing his hand from your mouth. “I’m gonna go to bed, friend.” You said, backing away from him.

He nodded, a small smile on his face. “Wait.” He whispered, pulling you in for a short, sweet kiss. “Okay, now we’re just friends.”

You let out a small giggle and rolled your eyes, pushing him back onto the couch. “Goodnight.” You whispered, walking towards your room, and trying not to stumble. Your lips held a stupid smile that refused to go away.

[yinses]

fractured kingdoms

| he made you a princess ... it was only right for him to play the white knight |

gojo satoru rating: t

a/n: so i had an idea. this is more of a premise for a potential series that will doubtfully be chaptered in order. i have terrible luck with that. more or less snapshots of this dynamic to see where it takes me. i always write best on new episode release days. 

gojo satoru used to enjoy his job- hell he was practically born for the role of exorcising curses. as a first year, along with his fellow classmates, he thought he could change the world. 

it was an optimistic goal that he never quite lost sight of but his mindset had changed over the years. having a best friend turn on an entire organization coupled with gatekeeping elders who should have died last century could do that to anyone's ambitions. 

so when gojo accepted a case, he did it but the task was conducted his own way on his own time. 

it was the least he could do for an institution who took advantage of his inherited ability. 

he was already planning out his order for the little pastry shoppe around the corner as he cleared a plethora of curses making themself home in the old abandoned fish packing plant. the acrid and heavy atmosphere had cultivated a miasma of stupidity it seemed, enticing the youth to come seek out nonexistent mysteries and claim their own death instead.

proclaimed haunted grounds like this were always prevalent breeding grounds for the weaker lot who couldn't chance hunting alone. the pack mentality made them look stronger than what they were. 

it was all just troublesome work for him. 

gojo quickly surveyed the mess that lay before him- bodies broken beyond identification. showing them to the morning families would only increase the amount of negative energy already floating around the area. it would be better to just shut down the perimeter completely for proper purging. 

that was something ijichi could manage. 

his hand twitched for his pocket to order such when he felt a lingering weight of cursed energy. this essence wasn’t like the others- in fact he didn’t recall even noticing it until now. 

with a huff he slouched into a relaxed stance, infinity tightening around his body, “now, now. let’s not make this harder for ourselves. i have a tight schedule after all.” if he was lucky, he could make two stops instead of his scheduled one. he’d like some nice bobba tea to go with his treat.

gojo waited a moment longer, willing to make it fair for once. but then nothing happened. these might be his least favorite curses, those born from cowardice. 

he fingered the edge of his blindfold in contemplation. taking it off may be overkill, but something about the situation insists upon it. intrigued by the shift, he pulls the material down to his chin and takes in the factory in its entirety. 

for a second there was nothing. then blue eyes flicker upward.

“oh wow. pretty, pretty.”

something in the rafters rustles, and a small thud sounded to his right as a figure landed gracefully less than a foot away. 

it was daring, to say the least. most curses avoided his aura, not willing entered it. but the most unsettling thing was that it spoke.

the level of cursed energy emanating from the form did not match with the intelligence it was portraying. it could be mimicry, a set of learned phrases used to trick and lure. but even known when and how to use them-

not to mention they’d commented specifically on his eyes. 

“it’s rude not to thank a lady when she offers a compliment.”

gojo couldn’t resist turning at that. 

it was a lady; perhaps more correctly a girl- possibly in her early twenties. there were no errant limbs or monstrous editions. she looked normal, almost human. maybe even an amateur sorcerer if he’d just focused on the energy she emitted. 

a low grade shaman may have actually mistaken her for one. 

that would have been a shame.

gojo brought his hand over his heart in an apologetic gesture,” sorry, it was your own beauty that stopped me short.”

her lips pulled back and the white of her teeth sent a thrilling chill down his spine. 

how interesting indeed. 

he motioned vaguely to the remains,” am i to assume this was your court?” curses congregating deceive humans was one thing, but to kneel to a higher authority.

an unregistered special grade.

that would be problematic.

her eyes raked over the scene with disinterest,”oh that shit show? as if i would associate myself with them.”

“well that’s not very nice. most princess have better opinions of their subjects.”

her smile widen. oh, she liked that. 

gojo carefully braced himself to remain undeterred as she took a casual step forward. instincts urged him to eliminate it on the spot but curiosity begged him to learn more. 

as if she felt his hesitancy, she stopped. “princess, huh? will you kneel for me too?”

he laughs at that, “oh i don’t think my superiors would appreciate me doing that.”

there is a brief period of silence and gojo waits with baited breath for the fighting to start. she was obviously retaining her cursed energy, eventually it would overflow to its true capacity. part of gojo actually would regret silencing this one, it wasn’t often that they were this interesting. 

when it appeared that she wasn’t going to make the first move, he sighed,” well, unfortunately this has gone on long enough-”

“what kind of sweets do you like?”

gojo blinked dumbly. 

“ah, that depends, i suppose. there is this really nice bakery not far from here that makes great manju.” his next destination after he got rid of this curse. why was he even drawing this out? he didn’t feel particularly compelled or threatened, to be frank. 

“i’ll have to try it then!”

gojo is left to stare at the palm extended outward. 

“can i have money please?”

                                                  ⚘  ⚘  ⚘

against his better judgement, gojo offers to buy them for her instead. 

seated across from the curse, he watches her quietly as she ate through two orders with ease. he also watches the floating civilians around her. not all human were immune to curses, occasionally one with a weak sense would notice something. 

but the clerk didn’t miss a single beat when taking her order.

“um… are you going to eat that?”

gojo looked down at the reason why he’d come out this far in the first place and back to the empty plate in front of him. he didn’t think twice before giving her third serving in the last twenty minutes. 

“how interesting.”

she looked up mid bite,”wha?”

curling his fingers into a fist to lean into, gojo gave her his full attention,” do you know what you are?”

“well, i’m a girl. opposite of what you are,’’ she explains snidely. for someone who had been given a free treat, she was a bit of a brat. 

more importantly, gojo wasn’t detecting any blatant evasion in her speech. it … wasn’t possible for her to actually believe that she was human. perhaps she could be a misguided curse, but what mortal girl would hang out with such monstrous friends. she hadn’t even denied their existence in the factory. 

gojo decides to cut to the chase,” we both know you’re not a regular girl.”

she brings the fork to her mouth,”i thought we established that i was a princess?”

oh, this was bad. gojo really should have just finished her before. he should not have invested this far. and certainly should not have bought her mangu.

the only thing worse than an unorthodox gojo, was one equipped with a fresh idea. 

[hug-your-face]

Expecting Difficult Conversations During the Holidays?

(Thanks to @squeeful for posting the original link from the WSJ; but it’s behind a very tenacious paywall. I did the work of scraping it out from behind the paywall so you can read it --HYF)

Worried About a Difficult Conversation? Here’s Advice From a Hostage Negotiator.

Elizabeth Bernstein 9-11 minutes

There are so many to have right now. Tensions over racial issues, politics and the coronavirus pandemic are provoking arguments within families and between friends: Spouses are arguing about money; siblings are fighting about how to keep parents safe from the virus; some people are confronting relatives about race. Many conversations have the potential to become heated, especially as chronic stress is keeping our fight-or-flight systems activated, making us more likely to react.

Christopher Voss is a former hostage negotiator for the Federal Bureau of Investigation and CEO and founder of the Black Swan Group, which trains companies and individuals to negotiate. He has decades of experience guiding people through conversations that are high tension and high stakes. Mr. Voss is the author of “Never Split the Difference: Negotiating As If Your Life Depended On It” and once did a video series for a website run by Dow Jones, which owns The Wall Street Journal.

I spoke with Mr. Voss about how to navigate a conversation where both parties are worked up and entrenched in their viewpoints. Here are edited excerpts of that interview.

How should you prepare for a difficult conversation?

Mr. Voss: We often prepare but don’t realize it. When we think about the conversation, we picture ourselves getting mad. That is preparation. And we default to our highest level of preparation. So if that is all you prepared for, that is what you are going to get.

You need to do what athletes do. They prepare by envisioning their performance, by envisioning themselves doing things right. First, you need to envision yourself taking a different tone. If you use a calm tone of voice, it will actually calm you down.

Then you want to rewire yourself for gratitude. The brain functions more effectively when you are in a positive frame of mind. And gratitude is highly positive. So tell yourself you are lucky to be in this conversation or to have this person in your life, that you will miss them when they are gone. If all else fails, remind yourself you’re lucky to be on this planet.

A few years ago, we had a colleague who was trying to cheat us. As I was preparing for the conversation, I couldn’t stop envisioning myself getting angry. Then I had this thought: “I am lucky to be in this position, because she wouldn’t be after us if we weren’t so good.” Instantly, by shifting into gratitude, I thought of all the things I needed to say to make it an effective conversation.

Should you have a goal?

Yes. You want the other person to get a hit of oxytocin. You’re going to get that by getting them to say: “That’s right.” You do this by listening and then really summarizing their perspective for them. You especially want to focus on articulating any negative thoughts they have. Don’t dispute or deny them. When the word “but” comes out of your mouth you are denying and it is time to shut up.

Once you’ve articulated their perspective for them, they feel understood. And a person who feels understood is getting a feel-good wave of chemicals in their brain. The one you are really going for is oxytocin, the bonding chemical. Once they get a hit of oxytocin, everything is going to change. They’ll feel bonded to you. And if they feel bonded, whether it’s a little or a lot, that’s to your advantage.

So your power is in making the other person feel heard?

This should be your goal. When people have arguments, they raise their voices because they don’t feel heard. Ask yourself to remember what it felt like to feel acknowledged during a disagreement. You’ll remember how great you felt. You won’t remember what happened afterwards. That means the fight didn’t continue.

Ask yourself: What is this person saying about this situation and about me right now? We usually know what people are saying. We just don’t want them to say it. Say it out loud and see how they respond.

Some people think that acknowledging how someone is upset allows them to dig in more. But it’s the opposite. As soon as you articulate the other side’s point of view, they are a little surprised. You’ve made them really curious to hear what you are going to say next. And you’ve made them feel that you are in this together.

How do you start the conversation?

You want to start out articulating their negative thoughts about you or the situation. If you’ve had an argument with someone, what do you know for sure? They probably think you’re a jerk. So open the conversation: “Right now, you probably think I’m a jerk.”

This takes a lot of courage—until you know how effective it is. When you see how well it works, you’re like: “Ooh, I’m going to do it this way every time.” It’s like a shortcut in a videogame. It accelerates a positive outcome.

This has to do with the emotional wiring in our brain. Brain science shows that every time you identify a negative emotion, that negative feeling diminishes. So if negativity is an obstacle, and just calling it out reduces it, this accelerates the process of defusing the tension. Then from there you are able to talk.

What if a normal conversation suddenly turns heated?

Remember that people elevate their voice because they feel they aren’t being heard. So you want to acknowledge: “I am being an idiot.” Use the strongest synonym you can: idiot, jerk, something stronger.

You don’t want to be sarcastic. You want to demonstrate that you understand their negative perception of the situation. This has an inoculating effect. It doesn’t matter whether you think their perception is fair or accurate.

How do you deal with your anger?

The whole process of working to make them feel heard will keep you calm. It puts you in a completely different head space and the anger circuitry in your brain will not get triggered.

What are some pitfalls to avoid?

A common derailment is trying to explain stuff to people. Explanation is a nice word for argument. When you are explaining something, the other side feels you’re telling them that they don’t understand, that they aren’t smart.

Once you’ve listened to their viewpoint and they feel heard, there’s a really good chance you won’t need to explain your point at all.

How do you move forward?

Once the person feels heard, you can put it back on them: “How do we move forward?” This makes them take a broader look at the entire landscape. The answer isn’t nearly as important as the thought process you forced them to go through. The “how” question is designed to get them to think about negative consequences. And you’re defending your line in the sand by shifting the problems back onto the person causing them, without being seen as combative.

What if the other person becomes irate?

If you use a soothing, supportive tone of voice, this will have a neurochemical impact on them that will calm them down. Your tone of voice has an impact on someone’s thinking before you finish the sentence.

Should you apologize?

An apology should always precede something negative. The apology is a bit of a warning that bad news is coming. It allows the person to prepare. And it is amazing what people can handle when they are given the slightest opportunity to be prepared, rather than blindsided.

What do you do if there’s a stalemate?

Here is the critical game-changing move: Remember that the last impression is the lasting impression. If you are struggling to get the last word in, that’s when the last word is a cheap shot. But when your last word is something positive, it seeds the possibility that the other person will think about what you said and come back and propose a resolution.

[buckysgoldenheart]

Watching You

Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: Walter did not like to waste time on stupid things, and being asked by some young troublemaker to start following an ex-girlfriend around fell under that category. At least, it did, until he found out just who the ex-girlfriend was.

