#also one of my coworkers has a sweater just like your description

[cherryview]

woa… that much snow sounds really pretty! i love when it just lays there in neat, untouched sheets. an orange and pink blend... sounds like it'd make a really pretty sweater. you know those ones that look, like... blended yarn-sy?

also omg! cricket! how cute!! is he an old cat or literally baby?

not the best cook but i had a phase where i was churning out absolutely delicious sesame chicken once a week without fail. double frying my beloved… i honestly just mostly bake now too! chocolate cookies, gingerbread cookies, cinnamon buns, cake, milk cake… baking’s just more appealing. i blame the sugar and pretty smells. what do you like to bake?

please make me milk cake!!! i like to bake a lot of things but especially cakes!! red velvet is my favorite <3 also banana bread!!

hes 4!! and my son <3 also the snow was in those sheets because i was driving past a farm <33 very sweet

[ntls-24722]

1Manband!

1Manband is a music man who is 1 guy. 1 Guy... with two bodies. Two bodies who identify as one... and are completely seperate unrelated people... 1 is wearing the other as a flesh suit... uh. This is gonna be really weird and really confusing to explain.

There's nullguy, who was supposed to be a featureless "Y/N" humanoid because he was what my mind conjured when I was thinking of his role yet had no-one to fill it. But now he's his own guy! Except no he isn't, and that's kind of his entire thing.

Nullguy wanted to be DJMM (Just called "music man in this world) with every fiber of his being. Yes in the regular trans way of wanting his body but also quite literally wanting everything about him, he'd be more himself if he were Music Man, and when Music Man heard his heartaches?... Nullguy became Music Man. Nullguy now spends most of his time wearing Music Man as a suit, and they have socially dissolved all distinctions between eachother. They are functioning under the presumption they are the same person, usually not even wanting to be referred to in plural when split, unless it's for explanation purposes. Nullguy's name isn't even nullguy anymore, it's music man, though for the sake of explaining, I'm gonna keep deadnaming the fucker, sorry💀 The "Music Man" nullguy and music man form is just named Music Man, but I call him 1Manband in meta.

Is completely stripping your own identity to become someone else healthy? Is it healthy to let someone wear you like a sweater for the rest of your days? Probably not, especially with all that you lose, which is "Everything About You." Does 1Manband care? Not really. Is 1Manband at least happy? Extremely. These two were sappy before 1manband and thank god they almost never split because they're insufferable now. BOYFRIEND IS YOU/ref

1Manband's best description of being himself is that he "lives with no regrets," that becoming 1Manband is the scariest thing he's ever done, so now everything that could happen comes second place to just walking and talking in front of literally anyone. He now has the confidence to self-express the way he never has had before and the body, the face, the name he's always wanted, and he would not give it up for a moment.

bonus: this second pic with all of 1manband's fits is the other half to nullguy's before and after - nullguy lost his individuality because he gave it 1manband, lol.

Also, their world is kind of a comically hypercapitalist dystopia made up of robot people. This was entirely to make it make sense that music man wears a suit 24/7 because he's a "worker drone".

Also putting him in the setting of an incredibly boring and lifedraining office job makes it easier to torment 1manband via forcing him to reinforce his identity of being a singular individual to coworkers who ask way too many personal questions and just about everyone who finds out (or HAS to find out) that 1manband is a guy wearing a music man flesh suit. Also the exhaustion post-work where he has to build himself back up is sweet and Fun.

[togrowoldinv]

Elevator Confessions

Jennifer Walters x Reader

When you and Jen get stuck in an elevator together, your feelings for each other come to light

Warnings: Brief and not very descriptive panic attack due to being stuck in an elevator

Note: I just adore Jen. This is based on this request. Enjoy!

Jennifer Walters Masterlist, Main Masterlist

“Hey Jen,” you acknowledge your coworker as she steps into the elevator.

“Y/n,” she responds.

She’s in She-Hulk form as she always has to be at work, so when she stands next to you she towers over you.

There’s always been a sort of unspoken tension between you and Jen. You knew her back in college before she was She-Hulk and you even went on a date with her once.

The date was nice but you two never went out again. You decided it was best to stay classmates. And you both kept it under it wraps and didn’t tell anyone about the date. But you both secretly harbor some feelings for each other.

Just as you’re thinking about asking Jen about her day to break the silence between you, the elevator comes to a halt.

“Shit,” Jen mumbles as she tries to press the buttons on the panel. None of them light up.

“Try the emergency one,” you say. You step closer as she presses the emergency call button.

“Now I guess we wait,” Jen says. “Is it okay if I um- go back to being Jen? I was ready to get home and out of this suit and-“

“Yeah, sure. I’m sure it’s not fun having to be like 7 foot tall all the time,” you reply.

“No it is not,” Jen says with a smile as she changes back into her normal self. “Much better.”

The two of you stand and wait for the elevator to move again. You feel yourself start to panic a little bit as the minutes tick by. Your breathing quickens as your heart beats faster in your chest.

“Hey, are you good y/n?” Jen asks you. When you don’t reply, her hand is on your back and she’s stepping closer to you.

“Hey, you’re okay. Eyes on me, y/n.”

“I can’t-“

“You’re okay. I’m with you. Tell me what can you see,” Jen asks as she shifts in front of you. Her hands are anchored on your shoulders. “I’ll go first I see this very pretty sweater that you’re wearing.”

You almost smile, but your breathing still won’t slow.

“Tell me one thing you see, y/n.”

“Your- your hair,” you gasp out.

“Do you like it like this? I kind of like my She-Hulk hair better, but the curls are nice I guess,” Jen goes on one of her classic little rants. It helps you start breathing normally again.

“I like all the things that make you Jen,” you say. Jen smiles at your compliment and at how you seem to be feeling better.

“That’s sweet, y/n. Are you okay?” She asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you, Jen. I’m sorry about that,” you say.

“Don’t apologize please. This reminds me of that time I totally panicked before our date back in college,” Jen admits. You don’t miss how her hands are still on your shoulders.

“You panicked over our date?”

“Yep,” she says shortly in a very classic Jen manner.

“Why?”

“Why? Because you were and are still so beautiful and very cool,” Jen explains. A blush graces her cheeks.

“I also happen to think that you’re still beautiful and cool, Jen,” you admit.

“Can I kiss you?” Jen asks. Her eyes glance from yours to your lips.

“Yes please,” you reply.

Jen pulls you closer as her arms go around your neck and she connects her lips with yours. Your hands are on her waist as you bring her impossibly closer against your body.

It’s electric. So electric that the elevator turns on again and soon the doors open on the ground floor. Both of you are too engrossed in the kiss to notice.

“Damn Jennifer! Get it,” the familiar voice of Jen’s best friend, Nikki, breaks you both from the moment.

Instead of stepping back from you like you thought she would, Jen buries herself into your chest as you lead her out of the elevator.

You’re ready for your second first date with Jen.

Tag list: @gracebutnotgraceful @i-wished-for-you-too @inluvwithfictionalwomen @notbornbutforged @makegoodchoices @anabananas13 @cosimasluvr @ijustthinkevilunoisneat @theprinceofmarvel @bookfrog242 @gaysof221bakerst @wizardofstories @karsonromanoff @feldsparinc @natismywife @wandasbb @dumb-fawkin-bitch @sunshine-punk-witchling

[ykwrites]

Number Two- Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader scenario

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Warnings: mdni, graphic descriptions of sex, no use of protection, reader has a vag

Rating: NSFW

MASTERLIST

This post is part of my four days of bakugo event.

DID NOT PROOFREAD IT IS WHAT IT IS

That morning, grey and cold, was enough to jinx your entire day. Not a glimpse of sun passed through the clouds and you couldn´t help but curse between your teeth, mad at the world.

Was it bad luck? ''Maybe'', you thought while walking through the giant glass door of your agency´s building, hair dripping wet and feet completely soaked.

Not even the receptionist, who you were friendly with, dared to comment on your lack of an umbrella and disheveled look because of it and only greeted you with a very soft tone.

Some of your coworkers looked at you wide eyed, but they chose not to speak of it either.

This was a nightmare, torture really, and usually you would choose to go back home and change, but today that wasn´t a real option. Trying to do damage control, you got in your office and stripped down, shivering and putting every piece of clothing except your underwear on top of the heater.

It might look like you were exaggerating, but being all wet, having slept two hours the night before and the nerves to be perfect for a meeting that could change your career completely, you needed to move fast and do your best.

After a few minutes trying to warm up next to the heater, a knock on the door startled you, eyes instantly looking to find out you left it unlocked.

''I´m busy!''you blurted out, panicking.

''It´ll take a sec....OH MY GOD''a very red and startled Midoriya covered his eyes and closed the door shut.

You on the other hand, relaxed. If someone had to see you like this at least it was your best friend and not some random coworker.

''You can come in''

It took a couple minutes, but Midoriya ended up getting in, still covering his eyes.

''What are you doing naked in the office?''

''It’s pouring outside, I woke up late and didn’t bring an umbrella” you explained, rubbing your hands in an attempt to warm up “You can look, Midoriya, you’ve seen me in a bikini multiple times, it’s the same thing”

“If you say so”he huffed, finally removing the hand over his eyes “Why didn’t you go back home and change?”

Was he kidding? He knew about the meeting.

“I don’t know, maybe because I have a career-changing meeting I have to attend in half an hour”your tone came sarcastic and dry.

“Wasn’t it at 12?”

“It’s 11:30?”

Midoriya looked at his watch, eyebrows furrowed.

“10:30”

WHAT?

Not believing him, you checked the time on your computer instead of phone.

And he was fucking right.

This meant that all the fuss you went through didn’t even need to happen, you could’ve gone back home, but now that wasn’t an option.

Could this day get any fucking worse?

“At least my clothes will have more time to dry”you sat down, defeated.

Midoriya was silent for a second, clearly thinking until a very familiar smile appeared on his lips.

“What if I give you the dress shirt I have under this sweater?, I don’t have anything important to attend so no one will bat an eye”

“My pants are still soaked, tho”

“I’ll ask around for help to dry them faster” he quickly took your black dress pants from the heater.

He was determined, a problem solver as always and also your only hope.

“In that case, just dry my shirt too”

“It has brown spots, seems like a car splashed you with muddy water”

Resting your forehead on the desk, you gestured with your hand for him to leave, hearing the faint click of the door closing right after.

At least Midoriya was there, a best friend since highschool you could really rely on. This situation reminded you of the time a boy broke up with you in college and he showed up with Uraraka and a giant tub of icecream so you could all watch movies together. One of many occasions where he saved the day.

Your phone buzzed, a few messages from your boss popping on the screen to remind you of the meeting being held in now less than an hour.

As if you could fucking forget it.

''Y/n, it´s me''Midoriya´s voice was faint outside the office.

''Come in''

Like before, he entered quickly to make sure no one outside could see you, pants dry in his hands and his white dress shirt neatly folded over them.

''Here''he put them on your table ''Warm and dry''

Right, the fabric was warm to the touch.

''How did you dry them so fast?''you asked, standing up to put them on.

Your panties, being a much thinner material than the rest of your clothes, had dried on their own.

''Todoroki''

''Oh, you made him use his quirk for this?''

Everyone knew that Shoto avoided using that side of him.

''Don´t worry, I explained why you needed it and he wanted to help''

''I´ll thank him later, turn around''

Your friend complied and you took your bra off, still wet, and put the shirt on. It was obviously big on you, because your best friend has huge muscles, so you tied it at the bottom, undid the first few buttons and made it look as good as you could.

''Done''

''Looks good''Midoriya shoot you a smiley thumbs up.

''You saved my life once again”

“It’s no biggie”he shrugged it off ''The number one hero can´t be seen wearing dirty clothes''

''Number one hero?''you asked playfully, rising an eyebrow ''My best friend holds that title''

''Number two it is''

You scoffed, knowing not even that was a reality. Number two, much to your disgust, was Dynamight, stupid, rage filled and egotistic Bakugo Katsuki.

''Number two, ugh''you commented, exhasperated just by thinking about him.

''Come on, Katsuki is not that bad''

''I don´t understand why you defend him when he´s never been nice to you, or me''

''It´s not like that''

''Well, that´s how I see it''

''Give him a chan...''

Midoriya´s words were interrupted by a knock on the door, a faint woman´s voice telling you to please head to the meeting room.

You responded quickly with ''in a minute!'' and looked at your best friend, terrified. He gestured for you to follow him and walked beside you, holding your arm as if he was the one making you walk and then left right when you were about to enter the meeting room.

The layout around the ginormous black table was rather weird, your boss sat in the middle, a marketing employee on his right and...a fucking blonde on his left.

What was he doing there? Looking all uninterested and angry, even more than he usually was. Except for him, the other two greeted you.

''Please, sit''your boss spoke, pointing at the chair in front of them.

Confused, you complied, but kept silent for him to lead the conversation.

''We´ve been...thinking about how to make your popularity rise''your boss was careful with his words.

Suspicious.

''I believe we talked about me doing more press and tv appearances''you said ''Has that changed?''

''No, not at all''now the marketing guy spoke ''we just decided to go with a different perspective''

At that moment, Bakugo loudly scoffed, murmuring a ''yeah, sure'' that you chose to ignore.

''Okay...''you let your words trail off, wondering what all of this meant.

''Listen, I know the original idea was giving you more media attention by yourself, because you have great potential''your boss explained ''but we decided to give you a partner, one of the bests, so that spotlight can be even bigger''

Was he trying to say what you thought he was trying to say?

''What?''a bit pissed, you tried not to lose your composure ''Are you telling me that I´m not good enough by myself?''

''No!''marketing guy panicked ''We did some studies and surveys, the average citizen prefers a duo''

''Can I at least choose my partner?''

You already knew the answer, but still tried.

''No''Bakugo had the nerve to speak, enraged''And I can´t choose either''

You are so stupid, how didn´t you connect the fucking dots? THAT´S WHY BAKUGO WAS THERE, TO BE YOUR FUCKING PARNTER.

''Okay, then we can cancel all of this, I no longer want to do this''you backtracked, prefering to lose the opportunity.

''I´m afraid you can´t''your boss stood up, fixing his suit ''The contract you signed makes us promote and boost your career, but in return you are obligated to follow our guidelines''

''Please, I would rather keep things like they are now'' you pleaded.

''Not a choice, now''he gestured for the marketing guy to follow him ''Press conferences presenting the duo start next week''

''I believe you two went to highschool together, so this will be easy to do, but I would advise you to get to know each other further so the public can see a good and friendly relationship''

Just like that, you were left alone with Katsuki. In mere minutes, your whole plan to grow and become a more successful hero had burned down to ashes.

People might think being a hero is just that, saving lives and helping in important tasks, but in this capitalist world, marketing does more for a hero than their quirk.

Options were: doing what the agency wanted you to do or leaving and obviously losing your job. With a recently purchased flat and a cat to feed, the second wasn’t an option.

“You banging Deku?”

And your best friend said Bakugo wasn’t that bad…

“No”you answered rolling your eyes, arms crossed.

