#I’m not being hyperbolic when I say I think about him every day

[scootkiddo]

a little late to the party but it’s the five year anniversary of rdr2. the clown makeup has never worn since. arthur morgan I will never stop thinking about you

[prodagustd]

the road not taken 05 | myg

part five: new year's eve

Summary: The timer is counting down and it's finally time to confront Yoongi.

<part four part six>

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?)

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, FLUFF ❤️‍🩹, eventual smut, sexual tension!!!!! flashbacks, mentions of sex 👀Btw english is not my first language!

—words: 12.2k

—a/note: hi friends!!! i know i said i was going to go crazy with the word count but i had to divide the chapter because this part was going to have 25k words otherwise?? anyway!!! i went through ten different mental breakdows while writing this, i doubted myself like fifty times, but i enjoyed writing it sososo much, i hope you enjoy reading it as well!! like always, you are invited to discuss this part in the asks, feedback is always welcomed 🤠.

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Four years ago.

New Year’s eve. 

You had lost count of the amount of times Minnie rolled her eyes, groaned or threw her hands in the air in the last two hours, but you were sure it was the same amount of times that you closed your eyes and sighed, trying to remain calm. She was sitting at the desk of your room, finishing her make-up for the New Year’s party as she listened to you list every detail of the last time you saw Yoongi, two days ago. 

Minnie, not minding being hyperbolic, openly expressed that she thought that “Yoongi was a psychopath” for inviting to watch When Harry Met Sally, a movie whose main premise were two friends who are in love with each other but do not realize it. Then she proceeded to call him similar things, like he was crazy for grabbing your hand on the way home and borderline insane for not kissing you when he left you at the door of your home. You tried to agree with her, but you were too busy trying to keep your food down, fearing that you might vomit at the thought of confronting Yoongi tonight. 

Needless to say, you were nervous. You had promised Minnie that, for your own sake, you would finally tell Yoongi to stop playing games and tell you what he really wanted with you tonight. You invited him to the party, hoping he would turn you down, thinking he probably had better plans with other friends, but he said yes, and now you were obligated to stand up to him. 

“This is not my size.” You complained, observing yourself in the mirror as you pulled from the hem of your dress, attempting to cover your butt. 

Your friend looked away from the tiny mirror in her hands to scan your body. You turned around, showing her the tiny black dress she let you borrow. 

Minnie looked at you like you were joking. “It literally fits you like a glove.” She said, standing up from her seat to take a better look at you. 

The dress was fine, it hugged your waist, your hips and every good part of your body, but you were too aware of it, you weren’t used to wearing dresses like this. 

“What about my boobs?” You asked, covering up your chest with your hands.

“What about them? They look beautiful!” She exclaimed, and grabbed your hands to out them away.

You laughed “Aren’t they too out?” 

“They’re perfectly out.” She responded, taking a good look at them “Like, enough, not too much and not too little, you know? If I had your boobs, I would display them just like that.” 

You smiled like that was the biggest compliment a girl could ever hear. “Thank you Minnie.” You said, a little more relieved “I don’t know what I would do without you here.”

“You would be completely lost, I’m telling you.” She said, grabbing her jacket from her bed and her bag “Are we ready to go now?”

You reached for your phone, hoping to find a message from Yoongi saying that he was already here but it was not necessary, a second later you heard the motor of his car being parked in front of your house. 

“That’s him.” You informed your friend, making her jump in her place like a little kid. 

“Fine, let’s waste no time.” 

You grabbed your jacket, already knowing it would be of no use in the freezing cold of the night, and left your house to meet Yoongi. 

When you closed the door, you heard Minnie let out a little gasp, which made you look up at her.

"What?" you asked her, feeling her elbow dig into your ribs as she pointed at the sidewalk with her chin.

You turned around, meeting the sight of Yoongi, casually leaned over his car as he waited for you in the dark night. He was wearing his long black coat with his signature shirt, this time in black, his hair was slightly messy, the way you’ve always liked, and when he caught the first glimpse of your face he smiled, waving at you. 

“Oh, my…” Minnie sighed, bringing her hand up to her face, fanning herself.  “Is that the man who’s taking you home tonight?” 

"Shut up," You muttered through gritted teeth, waving back at Yoongi. 

“Is your mom coming home tonight, sweetheart?” She kept going “If I were you, I would tell her to stay somewhere else. You know, in case you and your boy…”

“Minnie, he’s gonna hear you.” You warned her, but she just laughed. 

Still, in the back of your mind, you considered Minnie’s concern; no, your mom wasn’t coming home tonight, but you didn’t need to be thinking about that at all. 

“Looking nice, ladies.” said Yoongi as you were making your way to his car.

“Likewise, gentleman.” Minnie answered “Do we have a resolution for the new year?”

Yoongi smirked, “Yes, we do.”

Your friend clicked her tongue, winking at you both and got into the back seat of Yoongi’s car, leaving the two of you alone. 

There was a moment of silence, like he was waiting to hear the sound of the car door closing, and then, he whistled. “You’re all dolled up.” He noted, sneaking his hand under your jacket and grabbing you by your waist over your dress, pulling you closer to him. 

“Is that bad?” You frowned, pretended to be annoyed. 

“Maybe.” He considered “What if someone tries to steal my date?” 

You snorted, softly punching his chest. “Oh, shut up.” You sassed “I can’t get rid of you, I’ve tried already.”

Yoongi bit his bottom lip, failing to hide a smile. “You look very pretty, that’s all I’m saying.” 

By now, you’d think you could handle these kinds of comments—his lingering touches, or the way his eyes seemed to silently ask for a kiss—but you couldn’t. Your heart still jumped, your palms still grew sweaty, and your face still burned. Yet, you forced a smile as if you’d heard it a thousand times from countless men, as if he was nothing special.

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself.” You patted him on the back, pulling away from him to go around the car to the passenger seat. 

Yoongi’s gaze trailed over you as he turned to face you across the roof of the car, his eyes following every movement.

“By the way,” He wondered, stopping you before you could open the door “What do you mean that you’ve tried?”

You stopped for a moment, trying to understand what he meant, but you were immediately reminded of your previous comment. How clueless he was, he had no idea the amount of times you tried to exile him from your life with no success, the thought of him always crawled back to you as if he belonged there. Tonight you should be in your bed, or going to some other party to drink your weight in alcohol to try to fulfill the purpose of banishing him from your mind, but, like a thousand times before, you were with him. 

You ignored his question, bursting into laughter as you got inside the car. 

Yoongi stood there for a moment, hearing the echoes of your laugh across the street, tempted to chase the sound. What a shame, if you hadn't gotten into the car so quickly, you might have seen the stars reflecting in his eyes, the look that only a fool would mistake for anything other than love.

Present

The thing about small towns like yours was that they hardly ever changed—like the park in front of Minnie’s apartment, with its wooden benches and the path of trees leading to the fountain in the center, which had stopped working years ago. The never changing look of your hometown was one of the main things that made you want to leave it behind, it was ridiculous to admit how relieved you were now that everything was still the same as the last time you were here. 

You set your bags down on the floor of your friend’s home and gazed out the window, watching the wind drag yellow and orange leaves, swirling them across the street until they crashed against the tall wooden doors of a building you recognized as The Alley. You remembered how, when you were younger, Minnie used to live fifteen minutes from there, but once she became an adult, she jumped at the chance to move directly across the street, staying as close as she could. You figured that people in small towns hardly ever changed either.

There was not much difference between the Minnie you knew when you were a teenager and the Minnie you knew in the present, she was still always at The Alley, except she was the one who called the shots nowadays. Over the years she gained the trust of the owners and now she was in charge of keeping everything in order, helping organize every activity and every area every day of the week, so you frowned when you saw that it was closed, especially in October, which was the most exciting month in The Alley; the Halloween plays, the Halloween movies and the Halloween parties were your favorite part of the year. 

“Is The Alley closed?” You asked, turning around to see Minnie as she stuck her head in her fridge trying to look for something to eat. Your friend let you stay at her apartment for as long as you needed; it was the least she could do, considering she always crashed at your place in the city and acted like it was her own whenever she had to work there. 

“Uh… yeah. It’s a whole thing.” She sighed. “It has all of us stressed out.”

“Why, what happened?” You walked over to her, sitting on one of the stools of her kitchen. 

“The building’s having some issues with its infrastructure for some time now and it’s costing a lot of money.” She explained, grabbing a cup of yogurt and a spoon to place it in front of you as if that were dinner. “We thought it was just a few things, like the electricity and the plumbing, but the more we look into it, the more problems we find.”

Your frown deepened, more confused than before. The Alley had been an old building for years and years, there was always a thing or two that had to be repaired, but you never thought it was that bad. “That’s why it’s closed?” You continued to ask. 

“That’s not the only reason. We had three inspections since the beginning of the year and none of them looked any good, we’re suspecting the town council might want to close it.” She rolled her eyes, but you could feel the hurt in her words. 

“Close it?” You repeated it, feeling something stung in your chest “Just like that? Is it that bad?” 

“Well, yes.” She affirmed, trying to appear composed but the discouragement filled her voice “Unless we fix the whole place, of course, but the repairs cost too much, so it’s going to take some time.”

“That sounds ridiculous, Minnie. What does Sid think?” You inquired. Sid was one of the owners of The Alley and the only one who was active in the community, he trusted Minnie with the management of the place more than anyone else. 

“That prick.” She bitterly spat “Don’t even mention him, he’s acting like a jerk lately, he’s too old and too tired of running the place, he’s leaving everything to me. I’m trying to handle it with some other people but it’s too much. That’s why we’re closed, we’re opening just three days a week but that’s slowing down the process of collecting money.” 

“Oh, Minnie. That’s horrible.” You lamented “Why am I just finding out about this now? Why didn't you tell me anything?” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s not your fault.” She tried to wave off “You were busy and too sad to hear any of my problems, I didn’t want to bother with stupid stuff.”

“What are you talking about?” You said, shaking your head “It’s not stupid, are you nuts? I could never be too busy or sad to hear you. How come you’ve been carrying all of this without telling me?”

The feeling of guilt flooded your chest, filling with regret your whole body. You knew you were being a bad sister and a bad daughter, but you didn’t realize you were being a bad friend as well. If closing The Alley sounded horrible to you, you couldn’t imagine how bad must’ve felt for Minnie, who had dedicated most of her life to the place.”

“I mean it, baby, you don’t have to feel bad.” She assured you, squeezing your hand “My head’s been a mess lately, I was going to tell you eventually.”

“But it’s not okay, Minnie.” You insisted. “You could’ve told me how you were feeling, I mean, The Alley is your whole life, there has to be another way.”

“Yes, that’s what I keep telling myself, there has to be another way! And I’m trying to think of one, but when I think I’m close to finding a solution, my head starts to smoke.” She huffed. 

You felt your heart clenching, Minnie was always trying to see the good side of things, you’ve never seen her so let down about something, especially something she cared about deeply. You both went silent, processing all the information for a minute. You wished you could do something, not only for your friend, but for the place where you had grown up, you couldn’t phantom the idea of The Alley disappearing, it was home of so many outcasts, it was your home for most of your teenage years, you felt like part of you was still on those walls. 

“Have you thought about talking with a lawyer?” You asked, like some lightbulb lighted up above your head. “You know, I can talk with my brother if you’d like, he could help you save time.”

Minnie’s expression suddenly changed, she raised her eyebrows and slightly opened her mouth in surprise, but it wasn’t because of your offering, it was for something else, you just didn’t know what.

“Oh, no, honey. Don’t worry, it’s not necessary.” She rushed to say. 

“How come it is not necessary?” You questioned. “Minnie, a lawyer is essential for this kind of stuff. I’m sure that Simon could give you some advice, if the situation is not good he could arrange a meeting with the council or something like that.”

You could see her doubting, the hesitating look on her face, looking at her hands as she tried to say something but couldn’t.

“You know that money is not a problem, I could talk to him about it.” You insisted, assuming that money was the reason for her doubt, she already said that they were struggling with the repair, you assumed that hiring a lawyer was too expensive to even consider. 

Minnie pursed her lips, “It’s not about the money, actually.” She said, looking away from you. “And thank you, baby, it’s just that… uhm, we already consulted a lawyer.” 

You sat straight in your chair “Oh, really?” You uttered, surprised. “What did they say?”

Your friend stood up from her seat, wandering around the kitchen while looking for something in the cabinets “He’s going through the documents for now, handling the legal stuff.” She trailed off, and you felt she was leaving something out. No, you didn’t understand a thing about law, but you could use a bit more information about the situation.  

“How did you meet him?” You asked, curious. “Do you know if he’s any good? You know, I don’t trust lawyers.”

Your comment meant to be a joke, but the girl in front of you didn’t seem to catch it. Her tone suddenly changed  “The only reason we have a lawyer is because it is a voluntary thing, so we don’t have to pay him. Otherwise, we would be lost, we couldn’t possibly afford a lawyer.” She went on, avoiding your question. 

“A voluntary thing? You mean he is doing it for free?” You frowned, dismissing the fact that she didn’t answer what you asked, or even laughed at your attempt at a joke. “Why?”

“He’s from… here and really likes the place, I guess.” 

“He’s from here and really likes the place?” You repeated, confused, you didn’t know many lawyers, but you were sure that was not reason enough to work for free. Minnie just hummed, not caring much to explain. “Do I know him?” The question resonated in the room, followed by a dead silence. As your friend pretended to be busy, taking the glasses out of the dishwasher and putting them back in their place, your words hung in the air, unanswered. “Minnie?”

“Yes?” You heard her voice. 

“Who is he?” You asked again, but your gut told you that you already had an answer for that.

She turned back, looking at you with a warning look. “If I tell you, are you going to be mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” You questioned, already feeling upset. You knew way too many reasons to be mad at that question.

“I’m not telling you, then.” She said, taking your answer as a yes.

“If you don’t tell me who you hired as a lawyer, I will start screaming.” You threatened like a little kid, pointing at her with the spoon as if it were a gun. 

“Okay, no need to scream.” She tried to persuade you.

“Minnie…” 

“I’ll tell you, but you must know that it wasn’t my decision alone.” Minnie took a step back from you, with her hands in the air. “And that I would have never said yes if we had to pay him, we barely have any money! How could I say no? Besides, he helps on the weekends with the repairs, he’s great with plumbing and everyone likes him, the guys adore him, the girls love him, everyone had already agreed before I could say a word, you understand-?

“Minnie!” You stopped her, waving your hands in the air “You are rambling, what are you saying?”

The redhead in front of you took a deep breath, composing herself. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” She breathed out “It’s just that Yoongi offered to advise us for free, and then he went on to…-”

The name ringed in your ears the same way it did when you mother mentioned the dinner the other night, the same way it did when you brother couldn’t stop mentioning his name the night you stayed at his house, the same way his voice interrupted the silence when he came looking for you in your mother’s backyard, only this time it came from your best friend’s mouth.

“Yoongi!?” You suddenly yelled, making her flinch. “What do you mean by Yoongi!?”

Minnie took another step back, afraid that you would use the spoon in your hand to take her eyes out. 

“God, don’t be mad at me.” She pleaded, with her hands clasped together and her fingers intertwined as if she was begging for forgiveness.

You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head in disbelief. One thing was not to tell you of the fact that the town wanted to close The Alley because she was stressed and too tired to talk about it, and a completely different thing was not telling you that Yoongi, the only man who ever broke your heart, was involved, trying to ignore the fact that it was the place where you grew up. You couldn’t believe your friend didn’t tell you that Yoongi was trying to help to save the place that was directly connected to you and him. 

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” 

“No, that was not the reason.” She tried to deny, but the second you raised an eyebrow, she backtracked “I mean, not at first, but I was telling the truth!”

“Half the truth!” You accused her. 

“Okay, fine!” She threw her hands in the air, resigned. “Half the truth, I admit it.”