Words:  2334

Warnings: Cursing. Slight smut. Not Edited or anything of the sort, so expect little!

Note: This is just something I had saved that I thought I’d post while I finish up the Vampire Henry Series (Unexpectedly Bitten). I plan to post the rest of that fic all at once, most likely this weekend. As always, comments are appreciated :)

What a no-good loser. That’s what Walter thought the second Jimmy Masters walked through the front door of his office on a Saturday evening. He was a good six inches shorter than Walter, much scrawnier, ten years younger at least, and in desperate need of a haircut. He was the kind of kid Walter hated, the kind of kid that had probably seen the inside of a jailcell for a night or two for some stupid, petty crime, yet refused to learn his lesson.

Walter’s eyebrow arched in disinterest and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed as a coworker led the kid inside.

“We think this falls in your area, Marshall.”

Walter had only nodded and told the boy to sit to explain his reason for interrupting the first moment of peace in the day.

“I got a friend who says detectives know how to follow people real well,” Jimmy said, his voice an aggravating tone that Walter already couldn’t stand.

Walter cleared his throat. “Your friend is rather astute.”

“What?”

The detective blew out a breath, exhausted after speaking with the kid for less than a minute. “Just tell me what you want.” And when Jimmy was done with his pitch, Walter said with a sigh, “You want me to follow a girl that clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

“No, man. She loves me. She does. She’s just confused right now, and I gotta make sure there’s no other guy, ya know? I don’t want her messing around. It’s disrespectful.”

Walter heaved out another long sigh, rubbing at his temples. “But she’s your ex-girlfriend.”

Jimmy shook his head, his shaggy, dusty-blond hair swaying vigorously with the motion. “That’s temporary.”

Snorting, Walter sat up in his chair. “Sure it is. Look, you think maybe she just isn’t interested anymore?”

“Hey, I’m not here for additional commentary. Can you help me or not?”

“From what you’ve said, she’s not breaking any laws, she’s not a danger to herself or others, so I have no reason to—”

“Please, man. Please,” Jimmy said, putting his palms together in lame prayer. Walter was sure this boy hadn’t prayed to anything in his entire life. “I’ll never step foot in here again if you help me out just this once.”

Walter eyed the kid, trying to weight the pros and cons of wasting his time on something so inane, but if it got the little, blond twit to go away, then he figured there were worse things. It had been a slow week as it was. He groaned and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. “Fine. What’s her name?”

------------------------------------------------------

“Walter,” You said, trying to hold back any emotion in your voice as you moved aside to let him pass the threshold into your small apartment. As habit had it, you were much happier to see him than you wished. Walter always had a way of lighting your every nerve on fire from just your bodies being in the same room. You couldn’t help wanting him, missing him, but you hid it well.

As he walked in, his body trailed the outside chill behind, sending a shiver down your spine. Then he pulled the beanie you’d bought him off his head and turned to face you. Though the irritated look on his face was not an uncommon one, you didn’t appreciate it directed at you.

You crossed your arms. “Well?” Walter hung around quite often until you had asked him to quit it, and though he didn’t usually listen to you--putting his own concerns above your wishes--you knew he held a respect for you that made him at least try to keep his distance. If he was stopping by now…well, it could only bring you trouble, but not seeing his face in so long had you more lenient.

“Why is some punk walking into my precinct and asking me to follow you?”

Your eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. How many punks could you possibly have hanging around?”

Being a decade older, Walter often made you laugh at his distaste for younger adults. You were the one exception, he’d always said, but all others were ‘punks.’ He feared the day Faye had to deal with boys your age, if she were ever so unlucky. “You met Jimmy?”

His fists kept clenching and unclenching, his shoulders somehow broadened, and the frown on his face made his eyebrows pinch and dip deep. “This idiot is really attached to you, Y/N.”

The more he spoke, the more you realized that ‘irritated’ may have been too sweet a word for what Walter really was. “He just doesn’t like his ego being bruised.”

Walter shrugged off his winter coat and tossed it on the couch as if it was still normal for him to do so, then ran a hand through the dark, messy curls you always loved. “Why the hell are you messing around with a--?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not messing around with him anymore.”

“Well, he seems to think it’s temporary.”

“It’s not.”

Crossing his arms, Walter shook his head like a disappointed parent would at their bratty, misbehaving child; the way you’d seen him look at Faye every time he found out she was spending too much time on social media. “Stay away from this guy, alright?”

“You would tell me to stay away from any guy,” You mumbled to yourself with a snort.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not give me attitude,” He snapped back. “You’re not being safe! If you were, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation!"

Instantly, your shoulders stooped and the same old headache began to form. “Not this again, Walt. According to you I’m never safe unless I’m in your line of sight.”

“Yes!” He yelled, stomping your way, stopping just short of ramming his body through yours. “Now if only you could stay in it!”

“You can’t have eyes on me all day every day.”

“The hell I can’t!”

“You promised, Walter.” You let out a small whine. “I told you it was too hard for me to keep seeing you around wherever I went, and you promised you would stop watching me.” You wished it didn’t have to be that way. You wished seeing his face didn’t bring on such a potent punch of pain, but it did. Every single day when you left your apartment, you saw him standing by his car, a coffee cup in hand, unashamedly watching you like some creep. Eventually, you stopped looking in the direction you knew he would be, hoping you may forget he was there at all, but you always felt his eyes on you; such a strong stare, he might as well have been touching you. But you couldn’t take it. Months of your every move being tracked by the man you loved but couldn’t have was taking its toll, and so you begged him to leave you alone, to give you some relief.

“I did stop, and what happened? Barely a month after I made that stupid promise, some dumb, obsessed kid comes asking me to stalk you.”

You leaned back against the wall, growing more exhausted by the minute. “Well, with all the past practice you’ve had watching my every move, I’d say he was rather smart to pick you of all people. Shitty coincidence that he would though, since now I’m getting lectured.”

“I am not lecturing you.”

“Fine, but whatever this is you’re doing here, you’re out of line. My business is not your business anymore. It hasn’t been your business for the last five months.”

“Your little boyfriend came to me,” He said, pointing a finger at his chest, “so yes, it is my bus--”

“It is not!” You bit back. “You could’ve turned him away. You could’ve told him not to follow me around unless he was itching to get a restraining order, but you didn’t, did you? You took this opportunity to check up on me. Again!”

He stepped back, looking as if you had slapped him. His aggressive, guarded barrier of emotions cracked, and you could see the vulnerability he hadn’t shown since your relationship ended.

“Walter” You sighed, “You’re the one who stepped back. You’re the one who said it would be best if we weren’t in a relationship. You said I was a distraction and—”

“I said you’d be at risk, not that you’re a distraction.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Damn it, Y/N, it does! I only did it because I love you!” He said without hesitation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know that!”

You blinked. “No, I did not know that! You seriously broke up with me because you love me? That’s ridiculous.”

“I broke up with you to keep you safe, but I clearly suffered for nothing seeing as you put yourself in unsafe situations even without my association.”

You wanted to believe him, so bad, but people don’t leave behind the ones they love. After all, you loved him and the thought of leaving him made you nauseous, even now. When you were together, he may have appeared in love, but after a year he still hadn’t told you and you knew you’d let yourself get a little too hopeful. If you were honest with yourself, him breaking up with you was not as much of a shock as it should’ve been. But as you looked at him now, you could see that he truly believed you already knew.

“It doesn’t make sense that you would do that,” You said. “People don’t just break up with someone they love.”

“Fuck, Y/N, did I ever seem unhappy with you? Did I ever come across like I didn’t want you every second of every day? My every other thought was of you,” He said loudly, like a rant, and you were having a hard time figuring out who he was mad at. “So don’t try to tell me how I felt, and feel now. I still love you and that’s not going to change, but I can’t have criminals, murderers even, coming after you because they are pissed at me for hunting them down or having a case against them. It would take nothing for the average officer or detective to figure out that you and I were together even if we were hiding it. How hard do you think it would be for some psychopath?”

You hadn’t realized a tear slipped down your cheek until you tasted it at the corner of your lips. It was salty but somehow bitter and left a thick burning path along your skin. You quickly wiped it away. “Why didn’t you tell me this months ago?”

“Because, stubborn as you are, you wouldn’t have listened. You would have told me it didn’t matter.” He fell backwards onto the couch, closing his eyes and letting out a groan. “I try to do the right thing. I try to protect you, thinking everything will be fine as long as no one can link you to me, but I can’t…stay away.” His eyes met yours. “And then you beg me to, and it’s excruciating to obey. When I was able to watch over you, it reminded me that I did the right thing. You were safe and I could constantly be reassured of that.”

You walked over to him, your heart thumping with every step, then sat on your knees in front of him, placing your hand atop his own resting on his thigh. His other hand reached for your face and his fingers softly grazed your cheek before they tucked some hair behind your ear. “Walt—”

“That kid…Jimmy,” Walter interrupted as he began tracing the back of your hand with his thumb. “He thinks you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not.”

“You swear?”

“Of course, Walt. I told you--”

“I know,” He said with a single nod of his head. “I know. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep now.”

You rested your cheek on the inner side of his knee and said, “You could sleep here.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bit your lip nervously. You couldn’t even dare to count how many times you’d had sex during the course of your relationship, but now, asking him not to leave made your pulse thrum in your ears.

He leaned forward and looked down at you. “Because I don’t think I can say no to you.”

“Then why would you bother trying,” You whispered without a second thought and slowly inched up on your knees so you could connect your lips with his.

It lasted only a second or two before he broke the kiss, grabbed you by the arm, and yanked you onto his lap. His grip at the back of your neck pulled your mouth to his as your hand slipped between your bodies and quickly started to undo his belt buckle.

“God, baby,” Walter groaned against your lips when you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock and released it from his jeans. He pulled the ratty, old t-shirt of his over your shoulders and softly settled his hands on your hips. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…missed these,” He said, placing a kiss on one bare breast, then the other. “I missed you, so much.” He placed his lips to the curve of your neck, then met your eyes. “I miss you every fucking day.”

You kissed his forehead, and his arms tightened around you as you lifted your hips and sank down onto him. “I missed you too, Walter,” You said, but the words melted somewhere within the mix of your moans and his groans.

------------------

Tags: @agniavateira​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ @the-soot-sprite​ @kissthatlifeaway​ @atomicpaperhairdouniversity​ @aquariuslavenderhoney​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @the-problem-of-leisure​ @meganwinchester1999​

[sunshineandaisies]

Tease

Part Seven of the Neighborly Affection Series

Words: ~1k

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU)

Warnings: language, sexual suggestions

Note: So if you recognize this from like 4-5 years ago, it’s because this is a repost from my old account (caps-best-girl) that I’ve since deactivated. There are 12 parts to this in total that I’ll be editing and reposting throughout the week.

The teasing didn’t stop after both of you were healthy again. In fact, it probably got worse. You were constantly an embarrassed mess, and it was ten times worse because of Wanda and Pietro. Birthday party for Steve? Try to get Y/N drunk so she’ll make out with James. Inviting James to join movie night? Force them to sit in the small chair together. Bring up Y/N’s sex life? Mention how desperately she needs to get laid.

“Seriously?” you hissed when Wanda brought up how you gushed about how attractive Bucky was after the first time you met him.

“What?” she asked innocently. “I’m just trying to help you out. Your life is way too PG right now, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Wanda,” you deadpanned.

James threw his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him in the already too small booth that you were occupying in the bar just down the street from your apartment. “It’s okay, doll. I don’t need Wanda to tell me how much you like me.” He smirked at you. “I already know how flustered I make you. You know, my offer is still on the table.”

“James,” you warned, but it was already too late.

Wanda was looking back and forth between the two of you, eyes narrowing. “What offer?” She turned her gaze on you, accusing, “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?”

“Wanda, it’s nothing. James is just…”

“I offered to have sex with her.”

“James!” you exclaimed at the same time Wanda cried, “Holy shit, Y/N!”

“She’s not going to shut up now,” you groaned.

“Your hot neighbor – that you’re sexually attracted to, by the way – puts sex on the table, and you turn it down? What is wrong with you? I know for a fact it’s been at least six months since the last time you had sex.”

“Wanda, please shut up,” you begged as you hid your face in your hands. You could hear James snickering beside you, and you wanted to do nothing more than to punch him for causing this. Pietro wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter, and you were sure it was drawing the attention of the other people in the bar.

“Seriously, Y/N, I don’t understand you sometimes. Just have sex with the man. It won’t be the end of the world. Even if the sex is bad, at least it’s sex. It’s better than sitting around being sexually frustrated all the time.”

“I am not sexually frustrated.”

“The sex wouldn’t be bad.”

You turned to look at James, completely ignoring Wanda’s comment. “Cocky much, Barnes.”

“Doll, if you’d let me show you, you would understand why I have a right to be cocky.”