“Why are you wearing his shirt then?”he smiled, crooked and mean.

“Because mine got dirty”

“I believe ya”he clearly didn’t.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, but like that rando said: we should get to know each other better”

Your blood boiled as you stood up, ready to punch him directly on the throat if he kept talking.

When you stepped outside the room, Midoriya was already waiting, smile dropping as soon as he saw your face.

“What happened?”he came closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“They changed everything, I will no longer be doing what we agreed on earlier”

Talking to Bakugo or your boss, made it easy to transform every emotion to rage, but with your best friend, your walls crumbled and you could feel tears pooling in your eyes.

“What?”

''We're a fucking duo''the blonde menace explained before you could.

''That´s...not as bad, right? at least you´ll still get press''Midoriya-bless him- tried to make things sound positive.

''Next to this moron''

''Don´t be mean!''your best friend, sweet as always.

''It´s not like I want to do this shit either''Bakugo scoffed loudly.

''Shut up, Katsuki''

Before any of them could respond, you left practically running and locked yourself inside your office. In what felt like seconds, you gathered your things and left to go home.

You had patrol later that day, so you took a long and needed shower before eating and putting on your hero costume.

Nothing mayor happened, thankfully, because your head was in a different place the entire time, clouding your senses, much more focused on how pissed you were.

Bullshit.

Maybe you needed to look at this in a colder, more methodic way, using Dynamight´s popularity to your advantage, insulting or hitting him behind closed doors if he pissed you off.

Reminiscing the conversation with your boss, you frowned, finding it quite strange, they said the public wanted a duo, but pretty much everyone knew that you and Bakugo didn´t get along at all so.... why was he chosen to be your partner?

Midoriya would´ve made more sense, or not, because he was engaged to Ochako and publicity wise, the so called ''public'' rooted for couples or partners that could spark dating roumors, even if they were never going to come true.

Then, why not Todoroki? he was a better option, and some fans already shipped you with him.

Overwhelmed, you finished patrol and went back home at around midnight, and after another shower, you took out your phone in a terrible attempt to distract your stupid brain, instantly wanting to scream when a shit ton of articles popped up in the news feed, announcing the new duo.

Everyone seemed excited, thrilled even, with comments of pure joy.

Your doorknob being turned agressively, made you stand up and unlock the door, ready to yell at whoever was so impatient and didn´t knock.

What a weird time to visit.

''Have you seen this shit?''Bakugo stood there, phone in hand, showing the same comments you were reading seconds ago.

How did he remember where you lived? He had been there probably once before in the many years you had known him.

''Yes''you responded, dry and not really sure what he wanted you to say.

''This is insane, let me in''

Rolling your eyes, you stepped to the side, letting him in. Glued to his phone, he walked almost blindly until he sat on your couch like he owned the place.

''The duo I was waiting for''he read in a mocking tone, snorting.

In disbelief, you stood looking at him, confused as of why he decided to come to your house this late just to read comments.

''You want something in particular or...?''

''Something to drink, you are a terrible host''

Annoyed but not in the mood to fight, you went in the kitchen and took a couple beers, throwing one at him without warning -wich he caught not having to lift his gaze from the phone screen- and sitting on the opposite end of the couch.

''My favorite heroes together''he continued his reading session, promptly ignoring your presence.

For a couple minutes, you let him keep reading random comments while you quietly sipped on your beer, until you got tired.

''Bakugo, why are you here?''

He finally put the phone down, taking a long sip and turning to look at you.

''This is the first time they´ve talked about me so much in a few months''he explained.

''That´s stupid, you are in the news every day''

''Not lately, no, I´ve been losing popularity since Deku got engaged''

''What are you trying to say?''

''This is a fucking pain in the ass, but I need this to work''he huffed.

''What?''you asked, confused.

''This partnership or whatever, so don´t mess it up''

Was he asking you to pretend you got along with him?

''Pretty sure you´ll be the one messing things up, with your rage problems''

''Shut up, are you going to help or not?''he was visibly angry, his eyes turning dark red.

''It´s not like I can choose, I´ll pretend that I like you if that´s what you want''

''That´s not the fucking point''his voice raised, not much but enough to show you he was containing his temperament.

''What do you want me to say?''incredilous, you raised a brow.

''You can fucking start by telling me why you always act like a brat and why you fucking hate me so much''

Huh? This was certainly new, new and confusing.

Did he really not get the hint why you didn´t like him? It wasn´t as harsh as hate, but how did he expect you to like him if he had always been rude to you and your best friend? He constantly acted like he was better and in doing so, bragged and pinched where he knew it would hurt.

''Are you serious?''you asked in disbelief.

''Just answer''he punctuated, voice raising again as he got closer to your face, daring.

''You are an asshole, you have always been an asshole''

''Am I?''he spat, breath practically hitting your face, making you angrier.

''I don´t know how Midoriya can consider you a friend, you are so mean, entitled and rude all the time''

''Shut up''his voice was deep, containing rage between his teeth.

''Why don´t you shut the fuck up, huh? Always telling me to shut up when you are no one to...

Your words were suddenly interrupted, mouth unable to move when you realized.

He was kissing you, Bakugo Katsuki was kissing you and your body moved on its own returning the action. You couldn´t tell how, when or why his hand had landed at the base of your neck, placed gently to push you closer, your body once again following him with ease.

Surprisingly, this felt amazing, like a shot of adrenaline running through your veins, and you didn´t once think of pushing him away.

''Is this okay?''he asked, your body starving from the lost contact.

Instead of speaking, you kissed him again, agressively crashing his lips and tugging on his shirt to push his body slightly on top of yours.

He let out a deep sound in response, almost feral.

Even with his lips on yours and desperation building rapidly, you were still mad at him, using this new found high to let out your frustration.

Bakugo caressed your side, melting into your touch and skillfully sneaking his leg in between yours, not yet touching your clothed pussy but clearly testing the waters, respectful but teasing at the same time. The thought of him touching you further suddenly sent shivers down your spine, in a good way.

That exact moment you decided that if he let you, you were going to hate fuck this man. At least if you had to put up with his bullshit, you would also have a little fun.

He seemed to read your mind when he left your lips to attack your neck right after, smiling into your skin when he heard a faint moan. That gave him the confidence to finally rub his leg against you.

In a frenzie, you made him take off his shirt and almost punched his ridiculously hot abs when he looked at you with a smug, winning smile.

''You mad?''he asked, mocking and playing with the end of your shirt.

''Shut up''

''Give me something to keep my mouth busy then''

That sentence alone made you want to scream and you took off your shirt so quickly it was ridiculous. He stared at your exposed breasts before diving right in to bite one and pinch the other, clearly delighted at the little sounds you were making.

Almost instinctively, your hips started moving against his leg, desperate for some kind of friction, wet and needy.

Bakugo, as much as it pained you to admit it, was good at what he was doing, skilled, even to a point where you wanted him inside you right fucking now.

''Bakugo, do something''you pleaded, annoyed at your own desperation,

''Call me Katsuki and I´ll think about it''

This bastard had to keep taunting you, so you decided to take charge, putting a hand over his obvious erection. His breathing hitched, eyes closing and hips bucking against your hand.

''I said, do something''you said, moving up to bite his bottom lip ''Bakugo''

He groaned,angrily getting up from the couch to take off his pants, in the blink of an eye, he was on top of you again agressively taking off your shorts and panties together.

The little you coud peak, you noticed he was big and thick, at least it seemed like it the two seconds you saw him before he was kissing you again with force.

''You sure you want to keep playing with me like that?''he said, sneaking a hand on your neck.

''What do you think?''you taunted, starting to massage his cock without warning, using his precum as lube.

Bakugo let out a deep moan, capturing your lips and taking his sweet revenge using his free hand to insert two fingers, showing absolutely no mercy. Thank the universe you were already dripping wet and took his fingers easily, moving your hips to follow the pace he made curling his digits. Like a little cherry on top, he added his thumb on your clit, making your body tremble.

Your hand was mean against his member and your lips fought a war of moans and heavy breathing in between messy kisses.

A small knot formed in you, getting desperate for release, mad that it didn´t come when you wanted.

He noticed your movements getting messy, so in an attempt to piss you off, he removed his hand and looked at your eyes getting dark, drowning in annoyance, ready to complain or plainly scream at him, all that while he lined himself up with your entrance and thrusted hard just as you were about to complain, leaving you completely speechless when he bottomed out.

''Never thought a brat would feel this good''he said, holding your hip with suck a force that it would probably leave a mark.

''Can you shut up and fuck me already?''you managed to respond, enchanted in how amazingly well his dick filled you up.

''Let me think about it''he smiled, kissing your jaw.

He thrusted, once.

''I fucking ha...'' your words cut off by another thrust.

''Say my name, brat''

''Bak...fuck''he sunk even further inside you, brushing your sweet spot.

''I don´t think that´s my name''the hand on your neck traveled up just a bit until he held your cheeks harsh to lick your lips in such a way that your pussy clenched ''say it''

''Oh fuck, Katsuki!''

''Good girl''

That last sentence he whispered in your ear, and you were not ready for the murderous pace that came right after that. He was devouring you raw, pounding so hard and delicious that your legs were shaking in seconds. Nails digging on his back, not caring if your neighbours or the whole city could hear you moaning loudly.

His deep moans in your ear were so sweet and hot, like honey, the scent of him flooding every ounce of common sense you had left,

You swore you could see stars when he put a hand on your lower stomach, adding pressure, determined to make you cum like it was his only goal in life.

''Fuck, I can´t''you said, breathless.

''Take it, baby, I know you can''now it was even hard for him to speak.

Every thrust touched your gspot, your pussy convulsing against him, warning that you were so close.

''Cum for me'' it wasn´t a request, it was an order, an order he made clear by going faster and squishing your neck, taking control, using you.

Just moments after, you came undone, releasing all over his cock, tears pooling in your eyes from the inmense pleasure as he came inside you not long after, his body falling on yours, head resting on your chest.

If this is what being his hero partner was, then you would take it.

Surprisingly, you fell asleep, both of you, hugging, naked and sweaty. Adrenaline had died down, and exhaustion appeared instead.

The next morning, light snores woke you up and an unfamiliar weight rested on top of you. For a moment you forgot what happened, enjoying the warmth.

Until your eyes opened.

Your heart raced, panicking, not because you regretted fucking him, but because for a delusional moment, you thought he looked cute there and your stupid body acted on its own to lift a hand and caress his hair gently.

Coming to your senses, you shook your head and stopped, inmediately earning a noise of complaint.

''Why did you stop?''he asked, not yet opening his eyes.

''What?''

''Why did you stop touching my hair?''his deep voice sounded mad, whiny.

''Because I need to go shower, and you should too''

Bakugo stood up, his hair messy and face puffy, yawning.

He, to your demise, looked cute and stood next to the couch trying not to fall asleep right there.

''Y/n, let´s go''

''Where?''

''Shower''

''Huh?''

''Stop being a brat''once again, he yawned, making you laugh.

''Okay, Katsuki''

[ptergwen]

last christmas

w/c: 2.0k

warnings: a few descriptions of dizziness

summary: someone might be able to get you back into the holiday spirit

a/n: hi hi hi i’m really excited about this :,) i’ve had the idea for a while and i like where it’s going! it’s based it off of the movie last christmas and this is only part one, so if it feels a little slow that’s why AND on that note i hope you enjoy

━━━ *:･。.

“you’re late,” harry comments as the coat room door bursts open. he’s not wrong, but he doesn’t have to announce it. you slip behind the counter while tying up your apron. “only ten minutes. besides, we’re never busy this early.” he presses his lips together and grabs a large cup.

that’s the face he makes whenever you say or do something stupid. you’ve learned a lot about harry in your year of working together. he’s a pretty laidback guy. funny, too. you’d consider him a friend and not just your coworker. the only time he isn’t chill is when your coffee shop has what you like to call its rush hour.

it’s in a pretty prominent area in london, and it gets packed every afternoon. people like to pop in for a muffin or some tea on their lunch break. with it being christmas time and all, the shop is way more chaotic than usual. the seasonal flavors clearly draw a crowd. you take that as a compliment since you came up with a few of them.

the point is, harry can get stressed and pretty mean. you’re afraid he’ll explode if you ask him a question sometimes. he turns super red. but, he also knows more than you do. he’s had to fix countless machines you’ve almost broken. you two make an interesting team. it’s just you and harry who work mornings.

your mouth drops open when you see the line of people squished into the shop. “oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. harry hears it and hums smugly. “rush hour came early. get out there.” you quickly take your spot at the register. a man with a fuzzy red sweater and judgy look steps up. “hi, sorry for the wait. what can i get started for you?”

the rest of your morning is exactly the same. you deal with the crabby customers, harry makes the drinks. it gets better once your other coworkers clock in for the day. orders get done faster, and you have someone to joke around with from time to time.

you and harry eventually switch because he’s bored of making hot chocolates. you’re in charge of drinks while he rings people up now. it’s not too bad at first. all you have to do is dump some mixes into water and call names. then, everyone starts shouting at you. the drinks gets harder, you keep messing up, and customers aren’t happy.

harry is about to tell you off when he sees you stumble. he rushes to your side before you hit the ground. you grab his arm with an apologetic smile. “thanks.” “is it...” you nod, not wanting him to finish his sentence.

he’s your only coworker you told about your accident. it happened last year, almost a full one to date. you got this job a few months after. harry has always been understanding of it all, and he accommodates you however he can. you’re grateful to have his support.

“i’m just a little lightheaded. i’ll be fine,” you wave him off. he clicks his tongue. “you can’t stand if i let go of you.” you’d try to prove him wrong, but you don’t feel like falling on your face in front of all these people. “go take your break, y/n,” harry says softer this time. you give in, letting him take you to the coat room.

━ ❆

it’s finally the end of the day. your shift ended fine, and now you’re walking out with harry. you’re laughing at something he said inside. you pull your coat up around your face, smiling as you say your goodbyes. harry looks off to the car you assume is his before returning it. he waits until you’re out of sight to get into the passenger seat.

“who was that?” tom asks before harry can even shut his door. “y/n. we work together,” harry replies casually and buckles his seatbelt. the car engine is the only thing holding off silence. he raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“why do you ask?” “dunno. looks like you’re friends,” tom says quietly, pulling out of the spot he parked in. “you haven’t mentioned her.” “i have. you’re never home when i do,” he deadpans. tom drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they stop at a light.

there’s that void begging to be filled again. harry gives him a small smile. “thanks for picking me up, by the way. you’re cheaper than uber.” “does that mean i’m getting paid?” tom looks over at him. “joking. anytime, bro.”

harry can tell he’s waiting to bring you up again. all he did was look at you, and he’s falling. he’s never been subtle about his crushes. harry knows the two of you would get on well, but he’s not sure if you can handle a relationship right now. this year hasn’t been easy for you. you should be focusing on your health, not his tool of a brother.

at the same time, you could use some cheering up. you haven’t sang along to one christmas song playing at the shop. tom gets so into christmas every year, so maybe some of his festivity could rub off on you. it’s possible to work on two things at once, right? you’ll be happy and healthy for the new year. that’s all harry wants for you.

he wouldn’t mind the same for tom, either.