“But why?” You insisted.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart” She cried “ I don’t know… I was afraid you wouldn’t like the idea of him being involved in it.”

“I mean, it doesn’t sound thrilling, but I would want to know that it was happening, I don’t care if Yoongi was helping you with it.”

“I know, I know…” She trailed off, but there was still something she was keeping from you. Her gaze was fixed on her hands, she didn’t dare to look you in the eye. “It’s just…”

“What?” You kept asking “C’mon, Minnie… You don’t seriously think I’m still hurt by it, do you?”

The words came out of your mouth afraid to sound unsure, and the look she gave you finished to confirm it.

“Well, no-”

“Are you kidding? It’s been years, how could you think I’m still resentful?”

She raised an eyebrow the same way you did a second ago to accuse her, wondering if you were joking or not. “Don’t play dumb with me, you hate his guts.”

“I don’t hate his guts.” You scoffed, doing a very bad job at lying. In front of you there was the same woman who saw you crying for Yoongi all those years ago, the only person who you could talk shit about him with, you couldn’t pretend you were suddenly the most forgiving person when she was the only one who knew how much he hurt you. 

Minnie laughed, making it clear that she didn’t believe you one word. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, maybe I still hate his guts.” You conceded “But that doesn’t mean I can’t tolerate him.”

You could feel Minnie’s eyes scanning every feature of your face, you could feel the weight of her doubt in the air. How could you convince her that you weren’t annoyed by Yoongi helping her when you didn’t even know the answer yourself? “Is that right?” She said, taking a step closer to you. You just nodded, but you didn’t know if that was even true. “So you wouldn’t mind, let’s say, being in the same room as him?”

“Of course not.” You replied right away, trying to appear confident. “Wasn’t I in the same room as him just a few days ago?”

“Yes, you were, you’re right.” She acknowledged “In that case, let’s say I believe you.”

“Yes, because I’m telling the truth.” You said in the same condescending tone she was using.

“And let’s say that I believe that you are more than capable of putting aside everything that happened between you and Yoongi just for the sake of The Alley.”

“That’s right.” You nodded, with your arms crossed over your chest. 

“And if I were to ask you to help me with The Alley because you’re famous and you would help us raise a bunch of money, would you say yes even if Yoongi is there, helping too?”

You scoffed, a nervous laugh escaped you, thinking she was joking. But as you scanned her face for even the slightest hint of jest, a cold realization settled in your gut—she was completely serious.

“You have to call my agent for that kind of stuff, you know that?” You tried to joke, but she was not backing down. 

“I’m not joking!” She pleaded “I was planning to ask you for a long time, but I didn’t know that you would want to do it since Yoongi is always around, but if you’re telling me you don’t care about him…”

You close your eyes shut. “It’s not only Yoongi- I mean, it’s not about him at all” You corrected yourself “I would love to help The Alley in all the ways I can, but I’m not sure if I want to play the superstar role right now.”

She nodded, immediately understanding “It’s fine, I get it, but I’m not asking you to play the superstar role, I’m asking you to be the girl I knew all my life, the one who’s passionate about theater and loves The Alley as much as me.”

A genuine smile spread across your face, feeling a warm feeling blossoming in your chest. “And the girl who’s also famous and would help you raise a bunch of money?”

She scoffed, “Well, you happen to be all of that too, isn’t that great?” You rolled your eyes, trying to hide a smile. “Look, I’m not saying that you should say yes right now, but you should at least go with me this friday and I can show you some of my ideas, what do you say?”

Friday was just four days away, that was not enough time for you to decide anything, but because you loved Minnie, and you loved The Alley, and honestly, because you didn’t have anything better to do, you agreed to think about it, only for now. “Fine, Friday it is.”

Four years ago.

New Year’s eve. 

The last night of the year always felt as if something was about to change, even if it never did. You clung to that feeling of hope, as if time were real, as if the sun and the stars ruled your life and you weren’t the only one capable of controlling it, at least that way you weren’t able to blame yourself for feeling like something was missing when you came home at six in the morning, drunk and hopeless. 

Change, future, and love were becoming curse words in your vocabulary, and if you saw a shooting star tonight, you would wish to forget any meaning you had ever learned about them. But if you stood in the street tonight, shaking in the cold winter air as you looked up at the dark sky, waiting for someone to give you all the answers, you feared your life would be wasted. Your life wasn’t ruled by the stars, it was ruled by you, it was about time for you to realize.

Tonight you didn’t need the universe to tell you what to do, what you needed was a drink or two to gather the courage to confront Yoongi, but the second you entered the silver room with the silver lights, you heard some sappy song from the 2000’s and for a second you almost forgot about his hands holding yours, or perhaps you were just desperately trying to. 

“C’mon,” He called you, grabbing your hand to walk you to the dance floor “you must dance! Or they’ll kick you out.” 

You laughed and rolled your eyes, but followed him as he made his way through the sea of people to reach the center of the dance floor. The room was packed, it smelled like cigarettes, weed and perfume mixed together, there was a huge contrast between the cold weather outside and the heavy and humid air from inside. Minnie was lost somewhere else, she was part of the committee that organized the party and wanted to check that everything was exactly as she planned it, so you and Yoongi were now alone, again. 

Time spent with Minnie had a way of dissolving the anxieties that once clung to you when you first visited The Alley after coming home, you were no longer afraid of being recognized, in fact, when you came here the other day to watch When Harry Met Sally and some old friends recognized you, you didn’t try to run away, you took a second to hug them and catch up, you were also surprised to find out that none of them hated you like your imagination made you believe they did. Turns out, people grow up and grow apart and there was nothing bad with that. It was always a desire of yours to run away from this town, but only if you could make sure that you could return to The Alley anytime you wanted, it was a relief to know that now you could. 

You had missed it, the parties, the music, the ten disco balls on the ceiling and those moments where the room was so dark no one could see how badly you were dancing, except those few lights that were were still shining in your eyes the same way your dress did every time Yoongi twirled you around. He didn’t miss any of that, he was paying attention, he observed your eyes, your nose, your lips, the way the straps of your dress rested gently on your collarbones, your body and your waist, his hands on your hips, how he couldn’t keep them away from you and how you wished you could just ignore it.

Yoongi was not shy, he was never shy when you were alone and tonight, even if you were in a room full with people, it felt like you were. He was dancing like you were the only one watching him, he laughed, he winked at you and drew you closer to him to whisper things in your ear in the middle of songs. You danced in the only way you knew: shamelessly, and when Yoongi said he needed some air you promised him to go outside with him for a moment, you were sweaty, your hair was sticking to the back of your neck and you knew you needed to check your lipstick in a mirror, but only after finishing dancing to Rock ‘N’ Roll Star by Oasis. 

If there was a way in the universe that could stop the turmoil of your mind, that would be dancing, and it was working like a charm.

When the song was about to end, you began making your way out of the dance floor, but you immediately changed your mind when you heard the first chords of Sex on Fire blasting from the speakers. You stopped in your tracks, yanking Yoongi’s hand and making his body crash into yours. 

“Stop!” You yelled “We can’t not dance to this song.”

“Pinky…” He whined, trying to complain, but you were already beginning to walk backwards, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You have to dance with me!” You insisted “You know this one!”

His lips curled into a mischievous smirk, the kind that could only promise trouble. 

How lucky you were that Minnie wasn’t around. If she had seen the way you were looking at Yoongi at that moment, she would have slapped you in the face to snap you out of it. You were aware that you had an initial plan and that you weren’t anywhere near to pulling it off, you were aware that you were running off of excuses and that time wasn’t going to be on your side for much longer, but was it too much to ask for a few more moments like this? Those glimpses of something else, those evanescent instants where you didn’t have to wonder why you were dancing to this song with someone who was supposed to be your friend, with his lips threatening to brush with yours, his fingertips on your back, and his gaze fixed on you. You could hear your heart begging you to kiss him and your mind pleading you not to, but the only thing you understood was the way Yoongi sang each word to your face, so close you could explode. 

You giggled and jumped to the rhythm of the song and sang back, forgetting all the words you practiced with Minnie, and all the things Minnie said and all the things you promised to do tonight. If you were to put an end to this now, you could at least have this moment. 

“What is that?” Yoongi asked, observing you approaching him with a drink in your hands. 

Going back to your own words, you hadn’t had much to drink tonight, you were too busy dancing or maybe it was the unbearable knot in your stomach that didn’t allow you to even think of alcohol before ending up throwing up. Ultimately, you decided to stay sober, this was only your second drink of the night and it was offered by Minnie, who you just encountered at the bar a few minutes ago. She yelled at the bartender, ordering a drink for both you and Yoongi. With a wink, she added two straws to the cup and playfully nudged you back towards the dance floor.

“It’s sex on the beach.” You mumbled without making eye contact with him. At least no one could say Minnie wasn’t funny. “A present from Minnie.” 

“Two straws?” Yoongi said, leaning forward to sip the drink through one of the straws. “Isn’t she a matchmaker?” 

Well, he had no idea. 

“Buddy, if you want another drink you should buy it yourself.” You scoffed, drinking from the other straw. “You are the one who’s been drinking water the whole night.”

“I have plenty of things that I need to do tonight, I have to be sober.” 

“Plenty of things?” You questioned “Like what?”

You joined Yoongi as he leaned against the wall, holding the cup between the two of you. 

“Like driving you home.” He replied “What would Lila say about me if I show up drunk.”

“You never get drunk. You have the highest tolerance.” You laughed. “And even if you did, my mom would say that I was the one who got you drunk.”

“And maybe it would be true,” he snarked, leaning in with a playful grin, his lips brushing close to your ear. “I would tell her that you forced me to dance so much that the only way I could keep up was by drinking all the beer from the bar.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you huffed, digging your elbow into his ribs to push him away. “But I bet she would believe anything you say.”

Yoongi smiled, cocky “I bet she would, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, taking another long sip of the drink before feeling your throat slightly burning. “What’s up with the slow music?”

You looked around, seeing a few couples slowly dancing in the middle of the room. The lights were red and Fade Into You by Mazzy Star was playing softly, the dance floor was less packed, you thought it could only mean it was about to be midnight. 

You grabbed Yoongi’s wrist to draw it closer to your face so you could check the hour on his watch. “It’s about to be midnight.” You announced. “They start playing love songs before midnight.”

“Why love songs?” He questioned.

 “So you can find the person you want to give your first kiss of the year.”

“Isn’t that a bit cheesy?” he teased, tilting his head with a smirk.

“Of course it is.” You said, chucking  “That’s the point.”

Yoongi nodded and set his cup down on a nearby table, extending his hand toward you. “Fine, let’s dance then.”

You observed his hand extended to you, a bit hesitant. “You slow dance, too?” 

“Tonight I do.” He revealed. You had no other option but to take his hand.

You’ve never been to a New Year’s party at The Alley, but since Minnie was heavily involved in the preparations you knew a thing or two about how it went down. When the lights turned yellow and Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer suddenly began playing, you knew you were just a few minutes away from the New Year. 

You had never been much of a slow dancer, so you were not sure what to do, but Yoongi seemed to have no problem with it, he led the way without making you look pathetic. You knew he had more experience with romantic scenarios than you, and even if you’d had your share of romantic relationships, it all went down to boring boyfriends, bad boyfriends, and boys who didn’t want to be your boyfriend at all. As he laid his hands on your waist and his soft gaze upon you, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a romantic moment at all—nothing had ever been as close as this.

“So… did you have fun?” You asked him, grabbing his shoulder in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

“I am having fun.” He emphasized, “Why are you asking as if the night is already ending?” 

“I don’t know.” You said, a playful glint in your eyes. “I guess because... I always get the feeling that you’re about to slip away.”

He raised an eyebrow, moving slowly to the rhythm, pulling you with him. “Slip away?” he wondered.

“Oh, you know, you’re the kind of guy who slips away.” You smiled softly, enjoying the look of confusion on his face.

“I don’t know what that means.” He laughed.

“I mean… the guy who people always expect but always leaves early.” You tried to explain, but that didn’t do much for Yoongi’s understanding.

“Do you think I always leave early?” He inquired, making you laugh. 

“You leave early sometimes.” You confirmed “Most times.” 

“Well, I don’t quite enjoy parties.” He confessed, but you already knew that. When you were younger, you always followed Simon to parties. He tried so hard not to get annoyed at his little sister; annoying him was supposed to be your job. And as fun as it sounded, you were never really there for Simon, but to catch a glimpse of his best friend. Of course you soon learned that hanging out with Yoongi at your house was much more entertaining than observing him flirting with the prettiest girl of the party just to watch him leave with her an hour later. If you ever found Yoongi at a party, it was most likely because Simon dragged him to it, you guessed you weren’t so different from your brother. 

“What about this one?” You teased him “Are you leaving this party early?” 

 “Mmm, no.” He shook his head “I won’t be disappearing tonight.”

“Is that so?” You asked, and he nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment. “What’s different tonight?” 

For an instant, Yoongi's gaze drifted around the room, as though searching for a reason to stay, before finally settling back on you.

“You, maybe.” He asserted calmly, his voice steady.

You laughed nervously, feeling your chest tighten. “What about me?” 

“Nothing, you look really pretty.” He simply said. “I wouldn’t leave a party if you’re looking this pretty.” 

Your breath got caught in your throat “Yoongi…” you whispered, but he could hear your voice just right. 

“Hmm?” He hummed.

“Stop that…” Your voice came out weak as you placed a hand on his chest, attempting to create some distance between your body and his. Yet, with his hand resting on your lower back, he gently drew you closer once again.

“Stop what?” he dared to ask,

That—this, whatever you had going on, whatever was happening between you and him—had gotten to a point of no return. All the cards seemed to be on the table, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to give a name to it. Yes, you could see it, you could feel it, but you were still afraid.

“Nothing, never mind,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“C’mon, tell me,” he coaxed, cupping your cheek with one hand. A teasing smirk danced on his lips, making you want to punch him, but the hand you meant to push him away with gradually glided down his chest instead.

“That thing you’ve been doing.” You murmured, tilting your head to lean into his touch.

“What?” He scoffed, “What thing I’ve been doing?” 

“Exactly that.” You pointed out. “Stop playing dumb with me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said with a mocking tone on his voice. 

You slightly punch his chest with your fist “That, too.” You pouted, feeling his thumb grazing over your jaw. “You’re trying to drive me crazy, stop that.” 

“Am I doing that?” He smirked, the amusement in his eyes clear as he watched for your reaction.  “How exactly?” 

“Don’t piss me off…” You threatened, as if your threats had any value when you were wrapped in his arms, when your voice sounded so weak.

“You’re incredible, really.” He said “Aren’t you the one who’s trying to drive me crazy?”

You blinked, clearly not grasping the situation.

“What are you talking about?” You demanded to know. 

Yoongi bit his lip, holding back a smile “Pinky…” He said like it was obvious, but everything was a blur, a cloud of smoke surrounding the both of you. 

“Yoongi…” You spoke in the same tone as him. 

“What? Am I insane or am I just imagining you pulling me in just to push me away later?” His words didn’t sound harsh, but there was a hint of resignation in his voice. You couldn’t help but frown deeply, bewildered. 

“Are you serious? I’m not doing that.” You said, feeling your cheeks burn in embarrassment. The truth was that you weren’t even sure if you were doing that or not, but you were not willing to admit it. “You’re the one playing games with me.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head in denial “I’m not playing any games with you.” 

“Really?” You snickered, bitterly, but he was quick to deny it. “Not one?” 

“No, not one.” He assured you, confidently.

“Yeah, sure.”

“What games am I playing, you say?” 

“You know what I’m talking about.” You tried to dismiss it, too embarrassed to say it out loud. 

“You are not being very communicative with me, Pinky.” 

You scrunched your nose, it was only a matter of time for him to start annoying you “You…-” 

“I?...”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what you did.” 

“I actually, no, I don’t know what I did.” He jested. 