Your gaze bore into his, challenging him to say something more. He remained silent, but his own intense stare was more than enough to tell you that he wasn’t going to back down.

“I think we’re going to leave you two to work this out on your own,” Pietro informed you. “Let’s go, Wanda.”

“What? But I’m making progress here.”

“Wanda.”

She sighed but complied, sliding from the booth. She turned to follow Pietro towards the door, but not until after saying, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” leaving you with a parting wink.

“Why are you so against sleeping with me?” James asked when they were gone.

“I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Who said it had to be a one-night stand?

“It’s not going to happen, James.”

“Why not?” he asked, leaning in closer. “Scared you’ll catch feelings?”

“What? N-no,” you stuttered. “I’m not…It’s just…Dammit, James! I don’t want to be another one of those girls that you usher out of your apartment at seven in the morning. That’s not who I am.”

“Then we can do it at your place. You can usher me out at seven in the morning.” He was grinning at you, and you shook your head, sighing.

“You’re missing the point, James. I’m not wasting my time on some fucked up version of friends with benefits.” You took a much needed drink of your beer.

“Doll, you wouldn’t be wasting your time.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you snorted. “I’d make every minute worth it.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, taking another drink. You had almost finished your third beer at this point, and you were starting to feel the buzz. “I just…God, I fucking hate this. I wouldn’t want things to be weird. You saw how I was around Steve when I thought that we had slept together.”

He laughed at the memory and you promptly shut him up with a well pointed glare. “Maybe things wouldn’t be awkward. We’ll never know if we don’t test the waters.”

“No. That’s my final answer.”

He didn’t argue, and after paying the tab you walked home in companionable silence. You thought he would simply leave you at your door and retreat to his own apartment like he normally did, but he didn’t move from his spot beside you. He leaned in closer, so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath, and asked, “If I can’t fuck you can I at least kiss you?”

“Are you drunk?” you asked, trying to think back on how many drinks he had had.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I don’t know. But does that matter? Just one kiss, doll. That’s all I’m asking for.”

You bit your lip. A kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it? It was a lot more innocent compared to the alternative of having sex. You glanced up at him, and with a small nod, he surged forward, pressing you against your door. He cupped your cheek as his lips molded to yours, being rough and assertive as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip and his free hand grappled at your waist. You could hardly believe the small whimper that slipped through your lips when he pulled away, flushing immediately and hoping he hadn’t heard the soft sound.

He took in your heavily breathing form and smirked wolfishly at you. “Goodnight, doll.” He winked at you before he turned around and disappeared into his apartment, leaving you stunned and wanting more.

Fuck.

You wanted to have sex with James Buchanan Barnes.

[gay-otlc]

Keepers Of The Chaos (3)

Summary: Tam, Linh, Dex, Keefe, Biana, and Fitz are part of the tiny fandom for Keeper of the Chaos, and Tam and Linh’s podcast convinces some of their other friends to watch it as well. The group finds themselves strangely invested in this show, where students at Tumblr High School who work together to write about an elf named Sophia, cause incomprehensible chaos, and fight their rival Pinterest High School.

Content warnings: Cursing, religion (Jewish Vackers), and Amsterdam (just in case, I know that was stressful for some people).

Word count: 1621

Notes: Most of the episodes are just events stolen from Lynn's roundup, Dex's memes are here

(Read on AO3)

The life of an amateur meme maker on dumbles dot com was a strange one, that was for sure. After finishing xyr favorite show- Ze-Ra: Monaerchs of Powhir- for the third time, Dex had searched for another show to fill the void in xyr soul. Biana recommended this show called "Keepers of the Chaos" and described it to xem. Xe was doubtful at first, but after watching the first episode, xe was hooked.

Xe used to not have many friends at xyr school, so xe did what every neurodivergent queer teen would do- made an account on dumbles dot com. People seemed to like xem- or at least, they liked dizznee-plus's memes and edits of Ze-Ra characters. Even after Dex befriended xyr squish, Fitz, thons sister, Biana, and aer girlfriend, Sophie, xe continued making content on dumbles. Around that time, the Ze-Ra fandom started dying off, and xyr memes started getting fewer note

In a sudden, two am burst of inspiration, Dex made edits of some of xyr favorite characters, like Ref, Akki, and Rose, with their respective pride flags (all of them bi) over them, and captioned it "we must be gay." The post blew up, or at least, what could be considered blowing up in Keeper of the Chaos's tiny fandom, and that was how Dex found xyr calling as an amateur meme/edit maker for KOTC.

History had been repeating itself, with the KOTC fandom starting to die off, until it was revived by an announcement from creator Saturn Nolastname- a season two would be released soon. Frantically, Dex made a meme about season one episode two, with the car salesman meme. Xe edited "chaos keepers" onto the car salesman, "the rarelynoticed" on the car, and "this bad boy can fit so many stripper outfits into it."

That had been... an interesting episode, to say the least. The chaos keepers had been talking about the antagonists of "Sophie and the Dark Duck"- a rebel group called the Rarelynoticed. In the information packet they'd been given, it was confirmed that the Rarelynoticed wore black cloaks and armbands, but no other clothes had been mentioned. Somehow, the chaos keepers came to the conclusion that the Rarelynoticed really wore neon pink leotards and green stripper heels, then drew this idea.

Needless to say, the Tumblr staff did not let them write that into the book. Nor did Lynn, the unofficially chosen leader of the group. Unfortunately for her, this didn't stop the chaos keepers from drawing more of these- or the fandom from making a ton of memes. In addition to the car salesman meme, a post with Drake saying no to "wearing normal fucking villain outfits" and yes to "leotards and stripper heels" gained popularity within the small fandom.

Though nothing could match the absolute shock of seeing the Rarelynoticed stripper outfit for the first time, Dex decided to rewatch the episode anyway- it was funny to see the chaos keepers freak out, and maybe xe could get some good screen captures. The good Saturn Nolastname indulged xem, and xe captured an excellent scene of most of the chaos keepers either laughing or screaming at the Rarelynoticed stripper outfits, with Kimber- one of xyr favorites- sitting on the side, explaining to Juno and Kaitee why Bianca Cracker was bisexual.

Xe went over to dumbles, posted the picture, added an image description, and captioned it "Live photo of me not caring when my friends talk about sex/romance." Xe chuckled to xemself- this really was how it felt to be aroace. Xe tagged it as aromantic and asexual as well, since dumbles added flag colors. Smiling, xe went to go check xyr notifications.

Xyr jaw dropped when xe saw that @lordofthesnuggles- Fitzroy (Dex didn't know thons middle name) Vacker thonself had liked and reblogged all three of xyr memes, even adding compliments in the tags! Xe'd had a bit of a platonic crush on Fitz for... a really long time, but xe always felt too awkward to talk to thon, so it was nice to see that thon appreciated xyr humor.

Feeling energized- and excited to procrastinate on xyr math homework- Dex went to watch the next episode: Dark Duck Is Jewish Now. Being Jewish xemself, this was a really funny episode to xem.

Lynn had been writing a sort of spinoff- it would be called fanfiction, but it was for her own story- about some of the Dark Duck characters celebrating Christmas, and added a throwaway line about Bianca and Finn Cracker celebrating Hanukkah. Then, her fiance, Shai, had taken that idea and run with it, writing a list of ideas about what would happen if the Cracker family was Jewish. Hir friend Sam had jumped on the idea, and soon they had abandoned writing the actual Dark Duck in favor of writing a story about Jewish Dark Duck characters. Some of the other Jewish chaos keepers, like Ref and Cat, helped out.

To be honest, it kind of surprised Dex that no one had made a joke about the Jewish Crackers just being matzah, so xe supposed xe would have to be the first.

Xe posted that observation, quickly getting a like from Fitz- which made xem smile. After a few minutes, Dex posted another meme: Shai and Sam standing in front of a door with a sign that read "elves don't have religion," and them saying "This sign won't stop me, because I can't read!"

It was accurate.

While that episode was great for Jewish representation, and funny, the Banana Noir episode was just plain weird.

It focused less on the Dark Duck than most of the other episodes, and was more about the crazy interactions of the chaos keepers. The episode was named for Banana Noir, who was really Cat Noir, but in a banana suit. Banana Noir was the son of Mellie, who looked like a shark, and Nora, who had platonically married faer. The mothers tried to arrange a marriage between him and Akki, who loved the side characters of the Dark Duck series. However, Akki wanted to marry Amelia. After a lot of shit that basically no one understood, Banana Noir's attempts were thwarted, and Lynn officiated the wedding between Akki and Amelia.

Yeah, Dex had no idea what the fuck was going on either. Xe'd watched an episode of Twins of the Chaos and a youtube video by arsonpog analyzing the Banana Noir chronicles, as it had been dubbed by the chaos keepers, and both expert opinions seemed to agree that Saturn Nolastname and the rest of the writers had probably been on crack when they made that episode.

The next episode made slightly more sense, though it was a low bar. After taking a break from the "official" Dark Duck story, the chaos keepers began collectively writing a Cinderella story about the characters Sophia and Bianca. People weren't allowed to be queer in the official story, but the chaos keepers still wanted to have fun with their obviously gay characters.

Even to the viewers of the show, who only received secondhand information about the Dark Duck characters, knew there was no way any of them, let alone all of them, were allocishet. The exact identities weren't entirely clear- when Dex had made edits of the characters' official art and xyr headcanons for their pride flags, a few people had disagreed- but both the chaos keepers and the fandom knew that despite what Shannon said, Sophia and Bianca were in love, and their Cinderella story should have made it in to the official Dark Duck story.

While excerpts of the Cinderella story were quoted in the show, most of it was left unclear, so Biana had taken it upon aerself to write aer own version of it. Dex was expecting an update later  that day, actually, or maybe the next. Ae wasn't always 100% reliable with aer update schedule. Still, Dex looked forward to when it eventually did come.

After the brief calmness from the Sophianca Cinderella episode, season one episode six, Amsterdam, exploded back into chaos. A few of the chaos keepers decided to discuss a fake scene in the book in which crazy shit went down, with the scene supposedly being located in Amsterdam. It had never been written and was never going to be, but everyone discussed it like it was real. Some of the highlights involved all the Dark Duck girls having swords (and the chaos keepers being gay for them), and a speedboat chase scene through the canals. Fitz had a popular theory that the chaos keepers would actually travel to Amsterdam in order to commemorate this crazy part of their lives. Almost as popular as that was a meme Dex made, with a man labeled "chaos keepers discussing amsterdam" and gesturing feverishly to a wall covered in papers and red string.

Of course, episode seven (Dark Duck Disney) was chaotic too. Everything was chaotic with this group, it was in the title. Shannon announced that the winning Dark Duck story would be adapted into a Disney movie. After past experience with terrible book to movie adaptations, the chaos keepers panicked. They panicked so much that it became major news within their school, which until then, had been largely ignoring the chaos keepers. Once the discussion about the movie settled down, they talked a lot about how in awe they were that their Dark Duck shenanigans were trending within the school.

But of course, none of that compared to the last episode of the season...

Dex changed xyr profile picture to include an ominous pair of teal eyes and sighed.

[miserablesme]

The Les Miserables Changelog Part 2: 1985-1986 West End

Hello, everyone! This is the latest edition in my attempt to chronicle all of the musical and lyrical changes which the show Les Miserables has undergone over the years. Today, we look at the differences between the later of the two available Barbican preview audios (more on that in Part 1) and the West End variant of the musical as it existed in 1986. Only one rather poor quality audio is available of the show's pre-Broadway, post-Barbican form (though a friend of a friend has multiple masters from the era that she apparently keeps meaning to digitize). It is known to come from 1986, but the exact date remains a mystery. As such we cannot know when exactly most of the changes might have been made.

Reportedly (according to The Complete Book of Les Miserables) the majority of these refinements were made between the closing of the Barbican show and the opening of the West End one. However, some further refinements were doubtless made during the Barbican previews, and some likely were made between the opening of the West End production and whenever the audio was recorded. With all that cleared up, let's get started!

As I mentioned in Part 1, the very early Barbican previews of the opening "Work Song" featured this chain of lyrics (no pun intended):

I’ve done no wrong

Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer

Look down, look down

Sweet Jesus doesn’t care

I killed a man

He tried to steal my wife

Look down, look down

She wasn’t worth your life

I know she’ll wait

I know that she’ll be true

Look down, look down

She’s long forgotten you

As has also been established, later previews removed one sequence of lines to create the following exchange:

I’ve done no wrong

Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer

Look down, look down

Sweet Jesus doesn’t care

I killed a man

He tried to steal my wife

Look down, look down

She wasn’t worth your life

However, by 1986 another sequence was removed and the originally removed one was added back then. Thus, the still-current lyrics as of today are as follows:

I’ve done no wrong

Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer

Look down, look down

Sweet Jesus doesn’t care

I know she’ll wait

I know that she’ll be true

Look down, look down

She’s long forgotten you

A much better choice of cuts in my opinion. The point of the opening scene is to present the prisoners sympathetically, as comparatively innocent victims of an overly brutal and elitist police system. Establishing a member of the chain gang as literally being a murderer doesn't really help send that message!