“she’s in all day tomorrow,” harry sighs. tom scrunches his face up in the side mirror. “who is?” “y/n, div. i knew you were going to ask.” there’s no denying that one. “right. i’ll stop in for a drink.”

he smiles about it the whole way home.

━ ❆

the next day is just like the last one. harry seems more on edge than usual, but you don’t know what that’s about. he does let you stay on register today so the chances of you passing out are lower. that all changes when your next customer walks in. you recognize him immediately, even with a scarf covering half his face.

what the hell is tom holland doing in your café? he pulls his scarf down and walks up to place an order. you sort of forget how to act. “you... you’re...” you stammer, eyes wide on him. smiling, he presses a finger to his lips. all he wants is a coffee, and you’re about to get him mobbed. you raise your hands in defense and focus on the register.

“sorry. can i get you anything?” you try again, lowering your voice. he’s still smiling. “sure, thanks. i’ll try an iced peppermint mocha.” a smile takes over your own face. “cool, i suggested that one.” you punch it into the register, keeping your eyes on tom. “i’ll bet it’s good, then. i trust your judgement.” he sounds genuine but teasing at the same time.

“hey, harry.” tom waves at him while he makes something in the blender. harry unenthusiastically waves back before getting to work again. you turn to harry with your eyebrows knitted together. “you know each other?” “really well. we’re brothers,” tom replies, your eyebrows now raised to the top of your head.

“what? how come you never told me?” you almost yell at harry. he awkwardly dumps the contents of the blender into a cup. “it never came up.” “you don’t talk about me, baby bro?” tom jokes, getting his card out. you give harry one more look before turning back to him. “oh, don’t worry about it. it’s on the house,” you dismiss him.

“he’s a multimillionaire, y/n. i think he’ll be fine,” harry chimes in. “family discount,” you decide. tom chuckles and shoves his wallet back into his pocket. “you’re a funny one. can i make it up to you somehow?” his eyes lock with yours. you feel fluttery, like your heart is going to jump out of your chest. there could be a few reasons for that.

“um, can i get your autograph?” you murmur out. “easy. do you have something to write with?” he watches you scramble to get a piece of paper. you pull a pen from behind the counter and hand them both to him. a line is starting to form, but you can’t even pretend to care. there are more important things going on.

harry starts making tom’s drink while he signs the paper. he leans on the counter, his tongue poking out. he’s so sweet for doing this. your alarm goes off before you can tell him that. you quickly shut it and peek over the register to see. harry comes up to you.

“isn’t that for your medication? you should probably go take it,” he says so only you hear. you shrug a shoulder. “i set it a few minutes early. i’ll be fine.”

“here we go.” tom grins and hands you the paper, then the pen. you put it down with another smile before looking over his signature. you’re confused when you don’t see one. instead, he wrote down a bunch of numbers.

it can’t be...

“it’s my number,” tom explains, glancing over at harry for a second. he scoffs and puts the lid on his drink. “i figured you’d like it more than my terrible cursive.”

your whole body feels hot. whether it’s from putting off your meds or getting hit on by tom holland, you’re not sure. you wouldn’t mind the latter, though. it’s the safer of the two. in all seriousness, the fact that he has any sort of interest in you is pretty insane.

“wow, for real? thank you.” you look at the piece of paper in your hands, then at tom. “does this mean i can text you?” he’s practically beaming at you. “or call.” “tom,” harry calls from the pickup counter. he rolls his eyes for good measure. “i guess your drink is ready,” you laugh out. tom adjusts his scarf again.

“i guess it is. i’ll talk to you later?” you hold up the piece of paper. “that’s what this is for.” he breathes out a laugh and turns to go. you’re about to call up the next customer, but he looks back at you. you shake your head. it’s going to be impossible getting through what’s left of your shift. “enjoy.” tom nods confidently. “i will.”

━ ❆

the first thing you do once you get home is call tom. your roommate is out with friends, so you’re spread out on the couch. all the lights are off to help the headache you got. with your luck, you’ll wake up with a migraine. you’ve become too familiar with nursing those. it’s given considering everything that happened.

tom picks up on the third ring. you hold your phone to your ear and sit up. “hello?” he asks sternly. you cringe at yourself for not texting him who you are first. “hi, it’s y/n. i probably should’ve texted.” his tone softens. “no, you’re fine. i was waiting for you to call.”

“were you really?” you lay your head back on the arm of the couch. he hums proudly. “tom holland was waiting for me to call him?” “he was.” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “he really enjoyed your conversation earlier.” sighing, you look at your reflection in the tv. “i did, too. i don’t think harry could say the same.”

“he hates having me around. i’m embarrassing, apparently,” tom laughs at his brother’s behavior. you press your lips into a pout. “is that why i’ve never heard about you?” “probably,” he confirms. it seemed weird that he wouldn’t want to tell the world his brother is spider-man. then again, harry isn’t like that.

“that’s nice, though. it’s like i’m the same me before the movies,” tom lightens the mood. “not that i know you, but i feel like you are,” you agree with a small smile. he’s grinning at his phone. “speaking of not knowing me, when are you free?” he smoothly transitions to the asking you out part. you were hoping you’d get there.

“saturday. why?” “i was wondering if you’d want to go out with me.” you hold the phone away from your face and silently squeal. tom didn’t need to witness that. “that would be fun, yeah.” “anywhere special you want to go?” he asks. he’s hoping there isn’t because he already has a place in mind. you actually don’t.

“surprise me.”

-

i made a new taglist form, so fill it out if you want!! the link is in my bio

[ushiwakaa]

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you’re a pre-med student working the closing shift at your part-time job when you find an injured gangster by the dumpster.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : ushijima wakatoshi x gn!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : fluff

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : gun induced injury, ( potentially ) graphic description of said injury

𝐚/𝐧 : sometimes idk if i do this fic thing right !! anyway !! this is dedicated to the brave captains of my ushijima harem , @from-left-to-write​ and @bubbleteaa​ 

While your parents give you what they can, it’s barely enough to pay tuition and living expenses while you’re off at school. Picking up a part-time job gives you some pocket money and something to take your mind off of studying.

The coffee shop you work part-time at is a tiny, yet bustling spot in the heart of the financial district. As one of the few university students that work there, you get the privilege of working morning shifts. This means, you plaster on your brightest smile at six in the morning to laugh kindly with business men who deign to pick up their own coffee and grouchy interns who are dissatisfied with getting their boss’.

On instinct, you smile brightly at the chime of the door.

“Good morning, Washijo-san! How are you?”

The regular at your store was grumpy old thing with a stubby nose and bushy brows. His suits were befitting of his location: impeccably pressed. While he appeared to be perpetually unhappy, you knew that was a lie. You swore to all your coworkers that there was a heart underneath his gruffness.

The elderly gentleman gives an endearing huff, ignoring your question. “Small black.”

You don’t let it deter you as you beam at the man. “Anything else, Washijo-san?”

“Ushijima—” the man grunts— “do you want anything?”

The man on his left silently shakes his head.

“That’s all.”

“Coming right up!” You chime.

Washijo hands you crisp bill — significantly more than his total. When you hand him the change, as he does with every visit, he promptly dumps it into the tip jar. Your heart jumps in guilt but, as a struggling student, you swallow your tongue.

“Thank you!”

Washijo waves you off flippantly as he takes a seat. In his stead, the young man waits stoically by the counter. As you ready the man's coffee, you watch his companion from the corner of your eye.

While you had many questions for the old man, the most interesting mystery of all was the string of bodyguards who followed his every whim. While you’d gotten used to the anxiously eager Goshiki and his oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, your interest was piqued by latest guard by his side. He was strong jawed with a stern look to him — broad shouldered and serious. Like his boss, his well-tailored suit was befitting of the bankers in the area.

“Ushijima-kun, right?”

His eyes are far more intense than you anticipate. Lightning runs up your spine when he raises his head. He nods.

A second is lost on you as you try to compose yourself. “Um… Do you work with Washijo-san?”

“He’s my boss.”

Your heart almost stops. His voice is a deep timber, gravelly from lack of use. His words leave a resounding echo in your ears despite the low volume.

…Is this love? The dopey grin on your face grows.

“You must work around here then!”

He nods.

“Very nice!” You place the steaming cup of coffee on the serving counter before wiping your hands on your apron. “It’s a great place to walk around during your lunch break. Before I got a job here, I worked at the hospital around the corner. I could never decide where to go for lunch.”

Reaching for the coffee, he asks, “Why did you leave the hospital for a coffee shop?”

“It was just a summer internship program!” You reply as you begin plating a pair of sugar cookies. “I’m studying pre-med, actually.”

He gives a hum and you place the cookies in front of him. He frowns.

“We didn’t order those.”

“Don’t worry about it.” It was a feeble attempt to balance out the ridiculous amount the elderly man had supplied to your tip jar over the last year. “You should come by with Washijo-san more often, though! It’s nice to see new faces.”

—

It’s sort of like speaking a curse aloud. You don’t see Washijo, or the young man for a handful of weeks after that. While your tip jar remains fairly healthy thanks to your charming customer service, you do miss the endearing demeanour of the grouchy old man.

Shamefully, you can’t say that you don’t hope to see Ushijima, though. While you don’t share the same rapport with him yet, you would like to. There was something endearing about his quiet personality. He was like a sleeping volcano. There was something hidden just below the surface.

Without noticing, you find yourself grinning into the pages of your anatomy textbook.

After cleaning steadily throughout the night — all you have to do at this point is empty the pastry case and take out the trash. With nothing else to do, of course you spend your free time studying. It’s a boring way to pass the time, but it trickles away quickly.

The clock uneventfully strikes one and you flip the welcome sign.

As you’re looking out of the glass, watching a cat cross the sheet — two men run past the storefront, one taunts their tail with a daunting tune barely muffled through the glass. It sends a shiver up your spine.

Quickly, you lock the door before retreating further into the store.

You definitely prefer morning shifts, but with the younger part-timers out of school for the time being — you had no choice but to pick up the closings for fairness sake.

A sigh escapes your lips as you lament your tragic life as a university student. You push open the back door with your shoulder, lugging along a large garbage bag. It’s a struggle with your weak arms, but you manage to heft it into the garbage dump in the back alley.

As you give yourself a congratulatory pat on the back, you find yourself jumping six feet into the air.

Tucked behind the dumpster is a man, his long legs barely hidden behind the length of the trash heap. While you’d really like to run back inside, shut off the lights and lock up for the night, your morality wins.

“Are you okay?” You ask, coming to his side.

He groans in response.

“Do you think you can stand?”

He shakes his head.

You help him into the back of the store and lead him to sit at your makeshift break table. In the light, you can finally see his face.

“Ushijima-kun,” you gasp, kneeling at his side.

You can see two bright spots of poppy-red blossom into the white of his dress shirt. You stiffen your gasp with the sleeve of your sweater before inspecting his wound. The buttons of his shirt come undone with a touch of your nimble fingers. You swallow back a second gasp. Though you saw a hint of his wounds through the poplin fabric, you’re not ready to stare directly at the angry pucker of red skin in his red pectoral.

“I—” you pull away, patting at your pockets in search of your phone— “I need to call the ambulance. This… This is more than I can handle. Well, actually this is — this is entirely more than I know how to handle but—”

You’re startled out of your panic by the warmth of his touch on your arm. He says nothing to you but shakes his head instead.

“No ambulance,” he appeals.

Your hands drop to your sides. “Okay. No ambulance.”

When you move to your feet, he tights his grip on your sleeve. His sharp eyes, previously wary, watch you desperately.

“I’m just going to wash my hands.”

His grip goes lax.

With the first aid kit hung on the wall and your mediocre knowledge of dressing a gunshot wound, you do your best to treat his wounds. You’ve yet to learn how to clean a gunshot wound specifically but you’ve always been good at guessing games. Applying what you know from the pdfs you stole off the online library: you clean, you dress, and you bandage.

When the silence of it all gets unbearable, you croak, “You know. This isn’t what I meant when I told you to come by more often.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay,” you reply, disinfecting the wound. You offer an apologetic smile when he winces. “I’m just glad to see you, really. I haven’t seen you in weeks.” A weak laugh escapes you. “I mean, you and Washijo-san, obviously. He’s one of my favourite regulars. I was worried.” You can’t seem to look away from the gunshot. “I mean… I guess it was for good reason.”

He says nothing, lulling the two of you into another bout of silence. You mask your disappointment as you move away from him — reaching for a dressing pack in the first aid kit. As steadily as you can, you apply the dressing to his chest wound.

Perhaps you’re distracted by his chiselled pectorals, or maybe you’re exhausted past the capabilities that your brain can handle at one in the morning — regardless, your startled gaze meets his intensity when he grunts.

For an infinity confined within the limits of second, you can feel his heart beat within his chest.

“This is an occupational hazard.”

They’ve said that lightning doesn’t strike twice, but here you are: silent in an aftershock.

“…This?”

He stares at you for a hard moment. “This.”

“Getting… Shot?”

“Yes. Similar to how an athlete expect injuries, I too expect injuries.”

Your lips press into a frown. “I don’t know many people who would take a bullet for their job.”

“As I mentioned, this is an—”

“Occupational hazard,” you cut him off with a roll of your eyes. “I heard. I guess this means that finding men hiding in my trash is also an occupational hazard.” As you fix him with your sternest glare, you simultaneously smooth down his dressing. “Should I expect more injured men outside my store at one in the morning? Because you should know that I rarely close and I should really pass along the message.”

He has the sense to look embarassed but it doesn’t look quite right on him.

“I couldn’t go anywhere else.” Then, quietly, he adds, “I hoped it would be you.”

A list of places come to mind, but rather than chew him out, you fix him with a stare. You stare at him until you’re sure he can see the questions overflowing from your ears. One glaring question stands above the rest, but for some reason, you can’t manage to ask it. Instead, you stand, putting a comfortable distance between you two.

“Do you want a cookie? I forgot to empty the pastry display.”

—

Other than a handful of students huddled on the couch in the back corner of the café, the store is virtually empty in the last fifteen minutes to close. After that encounter with Ushijima ( who a couple weeks later grunted and said, “Call me Wakatoshi.” ), you began to pick up closing shifts more often. While Washijo lamented this fact to your manager, you decided you liked having Wakatoshi walk you home after your shift more than the tips. 

As you doodle absently in the margin of your textbook, the café door slams open. Wakatoshi isn’t usually so flamboyant, but you’ve learned to control yourself when startled.You look at the clock pointedly, then at your boyfriend. 

“Toshi,” you whine, “you’re — oh. What happened to Tendou?”

The redheaded man hangs limply, upright only thanks to your boyfriend’s support.

“I — believe it or not — got shot!” In spite of his pale face, he’s scarily gleeful.