“Yoongi, you tried to kiss me!” You blurted out, your words tumbling over each other. “Before Christmas, you tried to kiss me and a second later you acted like nothing happened.”

“No-” He tried to defend himself, but you were quick to interrupt him. 

“Yes! You acted like I imagined everything.” You kept accusing, “You keep leaving me stranded, wondering if I just went mad!” 

You felt your heart racing with each word you spoke, but Yoongi was unphased, completely calm, you could even see a glimpse of amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“Pinky, I did want to kiss you.” He admitted with a tranquil smile, as if sharing a simple truth “You weren’t imagining it, I wanted to kiss you so many times, I still do.”

It was like someone was playing a bad joke on you; the proximity of his face, the weight of his words, his gentle touch all over your body, it only made your breath hitch, your heart skip a beat, you felt like you were floating in the air in a different dimension, because this could not be real. It was like a force of habit, you couldn’t believe something good was happening to you even if it was right in front of your face.

“Then, why didn’t you do it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, surprised that you had mustered the courage to wonder that out loud. “Why didn’t you come looking for me after?”

“I always come back to you, are you kidding?” he replied, chuckling softly, though his gaze held an unexpected seriousness. “But you looked horrified, that day in your grandmother’s house you stormed out, you ran away, what was I supposed to do?”

You couldn’t recall that day without feeling a chill running down your whole body. The sole memory of your bodies pressing against each other, his deep voice, his dark eyes and the embarrassing moment when you had to open the door to find your mother standing there was enough to keep you awake at night. The only option you had was to run away, you thought it was only logical, but now you felt your whole face burning red as Yoongi accused you of running away from him.

“Well, because you…! “ you dug your finger into his chest, exasperatedly trying to find the right words to put on a good fight. “You confuse me!”

“Do I?” He mocked you. “Am I confusing you?”

“Yes, you do!” you argued, ignoring his implications “You say and do all these things, you grab my hand, ask me to run away with you, you try to kiss me and then-“ 

“And then what?” He snapped, making you swallow your words “And then I give in, don’t I?”

“No!” You protested, squinting your eyes. “You disappear, you come back, you leave, you leave me hanging, you confuse me. How can I know what it is when I don’t know what you want, when it seems that you don’t even know what you want?”

“I’m not trying to confuse you, I know exactly what I want.” He laughed without humor. 

“And what’s that?” You demanded, frustration boiling over.

“Pinky, I know that there have been people around you that tried to make you believe that you weren’t good enough, but that it’s simply not me.” He said “I want you, is that so difficult to believe?”  

You opened your mouth to respond, but your thoughts were a mess. “That’s not- Thats…!” Your words tangled, and now you were barely making any sense.

“That’s the truth, I grab your hand, try to kiss you and when you push me away I come back home just to dream of you all night, convincing myself that I’m not completely insane.” He paused, his gaze locked onto yours, as if begging you to understand.

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head as if that would somehow clear the storm of emotions swirling inside you. His confession was overwhelming, every word sinking into your chest. You felt your head spinning, you couldn’t process all those words, not when your heart was threatening to escape from your chest and his hands were still on your face, demanding you to look at him. 

“Because that’s what I’ve been doing since last summer, asking myself if I lost my head” He continued “And, Pinky, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that I have to be okay with it. Because I would rather watch you all night wearing that dress, wishing that I could take it off, than having nothing at all.” 

A lump formed in your throat, your breath hitching as you tried to form a response, but no words came. You simply gulped, utterly speechless, trapped between disbelief and the wild beating of your heart.

“Yoongi…” you whined, barely managing to get his name past your lips. The words you needed were nowhere to be found.

And then, in the least convenient moment, the countdown started, the room filling with the sound of people shouting numbers.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper. “What? What should I do, hm?” His lips grazed over yours, so soft that it felt like a question in itself.

“I can’t handle this,” you murmured, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to steady yourself. “This is too much. I can’t.”

He paused, his eyes searching yours, and then, as if trying to make sense of the situation, he asked softly, “Should I turn around and leave?”

You shook your head, quickly, repeatedly, without a second thought.

“Tell me, then.” He pressed, his voice almost a plea.

Still caught in the hazy blur of the moment, you could hear the countdown approaching its end, yet he still hadn’t pulled away. It felt as if you were under a spell, frozen in place, unable to move. You were breathing heavily, overwhelmed by the lights and the music and the people chanting, overwhelmed by his words, his body and his gaze fixed on your lips. The fleeting feeling that you were dreaming hit you for a second, but when everyone around you started counting four, that thought quickly vanishedYou heard three, and the realization that he was waiting for your response hit you like a bolt of lightning. You heard two and you got the feeling that if you didn’t do anything about it now, you wouldn’t do anything about it ever, you heard one and, against every rational thought, you pressed your lips against his, kissing him. 

It was not a soft kiss, it was rushed, rough and messy. You closed your fists around his shirt, pulling him closer as he opened his mouth to search for your tongue in desperation, the way his fingers gripped your hips burned right through your clothes, driving you to the edge. You could hear people yelling and laughing, you could hear the fireworks outside, the song that started right after the countdown, but you were completely absorbed by him, by his lips, by the way he held you, no one had ever kissed you with such determination, with such dedication. 

You had spent years dreaming about kissing Yoongi, but you never thought it would be like this—like your lips fitted just right with each other, as if in this universe he was made only for you. The moment was electric, igniting a fire deep within you, and all the doubts and fears that had held you back melted away, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the sweetness of his breath against your skin.

His feet carried him to the nearest wall, dragging you along until he pinned you against it, never breaking the kiss. For a fleeting moment, he pulled back to catch his breath, his gaze lingering on your lips before he devoured them once more. His hands traveled down your back, tempted to listen to his thoughts, to touch your body in the way he really wanted. 

You laid your hand on his chest, gently pulling away “Is this what you wanted?” You whispered, excitement filling your voice.

His lips curled into a teasing smile. “Not even close,” he murmured, his voice low with amusement. 

There were only so many ways you could imagine the night ending, that was what you thought before leaving your house earlier tonight. If you were lucky enough, you would’ve come back home in one piece, sober and with your heart intact, that would’ve meant that you didn’t dare to take any risks, you would've let the night finish its course without rushing it, finally accepting that you were a coward. If you were unlucky, you would’ve come home crying, drunk and with your heart shattered; that would’ve meant that you did take risks, but the universe simply wasn’t ready to take your side yet. You could’ve laid in bed and fantasized all you wanted, but none of those scenarios would’ve ever looked like this one. 

As Yoongi opened the door of the entrance of his building, you caught a glimpse of the hour in the watch on his wrist. It took him half an hour and more than a few kisses to ask you to leave the party with him, two minutes to pick your jackets from the cloakroom, and only five minutes to drive to his apartment, and yet it felt like the longest car ride of your life. You thought that after twenty one years of life of never getting what you wanted, the universe should at least grant you the wish to skip the car ride to Yoongi’s apartment, because you had never felt so much tension before. You sank in the passenger seat and tried to avoid his gaze as much as possible, the mere thought of being alone with Yoongi was starting to give you goosebumps; the seat belt and the fact that he had to keep both hands on the steering wheel were the only things that were keeping him away from you. 

The scenario was displayed right in front of you; he opened the door, letting you inside first and walking to the elevator with a cheeky smirk on his face. It wasn’t in your plans to leave less than an hour into the new year, and yet you were there, following the person you tried to forget so many times into his apartment, feeling like a handful of nerves.

You observed him opening the doors of the old elevator and then ran to get inside before him, crashing your back against the wall so it could keep you as far away from him as possible. You still didn’t understand what the fuck you were doing going into his apartment. 

Yoongi got in after you, staring at you like you went mad, and honestly, it kinda felt like you did. You wanted to punch him when he laughed at you as he closed the doors, curiously raising his eyebrows. “Are you running away from me?” He asked, pressing the fourth button on the wall. It only took him one step to be as close to you as he was. You breath hitched, not feeling as confident as you felt when you were surrounded by people. “Still?”

You felt the sudden shift as the elevator ascended to the fourth floor. Yoongi and his mom had always lived in the same old building. The hallway walls were a dull brown, and the elevator had heavy accordion-style metal doors that folded inward and had to be closed manually. When you pressed the button to go up or down, the whole thing shook as if it was about to break down—but it never did. The mirror inside was old and smudged, you caught his reflection in the corner of your eye but you tried to ignore it, his presence alone was making you shiver. 

You shook your head, unable to utter another word. 

“No?” He kept insisting. He was teasing you, he had been teasing you for the whole night and you weren’t sure if you could take it anymore. You were tired of playing nonchalant, you just wanted to kiss him again.

He took a step forward, grabbing your waist to pull you closer to him. His fingers found each other in the small of your back, pressing you against him and taking you by surprise when he caught your bottom lip between his teeth and kissed you deeply. He slowly opened your mouth to slide his tongue past your lips, making it difficult to breathe or to even think. 

You grasped his shoulders with your fingers in case he wanted to pull away but there was no need. You weren’t sure how many times you had tried to decipher whether you were caught in a dream or if this was reality, because there was no way Yoongi knew exactly how to kiss you to make every logical thought on your mind disappear, but when the elevator shook again you were pulled out of your trance, you were not dreaming, somehow this was real. 

“Who knew this was the only way to get you to shut up.” He murmured, brushing his lips against yours. 

“Fuck you.” You whispered, and you hated it because it doesn’t come out as an insult at all.

He chuckled, “Oh, there you are again.” 

He took your hand to drag you out of the elevator, leading the way to his apartment door at the end of the dark hallway. 

For Yoongi, your house was almost like his second home—but you could count only a couple of times you had been to his, like when your mom picked him up because Simon and he were going to a comic convention for the first time. You were ten, already with the worst attitude, mad that you had to go with your nerd brother and his nerd friend to some nerd convention. But when you arrived at Yoongi’s apartment, he took you to his room and—attempting to change your mood—showed you the keyboard his mom had gotten him for his birthday. You remembered that a few weeks prior, he had told you he was teaching himself how to play, and you asked him if he could learn "Last Night on Earth" by Green Day. That morning, before leaving, he played it for you under one condition: that you stop being mad.

When you walked through the door and saw the living room immersed in complete darkness, you couldn’t help but wonder if he still remembered how to play the song.

“Do you still have the keyboard?” You asked, unsure how to act around him alone. The air felt heaving, and nerves were still fluttering in your stomach. You had never been nervous to be alone with a man ever; it was usually the other way around, but not with him, never with him.

Yoongi smirked, not believing you were thinking about that. “Is that why you’re so quiet? You’re thinking about my old keyboard?”

“You’re pissing me off.” You warned him, digging your finger on his chest, but he’s quick to pull you close to him again, laughing at you. You, who were always so cocky and quick-witted with your insults, now you were standing there, struggling to find a retort. There was no way you were this nervous to be alone with a man you’ve known literally all your life. 

“It’s in my room.” He whispered, brushing his thumbs over your waist. 

You swallowed, feeling your heart drop to your stomach.

“I…” You tried to say, but he was still looking at you the same way he was observing you back in the car, it was probably the same way he had been looking at you during these past weeks, but you couldn’t help but feel it was different. “I didn’t mean that.” You managed to finish your sentence. 

He quietly chuckled, shaking his head “You want to see the keyboard. What else could you mean?”

You pressed your lips together, holding back the urge to curse him again. Ignoring your red cheeks, he took your hand before you could say anything back, making his way to his bedroom. 

Yoongi’s home hasn’t changed too much, except for the frames on the walls that now had pictures of a much older Yoongi, or when he graduated high school and pictures on family holidays. You took a second to look at them as you walked towards his room but you were distracted when you felt his fingers on your chin, gently turning your face towards him.

“I like that picture.” You pointed at your left, a picture your mom took when both him and Simon graduated. It was Yoongi and Nari, his mom. Yoongi had a fresh cut and some square black glasses that he changed as soon as he got into college. “I was really sad when you left.” You confessed suddenly.

You weren’t intending for your words to carry a touch of sorrow, but they still linger with a hint of sadness in the air. 

“Were you?” He murmured and you nodded.

You had always wondered what would have happened if you and Yoongi had grown up at the same time—what if it had been you instead of Simon? You wouldn't have had to see them leave together; you wouldn't have felt so disappointed when they came to visit every other weekend. Maybe you would’ve grown up less angry. You came to accept what you had, Yoongi was there for every important moment of you life; he taught you how to drive, helped you pass your math tests, he was the one who talked you out of your relationship with your asshole ex boyfriend, he was there for your graduation, to send you off to college, he was everywhere but you, on the other hand, were just a tiny piece of his life. 

He cupped your face, chasing away all those swirling thoughts as he kissed your lips softly. He walked backwards, guiding you into his room while deepening the kiss. As the door closed behind you, a quiet certainty settled in your heart: your past had led you to this moment.

You sighed, feeling the ghost of his lips when he pulled away to search for something.

The dim light of the lamp next to Yoongi’s bed didn’t do much to illuminate the room, but provided enough lighting to observe how much it changed since the last time you were there. It didn’t look like the room of a teenager anymore, most of the posters were no longer there and the action figures were replaced by books now, but his keyboard was still folded next to his closet. 

Yoongi grabbed it and carefully put it at the feet of his bed. He sat on the edge, inviting you to sit between his legs.

You narrowed your eyes at him, hesitating. “You…” 

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes, tugging at your hand and guiding you to sit on his lap, your back against his chest as you faced the keyboard.

And, by the way, have you mentioned how nervous you were? You took a deep breath, dreaming, hoping, wishing he wouldn’t notice, but you were a fool if you thought Yoongi couldn’t read you like the palm of his hand. 

“Do you do this with all the girls?” You dared to ask, but the truth was that you didn’t want to know the answer. 

He kissed your exposed shoulder, resting his chin on it. “C’mon, you’re the one who asked to see the keyboard.” 

You turned your head to him, a bit offended. “Is that a yes?” 

“That was a no.” He retracted himself, he knew you well enough to know that he shouldn’t play with you unless he wanted to see you walk through the door. “What about the keyboard?” 

You decided to ignore the swift change of topic. “Do you still remember how to play?” You asked, touching the keys and jumping a bit when it sounded a bit too loud. 

“I’m a bit rusty, but sure I do.” 

“Do you remember when… I asked you to learn a song?” 

“Yes, I remember that,” He said, chuckling. “I also remember that the day I played it for you you were really pissed because your mom couldn’t find a nanny and had to hang out with me and Simon. You called me a nerd, very cruel.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “God, I was such a terrible kid back then.” 

“Well, yes, maybe.” He admitted “But you were also a really cool kid. You made us listen to My Chemical Romance the whole ride. I remember that your mom hated it, but it was the only thing that could keep you happy.”

You bursted out a laugh, remembering how big of a fan you were of My Chemical Romance, you still were. Your mom thought you were too young to be listening to that, but Simon bought you their second record for your birthday and she knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer, she had no other option but to let you keep it.

“I don’t know how my mom put up with me,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “It probably drove her crazy.”

“Mmm, you always had that effect on people,” he teased, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “In both good and bad ways.”

“Is that really the impression I leave on you?” You shot back, raising an eyebrow playfully. He hummed thoughtfully, admitting it without hesitation. “And in what way is it for you?”

“In both ways,” He replied, his tone light and teasing.

You bit your lips, trying to hold back a smile. “You’re so whipped, it’s ridiculous.” You said “I wanted you to play the keyboard but I rather hear you compliment how cool I am.” 

“Oh, shut up.” He huffed, gently slapping your thigh “What did you want me to play, again?” 

“The song I told you!”  You reminded him. 

“Oh, right!” He laughed, “I remember it, it was easy to learn.” He said and began to play the first chords “It reminds me of you, how could it not?” You smiled, watching his long fingers make the room full with music, you sang the song in your head, being hit by a sudden wave of nostalgia. “I want you to play it with me.”

You frowned “But I don’t know how.” 