Everything stays the same until "Fantine's Arrest". The Barbican previews feature this sequence:

(FANTINE)

There's a child who sorely needs me

Please monsieur, she's but that high

Holy God! Is there no mercy?

If I go to jail she'll die

(TOWNSPEOPLE[?])

Take this harlot now this minute

Let there be a full report

Let her go back in the morning

Let her answer to the court

(FANTINE)

Gentle Jesus! Won't you save me?

Are there tears enough to cry?

(JAVERT)

It's the same pathetic story

Please monsieur, my child will die!

I have heard such protestations...

By the 1986 recording, everything between "Take this harlot" and "Please monsieur, my child will die!" has been totally removed. I have a bit of a soft spot for that sequence, though I can't earnestly say the musical lost anything by removing it. Indeed Javert comes across as unbelievably heartless there!

As Part 1 pointed out, the earlier Barbican preview had Valjean shout "You know where to find me!" at the end of "Who Am I?", while the later preview did not. The 1986 recording interestingly reinserts that line, but now Valjean speaks it much more casually, without the slightly cheesy passion of the first recording. This makes me wonder whether or not it was initially removed because it was hard to take seriously, and a calmer rendition was reinstated as a compromise? Who knows.

A subtle change occurs at the beginning of the "Confrontation" sequence. During the Barbican previews, the number opens with a few notes being played and then repeated. However, by the 1986 recording the notes do not repeat. It goes straight into Javert's announcement (which Roger Allam has now learned to sing on time!) after the notes play the first time. The sequence would stay this way for quite awhile before being further shortened - more on that in a later edition!

We now go to the subsequent number, Little Cosette's famous "Castle on a Cloud" song. The Barbican previews give her a few lines before the main number starts (sung in a similar tune to her remarks about Mme. Thenardier's arrival at the end of the song):

They’ll come back any minute

And I’m nowhere near finished

Sweeping and scrubbing and polishing the floor

It’s the same every day, oh please!

Don’t let Madame hit me again

I should be used to it, but then

I know a place where nobody has to work too hard

And where I won’t be lonely again

These lines, taken closely from the original French concept album, don't really add much to the number plot-wise that won't be stated later except for more explicit confirmation that Mme. Thenardier is abusive. Perhaps partly for this reason, by the 1986 recording these lines are removed, and after the opening instrumentals it goes straight into the number we all know.

As I previously mentioned in Part 1, the later recording I have of the Barbican previews cut out the following lines during the preamble to Master of the House. I originally mistakenly claimed that the cuts occured after Thenardier's verse, but in actuality that verse too is removed.

(THENARDIER)

My band of soaks, my den of disollutes

My dirty jokes, my always pissed as newts

My sons of whores spend their lives in my inn

Homing pigeons homing in

They fly through my doors

And their money's good as yours

(CUSTOMERS)

Ain’t got a clue what he put into his stew

Must’ve scraped it off the street

Hell, what a wine

Châteauneuf de Turpentine

Must’ve pressed it with his feet

Landlord over here

Where’s the bloody man

One more for the road

One more slug of gin

Just one more or my old man is gonna do me in

By the 1986 recording, they are back in all their glory. Indeed, as you can read in Part 1 of this series Trevor Nunn himself has confirmed that the crew decided the number didn't work as well without the full preamble (an exception being, shockingly enough, Cameron Mackintosh).

During the Barbican previews, "Master of the House" was followed by a beautiful Well Scene between Valjean and Little Cosette:

(LITTLE COSETTE)

There is a castle on a cloud

I like to go there in my sleep

Aren’t any floors for me to sweep

(A FEW SECONDS OF INSTRUMENTALS)

(VALJEAN)

Don’t be afraid of me, my dear

Tell me your name and have no fear

How cold it grows when the sun has set

(LITTLE COSETTE)

I’m not afraid

Monsieur, my name’s Cosette

(VALJEAN)

Nor will you be afraid again

I come to take you from this place

There is a better world, you’ll see

(LITTLE COSETTE)

Give me your hand, and walk with me.

This leads into the humming duet between Valjean and Cosette. However, in what I consider the biggest mistake of this era's adjustments, the Well Scene was totally excised from the West End version and "Master of the House" is following directly by the humming duet. Trevor Nunn remarked a degree of regret about this in 1990's The Complete Book of Les Miserables. I don't have the book on hand right now, but I'll put down the exact quote later.

Of course, the Well Scene would later return in a much different form, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Perhaps to compensate for the deleted scene, another scene is added after the "Waltz of Treachery" number. During the Barbican previews, Valjean's "It won't take you too long to forget" is followed by a lot of vamping and eventually a reprise of Valjean and Cosette's humming duet. The West End production slightly reduces the vamping from about one minute to about forty-five seconds, and adds a scene (sung in the tune of "Castle on a Cloud", specifically the "there is a lady all in white" part at first and the main chorus for "Nor will you be afraid again" onwards):

(LITTLE COSETTE)

We're going home right now, monsieur

What is your name

(VALJEAN)

Now my dear

I've names enough, I've got names to spare

But where I go, you always will be there

Nor will you be afraid again

There is a sun that's shining yet

(LITTLE COSETTE)

I'm going to call you my Papa

(VALJEAN)

I'm going to call you my Cosette

The normal humming duet follows. This is a fascinating scene which seems to be exclusive to the brief era after the Barbican previews but before Broadway. It's interesting how it incorporates elements both of the opening Well Scene and of the more well-known later closing scene to the "Waltz of Treachery". It's also intriguing how it incorporates elements not really touched upon this directly in any other version of the musical, specifically just how mysterious and secretive Valjean is to the world in general as well as the fact that Cosette, in fact, is not truly Cosette's given name.

Everything seems to be the same from this point until "The Attack on Rue Plumet". In the Barbican previews, this is how the opening goes:

(EPONINE)

'Parnasse, what are you doing

So far out of our patch?

(MONTPARNASSE)

This house, we're gonna do it!

Rich man, plenty of scratch

You remember he's the bloke wot got away the other day

Got a number on his chest, perhaps a fortune put away

Took off like a guilty man, why would he want to disappear?

Now we're gonna do him right, this time no one will interfere

Everything from "Took off like a guilty man" onwards is removed from the West End version. Later in the number, we hear approximately the following exchange in the Barbican show. Fans have debated what exactly some of the lyrics are, but this is how I hear them:

(CLAQUESOUS)

What a palaver, what an absolute treat

To watch a cat and his father pick a bone in the street

(THENARDIER)

Not a sound out of you

(EPONINE)

What do you care if things scare me

(THENARDIER)

Listen 'Ponine, there might be jewels inside

There could be something for all

There could be bruises enough

You will have your share

(EPONINE)

Well I told you I'd do it, I told you I'd do it

The West End production reduces the vamping prior to this scene. Additionally, everything between "What do you care" and "You will have your share" is removed, meaning the "I told you I'd do it" is a direct remark to "Not a sound out of you". This is a much more linear and succinct way of moving the plot in my humble opinion!

That's it for act one! Act two begins largely the same, up until the scene where Gavroche reveals Javert to be a traitor. First off, Javert's original claim that they will "play their games" is changed to "spoil their games".

Next is probably this version's biggest change in the entire musical up to this point. Originally Gavroche sung approximately the following lines (once again, the recordings aren't as clear as would be desirable) in a unique tune heard nowhere else in the musical:

Good evening, dear inspector, lovely evening my dear!

A charlie for a copper who pays a call

I know who you’re supposed to be, Inspector Javert

Who never showed no mercy to no one at all

So don’t believe a word, none of it will wash

This time you’re reckoned without Gavroche!

The West End version scrapped this sequence and replaced it with "Little People" (which originally appeared in a much longer form later in the musical). This is how it went:

Good evening dear inspector, lovely evening my dear

I know this man, my friends, his name's Inspector Javert

So don't believe a word he says 'cause none of it's true

It only goes to show what little people can do

And little people know, when little people fight

We may look easy picking but we've got some bite

So never kick a dog because he's just a pup

You'd better run for cover when the pup grows up!

This edited placement of "Little People" is often attributed to the original Broadway production, but in fact it made its debut in the West End show. I'm not sure when exactly this was, given that the original cast album uses the long version. However, by the 1986 recording this is how it goes. It should be noted that it's not quite in its Broadway form, however; most notably, "We'll fight like twenty armies and we won't give up!" is not present.

A minor difference occurs during the First Attack sequence. In the Barbican production, this is how the students respond to their victory:

(GRANTAIRE)

By God, we've won the day

(LESGLES)

See how they run away

The West End production swaps the two students' lines, allowing Grantaire's slightly incredulous spirit to have a more poignant and/or amusing effect depending on your perspective.

Consequently given the new placement of the song, the show obviously had to be edited to remove the original "Little People" number. Originally, this is the way the show transitioned between the First Attack and "Little People":

(ENJOLRAS)

Courfeyrac, you take the watch

They won't attack until it's light

Everybody stay awake

We must be ready for the fight

For the final fight

Let no one sleep tonight

(GRANTAIRE)

Only little boys may sleep

For little people need their rest

Little tucks are quickly drained

And little grapes are quickly pressed

Come on little mite

It's time to say goodnight

Cue the original "Little People" number in all of its long, silly glory (in case you somehow don't know it, here are the lyrics). The West End production (and everything afterwards) cuts Grantaire's verse, so that the scene transitions straight from Enjolras' announcement to "Drink with Me". As much as I love the full-length "Little People" number (and I really do love it), I admit removing it was definitely the right choice. It's just so sweet and optimistic, it feels out of place in a musical as tragic and cynical as Les Miserables. It doesn't help that its placement is between a high-stakes action scene and a somber, slightly drunk reflection on the nature of friendships, sex, and romance. It's a wonderful song but a terrible Les Mis song. I do love it, though, and I also love how Grantaire manages to make his pre-song metaphors alcohol-related.

In the sewers, the Barbican recordings feature a unique tune not heard anywhere elsewhere in the musical (it can be heard here) before transitioning to the final Valjean-Javert confrontation. Apparently, this music was accompanied by a short chase scene. However, by the time of the 1986 recording there is instead what is essentially one repeated note which then transitions into an instrumental version of "Look Down". This is followed by the same Valjean-Javert confrontation as before.

And that just about sums this part up! If I missed anything feel free to let me know, as my goal is to create a changelog as thorough and complete as possible. I plan on making more parts in the near future covering all the changes that have been made in the show up until this day (discounting concerts). Any feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

As a side note, both for this project and my own enjoyment, I want as complete a collection of Les Miserables audios as possible. I already have most of what’s commonly circulated, but if you have any audios or videos you know are rare, I’d love it if you DMed me!

Until the turntable puts me at the forefront again, good-bye…

[berrynarrybanana]

Babyhoney

A/N: I’m sorry that I am a day late for my own challenge everyone, but it’s been a hectic week! I would like to thank everyone who is participating in The Sex Bucketlist Challenge first off. It’s been so nice chatting with everyone and seeing what they’ve come up with. I admittedly have done more plot than smut in this, but I hope the smut is still worth it lol. Thank you to my sweet group chat angels for reading over the doc I shared with them and making suggestions and edits and I would especially like to think the lovely @fromyourstrulyh​ for correcting all of my mistakes and @soullikestyles for setting me straight and making some wonderful suggestions. 

Word Count: 6982

Warnings: Smut (obvs), secret relationship, fifties!auPrompt: Against a tree, cockwarming, drive in! 

Links: Nightie | Car | Ring | Summer Dress 

 June 15, 1952 | 9:15 AM

It wasn’t my alarm clock that woke me up on Friday morning. 

Three weeks into summer and I was living in sinful bliss with the man of my dreams. After graduation and my eighteenth birthday, my life slipped into a peaceful routine. I would sleep in until nine-thirty before waking up slowly. I would join my Mother downstairs for coffee and we would spend an hour talking about our plans for the day. This particular Friday morning, my Mother had an appointment that pulled her away from our daily coffee routine. That left me with a little more time to sleep in before I actually had to start my day. 

Or so I thought. 

When I opened my eyes, the bright sunshine beaming into my eyes, I heard a series of tapping from my bedroom window. I groaned, sitting up slowly before I glanced over to see the one person I least expected. I scrambled out of bed, quick to push my window up so that Harry could fall into my bedroom before anyone in the neighborhood saw him. I looked back at him with wide eyes when he fell into my room, reaching out to grab my arms as a method of steadying himself. It took him all of ten seconds to trail his eyes over the nightgown that I had chosen the night before. It was a light blue material that was definitely more sheer in the daylight. I cleared my throat, crossing my arms over my chest as he flashed me his signature smirk. 

