#WELL GUESS YOU MIGHT JUST TOOK THE CHANCE FROM SOMEBODY TO GET MONEY WHO ACTUALLY NEEDS IT BUT HEY YOU CAN WRITE ON YOUR CV THAT YOU GOT

[crazy-fruit]

How broken can a system be? Why does my flatmate, with one parent being a vice-dean at a university and really not needing the money get a scholarship for one year with monthly payments. But I got declined. Despite doing volunteer work and being a first in academia. But hey my grade is 0.4 worse than hers.

[marshmallowprotection]

so it IS surprising that the twins know when their birthday is--what if it's more that, like their age, they took an educated guess (like they had something vague like "it's in June" and just picked a day) after leaving home and when they reunite they realize they've been using different days. I'm just imagining like

MC: so when is your guys' birthday?

saeyoung: june 11th

saeran: the 11th? I've been using the 9th

saeyoung: it could be the 9th. oh! then that would make you the older twin! haha

MC thinking like "i probably shouldn't be surprised by this"

It's quite possible Saeran and Saeyoung had to take a swing on their birthday. The only reason we know it's their birthday is that we've got information outside of the fourth wall that tells us so. But, what is in their life that could tell them that for sure? The only chance they may be aware of their true birthday comes from a simple hypothesis that Mother Choi hated that day more than anything, so that's how those boys knew it was their birthday.

I don't think she'd care enough to keep track of their real ages but certainly, she would make sure that day was a living hell for them. After all, they were supposed to be her meal ticket to a better life and it didn't work out that way. Now, she has to live in a way she never wanted for herself with children she never wanted. The only thing she ever wanted was the ability to spoil herself rotten with a rich partner. She didn't care about kids or anything else.

We can only assume she was okay with having children as long as it came with the implication that she would be set for life. She wanted to coast. 

At least, that's the way I imagine her to be. She was a young person in her mid to late twenties who was naive enough to believe she could manipulate a man well older than she was. I imagine Saejoong was in his mid to late thirties since he was on the cusp of finding his way into the status of Prime Minister, or at the very least, throwing his hat into the ring for the first time.

She was a calculated person who had worked her way through all kinds of men with money in their pockets, but she seems like the kind of person that would constantly crave much more. It would never be enough. She would keep reaching higher and higher until she found somebody at the tippy top. Too bad for her, she didn't have the know-how to navigate that herself. 

She could con her way through any man, but not one who had already been through this time and time again. 

Her goal was to get into his life to such a degree that she could become his wife and be spoiled for the rest of her life. Since he prides himself as a man who wants to protect the values of family, of course, he would want a beautiful wife and children. It makes sense in her head. Where it gets complicated is the information we don't have. We don't know if he was already in a relationship.

We don't know if he had a wife or children he considered his own at the time Mother Choi met him. All we know is they had a tumultuous fling and her last ditch effort to try and control him was through having the twins. I feel as though she took care of them enough when they were babies since the money he spared her was decent enough for the time. 

The hush money was good enough and she could dilute herself on the thought that he might actually turn around at some point. It would be after the money started to dwindle that she would treat the twins more and more like a nuisance. Once the threats and hardships began, her hatred of the twins would grow to a fever pitch and she would drink to cope with the situation. That would more or less lead us up to where we know the boys and their childhood before they managed to meet V and Rika. 

I am ultimately confident that the day is correct. I don't think the date is wrong and they know that day very well because of their mother. However, I do think that the year they were born may not be correct. They have no way of knowing and their mother wouldn't care to tell them enough about themselves.

The only chance they have over knowing a possible year would be if she screamed at them that they ruined her life “X” years ago. The boys can only take that with a grain of salt since the further she loses herself to her alcoholism, the less likely she is to be accurate on dates and times. 

So, that's something we have to think about with the boys. They don't know who is truly the older brother or the younger brother. They don't know how old they truly are and they might never be. All they have is the date. Since I doubt they were born in a hospital, there's no way to figure that one out.

It's a sad reality but it's something they have to deal with every day. Instead of worrying about that, they use the labels that they figured out a long time ago and leave them at that. Even if they have to guess for the rest of their lives, they use what they know and they stick with it. But, can you imagine if they did have the ability to figure it out? If they knew for certain who they were and how it happened?

What would happen if it turned out that Saeran was the oldest? If Saeyoung was the youngest? It wouldn't change anything but it would turn their worlds on its head.

[neonlights92]

GRACE: Chapter I

Kim Namjoon lost himself when he lost his hand.  Things have not been the same for him since.  When Taehyung tells him it’s time for him to marry - he isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of someone else having a front row seat to his struggle with himself.

That’s where you come in.  You’re a nurse, as well as a member of Bangtan, and Taehyung is never more sure about a match than he is with you and Namjoon.  Feeling like you’ve been chosen to help Namjoon on his journey back to finding who he is, you feel completely out of depth.

It’s only when you start to see the man underneath that you start to fall in love with Kim Namjoon.  And maybe after all, you might be his saving grace.

WARNINGS: Language, eventual sex and some violence

A/N:Namjoonie’s story! ENJOOOOY :D 

“Kim Taehyung wants to see you, Y/N.”

Your mother’s words dropped between the two of you, like lead.  Her eyes avoided your own - and you knew exactly what she actually meant.

Kim Taehyung has found you a husband.

Your chest tightened and you gripped the handle of your coffee mug for dear life.

Your eyes traveled over to your father, his face kind but stern.  This wasn’t up for debate.

“Okay.”  The word was quiet, “Do I - do you…” 

You took a deep breath and collected yourself.

“Who is he?”

The question hung in the air uncomfortably.

Your parents exchanged a look - the same look they’d exchanged your entire life when decisions were made for you and they were afraid you wouldn’t like it.

“I think we should let Taehyung tell you that.”  Your father’s voice was steady, “As Capo, it is his right.”

As capo.

You didn’t know Kim Taehyung very well at all.  Though the two of you were of a similar age - had grown up together in Bangtan - he had always been groomed for Capo.  You on the other hand, had been groomed like most other women in the mob: to believe that your most important duty in life was to carry on your family line.

You knew it was outdated.  And you hated it, though you’d never complain.

Life had taught you that complaints got you nowhere - and so you’d learnt to keep your head down and get on with it.

But that didn’t mean you’d never wanted more.  That you’d craved freedom and independence like no other.

And when your parents had allowed you to study nursing at university you really had thought maybe things were changing.  Until you’d realised that it had been a direct order from Taehyung’s father himself - the Capo at the time.

Bangtan needed their own nurse.  Someone who could take care of things quietly and efficiently.

Someone who could help those who were badly injured find some degree of normality.

And that’s what you did.

Still.  You loved your job - mob mandated or not.

“Okay.”  You whispered, feeling something like dread wash over you.

“His wife has invited you to dinner at theirs,” Your mother finally moved her gaze to connect with your own, “This evening.  Eight pm.”

You nodded, on autopilot.

This was what you’d done all your life, wasn’t it?

You listened to orders.  You never asked questions.  You never challenged Bangtan.

And if the Capo himself wanted to see you, then you knew it could only mean one thing.

He’d found you a husband.  And tonight, you would meet him too.

//

You stood outside Kim Taehyung’s mansion -- because that’s what it was, a mansion -- nervously fingering the hem of your blouse.

This was it.

You’d waited twenty-five years for this moment - the moment someone else decided who you would marry.

You’d always known it would be like this.  Your father was too powerful - he held too many cards too close to his chest - and Bangtan could never let someone like him choose his own daughter’s marriage.

He’d told you since you were a young girl to expect this.  An arranged betrothal.

And when you were little you thought it was sort of romantic.  Like some fairytale - a princess locked away in a tower and a knight who was destined to save her.

Except now you were older and it wasn’t all that romantic anymore.

It was stifling.

You knew your father had come to this agreement with Taehyung himself.  You hated that you lived in such a misogynistic world, but it was the way things had always been.

After a long moment and a deep, calming breath, you lifted your hand and knocked, once.

There was a beat and then the portal swung open.

And Kim Taehyung’s wife was smiling widely at you.  You forced your own lips up into a smile.

“Hi!  Y/N, was it?”

You curtsied a little feeling foolish straight after, “Yeah.  Hello Mrs Kim.”

“Ugh Mrs Kim is Taehyung’s mom,” She laughed, “You can call me ___.”

Her eyes were kind as she opened the door further and gestured you inside.

“Come in, please.  Dinner is almost ready and the boys are too.”

The boys.

Your heart skipped a beat.  For a moment you wondered if perhaps your father had somehow secured a marriage to the last available member of the Special Seven, Kim Namjoon.

But you shook your head.

Your father was important, of course… But surely not that important. 

Besides, from what you’d heard through the grapevine - since the accident that had caused Namjoon to lose most of his hand - he had pretty much become a hermit. The rumour mill was rife, of course, with people’s theories of what would become of Bangtan’s most eligible bachelor.

Could it be that Kim Taehyung wanted you to take up that mantle?

“I hope you like pasta,” ___ interrupted your thoughts and you looked up as stopped in front of a large dining room, “We hardly ever use this room anymore, but Taehyung thought it was appropriate for tonight.”

Your eyes widened at the opulence of the room you were stood in.  The chandelier that hung in the middle of the ceiling dripped with what you could only guess were the most expensive diamonds money could buy.  The long, mahogany table was ornate and rich - a dark colour that spoke of wealth and taste.

“It’s a little much,” ___ spoke up again and you turned to see her rolling her eyes, “But it was like this when we moved in.  Taehyung’s dad had a lot of money and apparently not a lot of subtlety.”

She laughed at the comment and you giggled too - relaxing a little as the tension eased from your shoulders slightly.  It seemed you’d found something of an ally in Taehyung’s wife and you were thankful for that, at least.

“I know we don’t really know each other,” She started carefully, a perfectly plucked brow pulling up slightly, “But I like to think of myself as a confidant of sorts… Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”

You raised your own brow, “Matters of the heart?”

She bit her bottom lip and you noticed the pity in her eyes.

As she opened her mouth to answer you, somebody cleared their throat to your left and your head snapped round, finding yourself looking up into the formidable gaze of Kim Taehyung.

He was alone, you noticed immediately, and you tried to keep your expression neutral.

This was the game of Bangtan.  A game you’d grown up in.

A game you knew well.

“Taehyung,” You greeted, nodding gently, “Thank you for inviting me.  It is an honour.”

His handsome face was cold - barely responsive as he nodded back to you, “Y/N.  Welcome to our home.”

Our home.

The words warmed you.

It had been clear for a while now that Kim Taehyung’s only weakness was his wife.  He would burn the entire world down for her - and you’d been told of this time and time again.

They had started off as an arranged marriage - almost six years ago now - when Taehyung’s father and his wife’s father had worked so closely with one another they had promised their children’s hand in marriage in an act of loyalty.

But things had changed in the years since.

It was well established that Kim Taehyung loved only one thing more than he loved Bangtan - and that was his wife.

You tried to focus on that - on the fact that loveless marriages could turn into something else - as ___ nudged her husband playfully.

“Don’t be so formal,” She teased and you couldn’t believe you were witnessing this exchange, “Y/N is a friend.”

Taehyung actually rolled his eyes playfully and smiled down at his wife, “I’m still Capo, darling.”

She laughed as well and your chest tightened.  You wanted that.

The obvious love they had for one another - the way they seemed to be so comfortable with each other it was like they had found their home.

“Well dinner’s almost ready Taehyung so go and get cleaned up.” ____ said, slipping an arm through yours and leading you towards the ridiculous mahogany table, “Come sit over here, Y/N.”

You noticed for the first time that the table was set for four people.

Your heart pounded against your chest.

“Who is it?”

The question slipped out of you before you even had a chance to think it through.  ____ froze. She was slipping into the seat beside you when her eyes turned to your own.

“What?”

“The fourth person,” You whispered, darting your eyes behind you to make sure Taehyung wasn’t within earshot distance, “My future husband.  Who is it?”

____ looked genuinely distraught for a moment.

You clicked your tongue.

“I’m a member of the South Korea mafia, ____, I know how this shit works.”  You noticed your words were a little sharp and you tried to soften them with a weak smile, “Just tell me who it is.  Please.”

____ seemed torn.  Her eyes roved your face carefully and she sighed. 

“He’s a good guy.”  She told you carefully, “Really.   I’m not just saying that.”

Your heart dropped.  The look in her eyes - the trepidation….

“It’s Kim Namjoon, isn’t it?”

A throat cleared itself loudly from behind you.  You snapped your head to the side and watched as the man himself sauntered towards the two of you.

“You rang?”  The sarcasm dripped from his tone as he stuck out his prosthetic hand for you to shake.  You supposed he was expecting you to be disgusted - maybe to rebuke him - but you were made of stronger stuff than that.

You forced yourself to smile, “Hello Namjoon.  I’m Y/N.”

He narrowed his eyes as you shook his prosthetic.

“I know who you are,” He raised a dark brow, “The future Mrs Kim Namjoon.”

The words were like heavy bricks - weighing down on your shoulders.

You knew next to nothing about this man.  Despite what ____ had said about him being a good man all you saw was bitterness and anger in his eyes.

“You’re the nurse, aren’t you?” 

You nodded carefully and tried to calm your pulse. 

“Well now we know why Taehyung chose you for me.  The cripple.”

____ cleared her throat and stood up abruptly.  Her eyes were dark and angry and she shook her head at Namjoon.

“No.  You don’t get to do that to her.  Not when she had nothing to do with any of this.”  Her bottom lip trembled slightly, “Apologise.” Namjoon’s face was a perfect mask of nonchalance.  His eyes flicked between you and ____ and he shrugged.

“What for?”

____ squared her shoulders, “You know exactly what for, Kim Namjoon.”

“I think that’s enough now,” Taehyung entered the room sharply, standing between his wife and friend.  His gaze fell on you after a moment, “I see the two of you have met.”

You nodded wordlessly, wondering just what in the hell was going on.

Namjoon was seething apparently, as he sulked to the left of his friend, arms crossed and eyes dangerously black.   

“Was he not as welcoming as he’d promised he’d be?”

“This is ridiculous V, we both know that.  You’ve chosen her because she’s a nurse and because of this,” He stuck his fake hand in the air and you refused to look away.

Nobody else in the room reacted for a moment.

Taehyung took a deep, calming breath.

“That was part of it, yes.”  He said evenly, “Y/N is a trained nurse and therefore she can help you move forward with this.  But she’s also a good match.  Right age, right height… Her parents are wealthy and important like yours.  It is a good union.  I have told you this plenty of times Namjoon.”

“I will not marry her because of pity,” Namjoon spat the word out, “I’m not some fucking charity case-” 

“I don’t pity you.” The words flew out of you and when three sets of eyes turned to fall on you, you wondered if it was the right choice.  You chose to focus on Namjoon.

“What?”

“I don’t pity you,” You told him honestly, gesturing to his prosthetic, “What happened is awful, obviously.  And I may never know the full extent of it.  But I don’t pity you.  You are a man with an obstacle in life.  There are many men with obstacles in life.  That doesn’t make you worthy of  pity.”

Namjoon’s eyes searched your face for something - what you weren’t sure - and she sighed heavily.  He seemed so tired.  You noticed the bags under his eyes, the lines in his forehead.  He was young - just a little older than you - and yet it seemed he’d aged so much recently.

“So you want to marry me?  You want to marry a man who’s had to learn how to live - how to do normal every day things like eat with a knife and fork - all over again?”

You shrugged, “I want to do what’s best for Bangtan.  If Taehyung says that’s a marriage between the two of us, then so be it.”

A long moment passed between the two of you.

Namjoon seemed to be sizing you up, and you took the opportunity to do the same.

He wasn’t ugly.  Far from it.  Kim Namjoon was tall and handsome - and from what you’d  heard through the grapevine - he was also smart and kind.

People spoke about him of course - he was a member of the Special Seven - and what they said was normally very positive.

He wasn’t like other Bangtan men.

He was grounded.  He was softer.  A man who used brains instead of braun.

You had to admit, those traits were attractive to you.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Alright then.”  He nodded and gave you a strange look - somewhere between admiration and confusion, “I suppose that says it all.”

Namjoon turned to Taehyung and nodded.

“We’ll get married at the earliest convenience.” _____ gasped from behind you but you barely registered the sound.

It had all been well and good in theory… But now what?

Kim Namjoon stuck his hand out to yours - his real hand made of flesh and bones - and smiled sardonically.

“Welcome to the family, Mrs Kim Namjoon.” You smiled back.  Mrs Kim Namjoon.

You could do this.

//

Planning a wedding was easy when you weren’t trusted to do a single thing.

Kim Namjoon’s family had promised to take care of everything - and as a family higher up in the Bangtan hierarchy than your own - there had been no argument to be made.

This was the way things worked in your world, and you’d learned long ago just to accept it. 

You barely saw your husband in the ensuing months.  He dropped by once to meet your parents and officially ask for your hand in marriage, and once more since then to update you on the wedding arrangements.

But apart from that he was like a ghost - you even forgot sometimes that you were supposed to be marrying him. 

You rarely thought about the fact that by the end of this year you would be Mrs Kim Namjoon and despite the relatively long engagement - six months was a long time in the world of Bangtan - you were happy you had the time to get used to the idea of marriage.

It wasn’t until one evening when Kim Namjoon came calling for you that the reality of the situation truly sunk in.

You were leaving work - it had been a particularly difficult day so far, and absolutely nothing seemed to be going smoothly.  In fact everything today had felt like it was seconds away from falling apart and you felt like you too, were going to break down.

And as you made your way across the parking lot you found Kim Namjoon, leaning against your car.  How he knew which one was yours was beyond you - but you smiled at him questioningly when you were within earshot.

“Hi.” He smiled almost sheepishly, “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms and squinted one eye shut as he stewed in your question for just a moment.  Then he sighed heavily.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

“Huh?” You raised a brow. 

Namjoon groaned and clicked his tongue, “Are you gonna make this difficult for me?”

“What? No!” You shook your head and shrugged, “I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The night I agreed to marry you I was a jerk.  And we’ve barely seen each other twice since we got engaged two months ago.”  He ran a hand through his hair, “I promised myself I wouldn’t be like that.  So I’m sorry.”

You cocked your head to the side, shocked at the show of vulnerability.  Namjoon was a Bangtan man - he should be cold and unforgiving - he should push away intimacy and hate the thought of opening himself up to anyone.

And yet here he was, apologising to you for something you’d assumed was just the way things were done when a marriage was arranged.

“Okay.”  You nodded slowly, “I forgive you.”

He smiled softly and you found yourself thinking he really did look handsome like that.

“I’d like us to be friends at least,” He shrugged, “If nothing else.”

You smiled back, “Friends sounds good to me.”

“Good.  Great.  Thank you,” He gestured to your car, “So can you give me a ride home?” You gave him a questioning look, “How did you get here?”

“My driver dropped me off,” He lifted his prosthetic hand, “I can’t really drive anymore.” 

There was a moment of almost awkward silence, but you refused to let something Namjoon couldn’t control, ruin the atmosphere.  He’d apologised to you - he was making something of an effort - and you owed it to him to do your part.

“I can help you with that,” You told him, pointing at his hand, “Getting used to it.  How long have you had it on for?”

“Half a year,” He looked away from you, “It’s still so uncomfortable.”

You took another step towards him and his eyes connected with yours.  

“I don’t care.”  You told him firmly, “I don’t care about the prosthetic.  I swear.  And I’m sorry it’s uncomfortable.  I’m sorry it happened to you.  But I’ll help you.  I will.  I promise.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened at your words and you were taken back by the way he was suddenly looking at you.

God.  He really was so handsome.

“Okay.”  He whispered, eyes darting across your face, “Yeah.  Thank you.  That would mean a lot.” The moment was suspended for another moment more, and you wondered if you might do something crazy like try and kiss him - before Namjoon cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

Jesus.

What was going on with you?

Your pulse was racing as you fumbled around your handbag for your keys and you told yourself the nerves were only because of the day you’d had.  It had nothing to do with the handsome man standing in front of you.

“You’re going to have to give me directions to your house,” You told Namjoon as the car unlocked and you both climbed in, “I’ve never had the privilege of visiting.” He snorted a laugh, “It’s a two minute drive from Taehyung’s.  If you drive that way I can guide you.”

“Sounds good.”

You buckled yourself in and tried to ignore the way your cheeks were flushing at the idea of you and Namjoon being in such a small space together, focusing instead on the feel of the steering wheel under your fingers, and trying as much as you could not to stare at him through the reflection of the mirrors.

That would be weird.

Weirder than you were suddenly being.

“How was work?” He asked you once you pulled the car out onto the main road. 

You groaned, “Awful.  Today was a bad one.  We have them sometimes but it really lowers your self esteem.  Some of my patients seemed like they couldn’t stand my face.”

Namjoon whistled lowly. 

“I can imagine that wouldn’t be a very comforting atmosphere to be in.”

“No, not very,” You shrugged and shot him a look, “But that’s the nature of my job.  Nurses are treated worse than doctors even though sometimes it feels like we do triple the work.”

Namjoon chuckled and you raised a brow, “What?”

“It’s  just…” Out of the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head, “It’s like that with us sometimes.  In Bangtan I mean.  Taehyung is treated with so much respect and reverence - and he deserves it.  Of course he does.  But the rest of us… We work our asses off.  And we barely get any recognition for it.”  He pulled a face, “So I guess I’m trying to say I know how you’re feeling.  Kind of.”

You let this information settle with you.

It made sense of course.

Bangtan was the biggest food chain of them all.  The Capo demanded respect.

And in the little interaction you’d had with him, you saw how intimidating Kim Taehyung could be.  Still.  You imagined that had to be annoying.

“Doesn’t it piss you off?” He scoffed, “Of course it does.  But that’s just Bangtan.  That’s the job.  We don’t do it for recognition anyway.  We do it because we love Bangtan.”

You smiled at that.

It was exactly how you felt about your job.

“Yeah.  I understand what you mean.  As much as it sucks that I don’t always get the praise I feel I deserve… I don’t do it for that.  I do it to help people.”

There was a heavy moment between you both.  Namjoon seemed to be taking in what you’ve said and you found yourself thinking that if it’s this easy to talk to him you might catch yourself falling for your own husband.

“That’s a lovely way to put it,” You felt rather than saw his smile, “My house is just on this curb.”

You slowed the car down and turned to your fiance, surprised when you saw him already smiling at you.

“Thank you.  For this.”  His eyes were gentle and shimmering almost and you once again had to force yourself not to flush, “It’s been…. Nice.” You grinned back, “Alright.  Don’t be a stranger.”

He laughed at that and shook his head.

“I won’t.” He gave you a warm look, “Goodbye Y/N.  I’ll call you soon.”

You nodded, “Okay.  Bye Namjoon.”

He smiled at you once more before climbing out of the car and waving goodbye at you. 

And as you drove away all you could think of was this:

Kim Namjoon might very well be the best thing that could have ever happened to you.

//

[restapesta]

Piercings. 5+1 ficlet, but with piercings. I have a problem.

1.

Ian thought he knew pretty much everything about his husband. He knew him, inside and fucking out.

How could he not? Ian's pretty much been with him for a better part of his life, and they've had enough late-night talks to share all their demons with each other, however hard it may have been. They knew each other.

There was no doubt about it.

But, well. Ian should have known Mickey kept secrets.

He also should've known that one of those secrets was bound to put him in the grave one day with the inscription on his tombstone saying that he died from horniness.

Because one of these days, he would. There was no doubt about it.

It wasn't the most conventional way to go, but Ian didn't mind it.

Because, holy fuck, Mickey just admitted he used to have his ears pierced.

"Sorry," Ian balked at his husband who was standing in the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror, a pair of black studs in his right hand. "Did you just say you had your ears pierced?"

"I probably still do." Mickey grabs an earring and places it against the healed-up hole that is so faint, Ian needed to come impossibly closer to see it. Mickey had pointed it out to him after he initially said he was getting his ears pierced again. Right after Ian was left with his mouth wide open, staring widely at him, not trusting he heard him right. "And if not, I'm just gonna reopen them."

How did Ian never notice it? How did he never see Mickey, the love of his life, with earrings in his ears? With little patched-up spots of skin that were so plainly visible to the eye, now that he really looked at it.

Mickey grimaced as he pressed the needle against the hole, pushing and prodding against the uncooperative entrance. He eyed Ian in the mirror, eyes narrowing. "What are you staring at?"

Ian was stunned speechless. Of course he was. Of fucking course Mickey was about to bust out some crazy thing two years into their marriage that would make Ian finally break. Like having his ears pierced, making every single yet-undiscovered fantasy come to life.

He couldn't help but imagine Mickey with a nose ring, now. Tongue piercing. Eyebrow piercing.

Nipples.

Holy fuck.