“I know, dummy.” He replied, grinning as he halted the music and pulled his fingers away from the keys. “Like this, see?” He gently took your hands, aligning your fingers with his, his palms covering the tops of yours as he began to play.

You laughed, fully aware it sounded awful—nothing like when he played solo—but your heart had never felt so at ease. His laughter danced through your hair, his body shaking beneath you, and you lost track of when the sound might end, as if it were a never-ending loop. All you wished was for it to last forever. 

After two minutes, he intertwined his fingers with yours, bringing the song to a halt. “You’re good with the keys,” he joked. “Not as good as me, but you’ll get there.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to wrap your arms around his neck. It felt a bit strange to be so close, but when his hands glided up and down your exposed thighs, and he looked into your star-filled eyes in the dim light, it suddenly felt just right.

His eyes were shining under the dim lights, biting his lips as he grasped your hips to keep you in place. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Nothing, it’s just…” He said, somehow pulling you closer “I missed you while I was gone, that’s all.”

How much? you wanted to ask him, and when, for how long? And why? You wanted to know everything, to dive into the turmoil of his mind, to see yourself through his eyes.

You wanted to make an effort to hide how easily you melted when it came to him, but then again, why hide it? If you had the chance to grab his face and kiss him, that was exactly what you should do, and that was exactly what you did. 

Your tights hugged his waist, and you tried not to flinch when his hands gripped your waist, slowly running his palms down the curve of your ass. He kissed you slowly, fingers tracing the line of your jaw as he deepened the kiss, slow and intoxicating. Each movement was controlled, filled with intent, as though he was savoring every second, every breath you shared. The warmth of his lips, the soft hum of desire between you, built gradually. His fingers teased their way under your dress, but they stopped there for a moment, as if he was playing with you. He pulled away, leaving a peck on your lips. “You aren’t so shy anymore.” He teased you, brushing his nose against yours. 

“You’re so annoying,” you squinted your eyes at him.

He smiled, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “And…” his lips moved to your jaw, “…you are…” then to the curve of your neck, “…so pretty.” Taking advantage of how lost you were in the moment, he gently flipped you over, positioning himself between your legs, now hovering above you. 

Yoongi sighed, feeling completely defeated. He, more than anyone, knew how beautiful you were: you were beautiful in the mornings, with messy hair and sleepy eyes; when you wore mismatched socks and a hoodie; in your pajamas; when you stumbled over your words,when you were shy and flustered, when you were angry and looked you were about to kill someone. Even if you hid in crowded rooms and always sat in the back of the class you couldn’t hide it, you had grown up beautiful, but specifically tonight you seemed to have stars in your eyes. All your makeup was smudged, half of the product of your lipstick was on Yoongi’s face and the dark shadow in your eyes was a mess, but he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

“You have the prettiest eyes, you know that?” 

You felt your cheeks flush, heat creeping up your neck. “Are you trying to make me nervous?” You asked. 

He kissed your lips before answering “Why, is it working?” 

You shook your head in denial, lying shamelessly. You ran your hands from his abdomen to his chest, not knowing what to do next. Your mind and heart were racing, if you thought twice about it you didn’t even know what you were doing there, laying under him as he caressed your thighs, as he kissed your neck, as he pressed his body firmly against yours. 

“Can you tell me something?” You whispered.

He gently brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. “What is this?”

“What was that thing you said about last summer?” You asked “What did you mean?” 

Those words were still ringing in your mind since you heard them; that's what I’ve been doing since last summer. You wanted to know what he was talking about, but instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. “C’mon, tell me…” you chuckled.

“I was not supposed to say that out loud.” 

“Why?” You insisted “Are you embarrassed?”

“I’m not embarrassed.” He firmly said “But there’s some things I should keep to myself.” 

You rolled your eyes “Yoongi, tell me now…”

“Fine, okay, I’ll tell you.” He said, surrendering to your tactics, which consisted only of a warning glance. “Last summer we spent some time together, some time with Simon, some time alone, but always together. I began to see you differently, you were different, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty about it.”

“Why were you feeling guilty?” You cautiously asked. 

He stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Mmm… I felt I wasn’t supposed to look at you differently.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Exactly how different?”

“Well, different,” he repeated, a hint of playfulness in his tone. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“What was it?” You frowned “Was it my eyebrows? I laminated my eyebrows for the first time last summer. Everyone said I looked prettier.”

Yoongi shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. How could you think it was your eyebrows?

“It wasn’t your eyebrows, but they suit you nicely.” He complimented, making you smile. 

“Well, thanks.” You happily said “But then, what was it? I don’t remember being particularly diff-”

“It was your bikini, Pinky,” he interrupted, his confession coming out suddenly. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you tried to process his words. You blinked a few times, searching his face for any hint of teasing, but he looked serious—almost too serious. “There was this weekend where you were wearing a bikini with strawberries on it and… I gave you more than a few looks and felt like I was beginning to go crazy…” His expression remained sincere, almost thoughtful.. “I thought it would go away, you are a pretty girl, I supposed it was only logical to feel attracted. But then, I started to dream about you and that made everything worse, but that’s too much information.”

“No, I want to know.” You kept insisting, teasing him “Tell me what you were dreaming about.”

“You don’t want to know.” He brushed it off. 

You reached for the buttons of his shirt, with a gentle touch, you unfastened the first button. “But I do want to know.”

Yoongi leaned in, kissing your lips softly as if that could make you forget the topic of conversation, but of course it didn’t, you were still looking at him, eager to know. 

“Dreams, Pinky, of you…  in that bikini… without a bikini, in my bed.” He said in a soft breath as he swept his palm on his face. He didn’t look embarrassed but you could tell he would rather not share that information. A single flashback of one of those dreams was enough to drive him to the edge. He thought that after leaving they would stop, but you keep appearing in the back of his mind like some kind demon, sent to earth just to torture him.  You weren’t embarrassed either, you wished he could tell you more. “And the worst part is—that wasn’t all. I wish it were that simple. I wish I could just say that I’m only a man, and trust that at some point my dreams would stop. But even outside my dreams, you were still there, and you were funny and smart and you seemed to be the solution to all my problems. I don’t know, I keep wondering if I was nuts.” 

You could only gaze at him, with your eyes wide and soft, absorbing every word. You had spent the whole summer with Yoongi and yet, you haven’t noticed his change at all. Yoongi wasn’t like other boys, he was composed, he knew how to controll himself, but you found yourself wondering what would’ve happened if he didn’t. You bit your lip, smiling. “And what about now?” You asked. “Did you come to a conclusion after all?”

“Yeah, a few” He nodded “I think I wasn’t crazy for dreaming of you, but I will be if I don’t take this dress off you.” 

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls, @overtherainbow35, @namin13, @p34rluv, @moonchild1, @yoongisoftface , @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts , @yoongisducky , @bangtansmauyeondan , @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater @ot7stansthings @curiouslioncutie

[pnfc]

short conversational fic. in which heinz buys them a pet, and there are no problems ( ~4k words )

EDIT: obligatory ao3 link

~

It’s like half a year into them dating. Or 194 days into them dating, but who’s counting. Holiday season. They’re out shopping together, which is a joint effort, Heinz distracted by the offerings at every store and gimmick toys too babyish for any kids they know (but not too babyish for Heinz) and whatever side-street restaurants have sprung up by surprise, or are at least new to his memory. Perry is keeping Heinz on task, and footing the bill. Heinz is tall enough to reach a checkout counter. So they make a good team.

They’ve stashed their bags in the truck and are finalizing things at the books and small gifts store when Heinz tells Perry to hold on a minute, while he runs back out to the street. Perry has read through most of the cards for wine moms on the bottom row when Heinz returns with a plastic crate.

“Okay so you know in ‘Lady and the Tramp’ when the guy gets the girl a puppy for Christmas, stuffed in a hatbox?”

An alarming preamble. Perry sets his face.

“Well don’t worry, I didn’t do that, because it’s stupid. Gifting someone a pet dog. Who does that? And wrapping it up in a bow it doesn’t want to wear and everything, so it trips around and falls down the stairs, strangles itself to death, awful. Just a terrible gift idea.” He pauses. “But I got us a kitten!”

Heinz swings the container forward so Perry can see in the barred door. There’s a blanket wrapped around a white lump of fur, which is bristling and softening with each breath. Perry looks up at Heinz with a hollow expression.

I’m so glad you didn’t buy a dog, Perry signs. Heinz is beaming. No.

Heinz blinks, while it registers. “Did you say ‘no’? You’re saying ‘no’?”

I’m saying no.

“No to the . . . kitten? To the sweet little ki— Perry the Platypus, come on,” Heinz pleads, pulling the crate back stably against his legs. “There’s a million little kitties out there who need a home and we have so much room in our place, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. It never worked out for me picking up strays off the street, as you recall, but this guy’s from a shelter, so no little kid’s gonna show up and steal him away. I paid for this. The logistics all check out. It’ll make our house a home!”

No. We don’t need a cat.

Perry leaves it at that, doesn’t bother taking offense to Heinz’s suggestion that their house is not currently a home. He’s being stupid, obviously he is, why call a spade a spade? Heinz furrows his brow at Perry, and sighs at him like he’s being so hopeless.

“Alright. I thought you might be like this — you’re that type of guy, aren’t you, Perry the Platypus? All burly and macho, convinced only a big manly hunting dog could be the animal for you.”

Perry’s mouth is open. Is that how you see me?

“Ok so I’m hyperbolizing but the point is — you’re not a cat person. I know. At least you think you aren’t. But I know how people tick, Perry the Platypus, and trust me: once you let this little ball of cuteness into your heart, you will never want to unclog your arteries.” Heinz points at Perry, who’s got his jacketed arms in a cross. “You’re too soft on the inside. You’ll see.”

That certainly explains how Perry got where he is, with an impulse-driven, acutely toxoplasmotic boyfriend. He presses a hand to his bill bridge, glances sidelong, then starts tugging Heinz away from the crowded card display.

There’s no one in the back corner of the store, with the self-help books, so Perry drops Heinz’s sleeve and gestures at him to set the crate down.

“I thought we could talk it over in the car — or at home?” Heinz says as he straightens up. “Or did you want to look at these before we leave?” He’s skimming over romantic guides advising women to dump their pushy boyfriends. “It’s just they’re all so hacky, I’m not a fan. Plus this store doesn’t carry any of my books — which are hacky, yet practical.” He looks at Perry. “Though none of mine have a ‘Phasing out of subtextual innuendo and into a real relationship’ chapter, yet. That’s in drafts.”

Let’s talk here. Perry hits the brakes mid-sign and wheels on Heinz, with a low growl. Do NOT write about our love life.

“Perry!” he flutes, in a scandalized tone that is difficult to trust. “I would never, in so much detail. I write in broad strokes. Anonymized hypotheticals, that people can relate to. I’m not getting monotreme-specific. . . . Maybe mammal-specific.”

This will be a future conversation. Perry plates it on the heaping table of messy topics in his mind and returns to the one at hand.

We can’t keep the cat. It’s a bad idea.

Heinz huffs, glancing back down at the plastic carrier on the carpet. “Ok, I hate to go here but. Is it because you’re an animal? Does that make it weird to you?” He cocks his head. “Because you know I don’t even think about that. That’s not what you are to me. Like I’m not blind to it, obviously, because you are a platypus. It’s hard to miss that. And I love all the little platypus parts you have, your leathery paws and your big tail and your, your highly efficient lack of ears — it’s all just so characteristically you,” Heinz says, indicating Perry’s form with open hands. “So uniquely Perry the Platypus, not animal-ish. To me. But maybe that’s because I don’t hang out with a lot of other platypuses.”

Heinz kneels by the carrier, while Perry lets his opening question hang unanswered. He hooks fingers into the metal bars — the kitten’s still deep in sleep, its pink nose poking out of a blanket fold.

“Point is you’re not at all like this guy, to me — or to anyone with eyes and a brain. You’re a person, and this guy’s a pet. A real one, not like the one your job forced you to act like, back in the day. This kitty isn’t like you and your secret agent buddies. Like what was it — Kathy? Kelly? The cat one? We’re not gonna push it through military brainwashing, or feed it smart-pills or whatever it is they did to you.”

Perry stares in response, and signs for pill-taking with a shake of his head.

“Oh, they didn’t give you smart-pills? Well they did something to you. And we’re not gonna do whatever OWCA . . .” He trails off, since Perry’s still shaking his head. “What? They didn’t?” Another shake. “Didn’t OWCA stick you guys with a supersoldier serum when you were kids? Or some kind of brain-smartener? The whole ‘Flowers for Algernon’ deal?” Shake.

Heinz is taken aback. He pushes off his knees, and stares down at Perry. “Really? That can’t be right. Perry the Platypus, you’re like.” He pauses, thinking. “Well, I’m not too proud to say, that — for a certain number of metrics of intelligence, and that is bearing in mind that a large number of those metrics exist — you’re smarter than me. By a lot.

“And you have a certain conversational verve and wit about you that I don’t tend to encounter at the zoo, among those chuckleheads.” Heinz laughs, stiff. “I mean come on, you’re not a regular platypus, Perry.”

To which Perry has no ready retort. He just hills his shoulders, palms open. He is and he isn’t. He isn’t, but apparently he is.

Heinz gawps, and sinks himself down to the bookstore carpet. “So like, what, you’re telling me you’re just naturally like this?”

Seems that way.

“And you’re uh. What, like. . . . An animal?”

194 days of officialized dating and this has clicked for him.

“No way.” He leans in closer to Perry’s face, fists propping him forward like a curious ape. “I just never thought — you sure there isn’t some big secret they’re keeping from you? Tell me.”

Perry blinks at Heinz. If there’s a secret, he signs with plodding emphasis. How would I know?

“Right — you’re right, okay.” Heinz slouches in his kneel. “That makes sense. But wow, Perry the Platypus. That is surprising. I mean, I know animals can be smart. God knows the local pigeons outwit me every other morning on my bakery runs. But Momma Ocelot wasn’t exactly reading me Cervantes, growing up.” He rubs fingers through the short pile of the rug. “Then again, she didn’t have a library card. That might’ve had something to do with it.”

She probably couldn’t read, Perry signs, as he sits next to Heinz. I learned from OWCA.

“You had different opportunities,” Heinz says, in slow agreement. “Okay, I can see that. But don’t you think, Perry, there’s something extra-special about you? There is, right? I mean I’ve never connected to anyone,” he says, fumbling, “like you. No people, no ocelots, animals. Ever in my life. What does that say about you?”

Perry tilts his head, and points the question back at Heinz.

“. . . Huh.” Heinz stares at his own hands, dangled on the floor. Perry studies his face as they lapse into silence. Unlike most silences with Heinz, this one is accruing an uneasy edge. Perry fidgets, glances at the pet crate and back. He taps a hand on Heinz’s upper arm.

Hey. Is this a problem? he signs. It’s clear something’s clicking together in a weird way for Heinz, and Perry knows better than to assume the worst, but he still has to state his mind. I’m me. Same as yesterday, Perry signs. Same as always.

Heinz stares across at him, a little chastened, a little pink. “Oh — I know, Perry the Platypus.” He rubs the back of one hand with the other. “It’s just — what are we doing? With this kitten, I mean. What does it mean if he could be like you? If he went through OWCA, or if we . . . taught him the stuff you learned, how to read and everything. Or if we didn’t — what, would he just be a normal cat? Is that a choice we could make?”

Perry gives him a searching expression, hands up.

“That’s all you’ve got for me? You don’t know?”

Quiet again. Thoughts are coming down fast as the outside flurry. Their gestural language is getting good now, quicker than Perry had anticipated, quick to read each other and intuit what’s in the gaps. But despite it all Perry still can’t articulate with ease all the words flowing into his head — they get stuffed up inside, pillowing down too fast. Typing is great, when he can get in the swing of it, and he longs for it at times like this.

But maybe the communication barrier is just as well, when there’s so many words piling up and none of them form an answer.