“Crazy,” you cheer weakly, coming to support him on his other side. “Why don’t you tell me more about it in the back.”

On noticing the injured redhead, the group hightail it out of the store — leaving behind their dirtied plates and mugs. 

“Have a good night!” You call after them.

Tendou rolls his head back. “Have a good night~!”

Over his head, you give your boyfriend a pointed look. He meets your look. While his eyes still smoulder, you can see the tiredness in his movements as well. You give a sigh. 

Biting the bullet, you decide not to chew out your boyfriend for letting his injured friend bleed allover you freshly swept store. Instead, you apply the same care to Tendou as you do when you do when treating your boyfriend.

“You’re better at this than Shirabu,” he says with a contented sigh, munching on the sugar cookie you had set aside for Wakatoshi.

You smile at the compliment. “Thanks, Tendou. Really, I’m still in school though.”

“Don’t diminish your talents,” Wakatoshi proclaims, pausing in his sweeping.

You give him a glare. Without a word, he continues. 

“Rest here for a bit, okay, Tendou? I just need to finish closing up the store and then we’ll figure out what to do after.”

Tendou’s already humming under his breath as you walk back to the front. Wakatoshi, apparently finished sweeping, is behind the counter taking out the trash. He stops when he sees you, coming to your side. Immediately you pout.

“I’m sorry for bringing Tendou.” When your pout doesn’t go away, he takes matters into his own hands and draws you carefully into his chest. “I know it was supposed to be just us, but—”

You sigh. “It’s okay, Toshi. I’m not mad.”

While you’re still encircled in his arms, he pulls away to peer at your face. “You aren’t? You look mad. And, you’re not saying anything. That is an indicator that you’re not okay—”

“I’m upset because that could’ve been you, Toshi. You’re still healing from your last injury. You’re in absolutely no shape to be getting in more fights!”

You smack him lightly on his chest but he quickly catches your wrist. You try again and he catches you, again. You glare at him. He stares at you. You wind back your leg. Before you get a chance to kick him, he wraps his arms around you and hoists you off the ground.

You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Put me down!”

Rather than listening to you, he hugs you tighter. 

“Babe!” 

Now, he’s walking.

“Toshi!”

When he releases you, the both of you fall into the worn pleather of the back corner couch. The fall is sudden enough to surprise you out of your anger. Still, encaged in his arms, you look up at your boyfriend moodily. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The gentleness of his words relax you and all you can hear is his heartbeat. 

“I know it’s an occupational hazard, but I can’t help but worry about you.”

His hand moves from your waist to gently pat your hair. “Thank you for caring about me.”

You melt in his arms — there’s something beautiful his softness. 

“Toshi?” You murmur, squirming in his arms to look into his eyes. “You know I love you, right?” 

He gives you a gentle smile, leaning in to give you a soft peck on the lips. “I love you too, baby.” 

—

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @akaashichigo​ @drainedjaz​ @haikkeiji​ @annalyn-annalyn​ @mlkytobio​ @sosugasweet​ @cali-writes-sometimes​  @simping4ratsumu​ @shishinoya​ @ushiwakaa​ @from-left-to-write​ @akaashit-baeji​  @kxgeyamasmilk​ @agaassi​ @hanibuni​ @cupofkenma​  @kawanisshi​ @milkandc00kiez​ @thiccbokuto​ @shinsukestan​ @sufiawrites​ @wakaitoshi​ @skyguy-peach​ @fern-writes-ig​ @briswriting​ @airybby​ @kawaiikraykray​ @bubbleteaa​ @miyuswriting​ @raevaioli​ @ouikarwa​ @hakueishirei​ @pineapplekween​ @estherwritess​ @keiji-n​ @achoohq​ @badlywritten-hq​ @mochibeaa​ @hanzwrites​ @chxrry-wxne​ (  cheese cult taglist  )

[gukyi]

for you, anything | ksj

summary: in the popular online multiplayer game, kingdom, you are the top-ranked knight with money, fame, and power. in real life, you’re a graphic design geek who’s got a very unsubtle crush on her gorgeous coworker, kim seokjin. but when you’re suddenly dethroned from the first place spot in your game, you and your kingdom character embark on a journey to reclaim your title, and learn on the way that things are not always as they seem. 

{friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, fantasy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol mention, brief and non-graphic descriptions of violence, this is basically two fics in one so you get double the fun and double the word count!! a/n: once again, a massive, massive thank you to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me!! you can find her on twitter as well under @btspresso_!! she’s the genius behind this enemies to lovers and friends to lovers seokjin fic wrapped up into a nice package just in time for the holidays!! you ever seen a fic with e2l and f2l together? that’s right, i didn’t think so. enjoy!!!

check out the post-script drabble here!

♚ HERE ♚

“Oh, shit!”

From twelve feet away comes the sound of these three things in this order: fingers furiously mashing keyboard keys, wheels of an office chair swiveling angrily on the linoleum floor, and a war cry. All of which could either belong to a video game world championships in a big-city stadium or your simple, office of two-floors in a more-than-one-hundred-stories skyscraper based in graphic design and media for small start-up companies. 

“I can’t tell if Photoshop crashed again or if you’re playing that weird online multiplayer game again,” Yoongi grumbles from across the way, where he’s gnawing on a Clif bar in one hand as he mindlessly taps his mouse with the other. 

“Please,” Jimin says, carelessly waving a hand. “Don’t act like I haven’t caught you watching My Hero Academia multiple times this year while we were supposed to be doing work, you absolute piece of toast. But if you must know, I was in fact playing Kingdom.”

“I’m going to tell Namjoon,” Yoongi says with zero emphasis, because everybody knows that Namjoon’s got dirt on everybody in the office anyway (including Yoongi) and that if you try to expose somebody else to him, he’ll expose you back. It’s colleague culture. 

“And what’s Namjoon gonna do? He already knows you carry a flash drive of illegally-downloaded animes with you wherever you go,” Jimin retorts casually. He’s not wrong, and you can confirm that Yoongi indeed carts around a USB drive in the shape of a pineapple that has 64GB of anime. 

“What do I know?”

Namjoon comes trotting into view from the corridor that leads to the gender-neutral bathrooms with glasses hanging from the collar of his sweater vest, a clipboard with nothing attached to it in his right hand, and a steaming cup of jasmine tea (he hates coffee and declares this publicly at least three times a day) in his left. 

“You know that Yoongi—”

“Has been doing his work the whole time you were in the bathroom so you don’t need to worry about him,” Yoongi interrupts quickly. 

Namjoon shoots both Jimin and Yoongi a suspicious glare, but moves on. He’s got enough blackmail on the both of them to bury them into the next calendar year, but he’s wise, and he only uses it when absolutely necessary. “Just doing checkups on you guys before Boss Man calls me back into his office and gives me a pile of over one hundred hours of work I’m supposed to do in a forty-hour work week.” It’s been obvious from the moment you were hired that Namjoon does the most work out of anybody in this office, including your boss, and gets very, very little from it. 

“You don’t even have any paper attached to your clipboard,” Taehyung points out rather unhelpfully, from where he’s been drawing hearts on the cheeks of the Surprised Pikachu meme he’s taped up on the wall his desk is pushed up against. 

Namjoon looks down at his clipboard like it just spit mad fire at him, furrows his brows, and lets out a sigh equivalent to three years worth of pent-up aggression. “Shit.”

Jimin cackles from his computer. 

“Whatever, I’m still going to do checkups.” Namjoon takes the pen from behind his ear and writes himself a note, presumably to get paper for his clipboard later. “Jimin, you’re still working on that website layout for the art critic and photographer. Yoongi’s on coding for that search engine that we all know is never taking off but is still paying us. Taehyung’s on marketing because he’s got the most charming voice and Hoseok and Jungkook are on media production for the indie movie company. Y/N and Seokjin, you guys are on clientele and coding. Everybody good before I go get more paper?”

“Yes, Tiny but Large Boss Man,” Jimin says, and it’s enough of a confirmation to send Namjoon scurrying down the corridor again in search of paper as everyone else returns to their prior business. 

“Y/N?”

You turn around from the font website you’ve been browsing for about half an hour to find Seokjin standing behind you, an earpiece in his ear and that charming smile on his face. It’s the same smile he gave you on your first day on the job when he was introducing himself, same smile he gives when he meets clients in person, same smile he gives Namjoon whenever the man is about to have a breakdown. It’s a friendly, personable-but-universal kind of smile. The kind models need. The kind that Seokjin has mastered. 

“Hey, Seokjin,” you say, only just then coming to realize that Seokjin is much closer to you than his voice originally implied. You’ve rotated 180 degrees in your office chair and he is hardly a foot away from where your feet are. It’s a lot. Seokjin is always a lot. In the best sort of way. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, just wanted to check in and see how the project was going for that one guy that wanted a nice advertisement to put on Angie’s List,” Seokjin says, leaning down to look at what you’ve been doing. 

“Oh, well I’ve been browsing this font website for ages and I still can’t find a nice one for the sub-heading. All of these are too flashy or difficult to read,” you say, beginning to scroll as you and Seokjin both look for one that you like. 

“Hmm, I see what you mean,” his voice sounds like honey and if you had any less dignity you’d let the chills send shivers down your spine. Luckily, you know how to maintain your composure in an office setting. And you also know that Yoongi and Jungkook would never let you hear the end of it, ever. “Oh, how about that one?”

“This one? Rose Quartz?” You ask, pointing to it. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “It has a nice flair that matches with the font for the business name, but it’s still easy to read. It would probably look really nice with a crisp shadow behind it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re onto something,” you say, clicking to read the fair use and copyright. 

“Couldn’t have done it without all the hard work you’ve put into this,” Seokjin says, standing up and shooting you another one of his famous smiles. “You’re the best partner anybody in this tiny media production and design company could ask for.”

He leaves without bidding you farewell, but it’s enough to have you staring blankly at your computer, contemplating existence itself. Sometimes, a little part of you wonders if Seokjin only treats you like this and none of your other coworkers, but then you immediately remember that Seokjin is naturally charming and that he probably speaks to newborn babies in the same way.

Yoongi wheels over to your desk from where his is, smirk lacing his features as he chews on another, different-colored Clif bar. 

“Ever heard of a personal bubble?” You ask snarkily, because you already know why he’s over here, and so does he.

“Why aren’t you asking the same question to Seokjin, hmm?” Yoongi taunts. He’s know about your dumb crush on your coworker (of all people, your coworker! A fellow employee!) for months now. He isn’t being any more helpful whatsoever. 

“Go watch your pirated anime,” you grunt out, too overwhelmed with the way Seokjin smiles at you to really give Yoongi your full attention. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Sure, but I’m not Seokjin,” Yoongi says. Then he wheels away and you’re left staring at the Rose Quartz font, whose sample text reads: This was meant to be. 

At least Namjoon doesn’t know.

It’s midnight on a Tuesday, and you’re just about to turn off the lamp on your bedside table and get some well deserved weekday-night shut eye when your phone begins to blare, a disgustingly ugly picture of Jungkook’s face appearing on the screen.

You stare at your phone like it’s personally offending you (which, if Jungkook’s face is anything to go by, it definitely is) before you turn off your ringer and close your eyes. Jungkook can wait. Very seldom is he at the top of your list of priorities.

Barely five seconds after you’ve put your head on your pillow, your phone begins to vibrate, this time even angrier than the last. Aggravated and a little concerned—because Jungkook never, ever calls twice—you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Something crazy just happened!”

“I hope so, otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me at midnight on a work night,” you grumble into the phone, monotonous voice a stark contrast to Jungkook’s easily excitable one.

“Have you been on Kingdom recently?!” Jungkook asks, and you practically see his eyes bulging out of his head in front of you. One of your youngest coworkers, it’s moments like these that remind you why he bears a striking resemblance to a university student—up late playing video games even on a work night—despite having a couple years in the workforce under his belt. He keeps telling you that he wants to go back to school and get a Masters in something, but he isn’t sure what yet. 

“No,” you tell him like it’s obvious, because it is. You typically begin to wind down your night around ten, which means that anything that’s happened on Kingdom in the past two hours you are thoroughly unaware of. “Can’t this wait? Kingdom’s fun and all, but I really do need to sleep.”

“But Y/N,” Jungkook says with a whine, insisting that you stay on the line, “someone beat you! You’re rank two, now.”

If Jungkook’s loud voice and jumpy attitude didn’t wake you before, you’re certainly wide awake now.

“What?” You ask, shocked. “Just now?”

“Yeah, like fifteen minutes ago! I don’t know what happened,” Jungkook says sadly, lost. “I was dueling with another knight when the horns and banners appeared on the screen and said there was a new top player. You’ve been dethroned!” He cries out like it’s him who’s lost their place. 

You’re fumbling out of bed, making a beeline for your desktop computer across your bedroom. Normally, you’d be ashamed about how high-school you’re behaving around a video game, but you’ve invested an embarrassing amount of time and energy into Kingdom, and you’ll be damned if you think someone else can outdo you. 

As you’re logging onto the game, Jungkook continues to wail into the phone. “I don’t even know who this person is, I feel like I’ve never seen them before! I mean, they must be really good since they practically appeared out of nowhere, but still! I’m a decent player so we must have crossed paths. Maybe I just don’t remember…”

Sure enough, the moment you open your screen the horns blare and the banners appear, congratulating a different player on achieving the top rank. You watch helplessly as the celebration fades on your computer before the leaderboard appears in the top left corner, your name a sad second place. 

“Who’s JK0901?” You shout into the phone, earning an exasperated sigh from Jungkook on the other end. You scowl at the name that’s knocked you off your pedestal, before narrowing your eyes to look at it more closely. “JK? Is that you, Jungkook? Are you just calling me to make fun of me for beating me? Don’t disrespect your elders, Jungkook.”

Jungkook gasps like he’s been accused of murder. For people that take Kingdom as seriously as you and Jungkook, it may as well be. “No! What the heck, Y/N, you know that my username is KookieMonster97, for God’s sake. Accusing me of being the best, how could you?”

“You should have just taken the compliment,” you frown into the phone, “Now all the girls are gonna know you aren’t, in fact, the number one Kingdom player.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Jungkook mutters. “But it’s not me, I swear. You would have received a very different phone call from me if it was. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have even told you and then ruined your day in the office tomorrow. So it’s not me.”

“I can’t tell if I’d be more or less angry if it was you,” you admit.

“Why, because I’d finally have something to hold over your head other than my unwavering youth?” Jungkook taunts. Definitely still a university student at heart. 

“No, because it means I’d have to hear the entire office praise you for a day, and I’d rather permanently pop my eardrums,” you tell him informatively. Jungkook has enough of a head. You actively try to not do anything to enlarge it unless he wholeheartedly deserves it. 

“I love our coworker chats, you know,” Jungkook says. “Whoever this person is though, I bet they’re receiving bucketloads of praise for knocking you off the top spot. You’ve had it for like, three months now, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you tell him through gritted teeth. “I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this game and look how it’s repaying me,” you grumble, staring down the Kingdom home screen. 