Blood was rushing straight to his dick, and goddamn it, this was it. Ian was about to die.

Because holy fuck, the earring went through.

So did the other one.

And now, Ian was staring at Mickey, who was sporting black studs in his ears. Two dark diamonds that were obviously fake but could've not been, because this wasn't Mickey anymore. This wasn't the Mickey who rolled his eyes at anything gay—except getting pounded, obviously.

No—this was Mickey with earrings.

Ian's mouth was dry. It was dry as Mickey turned away from the mirror to face him. He stood in front of him, a determined look on his face as if waiting for Ian to call him out. Him, in all his fucking glory.

"Did you, uh," Ian finally stammered out. "sterilize the needles? I don't want you to get an infection."

"That really all you gotta say?"

Ian swallowed. "How come I never saw you with," He pointed at Mickey's ears, unable to even say the word. "those?"

"I was really young. I got 'em pierced when Mandy did. Took them out fairly soon, 'cus, you know." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Ian knew.

He gripped Mickey by the shoulders pulling him closer. His eyes were on Ian's, but Ian's were on the earrings, and Ian never really knew he had a kink for jewelry.

Well, there was the wedding ring, but fuck, this had nothing to do with their relationship, and yet Ian was still sporting a raging hard-on Mickey had yet to notice.

"I love them." He said truthfully, mentally noting to get Mickey real studs once he got the chance. Not the cheap grocery-store ones, but actual diamonds that he wouldn't mind spending money on. Not when they would look so good on his husband.

Mickey blushed, pushing Ian away immediately, not getting away far, arms practically out so Ian could pull him back in. And he did, squeezing him tightly against his chest, careful not to place too much pressure on the newly-reopened piercings.

Mickey mumbled something against Ian's shirt, incoherent.

"What? I didn't hear you"

"I love you."

Ian smiled. Pulled Mickey away so he could stare into his eyes.

"You know you gotta let me fuck you with those on. Pretty sure it will be the best orgasm of my life."

Mickey only smirked, eyes lighting up immediately at the suggestion. He looks fucking amazing, Ian thought.

"Lead the way, hotshot."

Ian was right. With the earrings and the smugness—

It took him less than a minute.

2.

When Ian saw the photo, he was pretty sure he was going to die.

No, not pretty sure. One-hundred percent sure. Death was awaiting him now, ready to pull him in. He was already feeling faint, ready to just slip away into unconsciousness. He was going to die, for sure.

Or maybe it was just the loss of all the blood that was heading way down south that was making him feel this way, because holy shit.

Holy shit.

When Mickey took the earrings out after a few days of usage, claiming how they sucked, Ian thought that was it. Mickey was never going to do anything that reminded him of being gay ever again. He had probably been embarrassed and wanted to take them out, and Ian was feeling at such loss when he saw his ears vacant that he was ready to throw hands.

But, oh God.

Ian was now staring at a picture of Mickey—a picture he posted on goddamn Instagram for everybody to see—and it was him.

Him with a fucking nose piercing.

Ian checked the comments first. It would've probably been saner to call his husband and ask if he actually got a nose piercing and if he was ready to be a widow because Ian won't be lasting much longer, but there were a bunch of comments on the photo, and fuck if Ian wasn't going to leaf through them all. This could be a joke for all he knew.

Some sick joke to get Ian's hopes up, just to get them crushed down until he never had any hopes in life ever again.

Mickey with a nose piercing. Mickey with a nose piercing.

Carl said it looked 'fuckin' sick'. Lip was putting 😲 emojis all throughout the chat, sometimes even adding the 😏 one, probably a reference to Ian (at least Ian hoped it was). The other comments were just about how good Mickey look, which was really no surprise, but holy shit, did that mean this was real?

Mickey was out running some errand. Said he had some shit he needed to. That sneaky bastard. Ian didn't care if he was in the middle of the goddamn line at the Costco aisle or in the middle of a drug run.

He facetimed him.

When Mickey's face came into view, the nose ring present and very much real, Ian was lost for words. Mickey was biting his lip to keep from smiling and once he noticed Ian was just going to continue and stare, he scoffed.

"Man, it's just a piercing."

"No," Ian said. "This is much more than 'just a piercing'."

Mickey chuckled. "Well, I figured since I didn't really like the earrings, I could do this. It felt right."

This was the Mickey Ian knew and loved. The Mickey who wanted to try new things, get to know his own style. Mickey, who was finally confident enough in himself, and hopefully comfortable in their marriage, that he didn't even consider this a big deal. Ian was filled to the brim with emotions, and he was ready to explode.

"You need to come home now."

They met each other's eyes through the screen, blue glimmering in mischief. Mickey smiled. "Why?"

"Because."

"This piercing shit really gets you going, huh, Gallagher?"

It did.

It really did.

"If you're not home in ten minutes, I'll get the whip. So better be fucking home." With that he hung up, getting up to ready the supplies.

Mickey was home in eleven.

Ian knew it was fucking intentional.

3.

Ian might've been getting used to the fucking hotness that Mickey Milkovich with a nostril piercing was, but that didn't mean others were.

In the end, it probably didn't even matter that Ian was one million percent down for any types of piercings Mickey wants to get—he might have even been pushing him for a nipple piercing, but the why of it was for another time—what would eventually decide whether or not the earring stayed in was the reactions of somebody other than Ian.

It was unfair, really, that others would be able to affect Mickey's decision to finally do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, despite his ever-growing confidence. Still, Ian had a way of making sure that nobody made him feel shitty for doing something he wanted to do. Something for himself, without fearing the judgment of others like he had his entire life.

He was an arsonist, for fuck's sake. Let them try and eye his husband the wrong way.

Ian perhaps expected it from old, batty women at the grocery store who didn't have a clue what century they were in or Karens who were homophobic pieces of shit—but he never would be guessed it would be his own family poking fun at something that probably took guts to do. Because it took guts to actually get something like a nose piercing if you were a Milkovich with a past of growing up in a homophobic household.

"So, uh, you gone full gay now, Mickey?"

"Watch out, Ian, I think he might out-twink you."

"You look like Sandy now. Don't be surprised if I jump you."

"I think you look cool, Mickey."

"Uncle Mickey, what's that in your nose? Can I have one?"

Mickey didn't seem to really care about the Gallaghers' opinions. It was mostly just him flipping Lip off at the twink comment and winking at Franny for that last one. Ian, on the other hand.

Ian was the one who was getting fucking offended.

What if Mickey decided that all the teasing and sideways glances aren't worth it and he takes the nose ring out? What if Ian's deprived of sexy, liberated Mickey because of assholes like his own siblings?

It didn't matter how selfish it sounded. There was no way in hell Mickey was ever going to feel conflicted over something he didn't need to feel conflicted about.

So, the second Mickey was out of the room, and the Gallaghers were still unrelenting at the teasing, Ian knew what he had to do.

"Okay, that's enough," He said simply after the eight-hundredth joke about how the ring looked like a booger in his nose—what the actual fuck, Lip?—his voice stern.

"Come on," Lip said, despite the others clearly relenting, palms going up with sheepish expressions on their faces. "We're just joking."

"Well, enough jokes. You could be more like Liam. Tell him he looks good."

Lip snorted. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I asked you to?"

"He knows it's all jokes. He doesn't even care."

"I do." Ian narrowed his eyes. "I care whether or not he feels like he's done the wrong thing because you won't shut the fuck up after the joke's not even funny anymore."

That was what made the smile on Lip's face thin. He lowered his head sightly, as of bowing it down in shame. Ian knew he had finally caught on. Finally understood that, sometimes, even jokes could hurt people's fucking feelings.

Maybe Mickey wasn't at all touched by this. Maybe he really didn't give a shit about what Lip or some old-ass grandma at the store thought. Maybe it was only Ian who gave a shit.

But fuck it, he could give enough shit for the both of them.

If it meant Mickey would always feel comfortable in his own skin, then fuck yes he could.

"Okay," Lip said simply, and Ian smiled at him, thankful.

And when Mickey reappeared with a slight frown on his face and a, "what, no more jokes?" followed by a wide smile, Ian knew he had done the right thing.

Because Mickey looked good.

And the ring stayed on.

4.

"What is it with you and the goddamn nipple rings?"

Ian bit at his lip. Okay, he may have gone a little overboard. With all the research and the reference photos and all the places you could get one... But fuck, he had a fantasy, and he needed to see it come true.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Come the fuck on.

"Babe, listen," Ian started, moving so he was positioned against the headboard of their bed. It was almost midnight—what better time to lay it down on Mickey that he would look really fucking good with piercings in his nipples and that it would be Ian's dream come true. "They'd look so good."

"Then why don't you get them?"

Ian made an incredulous face. "Because they wouldn't look good on me. They would look good on you."

Mickey swiped at his nose, diverting Ian's attention once more to the perfection that was his black nose ring. How could Ian not see all the possibilities with multiple piercings when Mickey looked like that with just one?

"Come on," He said again, the image in his head even more vivid than before. "I googled it. It doesn't even hurt that much."

"I have a feeling like that is a very obvious lie."

Ian rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was.

He pushed himself back down onto the comforter, shifting so he could have access to Mickey's chest. He trailed a finger from his neck, then slowly down so it rest in between his nipples, laying out his palm so it could feel the beating of Mickey's heart.

"Imagine the sex," He whispered, trying out a new technique. Seduction. It had to work.

"Probably not until it's healed up and stops hurting," Mickey scoffed. "Also, I really don't think I'd like it. I'd look like a bull."

"You'd look like a very sexy bull. Oh, by the way, septum piercing." Ian wiggled his eyebrows. "Don't you see it? Don't you think it'd look awesome?"

Mickey looked like he was on the verge of either laughing or punching Ian straight in the dick. "I think," He began. "that I've created a monster."

"A monster who is extremely horny for your ass."

"Why do you have to have a kink for this? Ian, out of all the things. Just look up porn with a bunch of jewelry on the guys if you need to get off."

Ian frowned at the imagery. "It's not the jewelry, Mick. I've had hookups who wore a shit-ton of jewelry and it never made me all hot and bothered."

Mickey smiled at the hot and bothered part. "Dork. Then what is it?"

"Well, fucking obviously it's you."

Mickey's face lit up. "It's me?"

"Ugh, Mickey, we've been together for a while. Don't make me feel shy over this."

The exasperation made Ian's cheeks pink. Suddenly, Mickey was leaning in and pressing his lips to the heat, smiling all the way through it.

When he pulled away, there was a wide grin stretched across his face. Ian was a sucker for that grin. That grin was everything he needed in life. Nothing more.

"I won't get a nipple piercing."

Sadness. All Ian felt was sadness.

"But maybe we can check out other options." It was Mickey's turn to wiggle his eyebrows. "Tongue piercing float your boat too?"

Happiness. All Ian felt was happiness.

5.

Eyebrow piercing. It ended up being an eyebrow piercing.

And God. Ian was done. He was completely done with everything. This was it. This was all he ever needed to see in life. Now, he could die peacefully.

He was married to the hottest man alive. Ian could pride himself in that fact. Mickey truly was the hottest person Ian had ever laid eyes on.

Especially now that he had a nose and eyebrow piercing at the same fucking time.

Ian knew there would never be another man to get his attention again. Never anybody else to make Ian feel like he need to avert his gaze. Not when all eyes went to the Mickey with the hot body, amazing ass, great face, and perfect piercings.

"Maybe you should get some piercings, too," Mickey said as they sat together at the table, munching on cereal. "I mean, if you act this way over my shit, who knows how I'll act over yours."

Ian smiled. "I can't pull anything off like you can."

"Bullshit. You're hot as fuck."

Ian's cheeks pinked. "Shut up."

"No seriously," Mickey said as he got up to get more coffee. "Hottest guy I know."

Ian licked his lips, slowly running his eyes down his husband's body. "Well then, guess we both got lucky."

Mickey smiled and the piercings come into view again.

Ian really was a complete goner.

+ 1

"No," Mickey said once he saw Ian come into view. "No. No. No."

Ian grinned widely, tilting his chin slightly so he could showcase the tiny diamond—actual diamond—studs in his ears. "You like it?"

Mickey knew then that this was what heaven felt like.

He barely stopped himself from tackling Ian onto the floor.

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding.

He didn't stop shit.

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 4)

Requests are still open as of this post.

Shigaraki

You hadn’t meant to cause that level of destruction. It was an accident.

But they hadn’t seen it that way.

Their words followed you even when they could not. You could hear the accusations ringing in your head whenever you used your quirk – for better, or for worse. It became easier to ignore as you slowly learned to stop caring.

Until your quirk went out of control again.

You woke up in a dark room with a pounding headache and exhausted limbs. The doctor who was looking after you (a man you were relatively certain had no actual medical knowledge) had gotten very close and asked how much you remembered. When you informed him that it wasn’t much, he had smiled.

“Well, you certainly drew attention to yourself,” he had laughed. “Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky that the heroes didn’t get to you first.”

“I guess so…”

Something warned you that this situation was more dangerous than it seemed. Your eyes drifted over the covered windows of the room and you stared at the door. “Why did you help me?”

“Well that’s hardly for me –“

He didn’t get a chance to answer before you dashed for the exit. The doctor’s quirk didn’t allow him to grab you and his alarmed shout was all you heard before you were darting down the hallway. You weren’t going to stick around and get experimented on.

You turned the corner, heart pounding in your chest. They must have given you something because you felt drowsy. The entire world was spinning.

But you had to nearly trip yourself up to avoid running directly into somebody as you sprinted down a different hallway.

This was hardly your first time dealing with villains and many of them had odd quirks, to say the least. It shouldn’t have shocked you to see somebody with a human hand on their face but maybe the medication was lowering your tolerance because it was terrifying.

“Who are you?” you snapped out, immediately on the defense. You took a step away, ready to run or fight, whichever seemed easiest.

The man didn’t seem too bothered by your snap at least; the one eye that you could see watched you steadily from behind his hand mask. “I’m sure you’re not meant to be running around here,” he said. “But you’re no hero so you must be here for your quirk. Do you still have it?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t unknown in the underground that there was a man who stole quirks he liked. Nobody knew what he did with them but it wasn’t unheard of for villains to wake up with nothing. And you would never get them back.

You could feel your quirk was still there. It pulsed under your skin like a warning.

“My quirk?” you repeated. “I have my quirk.”

You did a random gesture, summoning all of your past acting experience to appear horrified when nothing happened. Again and again you tried before looking around in shock and horror.

The guy bought it and he shrugged. “Then there’s no reason to stop you.” He brushed past you and continued walking. “Not like you could find the exit anyway.”

The moment he turned the corner, you dropped the act and bolted again. This place was a maze but you found the exit and avoided any encounters with a practiced ease. Before leaving, you looked back up at the building and grimaced, hoping to never see it again.

Toga

It was late at night when you had the strangest encounter of your life. Not that that was a bad thing necessarily but it was something that occurred, nevertheless.

You had been feeling quite exhausted from a long day of fun with your friends. They had headed off to get a cab when you had realised that you needed the bathroom and disappeared to go find one.

There was a public toilet not too far from the street though it certainly wasn’t as clean as you would have hoped. Not to be deterred, you slipped in and found a sight that, even to your exhausted mind was uncomfortable.

A girl stood in front of one of the mirrors, blood staining much of her face. It covered the counter beneath her fingers and seemed to be coming from her lip.

“Are you okay?!” you asked, panicked.

She looked up at you, startled. Her dark hair covered much of her expression but she seemed a little out of it. Maybe she got hit on the head or something.

“I –“ she paused, her voice croaky and sore. She brought her hand up to rub her throat. “I think so.”

“Just wait, let me help you,” you said. You rushed into one of the stalls and gathered up some toilet paper. “Do you need me to call somebody or?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Thank you.”

You offered some of the damp tissue to her and she started wiping it away from her mouth. While she dealt with that, you cleaned the blood that she had left on the counter, making sure to get it out of all the cracks in and around the sink. “What happened to you?” you asked. “Did somebody attack you?”

“I slipped,” she said. “The tiles are really slippery and I think that I hit my mouth on the sink. It’s all kind of blurry.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, digging through your bag and grabbing some headache tablets. You offered the bottle to her. “Take two of those just in case. Even if it doesn’t hurt now, you don’t want to wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Do I still have any blood on me?”

“Just on your jaw,” you pointed out. “Come on, my friends and I are getting a cab. We can call one for you also if you need.”

She took one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You had forgotten your own need for the bathroom and it was for good reason also. If you had hung around for a little longer, you may have seen blood trickling out from one of the stalls. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have been so worried about this stranger hitting her head.

“What’s your name?” you asked as you looked around for your friends.

“Toga,” the girl said, though she didn’t seem too happy with having told you. The words must have slipped out without her meaning to.

You gave her your own name and went up onto your toes to look around the crowd for your friends. Eventually you spotted them and waved but when you spoke to Toga, she didn’t respond.

She had disappeared into the crowd.

You went back into the bathroom and checked but she was long gone. Just like how the blood has escaped your notice earlier, you didn’t see the blonde watching you from the other side of the street, her head tilted a little.

Dabi

It was a rare day when you found yourself alone without at least one person to watch your back. You didn’t always need the protection but sometimes, it was nice to have.

But you had given your word and it wouldn’t do to back out of this now.

The building where everything had been organised was old and crumbling – its ancient nature hidden on the outskirts of the city and slowly becoming overtaken by countless plants. It wasn’t somewhere anybody with good intentions would find themselves.

You liked to think that your work was good. It benefitted many and took only from those who could afford to lose it. Unfortunately though, rules had to be broken for the best results, and sometimes what was classified as ‘wrong’ turned out to be needed in order to achieve a goal. It wasn’t quite in line with what you believed but it had to be done.

Did working with villains make you uncomfortable? Of course. But it was hardly going to be something that stopped you from moving forward.

The two members from the League of Villains that had been sent to meet you were both men. You didn’t bother with greetings, just holding up the briefcase that you held.

“I’m looking for a specific artwork,” you said. “I’ve been told that you might be able to help?”

“An artwork?” the one asked. He wore a white and black mask that concealed most of his face and an extremely gaudy costume.

“Not just an artwork,” you explained. “It has something of mine hidden in the canvas. Normally, I would just get the police involved but if they found it, it would be quite problematic for me. The group that stole it won’t listen to many but the League of Villains, I’m afraid. They have a few good quirks and they’re extremely cocky for it.”

“We’re not lapdogs,” the other man said. “Especially not for whatever agenda you’re pushing.”

“I don’t pay lapdogs,” you acknowledged. “Consider me a sponsor.”

Flames cackled into existence in his hand, surprising his colleague enough to jump a little. “Chances are, they’ve already found your thing. Even if they haven’t, the league can hardly go around picking fights with random gangs.”

“Shigaraki did ask –“

The masked man was cut off by a glare. Blue flames sent flickering light through the air as they waited patiently for your answer.

“If it’s already been discovered or if it happens to get damaged during the process, then I don’t plan on getting anything out of our deal. It’ll simply be a loss on my side.”

The flames slowly flickered out and you allowed yourself to breathe again. Confidence was a requirement for these deals but you didn’t quite have the nerves of steel that you portrayed. It was always a fight to keep your reactions in check.

“I guess if we happen to bump into the group, we can check around for your shit.”

You knew his bluff as well as your own. The League of Villains had always worked well with those who had money. They required funding and wouldn’t say no to being able to flex their reputation around the underground. It was almost needed with the way rumours were circulating.

It was less than a week after that encounter when you found your artwork sitting outside your home. Charred on the edges, it was damaged enough to make the art itself worthless. But your items inside were perfectly unharmed.

Not bad for your first time working alongside the League of Villains. It was worth the cost… you should do it more in the future.

Twice

When you had been called in for this job, you had no idea that it was going to turn into a fight of the magnitude you experienced.

Flames tore along the streets. They melted lamps and trapped hundreds inside buildings – the screams for help becoming almost deafening as you broke down yet another wall to get civilians out. It was the third building you had had to smash into and there were more yet.

Nobody could get out and, if they remained trapped, they wouldn’t survive much longer.

When your partner and you had realised you were dealing with the League of Villains, you had immediately called in the big guns. What you hadn’t realised was that doing so would result in a brawl of sorts in the streets. The League of Villains didn’t care about collateral and honestly, sometimes you wondered if the heroes did.

You were starting to overheat. The amount of fire swirling around was getting to you, drawing the breath from your lungs and slowing your movements. Its angry blue nature hinted at its abysmal nature.

The next building’s walls took even longer to get through but you managed it and a few people scrambled out. You ushed as best as you could although it was starting to get hard to speak.

But then you noticed a dark figure lying in one of the rooms

Outside, the fire roared and smacked against the walls but you couldn’t just leave somebody there. You stepped over the rubble and made your way to the figure.

It was hard to make out details with the flames. The heat seemed to be getting worse as you approached – soon identified as being caused by the gaping hole in the wall. It radiated around the room in waves. You covered your mouth and nose the best you could, creeping forward to reach where the person was.

When you arrived, it took you no time to recognise that you weren’t saving an unfortunate civilian but rather a member of the League itself.

You hesitated for a second before hooking your arms under his and beginning to drag him away from the danger. This was the type of thing that lost reputation for heroes. Civilians didn’t like seeing villains being rescued but you honestly didn’t care.

If he was left there, he was probably going to end up dying.

Though he had seemed unconscious, when you got him out of the building, he muttered something and moved. It was enough to make you jump back but he didn’t attack or anything. He just touched his face and then let his arm go limp again.

You moved back cautiously. His suit had been ripped on the one side, missing its arm and half of the torso. You checked his pulse, relieved to feel that it was still going, even if it was unsteady.

“Can you hear me?” you asked.

He didn’t respond and you reached up to remove his mask. His hand immediately snapped up to grab your wrist and you prepared to activate your quirk but all he did was push your arm away from his face.

Alright then. No touching the mask.

You bandaged the open wound on his side as best as you could. It looked like he had gotten launched through the building. Once he was as stable as he could be, you moved him to a safer area and jumped back into the fray. A ton of rescues later and the heroes had won, at the destruction of much property.

And, rather unsurprisingly, the villain you had saved was long gone.

Overhaul

There was a new drug running around the market. You had heard of a number of small-time villains taking it – most of them dying shortly after consumption. It wasn’t unheard of. If something had even the promise of a good time then it would attract thousands.

But what was a problem was that you had lost several of your newest underlings as a direct result of this drug.

Given how picky you were about hiring, this was going to be a problem.

You tracked the source to none other than the Shie Hassaikai. They were an old branch of the yakuza, sitting on the edge of a downward spiral into irrelevance. Rumors followed that their boss had fallen quite ill and now, it was only a matter of time until they fell completely on their faces.

So you didn’t feel too nervous when you approached the house that fronted their main base. Even with the members watching you from the bushes, you kept a straight line.

You weren’t unknown. It would do them a great disservice to attack you.

And they knew it.

You walked in the front door with absolutely no resistance and remained unsurprised when two masked men came out to greet you. They didn’t ask about your business or enquire as to who you were. Instead, they led you into a sitting room and gestured for you take a seat.

Instead of that, you walked around the room and picked up everything that looked interesting. Nothing was hidden around but you hadn’t expected there to be.

“Please don’t touch things without gloves on,” a smooth voice interrupted your curiosity. “Cleaning this entire house is rarely needed and I’d rather you didn’t change that.”

You turned around to find somebody considerably younger than you had expected for the head of the Shie Hassaikai. He wore their signature mask and a feathered coat, almost his entire body hidden in some way.

“Not a fan of germs?” you enquired.

“Not at all.”

You shrugged and made your way to the couch, sinking down into it. “Guess that means no drinks or anything? Oh well, that’s too bad.” You gestured for him to sit.  “So, you’re not who I was expecting.”

“You’ve never worked with our organisation before,” he said, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite you.

“No. You’re not in the same line of work as me and I don’t care too much about the Yakuza.”

“Then why are you here?”

You straightened, aware that you were about to get into the most dangerous part of the meeting. “Your drugs have been getting into my areas. Now, I don’t care all too much about how you distribute stock but it’s not just coming into possession of low-life criminals. My men are getting practically gifted it.”

His eyes narrowed. “We need to test it somehow. Besides, that sounds like a problem for you, no? Have better control of your men.”

“Keep your test tube shit out of my territories.”

A small staring contest took place – a test to see who would break first. You had been in almost a hundred of these over the course of your career. They didn’t bother you much at all in anymore.

Eventually he waved his hand through the air. “I guess we could stop supply to traders in your areas but this isn’t a charity.”

“I could kill your men.”

“But you would lose your own in the process. Wouldn’t it be easier to do this the peaceful way and maybe even establish a relationship between our two groups?”

“You have my attention. Don’t waste it.”

Kurogiri

There are those days when everything begins so well only to rapidly spiral into a situation out of your worst dreams. This was something like that.