What can Perry explain? Is he supposed to articulate answers to the questions that have unremittingly cropped up his entire life, in his own mind? Years wondering why he couldn’t click with Agent Pinky, who chewed on couch cushions to soothe an eternally simmering anxiety, intractable doggy jitters that Perry could not fathom and found perpetually annoying — or with Harry, who’d wrap Perry up into lanky hugs that felt like getting shoved down in a brushfield, skunky earthen smells and loud cackles that he had to fight his way back out of every time?

Were they more animal, or was Perry more human? He couldn’t hope to answer that with any confidence. Or was there something more malignant in Perry’s development, some aberration of personality, whatever it was that kept him from gelling and made him not even want to try?

He gets the sense that some unnatural growth did twist up, over the years, in the walled garden he built within himself, behind brick meters of protection. One Heinz had cracked his way through to, after years of persistent battering. And now Heinz is delighting in the fruits of whatever warped, mutant object Perry has become — which felt good, until today, when he thought to question it.

Was it unfair, maybe, for Perry to overstep the boundaries written into his birth, to give Heinz a warped impression of animalkind? Or was it all just delusional egotism on Perry’s part, thinking he’s fundamentally any different from this cat?

Perry stares at the pink plastic of the crate. Melted snow has congealed into drops on its side. He looks at Heinz, who’s sitting with his long arms crossed on his knees, and formulates the thought at the front of his mind right now, knowing it doesn’t help a thing.

I came from a pet store.

Heinz makes a little “oh” with his mouth, and nods. “That’s how your family got you, huh?”

How OWCA distributes their pet-sized agents, yeah.

Heinz joins Perry in looking at the crate, where the kitten’s still sleeping in peace. “What’d they charge for you?”

Perry snorts at that, like it’s a joke, surprised. Heinz isn’t really smiling though, he’s got those soft eyes turned on him.

So he smiles back at Heinz, head tilted. No idea.

“Well,” says Heinz. “This guy cost me $60. And I’d wanna think you’re worth more than that. What kind of a number did OWCA put on you? I’m serious.”

Perry waves a hand in dismissal. Don’t take it too seriously. They’re domestic animals, he signs, they need a home.

“Kinda hard not to take it seriously,” Heinz gruffs, “when it applies to you. I’d like to know exactly how much cold hard cash Francis made pawning off my boyfriend to some grubby little kids, you know? Not to insult your family, Perry. I like them. But like. Definitionally, that’s what they were, at the time.”

Heinz is fussing with the aglets of his bootlaces, chipping away at the plastic.

“D’you think I should ask him to pony it back up? The adoption fee? Not for me, you know, for your family, since they’re the ones who paid it. But mostly for Francis not having it anymore.”

Indignation is all across Heinz’s lined face, as he broods over his boots. Perry feels himself gazing in slack adoration. What an incredibly stupid, petty thing to offer.

He and Heinz have been out long hours shopping, racking up a massive amount of credit — on Perry’s card, on the account that is shared between them, though Heinz’s name isn’t officially attached to it yet. Every other minute it’s been:

Oh, a gardening spade! That’s a good brand, Perry the Platypus, you should get it for the boys, isn’t Ferb studying botany? And God that astrolabe is beautiful — who’d like it more, Linda or Lawrence? And Oh! When did we get a stationery store? Vanessa’s into the analog stuff, with her little jetsetting friends, and she’s got that trip to Europe next year — that is a nice fountain pen, Perry the Platypus, trust me, it’s worth the pricetag. And oh, not a bedazzler kit — didn’t Norm want that? I know, I know, Perry . . . we shouldn’t enable him. But it’s Christmas. Speaking of. That tablecloth set is gorgeous, right? I mean we need seasonal napkin sets, I’ve been saying this. The project of home furnishing never ends, Perry the Platypus. We’re getting it.

Heinz never offers to pay his share, on these shopping trips out. He accepts his receptive place under the hefty bulk of Perry’s bank account. It must’ve been the same way with Charlene. Like after so many sad bachelor years he’s reverted to the natural role of spoiled househusband, a happier state of being.

And Perry gets to enable it, gets to fund his cute little impulses. Which throbs a kind of wild power up his spine, makes him feel towering, despite his 24 inches.

Did Charlene get to feel this way? Perry thinks, as he thinks about marriage. He reaches out to rub Heinz’s knee.

“I kind of regret getting him that cool pencil sharpener now,” he mutters, and Perry has to drag his head back to the topic of Monogram.

Reassuringly: Don’t. He uses pens.

Heinz scoffs. “You could’ve told me.”

It was a vintage sharpener shaped like a cartoon beaver, you stuck the pencil in its mouth. Heinz had been so charmed by it. Perry just grins at him, all “what can you do”.

A soft mewl carries from the plastic box, and Heinz wheels on it immediately. “Aw, little baby . . .”

Through the carrier door Perry sees the white-wicked lump moving, a squint of sleepy blues. Heinz pokes a couple fingers in, his palm too thick to fit between the bars.

“We forgot all about you, sweetie, we were talking about that bad Major Monogram. He’s a mean old man who’s rude to animals, who you will never have to meet — God, can you imagine,” he says with a turn to Perry, dropping his babytalk down to dry derision in an instant. Perry holds back a laugh.

“I guess that’s another factor I didn’t consider, in pet ownership. My proximity to a guy who brainwashes little animals to prop up his own failed military career.” He waggles his fingers, which the kitten is taking notice of. “He wouldn’t try to recruit this guy, would he?”

Doubt it, signs Perry, smiling tight. But we’re not keeping it.

“Yeah, I think I’m getting that by now,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t really thinking this guy could grow up to be like you. I mean, maybe he wouldn’t? But what’s he gonna be in 5 years? Our — our adult live-in roommate? I don’t think we need that, Perry the Platypus,” Heinz says. “I mean we already had Norm.”

Perry restrains himself from throwing a self-help book at Heinz’s head. These things are murder weapons. Instead he scuffs a foot at his boot.

“Maybe we just raise it for a while,” Heinz considers while the kitten attacks his fingers. “To adolescence. Then we swap it, get a new one. Keep a perpetual cycle going of dumb little babies. What do you think, Perry the Platypus?”

Surely he’d survive one book to the face? Instead Perry pulls a reluctant paw off its spine, to sign: I thought you quit evil.

“Oh yeah, I did,” Heinz grins back at him. Dick. “Can’t believe I forgot that. Thanks for the reminder.” His face flags. “Oh — I’m kidding, you get that, right? Don’t look at me like that. This does actually bother me, in case it’s not obvious. I feel like there’s some weird implications here that I don’t wanna think about.”

Another roil of anxiety in Perry’s chest. He gestures: Like?

“Like,” Heinz says, thinking. “Well. Can I just never have a cat? From now on? It’s just that I always liked cats,” he says, looking dolefully at the kitten. “The strays around Drusselstein kept me company, growing up, and the ocelots were like my siblings, even if that didn’t last too long. I always thought taking care of a cat would be paying them back, in a way. Helping out their distant cousins across the sea.

“. . . But Charlene was allergic. So, you know,” he finishes.

And Perry can’t hide that that guts him, that detail. Because Perry wants to be whatever Charlene wasn’t. To know and understand the parts of Heinz that she did not, or would not. To accept what she couldn’t.

But Perry can’t. Not this, not now, so out of the blue, with Heinz not even realizing what he sprung on him.

Perry knows he’s not to blame for the strangeness of the world, its incongruous distribution of mind among its creatures. But he made Heinz aware, by embodying that strangeness. And now they're attached.

And maybe if he hadn’t been . . . If OWCA just sent normal people after the bad guys. Like they used do. Then, well. Then this wouldn’t be an issue.

“Perry.” Heinz’s knuckles push into the sleeve of his coat. “Hey, Perry. The Platypus.”

Heinz is ignoring the kitten, now turned to face Perry, all concern.

“You know this doesn’t actually matter, right?” Heinz’s hand rolls down Perry’s arm, as Perry looks up at his eyes.

“It doesn’t. I mean . . . it’s a lot to think about, that I sort of haven’t before. It’s a weird existential conundrum, right? I mean, speaking of things to write a book about.

“But I’m an adult man. I don’t need to get a kitten today, you know? I won’t even throw a tantrum about it. I just thought — you know, in that stupid way, where I think without thinking — that you’d like it. I thought it would be sweet.

“I mean — look,” Heinz says pointing at the carrier door, through which the kitten is now straining to escape, “he looks like a snowball, and it’s snowing. And he’d look so cute next to you. That’s about as far as I got before I had my wallet out.”

Perry tries to smile up at him. But he has to look away, can’t make the shape with his face, doesn’t know what to say. Heinz rubs a thumb on the back of Perry’s hand.

“We’ll think it through more, in the future. That’s a nice change of pace for me.”

They lapse into a gentler quiet, broken only by the kitten’s high-pitched mewls. Heinz sighs, and glances at Perry.

“You wanna, like. Hold it?”

Their corner of the store remains vacant, while the bustle of holiday shopping continues unabated near the front. At one point an older woman came perusing down the adjacent aisle, and left. That’s the most company they’ve had.

So Perry agrees to let Heinz open up the cage and lift the kitten out, deposit it on the rug. It rolls and bounds around in the angular pen made by Heinz’s splayed legs.

It does look like snow, blue eyes. A pretty little guy. Perry recalls some statistic about deafness in white cats, and for a second wonders if that could be their saving grace, getting Heinz a pet so walled off by its own sensory defects that it could never hope to operate on their level.

That’s a sick line of thought, he realizes with a flash of anger. And it’s nonsense anyway. Like he could allow it, like Heinz could. Like they wouldn’t work extra hard to train it in the animal-adapted form of sign language they’ve been cultivating.

It had opened up new dimensions, to Perry. He thinks Heinz was more excited about it than he was, the first few times Perry’d signed about some noun that wasn’t pointable in the room with them.

The kitten bounces over to Perry and grapples his arm, hugs around it like it’s a playmate. It reaches his shoulder, stretched up on its hindlegs like this. If the cat is deaf, Perry considers, glum, there’s no chance it’ll learn sign in a regular household.

Heinz is looking at him, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Sometimes I forget how small you are,” he says.

Perry grips the kitten under its shoulders to hoist it away from himself. Sure it’s cute, this dumb little thing, with fresh blueberry eyes, staring vacant the way Perry used to train his own to do. If there’s a spark of self-awareness behind this animal’s eyes, Perry can’t see it. He pushes forward, beak to its nose, and issues a gentle krkrkr, tremelo waves down the soft shelf of his bill. The kitten stares, wide eyed, and angles its teetering head forward to press its nose more firmly into Perry, before opening up to jaw on him like a chew toy.

Heinz snorts. Perry looks up again to find him grinning, cross-legged, one knee going at an antsy bounce.

“You’re so cute with him, though,” he says. “I was right about that. You’d . . . you’d be good. With a pet,” he says, voice fading to a softer tone. “With a baby.”

Heinz pauses. “I guess those aren’t the same thing, though.”

Perry sets the kitten back on the carpet, where it topples over its own legs. They aren’t the same thing — but Perry could only treat this animal like one or the other. And he thinks it’s now clear, to him and Heinz both, which one it would have to be.

“I have to admit,” Heinz says, beckoning the kitten back into his hands. “My retirement plan, whenever I used to picture it. Whether I wound up ruling the tristate area or not. Was me lounging back with a good book, in a cozy chair. Big fat kitty on my legs, keeping them warm.”

Perry looks up at Heinz, and nods slowly, mulling this over.

He pokes him in the calf, and signs: That’s good. My retirement plan was getting fat.

Heinz laughs, so sweetly, Perry’s reward. He crunches Perry’s hat down over his eyes, with a heavy hand.

Perry accompanies Heinz back to the vendor, who’s posted up in the window of the florist shop, standing by a square corral of tumbling kittens at play.

“Wife said no, huh?” he says, when Heinz hands the carrier over.

Heinz fake-laughs. Perry’s stationed at his leg, paws in coat, perennially overlooked. “Someone did.”

“Well,” he says, as they get back to the truck. “I’d say this was a pretty successful day, with no major disasters. No monumental life choices made in haste. Wouldn’t you say, Perry the Platypus?”

Perry leans back in the passenger seat, with a glance trunkward at their gift haul. A lazy “ok” hand says enough — they did good.

Heinz grins. “She’s gonna flip, right? I mean, the recording equipment — the weighted keyboard? She’ll be spoiled. You’ve got the gift giving instinct, Perry the Platypus. I’ll give you that.”

Heinz leans over Perry, to buckle him in. “Mine could use some improvement.”

Perry just gives him a silent nahh, smiling up, cheek on hand. Heinz pecks him on the hat. "Shut up, Perry the Platypus." And they depart.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Notes from my Deathly Hallows reread: Slughorn returns with the Slytherins

So, most of you probably saw or heard of that interview JKR gave back in the day about how Slughorn came back to the battle of Hogwarts with the Slytherin students:

JN: And how much is it that being sorted into Slytherin is, you know, sorted into good guys and bad guys here? JKR: Well, they’re not all bad, that would- I know I’ve said this before, (JN: Yeah, I remember.) and I think I said it to Emerson, they are not all bad, and, well, far from it. As we know, at the end, they may have (laughs) a slightly more highly developed sense of self-preservation then other people because… SU: Yeah, right. JN: Yeah. JKR: A part of the final battle that made me smile was Slughorn galloping back with Slytherins, (SU: Yes!) (JN laughs) but they’d gone off to get reinforcements first, you know what I’m saying? But yes, they came back, they came back to fight, so I mean- but I’m sure that many people would say “Well, that’s common sense, isn’t it? Isn’t that smart, to get out, get more people and come back with them?” JN: Yeah.

(From this interview)

And like most fans, I always kinda assumed it was her retconning things in the books again, because I just didn't remember it happening and she added a lot of little tidbits (some more contradictory than others) in the years after the books, so I don't tend to take them too seriously. But I was reading Deathly Hallows last night and she might've actually written that in:

And now there were more, even more people storming up the front steps, and Harry saw Charlie Weasley overtaking Horace Slughorn, who was still wearing his emerald pajamas. They seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight, along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade. The centaurs Ban, Ronan, and Magorian burst into the hall with a great clatter of hooves, as behind Harry the door that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges. The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall

(DH, 734) 619

Harry later mentions a horde of wizards, and we know Harry doesn't actually recognize all the students in his year, let alone all the students in Slytherin he doesn't interact with regularly. So, I wonder if she really meant by "they seemed to have returned" other Slytherins when she wrote it initially and how much of a retcon that interview really is.

Considering it was the middle of the night, the Slytherins likely were wearing pajamas, like Slughon, and maybe cloaks over them and not school robes, so it's possible Harry would have no way of knowing who's a student if he doesn't know them personally.

The only real issue I have with the canonicity of it is this statement from Voldemort:

"If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?" "No—never," whispered Malfoy.

(DH, 641)

But perhaps he's talking in hyperbole (or just being a shit to Lucius, as he does), since we know Crabbe and Goyle hadn't come back to join him either and he doesn't mention them.

Additionally, when the Golden Trio goes up to the headmaster's office Phineas Black says this:

and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high, reedy voice, “And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!”

(DH, 747)

It doesn't sound like he's just talking about himself, Snape, and Slughorn, it sounds like he's talking about actual combatants, so...

JKR's statement about Slytherins fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts on Harry's side (besides Slughorn) is surprisingly, probably, canon.

The interview I mentioned was only 7 months after the book came out, so I wonder if she wrote a different version of that paragraph before editing and was thinking about that... It seems the intention might've been there even if she didn't write it all that clearly...