“JK0901 probably did a ritual sacrifice to beat you,” Jungkook supplies unhelpfully. 

You sigh. Whoever they are, they proved that they are just as good at Kingdom as you are, a veteran player with an embarrassing several years of experience under your belt. In fact, they proved that they’re better than you. 

♚ THERE ♚

It’s cloudy today, which means that more of the market stalls are out on the main street. You pass by them on your way to the castle, vendors calling out to you with promises of apples, jewelry, and perfumes. 

You’ve got money to burn and your responsibilities can wait a couple of minutes, so you indulge one of the stalls and purchase a couple of apples. One should give you a bit of energy now, and the rest can be roasted later for a better meal. 

“Miss Y/N, off to the palace?” The vendor asks. From how much you frequent this part of the kingdom, every artisan, farmer, and merchant alike knows your name. That, and the fact that you’ve amassed quite a group of followers from your daily knightly escapades. 

“Of course,” you respond happily, paying the merchant with a couple of silver coins and then some, just as a thanks. The extra money helps the farmers raise the quality of their crops and allows them to earn more for their efforts. It also boosts your standing amongst the townsfolk. “His Majesty requested my presence for further instructions on fortification, most likely. But I’m just honored to be recognized.”

“As you should!” The man responds dutifully. “You are our best knight, after all.”

“Please, you flatter me. When the work day is done, go home and feed your children well, alright?” You ask, giving a firm nod to the merchant before you’re on your way. As you stroll down the stone-paved path, other vendors call out to you, hoping that you, too, will indulge in their finest clothes and trinkets on your way to the castle. 

Maybe another day. 

You take a hearty bite of the apple as you head towards the palace, a satisfying crunch ringing through your ears as the townsfolk nod and bow to you. It’s easy to figure out that you’re the top-ranked knight in the kingdom, with badges of honor pinned to your torso, ink black armor clinging tightly to your body, and red sashes tied around the black ones on your wrist, signifying approval from the highest ranking military official in the kingdom: the king himself. 

The guards at the palace gates step aside as you nod to each other, bowing courteously. You repeat this process several more times as you slowly proceed towards the throne room, where the King (and maybe the Queen) are likely to be waiting for you. They had increased their security at every door frame after an attempted assassination several months ago, which you (with the help of other high-ranking knights and castle officials) discovered was a plot orchestrated by Their Majesty’s second-most-trusted advisor. 

Finally, you reach the golden arches that signify that you’ve arrived at the most expensive room in the entire palace (save for Her Majesty’s bathroom, which, though you have never been inside, is rumored to have a golden bathtub and sacred water from the River Blancheur, over two thousand miles away. But you cannot confirm nor deny.), threatening red doors slowly creaking open as the King and Queen come into view. 

They’re sitting on their thrones, as per usual, but they aren’t the only ones in the room like they normally are. Instead, there’s another knight, as equally decked out as you, standing before them, arms crossed behind their back. 

“We hope that you can wear these honors proudly and do your duties with pride,” the King says regally, deep, thick voice echoing throughout the room. 

“I will stop at nothing to ensure this kingdom’s greatness,” the knight says back, just as formal. The knight gives a long bow, red sashes around their wrist dangling towards the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were being replaced. But of course, that’s not the case. 

“Oh, Y/N,” the Queen says happily, noticing your waiting right in front of the closed doors to the throne room. “Prudent, as always.”

“I aspire to please,” you say with a bow. The King gives you a warm smile, one you’re willing to bet that this other knight isn’t often on the receiving end of. 

“Your timing is impeccable,” the King says, ushering for you to come forward. You do so, taking calculated steps along the red carpet, woven nearly two centuries ago and maintained ever since. “We were just congratulating Sir JK on his recent accomplishments in the Black Forest.”

“Of course,” you say with a nod, refusing to turn to your left so you can stare down this Sir JK for yourself. “The military made groundbreaking strides for our kingdom there.”

“You are the first person to know this, other than him, of course, but we’ve decided to appoint him as the Head of the Royal Knights of the Kingdom of Kalar,” the King says proudly. 

It takes everything in your willpower not to let your mouth drop open. You blink rapidly, making sure that you aren’t in a daze nor still asleep. Sure enough, you’re wide awake and your ears and eyes seem to be working perfectly. The knight next to you is taking over the highest position a knight can hold in your kingdom, one that even you haven’t been given. 

You’ve been replaced. 

“What an incredible honor,” you say, body stiff. You can practically feel the ego of the knight next to you radiating off of him. It makes your nerves twitch. 

“I think so as well,” the King says proudly. He has, luckily, not picked up on your sudden mood change. “So, I’ve called you here to appoint you as his second-in-command.”

You bow graciously at his words, ensuring that, despite your bitter attitude, you are still thankful for this opportunity. Mostly. You are mostly thankful for this opportunity. 

“I’m honored and grateful, Your Majesties,” you say, head facing the carpet. “I would rather die than let down my kingdom.”

“You two are to work together closely,” the Queen advises, words that make your ears bleed. Oh, wonderful, now you have to work hand-in-hand with the person that stole your favor with the royal household right from underneath your feet? You can think of nothing more enjoyable. “Your cooperation alone will ensure the utmost safety and security of this kingdom.”

“We shall do better than our best,” the knight beside you says. His words make your eyes roll back into your head, but you’ve been a bigger brownnoser in your past. You can forgive that, even if the man next to you radiates an energy you’d rather not surround yourself with. 

“I’m pleased to hear it. Your training and work together begins now, so do not hesitate to get to know each other.”

You and him take one baited breath each before turning to each other. You both bow out of obligatory respect, which satisfies the King and Queen well enough. And as you come up, you catch a glimpse of each other’s eyes. His are dark, rounded pupils. They’re hiding something. 

You’re determined to figure out what it is. 

“Call me J,” the knight says the moment you’ve stepped foot outside of the palace. The setting sun shines dimly on the main road, and many of the vendors are beginning to pack up their belongings in order to head home. 

“Okay, J,” you say suspiciously. Everything about him unsettles you slightly. Perhaps it’s the fact that behind the armor and the mask and the badges, he’s extremely good-looking. Or maybe it’s the fact that he swiped the top-ranking knight position right from your fingertips. It must be that. “It’s baffling to me that we haven’t met yet. If you’ve been in such high favor with the King and Queen, then I must have seen you somewhere.” You wonder if he can hear the bitterness lacing your features. You sure hope that he can. 

“I guess our paths just never crossed,” J says, taking a bite out of a peach he just purchased from a farmer’s daughter, who was watching over the stall as her father haggled with another vendor. You watched as he winked to the girl as she gave him two peaches for the price of one. “I’m more on the ground than you are, am I not? You spend much of your time strategizing in the castle.”

“You don’t know what I do,” you huff out. He finishes the peach and wraps up the pip in a piece of cloth from his pocket before tucking it away. There is no place to dispose of it on the main street anyway. 

“Don’t I?” J says with a sly grin, one that makes you want to kick him in the shin and push him into the grass. “Everyone knows what you do, Y/N. You were the King and Queen’s favorite.”

The way he uses the past tense doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“But, as it seems, being on the battlefield outweighs directing it from above,” J says. He keeps his eyes off of you and his head held high while your gaze focuses in on him out of pure fury, just another way to hold his newfound superiority over your head. Five minutes next to him and he already seems to know how to push every single one of your buttons. 

“So it seems,” you say bitterly. 

“You and I really must get along, Y/N,” J says casually as you begin to stray from the hustle of the main street. Neither of you seem to have a particularly clear destination in mind, only a path that must be taken for the sake of the greater good. It’s only the prospect that if you do well enough, you’ll impress the King and Queen and regain your favor with them that’s keeping you from socking J in the face and dashing off, taking his second peach with you. “We’ll be spending lots of time together.”

“Doesn’t that sound like the bee’s knees,” you mutter to yourself. For the greater good. 

“Should it not?” J asks innocently. It makes you want to wipe that smirk right off of his face, that knowing tone in his voice. “I certainly don’t have a problem with you, Y/N. Do you happen to have one with me?”

He asks it because he knows that whatever you say will incriminate you. He knows that if you say no, you’re a goddamn liar, and that if you say yes, you’re weak. Weak because you’re admitting that you can’t handle spending time with him even though you have to. Weak because you’re showing him that he has power over you. 

“No, of course not,” you say, plastering the fakest smile on your face. Two can play at this game. “In fact, would it be alright if I had that other peach? I’m absolutely starving.” You can be civil. If he can, at least.

“Sure thing,” J says, unwrapping the peach from the woven napkin the farmer’s daughter gave him.

You reach out to take it from him, but in the blink of an eye his hand dangles it over your head, too far out of reach for you to grab without losing all of your dignity in the process. 

“What do we say, Y/N?” He asks sweetly, like a parent disciplining their child. God, everything he does absolutely aggravates you. 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Perhaps you aren’t on the front lines as often as he is, but you sure know how to fight. Maybe now is a good time to remind him that you received the same training he did. 

“Please?” You ask, just as saccharine. 

“As you request, Y/N,” J says with a bow, finally handing it over. 

If this is what the next several months have in store for you, you wonder if maybe sinking down to a lower ranking might be worth it after all, especially if it means you’ll never have to see him and his bouncy hair and dark eyes again. 

You take a bite into the peach. It’s sour. 

Just your luck. 

♚ HERE ♚

When you walk into work the next day, a hush falls over the room. 

It’s not even as if the entire office has been quiet so far this workday, not as if the clock struck nine o’clock and everyone decided to start a competition to see who could shut up for the longest amount of time. 

(For the record, if anyone were to win that competition, it would be Yoongi, who usually only speaks either 1) when spoken to or 2) to let someone know when they’re being dumb via insult. The first person to lose would be Namjoon, because his job description is to boss people around. And he’s awfully good at it.)

The elevator door dinged on the twenty-third floor and you could hear Hoseok’s loud gasps and Jungkook’s cackled laugh even through the glass door that separates your office from the rest of the companies that take up residence in this particular city skyscraper. And then, as your loafers tapped on the hard linoleum floor and the glass door creaked open, the entire office fell silent. 

Quickly, you wonder if you’ve forgotten someone's birthday or if anybody’s due for a celebration of some sort. But nobody’s come to mind and the lights aren’t off, which means that this isn’t the kind of sudden silence that precedes a surprise party. 

This is the kind of sudden silence that makes everybody go, “Oh shit.”

It feels like you’re walking on eggshells as you make your way over to your desk. You’re a couple minutes late due to oversleeping (for reasons that start with J and end with -ungkook) so everybody’s already here, and the office should be as boisterous and rowdy as always. And yet, something’s different. 

You’re left entirely in the dark in concern with what the reasoning is, so you just decide that you’d rather not be the one to break the tense quiet that’s befallen your office and settle down, logging into your work desktop and checking today’s assignments on Slack. 

Five minutes pass and you can’t help but think that, of the many, many days you’ve spent in this office with these people, this has got to be the most awkward by an overwhelmingly long shot. Not even the time Namjoon showed up with his hair dyed purple and traces of a sharpie drawing with a certain phallic design on his cheek was more awkward than this. 

It seems that even Namjoon’s picked up on the vibe of your workspace today, walking in and out without a word. He wheels in a portable whiteboard from one of your meeting rooms and writes down everybody’s assignments on the board in his handwriting, which makes his O’s look like D’s. 

Ten minutes in and this is the quietest your office has ever been in the history of mankind, probably. You’re almost convinced that genuinely no one will speak to each other until five o’clock, when Jimin’s end-of-work alarm goes off and you all pack up and go home, and that today’s workday is an exercise in meditation and peace, two things that are seldom available in your usual office environment. 

And then, out of nowhere, 

“Oh my God, I can’t take it anymore,” Hoseok says loudly, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize he had been holding. It’s highly unlikely that Hoseok spent the past ten minutes holding his breath because he wasn’t allowed to talk under your office’s societal norm of silence, but you honestly can’t put it past him. Speaking is essentially the equivalent of breathing to him. “I’ve been wanting to bother Jimin for not responding to my email from yesterday for the past five minutes. I don’t even know why we’re doing this, it’s clear that Y/N doesn’t care at all about what happened.”

“What don’t I care about?” You blurt out, equally as curious as everyone else also seems to release their baited breaths. 

Hoseok and Jimin immediately begin to argue about appropriate email-response time between coworkers and Yoongi rolls a couple of feet over from his own desk to enlighten you. 

“Jungkook told everyone that you had been docked from your top rank in Kingdom, and the whole office seems to have taken it very seriously,” Yoongi mutters into your ear, making you scrunch up your nose in exasperation. Is he kidding? 

“That’s why everyone was so quiet? Because they didn’t want to bring it up?” 

“I guess so, but I was just quiet because it was nice to have the whole office shut up for a few minutes in the morning,” Yoongi says with a shrug before wheeling back to his own desk, where an anime you vaguely recognize as Haikyuu!! is playing on his monitor. 

Immediately, you whip around to meet eyes with Jungkook, who looks like he’s been expecting your furious glare all morning. He smiles guiltily and can offer you literally nothing other than a mouthed sorry because you two are in a workplace environment where shouting is, generally, socially unacceptable. 

Despite your standing on the game, it’s easy to argue and even easier to prove that your coworkers care much more about Kingdom than you do. The loading screen of the castle in Monet’s art style is Hoseok’s desktop background. Jungkook has a little sword decoration next to his computer, and a couple of his pens are official Kingdom merch that you’re pretty sure he purchased from Hot Topic. Taehyung and Jimin play during their lunch break, the only time in the workday where shouting is socially acceptable, and the both of them came to last year’s Halloween party dressed as knights. Even Namjoon’s in on the game, though he rarely has time to play and usually has no idea what everyone else is referencing when they talk about Kingdom. 

Contrastingly, you enjoy the game but very seldom do you actually broadcast that affection in public. You need to have at least some semblance of personal dignity in this absolute free-for-all of a place of employment. 

So really, it’s no wonder that all of your coworkers acted like it was the end of the world when you got knocked from first place. To them, that would be like having a winning lottery ticket only to drop it onto train tracks and watch as the public transportation system has a field day with it. 

“We’re really sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung says as he comes over and hands you a Tootsie Roll from the stash he keeps in one of his desk drawers for bad days. Apparently, this is a bad day. “Jungkook told us and we didn’t want to put salt in the wound.”

Even if their methodology was weird and slightly unsettling, the sentiment was there. “Thanks guys,” you tell Taehyung with a smile, “but I think you guys took it harder than I did.”

“Of course we did!” Jungkook says with a cry. He is objectively the most torn up out of the lot of you. “We had the top player in Kingdom in our very office, and now what! You were famous, Y/N! Whoever that bozo is who took your place is gonna feel the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company.”

“Who’s feeling the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company?” Seokjin asks as he strolls into the office, even later than you. To be fair, it’s looking like he’s got a box of a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts, which is enough for anyone to forgive him, even your hard headed boss. “Is it Jimin? Did he steal your Post-Its again? I saw he had a new pack.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen for barely a second before they narrow in on Jimin, who is already skirting away to find Namjoon so he can use him as a human shield. Jimin has quite the history of taking Jungkook’s office supplies only for a second and then failing to return it. 