You had gotten horribly caught in the crossfire of a battle between heroes and villains. It all occurred faster than you could have ever imagined – flashes of light and explosions of sound. People were screaming, the sound coming through a haze as you tried to get a grasp on what had happened.

Blood was trickling down your arm but you felt no pain. You slowly lifted your head. Something had hit you, you remembered that now as your brain caught up to the dull ache coming from your ribcage.

You tried to move, finding that you couldn’t. The ache became worse and a heavy, scraping sound interrupted your attempts to crawl away.

It was a piece of concrete, heavy and painful, pinning you effectively to the ground. A smaller chunk was holding it up and stopping you from being crushed. But if you moved too much…

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, nearly choking on the dust that filled the air. Maybe if you shifted slowly.

A crunching noise made you hiccup.

Alright, so that wasn’t going to work either. You strained your eyes to see through the carnage but you couldn’t make out any heroes. They would come eventually; you just had to wait patiently and try not to move too much.

The concrete seemed to get heavier still and you fought the desire to cry.

There was a crunching sound. You couldn’t just wait around.

Slow as you dared, you began to inch forward. The rough surface snagged at your clothing and made every centimeter feel like it was going to end with you crushed. Worse still, the more you moved, the more apparent the injury on your back became.

The blood that had been trickling down your arm was now creeping along your torso. It pooled in your clothes and made everything sticky.

You tried not to think about it but it made you light-headed regardless.

About half-way out, you spotted somebody nearby. It was just their silhouette but still, relief flooded your veins and you cried out desperately for help.

The figure made its way over to you, soon revealing that the man was almost entirely made of smoke. He wore a suit and tie but his body swirled as though only somewhat solid. Bright yellow eyes stared at you – any emotion behind them was completely unreadable.

His eyes traced your shape. “You’re not who I’m looking for.”

“Please help me. This thing’s going to crush me.”

He paused, the swirling darkness that made up his face shuddered as though it was unsure how to respond. “I should leave you here,” he mentioned. “You’re of no consequence to me or to my cause. If anything, I should add pressure to the piece of rubble and make sure the fatality numbers are higher.”

You caught of whimper before it could escape. “Please.”

His smoke shook again, almost as though he was struggling to keep hold of it. Then he raised a foot and placed it on the concrete.

You screwed your eyes shut and tried to imagine the best parts of life.

A loud horn blaring made you open them again and a surprised yelp escaped as you saw tires race past in front of you. People were shouting, their voices loud and nearby. Bright lights surrounded you and the air was clear once more.

The last thing you remembered seeing was a panicked nurse rushing over to you.

[jeon-kookie-dough]

Caught in the Game - Chapter 01

After growing up in the midst of Toman and a rather wild time in college, you are now working for a popular fashion magazine. You were aware of your boss's gang past - Kokonoi Hajime's name having been well-known during your school time - but after you bumped into an old friend at work the other day, one coincidence follows the next and you find your past catching up to you...

pairings: Koko x reader, Chifuyu x reader genre: angst, gang!au rating: m for violence & slowburn smut word count: 2,536 next>

The subway was much stuffier than usual. Bodies pressed into each other at every curvature, the sweat mingling on the sticky handlebars. And it is only the morning, for fuck’s sake.

The way from my house, which is located kind of in the outskirts of Tokyo, to Chiyoda where my office was located, felt like a lifetime this hot morning. Between trying to avoid creeps in the subway and standing in the longest queue in front of my favorite coffee shop for what seemed like hours, I was trying to supersede immense tiredness.

As of November, of the year prior I was working for one of the bigger fashion magazines in the country and the deadline for my latest article was already scratching at the front door. More like clawing, actually.

Up until starting up this job, I was used to living a half-assed life. School came easy to me, despite having been caught up in some…situations. College was a blur of alcohol and parties and I just barely graduated. After college I held myself above water with various part-time jobs, having been kicked out from home at barely 18 and landed my current job by chance. This upcoming article was more than important to me, thus stressing myself, and crying my fucking eyes raw from frustration, since it was the first time having my work printed in an actual magazine instead of just publishing online.

The second I stepped foot into Marunouchi Park Building, I sighed of relief and thanked who ever invented ACs. I entered the elevator, pushed the button for the 23rd floor and leaned back against the cool metal wall of the cabin. Just as the doors were about to close, somebody sprinted into the otherwise empty cabin. The person was male and of average height, balancing a couple garment bags and shoe boxes in his arms. I wasn’t really surprised that he was going to exit on the same floor, as the other offices in this building were mostly financial firms.

Not minding the other person, I let him leave the elevator before me, clocked in and greeted my colleagues with a friendly nod. I took a while, but in the past eight months, people seemed to have accepted that I was far from a morning person, so they learned to appreciate my curt nods. Only because I bring coffee. At least that’s my hypothesis.

“Good morning, sunshine!”

My eyeballs immediately rolled to the back. Hearing my boss’ voice in the morning was like nails on a chalkboard. I rolled back with my chair, peaking around my cubical. The bright sunlight illuminated the office through the glass front, reflecting in the angled door to the chief editor’s single office. His figure leaned in the door, arms crossed and hand holding out expectantly.

“S’up, Koko?” I mumble. I knew exactly what he had his hand stuck out for, but I wouldn’t give him the gratification he wanted. That rich fuck, I thought. Bet he snorts his coke with 10k yen bills but can’t even get his own fucking coffee.

“Think my hand is missing an iced Americano this morning. Care to explain?” His slender frame circled around the cubicle wall, now towering above my sitting person. My office was usually occupied by five people in total. Inui always being late and the other three on vacation left me as the only victim. I rolled my eyes at him. “Dunno”, I retorted, opting for my most innocent look. “Think I might have dropped it. You can have a sip of my Cappuccino, but I’m afraid I spat in it.”

Kokonoi Hajime was a peculiar person. He stood at 5’9” and his black locks braided away from the left side of his face was his signature look. He cared a lot about his staff being dressed well, as he himself only own designer suits from Italy. Despite enjoying the power he had over his staff, he also was very liberal in the way we communicated with another at the office. I had never met him before taking the job, but I had certainly heard of Kokonoi way before.

Koko was only a year or two older than I was and back in middle and high school he had a reputation. He lived one school district away from me, but the stories about him were also told at my school. Stories of a financial prodigy that hid behind his wannabe gangster friends that, most of the time, resorted to violence.

“You have a foul mouth”, he snickered, grabbing my cup and taking a sip anyway. “Somebody ever told you that?” I hummed in response, counting my coffee lost, and turned on my laptop. “I have a meeting in five minutes, so please take my calls, will you? Inui is useless, as always.” I nod silently, still grieving the loss of my coffee. Koko’s gaze rested on Inui’s empty desk, then on me. “How’s that big article of yours coming along?”

I knew he meant no harm with that question, but my elevated stress levels along with the acid, that always seems to wing in his voice, made me snap. “Fuck off, alright? I’m working on it.”

The chief editor raised his hands in defense and backed away from my desk, a smile playing about his lips. “The meeting’s until noon. Tell Inui to take my phone when his drags his lazy ass here.”

Inui arrived at 10:30, offering a coffee and a doughnut as a peace offering. I told him to screw off and, finally, concentrated on my article. It was almost done, but I needed it to be perfect before handing it to Kokonoi for proof-reading. I couldn’t afford messing this up if I ever intended of becoming a regular in the print.

I was so emersed in my work that I never saw the visitor arrive or leave. At lunch, all that occupied my mind was my hunger. I didn’t really have a lot of money left, thanks to the fucking chief for having me dress in expensive clothes so he quote unquote didn’t have to claw his eyes out at the sight of me, so a snack from the vending machine it was.

With food just in sight, my feet may have become a little too eager and I stumbled a crashed face first into someone walking by, having them fall onto the marble floor with me. I cussed under my breath and tried to get onto my feet, when there was already a hand outstretched to help me.

“You okay?” I averted my eyes immediately, embarrassment written on my face. “Uh, yeah, I’m alright, I guess. Er, I think you dropped something.” I dove right back down, picking up the visitor laminate. It read ‘Visitor for KOKONOI Hajime. Name-‘

My gaze darted up immediately, meeting a pair of silver eyes staring right back at me. “Mitsuya fucking Takashi?” I whispered in sheer disbelief. My opposite grinned, squeezing his eyes shut doing so. “It’s been a long time, huh, (Y/N)?”

I found myself accompanying Mitsuya to a Korean restaurant down the street for lunch. His treat, he said. The sun was merciless, and he scolded me for not carrying an umbrella with me. “It’s bad for your skin, you know?” I grunted, looking up at him. “Like I care.”

My high school graduation ceremony had been the last time I had seen Mitsuya. Up until then, we had almost been inseparable, having lived in the same shitty apartment complex, visiting the same middle school and him only being one year older. Back then, a lot of things happened. We never really had a fall out, at one point things just changed.

At the restaurant, we slid into a booth and a young waitress came to our table to take our order. Her eyes revealed that she found my companion attractive, but as per usual, he was oblivious. A couple minutes passed, and we were handed our drinks.

“Alcohol at this hour?” His eyebrow shot up in worry, vanishing behind his silver hair. He changed it up a bit since then, leaving his shaved sides in his natural black hair color, his top hair raked with black strands in the otherwise light hair. “Thought you had given up on that.”

I stirred my vodka soda with the glass straw, the ice chinking against the glass. “Yeah, I had.”

Mitsuya didn’t dig any further and leaned back into the cushioned bench instead. “So, a fashion magazine, huh? I thought you always wanted to become a sugar baby, what happened?” At his question I emptied half my drink in one gulp, disregarding the straw completely. “Turns out I’m not really cut for sucking wrinkly dick.” To that, Mitsuya busted out laughing. “You achieved just what you always dreamed of. How does that feel?” I asked quietly.

He stayed silent for a while and I watched him gnawing at the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking about how to choose his next words. “A lot of time has passed, you know?” His voice was dull as he finally spoke. “And a lot happened in between. I guess it was either getting my life under control or…” His voice trailed off, but I knew exactly what he left hanging in the air. Prison. Or even worse, death. “For my sisters’ sake, I chose to get my life together.”

I nodded, fumbling with the glass straw, one burning question on the tip of my tongue. How are the others? Is everyone still alive? I was too afraid of the answer, so I pushed the thought way back.

“Tell me about you, though”, Mitsuya smiled and leaned forward, folding his hands and propping his chin on them. “Working for Koko now, huh? How’s that been?” I groaned quietly and let my head hang. “He’s a fucking pain in the ass. Making me buy all this expensive shit so I’ve got nothing left in the bank. If I knew beforehand who the chief editor was, I would have never taken that job.” Mitsuya chuckled and flicked my forehead. Just like he always used to.

“I know what you mean” he mused. “I never thought I’d see his face again after-“ My eyes shot up at the tone in his voice. I never knew they had met before. Back then, I would have feared for his life. Everyone was young and stupid back then; delinquents with nothing but fist fights on their minds. But the folks Koko had surrounded himself with were more on the actual criminal side.

“What? Mitsuya, you never told me!” Even I was surprised at the pure horror in my voice. “Why didn’t you say something?” Mitsuya shrugged. “Nothing bad ever happened. It was just a surprise to see him in a position like this, that’s all.”

After lunch, which was fucking delicious, dare I add, Mitsuya and I exchanged numbers before going our separate ways.

The rest of the day I couldn’t concentrate on anything anymore. Before I headed home, I met Kokonoi’s gaze through his glass door and it gave me the shivers. Like he was watching me. Like he knew something. Creep. This weird feeling followed me all the way home and I caught myself looking back at every turn, at every red light. For some reason the conversation I have had with my old friend had me nervous. Nervous for him, for me, for everyone. What if Koko’s the same old thug, but with a lot more money and influence?

At home I opened a bottle of white wine, dunked the cap in the bin and sat at my desk, ready to catch up on the time I wasted at the office being worried. With a little liquid confidence, of course. Cheers!

I had approximately gotten about three hours of sleep. My body felt like it had gotten run over by a truck, my brain felt like soup. The only silver lining was, that I had, hallelujah!, finished my article – and my favorite co-worker Natsuki returning from her vacation. She had been working at the magazine already when I had started and showed me around.

Only a few days after I had started working, Atsushi Sendo had been transferred from another internal office to ours. There had been a lot of rumors occurring around his transfer, sexual harassment among them, but in the end, he had only royally fucked up his latest pitch and, as a punishment, had been put under Koko’s supervision, since he’s known to be the meanest editor. He ended up liking to work with us so much that he just stayed. The three of us ended up becoming the bane of Koko’s existence.

I stepped one foot into the office, yawning and pulling an Inui, I can’t believe that I arrived even after him, before I heard Natsuki already picking a fight with the chief editor. I silently put her coffee next to her cup of tea, handed another one to Inui and sat down at my own desk.

“With all due respect, Kokonoi, but you can’t expect me to not freak out when I come back after three weeks and find myarticle published under your name!” I leaned back into my chair, eyes closed, and head thrown back, and listened to the bickering in the chief editor’s office. A few minutes later, Natsuki threw the door into the lock behind her, the heel of her shoes dangerously echoing in the otherwise silent room.

It only took a moment before my sleepy body jumped awake when it got hit by a paper ball. My eyes ripped open just to find her eyes lingering over the wall between our cubicles. “Thanks for the coffee”, she said, raising the cup in a silent toast. I did the same, somewhat straightening up my spine in the seat. “Glad you’re back”, I yawned. “Old scrooge was unbearable.”

“Was?”, Natsuki barked under her breath. “He’s the spawn of hell! Remind me to never take anything from him again. He’s the kind of person to always expect something in return and I don’t even want to think about what he would expect.” I grunted in my chair and sipped on my black coffee, leaving a red lip print on the paper.

“Money” Kokonoi, who unbeknownst to any of us had left his office, answered Natsuki whilst keeping his sly eyes on my. “I don’t take anything but cash. (Y/L/N), where’s your article. Deadline’s today.” Natsuki’s and my eyes met over the screen. Our boss rarely called us by our names, much less our family names - he prefers shit like darling or sweetheart. Why the fuck am I still working here?! – so we knew something was up. And maybe I have a hint.

“Check your mails. I submitted it at, like, 3.” “A.m.?” Natsuki mouthed in disbelief, but I kept my eyes fixed on Kokonoi. He beckoned me with a finger to follow me. “Come in my office for a minute, would you, sweetheart.” There he was again. The egotistical, chauvinistic asshole. The chair hit the screen behind me as I rolled back a little more forceful than intended, but I followed him, anyway.

[guessimwritingficsagain]

To be seen, part One (Frankie Morales x reader)

Summary : Usually, you’d be babysitting your friend Jessie’s son but you had to come into work. Your colleagues are really excited because “the boys” are here, so you get the chance, for the first time, to see what the fuss is about. You probably need to get laid. 

Author’s note : This is gonna be a four or five chapter story, not clear on that yet. Frankie isn’t here much but the endgame is Frankie x Reader. This chapter is really here to set up the reader’s relationships and workplace.

Warning : Harassment 

____________________________________________________________

Chapter One :

« Yup, they’re here, » confirmed Anna, with a wink in Jessie’s direction, before she closed the kitchen’s door and went back to wait on the patrons. You were confused for a moment, but Jessie was jumping up and down in the small space, almost knocking over a bunch of plates she had been cleaning just before. She was vibrating with excitement. 

« You’re finally going to see what the fuss is about ! » She all but screamed. It dawned on you, then. 

The boys. 

So, here’s the story : once in a while, always on a Saturday, four dudes come in, sit down, drink a few beers, chat for a bit and call it a night. There used to be five, apparently, but one of them must have been kicked out of the group, according to Jessie. One of them is usually a little banged up - always the same. One of them always makes a point to flirt with whoever is waiting on them but it’s harmless. They tip well. Nothing special, right ? Except apparently, they’re hot. And Jessie juggles with this job and the kid, and she’s on her own, has been for a while now, so it is a big deal. Apparently. 

You’d been a bit worried with all the fuss she made about those guys, but then you remembered that her last date had been months ago and had ended with her coming home in tears, self-depreciating bullshit spilling out of her mouth, about her life, her failed mariage, the state of her car and the way she drank beer instead of wine and she shouldn’t because wine is more refined. 

So. You’d been worried. But you figured that nothing seemed wrong with those men, and that a little fantasy was harmless and sometimes needed. 

You’d never had first-hand experience with the four guys, though. You worked every other Saturday night but Jessie and you had an agreement with your boss, so you could babysit her kid the Saturday she worked since she couldn’t afford to pay someone. This Saturday, though, you had to make do and find someone to mind Clara because Phil, the cook, was sick and someone needed to replace him. 

You couldn’t cook for shit and Jessie could, so she was in the kitchen, you tended the bar and Anna waited on the patrons. You let her friend get a well-deserved sneak-peek at the table before you made your way back to the counter, making an off-hand, harmless remark that she needed to get laid as you walked through the door. Once you got behind the counter, you took a deep breath and looked around. 

Time to see what all the fuss is about. 

The place wasn’t overly crowded for a Saturday evening, but it was still early. You spotted the table pretty easily. It was one a bit away from the others, isolated, separated from most of the room by the pool but far enough from it not to be disturbed by the players and-

Oh. 

Oh. 

Maybe you needed to get laid, too. 

———

You were staring. You knew you were staring. Hard. But then again who on earth allowed those four men to look that good. Men should never look that good. Men that looked that good were trouble. And three of them definitely looked like trouble. It was written in the way they sat, like they were at home and not in a public space with other people, legs spread wide, radiating confidence. The last one, the one with a cap on his head, was on the shyer side, but still-

Trouble.

Here’s the thing. That dating thing, that wasn’t on your mind. You gave it a shot a few years back. You’d met her in college, and when you’d both ended up with an art history degree that proved to be useless, you’d moved in together, and you’d tried to open a bookshop that crashed and burned in less that two years, and all of your savings with it. Something had cracked in your relationship, then, and you’d both tried to fix it because you’d had a good thing. The break-up hadn’t been ugly, but mending both your broken hearts had taken time. You still called each other from time to time, true to your last promise : when things get easier, let’s not be strangers. It had been her - Linda - who had said it. You hadn’t had the heart, then. Now, five years later, you were glad she had. 

Five years later, you found yourself back in your home state, bartending on a Saturday night, that art history degree still useless but no longer leaving a sour taste in your mouth, a bitter sense of waste of time and money. You hadn’t had a date in three years - he had been nice, really pretty, you’d dated for a while but he’d wanted to become a big Wall Street boy and you just weren’t into that. It might be time to reconsider getting laid if you couldn’t look at a bunch of hot dudes without your brain turning to jelly, though. 

Somebody cleared of throat right in front of you and you snapped out of it, apologizing before getting the man’s order, good that his presence would prevent you from drifting away too much. Then the rush came, and you forgot about the table for a while. 

———

When Anna came back to give you a bunch of orders, she did so with an eyebrow slightly raised in expectation. You knew she wanted your feedback on that table, but you didn’t want to agree with Jessie and her, so you shrugged in a way you hoped looked casual and unaffected. She saw right through your bullshit. 

« Fine », you whispered. « They’re hot. Hot. » 

The patron at the barstool turned his head towards you and you felt your face burn. So much for whispering. Anna only laughed, head tilted back, her blonde hair waving as laughter shook her body. She was 25, beautiful in a traditional way. She was genuinely nice, and always saw the good in people. She was to this world what Jane was to Pride and Prejudice. 

Which is why, when the man sitting on the barstool leaned and said to her :

« You’re a pretty one, too. »

She just smiled and thanked him. Of course, he had to take that as an invitation. This could have been the beginning of a very beautiful story if not for the fact that he was old enough to be his father, knew it, didn’t care, and that this beer obviously wasn’t his first one. You hadn’t noticed when he first sat down but now that he had leaned in, you could smell it. He reeked of alcohol. 

« Wanna grab a drink sometimes ? See where that leads us ? »

Anna politely declined, and made to leave, but he grabbed her arm. You could tell it wasn’t meant to hurt her, just to hold her back, to prevent her from leaving, but you felt yourself tense. 

« Sir, » you said in a tone you hoped sounded firm and steady, « I’m going to ask you to leave my colleague alone. » 

He turned his head towards you and Anna took the opportunity to free herself from his grasp. She looked at you a second, a silent question (are you gonna be okay ?), and seemingly satisfied by your slight nod, she took off. 

« You’re not bad yourself, you know. » 

Steeling yourself, you turned to the patron. 

« This is inappropriate and I’m not interested, Sir. » 

But the man was relentless. When you said no for the third time he started muttering to himself, something about women all being bitches to him. You were getting really tense, and looked around to see where Anna was. She was at the boys’ table, watching you. Actually, the whole table was watching you as one of the men - the beat up one, your mind registered - was walking your way with purpose. 

— —— 

You were staring again, you realized. The man had taken a barstool too, right in front of you, and was waiting for you to say something. Probably a sentence. A coherent sentence. 

« Hi, what can I get you ? » 

Nice. One word at a time. You could do it. 

« Nothing, I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Benny. » 

He offered his hand. You took it. He was all sharp angles and there was something wild and dark in his eyes, but he had a nice, warm smile. Your hand seemed tiny in his. After a beat, you told him your own name. He gestured behind him, towards the table, still looking your way.

« My pals over there and I were wondering if you were new. Never saw you around. »

« I’m not. I guess I’m not around when you guys are. » 

« That’s what your colleague said. »

Bullshit.

He knew you saw right through it, and you tried to convey the fact that you appreciated the gesture without saying anything too obvious. There was no doubt that Benny would have no problem getting physical with the other guy at the counter if needed. But the man in question was standing awfully still, like he got the same vibe off of Benny you did. He’d stopped muttering and was looking very intently at his bottle. Benny kept going, and you soon saw what he was doing. He slightly turned and pointed towards his friends. You noticed Anna had gone back to work. 

« See the blonde guy over there ? That’s my idiot of a brother, Will. Guy with the cap is Frankie. Last one is Pope. » 

You raised your eyebrows at that. 

« Pope ? »

« Sorry, force of habit. His name is Santiago. Santi for short. We used to serve, Pope was his call sign, and I guess it stuck. » 

He shrugged, keeping the conversation light, but the mention of four ex-military casually sitting there and checking on you was enough for the other patron. He got up and left without a word. Your sigh of relief didn’t go unnoticed. 

« Santi saw something was off a while back with that guy, when he grabbed your colleague … »

« Anna », you automatically corrected.

« When he grabbed Anna, » Benni obliged. « She confirmed when she came to take our orders. » 

« Thank you. » 

You were used to dealing with that kind of stuff, but it was nice to have back-up, especially when the usual one wasn’t there. Normally, you’d go to Phil in the kitchen, but today, Jessie wouldn’t have been much of a match against a drunk guy would wanted some. Jessie, who was standing, you saw, right outside the kitchen door, gaping at you. 

« I never got your order », you stated, turning your attention back to Benny. 

He gave it again and you smiled. 

« It’s on the house. » 

———

« So his name is Benny. The blonde one, Will. That’s his brother. Then Santiago and Frankie. »

« Yes but which one is Santiago and which one is Frankie ? » all but whined Jessie. 

You were closing the place. Anna wasn’t saying anything but you could tell she was listening intently. 

« A bit too old for you, aren’t they ? » You quipped. 

She just laughed. 

« No harm in looking. » 

She was right. No harm. Meanwhile Jessie, arms waiving all around, complained :

« How come I tried to get their attention for weeks and something happens the first time you see them ? » 

« Yeah, it was a real pleasure to get harassed. I made sure it happened for the attention. All part of a very good plan. »

« Oh come on, » she shoved you playfully « you know what I mean. » 

The parking lot was empty. The cool air around you was quiet except for the occasional sound of a car going down the street nearby. The three of you fell silent, walking to Anna’s car. You kept silent during the drive, too, exhaustion settling in your bones. You knew you were lucky : tomorrow was your day off. Neither Anna nor Jessie had that chance. You’d be sleeping on Jessie’s couch tonight, just so you could babysit Clara. Your foggy brain betrayed you, then, and a bad thought came to you like a stab in the back :

When was the last time you saw a movie ? Went to an exhibit ?

You buried it, like you did every time you reminded yourself you were not where you thought you’d be at your age. When Anna pulled over in front of Jessie’s house, you thanked her and waited, silent again, as Jessie thanked her babysitter, winced as she paid her - you knew that was not something she could afford - and went to check on her sleeping girl. You were making yourself at home, preparing the couch for the night, thoughts of Benny and other hot dudes, ex-military guys entirely forgotten when you heard, soft and broken :

« I know it’s silly. This whole thing. I just … I wish someone would look at me, you know. » 

`

Jessie was standing in her living room, lost and desperate. You stopped, right then. The bags under her eyes were dark. She wasn’t going to cry, you knew that. The way she spoke, with finality, like she was convinced no one would look at her ever again, made your exhausted body tremble with anger. You closed the space between the two of you and held her for a while. 