[humongousgothskeletonfarm]

TGR CHAPTER 4 THOUGHTS

- i’m absolutely loving derek and derrick

-

- THERE IS NO MORE OERFECT COURT U DO NOT HAVE TO LET URSELF BE CONTROLLED BY RIKOS OBSESSIVE DREAM ANYMORE JEAN

- JEAN I AM BEGGING U TO UNDERSTAND THAT EXY IS NOT ALL U ARE, U R SO MUCH MORE THAN U BELIEVE

- ““I’m going to destroy him,” he said. ​“Hyperbolically speaking, I hope,” Cat said. ​Jean only shrugged and left it to her to decide.” PLS

CHAPTER FIVE

- jean catching the ball mid air and hurting his hand god it kills me knowing he probably had to develop that quick reaction because riko would throw balls at him

- “Jean wouldn’t let his gaze linger, but he saw enough to put a hungry knot in his gut.” SHUT UP SHUT UP

- “Jean considered asking, decided he didn’t care enough to endure a conversation” my unsociable king

- i know jean is so mean and all but it is so fucking funny to read, he’s not putting up with anyone’s bs he literally cannot give anyone stupid the time of day

- Jeans lunch date with cody, ananya and pat is making me absolutely starving for Indian and i literally ate tikka masala last night

- jean hiding bark bark behind the fridge oh he’s so unserious

- cannot even begin to explain how much i adore cat and jeans relationship; how she helps him work through his food phobia and he trusts her so fucking much. CAT KISSING JEAN ON THE FOREHEAD!!!

CHAPTER SIX

- jean asking if the 4th of july is a holiday every year is cracking me up (let’s ignore the fact that he was so overworked in the ravens a team that didn’t recognise public holidays to stop training)

- JEAN NOT KNOWING HIS OWN BIRTHDAY OMGG NORA R U TRYING TO KILL ME

HIS 😭PARENTS 😭NEVER 😭DID 😭ANYTHING 😭FOR 😭HIS 😭BDAY😭

- jeremy saying “and i thought my family was bad” and laila immediately validating his trauma by saying “they are” is sooooo important to me, if ur family is bad then ur family is bad and u don’t have to invalidate ur own feelings by comparing ur trauma to others.

- OKKKKK I WAS WONDERING IF AARONS TRIAL WAS GONNA BE PART OF THIS BOOK/THE NEXT AND NOW WE HAVE CONFIRMATION OMFG

- “Hope your teammate gets acquitted, XOXO’?” i cackled

- also i have to say i am both nervous and excited to read about jean and kevin’s interview

- jean saying that last year was the foxes year and he’s so right

- “Sure,” Laila said dryly. “Ignoring the fatal overdose, the kidnapping, the murder charges, the rampant campus vandalization, and—Andrew,” she said, with an uncomfortable pause. “Great year for them otherwise.” ​“They won finals,” Jean pointed out. ​Laila looked to the ceiling for patience. “Oh, right. How could I have forgotten?” ​“Seeing how you needlessly threw away your season against them, I would hope you remembered.”

i love bitchy jean and sassy laila,, god nora write their group banter so fucking well i wanna be friends with them

- JEANS ONE SIDED BEEF WITH DERRICK IS TAKING ME TF OUT “first i have to destroy derrick” HES SO DRAMATIC ALL COZ DERRICK IMPLIED HE WAS BETTER THAN JEAN

- “even tried to hush the commentators when they talked over him with an opposing opinion.” IM PISSING MYSELF

- “It was more endearing than it should be, and Jeremy hid a smile against his long-empty mug whenever Jean got particularly rude.” ohhhhh jeremy ur so in love with that rude mouth

- jeremy getting all hot over Jean complimenting him is adorable

- my suspicions were correct, jeremy did have another sibling who passed away - jean asking jeremy if it ever gets easier breaks my heart

- Cats dedication to hating on jeremy’s family is so fucking real

- JEAN THINK XAVIERS TOP SURGERY SCARS WERE FROM HEART SURGERY AND BEING CONCERNED THAT HE WAS HEALTHY ENOIGH TO GET TACKLED IN FOOTBALL IS SO CUTE OMG MY NAIVE CHILD I LOVE HIM

- “Since it has no impact on how I play, he says it’s my prerogative to fix whatever’s broken. He doesn’t understand why he should have an opinion on my personal life one way or the other.” He smiled, slow and bright, and said, “I like him, Jeremy. Let’s keep him forever.” GODDDDD I LOVE HIM SO BAD HE JUST DOESNT GIVE A FUCKKK

- the only jean being upset about when xav explains being trans is him telling jean that because he’s so decent he doesn’t belong on the ravens and jean taking it as an insult because OBVIOUSLY he belongs on the ravens because he is a brilliant player and not understanding that other people would be rude to xav

- jeremy staring at jean while watching the fire works, “Jean’s lips grazed his cheekbone as Jean turned his head, and every coherent thought Jeremy had crumbled to dust.”, he’s soooooo in love it’s crazy

- jeremy doesn’t go to banquets???? i’m sensing some backstory coming our way!

[heyclickadee]

Re: my last reblog:

If I’m completely honest I’m in a weird place emotionally with the whole Tech thing.

(Rambling under the cut)

On the one hand, I really do think Tech is alive at this point. Not he was alive and they changed their minds, or that they killed him outright and then might change their minds and bring him back later, but that he straight up never died in the first place and that bringing him back after an extended fakeout was always the plan.

How extended the fakeout was planned to be is extremely debatable, but I think that what they did was take him off screen so that Omega’s story could have time to breathe and she could come into her own without Tech taking care of the problem for her. And that the reason we don’t get even the baseline on-screen processing we would normally get with a character death is because he didn’t die in the first place, because while it’s true that most characters who die and come back get that those characters also usually were intended to be dead and then got retconned later due to unrealized potential or popularity; the one main example we have in Star Wars of a character who was ambiguously put off screen with the intent of bringing them back later is Ahsoka, and the processing of her “death” is about as absence as Tech’s. We’re somewhat painfully reminded of Tech’s absence either via a name drop or some kind of visual reference (or CX-2) about once an episode all the way through season three, but never in a way that allows the characters to work through it or finalize anything, and Ahsoka only comes up by name in her capacity as fulcrum or a former Jedi who knew how to do things a couple times before she comes back.

And because of that, because there are other things that seem like the creative team took ideas from Rebels and then pushed them farther (Kallus’s redemption arc stumbled so Tam’s could run so Crosshair’s could fly), and because I never got the impression that they thought of Tech as The Autistic Guy, I suspect that they might have looked at the Ashoka story and decided, hey, let’s do this again, but let’s do it more deliberately and with a lot more set up. Because there is so much set up, right from the first episode, right from the first arc in TCW season seven, potentially. And they could have expected people to react like they did to Ahsoka “dying” at the end of season two of Rebels ; sad, but in a normal way, and with a lot of healthy speculation that people let happen and didn’t go out of their way to shut down. Except the reaction was what it was, and the next year slowly brought out the worst in basically everybody.

Which brings me to the other hand. One the other hand, it still hurt. If it turns out I’m right, I suspect that when all is said and done I won’t have any real problems with the writing and that there’s a lot of potential for a belated Tech return to be so much better than what I originally wanted. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was deeply upset by the finale, or that I actually still get sick to my stomach every time a new reference book comes out because I worry that this time the shoe is going to drop and they’re going to say Tech is dead forever for real. It never does—everything official continues to talk around it in ways they don’t talk about other characters who definitely died—but the emotion is still there.

And the audience management was, of course, atrocious. Atrocious in ways I can sort of logic myself into if it turns out Tech’s alive, and bad in ways I can see certain people missing because everything on certain social media sites is hyperbole all the time, meaning real upset gets lost amongst the yelling, but that almost doesn’t matter. Intent can be one thing, and we can argue about that all day, but the end result is still that people who connected to Tech felt like they were being mocked for investing in a character that was designed to be invested in. That sparked enough animosity built up from being excluded from other things that I almost dropped Star Wars entirely.

So, yeah, I tend to sit in the theorizing about a Tech return space because I really do think Tech’s alive, and I think there’s a lot of potential for a later return to be fantastic. And I don’t spend a lot of time going over what went wrong because I don’t personally find it very helpful. But, emotionally? I’m still upset about it, there are layers to me being upset about it that are directed at the fandom and some directed at Lucasfilm, and I’ll probably be at least a little upset about it until someone puts Tech back. And I’m also emotionally tired and emotionally excited about potential if they do bring Tech back in the next thing and it’s just. A very weird place to be sitting.

[juror3ightt]

sighs i don’t know if it’s because of the way i was brought up but I seriously can’t stand when a person completely waters down a guy like juror 3. Idk I guess maybe they’re just joking about the whole thing but in some cases I’ve NEVER seen them portray him as anything beyond the angry childbeater juror

It’s not a “out worst moments don’t make us” or whatever the saying is sort of thing. It’s just making that his sole thing. Like. it (it being the point that he did abuse his son) is his Main thing i guess but there’s more there and it’s never brought up ever. I get that it really doesn’t need to be brought up but I’d just like to see something about it.

There’s people out there saying that “Juror 3 was abused himself” is a Theory. Like is it not implied. That’s the way it goes. And this way was as normal as waking up and the sky being blue. As were kids’ fights. He was brought up violent and miserable so he thinks that’s what life is about. If his son isnt violent and miserable, what else can he be? I believe that nobody is wired from birth to be the way he is and nobody who was brought up nonviolent turns around and thinks violence is the way to go out of nowhere.

I think that juror 3 at his core wanted what was best for his kid. And what he thought was best for his kid was what he had. Which he would’ve been complacent in because he couldn’t understand any other line of thought. It makes complete sense to him that, if his son refuses that, then he’d beat him. When it comes to these parents, at best, they’d feel wrong doing it but at the end of the day it’s OK because they’re doing the right thing. Surely it’s good parenting, it ‘worked’ on them did it not?

Every man in that jury room is a person who has lived an entire life and I hate tjat that juror THREE of all jurors doesn’t have other parts of him recognised. The antagonists are the most developed characters in that room and they can’t just be reduced to their worst qualities because then what’s the point.

Well I mean 5 and 9 are pretty developed too that last part was a hyperbole if it wasn’t clear idfk I’m not really good at this whole thing

[olivieblake]

Around 4 days ago, I walked into my local bookstore and found The Atlas Six and The Atlas Paradox displayed on the front table. I had recently finished reading everything on my book list, so on a whim, I decided to purchase both of them. BEST DECISION OF MY LIFE.

I finished The Atlas Six in a day, and devoured The Atlas Paradox in another. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say I couldn’t put them down. I love each and every character (Although I do have a soft spot for Reina, Nico, and Gideon), and their interactions with each other never failed to entertain! There’s a certain quality to them that almost brings them alive, allowing me to picture each character clearly in my head. All in all, I absolutely adore this series, and can’t wait for The Atlas Complex to come out!

BUT MOVING ON TO THE MORE IMPORTANT STUFF, I AM LIVING FOR NICO AND GIDEON’S RELATIONSHIP. In The Atlas Six, I was like okay, so we have the typical enemies-to-lovers plot going on with Libby and Nico. Pretty typical, but I was excited to see how it would play out.

THEN GIDEON IS INTRODUCED AND THE SHEER C H E M I S T R Y BETWEEN HIM AND NICO FLOORS ME. They talk to each other in THREE LANGUAGES. THREE. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is. AND THEN YOU KEEP FEEDING US LITTLE CRUMBS OF NICO AND GIDEON THROUGHOUT THE REST OF THE STORY, AND I, A STARVING SHIPPER WHO HAS NO SHAME, ATE THEM UP.

The text messages between them, Gideon visiting Nico in his dreams, (HE’S LITERALLY THE MAN OF NICO’S DREAMS) and the fact that NICO LITERALLY JOINED THE SOCIETY IN THE FIRST PLACE SO HE COULD FIND A WAY TO HELP GIDEON-

And then we get to The Atlas Paradox. Which is an ABSOLUTE ROLLERCOASTER OF EMOTIONS.

OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL, AND FOREMOST, GIDEON FIGHTING HIS WAY THROUGH A DREAMSCAPE HELL JUST SO HE CAN TALK WITH NICO? HELLO?

AND THEN THE BATTLE WITH PARISA INSIDE OF DALTON’S MIND AND THE FACT THAT SHE SPARED HIM BECAUSE HIS FINAL THOUGHT JUST BEFORE HE THOUGHT HE WAS GONNA DIE WAS OF NICO?

THE WAY PARISA STRAIGHT UP EXPOSED NICO BY TELLING HIM HE THINKS ABOUT GIDEON SO MUCH THAT SOMETIMES SHE THINKS ABOUT HIM TOO?

AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON YOU ACTUALLY CONFIRMING GIDEON’S FEELINGS FOR NICO ON THE

VERY. LAST. PAGE.

OF THE BOOK.

THEN SPOILING THE MOMENT BY ALSO HINTING TOWARDS NICO x LIBBY AT THE END OF THE PARAGRAPH.

AFTER NICO AND GIDEON’S KISS, I HAVEN’T BEEN THE SAME. I think I’m officially deranged now. Please, I’m on my hands and knees, I am BEGGING YOU, LET THIS SHIP BECOME CANNON. Libby x Nico is all good and well, BUT I NEED NICO AND GIDEON TO HAPPEN.

Anyways, that’s all! I’m sorry for forcing you to read roughly 150 words of me screaming about Nico and Gideon’s relationship, and I deeply apologize if this fanaticism of mine disturbed you. I love your Atlas trilogy, which also coincidentally inspired me to start writing again, and I am counting down the days until The Atlas Complex comes out! That’s all, and I hope you have an amazing rest of your day/night!

I’m so grateful to your whims!! seriously, thank you so much for reading and letting the books live in your head. also I love when people point these things out and tell me how “deranged” or “delusional” they are as if I’m not the person who wrote those things down lol (who could have easily just NOT but then ABSOLUTELY DID, like some kind of CRIMINAL—)

which is to say I’m not going to comment on basically any of this but please picture me with my copy of book 3 just sort of giving you a thumbs up and smiling vacantly, the kind of smile that might suggest something cryptic or might just mean I left the stove on at home but it’s really impossible to tell at this juncture

[chanceofwhat]

I have a cold and I’m miserable so I’m rewatching my favorite childhood show, Phineas and Fuckin’ Ferb.

I’m low key live-blogging to my bff so I might as well put some here. I started at season 2 because that’s what google says is the best season and I think it’s right.

- Doofenshmirtz has so much trauma and OWCA agents are therapists. He just sits there and eats wings with Perry and talks about how sad he is that he can’t come up with anything evil, then in the aglets episode Perry gives him the delete button to get rid of the embarrassing video, and when the evil plan doesn’t work he comes right back to Perry and says “I have an ouchie… in here” pointing to his HEART IM GONNA CRY DOOOOOOF

- Perry the Platypus makes that little sound intentionally. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a sound. Like when I hum at people. It has no translatable meaning, just tone.

- Candace is so stubborn. But she does love her brothers. She gets so mad about the aglets thing, but with Nessy Nosie, she looks at her brother’s puppy eyes and immediately agrees to throw away the evidence she wanted. Then she meets the ACTUAL MYTHICAL MONSTER and doesn’t even care, is just stubborn about it.

- “HAHAHA, IT WORKED! Your miracle growth elixir has turned you into GIANT NERDS!”

- I do enjoy the flawless girl thing. Beauty/cosmetic thing with a whole bunch of cosmetics to make insecure teenagers feel the need to buy a whole bunch of products to look “perfect” but it’s very hyperbolized so it’s clearly visible to be bad, and I’m sensing a moral about that as well. Heck yea. As I’m typing, we’re reaching the end of the episode and yea, “you both make money off of people’s natural insecurities!” Good moral.

- “Oh, that’s our sister… our -chuckles- Big sister.” (She drank the growth elixir)

- (she shrinks back while approaching her mom) “I’m back to normal!” “Normal being a… relative term.”

- why are Baljeets parents so… the way they are. I feel so bad for Baljeet. He’s got that Smart Kid Pressure ™ and can’t escape from it. Except in that one episode… but I haven’t gotten there yet.