“Well what do we have here?” He said softly, brushing his fingers down the material as my face grew hot. “Do Mummy and Daddy know that you sleep like this?” 

“Don’t start teasing me, Harry.” I pouted my lips out. “I’ve just woken up, barely opened my eyes before I heard you knocking at my window like some kind of burglar.” 

“I’m sorry babyhoney.” He lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead right below my hairline. “Will you forgive me for disrupting your beauty sleep?”

“I suppose.” I grumbled, fighting off my smile as he chuckled. “I thought we were meeting up at the park?” 

“I couldn’t wait.” He shrugged, sliding his hands up to grip my sides tightly in his long fingers, he pulled me forward, brushing his nose against mine. “Missed my girl too much. Couldn’t wait any longer to see her.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” I sighed, tipping my head back as he kissed gently over the apple of my cheek. “I shouldn’t have told you that my Mother was away this morning. Then again, I didn’t know you’d turn into such a desperate man at the prospect of spending time in bed with me.” 

“Who said anything about spending time in bed?” He pulled back, lifting a hand up to cup my cheek with his palm, brushing his thumb over my hot cheek. “I’ve changed you, haven’t I? Turned you into a sex crazed little honey.” 

“I am no such thing Harry Edward Styles!” I gasped, playfully pushing at his shoulder as he chuckled along with me. “You take that back.” 

“I will not.” He shook his head. “Now give me a proper kiss babyhoney, my lips are feeling a little lonely.”

“Tell me why I should kiss you after a statement like that?” I pouted, pulling my head back as he leaned forward. “Give me one good reason and I’ll give you a very nice, slow kiss.” 

“Hmm, because you love me?” He asked, raising his brows. “Is that good enough?” 

“Well, I guess.” I let out a dramatic sigh, rolling my eyes at him. He chuckled, shaking his head before he leaned forward. 

I carried out my promise, kissing him soft and slow. It was just how he liked it, something I learned within our first week of dating back in junior high. We had been together for nearly five years now, our entire relationship a secret to the outside world. I pulled back from our current kiss, shaking my head as a whine broke from Harry’s throat. I opened my eyes, looking up at him with a soft smile. It took him a second to open his eyes, basking in the afterglow of our kiss for as long as he possibly could. I kissed his chin before pushing up on my toes, kissing up his jawline.

 He tilted his head to the side, digging his fingers into my sides as I looped my own arms behind his neck. It didn’t take long before Harry was pushing me back towards my bed, his lips finding mine once more. When I fell back onto my bed, Harry wasted no time before dropping to his knees. His palms massaged over my outer thigh as he pressed soft kisses over my kneecaps. I smiled down at him, lifting a hand to push the long hairs at the top of his head back. 

He glanced up at me, a cheeky grin on his mouth. 

“Do you have work today?” I asked softly. “I don’t want to disrupt your schedule?” 

“I go in later.” He said softly. “I promised you lunch in the park, remember? M’gonna give you just that.” 

“But I thought we were going to the drive-in tonight?” My brows furrowed as he slipped his fingers higher up, hooking them in the waistband of my panties. “dreamboat, you promised we would go see the new film with Grace Kelly. You know that I love her.” 

“I know, babyhoney.” He cooed softly as I shifted on my bum, allowing him to slip my panties down to my knees before he pulled them off of me completely. “We’re gonna go to the drive-in, I promise.” 

“Okay.” I said softly, sliding my fingers from his hair to grip his chin. “We don’t have time for this, dreamboat. You’re gonna be late and we won’t get to have our picnic.” 

“Baby, stop being so anxious.” He mumbled, turning his head to kiss my inner wrist. “I have enough time for a little taste, I promise.” 

“Well...if you’re late don’t blame me.” I said softly, releasing his chin as he shot me a toothy grin, his dimple carved out just for me. “I suppose a little taste wouldn’t hurt.” 

“Think it’s better than breakfast if I’m honest.” He started to litter soft kisses to the inside of my thighs, his hands pulling my legs further apart as he made his way up. “Really is a good way to start my day.” 

“I do quite like the glow I get after we fool around.” I giggled, dropping my upper half back onto my bed. “Can’t buy that in a bottle, that’s for sure.”

“Oh honey.” Harry laughed loudly at my statement. “What am I going to do with you?” 

12:00 PM 

Harry kept his promise to me. 

When I hopped on the back of his motorcycle, there was a small picnic basket attached to the back that didn’t normally sit there. We went to a park outside of town that we frequented. The locals knew us there, but we never ran into anyone from our own town during our trips. He confessed that he stole his Mother’s kitchen tablecloth and he worked with Gemma to fix up lunch for both of us. There was a full spread laid out in front of us. Harry took great care in making sure my favorite dessert was tucked away in his picnic basket. When we were done eating, I curled into his side while he read aloud from his favorite book. It was like a small piece of heaven, lying in the sunshine with him. I loved to hear his voice reciting romantic words from the likes of Jane Austen and Emily Bronte. My eyes started to slip shut when he neared the end of a chapter of Emma, the current romance novel we were indulging in together.

“Babyhoney.” Harry kissed the top of my head several times. “You need to keep your eyes open, my sweet little sloth.” 

“So tired, Harry.” I let out a loud yawn, turning in my spot so that my face was hidden in his side. He chuckled softly as I groaned. “Your voice lulls me right to sleep.” 

“S’that a compliment?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“Yes, dreamboat.” I let out a heavy sigh, pushing up on my arms before pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips. “Love you.” 

“I love you more.” He rubbed the tip of his moan against mine and I giggled. “We better get going, I need to be at the shop in an hour.” 

“Alright.” I let out another sigh before sitting up. Harry stood up as I started to put things back in the basket. When I was finished, I looked up to see Harry with his hand extended out. “Thank you, dreamboat.” 

He pulled me to my feet, catching my lips when I stumbled into his chest. It didn’t take long for our innocent little kiss to turn into something more. My fingers found themselves tangled into his hair around the same time he was hoisting me up with a low grunt. I wrapped my legs around his, giggling as he started walking us towards whatever flat surface would support me. I broke the kiss with a giggle when he pushed my back into a wide tree trunk. 

He wasted no time ducking his head down to kiss up my neck, suckling softly at the soft junction of my jaw and my neck. I tilted my head back, letting out a soft sigh as he nipped softly at the already wet skin. It didn’t take long for Harry to slip his hand under my dress, pushing aside my panties before he brushed his fingers up my wet folds. I closed my eyes, clenching around nothing as he brushed his fingers over my clit softly. He smirked into the skin of my jaw as he rubbed in soft circles, ignoring my desperate pleas for him to sink his fingers into me. After a few moments of his fingers circling over my clit, he dipped his forefinger into my entrance. I gasped when he hooked the first half of his digit up, massaging that soft spot inside of my walls before he pulled his finger away. I was seconds from complaining, my mouth ajar as I snapped my head up. I was quickly cut off by Harry adding a second finger into me. 

My heartbeat picked up as he grunted softly, adjusting so that my back was firmly pressed against the tree. There was no way he could hold me up anymore. 

“Harry, please.” I dropped my forehead to his, my breath fanning over his face as he looked up at me. “Fuck me.” 

“Are you sure?” He gulped, pulling back to glance around the park. “Honey, someone could walk by and see us.” 

“I don’t care.” I whispered, brushing my fingers over his cheek. “I need you now, dreamboat.” 

“Bloody christ, woman.” He whined, closing his eyes tightly for a second before he was nodding. I tried to conceal my triumphant grin, but it was no use. “Who taught you to be this naughty?” 

“You, Harry.” I let out a soft laugh as he shook his head, mumbling a soft curse under his breath. “Thought you needed to be at the shop in an hour, dreamboat? Are you sure you have time?” 

“Gotta give my girl what she wants, don’t I? Gonna have to make this quick.” Harry mutters.

I look back at him with a mischievous smirk on my face. “Then, stop talking and show me what you can do, please.”

It took him a few minutes to maneuver around holding me and pulling his pants down, but when he finally got them down, he wasted no time sinking into me. It took my breath away when he settled against me, the tip of his cock brushing so deep in me that I clenched down around his shaft. He groaned, dropping his head forward before he pulled back. I whimpered at the empty feeling, but it didn’t last long. Harry settled into an impressive speed as I tangled my fingers in his hair. We were fucking against a tree in broad daylight as if it was perfectly normal and something about that turned me on even more. I closed my eyes, sliding one hand down to press against my clit as Harry continued to drive his hips into me. 

“Gonna play with yourself for me, babyhoney?” He gasped, lifting his head up as I moaned softly in response. “That’s my sweet girl.” 

“M’your sweet girl.” I opened my eyes, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m so close.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, licking over his bottom lip. I took the cue, leaning down to press my lips to his in a desperate kiss. “Go on babyhoney, let go for me.” 

His words sent me over the edge, my body picking up on his demand as I clenched around his shaft. I let out a loud gasp, burying my face in the crook of his shoulders as he bucked his hips a little harder. His thrusts turned sloppy as I started to come down and I knew that he was close. It didn’t take long for him to grunt, pressing his forehead against mine as he spilled into me. I would worry about the consequences of it later, my eyes and mind focused on Harry’s face as he tried to keep himself quiet. When he was finally finished, he pulled out slowly. When he hissed out in discomfort, I whimpered at the empty feeling left in the pit of my stomach. 

“I need to keep an eye on you.” Harry chuckled lowly, shaking his head as I giggled. “You’re starting to get a little too wild baby.” 

“Only for you dreamboat.” I lifted my hand up to pinch his cheek. “Now we absolutely have to get back to my house. You’re going to be late for work.” 

“I’ll be fine, baby.” He brushed his nose against mine before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I actually have something I want to ask you.” 

In all the time that I had known Harry, I’d never seen him nervous like this before. I could tell he was nervous by the shifting of his eyes and the deep frown pulling between his brows. My heartbeat started to pick up as I watched him fumble for his words. He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers against my thigh. I slipped my legs from around his waist, pressing my feet flat to the ground. He shifted around, sliding his pants back up over his hips before buckling them up. I smoothed my hands over my dress after readjusting my panties. Harry let out a deep sigh before wiping his hands over his trousers. I watched with raised brows and wide eyes as he looked up towards the sky before looking back down at me. 

“You know that I love you, right?” I nodded at his question, crossing my arms over my chest shyly. This felt more like a breakup speech than a confession of love. “You’re my entire world, honeybaby. I adore you.” 

“I love you too, dreamboat.” I gave him a sad smile, stepping forward. “Is everything okay? Oh no!”

“What?” His eyes grew wide as tears started to pool in my own eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re moving back to England, aren’t you?” I sniffled, my heart breaking. “You’re going to leave me here and go back to that stupid old country and I’ll never see you again!” 

“Honey, no!” He cried out, moving forward to wrap his arms around me. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“Why would you scare me like that!” I groaned, pressing my palms over my face as I leaned into his chest. “You sounded like you were about to break up with me dreamboat!” 

“I - what?” He pulled back, reaching up to wrap his fingers around my wrists. He pulled my hands away from my face and I sniffled, trying to control the tears flowing over my cheeks. “Never, babyhoney. I wouldn’t...I was trying to-fuck.” 

“What?” I asked, my brows furrowing as he reached into his back pocket with one hand. When he brought his hand back into view, I noticed the small velvet box immediately. “Oh my god.” 

“I had a speech prepared but…words aren’t enough when it comes to you.” He said softly, reaching over with his other hand to open the box with shaky fingers. “You are the reason I wake up every morning. You’re the reason I smile at nothing in the middle of a conversation with someone else. You’re the reason I wake up in the middle of the night, petrified because I don’t have you by my side.I know you still want to go to Harvard to earn your degree and I want to be there to support you every step of the way, as your husband.”

I didn’t even look at the ring, my eyes trained on Harry’s. 

He was tearing up as well, the rims of his eyes red and the light green shade just a little darker. 

“Will you marry me?” He asked, his voice breaking a little. “Please, babyhoney. Say something.” 

“Yes.” I whispered, nodding my head. “Yes I will.” 

“You will?” His frown was replaced with a smile, his eyes lighting up as a few tears fell onto his cheeks. “You didn’t even look at the ring.” 

“You could have proposed to me with a piece of string and I would have said yes.” I chuckled. I moved forward, tossing my arms around his neck before another round of tears released from my eyes. I turned my head, pressing my nose into his shirt as a soft sob broke free. “I can’t believe I let you make love to me against a tree before proposing to me.” 

“That’s what are you crying about?” He laughed, sliding his arms around my waist. 

“No, I’m crying because I love you so much.” I pulled back, pressing my lips to his. “I’m going to love you until my heart stops beating dreamboat. I know it.”