Later, as you were plugging your phone, you saw a text from Linda. 

Hey, just checking on you. Everything good, these days ? Saw that French movie you told me about. It’s great ! Seen it yet ? I know you were excited. Don’t be a stranger ;)

You thought back on Jessie’s words. Somebody, at some point, had looked at you. Had seen you for who you were and had embraced every one of your qualities and your flaws. You didn’t miss it. It didn’t hurt anymore. But you remembered how beautiful it had been. Jessie’s marriage was never like that, from what you could tell. If you picked up the phone right now and called Linda, she would be there for you. If Jessie picked up the phone, all she’d get would be a reminder that her ex-husband had changed his number and couldn’t be reached in any way. 

You were lucky, you realized with a sharp sense of guilt. 

You were lucky that you’d had that, with Linda. And you were even luckier that you didn’t need anyone to look at you. You didn’t need anyone to see you for who you were. 

You didn’t. 

You didn’t.

[loving-jack-kelly]

yoooo i finished white collar last night after u were talking abt it and binging like the whole damn thing in a few weeks so tysm for the rec!! 🙏 very much garbage (affectionate) which is exactly what i needed 😅 what are ur thoughts on the ending tho? i didn’t get it— like i like that it was a bit of a “...“ ending but /spoilers neal ditching nyc and his friends, esp after the outcome of the cape verde arc, seemed like it didn’t end his character arc well? and ig i get faking ur death to avoid the pink panthers’ wrath, but why keep it from peter or mozzie? and only for a yr?? for the Drama?? 😅

caterpillar anon look away spoilers ahead lmao

I actually love the ending! I think it made a lot of sense with Neal's character because the entire Panthers storyline kept hammering in the fact that they wouldn’t just go after the mole, they’d go after everyone the mole cared about. I think that it’s been made really clear through the entire show starting with the Kate arc that Neall would go through hell and back for the people he cares about. Like he was willing to put himself back in jail for another four years just for the slight possibility of seeing Kate again, and that was all the way back in season one.

Through the entire show, you get to see Neal letting the people around him in and dropping his walls around them more and more. From the start of the show, it’s obvious how much faith Neal has in Mozzie, and by the sixth season, it’s clear they consider each other family. The Burkes, too, Neal has solidly and completely added to his life. He would do anything to keep them safe. All the way back in season three he was willing to give up the treasure and get himself sent back to prison to keep Elizabeth safe, and they’re even closer by the time Neal and Peter bring down the Panthers.

Neal doesn’t have anything to gain by faking his own death. It’s not like he’s sitting on a treasure like he used to be, and it’s not like he really benefits from escaping, because he had an ironclad release contract that he knows would have been honored. But he has a lot to lose if the Panthers realize it was him and not Keller who ultimately sold them out. Sure, there’s a good chance that might not happen, but if it does, and they send somebody after Mozzie or Peter or Elizabeth or the baby, he would never be able to forgive himself. To him, it’s a lose-lose situation. Stay in New York a free man and either lose the people he cares about or never be able to stop looking over his shoulder in case they’re after him or leave everyone behind knowing that they’re safe. And fundamentally, Neal isn’t a selfish person. He’d rather everyone be safe without him, even if it hurts to leave him behind, than stay and be happy with an ever-looming danger over all their heads.

Back in season one, Neal might have chosen to stay and scheme around whatever the Panthers might plan, because back in season one Neal didn’t care about them as much as he’s grown to, and back in season one Neal still felt invincible. But he isn’t, and by season six, he loves Mozzie and the Burkes and even to some extent the entire white-collar division and has seen how dangerous his enemies can be and he can look at them and look at himself and know that if a group as powerful as the Panthers is gunning for the people he loves, he won’t be able to outsmart them. It took the full force of the FBI, Neal, and Mozzie to bring them down in the first place, and that was when they were playing subtle. The Panthers have nothing to lose now that they’ve been caught, so why should they keep playing subtle? They won’t, and Neal knows that his strengths are in the con, not in evading a bloodthirsty and very angry gang of very smart, very influential men.

Neal’s entire character arc has been realizing that sometimes, there are situations you can’t just charm your way out of. He’s dug himself into so many holes that he wouldn't have ever gotten out of if it weren’t for Peter and Mozzie, and now it’s his turn to get them out of the hole he’s accidentally dug for them. If the Panthers figure out who Neal is and what he’s done, he’s almost definitely sentenced all his loved ones to death. On the other hand, if they think he got himself killed as a direct result of what he pulled, why do they care? They figure out Neal is the mole, hear that Neal got himself killed while trying to make a getaway with the money he stole from them, they don’t look further into it because karma did their job for them, and they never go after Peter or find Mozzie or get anywhere near Elizabeth and the baby, and so they’re all safe.

As for why he kept it a secret for a year, I think it was out of necessity. Mozzie has proved that he’ll follow Neal no matter what. They’ve fully earned each others’ loyalty, and they’re a package deal. So if Mozzie knew right away, he would have been in Paris in an instant, and anybody who knew them would have been able to guess why. Peter would have tried to talk Neal out of it, tried to convince him that there was no danger and everything would be fine, and I genuinely think that if Peter had tried it would have worked, and Neal knew that too. He didn’t want to leave New York, but he felt like he had to, and part of that was keeping Peter in the dark so Peter couldn’t even try to convince him otherwise. I mean, in season two he admits that he almost stayed when Peter asked before the plane blew up, and that was long before they were at the point in their relationship they’re at by the end of season six.

Neal left Mozzie the clues because he did want to see Mozzie again, he just needed it to be far enough in the future that people wouldn’t connect the dots between his “death” and Mozzie’s sudden move to Europe. I also believe that Neal didn’t leave the bottle or tell Mozzie to leave the bottle for Peter, I think Mozzie realized that Peter wouldn’t turn on Neal now and would let him have his new life in Paris, but also wanted Peter to know that Neal wasn’t dead, because it’s clearly still affecting him and El (flashback to Neal playing with the ball anyone? like if u cry every time). Peter finding the storage container and seeing Neal’s plan all neatly laid out for anybody who found it to see is a clear departure from a Neal who would have wanted it to genuinely stay a secret. Looking at the wall of pictures and the clear plans, it’s obvious that he wanted whoever found it to know exactly what he’d done, and he trusted that when Mozzie (and eventually Peter) did find it, he’d keep it a secret and also figure out why Neal had done it.

Which, again, wasn’t selfishness, it was the exact opposite. Neal’s last big con wasn’t for money, or reputation, or to solve a crime, it was to protect the people he cares about.

[soulmate-game]

It had been a trip to Metropolis. Why would Francois-Dupoint go to Gotham, a crime-ridden city crawling with danger and supervillains, vigilantes that toed the line of being bad influences, and a really high chance of lawsuit, when they could go to the city of Superman himself?

Exactly. No good reason.

At least, that was what they all thought. Marinette’s parents even volunteered to chaperone, deciding that they could survive shutting the bakery down for one week. Marinette had helped raise enough money for the trip that the school could compensate them a bit for their time, and their food, hotel, and plane were all paid for. It was supposed to be a great trip. One to remember. And yeah, Marinette would never forget that vacation.

Because she stood with the rest of her class, watching smoke and dust rise off of the pile of rubble that just dropped on top of her parents. The fight was over. Marinette couldn’t even remember who it was. But even with his son by his side, Superman and Superboy couldn’t save everyone. Nobody could. It was asking too much, to expect any one or two heroes to save everyone when an entire city was being attacked and buildings reduced to rubble.

But that wouldn’t soothe the sight of blood creeping out of the rocks.

That wouldn’t soothe the scrapes on Marinette’s knees when she dropped to the ground.

It wouldn’t smother the sound of her agonized cries.

It wouldn’t heal the burns and scrapes and bruises, the chipped fingernails and bleeding fingertips that Marinette gave herself as she tried desperately, sight blurry through tears, to lift each and every piece of still-hot concrete off, shove it to the side, in an attempt to unearth them. They could still be alive, right? Right?

The fact that she was shoveling what amounted to pebbles off of a hill of rubble argued with her. No. No, they weren’t.

It wasn’t until gentle, but unyieldingly strong hands clasped hers, making them still.

“You’re hurting yourself,” that soft, deep voice came from whoever owned the foreign hands, but she didn’t have the mental strength to look up and identify them. Instead, she resorted to kicking rubble away. The voice sighed. “Back up. I can help. Okay? Will you let me help?”

It had been so long, Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. When was the last time someone had actually asked her that question? When was the last time someone ever offered her help? Legitimate help, not just something superficial.

She couldn’t remember. How should she respond?

Marinette’s tongue darted out, wetting her dusty lips. Her deep breath came in with a disconcerting rattle. Somehow, she managed to nod. The foreign hands loosened slightly.

“Okay. Good—“

“I can’t stop,” Marinette finally managed to choke out. “I can’t— I need to—“

“I know,” the voice said again, endlessly patient. Endlessly understanding. “But you’re hurting yourself, so put these on first. Then you can keep digging.”

With his help—yes, him. She vaguely managed to pin down that the voice was male— she was able to slip on thick gloves. They were several sizes too big, probably belonged to one of the firefighters nearby, her mind numbly supplied. She didn’t care. As soon as they were on, she dropped down and began to dig again. The man who had offered to help did just that, moving just a foot or two away and lifting up impossibly large chunks of concrete before placing them down gently in an open area.

With his help, they were uncovered. They were carried away, under blankets, as best as they could be. Marinette saw none of it. Hands covered her eyes, younger than the voice-man’s hands but almost as strong. The only thing she saw was whatever was left once most of them was taken away. Later, she would thank him. But in the moment she was furious.

“I’m not a baby!” She growled at him, her voice lower and scratchier than usual because of all the smoke and dust clogging her throat. “I need to look at them! I need to remember!”

“Not like this,” the new voice said. When he removed his hands, Marinette saw Superboy. He was probably just about her age, but that offered little comfort for her. At least his eyes were understanding, calm, and empathetic. “You don’t need to see them like this. Remember them like they were, not how they ended,” the young hero advised gently, keeping a respectable distance between them now that he was no longer covering her eyes. He wasn’t even floating, staying on solid ground to stay closer to her eye level. “Today will be hard enough on your mind as it is. You don’t need to make this more painful than it is.”

Marinette could only bite her lip at that, her shoulders trembling. Is this what it took to have someone worry about her? To have people realize that she wasn’t superhuman, that she wasn’t infallible or mentally indestructible? Is this what it took, to finally have people try to help and care for her?

Because if it was, she would gladly deal with Lila Rossi and be held to far too high a standard for the rest of her life. She would rather suffer quietly for decades with that much more gentle pain than deal with this agony right now.

She finally let the tears fall, but they were mostly silent. Only hiccups and gasps for air added sound to her sobs. Superboy gently removed her hands from her arms before she could draw blood on herself, and when she lunged into the touch he drew her into the hug she clearly needed. When she pretty much collapsed into his hold, getting snot and tears over the symbol on his chest, he said nothing. He just held her and shared a glance over her shoulder with his father.

—*—*—*—*—*

Lois Lane was an investigative reporter. And when her husband and son asked her to make sure the girl they had sat with for hours after the latest attack on their city would be taken care of, she did not cut corners in her research. What she came up with was less than reassuring.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. With her parents gone, she didn’t have much in the way of possible guardians. Her paternal grandfather was dead, just a few months earlier of old age. Her paternal grandmother Gina was consumed with wanderlust, not very responsible and not likely to be able to win custody. Even if she did, Lois doubted Marinette would do well in such an unstable, constantly moving lifestyle. Some people would, but Marinette was much like her son from what she gathered from her investigation. She would need stability before anything else. There was her Uncle from her mom’s side of the family, but he only spoke Mandarin so the language barrier was not promising either. The last thing Marinette needed was pressure to learn a new language. If she hyper focused on anything to deal with her grief, it should at least be something she chose on her own. Lastly there was her maternal grandmother, but she had gotten in an accident and passed away almost two years prior.

Luckily, Lois Lane was also a woman of extreme, if mostly secret, political power. She knew several billionaires with political sway, international superheroes, and politicians. Also, not that she would ever tell her husband, but she might have squared away some blackmail and favors that she might cash in with some folks in the legal system if it decided to fight her on her new personal mission.

Nobody got in the way of Lois Lane and lasted long.

But first, she ran her idea past her family. It wouldn’t do any good if they didn’t agree with her, after all. Luckily enough, her offer seemed to be exactly what they had hoped for. Apparently Marinette was the type that was easy to get attached to.

And that was how, after twelve hours of intense phone-call sessions and very, very many in depth discussions, arguments, debates, bargains, and subtle manipulation, Marinette Dupain-Cheng ended up in the temporary custody of the Kent family.

The process itself was extremely complicated and in normal circumstances would have taken anywhere from days to months to complete, but as mentioned before Lois Lane is a secret political superpower in and of herself.

Officially, Marinette’s grandmother Gina assumed custody. Unofficially, her grandmother had plans to enroll her in school abroad in, you guessed it, Metropolis, so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the melancholy memories that Paris would supply her. In doing so, she contacted the Kent’s who were apparently old family friends and asked them to take her granddaughter in for the time being. She was oh so busy traveling the world, after all. And that’s no life for a teenager recovering from grief.

After two weeks to allow Marinette to go back to Paris for the funeral, pack up her things and say goodbye to her friends, she ended up on the Kents’ doorstep with her grandmother by her side. Any attempts to get more information out of the old woman were futile, she refused to say a word on why nobody had mentioned these “family friends” before.

(Lois figured out fairly quickly that Gina Dupain was not somebody to take lightly. The fact that Gina answered the phone thinking that Red Hood was calling was a giant tip off. Lois was pretty sure that Gina knew damn well who her son and husband were, but wasn’t saying anything about it. It really was a shame that she wasn’t exactly prime parenting material at the moment.)

Lois and Clark opened the door together, having been double and triple checking that everything was set up and ready for their new addition. Sure, Marinette wasn’t being adopted or even officially fostered by them, but they would still treat her like a Kent.

“Marinette, hi,” Clark greeted, smiling warmly down at the short girl. “I’m Clark, and this is my wife Lois. If you need absolutely anything, don’t be afraid to ask. Okay?”

The small girl nodded, her hair flopping behind her a bit. Normally she would have it held back in pigtails, but she just didn’t have the energy for that anymore. Maybe she would regain it one day. With that, Gina and Marinette said their goodbyes and she started her life with the Kents.

—*—*—*—*—*

It took a while. Luckily the trip to metropolis had already been in the early summer, so Marinette could be excused for the last few weeks of the school term and relax over summer before being forced back into society. Her grades at Francois-Dupoint were finalized, Marinette doing all the extra work during her two weeks in France for the funeral. She had been told it wasn’t necessary and that she could take her time with it but, as the Kents soon learned, Marinette hated being idle.

But even though Marinette was nowhere near healed, it only took a week for her to warm up to the youngest Kent. Jon was a very much welcome presence in her new life. Just about her age, he was always patient with her and never pried for information or asked about why she occasionally couldn’t bring herself to talk. Words just failed her sometimes, she couldn’t get her throat to work. Something would remind her of her parents, or that day, and she would just feel the dust in her throat again and the blisters on her palms and she just couldn’t say a word.

All three of the Kents helped her through these episodes as best as they could, but Jon always stayed close by so she could tug him into a hug when she was ready. As a very tactile person, she really appreciated that.

And somehow he and Clark, despite being very awkward and physically unsure of themselves on the surface, gave the best hugs.

But, even though Jon and Clark had resigned themselves to being slightly more on-guard about their identities than they usually would be at home, they hadn’t quite anticipated just how hard it would be to keep a secret identity. Not necessarily from Marinette, since the girl spent most of her time out in their backyard or in her room, or occasionally going out for short visits to the city with Jon. No, it was the other way around.

Because of course Marinette couldn’t just give up being Ladybug and the Grand Guardian. Fu wasn’t there to take over for her anymore, so she took it upon herself to watch over Paris twice as vigorously. Mostly through keeping an eye on news channels and texts with her friends, general media stuff. She didn’t want to tire Kaalki out.

And this was how, two months after Marinette started living with the Kents, she walked through a portal into her room and was met with Clark and Jon staring right at her. The elder Kent had his arms crossed, posture oddly confident for the man she had come to know, and one eyebrow raised. Jon looked like his smile was about to rip his face in half, and he was bouncing a bit on his heels. Even then, though, Marinette could pick out the slight worry in his blue eyes. In both of theirs.

She immediately jumped backwards and closed the portal. Trapping herself back in Paris.

And instantly crumpling down to moan in despair on top of a random Parisian rooftop.

She was sitting on the very top of the Eiffel Tower when Superman and Superboy found her, and it didn’t take much for her to guess that they had flown straight over from metropolis. Stupid super-speed flight. She drew her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as they floated to her side of her patiently. She had long since separated Kaalki, and sat in just her Ladybug costume.

“I knew Lois could contact you guys, but this is a bit too quick even for you don’t you think?” Ladybug drawled monotonously, looking over at both of the heroes dryly. Now that she was mostly of sound mind and not in the middle of a traumatic situation, she was able to make connections she couldn’t before. She was able to actually observe their faces, whereas before she hadn’t really been in the right mind frame to really commit anything about them to memory. But now?

Ohhh, she knew those faces.

Marinette’s eyebrow twitched as she did a double-take, followed closely by a deep breath. Maybe the glasses and, for Jon, baseball cap, would be a good enough disguise for most people. Especially when combined with the frankly impressive body acting they both pulled off on an apparently daily basis, they felt like totally different people in and out of the suits even if they looked the same.

But Marinette was not a normal person. She was a designer, she had a very critical eye, and she had just spent the better part of the last two months living in the same house as these two. And now she realized that they severely toned down the body acting and general “disguise” of their civilian selves when they were at home rather than outside. She had shrugged it off as them simply relaxing at home and, while she was right, it wasn’t until this moment that she put everything together.

“No masks, seriously? Some day, someone with eyes as good as mine is gonna figure you guys out,” she told them blandly, earning shocked blinks followed quickly by soft grins.

“I would normally sit down next to you at this point, but you haven’t exactly left us any space,” Superman— Clark, Marinette reminded herself— joked lightly. Marinette looked down to the small tip of the Eiffel Tower and back up to him, pointedly raising both eyebrows. Jon giggled.

Rolling her eyes and fighting a smile, Ladybug stood up without any apparently care about her footing. Somehow, balance seemed to just come naturally to her. It was so different from the usual Marinette that Clark and Jon had seen literally walk into a wall on multiple occasions that they had to grin. Seems like she fit right in on their acts-clumsy-and-awkward-but-isn’t trope.

(No, they later realized, that was completely Marinette. Ladybug just brought out a different side of her, but the awkwardness was still there. Just better hidden.)

“I was kinda trying to stay somewhere that nobody else could join me on purpose. You know, I was a little busy catastrophizing about you guys wanting to get rid of me now.”

“What?!” Jon asked, horrified. “No way! Even if we were normal, we wouldn’t just toss you away because we found out you’re a hero. That just— do you honestly think we would do that?”

“No,” she admitted softly, crossing her arms and sighing as she looked down over Paris. Over her city. It was a bittersweet view nowadays. “No, but I always freak out over things like that pretty easily. I’ve had people leave me over less. Sometimes it’s hard to convince myself that anyone else will be different.”

“Marinette—“

“Ladybug, actually,” she corrected with a small smile. “Don’t wanna slip up here. You never know who’s listening.”

Clark blinked, needing a moment to let that sink in before forcing himself to continue. “Ladybug, then,” he paused to gently lay a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to meet his gaze. As always it was soft. Patient. Just like his voice had been that fateful day. And, oh, there were the memories. They had both been there, helped her, and they stuck with her. Even though it hadn’t been their fault, even though they could have easily stepped back and let her deal with own problems and who had her custody on her own, they didn’t. She would have blamed them if they did, who was she to expect heroes to care about her like she was their child? That would be horrendously selfish of her. They saved hundreds of people every week.

And yet here they were, treating her like family.

And there was the phantom dust, clogging her throat. Strangling her words. She opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out. Clark understood, he always understood, and his grip just tightened slightly. It tethered her.

“Ladybug,” he repeated even more softly. “We are not going to toss you out. Not for something like this, not for anything. You’re family now. You might not have the Kent name, you might not be kryptonian, but you’re one of us. Lois understands. Heaven knows she’s put up with both of us long enough, one more hero in the family is probably not that surprising. I just hope that… that you knowing doesn’t—“

“I don’t blame you,” there we go, her voice finally decided to work again. It came out a little hoarse, so she cleared her throat and started again. “I don’t blame you. I never did. It’s stupid, blaming a hero for things that never would have happened if the villain hadn’t attacked in the first place,” she told them, ripping her gaze away from his to trace over Paris again. “Maybe it’s because I understand that not everyone can be saved. I get it. But I never blamed you. I was actually grateful from the very beginning. You helped me dig them out even though you very well could have just carried me to the sidelines and stopped me from digging at all. And you, Jon, you didn’t complain once when I pretty much tackled you in a hug. You both sat with me as the paramedics looked me over. You didn’t leave until you were sure I was back in my hotel and in good hands. You never got impatient with me. That’s more than I could have asked for,” suddenly her mask was wet, and she roughly swiped away the tears that had leaked from her eyes. “You guys being Superman and Superboy isn’t going to make me treat you differently. It’s… actually nice. Not having to hide anymore, I mean.”

Jon grinned and flew over, enveloping her in a tight hug. Ladybug only chuckled and returned it, never once faltering in her balance. “I know exactly what you mean!” He said happily, making Ladybug laugh even more. It quickly devolved into Jon having to compensate for Ladybug’s balance, since she was suddenly leaning all her weight on him as she laughed her little heart out and no longer seemed to care about her balance at all. Not that it mattered much, Jon was more than capable of keeping her safe at close range like this, but it was cute to see. And for Clark? It was really relieving to see the girl he had come to think of as a daughter laughing so genuinely for the first time. Not a chuckle, or a soft huff of amusement, a full blown belly laugh.

It was amazing.

“Come on. I think you have some explaining to do, if you are comfortable with it anyway. Do you want to fly back, or portal back?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. He wouldn’t force Marinette to use her powers, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about them. Marinette straightened up, easily regaining her balance on the pointed tip of the tower beneath her, and slipping on a pair of glasses that she pulled… out of her yo-yo?

Wait, why was a yo-yo on her hip her only weapon? Maybe Clark should look into the Paris situation a bit more in-depth. He was clearly missing a lot, and none of what he was seeing was necessarily filling him with joy and confidence. Maybe Marinette could help soothe his worries later, if she decided to explain her abilities to them.

One transformation and a portal later, and all three of them stepped back into Marinette’s room. And when the portal closed and Marinette let down all her transformations, she took a deep breath and looked around. At both men in the room with her. At her bed and all her belongings. At the way this space has become her own. It felt nice. Warm. Welcoming, familiar.

Home.

It felt like home.

And Marinette’s smile hadn’t been quite so wide since before that infamous Metropolis trip.

Part 2

Yes, Lois kept her last name when she married Clark. I just like alliteration, okay? Besides, my story my rules lol :P

[starkidpotty]

When Will I See You Again? [RBW]

Ron’s favorite summer is the summer he met you. 

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none–it’s absolute, pure, unadulterated fluff.

Word Count: ~5.3k

A/N: finally a fic that isnt harry hsfhasdfa i plan to make this multiple parts but let me know if u guys wud like that aaa i hope u enjoy! <3

“Fred, you are a right foul git!” cursed Ron as he chased after the twin. 

“Ron’s in love!” Fred bellowed as he held a crumpled photograph in his hand. Before Ron carelessly pounced on Fred, the twin passed the photograph to the other half of his whole, George. 

George uncrumpled the photograph to take a good look at it, “In love is Ron!” George recrumpled the photograph into a ball and threw it back at Fred, making Ron the monkey in the middle. 

Ron jumped and jumped, unable to catch the crumpled polaroid as his brothers threw it around. Fred made the mistake of passing it to Ginny, who was caught off-guard, allowing Ron to snatch it from her hands.

“Now, look at it! It’s unsalvageable!” Ron exclaimed at the polaroid. There was a fold right across the center, discoloring that part of the photograph. 

“Are you not a wizard, little brother?” Said Fred.

Ron was, of course, just not adept or knowledgeable enough to fix the muggle object. 

“Does it look like I’d know a spell to fix this? This is the only thing I have to remember her by!” Ron bellowed in anger. Fred and George merely snickered at him. 

“You make very funny faces.” George said to him, mimicking the last conversation Ron had with you. 