- “oh my gosh, the square root of soon… is never.”

- “doofenshmirtz 🎶quality 🎵bratwurst”

- “Make this fish put me down!” “It’s a mammal, Candace!”

- “Your hot dog is no match… for my BRATWURST!” (No but the way Perry just keeps a hot dog in his hat that he summoned like a wizard summons a broom) (the way they’re swordfighting and Doof just takes a bite of Perry’s blade)

-Ferb is so autism

- “You know what they say: if you love something, set it free.” “We do that every day with Perry— oh, there you are, Perry!”

[potetosaradas]

Some Prime/Diane Prime thoughts/headcanons based on my recent post about prime hhdhhrgghh

Prime love bombing his Diane to make her fall in love with him faster so he could marry her asap for the immunity

He’s always hated Diane.

He knows logically that this Diane didn’t take Rick away from him but every time he looks at her face he can’t help but remember his ex partner. Other self.

And he hates that she’s so boring and predictable. (Just like him— why is it that all Ricks seem to meet Dianes? He cant seem to escape fate’s hand or change it with science… yet) It’s not even her fault. Maybe, if he hadn’t met Diane C137 first, he might’ve genuinely liked this Diane.

But. He hates her. Every little thing she does, does nothing but fan the flames of his hatred and contempt. She remembers things about him. Insignificant details. Like his coffee order. Black but with three sugars. So no one can tell he has a secret sweet tooth. No one besides, well, himself and now, Diane C139 knows this. It creeps him out that she watches him as closely as he watches her. He’d have to kill her for knowing that. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Not for a long time.

Again, it’s not her fault. She’s just collateral to a larger plan. A necessary sacrifice in God’s plan. Prime almost feels sorry for her. But then, he remembers that this is the woman Rick had chosen over him and he can’t help but compare himself to her, wondering: really, what did Rick see in her that he so obviously lacked?

She certainly wasn’t…. Unpleasant to look at. He had to admit that. Decent rack. Round butt.

She’d do this little squeak when he’d squeeze it unexpectedly. Unapologetically.

Little Mouse, he’d call her, laughing at the way her nose would scrunch up in disgust at the association with a common household pest. If I’m a mouse, she’d argue, then you’re a Big Rat. A Big Dirty Rat? He’d tease. The worst kind of sewer rat, Diane declares with a huff, but somehow, she’d always melt when Prime slipped his arms around her waist, holding her close to his chest. Her neck would tilt as he’d nose her, just beneath her jawline— breath hot on her skin. How did he know that spot would create the tiniest little damp spot on her silk panties?

Well, he murmurs, I know everything about you sweetheart. She rolls her eyes. It’s got to be hyperbolic. He’s so close—

So close, he can smell her one note honey sweet perfume. Too easy.

It makes him sick. All of this. This counterfeit love. Artificial, like the sugars he dumps in his coffee. He’ll still sit here all day, of course, flirting with his blonde waitress at shoneys.

They’ll still fool around in his backseat later after her shift finishes. He’ll still eat her out till she cums, thighs pressed around his head as she curls her fingers and toes at the feeling of his tongue sliding between her legs.

You’re so good at this, Diane says breathlessly, eyes dark and blonde hair wild. At least one of us is, Prime snorts. She thinks it’s about her. It’s actually about him. But she doesn’t need to know that.

She’s lucky if he fucks her mouth pretending it’s Rick’s. On his worst days, he pretends it’s Diane C137’s.

Prime has to admit, Diane C139 is a champ for being able to take it. But it’s nothing less than what he’d expect from his Diane. No matter what he dishes out, she comes back to him like a yo-yo.

Any snag or kink can always be worked out. He used to curse all the Diane knowledge he’d unwillingly been subjected to by Rick, but its funny that this very information is helping him reel her closer to accepting his hand in marriage with every passing week.

Prime can’t wait to get married to her.

The sooner they get married, the sooner he can finally drop this exhausting mask 🙄

[destinyimage]

Need A Financial Upgrade? 5 Practical Strategies that Will Change Your Life

So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches? (Luke 16:11 NIV)

If someone walked into the room you’re sitting in right now and handed you a check for your personal use for 1 million dollars, would you know what to do with it?

Let’s call it the million-dollar question. Maybe that’s a lot of money to you, or maybe you live in a major city where it would buy you a one bedroom apartment that’s really just a converted studio. Either way, I think this question reveals a lot about our desires.

You have a relationship with money. It may be dysfunctional, ambivalent, or healthy and biblical. The fact remains, we all need it, and we all need to make our peace with that fact. You may not think of anything to do with money as a spiritual discipline, but here’s where you’d be wrong. Jesus talks about money more than faith and prayer combined in the gospels. This gives me the sneaking suspicion that God really cares about what we do with it and how we steward it.

My personal relationship with money has been dysfunctional up until just a few years ago, and we’re still working out the kinks. We still argue now and again, but for the most part we have made our peace. I endeavor to one day say what Paul the apostle states in Philippians 4:11-13 (ESV):

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

For the most part, that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” is used as a catch-all for being able to do impossible things for Jesus. What Paul is actually aiming at here is letting the Philippian church know that he’s thankful for the financial gift that they sent, but if they don’t provide, God will and the job will get done because Jesus is the one who is really in control, and Paul is content with that.

There are two ends of the spectrum when it comes to money that I will use as extremes to make a point. Try your best to avoid placing yourself outside these categories of idolatry even though I am using hyperbole to force my argument. We all live in this space somewhere and need to land where God wants us to when it comes to money— living as good stewards of a temporal tool that is used to expand the eternal Kingdom.

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Here are the categories we all fall into at some point more or less, and both can leave us stranded on the rocks, shipwrecked and grasping for something that simply floats.

1. The unsatisfied and rich worshiper of mammon

2. The unsatisfied and poor worshiper of mammon

When I speak here about dissatisfaction, I’m not talking about a holy and righteous fervor that drives us closer to the King and out of our placid and boring routine Christianity. That is a good dissatisfaction and it should be steeped in like a good pot of cowboy coffee in the wild. Let it be as thick and as potent as possible, and drink it to the dregs.

The dissatisfaction I’m speaking about is the kind that is thankful for very little, frustrated at their current financial position in life, envious of others’ success and happiness, and constantly accumulating “stuff” to fill some kind of gaping hole in their heart.

Both types are frustrated, and both types serve the same god of money whether they are aware of it or not.

Take a moment and truly look at your life when it comes to money and your relationship with it. Is there any part of you that is envious of others’ gain? Any portion of you that hates the rich simply for the fact that they have more than you? Is there part of you that can’t let go of your possessions, whether it be wealth or even control of relationships? Is there any part of you that needs to accumulate the things of this earth without a thought toward eternal reward?

Simply put, whether it is a lot or a little, is money keeping you from full communion with Jesus? This is not a judgment on the rich or the poor. It is a judgment of the heart. Where are your true riches? You may never be rich and, God bless you, you may never be broke, but where is your heart?

There is a simple answer to break free from this cycle and from this false god. If you serve God with your life and habits, everything in you will tell you that this is not the way. That what I am about to say is Old Testament or religious or pharisaical. That, in short, you are entitled to your feelings and your patterns of behavior. But if you really want to be free, this is where you will start. Tithe.

There is a lot of talk in this generation about whether or not this is a New Testament concept. It is clearly a biblical principle that fits the entire narrative of scripture, and those who deny it are usually stingy and not trying with all their might to find a way to be New Testament generous (sell everything and lay it at the apostles’ feet). But here, let’s just view it simply as a spiritual discipline.

When you learn to give your money, specifically, to your local church, you take yourself out of the position of victim and beggar and into the position of provider and giver. You are acknowledging the fact that it is God who provides and cares for your needs.

The issue with money is a simple one, but for many a difficult wrestle. Not everyone will be rich, but everyone can be rich toward God. Wealth in the Kingdom is not necessarily seen as “How much do you have?” but more “What did you do with what you were given?”

Neither poverty nor great accumulation of wealth are inherently holy. What matters is how you honor God with your wealth in the end. Truly, in the end. You will not be judged based on what someone else had or be compared to another. You will be judged based on what you did with what you were given. This is the focal point of stewardship in the Bible. Everything that you have has been given to you. Gifts, talents, ability, upbringing, all of it. So now, what will you do with that in order to stay on the path?

The choice is yours.

The Path to Monetary Discipline

As almost everyone knows, money needs a plan before it arrives in your bank account so that you are managing your money and it’s not managing you.

Whether you have a lot or a little, here is what I suggest. Sit down with your spouse, if you have one, and write these down.

1. Pray and Begin Tithing

Money can be a sticky issue for many people. It’s best to invite God and His word into your financial planning. What He says goes. Everyone has different gifts, values, and goals; these first need to align with what God wants you to do with your money.

You should immediately begin giving to your local church; this is the first step in biblical generosity. If you don’t want to tithe, that’s fine; go with the New Testament standard—sell everything, and lay it at the feet of your spiritual leaders with no strings attached.

2. Write Down Your Values

What are your actual values when it comes to money? Investment for the future? Memorable experiences? Over the top generosity? Frugality? Luxury?

Write a few down and then find common ground if you’re “negotiating” with a spouse.

3. Set Financial Goals

This may seem obvious, but most people don’t have them. The way my wife and I do this is that we choose an amount at the beginning of each year that we would like to give away. The fact that you are tithing to your local church should go without saying. How much over and above that do you want to give? Generosity is the main thrust of our financial goal setting. We find our needs are well taken care of since this mindset shift.

4. Write Down a Budget

This is another obvious one, but very rarely seen practice. Use whatever system you need to. If your income fluctuates, use a percentage system in order of biblical values. Our basic order is: give, invest, take care of needs, vacation saving, holiday saving, wants or extra toward goals. This is simple, and life throws curve balls, but at least you can be ready for them when they come.

5. Be Grateful

Cultivate a sense of gratitude for every single solitary thing that happens to you. This is often learned in difficulty, but it doesn’t have to be. Start a list of things you are grateful for. You can start with intangibles, but when it comes to actual provision from God, celebrate it like crazy. You may seem crazy to your friends, but if you’re going to be rich, be joyful, and if you end up broke, be joyful.

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[artemismn]

wowww an essay thak you !

im assuming you picked the last option, which is like You need to do more than fanfarm

i agree with that one too, and i do think reading stories and having an understanding of the character you produce matter more than what you have of the character in the game. overall.

when i think of producing wataru, and what i want of him, i want lots of itabags and a truck full of nuis and every keychain thats ever been made

i also want a deep understanding of his character, i want to know him more so so so bad. ive read maybe 1/3 of the wataru stories so far

in the game i have 70k fans and am only missing a couple of his cards

ive been crazy about wataru everu day for over a year too

i was seeking peoples opinions and views, thank you for delivering so well 🙂

Hello! i’m glad that i didn’t annoy you with that essay in the notes haha

I actually picked the 3rd to last option, that the only requirement to produce is to like and pay attention. it most closely aligned with my view point that all you have to do it engage with the character on a regular basis, even if it’s not as grand as having a full ita bag or having 10k+ fans. since even if it seems small to me, like i said in my reblog, there’s so many different ways to enjoy a media like enstars that i feel like i don’t really have a place to draw a line on what’s “enough” to be a producer! i mainly used hyperboles in my “essay” to explain my point. honestly, as long as someone isn’t claiming to be a producer of a character then consuming literally 0 content of said character, not participating in any events, not pulling in gacha, and not even talking about the character regularly (basically not engaging at all) then i’m not going to say they aren’t a true producer of a character ^^ though i do understand your perspective.

my perspective probably comes from my relationship to enstars throughout the years. i started playing in late 2016 at age 12 and now in 2023 i’m 19 lol. i’ve always been a fineP, with tori being my first fave then wataru turning into my number 1 fave shortly afterwards. over the years my level of interest has fluctuated, with there being times of obsession and times of hiatus, but i’ve always come back to the same characters, to wataru and fine as a whole, you know? even during the times of hiatus, there’s never been a time where i didn’t consider myself a wataruP/fineP. same thing with the friends i’ve met through enstars, i’ve watched them leave and come back to the game (perhaps come back more casually), but i don’t see their love for their faves leave them. in my eyes, i still see them as producers for those characters.

sorry for giving my whole enstars back story lol, your post/ask just got me thinking about my relationship to enstars! ^^ very introspective topic.

to me, wataru is a character that has always brought me happiness. when i think about what i want out of wataru, what i think of first the is comfort and happiness he provides to me. i want to see him and i want to understand him as a character. he’s someone i relate to very much. i want his cards and i want to get merch of him.

right now i have all but one of his cards on enstars!! music (i missed his 7th anniversary card during a hiatus waahhh). i only have about 43k+ fans though (going for rank B rn) because like i said in my “essay”, collecting fans wasn’t really an aspect i really considered much or cared about, at least not until recently haha. (he’s on all my main teams, but they all got maxed out so i didn’t progress far after that). i was planning on making an ita bag for him/fine a few years back (even bought the bag for it) but uhh yeah that adhd slump hit and ive ran out of spoons for it ^^; it’s fine though i’m happy with my nuis and scattered merch

anyway thanks for the ask 👍 i think your perspective is very interesting and i liked hearing about how you view your relationship with wataru! sorry that this turned into another, even longer, essay i love talking about things. have a nice night/day :)

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 157

The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo/The Doctor’s Wife

“The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo”

Plot Description: an unsuspecting but hip hacker is hired by Dick Roman to break through Frank’s firewall and gain information in the Winchesters

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No one died

Oh. The Leviathans are doing a “fun” little eugenics project before before just turning humans into breakfast, lunch, and dinner

Well, I guess Frank IS dead. Sorry Frank.

Awww I love Charlie 💖 she and I have similar looking work desk

Dick’s EXTREMELY THINLY veiled metaphors…they’re not even metaphors. He’s explicitly saying his plans, they just sound like hyperbole

Ooooo Bobby is gonna turn vengeful but I don’t think it’s gonna be Dick

Damn near choked on my lunch when Dick told Charlie’s boss that she was in the same league as Bruce Springsteen and Eli Manning as irreplaceable people…where he is absolutely replaceable like Tim Tebow…and Joe Biden. Just DYING here

I’m trying to get a better look at Charlie’s apartment decor…just looks cool. They’re making plans to break into Dick’s office

Dammit Bobby…DAMMIT BOBBY. You can’t just hitch a ride in Charlie’s bag via flask

I know it was fine and culturally relevant at the time this came out to reference [fandom redacted], but it does sour my mood

I can’t believe the writers pretended that even just the description of Charlie’s tattoo isn’t at all sexy…

The WAY Dean is so very good at walking Charlie through flirting with men

You know that vague sense of unease you get at the end of Blink because you have no idea which statues all over the place could be Weeping Angels? I’m getting that way with every background extra for Leviathans, and like…much more than I had with any demons

Oh. Except the background extras from the private airport were actually………Sam and Dean

No, Bobby. Stay focused.

God he’s so creepy. Which is good for a billionaire who’s also a biblical monster but damn. It does seem like a fun role to get to play

Don’t put what to do about Bobby on the back burner guyssssss

“The Doctor’s Wife”

Plot Description: The Doctor is lured to a sentient asteroid outside of the Universe by a Time Lord distress signal and soon realises his TARDIS is in grave danger.

I just…why would he trust that the distress call ACTUALLY can’t from “one of the good” Time Lords??

And that’s what you get for buying that lie

OMG I FORGOT NEIL WROTE THIS ONE!!! Mr Gaiman, I’m sorry for being incredulous, but god I hope he doesn’t ever see this

“Biting’s excellent! It’s like kissing only there’s a winner.” Did he write this from/for present day tumblr??