5:00 PM

The plan that I had told my parents was a complete lie. 

They thought that I would be going to the drive-in theatre with my best friend, Imogene, and her boyfriend Tommy. It wasn’t completely a lie. Imogene and Tommy would probably be at the drive-in tonight, but I wouldn’t be with them. I would be with Harry, pressed against his side as I watched Grace Kelly on the silver screen. We would split a strawberry shake like we always did and I would steal half of his fries. He never complained when I did it though. When I kissed my Mother and Father goodbye, I told them not to wait up for me. They never had a problem with me staying out late when I was with Imogene. She was a good girl with a good head on her shoulders as my Father would always say. It was half of the reason I used her as an alibi. She never knew I was with Harry but she knew I was off having a secret love affair with someone. 

When I walked out of my house, I turned my head to the left expecting to see Harry’s motorcycle parked down the street. Sitting there in its normal spot was a pink and white car with white wall tires. I knew that wasn’t him because he didn’t actually own a car despite the fact he was working in an autoshop. I was just about to retreat back inside when I did a double take. My jaw dropped as I watched my fiance step out of the car, ruffling his hair slightly before turning my direction. I could see the grin on his face from my parent’s front porch and it made me shake my head in disbelief. I jogged down the steps before running down the sidewalk. I crashed into Harry at full speed, giggling as he wrapped his arms around me. 

“Whose car is this?” I asked breathlessly, looking over at the Ford Fairlane convertible with wide eyes. 

“It’s ours.” He said. “My boss bought a newer model for his wife last week and he promised me this one if I pulled some extra hours at the shop when he asked.” 

“Really?” I looked back at him, my smile so wide that it actually hurt my cheeks. “I can’t believe you have a car!” 

“We have a car.” He corrected me. “What’s mine is yours, remember?” 

“Oh my god we have a car.” I cheered, jumping up in excitement. “You’re already the best husband a girl could ask for.” 

“We’re not even married yet.” He chuckled, reaching down for my hand. “Come on, let’s get you fed before you get grumpy.” 

“I am not grumpy!” I frowned, my brows pulling together. “You take that back right now.” 

“Come on babyhoney.” He kissed my cheek before leaning down to open the passenger side door. “You’re already turning into a sourpuss.” 

5:30 PM 

Halfway through our split strawberry milkshake, Harry pressed his hand against my thigh. 

Part of me wanted to wear pants to the drive-in because I knew when the sun went away, the air would get colder. The other part of me wanted to drive Harry crazy with a beautiful, yellow summer dress that I bought on clearance months ago at Sears. Harry always loved when I wore yellow, even if I disliked how the color looked on me. As his fingers softly brushed against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh I found that I couldn’t care less about the color yellow. As long as I got this kind of reaction from my dreamboat, I didn’t care if I was in a paper bag. When Grace Kelly appeared on the screen, I gasped. Harry let out a soft chuckle as I moved forward in my seat to get a better look at her. His hand slipped off of my thigh momentarily and I passed the shake back to him before I reached down to turn the dial on the radio higher. 

“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Think you’re much prettier, babyhoney.” He pressed his palm against my lower back and I let out a soft chuckle before leaning back into his embrace. “I bet you would be a much better actor, too.” 

“I don’t think I was meant to be on camera.” I shook my head at his words, glancing back at him with my nose scrunched up. “That’s more your speed, I think.” 

“Why do you say that?” He chuckled. 

“You’ve got such a handsome face.” I cooed, reaching up to pinch his cheek as he groaned. “And you’re so charming. Like Cary Grant.” 

“I wouldn't want to be an actor either.” He mumbled as I pressed my palm against his chest. “I think I would want to be a musician. I’d be happy as a backup singer or something.” 

“Dreamboat,” I rolled my eyes at his words before shaking my head. “You’d be the frontman, I know it. You have such an amazing singing voice.” 

“Alright, you’re gonna blow my head up.” He patted my hand softly, trying to distract me from the pink dusted across his cheeks. “Pay attention to your movie.” 

“Suddenly I’m not very interested in the movie, dreamboat.” My soft whisper was enough to pull his gaze from the screen, his attention back on me as I grinned. “I think there’s something else I would rather be doing right now.” 

“What’s that?” His voice was strained as he spoke and I felt his warm palm land back on the skin of my thigh. 

“Can I have a kiss?” I asked, brushing the tip of my nose against his. “It’s been so long since you’ve kissed me.” 

“Kissed you for ten minutes when we got in the car.” 

“Not the same.” I whispered, shaking my head. “I want a really good kiss, dreamboat.” 

“Baby, I don’t think I know what you mean.” He hummed, pursing his lips out as if he was deep in thought. “Show me?” 

“My pleasure.” 

I pressed my lips to his seconds later and he gripped my thigh tighter in response. 

I let out a soft sigh of content, tilting my head to the side before pressing up in my seat. I slipped the hand I had resting on his chest to his neck. I let my fingers trail over the skin of his neck softly as I tried to deepen the kiss. I slipped my tongue over the seam of his mouth, but he didn’t budge. I let out a frustrated whimper when I felt him smirk against my lips. 

Before I could pull back to scold him, he cradled the back of my neck with his own hand. My hand fell back to his chest, my fingers sliding down the fabric of his baby blue sweater before I pushed it up. I rested my palm on his tummy, my heart fluttering when I felt him tense beneath my hands. 

It was my turn to smile into the kiss as he tried to guide my hand closer to his cock. I didn’t give into his needs, sliding my hand up towards his nipples instead. I brushed my thumb over his right nipple, pulling my lips away to trail over his jawline as I tweaked it gently. Harry let out a breathless moan, tossing his head back as I kissed over his Adam's apple. 

“Babyhoney?” His voice was deep and raspy and I wondered if I had anything to do with the change in mood. “Please touch me?” 

“I am touching you, Dreamboat.” I whispered against the skin of his neck as I moved my fingers to his left nipple. “Touching you just how you like it, aren’t I?” 

“Yes, but-” 

“But?” I pulled back, a faux pout settling on my lips. “You don’t like it?” 

“You know I love it.” He let out a frustrated chuckle, shaking his head. “Want your hand down my pants babyhoney. Wanna feel you touch my cock.” 

“Oh.” I pressed my lips together, nodding my head at his words. “Do you want to show me how?” 

“You know how, baby.” He whimpered, shuffling his hips around. “Pull me out, sweet girl.” 

“I wasn’t quite finished kissing you.” I sighed dramatically before dropping my hand down to the waistband of his pants. “I guess that will just have to wait.” 

“Yes.” He nodded, licking over his bottom lip as he lifted his hips up. I smirked at his eager attitude, popping the button on his trousers before I tugged the zipper down. “Want you to put your mouth on me. Want you to show me how good you can really be, baby.” 

I wasted no time pulling him from the confines of his boxers, wrapping my fingers around his shaft firmly before giving it a few tugs. It never took me long to get him hard. When I brushed the pad of my thumb over the tip of his cock, I felt the wet traces of his pre-cum on my finger. I glanced up at him with soft eyes, shuffling myself a little bit further away so that I could lean down. I pressed a few, soft kisses to the tip of his cock before flattening my tongue out. I slipped it further down his shaft before closing my lips around it. I could tell that Harry was having a hard time staying composed above me. He had already slipped his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck,  tugging softly as I tried to push myself lower onto his cock. I pulled back, quickly, hollowing out my cheeks. Harry gasped, bucking his hips to chase the feeling of my mouth. 

“Baby,” Harry tugged at my hair gently as he tried his best to pull his hips away. “The carhop is coming.” 

“Fuck.” I groaned out, sitting up before I swiped the back of my hand over my lips. “Just...sit still, okay?” 

“What?” Harry furrowed his brows as I climbed into his lap, hovering over him before I reached down to grab his shaft. “Fuck, baby. Are you going to sit on my cock?”

“Yes,” I gasped when he pushed his hips up, the tip of his cock pushing into me. “I can’t...don’t want the carhop seeing you. You’re mine.” 

“M’yours.” He grasped at my hips, steadying me as I let his cock stretch me out. I let out a low whine when I settled into him fully, his fingers digging into my sides. “Feels so good to be in you like this. Can’t….all I feel is you, babyhoney.” 

I rested my hands over his, linking our fingers together as I tried my best not to move my hips. I needed to sit absolutely still if we were going to get away with this. When the carhop finally made it to our car, I smiled over at her the best that I could. Harry pressed his chin onto my shoulder, pretending to watch the movie as I waited for the carhop to finish speaking. 

“We’re done with everything.” I tried my best not to gasp when I absentmindedly shift my hips, the tip of his cock sending a shockwave through my body. “Thank you.” 

“Have a stellar night you two!” She called out before walking off to the next car. 

“Fuck.” I gasped when Harry shifted under me, his hips pushing up and catching me off guard. My thighs tensed up as Harry bit into my shoulder, sliding his arms around me. “I just...we’re missing the movie, Harry.”

“I don’t care about the movie.” He growled, shifting his hips up again. “I need it...know you do too, babyhoney.” 

“I have to watch the movie, dreamboat.” I sighed softly as he sponged a few wet kisses up my neck, stopping at my jawline. “Gotta tell Mama about it when I get home.” 

“We’ll come back tomorrow.” He tried to reason with me, sliding his palm over my lower stomach before pressing down. “Feel how full I make you? That’s me in your belly, babyhoney.” 

“I know.” I bit my lower lip, rolling my eyes up towards the ceiling in attempts to control myself. I wanted so badly to move my hips, but listening to him beg was worth the wait. “Gotta be good for me, dreamboat.” 

“Baby.” He whimpered in my ear. “Please don’t leave me hanging.” 

“Shh, Harry.” I turned my head to look at him, ignoring the soft blush on his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. “I’m watching the film.” 

Harry let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn’t say another word. 

I kept my eyes on the screen, watching Grace float around each scene. I wasn’t really paying attention to what was happening, the feeling of Harry fidgeting behind me a distraction. Every few moments, he would move his hands. From settling on my thighs to my hips to my stomach to my sides. He moved them so much that it almost felt like he was making sure I was still okay. A few times, I squeezed my walls, shifting around to keep him on his toes. Each movement earned a gasp joined by his fingers digging into my skin through my dress. When we were nearing the end of the movie, I decided that enough was enough. I couldn’t hold out any longer, my hips moving on their own as I inhaled sharply. It didn’t take long for Harry to catch onto my motive, his hands falling on my hips as my body moved. 

The stretch of his cock sent a shockwave through my body with each rise of my hips and by the time I fell back onto him, he was already praising me. My movements were slow and unsure, the confidence I’d had at the beginning of the night completely gone. My legs were starting to grow sore and I wasn’t sure that I could carry myself to an orgasm in this position. Something in the way Harry leaned forward, gripping my hips tighter, told me that he was aware of my struggle. He leaned forward, kissing up my neck before lifting my hips up. When I started to settle back onto him, he pushed me back up to the awkward crouching position. 

“S’enough of that baby.” He grunted. “Want you to lay down for me, yeah?” 

“Someone will notice.” I shook my head, looking back at him. “Just let me turn around, please? I want to...I want to finish making you feel good.” 

“You make me feel good no matter what position we’re in.” He let out a soft chuckle as I turned around, climbing over his lap. “Babyhoney, I know your legs are tired.” 

“They are.” I nodded, pressing my palms to his cheeks as he brushed his fingers up my bare thighs. “Maybe you can help me with that? Be a gentleman like you promised me, dreamboat?” 

“Okay.” Harry nodded as I reached down with my right hand, holding his shaft before I slipped the tip past my entrance. “Don’t sit all the way, just...wait right there.” 

“Why?” I asked, my brow furrowing as I settled towards the middle of his shaft. 

My answer was a sharp thrust from Harry’s hips nearly knocking me over. 

The air left my lungs in the form of a loud moan and I ducked my head down, burying my face in his shoulder as he pulled back out. The feeling before was good, but this was so much better. Harry lifted his hips again with a grunt, angling them slightly different and holding himself in me for just a few moments longer. I laced my fingers behind his neck, holding onto him as he started to find a steady rhythm. It wasn’t fast, but it felt so good. I could feel my own wetness starting to coat my thighs and my fingers started to slip apart, slick from perspiration as Harry pushed my closer to the edge. I knew that I was done for when he opened his mouth, his words sending chills down my spine. 

“Gonna be such a good wife to me, I know it.” He grunted in my ear and I nodded. “Gonna be my partner, yeah? Gonna treat you like a bloody queen, baby. Gonna fuck you like this every night.” 

“Harry.” I lifted my head up, pressing my forehead into his. “I’m close.” 

“Yeah?” He let out a breathless chuckle, licking over his bottom lip. “Hold tight for me, baby. Gonna get you there, gonna make you cum.” 