The teasing started the first day the Weasleys decided to take a muggle-led tour of the famed pyramids in Egypt at Arthur’s request (demand, actually). The family tried very hard to fit into the muggle-led tour group, which to their credit, they did quite well. Arthur kept his little quips at bay–with much help from Molly and Bill. Percy droned on about his guesses for Head Boy (guesses, meaning reasons as to why he was most deserving of the role) to anyone family member within earshot. Fred and George were accompanied by Charlie, who was better accustomed to muggles due to his time in Romania. Ginny quietly observed her family. While Ron, who was holding Scabbers in his right hand and a handful of wizard sweets in his left, did not notice his untied shoelaces because he tripped over them and took a muggle girl down in the process. It was a scene out of a muggle romantic comedy–13-year-old Ron swore he fell in love the moment he and your eyes met. Scabbers scattered out of his hand at the moment of impact and as he stood up, he offered her his sticky and crumby left hand. You didn’t seem to mind, as you dusted yourself, and thanked Ron for his help. Of course, Fred and George were the primary witnesses of Ron’s unfortunate incident, as they had temporarily escaped Charlie’s watchful eye.

The second day of the muggle-led tour of the pyramids, he saw you again. He tried to steer clear of Fred and George, but he could only do much in the small space in the pyramids. Luckily, Fred and George were on a mission to seal Percy in a mummy tomb and Charlie merely watched, as he was quite amused at the whole scene. As Fred and George shoved Percy into an unknown Pharaoh’s room. Ron took this chance to talk to you as he spotted you at the front of the tour group. He looked left and right, making sure his family did not notice him and he walked to you.

“Hullo,” Ron started. You didn’t notice him, as you were transfixed on the Egyptian tombs.

Ron cleared his throat in an attempt to catch her attention and he repeated, “Hullo.” 

You finally turned to him, “‘Hello,”

Oh merlin, she’s French, Ron thought, as the sound of your accent sounded like harps and the gates of heaven themselves opening. He kept himself grounded as he reminded himself that you were essentially a muggle-girl who could not understand wizard things and should he slip, it’ll be only his mother’s voice he’d have to hear. 

“Er–hullo, I want to apologize, for tripping you yesterday in King Tut’s tomb yesterday.” 

“Oh! There is no–what is the word–problem, thank you again–er–for, for, helping me up.” You said, fishing for the translations of the French words you knew. 

By Merlin’s left tit, Ron swore up and down he was already in love with her. Her hair was shiny and soft, her eyes glittering, and lips so full. It was hard to concentrate, it was almost as though he were in a trance. 

“Is it your first time in Egypt?” Ron continued. Fred and George emerged from the tomb of the unknown pharaoh, unsuccessful in their plight to banish Percy. They did not meddle with Ron’s feeble attempt at female interaction, but instead sniggered at the sight of it. 

Ron himself was quite taken aback with his behavior, as he was talking to a girl–a member of the opposite sex, someone who was not his mother or his sister or Hermione. You were a pretty girl too, and this all the more heightened his nerves. Ron was exercising so much control over his words so as not to spill the secrets of the wizarding world to a 13-year-old girl that his head was spinning. The polite conversation was riddled with small talk, the normal exchanging of basic information such as names, ages, and where  you were from. 

Arthur spotted Ron, eyes wide. His son, his very immature & unaccustomed-to-muggles son (relative to himself, of course), was conversing with a muggle, all while his damned broken wand was poking out of his pocket. Arthur rushed to Ron’s side, and Ron hadn’t seemed to notice–too busy ogling you. Arthur put an arm around Ron, effectively startling him. 

“Good day! Might I borrow my son for a minute?” He says to you. You nod and watch Ron as he gets whisked away by his father. 

Arthur didn’t know whether to scold him or egg him on–it was a muggle he was talking to! Everything he’d want to know about muggles from the perspective of a 13-year-old girl right there. Then Arthur imagined the scolding he’d get from Molly if he chose the former. So, he lectured Ron on the dangers of revealing the secrets of the wizarding world to a muggle, citing an incident he’d had recently at work when a Muggle walked in on he and his fellow co-workers during a raid. 

“The obliviate charm, though quite useful, was a nasty thing to inflict onto somebody and I wouldn’t want  to do that to her.” Arthur told Ron. Ron didn’t care to listen to his father and began to imagine your face on his father’s to make the lecture more bearable. Arthur kept Ron glued to his hip the rest of the tour for the day until they made it back to Bill’s flat.

The third day was the most eventful yet, as the tour group finally had their last group lunch at an authentic Egyptian muggle restaurant. Ron took this as his last opportunity to interact with his muggle-tour-group crush and indiscreetly took a seat next to you. Unfortunately for Ron, Fred and George decided upon the seats across him and you. Ron tried so hard to talk to you, he really did, but he was worse off than yesterday. He was skidding over his words like a car whose tires popped and the steel was grinding itself across the road. Fred and George didn’t even hide the fact they were making fun of him, making kissy noises and drawing hearts in the air with their fingers. It was a miracle you ignored them, and even more of a miracle you paid attention to Ron. Your mother saw the sight and took out her polaroid camera. 

“[Y/N], [Y/N]! Look at me, my love!” Your mom said as she clicked the camera, film printing from the slot. She shook it to make it develop faster. The picture was ghastly–your eyes were half-closed with a forkful of spaghetti in your mouth and Ron’s face was contorted into a cross between a sneeze and anger. 

“How about another one, for good measure? Yes?” Your mother proposed. You shyly inched closer to Ron, and you swear you hear him gulp. You smile and Ron partly does the same (he was never really quite good at modulating his expressions, so now instead of a cross between a sneeze and anger, it was now fear pretending to be happy). 

Your mother hands you both pictures after they’ve fully developed, and you give Ron the second one. 

“I like how silly we look here,” You reasoned to him, beaming. Ron was going to explode. 

“Oh yes, me too.” He replied, shaking his polaroid of the two of you to get it to move, forgetting for a moment it came from a muggle camera. You chuckle at him. 

“You make very funny faces, it’s, uh, very amusing.” You mused. Ron turned red to his ears. 

“You should’ve seen the faces I made when I threw up slugs!” Ron laughed, then his face straightened to a stony expression. 

“Slugs?” You asked. At this point Ron was panicking and he sent a side-eye to Fred & George, who were laughing even harder than before. 

“Candied slugs,” Ron managed to say quickly

“Candied slugs?” You repeated, “That sounds so, er, awful! Disgusting, yes? Why would you eat such an ‘orrible thing?” 

Ron was pink to the ears.

“Well, er, candied slugs….are a delicacy?” Ron could not help but sound confused with the lie he was making up. You furrowed your brows. 

“In England?” You ask. 

“Only up north?” He asks with a very highlighted question mark. 

“Up north?” You couldn’t wrap your head around it, who the hell ate candied slugs in England? 

“It’s quite rare, might I add. Only a few mugg–” Ron stopped himself again, “people, I mean make them.” 

“Really, uh, candied slugs?” 

“Yes. Blimey, the feeling you when they go back up your throat!” Ron laughed, trying to keep his cool. “Well, what do you have in France? I reckon it's much better than slugs.” 

You tell him about the wonders of French culture, especially about food. Ron tries very hard to ask the questions, and you answer them. Lunch ends, signalling the end of the tour. All the members of the tour group finish their food, pay their share of the bills–Arthur took his time with muggle Egyptian money as he’d never see any other muggle currency aside from the British pound. When all was said and done, everyone stood up and went their separate ways. You stood, and so did Ron. 

Turning to him, you say,“It was, uh, nice to have someone my age ‘ere.” You were compelled to hug him, and you do. Ron was flushed, flustered, redder than his family’s signature red hair. His face looked like hues of red at a paint shop. Ron didn’t hug back due to shock, but you paid it no mind. You left as your mother called you to her, you skipped towards her happy to have made a friend in your time in Egypt. Ron stood there, almost in a petrificus-totalus-like state, staring at you as you walked away from him. Fred and George laughed at Ron incessantly. They made fun of him the whole walk back to Bill’s flat. Ron knew that he’d never see you again, but he resigned to replaying the last conversation you and he had. 

Ron’s remaining time in Egypt saw him thinking about you endlessly, it was the most teenageric thing he’d done thus far. The rest of the weeks were spent doing usual Weasley family activities, far away from muggles now, much to Arthur’s dismay. Bill gave them tours of the tombs he’d broken curses at and the satellite Gringotts office. The vacation ended and the Weasleys were well on their way back home with Ron still thinking about you all the way to Burrow. 

At the Leaky Cauldron, he told Hermione and Harry what he could about you. Harry was quite supportive of the whole escapade, while Hermione rolled her eyes and told him off as you were probably just being nice. The initial crush faded as the year progressed, but Ron still thought about you from time to time, wondering if you were enjoying home and if he’d ever run into you should he find himself in muggle France. He’d find you being the topic of conversation when he was alone with Harry–to avoid an earful from Hermione–on days where there would be nothing to talk about. He’d run through hypothetical situations and ask Harry how he should act around a muggle to not scare them off. 

His last conversation with you would occasionally creep up in his mind before he’d go to bed at Gryffindor tower, smiling at the thought of it. 

“Some girls really are something else,” Ron would think before drifting off to sleep, the crumpled polaroid hidden in his sock drawer. 

___ 

Year 3 at Hogwarts came and passed, Ron made it through in one piece, now without a pesky Scabbers by his side as it was revealed to have been Peter Pettigrew. He now had longer hair, more defined features, and grew a few inches taller. Summer was eventful to say the least with his family and his two best friends going to the Quidditch world cup and it being attacked by Death Eaters. He still thought about you from time to time in passing but not as obsessively as in the 3rd year. Yours and his interaction became an anecdote–the time Ron finally talked to a girl who wasn’t family or Hermione and almost slipped the secrets of the wizarding world to. Fred and George would not let him forget. 

“...This year, Hogwarts will play host to a legendary event: the Triwizard Tournament. During which time a single student gets to represent his or her school in a series of magical contests. Eternal glory awaits the student who wins the tournament.” Bellowed Dumbledore from his stand at the front of the hall. Ron was too busy working at his chicken pot pie, but picked up keywords from Dumbledore’s speech in between bites–Triwizard tournament, eternal glory. Dumbledore’s speech was interrupted by a frantic Filch running through the aisle of the Great Hall, clutching Mrs. Norris in his hands. He whispered a few words to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore continued. Ron had moved on from his chicken pot pie to the mashed potatoes drowning in the signature Hogwarts gravy. 

“...For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress Madame Maxime!” At once, the doors of the Great Hall burst open, giving sight to the students of Beauxbatons. 

Ron’s head was still down as he was basically breathing in the mashed potatoes, even though he knew that there would be plenty of mashed potatoes to go around. Seamus, sat to his left, accidentally nudged him thinking he was Dean, causing Ron to look up. Ron’s eyes immediately darted to the Beauxbatons girls who made quite an entrance with butterflies erupting from their sides. Ron was ogling them, now ignoring the mashed potatoes in front of him, his chin resting on his hand. He stared at them all, darting from girl to girl, focusing on them a few seconds each. His eyes moved down the line of girls, until he reached the last student–you. 

Ron froze, not out of fear, but out of utter shock. It was you, in the flesh–the muggle girl he had tripped in King Tut’s tomb a year prior to now. Of course now, he realized you were not a muggle, but a wizard like him. You were still gracefully dancing around as rehearsed, your arms extending and flexing forward like a ballerina. Ron was still staring at you. 

Hermione snapped her fingers at his face, “Excuse me! Women aren’t objects!”

“It’s her.” Ron simply stated. Hermione looked at Harry from across the table in confusion. 

“Who?” Harry asked. 

“D’you remember the muggle girl I kept talking about last year? She isn’t a muggle, she’s literally right there, in the flesh, prancing around, butterflies shooting out of her sides! Blimey, she’s a witch!” Ron exclaimed.

His two friends turned their heads to the front of the Great Hall, where you were bowing down. You and your fellow classmates separated among the four tables in the Great Hall, with you to the Gryffindor table. Ron was watching you the whole time until you sat at the table, only a few students away from him. 

Harry was in disbelief, unwilling to believe Ron, “Merlin, Ron, are you sure?”

Fred and George noticed Ron’s awestruck face and shifted around a few fellow Gryffindors to get to their little brother. 

“Georgie, it seems as though Ron has his eye on a certain French lady,” Fred starts. The twins follow Ron’s line of sight, landing on you.

“Blimey, Freddie, she looks familiar does she not?” George notices. 

Fred squints, “Good god, isn’t that girl you couldn’t,” 

George continues, “Wouldn’t” 

Fred says, “Stop talking about?”

George connects, “Every hour,”

“Of every day, last summer to now?” finishes Fred, finally. Fred and George turn to each other in amazement, wondering how they’ll be spending the next year torturing Ron. 

“Why don’t you go up to her and offer her some candied slugs then, little brother? It’s a delicacy in Northern England! Up north, yes!” George says mimicking 13-year-old Ron’s voice.

“Shove off, George,” Ron mutters as he brings his attention back down to his mashed potatoes, trying to calm himself down. He was picking at the plate with his spoon, tossing around the meal carelessly. 

You were enjoying a classic Hogwarts meal of baked chicken and potatoes, while a first-year sat beside you making chit-chat. The student knew just as much as you did about Hogwarts, but you hung onto every word. A girl in front of you at you and back down at her plate. You caught her eye and you both smiled. 

“‘Ello,” You say to her. She seemed to have gone as red as her hair. 

“Hello,” She replied to you shyly. 

“My name is [Y/N],” You say smiling at her. 

The girl paused and smiled back, “I’m Ginny.”

A pause ensues. 

“Sorry for, er, staring, you just seem so familiar,” Ginny says to you. 

“Oh? Sorry, I do not remember you,” You say remorsefully. “It is my first time here at Hogwarts, I’ve never met anyone from here.” “It’s in the face is all,” Ginny smiles at you, before returning to her food. The Durmsrang fellows finished their introduction into the Great Hall, breathing fire and finding their places at different Hogwarts tables. A bulky Durmstrang boy finds a spot next to you, and you both exchange niceties and finish your meals. 

Ron finally clears his plate of the mashed potatoes. Fred and George were recounting the events in Egypt to Lee, who was now laughing at Ron as well. Hermione finished her meal and got up, beckoning Ron to go with them, as they had classes the next day. Harry, however, was looking at Ron and back at you, shooting a look at him–like he was egging him on. Ron instead decides to get up to go back to the common rooms, and Harry, a little disappointed, follows. 

The hall of students seem to finish their meals the same time as you, as one by one they leave their seats. Your fellow Beauxbaton classmates leave their seats as well, as Madame Maxime gave full permission to explore the grounds and fraternize with other Hogwarts students, so as long as they return to her by a certain period. Ginny gets up in front of you to join her other friends, and you contemplate on your next move. You get up from your table and saunter towards her. 

“Uh, Ginny, yes?” You ask her, as she spins around to meet you. 

“Yes, [Y/N]?” she responds neutrally. 

“I would just like to say–ask, I think is a better word–if we could be friends? I know not much about Hogwarts or anything, really,” You question, “You seem very nice,”

Ginny is taken aback, but gladly obliges. She introduces you to her group of friends, and you try to keep their names in mind. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaims.

“What now, Ronald?” Hermione complains. 

“I forgot my bloody wand in the Hall, d’you mind?” He asks her. Without waiting for a response, he runs back to the hall and spots you, Ginny, and her friends stopped to the side while groups of students pour out the hall. He freezes in place foo two reasons: (1) He is absolutely mesmerized by your face, (2) you’re talking to his little sister. He takes a few steps to where he was sat a few minutes ago and grabs his wand. He could do two things right about now–leave or make up some pathetic excuse to talk to Ginny, and by extension talk to you. 

He chose the latter. 

He was rehearsing all kinds of stupid excuses to talk to Ginny and veer the conversation to you.

“Ginny! Mom sent you a howler, telling you off for being annoying, I mean I could tell you that myself.” 

“Ginny! Hermione says your hair looked greasy today, you should probably start a fight.” 

“Ginny! Remember when you poured your heart to a diary and almost got the life sucked out of by You-Know-Who in the flesh?” 

He was distracted and by the time he reaches you and Ginny and her friends, he’s stone-faced. His blood goes cold and a sweat starts to trickle on the nape of his neck.

“Hello, hello, uh,” He stammers. Ginny looks at him, in turn making you look at him. He sees you now, up close. You’ve grown a lot since that summer in Egypt. Your lips fuller, your hair longer, and you’ve grown into your features. You were sporting a paler look than you had last seen him, but he still thought you were glowing. 

“Slugs–” He starts out. Ron didn’t know why he began with slugs. Ginny gives him a bizarre look and your eyes widen. It’s as though your brain was flipping through pages of memories and it finally landed on the page it was looking for–Egypt, 1993.

“It’s you!” You exclaimed. Ginny was now giving you a bizarre look. “You were the boy who ate slugs, correct?” Ron was so nervous, and he felt all his blood pooling in his face. 

“What did you say then, er,– candied, yes?” Ron was silent through this, he was unaware of what to say. 

Ginny’s eyes light up, as she finally put two and two together, “You’re the french muggle girl Ron went on about!”

“He went on about me?” You questioned. Ginny’s friend’s had sensed this was a conversation amongst the three of you, and left, telling her they’d meet her in the common room and left. 

Ginny’s arms were now crossed against her chest, looking between you and Ron. You took off the signature Beauxbaton hat and fixed your hair, now conscious of the way you looked. Ron was too nervous to fix himself. Half his button-up was untucked and peeking from underneath his sweater, his collar was lopsided and his tie was arbitrarily knotted into a poor excuse of a windsor. He was transfixed on you, studying your features as though he were making sure that it was really you he tripped at King Tut’s tomb a year ago. 

Ginny turned to her brother, and their eyes met, gesturing him to talk. Ron opened his mouth but his vocal chords refused him any vibration. You stared at him, as the gears grinded in his head. 

“Er, I wouldn’t say went on about you,” Ron explained

“Wouldn’t say? Don’t lie, Ron.” Ginny said. Ron looked at her annoyedly, and Ginny smiled in return. 

You smile, “Is it true you eat candied slugs here?”

Ginny chortles, “Candied slugs?”

“Is it not, uh, a delicacy? He told me that last year,” You ask, pointing to Ron

“Blimey…” Ron mutters. Ginny laughs. He reasons, “I thought you were a muggle.” You shoot him a puzzled look, “Muggle?”

“Normal, non-magic,” Ginny cuts in. Ron shoots her another look. 

“Oh? Did, uh, I look not magical?” You ask jokingly. 

“You were more than magical,” Ron says in a dream-like tone. 

You fluster at his words and Ginny’s face turns into a disgusted look. 

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Ginny says, turning her heel to exit the hall. Ron pleads at Ginny through his eyes, but she takes no notice and leaves him with you. 

A pause takes you both. You recollect yourself, planning out what you want to say to Ron.

“I still have our, uh, polaroid.” You say warmly at Ron. He feels lighter, more comfortable knowing you kept the little piece of memorabilia from Egypt. 

“So do I!” He exclaims, too enthusiastically. He sinks back down into composure, silently scolding himself for the unwanted burst of energy. “I thought you weren’t a witch, honestly.”

You smile, “I could see your wand.”

Ron blushes fiercely, shades of red slowly taking place on his face, soon it becomes so strong, it’s enough to rival his hair, “I-I’m sorry?”

“Your, uh, wand. It was held together, by, uh, tape.” You declare. 

Ron sighed in relief, “You did?” 

“Yes, it was in your back pocket the whole time, no?” 

“Call me daft, I really thought no one would notice.” 

“It’s why I thought you knew I was a witch,” You say. “I didn’t care to point it, er, out.” 

Ron laughed humorlessly. 

“Would you, er, care to show me around the castle?” You ask him. Ron inhaled deeply and his mouth crunched into himself, a habit that showed when he was nervous. 

He carefully pushed a bang out of his face, before responding, “Uhm, okay.” 

Ron feigns gentlemanliness, gesturing you to the exit of the hall. His feet don’t move in tune with each other, causing him to lose balance. He utters choice words, but you don’t seem to notice. You walk towards the exit and Ron is right behind you, eyeing you up and down, while whispering a strained bloody hell. 

As Harry and Hermione waited for Ron at the hall doors, they were surprised to see you come out first with him on your tail. Hermione’s jaw dropped and Harry’s face lit up in approval. 

“‘Ello!” You greeted them, “My name is [Y/N]!” 

Harry’s eyes were wide, blinking away; Hermione scoffed in Ron’s direction. Ron merely shrugged, one of his bangs falling over his right eye. You looked back at Ron and at them, smiling. You were absolutely oblivious to the unspoken conversation the three were having amongst themselves. Ron’s head tilts in your direction, begging with Harry to say something. 

“I’m Harry, Ron has told us so much about you, this here is Hermione,” Harry says, gesturing to her. Ron panics silently and makes a pained noise, causing you to look back at him. Harry is losing it and trying very hard to stay composed. Hermione is still silent, looking at you and looking back at Ron.

“Has he?” You ask Hermione and Harry. 

“Oh, loads.” Says Harry simply. Ron wants to die. 

“Er, why don’t we walk her around for a bit, yeah?” Ron takes you by the wrist, shuffling between Harry and Hermione. Hermione looks to Harry in disapproval, arms crossed. Harry shrugs and follows Ron. 

Hermione catches up to Harry and whispers angrily, “What? Like she’s a dog?”

Hermione decides to leave the group, taking a right to the moving staircases, and she drags Harry along with her, much to his dismay. Ron was alone with you now. 

The walk around the castle was quiet but you didn’t seem to mind. Ron was looking at you the whole time, looking away when you looked at him. Ron was taken back with how you were willingly donating your time to him, when you could have joined the Durmstrang boy who sat next to you during the feast. He could swear you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Though he was supposed to be leading you around Hogwarts, he was letting you lead and following you like a puppy. 

You two finally stop at the courtyard, taking a seat on the grass. Ron stays standing, hands in pockets, pushing his cloak back. He’s looking around, avoiding your gaze. You catch his eye and pat the grass next to you. He cautiously sits down and assumes a long-sit. It is silent for a while, as you are basking in the moonlight. Ron is holding his breath, trying to emulate your relaxed demeanor but failing miserably. 

“I think it’s important to tell you,” You start, breaking the silence, “I’m part veela.” 

Ron is bewildered, “Veela?” 

“I think it is why you are so nervous around me,” 

“Nervous? Who said I was nervous?” He chuckles humorlessly and boomerangs back to a neutral expression. You laugh in response. 

“It’s not really an, uh, intended effect. It comes with it, like how you are a wizard who does magic. Veelas attract other people very much so.” 

“Oh,” Ron musters as a response. He stays silent, and so do you. It gets dark quickly, and you shoot up immediately. 

“I didn’t realize how late it has gotten!” You exclaim to Ron, who stands quickly. You dust off your uniform, while Ron watches you. You’re quite the sight under the stars and Ron is absolutely lovestruck. “Madame Maxime will, as the English say, have my head.” 

Ron smiles at you, unable to muster an answer as your smile is distracting and mesmerizing and simply put, beautiful. You grab his hand and pull him closer, landing a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you for bringing me around,” You whisper in a hug. As you pull away, you continue, “I hope to see you around again Don’t, uh, worry. I think I can find my way back.”

Ron is staring at you, rubbing his palm over his cheek. You giggle and walk back the same route you came. Ron is behind you again, looking you up and down again, while whispering a signature bloody hell again. He sees you walk down the hall until he can no longer see your figure and he makes his way back to the common room. 

Harry is waiting on the sofa, as Hermione tucked herself in an hour before. 

“I’m in love!” exclaims Ron to Harry. “I think I love her. I love her.” 

Harry laughs in response.

“I’m not joking, mate!” Ron says to him in a serious tone. “I have to see her again.”

“Alright, you aren’t joking!” Harry replies back strongly. 

“Harry, I mean it I have to see her again!” Ron says again, with such a remarkable tone of desperation in his voice. His face is so close to Harry’s, Harry wrings his head backward for protection.

“They’ll be here the whole year, Ron. You don’t have to worry.” 

Ron is satisfied with Harry’s answer, and wordlessly climbs up the stairs to his bed. He makes a beeline for his sock drawer, thrashing it open, throwing sock after sock out of it until he finds the polaroid of you two together. He lays it on his bed, photo in hand, resting it on his chest. He repeats your name with a smile on his face. He doesn’t bother to change out of his school clothes, and falls asleep hoping to see you the next day and the day after that and the day after that. 