“No, but I’m gonna deal with him later,” Jungkook says, fishing through his office supplies on the hunt for his Post-it notes, which may or may not be currently in his possession. “We were just talking about how Y/N got knocked from the top spot in Kingdom by some asshat none of us have ever heard of, and now he’s going to feel the wrath. Of us. Specifically me, but also us.”

“What wrath?” Taehyung jokes. “You’re fresh out of college. You’re practically as intimidating as a baby bunny.”

Jungkook growls just for emphasis, and it only proves Taehyung’s point more. He’s always had a baby face.  

“Well, I brought doughnuts to cheer everyone up,” Seokjin says, opening the box to reveal a dozen doughnuts of varying kinds that is likely to be finished within the next thirty seconds. 

“Oh my God, Kim Seokjin, I love you,” Hoseok says before immediately taking one and a half and bouncing off. 

“Save the pink-frosted one for me, will you? It’s my favorite,” Seokjin requests. He’s not even monitoring the box, too busy putting all his stuff away and getting settled at his desk. He’s basically asking to be robbed. 

“Aw, I wanted that one,” you joke sadly, already going for the chocolate-frosted one with rainbow sprinkles. The box is nearly three-fourths empty. Even Namjoon’s materialized out of nowhere to take the glazed one to eat while he completes the next fifty-four things on his to-do list. 

“Then let’s split it,” Seokjin says without missing a beat. Your heart does the exact opposite. 

“Jimin, you wanna split one with me?” Taehyung asks. 

“Ew, gross, no way, I want a whole one to myself,” Jimin immediately rejects. 

“I’ll go and grab it,” Seokjin says, standing up to nab the doughnut for some evil being (by the name of Jimin) takes it for himself. He plucks it from the box and takes two napkins, too, walking over to your desk as he splits the doughnut in half. 

“For you,” he says casually, like it isn’t making your heart beat out of your chest. 

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say jokingly, taking the doughnut and placing it on the napkin he hands to you. 

“Tell me about this Kingdom thing? You got knocked from first place?” Seokjin asks, making conversation as he lingers by your desk. It’s obvious that nobody’s going to be getting any work done. 

“Yeah, but it’s really nothing special. Everyone was making a huge deal out of it, which you should be very glad you missed, because the first ten minutes of this workday were absolutely silent and it was awful in every way that something can be awful,” you tell him. 

Seokjin laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. “Then I’m glad that I came late,” he says with a chuckle. “I couldn’t imagine a day where Jimin and Taehyung were silent for more than two minutes.”

“I lived through it,” you say, smiling. “Anyway, everyone seems to have gotten over the fact that I’m no longer the top-ranked Kingdom player. I’m kind of down about it myself, just because I worked really hard, but whoever it is that took over, I’m glad for them. I mean, it’s just a game.”

“That it is,” Seokjin says. “How about a toast to your Kingdom-playing skills, and to whoever it is that beat you.”

“Cheers,” you say, holding out your half of the doughnut. 

“Cheers,” Seokjin echoes. 

The two of you clink doughnuts, and they squish together awkwardly. 

“You should bring doughnuts more often,” You muse.

“If it means we don’t have to work and can just talk like this, then I will,” Seokjin says as he takes a bite, already heading back over to his own desk. He waves goodbye with a smile, and only then do you finally indulge. 

Sweet. As always. 

♚ THERE ♚

When you were moved to the Military Tactics Unit, the King and Queen pulled you out of military training in favor of you spending more time working on strategies for the Kingdom’s armies rather than sparring with fellow Knights. It was a wise move on the part of Their Royal Highnesses, who feared losing you to a rebel group or warring kingdom, and you didn’t mind not having to engage in the physicality of training with those that would be spending more time on the battlefield. 

And at the time, you saw it as a much-needed break from hand-to-hand combat training for years on end when you hadn’t set foot on the front lines in months. But now, that decision has decided to come back and bite you where it hurts. 

Because as second-in-command to the Head of the Knights, you (and J, both luckily and unluckily) are tasked with the important duty of supervising the military training of the new recruits. This spells doom in various ways, some of which include (and are not limited to):

Having to spend more time with J. 

Having to spend more time with J without letting all of the recruits know you both vastly dislike each other. 

Having to spend more time with J in a scenario in which there is constant hand-to-hand combat. 

Having to spend more time with J without being able to make up an excuse about needing to attend to urgent military business in order to leave. 

Having to spend more time with J. 

Attempting to remember how to spar.

So, in essence, you’re screwed. 

This is the mindset with which you walk into your very first training session in over six months, a few minutes late, of course. Recently you’ve been attempting to calculate the maximum amount of time you can spend either being tardy or leaving early from events that involve J without you facing any repercussions. So far it’s been working out well. 

When you walk in the door, before you can greet any of the recruits or even offer J a slightly sarcastic wave, he says, “Look who’s finally shown up,” loud enough for all of the recruits to turn to look as you stroll in tardy. 

“I got held up by a vendor on the main road, my apologies,” you lie like a liar. It’s obvious that J does not believe you whatsoever, but it satisfies the recruits, who return to their business as usual. 

“Well, you’re just in time for warm-up,” J says, false positivity radiating throughout every single word. 

You walk up to where he stands at the front of the room, wearing much less of his official armor than he normally is. Right now, he stands in front of you in a plain tan cotton shirt and training pants, similar to the rest of the recruits. It’s really quite jarring, to see him dressed so differently from what he usually wears—dark armor and scarlet red sashes. It makes him seem… almost softer. 

“Thought you might have bailed on me,” J mutters into your ear as the recruits begin to stretch. 

“Have a little more faith in me, for God’s sake,” you grumble in return. You may not like him, but you aren’t about to abandon your responsibilities just because of a little bit of distaste. 

“Do you wanna take warm-up, or should I?” He offers, motioning to the recruits. They all look so nervous, so desperate to prove themselves on the first day of training. It reminds you of yourself, like you’re looking into a mirror and a time machine all at once. 

“You’re the boss,” you say, unabashedly letting the bitterness seep through your tone. “You choose.”

Unsurprisingly, J decides to let you handle the warm-up session, something that is just a precursor to the main event and therefore, not as important. He takes a couple of steps back and follows your instructions as you go through stretches and basic movements in combat, allowing all of the recruits to get a feel for what knighthood is really like in the Kingdom of Kalar. Warm-up was always your least favorite part during training, so boring in comparison to the sparring and hand-to-hand combat that you would engage in soon after. Sure, it was necessary, but when you were a wide-eyed, overeager trainee, you were willing to risk a pulled muscle if it meant you could beat someone up sooner. 

With this in mind, you wrap up the session in a fairly timely manner, letting the recruits do their own stretching after everything absolutely necessary has been covered. It also means that you can sit back and let J do most of the heavy lifting, which, while you’re bitter about him getting all of the attention, is better than having to do it yourself based solely upon memory. You remember combat well enough to handle yourself in the battlefield, but the technicalities of training have completely slipped your memory by now. 

J and everything else about him may leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you have to admit that he’s a good teacher and an even better morale booster. This must come from his experience out in the field, on the front lines, where raising his troops’ spirits came as a necessary quality to develop when times were tough. 

He speaks slowly, explains everything in enough detail to cover all of the bases without losing attention, and frequently opens up the floor for questions. And as per usual, the recruits already begin to cling to him like vines, desperate to soak up every ounce of knowledge that he doles out. 

J doesn’t need the ego boost, that’s for certain. 

“Now that I’ve gone through everything, I believe that the best way to learn how to spar is just to start doing it, even if you haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing. Despite what you may think about me, experience is the best teacher,” he says with a smile, earning a laugh from the crowd. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Um, sir?” A timid recruit raises her hand, her body curled in on herself. You take one look at her, and know that she’ll come out of her shell soon enough. 

“Yes, a question?” J asks. 

“Would you mind giving a demonstration? Just so we can watch. So we, well, don’t injure ourselves or each other while we’re sparring.”

A demonstration? You blink, having awoken from the trance you had placed yourself in one J stepped up to take over the training session. Doesn’t a demonstration mean… well, you and him?

J seems to come to this realization at the same time that you do, and grins wildly, giddy. He knows exactly how much you’ll hate doing this, which is all the more reason to say yes. “Of course, we’d be happy to. Y/N?”

You hold in the sigh you’ve been wanting to let out for about five minutes now, taking a deep exhale as you turn to face J. You’ve been in close proximity to him before, but you are about to get a whole lot closer. 

“If you say so,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep this as lighthearted and casual as possible. Though, both of those things are likely to be tossed out the window now that you’re about to spar with your worst enemy. 

J grabs a mat from the side of the room to lay down on the floor in front of you, and the two of you step onto it. Instantly, you’re transported back to when you were still in training, bouncing up and down on your feet with your fists raised in front of you, ready to take on the next recruit. You had always been quite good at sparring, back then. 

Now is a completely different story. 

“Are you ready?” J asks as you face each other in front of a crowd of recruits, all of whom are watching you with hawk-like intensity. 

“Guess I can’t say ‘no’, can I?” You joke, though if J offers you a way out of this, you’d gladly take it, shame and dignity be damned. 

“Well then, do your worst.”

He’s an open target. You’ve never been given an opportunity to sock him in the face before now, and you’d absolutely love to take it, but this is a sparring session, not a revenge session. That can be saved for a later date. Instead, you bounce on your feet like a nervous, excitable recruit, and aim for his neck. 

He easily dodges, but you expected that, and counter his attack with your leg. It goes back and forth like this, as your muscle memory kicks in and you remember exactly what sparring was like back in your training sessions. For a few seconds in the middle of it, you genuinely think you and him are on a pretty level playing field. 

And then—

One punch gone wrong and he’s got you lifted up off of the ground and onto his back, having grabbed your wrist at the perfect time to hoist you over his shoulder. You gasp in shock, body not necessarily remembering this part, and then—

He slams the both of you down onto the mat, your back hitting the cushion with a thud as the breathe gets knocked from your lungs. You definitely haven’t done this part in a while. 

You know the recruits are all watching you intently, but you refuse to lose like this, even if this is normally the part where the person pinned underneath the other one surrenders. With both of your arms and all of your force, you attempt to shove J off of you by using your elbow to punch him in the chest. If you go down (which you most certainly will), you will go down with a fight. 

He sees your move coming from a mile away, and immediately pins both of your arms above your head with a simple swish of his hand. The other one is holding up his body by your head as you both stare at each other, breathing heavily. His leg sits in between both of yours, resting up against your thigh, and his head hovers a very dangerous less-than-three inches away from your own. If a particularly near-sighted person were to stumble upon the both of you, you’d be absolutely screwed. 

The both of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a second, the wind knocked out of you. You never quite realized what his face looks like up close. His cheeks are bright red. But it’s a second too long because the recruits have gone silent, refusing to applaud or do anything else to signal that the sparring match is over. 

And then, it feels like a million years pass as J slowly removes himself from on top of your body, standing up and dusting his hands off before leaning down and offering his hand to help you up. Too floored and absolutely speechless to reject his extended palm like you normally would, you grab onto his hand and let him hoist you up, unable to speak. 

“How was that for a demonstration?” J asks the recruits, who are all blinking like they’ve just witnessed something far too shocking for their liking. 

Another trainee, a boisterous young man who walked into today’s session with his energy fully up and his eyes on the prize, raises his hand. “Could you show us again?”

You and J take one look at each other. 

No. Way. 

♚ HERE ♚

Because your office is both tightly knit and also uncannily resembles a cast of grown adults playing various high school stereotypes in a Hallmark movie, every year you do Office Superlatives. Office superlatives are basically an excuse for everyone to come up with a way to insult each other 1) while getting paid to do so and 2) without facing any repercussions whatsoever. 

For three years in a row, your office has designated you as “Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Really Important”, a superlative that came about because on your very first day, you spilled your coffee on the one and only Kim Namjoon, who you then mistook as your boss, and thus ensued the most embarrassing one minute and thirteen seconds of your entire life in front of a bunch of colleagues you would have to see every weekday for the foreseeable future. 

Thankfully, you haven’t spilled your coffee on anyone important since then, even if you do regularly knock over your pencil cup and send every pastel-colored highlighter flying across the hardwood floor. It became such a frequent occurrence that, for April Fool’s Day last year, Taehyung and Jimin taped every single thing on your desk to your desk to see how long it would take you to notice. 

(It took you over three weeks, but that’s besides the point.)

“I know that the saying is ‘the customer is always right’, but this client I’m working with right now is literally wrong,” Taehyung says with a sigh. He collapses back in his office chair, mindlessly playing with the fur of the stuffed Pomeranian dog he keeps on his desk, staring down the email on his desktop. “Like, I’m not Squarespace or Wix. Either you pay me to design your website entirely, or you do it yourself. I’m not a drag-and-drop of a person, and I don’t get paid to be consulted on every font choice.”

“Didn’t you write on your resume that you can identify every standard Microsoft font without being told the name?” Yoongi asks with a frown from across the office. He’s making the most of his gigantic desktop computer, and has a tab open with One Punch Man right next to a Photoshop logo design he’s working on. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it,” Taehyung says with a frown. “I need someone who knows how to let people down easily.”

“Jimin?” Hoseok pipes up unhelpfully, earning an eraser to the face from Jimin, who is notorious for going on a bunch of first dates and very, very seldom going on a second one. You don’t even think that for the entire time you’ve known him, he’s ever gone a third date with someone. Ever. 

“Do not make fun of my lifestyle choices!” Jimin shouts out defensively. “I just like meeting new people.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says like a white girl in a Disney Channel Original Movie, “and then never meeting them again.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Jimin tells him pointedly, already beginning to stand up from his office chair to attempt to further convince him that serial-first-dating isn’t all that bad. “Two weeks ago, I saw this guy that I had gone on a date with last year and he told me that his friend was starting up a small pet barbershop business and needed help with the graphic design for his company. Now I’m designing this guy’s logo and backsplash for his wall.” He says matter-of-factly. 

Hoseok frowns. “So, what I’m hearing is that you saw a guy you had gone on a date with last year, and what you got out of it, was more work.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something else, but he flounders. Hoseok cackles to himself, shaking his head because Jimin’s just proved his point further. 

“I’ll ask Seokjin,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “He could tell me that I’ve lost my job and that I’m getting evicted from my apartment and I would thank him.”

Amen. 

“Hey, where is Seokjin?” Jungkook asks, spinning around in his office chair for the most efficient way to scan the entire office in search of the man. “He was just here watching One Punch Man with Yoongi.”

“I didn’t even notice he had gotten up,” Yoongi says, turning to the empty spot next to him where Seokjin once was. 

“I’ll go look for him, I need to grab something from the printer, anyway,” you volunteer, pushing your chair back, standing up, and avoiding the gazes of anybody in the office who happens to have knowledge of your not-so-secret secret crush. This means that you are staring down at the lines of the wooden planks in the floor as you walk over to the back hallway, because every single person in the room currently has at least… well… some insight. 