He did as promised, driving his hips up into me at an impressive speed. He had to kiss me to keep me quiet, the moans ripping from my mouth far too loud for our little rendezvous. When I came, it felt like the world stopped. Harry pulled my hips down flush against his, spilling into me with a grunt of his own. I rolled my hips forward, welcoming the soft sting as I continued to pulse around his cock. I pulled back from his mouth with a loud chuckle, tossing my head back. 

“Surely someone saw that.” I let out a heavy sigh, trying to catch my breath. 

When I finally felt calm enough, my chest no longer heaving, I lifted my hips up. Harry winced when his cock dropped back against his stomach and I kissed him softly as an apology. When he was tucked back into his trousers, I kissed him again. 

 “I can’t believe we just did that.” I chuckled into his mouth. 

“You’re something else.” He shook his head before dropping it back to the seat behind him. “I’m gonna have to keep a close watch on you. Putting that ring on your finger has changed you, huh?” 

“I just want to make my husband happy.” I hummed softly, pressing my lips to his. “Are you happy?” 

“So happy that my heart could burst right out of my chest.” He whispered. “I can’t wait for it to be official.” 

“I would go to the courthouse tomorrow to say ‘I do’, you know I would dreamboat.” I whispered, pulling back to brush my thumb over his chin. “You tell me when you’re ready and I’ll meet you at the altar.” 

“I want you to have a proper wedding.” He frowned, his brows pulling together.  “Everything we’ve done so far has been....it’s not been by the book. You deserve to have something normal and proper.” 

“Harry, I-” 

Before I could get the words out of my mouth, I heard my Father’s voice. 

My blood ran cold as I looked at Harry, my eyes growing wide. Harry’s look mirrored mine, his fingers digging into the skin of my thighs before I slipped off of his lap. I was quick to grab the door handle, getting out of the car. I cursed when I felt the wetness between my legs. It slipped my mind that Harry didn’t pull out, his release still inside of me. I quickly rushed around the front of the car when I saw my Father barreling towards Bertha. My Mother was hot on his heels as Harry stepped out of the car, settling by my side with his hand on my lower back. In the distance, I could see Imogene and Tommy standing there with shock on their faces. 

“You better get your hands off my daughter, you hoodrat.” My father was dangerously close to Harry, pointing his finger at him angrily. 

“Daddy, it’s okay!” I said quickly, sliding between the two men. “It’s...Harry is harmless, I promise. He’s my boyfriend, Daddy.” 

“Johnny is your boyfriend.” My Father didn’t take his eyes from Harry’s. 

“He’s not.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat, closing my eyes as I took a deep breath. “I broke up with Johnny a long time ago. He’s with someone else now.” 

“How long have you been lying to us then?” My Mother asked quietly. 

When I looked over at her, she was clutching her pearls with sad eyes. 

“I’ve been with Harry for five years.” I whispered. “I really love him, Mama. I swear that I do.” 

“You don’t know what love is!” My Father snapped, his eyes finally landing on mine. I felt Harry stand up straighter behind me, his chest brushing my back as he rested his fingers lightly on my hip. “You’re just a child.” 

“I’m not a child, daddy.” I whispered, the familiar burn behind my eyes catching me off guard. “I love him.” 

“We’re going home.” My Father said, reaching down for my hand. I pulled it back, holding it to my chest. “Y/N we are going home, you don’t have a choice.” 

“Sir, maybe we can take this somewhere more private.” Harry spoke up behind me. “We can all talk this out and-” 

“You don’t speak to me.” My Father snapped at Harry before looking back at me. “Let’s go.” 

“I’m not a child anymore. If you insist on making me choose between you and Harry, I’ll pick him. I will always pick him. He’s my soulmate.” I said.

“If you don’t come home with us right now, there’s no coming back. There will be no university in the fall or summer trip to the beach.” My Father seethed, but I didn’t budge. “You would give up your family for a lowlife like him.” 

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. “I’m sorry that you don’t believe me, but Harry is my soulmate and I...I can’t leave him. Not even for you.” 

It was silent for a minute, the whole world standing still as my father and I stared at each other. I tried to hold it all in, hiding my fear behind a deep scowl. The only thing keeping me grounded and steady was Harry’s touch. I waited, watching my Father’s face turn red with anger with each passing second. It didn’t take him long to turn around, booking past my Mother. I looked over at her, my face softening as I realized that maybe I shouldn’t have kept it from her. She stared back at me with a look of sheer disappointment in her eyes and it nearly broke me. She looked back at Harry, letting go of her pearls as she let out a heavy sigh. 

“He’s going to need time to adjust.” My Mother said quietly. “I’ll pack up your things. You can come pick them up on Sunday after church.” 

“Okay.” I croaked out, reaching up to lace my fingers with Harry’s. “I’m sorry.” 

She didn’t say another word, turning on her heels before walking away. 

When she was out of sight, I stumbled back into Harry. I pressed the fingers of my freehand to my lips, muffling the sob that burst out of my chest as I watched my parents peel away. Harry wrapped both of his arms around me as my knees started to grow weak. I turned in his arms, burying my face in his chest as he cooed softly above me. 

“It’s going to be alright.” He said softly. “They just need time, like your Mother said.” 

“I don’t think time will fix it.” I hiccuped, looking up at him. “Are you...are you okay?” 

“I’m alright, babyhoney.” He smiled softly, reaching up to brush his fingers over my wet cheeks. I sniffled, nodding my head. “Stop your cryin’, alright? Let’s go home. I’m sure Mum will be excited to have another girl around.” 

“You don’t think she’ll be upset?” I asked. 

“Never.” Harry said softly. “You’re family now.” 

[crystal-snowing]

fake dating | seo changbin

synopsis: in order to take over the family company there is one condition that you need to fulfill, and in the heat of the moment and without thinking things through, you happen to mention your best friend, seo changbin. 

genre: best friends to lovers!au, rich! reader, idol!au

word count: 4.6k 

warnings: alcohol consumption and some light swearing

other members:  | felix | chan | jisung | minho | jeongin | seungmin | hyunjin |

a/n: i am now trying to restrain myself from starting any new series until i finish these uncompleted ones, join me on my journey to see if i actually follow through with this :)) also, this gif was edited by me, but the original gif belongs to @/changbeanie

seo changbin has been a constant figure in your life for as long as you can remember.  

it only made sense, after all, you were a part of the wealthy and illustrious [l/n] family, owners and inventors of some of the most high-end technology in south korea. 

when you were both children, fancy socialite gatherings were definitely not your scene, and being the only two kids there, it only made sense that the two of you would strike up a friendship. 

and this friendship continued to last as the two of you grew older, and even though you both went on separate paths, you both continued to stay in contact. 

it wasn’t a surprise to you when you learned that he had become an idol, especially debuting under the coveted company of JYP, he just had this knack about him—some kind of drive, that made you know he was going to go far. 

you, on the other hand, had your life planned out for you since the day you were born. 

it was only natural that you were going to inherit the multi-million dollar company from your parents, they would want it to go to nobody else except their own child, and you didn’t have a choice to decide otherwise. 

all your life you have been groomed for this position, and while attending school and then university, did you retain some of your independence and freedoms, you knew that it would all be over as soon as you graduated. 

it was pointless to try and delay your future, but there were nights were you longed for the freedoms of just being a normal person, instead of the heir to the [l/n] cooperation. 

and in more ways than one, did you envy the freedom and fun that your best friend seemed to be having in comparison to you. 

but as you grew older, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else but running the company, it was your life and it was in your blood. 

in more ways than one, you were determined to succeed in all the ways that your parents failed, and you would make yourself worthy of the position CEO rather than a spoiled brat who simply inherited the position. 

however, what you were not expecting was a second request from your parents the day that you were signed over as the new CEO. 

“you want me to do what?” 

“it’s simple [y/n], sweetie, it’s not like we’re asking you to make a life altering decision!”

“mother, with all due respect, but i don’t want to get married.” 

“well, then i’m afraid that you don’t really have a choice. i’m sorry for giving you an ultimatum like these, but either you find yourself a suitable husband, or the company will have a new heir.” 

to say that you were baffled was a complete understatement. 

but, you needed this, the company, this lifestyle—everything, and you were not willing to let a slight hiccup in your plans deter you from getting what you wanted. 

and before you could stop yourself, the words had already spilled out of your mouth—a desperate attempt to keep everything that you have worked for still within your grasp.

“i’m not sure i’m going to need to find a husband, when i already have a boyfriend.”

oh how the tables have turned. 

turning away you fiddled with the hem of your clothing underneath the table, it was a blatant lie for sure, but you were desperate and if this was the only way that you could acquire the company, then so be it. 

however you weren’t in the clear just yet, your mother narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, still skeptical of your statement. 

“you’ve never mentioned a boyfriend, who is this boy and when can we meet him?”

crap, you didn’t think this far ahead—the jig was up, you were done for, and now you were going to be in even more trouble for lying.

you had to think quickly, something, anything that could possibly get you out of this predicament and quickly. 

and once again, as if you didn’t learn from your mistake just a few minutes ago, you opted for saying the name that came to mind. 

“seo changbin, he’s my boyfriend.” 

finally, that seemed to render your mother speechless, as you quickly bid your parents goodbye with a promise that you would call them later and set up a meeting. 

it was only when you stepped out of the building, could you feel the cool breeze on your heated cheeks, did you finally understand the gravity of the situation that you were in. 

somehow, if it was even possible, you seemed to have dug yourself into an even deeper hole than before.

slumping against the building and sliding down to the concrete sidewalk below, you placed your head in your hands and roughly scrubbed your face, wondering how you could have possibly ended up in a situation like this.

in all honesty, both you and changbin had not lost contact per se, but kind of drifted apart—both of you had become preoccupied with other responsibilities, and texting nonstop was more harmful than beneficial. 

you weren’t on terrible terms, so you could assume this fact was at least a partial silver lining in this fucked up situation.

but, on the other hand, it was kind of awkward for you to suddenly call him out of the blue, and ask him to do this relationship-altering favor for you after you both have spoken to each other in so long. 

but, once again, what choice did you have?

reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your cellphone before dialing the familiar number, waiting only three rings before he picked up. 

“i made a boo-boo,” you couldn’t help the phrase that tumbled out of your mouth as soon as he answered. 

he chuckled slightly before answering, “well, hello to you too, we haven’t talked in almost three months and that’s the first thing you say to me?”

letting out a deep sigh, you hastily explained the predicament that you were in, everything from inheriting the company, to how your parents set up this ridiculous condition in order for you to do so.

“and so i kind of may have, sorta, mentioned your name,” you mumbled, clutching the phone close to your ear as you gnawed harshly on your lower lip. 

there was silence on the other end of the line for a couple of seconds, and you could vaguely heard what sounded like screams of other boys in the background, with the sound of laughter and loud music following them. 

“i completely understand if you can’t do this, i mean with your career and everything and this could really jeopardize everything, i mean i honestly don’t even know what came over me when i—” you continued to stammer, tapping your fingers rapidly against the back of your phone.

“[y/n], relax, take a deep breath and relax,” and upon following his instructions, you could easily feel some of the stress leave your body as he continued, “right now isn’t really the best time, but let me call you back later tonight, and we can talk about this.”

but that didn’t answer your question, in fact it only seemed to cause a resurgence in your anxiety, and before he could hang up you mumbled out another question. 

“this means you’ll help me, right?” 

it was almost inaudible, how softly you whispered, and you weren’t sure if he even heard you, but as soon as you heard his laughter, you were a bit perplexed to say the least.

you weren’t sure what to think about the chuckling on the other side of the line, but it filled you with a sense of warmth—a sensation that you haven’t felt in a long while. 

“yes, i’ll be your fake boyfriend,” changbin confirmed softly, before bidding you goodbye.

currently, it was close to eleven o’clock at night, and still there was no sign of life from the electronic device, and you were stressed to say the least. 

 he said that he would call, he said that he would call—a mantra that was currently repeating like a broken record inside your head. 

however, your anxiety soon turned to confusion as soon as you heard a faint knock at your front door. 

visitors at this hour were unheard of, especially for you, who lived in a penthouse on the top floor of the apartment complex, the most secluded portion of the building. 

taking a look through the peephole, you were surprised to see changbin there, dressed in casual grey sweats and sneakers with a black mask and cap covering most of his features, but to you it was completely obvious that it was him. 

quickly you opened the door and ushered him into your apartment, closing it behind him and prompting him to take off his makeshift disguise.

“what are you doing here, i thought you were going to call?” you asked, turning around and facing him, your eyes widening a bit as you drank in his appearance.

 he looked good, honestly, good was not even the word to describe how good he looked. 

even though it has been a couple months since the two of you last texted each other, it has been maybe a couple of years since you both have seen each other—and you had to admit, whatever they have been feeding him at jyp entertainment has certainly done him well.

he has muscles now and long-gone was the lanky boy from middle school, his skin was glowing, and there was something about the way that he carried himself, perhaps with more confidence that was perhaps kind of attractive. 