-- 

part 2? lmk! <3 

masterlist here 

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.3]

Something was irrevocably different with Remington; Emerson picked it off right away. On an early Tuesday afternoon, with the air thick and humid and the sun beating down like a plague (no pun intended), Remington was fussing over himself more than usual. He had changed out of four or five different outfits, playing with his hair, and was it appropriate for him to wear makeup? Eva hadn't seen him with it on, yet. No, it was probably best to keep it casual for now. Then again, he had a fantastic highlight that worked absolute magic under the sun...

It was around eleven thirty when Remington finally came down, dressed down but still presentable in a simple pair of ripped skinny jeans and a t-shirt. Emerson and Shy were sat on the couch as they watched Netflix, Pepper situated between them. Remington stopped short when he saw the pair cuddled up on the couch, he smiled deviously.

"Eugh! You guys are so flippin' cute it's gross!" he gushed, putting on his diva voice.

Shy chuckled softly, "Hi Rem,"

Emerson's attention diverted to his older brother, intrigued to see him all ready to go out somewhere.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Coffee with Eva," Remington replied simply.

"The neighbour with the cat?" Shy said.

"Yeah," Remington nodded, "Emerson tell you she gave us a loaf of bread last week?"

"He did," she smiled, "Poor thing, I felt for her. She looked so flustered at the pool,"

"Well, moving is a bitch already. Throw in Covid 19 and you got a real thorn in the ass," Emerson said, then turning back to his brother, "You gonna' be social distancing?"

"We're going to drink our coffee and walk around in the park," Remington replied, "She works from home anyway,"

"So, who asked who for the coffee?" Emerson asked.

Remington shrugged, stopping at the hallway mirror to fix his hair again, "She brought up how she hasn't had a chance to get around the neighbourhood, so I offered, she accepted. She has our vinyl too,"

"Which one?" Emerson asked.

"Boom Boom Room,"

"Side A or B?"

"A,"

"I'd approve either way,"

Shy couldn't help but subconsciouly squeeze Emerson's arm, a glimmer of excitement bursting behind her eyes, "So, she's a fan, too?"

"Took her a minute to figure it out. Didn't even bring up Em or Seb, so clearly she pays more attention to me," the blonde smirked.

Emerson glowered at his brother, "Yeah, yeah, go for your cup of fuck-off-ee," he grumbled.

Across the street, with her room strewn in discarded clothes that just didn't make the cut, Eva finally felt confident standing in her denim skirt and black tee. On any other day she'd have paired the ensemble with her pleather jacket, but it was too damn hot out. Even with the window letting in a cool breeze, the air was uncomfortably humid. What did she expect when moving from the Emerald City to Los Angeles?

Eva made sure to close and latch the window shut before she left, not eager for Pluto to go off on another reign of terror. Stopping to grab a fresh face mask, her phone suddenly began to vibrate in her purse. She figured it might have been Remington sending her a text, but the screen flashed to the Blocked Caller ID. Eva rolled her eyes and denied the call.

Stepping out into the humidity, Eva waved her hand over her face as she stepped out of the complex courtyard, just at the same time Remington was locking the door to his house. As soon as she caught his eye, he was all smiles.

She was glad to see him; a little relieved, even. He looked cool, cool enough to appear on some grungy magazine cover. All he needed to complete the look was a cigarette and maybe a skateboard, too. The messy blonde hair, the glimmer in his eyes brought back the warmth she associated with his presence and as she came to meet him at his car, his spicy cologne danced up her nose and imprinted itself in her olfactory memory.

Remington had never been more wary of how his hands shook, his left hand he stuffed into his jean pocket and the right he gripped his car keys with a vice-esque grip. He found himself mesmerized briefly by the fit of her skirt, her black t-shirt tucked in smoothly but not too tight to over expose her figure, but just enough to give Remington an idea. Her short brown hair fell delicately over her face, one side pushed back behind her ears and exposing her stormy blue eyes to the sunshine. She was the embodiment of innocence and grunge wrapped into a perfect five-foot-six package.

"Glad you didn't stand me up," he grinned.

"Well, I kind of happen to live right over there," she drawled, pointing to her balcony, "It'd be kind of awkward and hard to hide if I tried,"

"You look really nice," he nodded after a brief moment.

"So do you," she agreed with confidence, "Where we off to?"

There was a forested park not far from where they lived. Despite the pandemic, the fields were filled with older kids playing games of soccer and basketball, there were vendors out trying to sell their ice cream, a couple girls were scattered across the grass and sunbathing. It almost all seemed so normal, if not for the fact that the kid's jungle gym had been fenced off so no child could climb upon it.

The pair walked side-by-side, him with his iced black coffee and her with a green tea frapp -- no whipping cream. The gravel path they walked was shaded by a canopy of lush green trees, providing some relief from the hammering heat. Remington kept his gaze locked on her, worried to miss a moment where she'd crack a smile or briefly run her tongue over her lips. Her fingers appeared so dainty yet he could spot the small calluses at the middle joint of her thumb, and some paper cuts on her middle and index fingers.

"So, how does a ghostwriter get hired?" Remington asked, "Do you just openly advertise 'hey! If you're a lazy author, come hire me'?"

"No," Eva shook her head with a giggle, "I used to write articles for the newsletter at my college, and then a friend of mine forwarded me an email about a client who was looking for a ghostwriter. I didn't know much about it but the money was pretty good. It was a grant application for requesting financial aid for survivors of residential schools,"

"Sounds depressing," Remington said.

"It was pretty heavy shit," Eva admitted, "But, I did get fifteen-hundred for a six page application. Well worth it, I'd say,"

Remington blew an impressed whistle, "So you make pretty good money off of this?"

"Let's just say my student debt has decreased significantly since I took up the profession," and she took a brief sip of her drink.

"You ever publish anything under your own name?" he asked, "Eva Kuznetsov is a cute pen name. Evelina sounds more mature, though..."

Eva shrugged, "I think about it sometimes... but it's just easier to write under someone else's name and let them have all the glory. Say, if they happen to do something stupid to forever tarnish their career, that won't come back to bite me in the ass,"

Remington smirked, "Like a particular fantasy author who's made some pretty heavy comments concerning the trans community?"

"Let's not even talk about that, my heart still breaks when I think about it," Eva sighed, "To answer your question, however, if I got confident enough I may try to publish something in the future,"

"What else do you like to write?"

Eva opened her mouth but closed it quickly, pressing together her petunia pink lips as she visibly swallowed whatever words were about to pass through them. When she looked up at Remington again, his brown eyes dark like soaked coffee grinds that sent her into a caffeinated headrush. What would he think if she actually told him...

"I write poems, some short stories," she somewhat lied.

Remington's smile grew wider, mischief glimmering over his face like light beams reflecting over windchimes in a saturated dusk, "You hesitated just now," he spoke curiously, "What else do you write?"

Eva glanced down at the ground, a nervous giggle bubbling out and knocking the air out of her lungs, "Okay listen, don't judge me, it's just a hobby of mine,"

"Oh God!" Remington gasped, "Do you write porn?"

Eva laughed again, her pale cheeks flushing in red, "Well... I do happen write some naughty shit... in my fanfictions,"

Remington stopped dead in his tracks, taken aback by her answer. He totally thought she would say something along the lines of erotic fiction on a platform like Literotica. For understandable reasons, he had some mixed emotions about fanfictions.

"What kind of fanfiction?" he asked, somewhat bordering on the third degree.

"... Um..." she glanced at him again, the smirk on his lips compelling more giggles to burst from hers. She pressed her hands together over her nose and mouth, and Remington laughed as well.

"Okay listen, I promise," he put his right hand over his chest, "I promise I will not judge you for whatever smut you write for whoever," he assured her.

"It's not... yeah, I guess it kind of is," Eva chuckled nervously, "I usually write for stuff like Criminal Minds, but more lately I've gotten into writing for Euphoria..." she trailed off, timid as she waited for his response.

"Alright, that's actually not bad," he nodded, "I'll be honest, you didn't strike me as somebody who write fanfics,"

Eva glanced timidly at her scuffed sneakers, kicking up pebbles and dust, "Are fanfic writers supposed to look a certain way?"

"I don't know, actually," he simpered.

"I don't tell a lot of people that I do it, mainly because their first impression is either 'what the fuck' or 'OMG we should collaborate' and I'm just like," she hung her head back, "Nooo!"

"You're more of a soloist then a team player, then?" he teased.

"Let's just say I tend to work better alone," she replied, shrugging her shoulders as though the comment should mean nothing. But Remington found it odd that Eva was out here all on her own, never brought up her friends or family. He didn't see many personal effects in her apartment, neither.

"Is that why you're out here by yourself?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"Well... don't take this the wrong way, but I haven't really seen you with anybody. You don't talk about your friends or your family,"

Eva shrugged again, "They're all back in Seattle. Besides, opportunity was drying up over there and I just wanted a fresh start," she said, "Besides, Pluto's my friend,"

"Well, that's a given," he replied, "Are your parents up in Seattle?"

"My dad is," she nodded, "I don't know what my mom's doing," Remington's silent was her cue to go on, "I um... we haven't really spoken, her and I,"

"You have a falling out?" he asked suddenly.

Eva glared down at the gravel again, "You can call it that. She's a pilot and she's always flying, and so you know, I never really got to see much of her growing up. And then, she suddenly shows up for my college graduation and expects us to be one big happy family, like she has it in her head that she can make up for all the birthdays and shit she's missed. And I just didn't know what to say to her. I don't know who she is, but she's my mom," she glanced up at Remington again, "And I don't know why I'm telling you all of this,"

Remington wasn't bothered by her unloading, it seemed as though Eva needed to get things off her chest more than she realized. Her smile was sardonic and her voice petty like a comedian on stage, putting on the brave 'I don't give a fuck anymore' face.

"I find sometimes it's easier to unload to new people then it is to your friends," he said, "What does your dad do?"

"Chem professor. Which is ironic because I seriously sucked at chemistry," she replied.

"Show me a kid who didn't struggle in chem, honestly," he said, "But do you get along with your dad?"

"For the most part," she chuckled, "He's still confused as to why I choose to write anonymously, but that's his problem. What do your parents do?"

Remington chewed on the inside of his cheek, "My mom's kind of like our manager. Does a lot of production and behind the scenes stuff. And I haven't seen my dad for nearly twenty years,"

Eva was silent for a moment, studying him. He spoke with a firm grin, yet still trying to shadow that flicker of sadness within his face.

"So we both have parental issues... that's nice to know," she put on a teasing grin, "Maybe that's why we make such good friends?"

Remington swallowed thickly, "So, you are indeed confirming we are friends?"

"I am," she smiled, "It'd be nice to have whatever few I can scrape up,"

"That fact that you also live across the street means that you're now stuck with me," Remington grinned with pride.

"True," Eva hummed appreciatively, taking another sip of her drink, "Somehow, I don't think I'll mind, though,"

When Remington drove her home she gave him a sweet and polite goodbye, a hug which made his confident exterior falter for a second long enough for her to witness it through the flush in his cheeks and his lack of response. His words tripped over the length of his tongue when he tried to flush out a proper goodbye and he felt his hands began to quiver again.

And when he went to open his door, he took one last glance. The small brunette turned at the same time and met his gaze, but he was too far away to hear her sharp inhale. And when he finally went inside he fall back against the door, staring into space with the biggest grin he'd had on since... well, he couldn't remember when he last felt so excited.

[iamtrebleclefstories]

I Believe in Second Chances - Part 6

Drunken nights and wedding invites

A lot of you have been asking me when this takes place. The story is taking place during s9, which means that Derek is alive and the plane crash victims are currently in the process of filing a lawsuit against the plane charter/hospital. It still is SGH because the hospital sale has not happened yet. Things will all make sense and I will reference them further on in the story!

“Jo! Dude, wake up!”

“Huh?” Jo shot upright and looked around at her surroundings, trying to determine what was going on. 

“We’re gonna be late to the hospital. Put some pants on and get up from the couch,” Alex yelled from his place in the kitchen. 

“I don’t want to,” Jo groaned. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago when I tried to wake you up the first time,” Alex smirked and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m serious. I have a surgery and you got a lecture with Webber and all the other interns in half an hour.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jo stood up sluggishly from the couch, searching for her pants on the floor. “I’d much rather be in surgery.”

“Well, you can’t today. At least for the first few hours,” Alex walked into the living room and laughed slightly at Jo’s disheveled appearance. He bent down and picked up her jeans that had landed somewhere around the fireplace. “You looking for these?”

“Yes!” Jo reached out and began to slip her legs in. “How the hell did they end up over there?”

“You were pretty wasted last night,” Alex handed Jo the other mug of coffee in his hand. “I had to carry you inside because you couldn’t get out of the car without falling. I placed you on the couch and by the time I came back with some water and Advil, your pants were on the floor and you were knocked out.” 

“You know, it’s embarrassing how many times you’ve seen my ass,” Jo cringed. “Sure, we’re friends, but you’re also my boss and you live with another one of my bosses. Where is Yang by the way?”

“She left twenty minutes ago.”

“Great so she saw my ass too.” 

“She didn’t see your ass,” Alex rolled his eyes. “I covered you with a blanket before I went to bed last night. You were completely covered.” 

“How thoughtful of you,” Jo deadpanned. 

“Hey, I could have just left you lying there on the couch in a t-shirt and your underwear all night. But instead of being a jerk, I covered you up and made sure you were nice and warm. It is December after all,” Alex flashed her a smug grin. “It's a nice ass by the way.”

“What a gentleman,” Jo replied sarcastically and laughed at the way Alex rolled his eyes again. 

“Come on, let’s go. There’s a thermos with coffee⎯one third cup of milk and three teaspoons of sugar⎯and a grilled cheese sandwich on the counter,” Alex said as he threw on a jacket and slipped on his boots. He heard shuffling and a set of eyes on him. Alex turned to see Jo staring at him with a curious expression on her face. “What?”

“How did you know how I like my coffee?” Jo asked, brows furrowing. “I’ve never told you that.”

Alex chuckled awkwardly, “I just… I figured that’s how you might like it. I take my coffee the same way.” 

“Uh huh,” Jo continued to stare at him curiously. “You know, I find it kind of unfair that you just seem to know all of my quirks beforehand and I have to learn them as we go.” 

Not really knowing what to say to that, Alex shrugged, “Sorry?”

“Okay, sure,” Jo chuckled. “You are definitely way too happy about knowing so much about me.”

“Whatever, let’s go.” 

————

“You still haven’t made a move?” 

Alex was getting tired of the constant meddling of his friends. Today he was getting grilled by Cristina, Jackson, and surprisingly Bailey. “No I haven’t. I already told you guys that I’m waiting for the right time.” 

“Dude, well you better make a move before I do. She’s hot and I need to get over April,” Jackson frowned. 

“Shut up,” Alex shot him an unimpressed glare. “Over my dead body. Just figure it out with Kepner. Choose to be together. Don’t be an idiot that hurts the people you love. Same thing goes for you and Hunt, Yang.”

“Well, I don’t see you choosing to be together with Wilson,” Bailey said from her spot on the couch as she flipped through a medical journal. 

“You see, even Bailey thinks you’re being ridiculous,” Cristina snickered. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you waiting? She obviously likes you. Otherwise, she wouldn’t crash on our couch on average three nights out of the week. She literally passed out on our couch like four days ago. I walked out of the house and there she was on the couch, sound asleep while this idiot was making coffee in the kitchen and staring at her longingly.” 

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Jackson placed a hand under his chin. “This girl spends the night at your house on a regular basis and she sleeps on the couch downstairs? Not in your bed? Are you losing your touch? Is that what’s happening?”

“I’m not losing my touch,” Alex grumbled. He looked at his friends who stared at him with raised eyebrows. “Look, I know she likes me. I overheard her talking with the other interns a few weeks ago. But she’s scared because she’s been through some things that gave her some major trust issues. That’s why I’m taking it slow and waiting because I am not gonna screw this up. Not this time.” 

“Karev, you listen to me now,” Bailey pointed a finger at him. “Here is what you are going to do. My wedding is in three days. You are going to bring Wilson as your plus one to my wedding. You are going to be kind and charming and keep your hands to yourself and your eyes from wandering. You are gonna give her your full attention and then give her a ride home. And at the end of the night, you are going to tell her how you feel and let her think about what that means. Then, you just go from there. Understood?”

Alex huffed a slight laugh, “Yes Dr. Bailey.” 

————

“Hey! I heard you were on my service again today,” Alex smiled as Jo approached him. It had been a couple days since he’d truly seen her. Sure, they’d passed by each other in the halls, but the past few days had been especially busy for the both of them and he hadn’t seen her since she woke up on his couch almost a week ago. 

“I love peds. All the babies and kids and joy and magic,” Jo sighed dreamily. “Sure, it sucks that they’re sick, but kids really bring out the best in people.” Jo looked at Alex teasingly. “You especially. You’re a huge jerk to everyone else, but those kids bring this happy, soft side of you. It’s a good look. You should show people more often.” 

“And ruin my reputation? Nah,” Alex scoffed. “Can’t freak my friends out by letting them think that I’m not cold and dead inside.” 

“Well, I feel honored that I get to see this side of you,” Jo smiled. 

Her smile always seemed to give him butterflies. Something about that beautiful smile that awakened something deep within him. It was mesmerizing. So much so, that he often found himself getting lost in it. 

“Hello? Earth to Alex. You okay?” Jo waved her hand in front of Alex’s face. 

“Yeah,” Alex shook himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah I’m fine. Let’s go check on my pre-ops.” 

They did their rounds on patients before finally making it to the room of the child who’d be getting their surgery performed first thing today, “Hey Jenna! How’s it going?”

“Hi Dr. Kawev!” the small five year old girl gave him a toothless grin. “Look! I lost my toof last night!”

“Dude, that is so cool!” Alex high-fived Jenna and smiled at the parents. “Did you get money from the tooth fairy?”

“Uh huh,” Jenna nodded emphatically. “I got two dowwas.”

“Two dollars? Wow, the tooth fairy must really like you,” Alex looked back at Jo and pointed. “You see that woman over there? That’s Dr. Wilson and she’s gonna be helping me with your surgery today.”

“Girls can be doctows too?” Jenna’s eyebrows shot up in excitement.

“They sure can,” Alex nodded. “Girls can do anything boys can do. And a lot of times they do it better than the boys.” 

“Woah! That’s so cool,” Jenna’s eyes lit up. “I wanna be a doctow too!” 

Jo’s face broke out into a smile and she felt her heart flutter at the little girl’s words, “Really? Well, it’s going to take a long time and be hard sometimes, but you can do it.”

“Why did you wanna become a doctow, Dr. Kawev?”

“You know, nobody has asked me that before,” Alex paused and looked at the girl for a moment before responding. “Well, I have a younger sister and when she was a kid, one day she got really sick. So, I took her to the hospital to get some help because my mom and my dad couldn’t do it. And while we were sitting there, I saw all the hard work the doctors were doing to try to help my sister and it made me happy that somebody cared so much about a stranger’s life to save them. That day was the day I decided that I wanted to help people.”

“I wanna help people too,” Jenna decided. “But fiwst, I need youwe help.”

“You sure, do and we’re gonna take you up into surgery right now. Say goodbye to mommy and daddy,” Alex instructed and turned over to Jo. “Prep her for surgery and I’ll meet you in the OR in twenty.” 

They’d been in surgery for about an hour when Alex finally got tired of the looks Jo kept sending his way, “What? You look like you wanna ask a question, but you’re too scared to actually do it. Spit it out.” 

“I didn’t know that story about your sister that you told Jenna,” Jo stared up at him. “But, I’m guessing that’s not the full story and you only gave her the age appropriate answer.” 

Alex took a second to collect his thoughts before saying what had really been on his mind when Jenna asked him why he wanted to be a doctor, “My whole childhood, I was surrounded by people who didn’t have a problem hurting others. My dad was abusive and neglectful, my mom was sick and most of the time didn’t even realize that she was hurting us, even my school nurse took advantage of me when I was fifteen, nowadays, she’d be arrested for statutory rape. Then there were all the foster homes and parents that treated me like crap, like I was trash, and for a long time I believed them. All of these people were people that were supposed to take care of me and keep me safe, but instead, all they did was hurt me. And I usually got the worst of it, too. I was the oldest and I needed to keep my little brother and sister safe, so I took the beatings meant for them, and I ate less food so they wouldn’t starve, and I even stole a car to get my baby sister to the hospital in time for someone to help her. She couldn’t have been more than eight months old. 

“When I got there, it was the first time I ever actually had anyone take care of me and my siblings. The doctors went above and beyond to help my sister and gave me some food and let me stay with her in her hospital room that night. They gave a crap, ya know? And it was so damn refreshing because for at least one night, I was able to see that people weren’t all bad. Then we went home and I was back in that crappy, dirty house, with my abusive dad that was too strung out on drugs to even remember my name. That’s when I decided that I would never be like him. I would never be like the people that hurt me. I wanted to help people. I wanted to save them. I wanted to get out of that hell hole of a town and make something of myself. I wanted to prove everyone wrong when they said I would never amount to anything in life. And I’ve done that. I have proved them all wrong and I’m a freaking kickass peds surgeon and I don’t hurt people back . Not anymore. Not like I used to.” 

The rest of the surgery was conducted in silence. Because what could you really say after something like that? Every time Alex opened his mouth, Jo found herself falling for him more and more, which absolutely terrified her. She was sure that if she would’ve opened her mouth after his speech, the only words that would’ve come out would've been ‘I’m in love with you.’

That was ridiculous, though. Jo couldn’t be in love with him. He was too good, too kind, too perfect. And she was all shades of messed up and complicated that he couldn’t possibly want. As much as she wanted him, she knew that she couldn’t have him. Not with Paul out there. 

But sometimes the heart wins out in the end because Jo couldn’t bring herself to put distance between her and Alex. Instead, she kept getting impossibly closer to him. It was almost as if there was this thing pulling her, beckoning her to be with him and it scared the living daylights out of her because she kept giving into that tug ever single time. 

By the time the day was over, Jo and Alex had successfully performed four surgeries and were on their way to the bar for some drinks. As they were walking, Alex stopped, “Do you want to go to Bailey’s wedding?”

“Huh?” Jo wondered aloud. 

“Bailey’s wedding is tomorrow and I have a plus one,” Alex explained. “All my friends are going with their partners and I don’t really want to be alone so what do you say, wanna go with me?”

She knew what her answer should’ve been. It should’ve been no. Because this was not how you put distance between yourself and the person you were dangerously close to just word vomiting all your feelings to. That’s why she kind of surprised herself as the following words came out of her mouth, “Yes.” 

[dat-town]

Busan drift

Characters: racer!Felix & racer!You

Setting : street racing au (all I know is coming from the Fast & Furious franchise so excuse my shitty knowledge about cars and races)

Summary: A new face around the races in your beloved seaside town always means trouble, especially if he’s as cocky and arrogant as that mysterious silver-haired guy seems.

Warning: nothing really apart from good ol’ competitiveness

Words: 4.7k

For the one and only @lily-blue​! Love ya, dear! ♥

There's a smug smile playing on your lips the moment you cross the finish line, tires screeching against the asphalt as you step on the break and take a perfect U-turn to park your car in the middle of the impressed crowd. Adrenalin still rushes through your veins just as the car's engine still rumbles under you and fingers warm against the wheel, you let the satisfying feeling of winning hype you up before opening your door.

"That's my girl!" Chan welcomes you with a proud smile stretching over his lips, big palm patting you on the blade bones in congratulations before anyone else could. You grin at the brunette and reciprocate Changbin's half hug within the circle of your friends and admirers.

"Today's on me," you holler in the air followed by loud cheers and you know you gotta claim your prize for today's race before the sore losers would ruin your fun with their bitterness. A race is a race, there are no rules, so they cannot even call you out on cheating because technically there's nothing you could have done wrong. And well, everybody would laugh at them if they had to turn to such techniques against a girl.

It took you some time and definitely some nerve and thick skin to earn yourself a reputation and a title but by now, the Busan streets are like your playground and everybody who matters in this scene knows your name. You're the first girl who has ever won the local annual street race after all. Of course, you couldn't have done it alone. If it wasn't for your friends then you would have been nowhere near your current place. A lot of things had lead you to where you are now starting from your long friendship with Jisung who was your classmate in middle school. He introduced you to his friends, Changbin and Chan with whom you hit it off quite quickly. The eldest boy already had an interest in cars then and he was the one who taught you the most about how to pick a vehicle apart and then put it together thanks to his accurate technical knowledge. Changbin has been out on the streets for quite a while too, while Jisung mainly deals with the competitions: he gets the info about them, gathers maps about the routes and handles the prize money to make the most out of the cars.

But a bit of celebration never hurts, so you're off to go to your usual favourite place with the nice amount of cash in your hands when somebody steps in front of your and you have to halt your action. Annoyed, you look up at the tall guy in front of you and first, you think he must be one of those racers whom you left behind during the latest race. However, you are quite surprised when you see an unfamiliar face.