“He’s all yours, Y/N,” Taehyung wolf whistles, making you roll your eyes as you head down the hallway.  

Too busy counting the planks that make up the hardwood floor and hoping that you’ll maybe be able to identify Seokjin by the shoes he’s wearing rather than anything else, you don’t look at where you’re going as you make a beeline for the printing room. That is, you make a beeline for the printing room until you crash right into an unsuspecting colleague. 

“Oh, shit!” Said colleague cries out.

Oh God. 

You look up to find Seokjin standing in front of you, a nearly-empty cup of low-grade office coffee in his hand, and a growing brown stain on his pale blue dress shirt. One look on the floor and there’s a puddle of coffee gathered at your feet, wet splotches on your flats and his loafers. 

“Y/N, are you alright?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide and apologetic as he immediately searches for some place to put down his coffee to avoid any more casualties. He looks right at you, making you want to curl in on yourself, before his eyes train down to your torso.

Only then do you realize he’s not shamelessly staring at your chest, but rather at the massive brown stain on the front of your blouse, quickly seeping into the fabric, the scalding temperature of the coffee having gone right over your head the moment you realized who exactly it was that you crashed into. 

“Uh…” you stammer, brain crashing as everything that’s just happened in the past thirty seconds catches up to you all at once. 

“Oh my God, I’m such a mess,” Seokjin says, fumbling awkwardly as he finally finds a trash can to toss his sad lump of a coffee cup into.

No you’re not, you want to tell him, but the words don’t come out and you’re left standing there, looking sort of like you blame him for everything, when in reality, you just have no idea how to function in front of him. 

“Coffee stains,” Seokjin says, hands fishing through his seemingly bottomless pants pockets (he could probably fit an entire Nintendo Switch and its dock in there) until he pulls out this measly little thing that vaguely resembles your orange highlighter. “Here, I have a Tide To-Go pen.”

Before you can tell him that you can just deal with the stain and wash it in the privacy of your own home where you don’t look like a bumbling idiot, he grabs your hand and pulls you into the gender neutral bathroom nearby, locking the door as the light flickers on. 

“Here, do you need help?” Seokjin asks, holding out his Tide To-Go pen as he wets a paper towel made of entirely recycled materials and begins fruitlessly dabbing at his shirt. 

“I’m alright, really,” you insist, staring into the mirror and trying desperately to avoid the fact that Seokjin’s shirt becomes transparent when it’s wet. Maybe quitting your job and moving to another city doesn’t sound unappealing after all. “I can just get it out with OxiClean at my apartment, Seokjin, seriously.”

“Are you sure? That’s what the Tide To-Go pen is for,” Seokjin says, holding it out towards you again as a final attempt to get you to use it. 

“No offense, Seokjin, but I don’t know if the Tide To-Go pen is even going to make a dent in the stain on my shirt,” you chuckle, the only thing you can think of to get him to stop offering the thing to you. The Tide To-Go pen is meant for when you accidentally get a bit of ketchup onto your jeans as you move the french fry from your plate to your mouth. Not when you’ve got a giant coffee stain on the front of your shirt. 

“God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Seokjin says, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt to try and get a better grip on the fabric as he relentlessly scrubs at it. God help you. He may as well take the whole thing off at this point—though you really, really hope that he doesn’t. “I’m such a klutz.”

“No, it’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you tell him. You still know that you passed by 107 wooden planks before you crashed into him, because that is what you do when you don’t want to look anyone in the eye. 

“Seriously, though, I had the cup of coffee. I feel really bad, I could pay to get it dry cleaned for you?” He offers, eyes wide and in search of some way to make it up to you. 

“No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m can handle a stain, Seokjin. I’m an adult. I live in my own apartment and everything,” you say firmly, refusing to accept anything else from him. God, if he paid for your dry-cleaning, you’d never be able to live that down. “Maybe I’ll finally stop being voted Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important,” you joke, trying to make light of the fact that you’re standing in the tiny gender-neutral bathroom together, Seokjin’s practically got half of his transparent dress shirt unbuttoned, and you both have massive and very conspicuous brown stains on your tops. All wonderful, wonderful things. 

At this point, Seokjin stares down at his shirt and, quite frankly, just gives up, smoothing out his shirt as best as he can and tossing the poor, now-coffee-colored paper towel away. 

“I suppose it’s high time we give you a break for always knocking over that pencil cup of yours,” Seokjin jokes back as he opens the door, motioning for you to leave first. 

“We should invest in some Velcro for it,” you suggest, making Seokjin chuckle as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Uh… what the fuck?” 

The two of you are stopped in your tracks by a particularly suspicious Taehyung, who just witnessed the two of you walk out of the same bathroom with both of your clothes fairly askew. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” you immediately tell him, eyes wide. Count on him to get the wrong idea. 

“Okay,” Taehyung says, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“Taehyung, come on, I spilled coffee on the both of us,” Seokjin attempts, but Taehyung is absolutely not having it. 

“That’s what they all say,” he says cryptically, nodding as he heads to the printer room with his eyes still narrowed. He glares at the both of you until he rounds the corner, out of sight, and by then your cheeks have heated up so badly you think you might actually start sweating.

“Now the whole office is going to think we’re dating,” you say, somewhat jokingly but also somewhat seriously. There’s no way Taehyung’s going to be able to keep his mouth shut for any longer than the next five minutes. 

Seokjin laughs, looking at you and shrugging. “There are worse things, right?”

Are there?

♚ THERE ♚

“Oh, Y/N!”

You inhale. 

Of all of the places in the Kingdom that J has not yet infiltrated and ruined for you, the small cafe on the edge of the kingdom borders has to have been the last one. You discovered it while you were on night watch as a baby knight, a task given to those too dedicated to the job to release but not yet prepared enough to fight on the front lines. It’s a quiet place, open more hours of the day than closed, owned by an old lady with no other family to take care of the business. You’ve already promised her that after she passes, you will immediately begin funding the cafe yourself, too much money on your hands and not enough wonderful places like this to spend it on.

When days are loud and hectic, when the King and Queen and all of their military advisors are stressed and have been snapping at you all day, this is where you come. The old lady keeps her door open especially for you (at least that’s what she tells you), always with a steaming cup of jasmine tea and a wise old story to tell you. Sometimes, you’ll get to tell a story back, and you exchange words of wisdom from a knight at the highest ranking in the kingdom and an elder with many years of experience in the kingdom behind her. She always tells you, “keep your eyes wide and your heart open, because things can only enter it if you’re looking out for them.”

You’ve held those words close to your soul ever since the first time you heard them. 

But when your eyes are wide and staring down a certain knight in the kingdom who seems to have stumbled upon your one sacred place, you’re a little bothered, to say the least.

You exhale.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say sourly, the scalding tea burning your tongue as you take a sip. 

“I’ve never seen this place before,” J admits helplessly, already bowing to the old lady who runs the place. He introduces himself handsomely, and much like everyone else bewitched by his good looks and unrealistically charismatic personality, she immediately warms up to him. 

“I wish it could stay that way,” you mumble to yourself, far too quiet for anyone except you and your tea to hear. “It’s far away,” you say to him as the lady ushers him to the seat next to yours, already promising him tea on the house. You sigh. “Wouldn’t expect you to go hunting for a nice tea place when there are so many wonderful places in the city.”

“I guess it’s nice to branch out,” J says with a shrug. “I have to say that I don’t really go out to cafes all that often. Too busy.”

“You know I understand how that goes,” you tell him honestly. For once, it’s something you can actually relate to. “But I think that it’s important to take a break from our duties and just relax. We don’t have much time to do that, you know.”

The lady brings over tea, and J insists he pay her for it despite her insistence for him not to. She shuffles off into the back before he can even get out some coins.

“Tell me, where can I leave this? I feel terrible not paying,” J asks you. It catches you off guard, really, mostly because he seems to be the kind of person who walks around the center square winking at every vendor in the hopes of receiving free merchandise. 

“Oh,” you say, embarrassingly speechless. “Well, I suppose I could take it and give it to her. If we left rather soon then we could simply leave it on the counter for her to find. It’s likely that she won’t come back out for a while, since I have company.”

“Am I your company, Y/N?” J asks, almost teasingly. It makes you want to chuck your cup of jasmine tea into his face. 

“Don’t think too much of it,” you advise him, a warning to tell him to knock it off. “We’re just here together.”

“Lucky us,” J says, holding up his cup of tea for a toast. You indulge him (begrudgingly so), letting your glasses clink together as you both finish a much needed warm drink on a chilly afternoon. 

Too soon, the respite of the cafe is broken by a knock at the door. You both turn to find a messenger waiting patiently outside the cafe, motioning for J to come and speak to him. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” J says, scooting back his chair and heading over, shutting the door behind him. 

The moment the door closes, the old lady reappears from the back of the room, collecting your finished cups as you both listen intently to the murmuring outside. 

“That young man mentioned that the two of you spend lots of time together,” the muses, cleaning the cups with a wet rag. She’s got a knowing look in her eye, like she’s picked up on something the both of you seem to have overlooked. 

“We’re both knights,” you correct. It’s important to you that she knows that you don’t spend time together out of personal preference. It’s merely obligation. “So we see each other quite often.”

“I’ve never seen him around before,” she says pointedly, “but he seems to know quite a lot about you.”

“Oh, not really,” you insist. How could he? You’ve barely known him a month. Still, it’s clear that the lady doesn’t believe you. 

“As you say,” she says, skeptical. 

You’re about to open your mouth and reject her notions further, but then the door opens up again, and J looks terribly apologetic as he walks inside, joining your side. “We’ve been called in.”

As per usual, the Kingdom appears with impeccable timing to ruin the rest of your afternoon. It has a striking tendency to do that. 

“For what?” You ask, exasperated. J doesn’t look much happier. 

“Criminal hearings,” J says, and the words make you you toss your head back and sigh. 

Criminal hearings and its many, many procedures are quite possibly your least favorite part of being a top-ranked royal knight. With your knowledge of the ins and outs of the military and the kingdom’s inner workings, as well as with you being an advisor to the generals and the King and Queen, you are often obligated to attend these, just in case there is a desperate need for the technicalities of military crimes that no one else can provide. It is, admittedly, extremely boring, since you can’t really offer any sort of insight or opinion on the actual criminal and their crime at hand. 

“Fine,” you say, suddenly much less energized than you were approximately thirty seconds ago. “I suppose that we’ll have to be on our way.”

“Ma’am,” J says, attracting the attention of the old lady behind the counter. He holds out some coins, palm facing up. “Please accept this from me. I couldn’t leave without paying you for your wonderful tea and service.”

“Oh, pish posh,” the lady says with a shake of her hand. “Any friend of Y/N’s is well-deserving of some tea. You both work very hard. You should take any opportunity that presents itself to relax, and enjoy being young.”

“Please,” J insists, placing the coins in her hand, “a token of my gratitude. We shall return soon, right Y/N?” He gives your shoulder a nudge, making you look up at him. Return? You’d be blessed if J forgot about this place entirely, though you know that he’s bound to come back soon. 

Perhaps there are worse things than losing your favorite cafe to him. Perhaps, you can simply learn to enjoy his company, instead. 

“Of course, how could I resist?” You say, waving goodbye to the lady at the counter. “We really must be going, but I shall see you soon.”

“Take care of yourselves, the both of you!” She sees you off with a smile and a wink directed right at you for a cause you aren’t too keen on picking up. Old ladies are always so vague. 

When you walk outside, you’re surprised to find yourselves alone. “Where’s the messenger guard?” You ask, looking around to see if he’s found a tree to take respite from the sun under. 

J laughs, warm and hearty. “I sent him off, told him we would be able to make it ourselves.”

“Oh, alright,” you say with a shrug, already beginning to trudge the familiar path towards the castle. 

You take six steps before realizing that J is neither next to you nor following you, still standing on the porch of the cafe as the sun makes his hair glimmer a dark caramel in the light. 

“Aren’t you coming?” You turn around to ask, an eyebrow raised as you tap your foot on the cobblestone road. 

“Have you ever skipped a criminal hearing before, Y/N?” J asks, and the very notion of bailing makes your eyes go wide. 

“Skipped?” You clarify. 

“That’s what I said,” J confirms. 

“No…” You trail off, feeling more and more like the try hard you once were while training, wide-eyed and eager to prove yourself. Standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on your toes and twiddling your fingers as he steps off of the porch, taking long strides to reach you, makes you feel so nervous. With every step he takes closer to you, your heart begins to beat faster, faster, faster. 

“Well,” J says, reaching out his hand to take hold of your own. “Would you like to start?”

When you were stationed on the Kingdom’s borders, you thought you had explored every nook and cranny of Kala. You had wandered through forests, across rivers, and into small edge villages with goods you had never even heard of before. You thought you had seen it all. 

Clearly, you were mistaken. 

J pulls you off of the cobblestone path and immediately takes you into the woods that surround the cafe, weaving past trees and ferns and grass alike. This time of year, the forest is ripe with greenery, right when summer is coming to an end but the leaves have yet to begin to fade to brown. Even without landmarks or a path to guide him, J seems to know exactly where the two of you are going, like he’s taken this road a million times before. And still, you had never seen him before this. 

It’s a wonder that the two of you missed each other for so long. 

“Where are we going, J?” You ask, laughing as the exhilaration of skipping your duties in favor of a fun day in the forest begins to flow through your veins. You’ve never done this before. 

“Just wait, you’ll see,” he says cryptically, taking you down a large hill. You must be out of the Kingdom borders by now, with how far you’ve been going, and yet, no one had ever thought to place guards in this area. 

Five more minutes of travelling and you’re near convinced that J is about to take you to some cave in the floor of the forest and murder you, when he tugs you up a hill to reveal—

It’s a clearing with grass so green you’d almost think it was enchanted. The leaves of the trees whisper to each other, voices flowing with the wind that breezes by each and every one, saying hello to the branches as they rustle. Tall grass and ferns grow on the edge of the forest, disguising the clearing to anyone who wouldn’t bother to keep looking, make their way through the overgrowth and into the oasis. 

Never in a million years would you have been able to find this place on your own. 

“What do you think?” J asks excitedly as he pulls you into the middle of the clearing, where the leaves of the trees have left an opening for the sun to shine through, a halo in the middle of the forest. 

“I—I’m speechless,” you say, eyes wandering from every piece of bark to every blade of grass. You’ve always loved your Kingdom and its beauty, from the extravagant castle to the little shacks on the border, but this is more than that. This isn’t just beauty—it’s magic. “How did you find this place?”

“Strayed from the pack during military training outside,” he says guiltily. Clearly, skipping out on responsibilities has become a habit of J’s. 

“Unbelievable,” you say, fingers tracing along the wildflowers growing close to the forest floor. You take a seat in the middle of it all, letting the sun stream through the leaves as the flowers open their petals at your touch. It’s as if every single living thing has been enchanted—like none of this could exist naturally. 