“we haven’t seen each other in so long, i was thinking that you wouldn’t mind me paying you a visit,” changbin grinned, flashing his pearly whites. 

yikes, suddenly it was feeling a bit stuffy in the room, as you turned away and adjusted the baggy old t-shirt that you were wearing, suddenly self-conscious about the way that you were dressed. 

grabbing some drinks from the kitchen, you offered one to him as you both sat on the couch, popping the top of the bottle, you took a long sip before whipping your mouth with the back of your hand, before speaking.

“so, this is what i need you to do.” 

it was simple, really, you were going to schedule a dinner with your parents and introduce him as your boyfriend and in the meantime you just needed to fill both of your phones up with “memories” of the two of you in order to really sell the story that you have been dating for months. 

now, the tricky part was revolving everything around changbin’s situation as an idol.

there was no way you were willing to drag his name through the mud and absolutely tarnish everything that he has worked for, but this relationship had to be believable and in order for that to work there was bound to be conflicts in scheduling. 

perhaps, you had thought too rashly about this whole situation, who were you kidding, you weren’t even thinking when you blurted out his name, and now you were in a deep dilemma.

and after voicing your concerns to him, he waved his hand, telling you that it was no problem at all—promising you that he was going to keep this, his personal life, private from his idol life.

and so everything started to be set in motion. 

it began with the cryptic posts that you started posting on instagram, most of the time they showed a picture of you in the city or some food that you would eat, nothing typically out of the ordinary.

a few days later, changbin would post something on the official stray kids account, a similar picture to your own, as if he was mirroring everything that you posted.

none of your antics seemed to draw suspicion from the public, which was a good sign, so you decided to up the ante.

“no, you’re standing all wrong,” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at changbin. 

“what do you mean, i’m standing exactly how you want me to,” he chuckled, mimicking your stance, “maybe you’re the one standing wrong.” 

instead of answering, you slapped him lightly on the arm, “let’s just do this again, and make sure you follow exactly what i tell you!” 

he rolled his eyes playfully before doing what he was told.

you stood in front of him in front of a mirror, his hands came to wrap around your hips, as his head nuzzled into your neck, and for the final touch, your hand interlocked with one that was resting on your hip. 

he smelled good, like really good, perhaps a mix of sandalwood and some kind of light citrus.

you couldn’t deny the heat that flooded your cheeks, feeling the warmth radiate off of him, his scent making you feel a bit lightheaded. 

this was your idea after all, but you didn’t think that you were going to get like this swooning over your best friend as if you were back in middle school all over again. 

that’s right, seo changbin was nothing more than just your best friend, and thinking these things about him was only going to drive a wedge between the two of you. 

snapping the picture quickly, you pulled away, causing a small frown to flash across his lips, before vanishing.

“so, how did it come out?” changbin asked, peeking over your shoulder as he shoved his now empty arms inside of his pockets. 

“uh, really good! don’t worry, your face is completely covered, so nobody will know.” 

“we should probably meet by the pier next week to take some more, i heard that was a popular spot for couples,” he nodded, pulling away slightly from your figure. 

you couldn’t help that warm and fuzzy feeling from tingling up your spine as the word “couple” left his mouth. 

it was foolish to think this way, and you knew that, but in all honesty, how could you possibly help yourself? 

somewhere in these past few weeks, the line between “newly reconnected best friends” and “perhaps something more” began to blur and you found yourself lost in a sea of emotions and feelings.

he was a successful idol, with seven other successful members that were counting on him, and something like this, would be detrimental to his career. 

something like this could never happen, and even indulging in it for a second was not worth the wasted time and effort.

but, only for a second, you could wish that the two of you were different people in another life, perhaps ordinary people and then maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated. 

somehow you had attempted to convince yourself that you were content with the way life was right now, trapped in the limbo that you called a love life, and perfectly happy with the very real feelings you were currently experiencing with your fake boyfriend. 

“you have that look on your face again, is it the food?” changbin asked, tilting his head to the side with his eyebrows furrowed, “i can call the waiter back and you can order something else if you want, i don’t mind.” 

the salty breeze surrounded you, and for a second you thought you were going to be sick. 

it was almost nauseating the way that he was looking at you, there was so much care and consideration in his eyes, that you were practically ready to yeet throw yourself off of the boardwalk and into the ocean below.

it was unfair the way that he was acting right now, it was almost as if he expected you to fall for him and at this rate, you weren’t sure if you could stop. 

the candle light illuminated his features perfectly, casting a soft shadow on his handsome face that your heart already skipped ten beats since you’ve got here—and with his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscles, it was already game over. 

you had already finished taking pictures, and you had already uploaded them to your account, the picture of you and him (his face obscured of course) was already generating thousands of likes, and you were both just enjoying your food and each other’s company.

“it’s nothing! i don’t want to ruin the night,” you dismissed his worries with a wave of your hand, taking your fork and shifting the food on your plate from one side to the other.

while your attention was fixated on the plate in front of you, you were oblivious to the deep frown that was etched on his lips. 

in one swift motion, he reached across the table and grabbed your wrist, forcing you to look at him. 

“your problems are my problems, at the end of the day we’re still best friends, and i don’t want that to change between us.” 

the intensity and sincerity that reflected through his brown eyes caused shivers to travel down your spine, but ouch did his words sting. 

flashing him a sheepish smile, you gently tugged his hand off of your wrist, the warmth almost a painful reminder of his words, before speaking. 

“i’m fine, don’t worry about me!” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, “how about we go play some carnival games after dinner, those used to be our favorite when we were kids.” 

he didn’t put up much of a fight as you grabbed his hand and dragged him away from the table after paying, both of you getting lost in the bright lights and sounds of the boardwalk. 

and at the end of the night, when he dropped you back off at your apartment with a giant teddy bear and polaroids in your hand, you couldn’t help but somehow taste the bittersweetness on your tongue. 

that night, the words “best friends” were the only thing ringing through your head as you drifted off to sleep.

fast forward a couple of months later, and you found yourself stressing out at the most upscale restaurant in the city, practically guzzling the entire bottle of wine that the waiter left unattended at your table. 

sitting on your right sat changbin, dressed handsomely in a tie and suit, eyeing you as you finished your second glass within fifteen minutes of arriving. 

“woah there, don’t you think you should chill out with the alcohol,” he scolded you grabbing both the bottle and the glass, moving it away from you as you merely shrugged. 

“they’re not here yet, plus if i’m sober, they are definitely going to see right through this lie.” 

there was already a slight haziness to your vision and your whole body was filled with warmth, but you were definitely not as intoxicated as you wish you were. 

and that wasn’t exactly the whole truth either. 

you see, changbin looked absolutely dashing in that suit, and well that was making your heart hurt a little more than you expected. 

it had nothing to do with the suit itself, no, in fact he hasn’t done anything wrong per se ever since he picked you up for the dinner tonight. 

instead, you were completely and utterly upset at him, and everything about him frustrated you to no end.

this dinner right here was the end game, it was simple really, after your parents accepted him and with the promise that the two of you would get married, the company was yours.

then, the two of you would “breakup” and your parents cannot rescind their offer without looking like fools in front of the media—therefore, everything that you could ever want was waiting for you as soon as this dinner ended. 

however, was it really everything that you wanted? 

because the man that was currently sitting next to you was certainly not excluded from the list. 

he was making you reevaluate if this was all that you wanted for the rest of your life, like yes, you would have the company—the sole thing that you have you wanted since you were a child, but you wouldn’t have him. 

and you weren’t sure if the company was even worth it anymore if you could never truly have him. 

and as you were about to reach for both the bottle and glass, the ding of the elevator stopped you cold in your tracks, and you instead opted for sitting gracefully back down in your seat.

there, entering the room were your parents, a composed expression etched on their faces as they made their way over to your table. 

“[y/n], my darling, it’s nice to see you,” your mother greeted you, before turning her attention away and onto your companion, “and who is this?” 

holding back a sigh, you cleared your throat before speaking, “this is my boyfriend, seo changbin.”

pleasantries between your parents and him were exchanged, and now it was time to commence the most dreadful dinner that you have ever attended. 

it was so obvious that your parents were suspicious of changbin, and unlike you, they were not as good at concealing their feelings. 

they started with the usual questions, “oh, how long have the two of you been dating?”, “what do you do for a living?”, “what are your intentions with my child?”, etc. 

and while the both of you have prepped for these questions, he definitely answered better than you could have hoped, some of his answers seeming so genuine that it made your chest ache. 

throughout the night, you could feel his gaze lingering on you as you continued to sip more wine, the alcoholic beverage making you feel warm and slightly numbed the pain of sitting here and having to listen to your parents incessantly brag about their jobs. 

the night was soon drawing to a close, and you were absolutely certain that changbin had won over your parents, they would not stop laughing at his jokes and their whole demeanor was like something you have rarely seen, for once, they looked happy. 

“thank you for coming tonight, and i really enjoyed meeting you,” changbin bowed slightly, as your parents dismissed him with a wave of their hand. 

“it was our pleasure meeting you again, and make sure you tell your mother hello for us,” your mother smiled as she made her way towards the elevator. 

she walked over towards you and gave you a hug, whispering in your ear that by tomorrow the company was yours, before both of your parents walked into the elevator and the doors closed with a firm click. 

this should have been your moment of victory, your moment of joy—your moment of realizing that everything that you have worked for was finally being realized, but it wasn’t.

walking out of the restaurant, you couldn’t help but admire how brightly the stars seemed to twinkle in the sky tonight, despite the ever bright lights of seoul. 

“oh no, i know that look, do you wanna tell me where your head is at, [n/n]?” 

your eyes glanced up to meet his own, before looking away admiring the bright lights of the city instead of having to confront him and talk about your problems. 

you were perfectly content with walking back to your apartment this way, in complete and utter silence, but your last straw seemed to be when he draped his jacket around your shoulders. 

“you need it more than i do, plus it’s cold ou and your parents would never forgive me, if you caught a cold.” 

that seemed to be the straw that broke camel’s back, and you weren’t sure what came over you, but you suddenly exploded. 

“just stop alright, it’s over, whatever this is between us is over.” 

you could feel him slightly flinch at your words, pulling away from your figure as his eyes narrowed at you. 

“what are you talking about? what is ‘this’? i was just helping you, doing a favor for a friend, and  this is the thanks that i get?” he scowled, folding his arms across his chest as you both stopped walking, standing merely three feet away from each other on a deserted street. 

friend, that word just slapped you in the face, as you scowled and turned away from him.

“y’know what, just forget i even said anything, i can find my way home alone.”

turning your heel, you were about to stalk away in a huff, cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger, but before you could even take another step, you were tugged back towards him. 

his warm hand enveloped your wrist, holding you firmly in place as you frowned at him.

“there’s no way i’m letting you walk home this late at night, if anything happened to you, i would never forgive myself.” 

you couldn’t help but scoff at his statement, “you can stop pretending, it’s fine, you can drop the act.” 

you could practically see the gears turning in his head, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he attempted to follow along your haphazard thought process. 

you weren’t sure if the alcohol was impairing your judgement or not, but before you could stop yourself, you blurted out what you have been thinking the entire night, “you can stop pretending that you like me.” 

cue the awkward tension, the grip on your hand loosened, and you were free to escape perhaps one of the most embarrassing moments of your life, but for some reason you feet was rooted to the ground—waiting, wishing, and hoping for a response. 

“who said i was pretending?” 

ah, there it was the rejection that you have been waiting—wait.

his voice cut through the silence like a knife, and you jerked your head up so fast that you almost gave yourself whiplash. 

“you, me, like, what?” 

your less-than grammatically correct sentence seemed to lessen the awkward tension, his laugh warming you despite the coolness of the night. 

“yes, me like you,” he grinned, pulling you closer to him until you were pressed against his chest, “and i agree, we should stop whatever this is and start dating for real.” 

“wow, aren’t you a charmer, changbin,” you chuckled lightly, practically feeling his heart beat in sync with your own. 

you weren’t sure if you were hallucinating or not, but you could swear that the distance between both of your faces was starting to get smaller and you could practically feel his warm breath tingling your lips. 

“i’m going to kiss you now, is that okay?” 

you meekly nodded, before his lips were pressed firmly against your own, his hands coming to wrap around your waist as you moved yours around his neck. 

of course, he had to be such a great kisser, and you were wondering if there was possibly anything that seo changbin was bad at. 

his lips were slightly chapped, but with the way his hands were moving through your hair and the way he was making you lightheaded and unsteady on your feet, was enough for you to overlook that. 

pulling away, he pressed his forehead against your own, and the only sound that could be heard was the soft breathless gasps from the both of you. 

“now that i have you, i swear, i’m never letting you go.”