Like…I KNOW what “the little boxes will make you angry” means but it’s another thing to HEAR all those Time Lords that got lured there

Michael Sheen as House is just…..he HAS THE RANGE, DARLING

Omggggg his sad little “don’t we all?” when Amy tells him he wants to be forgiven for what he did to Gallifrey 😭😭😭

That’s not good…

I do have a much different reaction to the reveal of how House repairs Uncle and Auntie than I probably did when I first saw this episode. I’ll hold off on whether it’s at all their fault too til later

Not saying that the Doctor isn’t right to be angry at the situation, but can Uncle and Auntie REALLY be blames?

Oh, Idris/the TARDIS is such a Gaiman character (affectionate, absolutely affectionate) from my experience with his work

Oh noooo, House just abducted Amy and Rory. That…is gonna be the worst mistake it made

OMG 💀 Uncle and Auntie are literally just like

The TARDIS calls Amy the orange girl. Cute

Wait, is…is this the one where Amy and Rory have to face all sorts of horrors in the TARDIS??

BOLD of the Doctor to look at the TARDIS junkyard and not think at all about how HIS TARDIS will feel about piecing together a new TARDIS out of parts of old ones after his reaction to the repairs on Uncle and Auntie…..just sayin

Oh. It is…I think.

She always took him where he needed to go ❤️❤️

Nooooooo. There it is, Amy and Rory got separated…again and again. I hate the pain they go through in this one. She’s done nothing wrong but he’ll yell at her because she’s made him wait again after already waiting 2000 years

Like…did he think he could JUST BUILD a TARDIS without putting the soul of a TARDIS in it??

Look. I know House is messing with them and all, but if I found out there was ANY possibility that I could believe the person I was with could loathe me so much that they’d write “KILL [NAME] DIE [NAME] HATE [NAME]” over and over and over all over the corridor where they died??? I don’t think I could so easily and so quickly run into their arms even when I found out that was an illusion. Yeah, I’d still go with them, but…..

I’m also having a different reaction to the whole the name of the TARDIS thing…

Oh it’s nice to see Nine/Ten’s control room again, at least i think that’s what it was. Feels so long ago now

“She’s the TARDIS?!” “And a woman” “did you wish really hard?” “Shut up, not like that”

There are some REALLY good lines. Great job, Neil!!“Fear me, I’ve killed hundreds of Time Lords” “Fear me, I killed them all”

She just wanted to tell him hello. She stole him away from Gallifrey seven hundred years ago and only got to say hello this once after all that time

[astrok1dz]

Glass Half Full (Edward Nashton x GN!Reader)

Part Two

A/n: OMG YALL THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT 😭😭😭 I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY IT

TW: stalking, mentions of killing

You were convinced law of attraction was real by now.

It had been two weeks since you saw the smart guy from the store and all you could do was think and ramble about him to your coworkers (earning cheeky grins and teasing from them, of course). Yet what was even weirder was how since that day you described him to your workmates you saw him everywhere you went, almost as if he had listened to your longing for him that day and decided to tag along.

Little did you know he had, in fact, been listening, hiding by the back door that day.

You had seen him at least five times now; at the supermarket, at a diner two blocks from your apartment, at the library, even downtown. And every time you spotted him, Edward tried hard to keep his composure as if he hadn’t just been stalking you (or at least trying to five minutes ago).

The last time you bumped onto him you were surprisingly going for a walk along the park when you saw a similar silhouette sitting under a tree, apparently looking towards you.

Your mind worked wonders trying to figure out where you’d seen him before when, with a squeal you realised he was the cute customer.

Edward, on the other hand, almost jumped when he saw you walking faster in his direction, quickly hiding his notebook and binoculars.

Had you seen what he hid you might have called him disgusting, stepped on him, even spat on him (although in retrospect he wouldn’t had hated it).

He had spent all his time after your encounter dividing his evenings between his plan for cleansing Gotham, and inoffensively searching everywhere for anything related to you, or keeping a close eye on you as you walked back home at night, ready to take anyone that might want to harm you.

He saw you. He saw you walk home and get followed by others apart from him and get catcalled too. His blood just boiled. He didn’t want to be your stupid man saviour, he just wanted your safely so badly. Of all the filth in Gotham he saw you shine so bright, offer him the kindness and sweetness no one ever had, on your first encounter. He just had to protect you, to keep anything bad from happening to you.

He didn’t care if he got to keep you or you got to keep him, if he got to be beside you or not.

He found himself frequently photographing your encounters with other people, documenting just how sweet and kind you tried to be with them at all times.

You really contrasted with all the gross creeps out there in the city.

“It doesn’t matter if I get to be yours…”- he mumbled on his room, looking over his little collage of all your little habits and facts he could gather without being too intrusive.

“Someone as wonderful as you should deserve to live happily, even in this city of filth”.

— — — — —

“Excuse me? Have I seen you before? I’m sorry for the weird question you just look so familiar!”

Of course you knew who he was, you hadn’t been able to take your mind off him for the past days.

He flinched.

Holy shit they’re talking to you Edward. SAY SOMETHING. HIDE THE NOTEBOOK. Okay act cool Ed, you can’t waste this chance.

“Uh, aren’t you the cashier from the convenience store?”- he mumbled, faking doubt.

Oh. My God. You can’t be more stupid can you? There are a trillion stores in the city, now you just sound like a creep! Now they’re probably grossed out and-

But you just nodded your head excitedly, a huge smile on your face you simply couldn’t brush off, along with a ‘Yes! Yes! That’s me!’.

“You’re the riddle guy, right? The smart one!”

Dear Christ. He thought his heart would melt. Better, actually, explode! And that wasn’t even a hyperbole. Not only did you remember him but you kept thinking he was smart. The day just couldn’t get any better.

“Thank you, and yes that’s me”. You saw him blush as he nodded along.

“What are you doing here?”- you sat down next to him and he found it hard to control himself.

“W-what do you mean?”, he asked nervously, fumbling with his glasses.

“Well you didn’t seem like someone that goes outside a lot-”, you chuckled, joking around.

Shit. You already knew that about him? Now YOU seemed like a stalker. Wait, had they followed him home? Oh God Edward, think straight.

“Why’s that?”, he said, trying not to sound rude. You giggled to yourself and simply looked at him with a smile before responding.

“I mean, c’mon, it was all the usual stuff until you brought up the life-worth stock of instant noodles”, you make a lame attempt at humour and somehow, get laughter out of him, and you think you might be dreaming for a second.

He laughs and he curves up, covering his smile and flushed face with one hand. He giggled like a silly little girl would and something about it is endearing.

For once you both think the same thing. How strange yet endearing it is, to sit down with barely a stranger and feel so belonging in that same place.

He confirms your suspicions by nodding and you give him a smile. Asking now about Halloween, going on with a conversation carried almost purely by yourself but listened to entirely by Edward.

He’s delirious, definitely. This couldn’t be happening to him. But he knew it was, the pretty cashier talking to him after bumping into him stalking them for like the fifth time. Talking to him about Halloween. That was just it for him. He knew now he at least talked to you a bit more he had to pay you more visits, make you letters with riddles, everything. His confidence boost was around every time you were there with him, just like when he killed.

“See you, smart guy!”, you said walking away once the conversation finished.

Oh, and cleaning this city of scum, how could he forget that? It was his favorite thing right after being next to you.

Maybe he could do both on one night. And he soon would.

—————

@cedricshecrt @glitterycheesecakegladiator THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT ON PART ONE <3

[minisugakoobies]

Thunder & Lightning | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Genre: fluff, established relationship, non-Idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: it's very very soft, Namjoon has platinum hair, I feel like that's a valid warning

Word Count: 500 on the dot again

Disclaimers: None, other than I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: A sudden thunderstorm and a surprise offer make for an electrifying Saturday.

Prompts: fluff #1 “you look better in my clothes than i do.” & #50 “this isn’t adrenaline, i want to spend my life with you.”

A/N: Last one! This is for another anon. Sorry it took so long! I hope you enjoy this ridiculously fluffy fic. 💜

Thanks to everyone who sent in a request - I had so much fun with these. And a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has ever read, liked, reblogged, commented, sent me messages about my stories - y'all are truly the best. 💜💜💜💜💜

Unbeta'd as usual. Let me know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Milestone Celebration Masterlist

Thunder rumbles as your boyfriend unlocks his apartment door. You enter behind him, dripping muddy water all over his kitchen tiles. “Ah, sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he calls over his shoulder as he wanders down the hall to his bedroom. “Let me grab you something clean.”

The two of you had been enjoying an invigorating Saturday morning run when a freak thunderstorm suddenly cut things short. Your mad scramble to return to his place before you got struck by lightning took a bad turn when you tripped and slid down a small hill, landing in a nasty mud puddle at the bottom.

Namjoon hands you some clothing before he wraps you up in a big fluffy towel, hugging you, pretending to squeeze all the water out while you giggle. You change in the kitchen, not wanting to track filth everywhere. When he returns from throwing your dirty clothes in the washer, he chuckles softly.

“You look better in my clothes than I do.”

You glance down at yourself. His t-shirt and shorts aren’t quite your style. They fit well enough, but they look much better on his large, muscular frame.

You snort. “Hardly. But… maybe I should keep some spare clothes here? For the future?” you add hesitantly. Although you’ve known each other for years, you’ve only been dating for three months and haven’t had any serious discussions about your relationship yet. Don’t want to jump the gun. “Just in case.”

He rifles through the fridge, handing you a coffee milk. “Or maybe you should just move in.”

“What?” And here you were afraid of getting ahead of yourself.

“I’m just saying. You could keep some clothes here, or you could keep all your stuff here.” He grins. “You practically live with me anyway. When’s the last time you slept in your own bed?”

“Uh…” He’s being a little hyperbolic - you don’t stay over every night. True, it has been a few days. And shuffling back and forth to your apartment to grab things is annoying. But still. Blinking rapidly, you shake your head. “Okay, you’re still on your runner’s high. Euphoria makes people say funny things.”

Namjoon laughs, looping his strong arms around your waist. “It’s not a runner’s high! This isn’t adrenaline, I want to spend my life with you. Why wait?” His nose nuzzles yours. “I love you. Move in with me.”

This isn’t how you’d imagined your Saturday would go. This is far beyond any of your expectations - or your dreams, honestly. You feel electrified.

Cupping his squishy cheeks in your hands, you practically shout, “I love you too!”

He dips his mouth against yours, and you can’t contain the joyful giggles that bubble up. Neither can he. Your laughter mixes together in a jubilant harmony. “So you’re moving in?”

“I’m moving in,” you confirm, brushing a lock of his platinum hair from his face. He kisses you again, and the storm booming outside is a dull roar compared to the thundering of your heart.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[hamliet]

Hello! I have a question about the Brothers Karamazov if you're interested! I just reread the book and loved it as always, but I the one thing I can never figure out is what is the deal with Ivan and Smerdyakov's relationship?? I can't tell if Smerdyakov genuinely liked him or just used him? Anyways love all your head canons and fanfics, thanks for reading my ask!

You can always talk Dostoyevsky to me!

So I think it is ambiguous on the surface, but if you dig into both of their characters the answer becomes clearer.

Considering the novel's basic tenet of "Ivan is always wrong" (I'm hyperbolizing and being slightly facetious) and that Ivan POV is closer to being about "use," I'm inclined to argue Smerdyakov really did like Ivan, but because Ivan is Ivan and Russian society is Russian society, that care turned to resentment. 

See, Pavel was Ivan’s youngest brother, and yet was never acknowledged as a Karamazov, even though it was obvious that he was Fyodor’s son. Even though he lived with them, he was raised by the servants who beat him (while Grigory also basically raised Fyodor’s other three sons for the times they weren’t off with other relatives, I doubt he was abusive like he was to Pavel). Pavel wasn’t afforded the education or opportunities Mitya, Ivan, or Alyosha were. There’s a class aspect here, too, of course--Pavel is a servant.

The closest anyone in their entire family ever came to acknowledging Pavel was Ivan having those conversations about philosophy with Pavel. Pavel wanted a brother, even if he wouldn’t acknowledge it to himself, and Ivan wanted a pupil. That’s the tragedy--Ivan didn’t get what Pavel was really after, and maybe was incapable of acknowledging to himself. 

Furthermore, these conversations are the closest Pavel gets to separating himself from his birth reality. His mother was intellectually disabled, and Pavel is also looked down upon intellectually-speaking--but the reality is, as we find out, Pavel is actually acutely intelligent. 

When Pavel kills Fyodor, I think it’s pretty clearly out of resentment and anger for the way his father not only brought him into existence (raping his intellectually disabled mother), but treating him as a servant and giving him his patronymic Fyodorovitch, but not his surname. That’s insulting enough as is, but to make it worse, Pavel’s last name is made up and cruel: Smerdyakov, meaning the stinking one, meaning that people are always seeing Pavel as scum from the streets, as dirty, as unintelligent. 

I see no reason in the novel not to think that Pavel’s framing of Dmitri and manipulation of Ivan is motivated by anything different than his motivation for killing Fyodor: it’s resentment, and fundamentally, it’s about loneliness. Lest I seem like I’m being too soft on Pavel, I’m actually drawing this sympathetic portrayal from the novel’s most righteous character, the character who embodied the novel’s themes: Father Zosima. Pavel in the end commits suicide, but here’s how Zosima says we ought to view suicides: 

But woe to those who have slain themselves on earth, woe to the suicides! I believe that there can be none more miserable than they. They tell us that it is a sin to pray for them and outwardly the Church, as it were, renounces them, but in my secret heart I believe that we may pray even for them. Love can never be an offence to Christ. For such as those I have prayed inwardly all my life, I confess it, fathers and teachers, and even now I pray for them every day.

Zosima continues on to associate suicide with a deep sense of isolation, of feeling cut off from society and from God. Check and check: Pavel is cut off from society because of his origins, his name, and is even cut off from his family while existing in the same house (if that’s not a metaphor for society ignoring the hurting, the ones they inflicted pain on, while they’re physically present in society I don’t know what is). He is also cut off from God because of his birth origins (being the product of an exceedingly cruel and sinful act; Dostoyevsky has a particular condemnation for rapists, likely stemming from a documented experience he had as a child). 

But to feel isolated, one has to want to connect. To feel lonely, one has to want someone to care. That’s Pavel. 

For Ivan’s part... for all Ivan’s intelligence, he lacks basic empathy rooted in reality. He likes empathy in theory, but he neglects active love (another key point of Father Zosima’s, as seen in this conversation with Mrs. Khokhakov during which she describes her own loneliness and isolation: 

“Oh, how unhappy I am! I stand and look about me and see that scarcely any one else cares; no one troubles his head about it, and I’m the only one who can’t stand it. It’s deadly—deadly!”

“No doubt. But there’s no proving it, though you can be convinced of it.”

“How?”

“By the experience of active love. Strive to love your neighbor actively and indefatigably. In as far as you advance in love you will grow surer of the reality of God and of the immortality of your soul... active love is a harsh and fearful thing compared with the love in dreams. Love in dreams thirsts for immediate action, quickly performed, and with everyone watching. Indeed, it will go as far as the giving even of one's life, provided it does not take long but is soon over, as on stage, and everyone is looking on and praising. Whereas active love is labor and persistence, and for some people, perhaps, a whole science.”

Ivan claims to reject God and all sorts of things based on the empathy he feels for children who have been wronged, but he does not actually put that empathy into active practice with a literal abused child who is his actual blood brother sitting right in front of him. This is incredibly tragic, and it’s why Pavel uses Ivan’s theory to justify his murder of Fyodor. He does so by basically stating that he’s the tool in Ivan’s hand, carrying out his ideas. 

In his death, and in his confession to Ivan, Pavel achieves two things: firstly, he offers Ivan a chance to offer him approval, and secondly, he proves Ivan wrong, showing Ivan how flawed he was and how useless his theories are if they achieve nothing but death and ruin for Ivan’s loved ones (and for the entire family that rejected Pavel). It’s paradoxical, for sure, but it’s Dostoyevsky, so would it be anything else?