Busan might be a big city but the street racing scene isn't so big that you wouldn't know your competitors. It actually makes your job even easier because every driver has their signature type of driving and knowing them enables you to use this knowledge against them without them knowing.

"Impressive race," the stranger comments with a twitch in the corner of his mouth and you're once again taken aback but this time, it's because of the depth of his voice. He spoke up quietly but the deep rumbling resonated through the area.

"Thanks," you hum, not knowing why he has to stand in your way but at least, the guy doesn't waste your time and goes straight to the point:

"I can beat you, though," he claims confidently and he had some guts, you have to give him that but you laugh at his claim nevertheless. Not because you are that full of yourself that you think nobody can be better than you but taken the current circumstances it seems highly unlikely since you know the route well and newbie amateurs aren't competitors to you anyway.

"Ooooh do we have a Seoul boy here?" you raise a brow checking him out from head to toe not too impressed. He has slick, perfectly styled silver hair, showing off his undercut and dangling silver ear piercings. His facial features are defined by his high cheekbones, well-defined eyebrows and jaw as sharp as a knife. His dark eyes are like the night filled with fierce passion instead of stars.

Everybody can tell easily that he didn't belong here. It isn't just the expensive watch on his wrist or his weird dialect but the way he carries himself. There's some arrogance in it, as if he had some kind of privilege over countryside folks like you. But pity for him, whoever treats him as if he was a little prince, nobody here cares. He could have been the son of the president and nobody would have given a shit about his family background. On the Streets, nothing else matters just raw talent and what you have built for yourself. He couldn't just walk in him acting like he owned the place. That's very far from the truth and you take it upon yourself, enlightening him.

"You don't know how things work around here, do you? You can't just challenge someone like that," you tell him firmly and the crowd around you provides the sounds effects, gasping as if the guy just got burnt. He, however, doesn't seem too bothered. He merely raises an eyebrow back at you.

"Why? Are you afraid?" he mocks you, deep voice reminding you of deep waters. You wonder briefly whether it is possible to drown in a voice.

"Of course not," you snort since that's a ridiculous guess. Why would you have been afraid? Statistically he has like 1 to 100 chance to win against you. Busan is a maze made of beach strolls, mountain roads and tricky underpasses. Unlike him, you know these all too well, not used to the straight and wide roads of the capital city. "But I don't have to explain myself to someone who don't know or respect our rules. Educate yourself first." 

You don't do it on purpose but the crowd around you seems to enjoy your remarks. However, the guy doesn't seem to take it to heart. 

"Oh I know you have this open popup competition thing going on," he shrugs nonchalantly speaking so ignorantly talking about how your races are held that it rubs you off the wrong way. Doesn't he get that randomly getting notified of where and when the races are held meant that you have to be ready all the time? 

" I was just wondering whether you were up for an off-competition race. Think of it like a challenge. I will be here same time tomorrow," he said and flashed you a smirk before turning on his heels and leaving the scenes while being watched by numerous baffled eyes including yours.

"So… drinks?" Jisung broke the silence with his hopeful question and everybody seemed to share the sentiment.

Originally, you didn’t want to care about arrogant guys’ any random challenge because you knew that if you agreed to one, then more would come after him and each of them would call you a coward if you turned any down. However, as Changbin reminded you that stranger boy with his ridiculous undercut called you out in front of a crowd, letting everyone know about the time and place, so you could be pretty sure there would be quite an audience there later that day with or even without you. You hated to give in like that, but you pretty much have no choice but to go there and teach that brat a lesson. That things weren’t played like this on your streets.

"Yah yah yah, guys! You won't believe this!" Jisung runs to the garage where you're currently trying to start the engine when Chan, the one working on the gears, tells you, too. Jisung looks dishevelled and a bit panicked, so it should be something important. Keyword is should because he tends to act so dramatic even because of stuff like a slightly burnt toast. 

"What?" you turn towards him, having the urge to ruffle his already messy hair. Since you have a pretty casual brother-sister-like relationship with each guy on your team, it wouldn’t be something weird or out of line. However, you stay in place and turn the keys as Chan taps on the car hood, getting the engine finally fumbling under his handyman hands.

"The guy, you know, from yesterday… I found out who he is!" Jisung tells you all too proudly but he seems to jittery over such information. You guessed he must be a nobody from Seoul thinking car races on the streets of Busan are similar to the ones he had back at home, you even played with the idea, he only knew stuff like a wheel and gears from arcade games. However, when you shoot an uninterested look at Jisung, he whips out his phone and shoves a website into your face with the guy's unimpressed face on it.

He looks somewhat younger in the picture and his hair is wavy blonde instead of the short-cut silver like now but it really is him. That arrogant look in his eyes rubs you off the wrong way just by looking at his image with the description calling him Felix Lee.

"He's a legit car racer! The youngest one in the Australian national team!" Jisung basically shouts and your attention drifts to the headline of the article claiming that the boy abruptly moved to Korea.

Maybe you should be intimidated but you just snort. He acted so almighty just because he used to play with those super expensive toy cars within the set route of an arena? Hah, he would fail badly on the roads, especially if he isn't used to being done dirty by other racers. It wasn't some Formula 1 here, you have no such rules. 

"And? I can still beat his ass," you claimed confidently, knowing your skills. Winning against a newbie in street racing would be easy as a pie. 

"Still, keep it in mind that he isn't as clueless as we thought. He knows cars and is probably good under pressure," Chan a.k.a the voice of reason reminded you. You know that it's important to not underestimate your enemy but you're too annoyed by this prick and his arrogant attitude. 

"Sure, but we know that area better than anyone. I have raced there multiple times, I know the shortcuts and the dangerous turns. There's no way he could do better on first try," you claim fairly sure of yourself and you glance at the time, seeing you have a few more hours until you have to be there, at the bay, behind that warehouse with Hyundai written on its side.

"Don't be like that, guys, no need to get stressed, she will show him how it's done in Busan. He'll get the authentic taste of losing," Changbin speaks up waking from his nap and you grin at him, giving him a high five in gratitude for his support. You know that the others worry for your sake too but you don't need that, there's nothing to be anxious about.

Or so you thought. 

You start to get second thoughts when arriving to the venue you see Lee I Think I'm The Best Felix's car. A beautiful white Toyota Supra 2020. The paint on the sides seems brand new, the red strikes powerful and the smoke effect makes it aesthetic. But too bad, pretty cars are worth nothing if the engine is cheap and weak. But the thing is, you know this car. Or at least the type and you have been meaning to get your hands on one for literal years! It's just super rare and hella expensive. All your savings from competitions wouldn't be enough to get one. And now you're not only annoyed by the guy's behaviour but also envious of him. Huh, such a showoff though. Or rather a coward, you would like to think. Coming to race against you with a car that's being said to have one of the best acceleration speed. Compared to that, your baby is a veteran Nissan, having been used years and fixed up by Chan numerous times. But it's still running on high speed and you're familiar with every little thing, how to drift or how to use your nitro smartly, because of course, you have upgraded it over the years, even hand painted the 4RACHA sign onto its side.

"So… you came," the guy pushes himself away from his car, arms crossed against his chest and you don't like his content, bright smile. He seems genuinely glad to see you and seeing how much the crowd fawns over his fancy car, you're sure he came here to show off. 

"Can't have you think you can just walk into Busan so mighty," you roll your eyes, adding internally: can't have him think you were a coward. 

"Well, you can show me my place then," he chuckles all too amused and you press your lips together disapproving. You don't like how relaxed he is. As if he's already won regardless the result of the race.

"Hey guys, I'm gonna let you know about today's race to keep it fair and unbiased," atall, blonde haired guy from the Streets community walked up to you. Hyunjin is one of the organizers of the weekly and annual events too. They decide the routes, the prizes, the time and they invite everyone involved. They are pretty much the center of the Busan street race competition.

"I will be the one drawing the flag, you will receive the GPS coordinate you have to reach, there's no advised route. We will monitor where you are and see if you reach the point. The first one who makes it back will be the winner. Is it clear?" he asks looking from the new guy to you and when your eyes meet, you see his mouth turn slightly upward.

His smile has gotten you into trouble before and stupidly you still feel that nostalgic fondness towards your ex-boyfriend. It's been a while since you broke up due to the rumours that him giving out info helped you win so many races but you still care about him to a certain extent. You would have liked to stay friends but in this competitive world it's better not to keep too close attachments between organizers and racer. Too many people badmouth those.

"Sure thing," the newbie grins and you just nod. You have already known this after all.

"Alright, then get ready," Hyunjin tells you, a wavy blonde lock falling ahead into his eyes from his manbun. 

You shot one last look at the silver-haired guy and his shining dark orbs before turning on your heels you sit back into your car after receiving encouragement from your friends and some regular viewers.

Sitting behind the wheels you already see the red dot lighting up on your integrated GPS map and already know you will go along the shore to go there instead of across the town. Less distractions and obstacles.

Once Hyunjin and some others you know through the races send the crowd a bit farther, giving the two lined up cars enough space around the starting line. Your ex takes the black flag and white you use for such purposes and stands in front of you, between the black Nissan and the white Toyota. You start your engine, running it, warming it up while he waves the flag above his head. You hear the counting down, the echoes in the back of your mind and when Hyunjin suddenly brings the sign down, you step on the gas, car shooting ahead next to the guy's.

He speeds up quickly too, even getting a meter or two ahead of your car and when you reach a one small alley between two containers, you have no other choice but to step on the break to get behind him and not run into that metal monstrum. But you grin nevertheless because this way, you can watch him take a right turn going into the suburbs not knowing about the tricky little streets and the business of that area around these hours. On the other hand, you take the empty road alongside the beach, going at a high speed already.

It makes you slightly anxious that you don’t see him and don’t know how he’s keeping up but then Changbin basically screams into your earpiece you usually wear during races in case you can get insights from the guys.

“You gotta speed up, honey, because that kid is crazy. He’s going at a breakneck speed even in traffic,” he tells you sounding astonished himself while monitoring the GPS signals of the two cars.

“What the hell,” you murmur under your nose and step on the gas even more, paying extra attention at that 90° turn at the end of the road before you’d end up in the sea. You cannot lose to that arrogant bastard, you tell yourself and pass by a few cars as you got into the port area driving towards the assigned point.

Your Nissan Silvia slides out to the main road just before the white Toyota and your grit your teeth that he’s so freaking close to you. The two of you race towards the crossroad that seems to be the point that the organizers appointed as your first goal. However, going ahead is too big of a detour, so you know that you have the best chance to take a U-turn which is kind of crazy at the speed you’re going. But good for you, your car was basically made for drifting and you’re pretty good at taking well-aimed sharp turns.

So just before reaching the crossroad you keep accelerating, only to take your footing off the gas and you pull the handbrake in when you hear the GPS exclaim that ‘You’ve reached your destination’. The sudden stop makes the back wheels lose grip and you feel the force weight shift, the seatbelt keeping your body still despite the car’s yanking and when you see the road you’ve just taken now you let go off the brakes, stepping onto the gas hard. Leaving nothing but screeching sound and your traces on the concrete behind, you speed up again.

Your heart still beats overdrive when you take a quick look in the rear mirror checking on the guy and you’re quite annoyed to see him not too much behind. He’s keeping up well, you have to admit and you hate that. You’re used to being able to predict the result at this point of a race.

“You’re doing great, just keep that distance between you,” Changbin tries to soothe your nerves, knowing you all too well and you bite your tongue to not make a repost at such a useful advice.

Instead, you take the turn back to the beach but this time, the Australian guy follows you and no matter how hard you try, you can’t get rid of him. The closer you get to the finishing line, the more nervous you get wondering what he’s planning, whether he wants to pull a dirty trick on you but in the end, it’s your car that crosses the line first, his a few meters behind and the most annoying thing is that you aren’t sure he wouldn’t have been able to pass you by if he really tried.

So why? Why did he challenge you only to lose? You just can’t wrap your mind around it.

Maybe that’s why when you walk around with two beers in your hands and you approach him when you spot him in the midst of talking and dancing people at this impromptu party someone’s high quality loudspeakers and the music coming from them causes with the amount of alcohol present.

“Here,” you hold a beer out for him to take. You try to sound nonchalant but you aren’t so sure that you managed to do that based on the look he gives you.

Felix or how the hell he likes to be cold, looks up at you with pure surprise written over his features. He has shred off his black leather jacket since the last time you have seen him get out of his car and in the plain white shirt beneath he looks somewhat softer than before. Or it might be because of his expression as well because there’s nothing arrogant about him as he takes the can from your hand.

“Thanks,” he murmurs in his deep voice although he stares at you so doubtful as if he was expecting for a long scolding or at least a prank pulled on him. You want to laugh at that thought because you really aren’t that scary or intimidating .But okay, maybe you have those deadly glares like Jisung likes to state. (But maybe if he learned not to put your stuff away then you wouldn’t look at him like that.)

You don’t even ask, you just plop down next to the guy, sitting in front of the Toyota and watching the starry night above the Busan beach. He doesn’t ask why you do so when a few hours before you were so keen on proving him wrong and then celebrating with your friends that you indeed did. He doesn’t question you but you can feel his eyes on you even when he speaks up.

“That drift was pretty sick. You almost lost me there for a minute or so.”

He doesn’t say it like ‘wow you are a girl but you can drive’ which would have been kind of offensive but he seems truly impressed by your skills and that feels nice. You being a girl does not limit you in anything and it’s nice to hear others admit it as well. Bad for him, you’re not that good of letting go of your grunge even if it’s that baseless like the one you had against him for being rich show off kid with no talent. Although you would only take back the last part.

“Thanks. You weren’t that bad either, I guess,” you mumble out though and that’s already something from you! Changbin could tell him about it. You’re too competitive to admit something like that so carelessly.

“You guess,” he laughs at that, genuine and carefree. He has a nice laugh. It goes surprisingly high-pitch compared to his deep voice.

He doesn’t seem too stiff or distant, so you decide to break the ice and not beat around the bush. You have always been straightforward in your own way. And maybe that can of beer you have already drowned after the race helps your tongue to get loose too. 

“I heard you were a professional car racer. Why did you stop?” you ask, turning your head towards him, eyeing the pretty freckles over his cheeks and the way those silver strands sometimes get into his forehead. The thought of him messy haired and unstyled makes him younger in your eyes, more like his age. As someone who had been competing on the big screen from the age of sixteen. Like Chan said, that must have been quite the pressure and you wonder whether he ever felt so threatened like you did when he challenged you the day before.

“Oh so you did your research…” The boy turns around you, raising an eyebrow with a smug smile tugging on his lips and you want to smack him because of the teasing in his voice.

“I did not! Don’t get ahead of yourself!” You snort instead, rolling your eyes at him. You really did not, but if he doesn’t believe the truth like this, you won’t waste more time trying to convince him otherwise. Then, your comment is followed by silence and for a minute you think that he wouldn’t answer which you would understand. You’re a stranger after all. But in the end he shrugs, but his voice is sad.

“It’s just the typical sad reason. I don’t need your pity,” he says turning his gaze onto the floow, fingers intertwined in front of him and there’s a certain tenseness in his bones and moves.

“Oh I’m the last person who would pity someone who walked into my playground as if he was about to take it over,” you bite there, a bit playfully though and the racer laughs at that again, ruffling his silver locks casually in the meantime.

“My grandmother fell ill and someone has to be there for her, so I came back to Korea. I love being here though and grandma is the sweetest, I just miss racing,” he tells you in the end, words slurring together from the speed he’s talking but you guess he just wanted to get over with it quickly, like tearing off a plaster.

You can tell that he’s being sincere about his words, both about his love and caree towards his ill grandmother and his craving to race again. You can understand that, missing the feeling of the engine starting up under you, radiating through your body, missing the adrenaline and excitement of drifts and jumps, feeling like you're flying. That’s the only thing you’re really good at and you’re so invested that you don’t know what you would do if suddenly it wasn’t in your life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. Maybe he’s just the same and he called you out only to feel that rush again. That’s why winning didn’t matter to him.

“You can always come and compete here,” so you tell him, letting him know that he’s welcomed to come back, to join the Streets and before he would think you have become sentimental, you gently tap the hood of the Toyota behind you. “It would be a pity to waste the potential of this beautiful car of yours.”

A soft smile appears on the boy’s face that only widens once he comes up with something equally teasing. 

“You can drive it if you want,” he offers as if he didn’t care about the millions he spent on this car. He really must have grown up in a rich household.

“So generous,” you snort playfully. Although, if he’s being serious then holy shit, really? It would be a dream to drive such a car. 

But the racer just chuckles, not getting offended by your remark. Then, out of blue, he adds: “I’m Felix by the way.”

“I know,” you hum, uninterested. At least you pretended to be seemingly. Once word got around that he came back to Korea, apparently everybody has been talking about him. 

“I never caught your name though,” You raise a brow at that. “Everybody calls you on all sorts of nicknames.”

You let out a chuckle at that, it's true though, you're the girl of the Streets. Obviously not the only one but the best racer of them for sure, so the guys here treat you like their sister. 

“Well, you can always ask. I’m pretty sure my friends would be happy to tell you,” you sigh, knowing your friends all too well. Sure, they wouldn't give out your contacts to every random stranger but Felix seems harmless. You're pretty sure Jisung would accidentally spill your name anyway. 

“Nah. Too easy. I’m considering to ask for another race to earn it,” the silver-haired guy remarks with an elegant raise of his brow and it makes you laugh. He's surprisingly fun to be around if he's willing to go to extremes such as racing to get your name.

“Well, good luck with that,” you snort but without malice this time and clink your can of beer with his for a toast. You barely know him but giving him a chance, you have a good feeling about him with all his giggles. It might be a good start of something new. 

[walpurga-nacht-academy]

Djinn’s Bride! ~A Celebration of Love~

Part 9

[Walpurga Nacht Academy]

[Djinn’s Lamp]

Djinn: Woken up from my centuries long nap, I am summoned by a mage of great power back to the realm of the mortals. As a djinn of incredible power and looks, it is no wonder that I am so sought after. To create life from nothing, to bring my Master uncountable riches, even making dancing elephants and camels - that is just scratching the top of the list of my accomplishments. And yet, how dissatisfied I feel with it all. When the call of the lamp pulls me away, I can’t help but think ‘Ah, what menial job will I be made to do again?’ It’s really a drag.

BUT! Instead of the king that I expect to see, or the cunning vizier, I am faced with eight beauties. And what’s more - they all want to marry me?! How did a poor, handsome djinn like me end up in this situation?! Well, if you want to find out-

Marcia: Ha? What the hell are you doing now?

Djinn: Haaaa, and I was just on the last line too. Gotta start from the top, I guess. Don’t interrupt me again, girlie. Ahem. Woken up from my centuries-

Marcia: Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!! I’m serious right now! What the hell is this super lame monologue? It gives me the shivers just hearing about it! Seriously, just when you couldn’t get any creepier too… Oops, didn’t mean to say that aloud~

Djinn: To think you would be so out of touch with things… Alright, listen up, girlie, what I’m doing right now is a recap! I’m reminding our lovely audience of what just happened in the previous episodes so they get caught up to speed. So, to get back~ on~ track~! Woken up from my cen-

Marcia: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Wait just a sec! Audience? Recap? Episodes? This isn’t a TV show, you know?! And why’d you make yourself sound way cooler than you are! Don’t think I’ve forgotten your betrayal just that easily! Ugh, I was supposed to get rich in a flash and yet… My heart is still wounded! Women don’t forget slights that easily!!

Djinn: Hm, you’re really not getting the appeal are you… Gonna have to deduct points for that… Hm…

Rosa: Heeeeeeey! Stupid, greedy Marcia!! Stop being useless and pay for your mistakes! Repent! 

Marcia: Grrrr! You sure like to weigh in a lot for a moron, dumb, idiotic, moronic Rosalia!

Rosa: HEY, YOU SAID MORON TWICE!! I HEARD YOU!!

Marcia: Bleh!

Djinn: Hm, kinda childish too… I’d have preferred a more mature style…

Marcia: Geh! You’re taking that into account too?! Haaa, you’re sure taking this seriously…

Djinn: Obviously! This is my future we’re talking about after all. On that note…

[RUMBLE]

Marcia: THE FLOOR IS MOVING AGAIN, UGH!! AND IT’S A PLATFORM TOO??

Djinn: Now!

Marcia: !!!

Djinn: IT’S TIME TO STAAAAAART!

Marcia: …

Djinn: … Hm?

Marcia: Eh?

Djinn: Well?

Marcia: Huh?!

Djinn: Your introduction! In~ tro~ duc~ tion~! It’s essential to getting the fans to root for you, girlie! That’s how you make it through the show~

Marcia: … No, I still haven’t got an idea what you’re talking about… But if it’s about making a pitch, I’m your girl! Ahem! 

[Hey, hey, hey~ Marcia Pyroeis reporting for duty! I’m a third year with a bright future in store, I promise ya! Getting along well with both my juniors and seniors and always knowing how to get out of a pinch! That’s me!]

Hehe, so whatcha think, hm? A keeper right?

Djinn: Hm~ It’s got energy. It’s got charm. I LIKE IT! FULL POINTS!

Marcia: YAHOO! Now, then how about you come closer and-

Djinn: Not so fast!

Marcia: Huh?! What now?! You said “FULL POINTS” didn’t you?! So why-

Djinn: Hm, that’s true. But you can’t think that would be enough! Love at first sight is just a fantasy, you know?! That’s why, we gotta check compatibility too!

Marcia: Co-Compatibility? Ugh, this got a lot more annoying all of a sudden… Do we have to, haha? After all, I’m already heads over heels for you! Anything more and I just might lose my mind~

Rosa: Woah, that scummy power of hers comes in handy at moments like this!

Blanche: It’s… definitely something impressive…

Djinn: Woah, woah, woah, for real?! Hm, I shouldn’t really be doing this, but I guess you’ll be getting a few extra points there, girlie!

Diana: He’s easy to fool.

Marcia: Really~? You’re way too kind~ Now then, now then, how about we-

Djinn: Not so fast! 

Marcia: ???

Djinn: You definitely have a lot of the right qualities. BUT!! I’m not an easy sort of djinn, you know?! I just don’t give my heart out to anybody! That’s why before we tie the knot you must first undergo a SURPRISE SCENARIO!

Marcia: EH?! SURPRISE- EH?! EEEEEH?!

Rosa: HE CAME UP WITH SOMETHING RIDICULOUS AGAIN!

Djinn: To properly test a couple’s compatibility, you can’t just stop at first impressions! There needs to be understanding and cooperation. That’s~ why~ THE SURPRISE SCENARIO WILL TELL US ALL WE NEED TO KNOW! IT’S FOOLPROOF!

Marcia: Crap, and I thought I had this in the bag… Ugh, this is so annoying… But, if it’s just some stupid question, I’m sure I can breeze through it… Alright! Let’s give it a shot! I’ll show you I’m the best suited for this role, dear~!

Agatha: ……. gross….

Djinn: Ooooh! That’s it, girlie! That’s the spirit I’m looking for! That sort of energy - IT’S FANTASTIC! 

Marcia: Hehehe, it’s definitely gonna be my victory, you moron…

Djinn: Ahem. This is your scenario: Adil and Farah have been dating for 5 years now after meeting at a company party, where he accidentally spilled some punch on her dress and was chastised thoroughly for it. Because it was an outfit from a well-recognized brand, Farah demanded that Adil take care of the dry-cleaning himself. Unfortunately coming from a low standing family he could not afford the fee for it, so he decided to make a deal with a corrupt bank manager to get the money in exchange for smuggling a few precious magical gems into the embassy which will be used to blow up the building once the ambassador and the king of the country are inside. Though he’s reluctant to agree he remembers the sick mother who’s at home, and realizes that he cannot burden her with this issue since she has also just started attending college to get her degree as a bread researcher. In order to get access to the basement of the building, Adil calls up some old acquaintance from his time in the magical police who helps him secure an invitation thanks to his cousin who is actually the Prince of a foreign land. They pass Adil off as the royal confectioner, a role he is able to perform thanks to his previous career as a successful movie star actor. On the day of the heist they are able to sneak into the basement, but on their way out they bump into Farah who turns out to also be the Chief of Security for the king that’s coming to visit. In the ensuing scuffle Adil is suddenly reminded that Farah is in fact his long, lost childhood friend that he hasn’t seen since the hurricane hit their town and almost razed everybody to the ground. They embrace tearfully and realize that they have feelings for each other~

Romantic, right~?

Marcia: WHAT’S THE HELL KIND OF SCENARIO IS THIS?!

Djinn: Hm? What do you mean? It’s obviously a romcom!

Marcia: ‘OBVIOUSLY’?! HOW IS ANY OF OBVIOUS?! MY BRAIN IS JUST HURTING FROM TRYING TO WRAP MY HEAD AROUND IT!!

Djinn: Hey, hey, that’s super rude! It’s a great premise with a cool hook! Anybody would be able to relate to them! Especially Adil! Isn’t he just super cool?

Marcia: Haaaaaaaaa?! What the hell is cool about him?! Rather just what the hell is his deal?!

Djinn: Eh? His deal? Is there something you dislike about him?

Marcia: Dislike?! There are a ton of things I dislike about him! Like, what the hell is up with his thinking process?! He’s gonna make some shady deal with a corrupt banker for some dry-cleaning fee?! Isn’t that way too extreme?! He could have just used a cleaning spell!!

Djinn: ….

Marcia: Or rather!! You’re telling me that somebody who’s been in the magical police and was a famous actor didn’t put some money aside for emergencies?! What kind of negligence is that, huh?! And how old is this guy to have held so many jobs and still be on the bottom rung of a company, huh?! It makes no sense!!

Djinn: …

Marcia: This whole situation is just senseless!! Ain’t he complicating things too much with his insane logic?! I don’t get it!! I don’t get him at all!! Who even came up with this type of story?!

Djinn: … Me…

Marcia: … Huh?

Djinn: It was me. I am the author of “Super Lovey Dovey Secret Agents Who Are Also Childhood Friends, But On Opposite Sides of the Battle Raging On Between Their Two Companies, So They Must Make sure Their Supervisors Don’t Find Out About It”.

Marcia: Crap!

Rosa: IT’S EVEN GOT A RIDICULOUS NAME!

Djinn: You know, I always fancied myself a bit of a screenwriter. This was supposed to be my magnus opus… My masterpiece… The story that would mark my debut in the literary world… and yet…

Marcia: Just joking~!

Djinn: Hm? 

Marcia: Hahaha, you took all that seriously! It was a joke! All just a joke, I swear! You’ve completely misinterpreted my words~

Rosa: SHE’S ACTUALLY MAKING A MOVE TO TRY AND SALVAGE ALL THIS?! SERIOUSLY?! IS SHE FOR REAL?! 

Djinn: … Is that so? 

Rosa: EEEEEH?! HE’S BUYING IT TOO?

Marcia: Yeah, yeah~ That story!! It was, uh, super cool! 

Djinn:... Really?

Marcia: Of course! It was, um, sooooooo dynamic! A lot of things happened and… Adil was such a cool character! Yeah! Yeah! Really, uh, carried the story and all that! 

Djinn: …

Marcia: You have such a gift for this!! Seriously! I’m in awe of your talent!! Hahahaha…

Djinn: … I see.

Marcia: Hm? Se-See what exactly?

Djinn: It’s been made clear to me just what sort of compatibility we have.

Marcia: Th-That soon?! Hey, you barely even gave me a chance to work my char- I mean! Don’t you think that it’s still too early to tell, hm~? We should get to know each other a little better before that~ Hey, hey~!

Djinn: Hm, no, rather I think that it’s [TIME UP]!

Marcia: EEEEEEEEH?!

[CLICK]

Rosa: SHE GOT CAUGHT IN THE HOURGLASS TOO!!

Cass: Mi-Mi-Mi-Miss Pyroeis!!

Diana: …

Blanche: This is…

Vita: How unfortunate~

Djinn: And done~ Now, let’s see who’s next, hm~?

Rosa: WAIT JUST A MOMENT!

Djinn: Hm? What is it, fluffy hair? Do you wanna volunteer?

Rosa: E-Eh?! No, no, no, no, no! No way! Absolutely no way!

Djinn: Mm, maybe it’s for the best. Flat types like you are kinda…

Rosa: HEY!

Blanche: Excuse me.

Djinn: Oh, you too, bunny girl? Man, I sure am popular~! Having so many girls after me~

Blanche: … A-Ah. In truth, there was something that I was curious about…

Djinn: Sure, sure~ Go straight ahead~ If it’s from my future cute wife then any request is A-OK with me!

Rosa: Then-

Djinn: Ah, except asking to drop out of the wedding, of course! 

Rosa: Ugh!

Blanche: No, it’s rather… Just what are your specifications for a ‘wife’?

Djinn: Specifications?

Blanche: Yes. I understand why Himalia-senpai was locked up, but even though Marcia was… well, even though she acted the way she did, was just that the reason you locked her up?

Djinn: ‘Just that’?! You don’t get it, bunny girl!

Blanche: Hm?

Djinn: It’s all about compatibility! Com~ pa~ ti~ bi~ li~ ty~! If we’re not a good match then getting married is a no go for me! I don’t wanna get stuck in a loveless relationship and suffer at the hands of somebody cruel~ My heart is too fragile for that!

Blanche: I-I see… then, just what exactly did you find displeasing about Marcia and Himalia-senpai specifically?

Rosa: Ha?! Blanche?! Don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking of going through with it?! After all the time you protested?!

Diana: No. It’s not that.

Rosa: Huh?

Diana: If we want to strike, it’s best to be forewarned. 

Rosa: Eh?

Cass: Um, it, me-means that we should ga-gather as much information a-as possible, Miss Mo-Morgainne…

Blanche: I think it would be beneficial for both of us to understand your preferences a little better, don’t you agree?

Djinn: Hm~ You’re making some sense there, bunny girl. I guess I have nothing to lose from coming forward about this… Alright then! Now listen carefully! I’ll explain to you why compatibility matters!

You see, more than anything… I think violent women are super scary!

Blanche: Huh?

Djinn: Seriously~ When I saw that Amazon pick up that marble table like it was nothing at all, I got super freaked out! That thing was at least around 400 kg, you know? 

Rosa: THA-THAT HEAVY?! WHAT IS HIMALIA-SENPAI?! A MONSTER?! A GODDESS?! 

Djinn: Aaah, just seeing it come flying at me made me so nervous… And I’m made of smoke too! No, no, a violent type just won’t work!

Blanche: I… I suppose that’s understandable… Then Marcia?

Djinn: Hm? The tomboy? Hmmm, well, I have to admit I like the type who’s full of energy. Seeing a girl smile while giving her best really brings out that healing quality~ But…

Blanche: But?

Djinn: WOMEN WHO ARE TWO-FACED ARE NOT CUTE AT ALL!

Blanche: !!!

Djinn: Seriously! Changing her mind like that just because she found out that I was the author! There’s no way I could be able to stand a woman like that!

Blanche: I see, that is-

Djinn: If she started lying from the first and kept at it, that would have been another issue! At least my feelings would have been spared like that! But being told so rudely that my work is bad… NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT THE SORT OF WIFE I WANT!

Blanche: …

Rosa: Hey, isn’t it kinda all about him again?

Marcia: Blegh! Like I could even pretend to like that sort of badly written thing in the first place! There are limits of what you can ask from people, you know?! You moron! Idiot! Lame!

Rosa: Hey, are you seriously still goi- EEEEEEH?!

Marcia: Pffft, the expression you’re making now is even more stupid than usual, Rosalia! Guess it’s nice when you have no brains and a pretty face, huh?

Rosa: GRRRRR! BEING LOCKED UP IN A HOURGLASS IS NOT PUNISHMENT ENOUGH FOR YOU!! YOU OGRE!!

Marcia: Haaaa, you’re still barking? Hahaha, now that's a funny sight, you kno- HUH?! WAIT! HUH?! YOU CAN HEAR ME?!

Rosa: I CAN HEAR YOU! I CAN HEAR JUST FINE! I CAN HEAR YOU GOING ON ABOUT HOW STUPID I AM, YOU JER-

Blanche: This is… 

Djinn: Hm? Ah, so you’ve noticed, didn’t you? 

Rosa: Noticed? Noticed what?

Diana: June’s is soundproof.

Rosa: Soundproof… Huh? You me-mean the hourglass?! Eh?! I-Is that even possible?!

Agatha: Stupid… amoeba… doesn’t… even… know… her… own… dorm… subjects… heheheheh

Rosa: HAAAAAA-

Blanche: Is this related to the complaint about her being violent…?

Djinn: Hm? Well, it’s rather… she’s just kinda annoyingly loud, you know? Loud women are also a no-go for me! I like my peace and quiet~

Blanche: I see…

Rosa: Eh? Hey, is it just me or is this guy’s list of preferences all over the place? 

Diana: Mm.

Cass: It’s, um, ra-rather confusing…

Rosa: Right?! He says he wants somebody energetic then he turns around and goes [I like my peace and quiet~]. It’s completely contradictory!

Blanche: It’s… not ideal… But we must try to figure out a way to escape from here still. Or else…

Rosa: Gulp.

back | next

[betterdaysareatoenailaway]

HANNAH AND HER STRANGER

Before you ask, yes that blue thing is a tampon applicator. They work better than straws for snorting and smoking heroin/fent.

   Another reason I’ve been staying away from heroin/fent is an incident that occurred during one of the last times I grabbed. Not the time I overdosed, but a few times before that.     I arrived at the motel where my dealer lived and saw that his car was gone. I called him and he said he was half an hour away and would be back asap. Waiting a half hour for heroin is pretty much par for the course, and in fact isn’t a big deal at all compared to other durations I’ve had to endure (I once waited eight hours outside a different dealer’s apartment in January, calling him every ten minutes in a vain attempt to get him to wake up).     I was sitting on the steps of the motel smoking a cigarette when a short blonde woman sauntered over to me and asked, in a broken voice, if I “had a toke.”     I know that a lot of people think “toke” is cannabis nomenclature, and it is, I guess, but when someone who looks a little ragged uses the term, they are more likely referring to crack. Because of the neighbourhood I was in, and the motel I was at, I assumed she was looking for crack, and I was right. I told her I didn’t have any, and that I was waiting for my dealer to get home so I could buy fent. “Can you help me please?” she asked. “I’m really sick.”       Now, those who know me know that it is my general policy to help someone when they ask for it, especially when/if they are dopesick. I only had $10 on me that night, but I’d been good about not asking my dealer for fronts, in fact I hadn’t asked him for a spot for months, so I figured he would probably spot me a point, maybe a point and a half, and I could therefore give half a point to this woman, who was obviously hurting and sick. Never mind that she probably wouldn’t have helped me if the situation were reversed, and never mind that in eight hours she would be right back where she started, sick again, and broke, and needing to find a way to get the money to buy drugs; despite all these incontrovertible facts, my heart went out to her and I decided to help.      While waiting for my dealer to get back, we talked about our respective addictions, and how long we’d been using. She told me her name, which was Hannah (not her real name). She said she’d been doing opiates for five years, and that she preferred actual heroin to fentanyl, because fent sometimes made her ex-boyfriend growl in his sleep, and the growling frightened her. I’ve never heard someone growl in fent-induced sleep, but I have heard cries and screams from fent-induced nightmares. I developed a weird sleep paralysis thing pretty much in tandem with my opiate use, and the nightmares have tapered as my use has declined, so I think the two things are related.     Hannah told me she was a “booster,” which means shoplifter, and I told her I was currently in between jobs and struggling and hadn’t eaten in days. At this she said “I’ll be right back,” and toddled off. I fully expected to never see her again, but she returned ten minutes later with a pack of donuts from the nearby Wal-Mart, and a large Kit Kat bar. She’d “boosted” both items and split them with me. Opiate addicts crave sugar like mad, and we devoured the donuts and the Kit Kat. She was obviously a nice person and I felt good about my decision to help her.      Eventually my dealer made it home (after 45 minutes, not 30), at which point I went into his room and asked him for a front, which he gave to me. Back outside, me and Hannah went behind the motel where I snorted a point of bright blue fent off my journal, using the cellophane from my cigarette pack as a straw, and she smoked the half point I gave her using her crackpipe.      The fent hit almost immediately, within ten seconds or so, and I felt instantly warm and safe and happy. I closed my eyes for about thirty seconds and let the drug do it’s thing. This is the moment drug addicts beg, lie, suffer and steal for…so you might as well enjoy it when it comes. It’s typically only going to happen once a day, and it’s the reason why you struggle, so don’t fight it or guilt yourself in that moment. Otherwise there’s no point to maintaining your addiction.      When I opened my eyes I saw that Hannah was alarmingly messed up. Like…her eyes were almost shut and she was weaving and staggering. She couldn’t speak without slurring and she was drooling. This was not good. She was really really high, in the danger zone of overdosing, and I was the one who’d given her the drugs. I really should have listened to her more. She’d told me she preferred heroin to fent, and although I warned her I’d be getting fent, I don’t know if I told her to be careful. I had assumed she was a veteran opiate user because of her bona fides.      Like me, she had no cellphone (I was using one I’d borrowed), that desperate searching hungry expression, and she was clearly dopesick when she came up to me. Moreover, she talked about heroin with the elan and familiarity of a longtime user. It didn’t even occur to me that half a point might dispatch her. So now I was with somebody who could barely walk, who had no fixed address, and we were miles from any hospital and anyway I didn’t have the money to cab her to one. I was two subway stations away from my Naloxone kit (I hadn’t expected to use at the motel, usually I brought my drugs home and did them there…but I did the fent with Hannah because that’s what drug users do with each other…they use drugs). I touched her shoulder and she looked at me through half-shut eyes.      “Do you need me to call an ambulance?” She shook her head. Fuck, I thought. (To those who think I should have called anyway: She said no, and I had to respect her decision. I had no way of knowing what her previous experiences with police had been like. If she’d lost consciousness I absolutely and without hesitation would have called 911. But she hadn’t given me consent to do so, so I did not do so.)     I took her arm and started walking her slowly down the street. Because she didn’t have a cellphone, I figured there was a good chance she had a few phone numbers memorized. Fortunately, I was right about this. I was able to get her to tell me the number of a friend of hers who lived two minutes away. Hannah’s eyes were now completely closed, and she was leaning on me to the extent that if I’d moved suddenly she would have fallen over. I called the number she gave me and a man answered.      “Hi,” I said. “You don’t know me, but I’m with Hannah and she’s really fucked up. She just smoked some fent and she’s not doing good. I need to get her somewhere where somebody can keep an eye on her. I don’t think she’s overdosing but she’s close.”      “Where are you?” the guy said sharply.      I told him.      “Stay right there!” he ordered.      Thirty seconds later a very large man came huffing and puffing down the street. He was wearing a big baggy jacket and his hands were massive. Watching him approach, I thought for a second he might hit me. (After all, I was the one who’d given Hannah the drugs). But he simply grabbed her and said “put your arms around my neck, babe. Put your arms around my neck.”      Hannah complied, and the man turned and ran off without a word, presumably to his house, carrying Hannah in his arms.      Shaken, I went home and called the number a few hours later, just to check if Hannah was okay.      “She’s fine,” the guy said, and hung up.      Sighing, I called back.     “Dude, what do you want?” the guy snapped.      “Can I just speak to her for a second?”      A sigh.      “Hello?” asked a weak voice.      “Just checking,” I said. “Just needed to hear your voice.”      “Oh okay.”      “Take care, okay? Be safe.”      “Okay.”      Jesus. My policy of helping my fellow drug addicts almost got a girl killed. I knew then that I needed to change my habits, or I’d end up killing myself or someone else. Not one week later I overdosed. The two events so close together has helped keep me clean since, and I hope I can continue this hot streak. I saw Hannah on the subway a few weeks later. If she recognized me, she made no indication. She wasn’t dead though. And neither am I.

[taeguboi]

“Go Get ‘Em” - Jimin x Tall!Reader [Fluff]

Where are my tall girls at? I wanted to show some appreciation by writing this small piece after seeing this post here 

A/N: I am only 5′7 myself and I’ve only experienced something similar once, when I was seeing someone shorter for maybe a couple of weeks, so I’m really sorry if I have written anything inaccurate or anything that makes anyone feel offended. I am additionally sorry for not proofreading before posting and for not being very creative lmao 

Fiction Masterlist

You always looked so amazing to Jimin. You were iconic with the way you could pull off any look, whether it was those high waisted trousers paired with a crop top or high heels with a red dress.

It all started with a glance across the room when you were spending time with your friends and he was hanging with his. He was adorable. He has this cute smile that feels like sunshine radiating across the room and you remember how his cute little hands grasped his coffee cup that day as he took a sip of that caffeinated drink when you first saw him.

Jimin was actually the first one to approach you after you had spent about half an hour being hyped up by all your friends to go over and talk to him because, quote, “guys just don’t have the balls anymore”. 

You were pleasantly surprised that you didn’t have to be the one to talk to the guy first. You were always taller than everyone else in school and along the years, you had developed a certain sense of self-consciousness about your height after repeated comments about you and the guys you’d date. 

“Doesn’t it weird you out?”

“Why would you even date a guy who’s shorter than you?”

“You know maybe you shouldn’t wear your heels to the prom y/n…”

It bothered you and it hindered you from dating anyone at all in the many years you’ve been out of education now. You always had to be the one to ask a guy out because he was either too intimidated or embarrassed to even approach you, yet the stark reality was that you were super shy and you could give anyone all the love in the world if you wanted to.

You and Jimin sat for hours talking once you had introduced yourselves and gotten comfortable with each other. He didn’t even appear to care when you got up out of your chair when he offered to walk you home; in fact, he held his elbow out for you to link on to and you happily walked down the street together.

When Jimin asked you to be his girlfriend, it felt like a God send. You finally found somebody who was handsome, charming, extremely good abs… who cared if he wasn’t tall, dark and handsome, just dark and handsome?

Well for some reason, a lot of strangers seemed to be bothered by the appearance of a taller girl with a guy who doesn’t reach her height. Weird looks and snide remarks when they thought you couldn’t see or hear was kind of a bummer. It wasn’t even anyone else’s business though; any other couple walking together hand in hand in public and they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid, not even wanting to see or get involved with any of their public displays of affection.

You stopped wearing your heels after a couple of months of the relationship. In fact, you threw many of them out or gave them to charity, bar the expensive ones. You started to make sure that whenever you took a photo with Jimin, you were both seated or on a slope with him on the raised part. You found yourself starting to have to justify why you’re dating him whenever anyone came at you with those same remarks you’d received in high school… Yeah, it turns out people don’t grow up fast, and they don’t learn to defy social expectations and instead encourage them and all the prejudices that some with staying ‘normal’. 

One day, just as the two of you were getting ready together for a night out with friends - who by the way had been nothing but fully supportive of you two being together - Jimin had noticed something. As gorgeous as you were to him in your outfit for the night, he couldn’t help but think about how much he missed some of your most classic outfits with which you’d wear heels.

Jimin adored you from the moment he saw you across the room. Sure, it was a little surreal when you brought yourself to your feet on that first day he met you and you may have slightly towered over him, but you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a girlfriend. You’re loyal, warm, funny and to him you’re a supermodel. 

Jimin is proud to be dating you, to have you by his side. Sure, the comments about his height did make him feel a little conscious at times, but there was nothing he could do about his height, or his feelings, or that his soul mate was a few inches taller than him.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah Jimin?” you ask, applying your lipstick as you sat at the dresser.

“I… uh… Not that I’m telling you what to wear, but… Don’t you normally have… a different pair of shoes with that outfit?” he questions, coming up behind you and rubbing your shoulders affectionately.

Your heart sank a little at this, knowing that the pair of shoes you normally would have worn with your best dress and prettiest cardigan were on the top of the closet out of sight and out of mind where you couldn’t see them to dwell on the fact that they make you miles taller than your boyfriend.

“I know…I just fancied a change I guess” you lie with a sigh, not thinking about how Jimin can see and read your expression through the mirror.

The way your head tilted down and your lips didn’t even so much as point just a little bit upwards from each corner told Jimin that you felt something different to what you were telling him.

“Oh, really?” he asks, seeing if he could maybe gently coax it out of you.

“Yeah…” is all you can reply.

“That’s a shame” he sighs, planting a kiss on your cheek as you pop the lid back on your lipstick. “They were kind of my favourite on you, that’s all”

You take a deep breath and let out an exasperated sigh. You know you can’t, or shouldn’t, hold this in anymore. This was eating at you for real now.

The other day at the park was what really did it for you. Some dude came up to the two of you, an old school friend of Jimin’s. At first, he seemed friendly enough and the three of you were chatting and getting along just fine. It was what he said when he had to go that changed your opinion of him and apparently your opinion of how you should dress around your own boyfriend.

“Snagged a tall girl, eh Jimin? How much did you pay for her then?”

You managed to laugh it off right there and then, convincing yourself that the guy had non malicious intention but you couldn’t stop thinking about those words, running through your mind, even in his voice though you barely knew him, like it was just a few seconds ago.

“I’m sorry, I guess I just didn’t want people thinking you’d spent a great deal of money to have me on your arm” you reply in a bad attempt to make light of your problem, not meaning for it to come out as rude or snappy as it does.

Jimin’s face dropped as you produced that sentence. You’d both been over this before. You had spoken about the highly likely chance that any time the two of you went out together, someone would say something. Your relationship is perfectly normal, everything about this is perfectly normal; people just aren’t used to seeing the height advantage being on a girl and not the guy because it’s not something they see often. 

You had so confidently told Jimin that you loved him no matter what and that you wouldn’t let this affect you… he was kind of surprised to hear you say this now after weeks of you being silent on the matter. He thought you might have actually recovered from the initial shock of it all.

“Y/n…” sighs Jimin, giving you a big cuddle from behind by snaking his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry babe” you sigh, a little smile not failing to escape your mouth from the hug.

“Talk to me” he advises, sitting down on the bed next to the stool you’re sat on.

Turning to face him, you do your best not to make yet another sigh. 

“I feel like I embarrass you” you pout rigidly, eyebrows furrowed.

“Honey…” Jimin drawls out, reaching for your hands to hold. “It’s a lengthy process I know; brushing off the stupid comments and the strange looks but… In the end, that’s their problem, not ours that they don’t think that’s how a couple should look. You even said yourself, it’s what’s inside that counts. I remember that specifically when you were telling me how amazing and charming I am…”

You playfully push Jimin’s shoulder as you sit down next to him on the bed and you smirk at his little light-hearted comment.

“I guess I’m just finding it difficult still, even after all these years” you admit.

“Come here” he replies, bringing you in for a hug.

Jimin’s hugs feel perfect, not like what anybody else speculated. It’s no different to that of a girl being shorter than a guy, really, and Jimin knows this himself from having previously dated girls shorter than himself.

“I’m sorry”

“No, no, we’re not doing that again” Jimin intervenes before you can allow the sting in your eyes to turn into tears.

“But I--”

“Tonight, we’re taking a stand. We’re in control” he insists, rubbing your back and then pushing you away so that he can look you in the eyes. 

“We’re going to embrace it. You’re going to put on those sexy heels and you’re going to wow everybody and you’re going to make everybody jealous that they can’t have you. And I’m going to hold my head up high and be proud that only I get to dance with you and I’m the only one who gets to kiss you”

“What about the people who say all those horrible emasculating comments about you though?” you ask. This is one of the biggest reasons you wear flats more often now. It hurts you to watch Jimin being insulted in that way. He isn’t feminine or any less of a man at all. He’s a gentleman who treats you right, he loves you and adores you and he makes it be known to you, and God knows that in the bedroom, he has this way with his words that really make you feel a certain way… 

“I stopped listening to those people years ago” replies Jimin.

He’s right! Even if this talk only temporarily boosts your confidence about the issue, you’re going to fling these flats off, go straight to the closet, and god dammit you’re going to rock it!

The grin on your face shows Jimin that his words have gotten to you just right. He says nothing as he watches you reach for a foot to slide off your shoe and fling it across the room.

“Woah, easy there, tiger!” he jests watching you grab the other shoes from your other foot.

“Okay, sorry, got carried away” you giggle this time carefully placing the shoe on the ground.

“It’s okay. I’m just happy to see you happy” he smiles.

He’s right. You are happy. You love those heels. Your fashion taste is a part of who you are. Letting other people influence the way you dress meant letting other people influence your personality.

As you rush to that closet to reach for the heels, you grin a little more as you think about all the things Jimin has told you he admires about you and loves about your height. He loves how you can reach things for him that he sometimes can’t. He loves how you could have a career just sitting and looking pretty if you really wanted to. He even loves how when you’re both getting in the mood with each other, he doesn’t have to bend over to devour one of your breasts with his mouth.

It’s these reasons and a lot more beneath the surface that Jimin adores you increasingly with each day that passes. He watches you try to keep your balance as you put on your heels and he looks at you with such endearment. 

You know when you experience something and have one of those ‘wow’ moments? Those times in which your heart flutters and you’re rendered speechless at the sight of that certain something? That’s exactly how Jimin feels as he watches you walk back over to him in all your glory in the one pair of shoes that you had really wanted to wear deep down tonight.

“Stunning” is all Jimin can say as he brings himself to his feet to bring you in for a sweet kiss.

_________________________

Fiction Masterlist