“Do you like it?” J asks, taking a seat on the stone next to you. He reaches down to run his fingers through the grass, letting the soft dirt gather on his skin. 

“I don’t think I have the words,” you tell him. You thought you had found a hidden respite from the hustle and bustle, but he has found not just a respite. He’s found a home. “Why would you show me this place?”

“What do you mean?” J asks. He finds a small yellow flower, a buttercup, and plucks it from the ground, twirling it between his fingers.

“I mean, why would you bring me here? Wouldn’t you want to keep this place all for yourself?” You inquire, curious. Certainly, that’s what you would do. 

J pauses for a moment, staring down at the buttercup in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands it to you, watches as your fingers touch his own, taking the buttercup from him. You twirl it between your fingers, and wonder what all of this means. 

“No,” he eventually answers. “Because a place like this deserves to be shared with the people that deserve to see it.”

♚ HERE ♚

[You have 5 unread messages]

Jungkook (5:53PM): Is it still acceptable to talk about Kingdom at company dinners? Jungkook (5:53PM): Is the ban that Yoongi instated last company dinner still going? Do you think he’ll be mad if I talk about how I just got a bunch of gold from solving the mystery of the time capsule?

Yoongi (5:55PM): If I have to sit through another company dinner where everyone is talking about Kingdom and nobody is talking about anime or my dog Holly I will lose it

Taehyung (5:57PM): You’re coming, right? You mentioned having a thing that ended pretty late this evening so you weren’t sure you’d make it

Seokjin (6:03PM): Excited to see you tonight! Promise I won’t spill anything on you tonight haha

Your office’s annual company dinner is the one and only opportunity you, as employees, get per year to talk about whatever you like in front of your colleagues, all while getting a meal paid for by your wonderfully unassuming, hardheaded boss. It is both a celebration of camaraderie and, of course, being employed, and a chance for your personal group to talk about Kingdom for two hours straight without repercussions. 

Needless to say, many of you are looking forward to it. 

To Jungkook (6:07PM): Yes, but only if we get to talk about how I’m still the best at the game out of everyone To Jungkook (6:07PM): Also, don’t forget to talk to Yoongi about My Hero Academia I know that you secretly love it

To Yoongi (6:08PM): Bring earplugs? Or maybe a manga book to get the conversation going?

To Taehyung (6:08PM): Yeah, I’ll be there To Taehyung (6:08PM): Probably be late though To Taehyung (6:09PM): Save me a seat!

To Seokjin (6:10PM): Not sure if I can promise the same thing! Fingers crossed we make it out tonight unscathed by scalding hot liquids

The company dinner starts at 6:30, which means that it really starts at 7:00 by the time everyone arrives, but even still, you’ll probably be late because you are actually doing last-minute laundry, and not attending a special event like you had told Taehyung. Sue you. Your clothes were dirty. 

Standing in the middle of your apartment wearing the slouchiest clothes you own, you wonder if it’s even worth going when you know that you will probably 1) be late and 2) have to endure two hours worth of Kingdom talk and other things that leave you thoroughly embarrassed, like your nonexistent love life. 

You’ve never skipped out on a company dinner before, but then again, never have all of your colleagues been so on top of you about your very insignificant, not at all soul-crushing, extremely minimal, super unimportant, tiny little infatuation with a certain coworker, so there’s that to consider. 

Not to mention the fact that your entire office genuinely believes that the two of you hooked up in the gender neutral bathroom during the middle of the workday, which is a circumstance so improbable you have no idea how Taehyung managed to convince everybody that that was actually what happened. It’s not as if your coworkers didn’t see the ridiculous brown stains on the front of your and Seokjin’s shirts, or didn’t smell the office coffee stench all over the both of you. 

So, for once in your life, you are genuinely considering just staying at home, finishing your laundry, and eating the frozen veggie burritos you bought from Costco two weeks ago. It sounds very tempting.

This thought is immediately combated by the fact that you usually have some of the most fun during the year at this company dinner, and a free meal at a nice, upscale restaurant is something that you would normally never pass up. But then again, Seokjin will be there and he will be dressed very nicely, and the rest of your coworkers will also be there, and they will be relentless. 

Jungkook (6:33PM): Tae said you’d be late but please come soon! We can’t talk about Kingdom without the best player present!!!! Jungkook (6:33PM): Oh no Namjoon sees me with my phone

And out of every possible text you could have received that night, that one is the one that convinces you to pull out the same dress you’ve worn to the company dinner (it’s not as if anyone else will remember) every other year, tug it on, and head out. Your Costco veggie burritos will have to wait for another stay-at-home night. 

You arrive fashionably late as always, walking into the restaurant and just asking for directions to where the “big group of loud office workers” is, a term easily identifiable by the scrambled hostess with fifteen different tables to seat all at once. She points you to the back room, where you can already hear Hoseok’s laughter from outside in the main dining area. 

“You guys are loud,” you say in lieu of a greeting, everyone letting out cries of “Y/N!” and “You made it!” as you look around for the last empty seat. 

“Here, saved you a spot right next to me,” Seokjin volunteers helpfully, motioning to the empty velvet chair next to him. In the seat next to that sits Taehyung, who is grinning guiltily, like he didn’t just dupe you into thinking he had saved you a seat next to him and someone else other than the person you were hoping not to embarrass yourself in front of. 

“Thinking of me when I’m not even here, how thoughtful,” you say, walking over and sending a glare Taehyung’s way as you take your seat, the glass at the top right corner of your placemat already filled. 

“How could we forget about you?” Seokjin reasons, and he says it so casually but it makes your heart flutter all the same. 

When Seokjin’s finally started talking to Hoseok and Jimin on his other side, the two of them attempting to explain the inner workings of Kingdom to him (to little avail, as per usual), you round on Taehyung, who is every bit the best wingman and the worst friend in the entire world. 

“How could you do this to me?” You hiss at him, trying not to attract the attention of the man sitting on the opposite side of you. 

“I said I had saved you a seat!” Taehyung says defensively, clearly enjoying himself way too much. 

“This was not what I had in mind,” you tell him pointedly. 

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have hidden it from you,” Taehyung says. He motions to Seokjin, who’s laughing at something that Jimin’s just said, eyes crinkled into half moons as the waiter places the cocktail he’s ordered down in front of him. “You know, it’s not so bad having a crush on him, right?”

“He is our coworker and way out of my league, of course it is,” you remind Taehyung. 

Taehyung shrugs you off with a wave of his hand. “Give yourself some credit, Y/N. You’re hot. Embrace it.”

“I will not, thank you very much. This conversation makes me want to hurl,” you say as normally as possible, blinking to show your discomfort to Taehyung. 

“You need to stop being so afraid of what might actually come out of this,” Taehyung says, a reassuring hand on your arm. “You never know what might happen.”

“What’s definitely going to happen is that I’m going to feel too cold from the vent above my head, and we’re going to switch seats,” you say. You immediately make to stand up, but Taehyung grabs onto your wrist and looks up at you like a child begging for candy in a supermarket. 

“Please, Y/N? Just give it a try, and if you hate it by the time the entree comes around, we can switch. Alright?” He asks, a simple compromise to get you to sit back down. 

You sigh. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to shoot your shot, no matter how terrible your aim is. 

“I didn’t order any soup, so hopefully we can last through this dinner without ruining more of our clothes,” Seokjin says, an icebreaker to ease the obvious tension between the two of you. He breaks down your walls so easily, carves out a path in the side of it to waltz right through. 

“I don’t know,” you say sarcastically,” you better finish that cocktail soon or we might both be in big trouble.”

Seokjin chuckles, warm and full, and takes another sip of the fruity drink for good measure. “Don’t know how you keep getting crowned Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important when I’m here, a walking coffee volcano.”

“When the superlatives roll around, I’ll petition the court and see if we can crown you instead,” you promise. 

“I’m honored. I’ll cherish that title for as long as I live,” Seokjin jokes, bowing to you just for good measure. “This is nice, you know.”

“What is?” You ask, peering down at the large group menu. Everything looks awfully delicious and awfully expensive, so you just go for a classic pasta dish and hope that Taehyung orders something different, so you can try each other’s. 

“Sitting next to you,” Seokjin says like it’s obvious, making you blink at your menu like it’s just offended your entire family ancestry. “I don’t think we’ve ever been paired up like this at a company dinner.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” You ask hopefully. 

“It’s nice,” Seokjin says. “I feel like we don’t get to talk very much at work.”

“You said you’d bring more doughnuts,” you remind him. Seokjin has held up on his promise, actually, and since the first round of doughnuts, he’s brought on two more occasions to brighten up everybody’s day. 

“I think I need a better excuse than doughnuts,” Seokjin says to himself. “I can’t keep going to Dunkin’ right before work, pretty soon all of the workers will know me by name and that is a level that I’m not sure I’d like to reach yet.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you tell him, a hand instinctively coming to rest on his shoulder as comfort. “Some of the Costco employees recognize me even when I’m wearing my sunglasses inside.”

“You wear your sunglasses inside Costco?” Seokjin asks with a laugh. 

“Sometimes I just forget to take them off when I walk from my car into the store!” You say defensively. “It’s really bright in there, sue me.”

“No, no, I think it’s cute,” Seokjin assures you. “Maybe being recognized by the Dunkin’ employees won’t be that bad. At least they probably wouldn’t know who I was if I had my sunglasses on.”

“I’m being attacked, I’m pretty sure,” you say pointedly. 

“Only affectionately. You’re still ridiculously endearing.” Seokjin says with a chuckle, smiling at you as Jungkook calls your name to tell him something about Kingdom that he’s forgotten. But even as Seokjin gets tugged into another conversation and you get pulled into your own, your brain can’t help but replay the sound of his voice in your head, over and over. 

You’re still ridiculously endearing.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jimin asks over a mouthful of complimentary bread with olive oil. “Did you ever figure out who knocked Y/N from the top spot in Kingdom?”

“No,” Jungkook cries out, suddenly thirsty for justice. “It makes me so mad that I don’t know who they are, especially since they’re getting all the in-game brand deals and Y/N gets nothing,” he says pointedly as he motions to you, clearly exasperated for a cause that wasn’t even his to begin with. 

“Jungkook, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a game,” you remind him, the table too wide to reach over and pat his hand comfortingly. “I still get a lot of things in second place.”

“What’s Jungkook talking about?” Seokjin asks, motioning to where Jungkook seems to be on a rampage as Jimin and Namjoon listen in. 

“Oh, Kingdom, like always,” you say fondly. “He’s determined to figure out the name of the person who dethroned me.”

“Is that so?” Seokjin asks with a laugh. “He’s got his work cut out for him. How many people play Kingdom?”

“Hundreds of thousands, probably,” you say. “Maybe millions.”

“Millions of people, and somehow we ended up with the second-best player in the game right at this table,” Seokjin says with a grin. “We should be honored.”

“It’s just a game,” you remind him, even though the sentiment is awfully sweet. “I think I much prefer the real world, don’t you?”

Seokjin smiles at you as the waiter comes around to offer him another cocktail. 

“Another one, sir?”

Seokjin looks down at the cocktail, then at your unstained clothes, and he shakes his head, laughing to himself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.” The waiter nods, taking his empty glass and moving onto another coworker. He looks at you, and his eyes are swimming in stars. “I think that I do, too.”

Dinner ends with Hoseok and Jungkook gobbling down everybody’s leftovers, your boss paying the bill without even glancing at the check, and you laughing alongside Seokjin, who keeps your end of the table entertained with fantastic stories about his past job at a luxury department store and less-than-fantastic dad jokes that he prides himself for coming up with on the spot. 

Taehyung had nudged you when the entrees had come around, motioning to the vent above your head, but you hadn’t even noticed the cold. 

“Ugh,” Jimin says with a groan as the group of you head outside once everyone is finished, the chilly night air hitting your skin as you open the door. “I hate that we could only schedule this for a Wednesday, because it means we have to come into work again tomorrow.”

“When else are we supposed to schedule it for?” Yoongi asks with a frown. “Did you even look at the When2Meet? Nobody had any free time for the rest of the month.”

“Well, if everyone’s cleared their schedules just for this dinner, anyone want to keep the celebration going at my apartment? I just bought a box of wine from Trader Joe’s,” Jimin asks. 

“On a Wednesday?” Yoongi says, nose scrunched up in disapproval. 

“Yeah, when else would you drink boxed Trader Joe’s wine?” Jimin responds like it’s obvious. 

Everyone begins to either disperse back to their cars or get Jimin’s address so they can get wine drunk on a Wednesday like you’re supposed to, leaving you and Seokjin out of the crowd. 

“Are you heading over to Jimin’s?” He asks you as you begin to walk towards your cars, taking a step every five seconds as you watch Jimin tell everybody his exact address, loudly and slowly enough for any burglars and axe-wielding murderers within a three-mile radius to also hear him. 

“No, I think I’ll just head home for the night,” you say, checking the time on your phone. It’s nearly ten, already. Where did the time go?

“Ah, then I guess I will, too,” Seokjin says. “Oh, here’s my car.”

“You parked close,” you comment. 

“I thought that I’d be late because I arrived at 6:45, but I was the second one here,” Seokjin tells you, making you laugh. 

“Sounds like our office, doesn’t it?”

“I guess. We’ll have to do this again sometime just to see how late everyone shows up,” Seokjin says. 

“Promise I’ll be early next time,” you say. 

“Next time, then?” Seokjin asks, already opening his car door and beginning to step inside. You stand on the sidewalk in front of him, watching as he pulls the door shut and waves to you through the windshield. A next time sounds awfully nice. 

“Next time.”

♚ THERE ♚

The King and Queen never do find out about your truancy, though you have to admit, you were never really worried about that in the first place. Not when J was grinning as he told you he had sent the messenger guard off, laughing as he dragged you through the forest, smiling as he twirled a buttercup between his fingers. He had done it before and he’ll do it again, and look where that’s gotten him. 

Maybe you could learn a thing or two from him. 

Still, despite your high ranks, the two of you can’t avoid your responsibilities forever. Eventually, you will always have to report back to the castle, get a new assignment, and start the cycle all over again. 

“At least they’re letting us go together,” J reasons as the two of you nod to the knights standing guard at the border of the kingdom, by the main forest that leads directly to a kingdom with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong. No wars have broken out between your two lands in years, but never has stability been one-hundred percent earned, which means that both kingdoms must be on high alert. You never know when a rebel group will attempt to invade the land. 

“Like I’d want to spend any more time with you,” you joke, giving J a nudge in the side as you stroll along the forest edge. In the middle of the day with the sun high above your heads, neither of you are particularly worried about being attacked. It would be foolish for an enemy group to do so, especially at a time when the kingdom’s guards are the most awake. 

“Am I really such awful company?” J asks, and he’s smiling but he asks in such a way, it’s almost as if he means it. The two of you have never been on the best of terms, but you’ve found yourself growing out of the competition-fueled rage you once always found yourself in whenever you were near him. No longer is regaining your first place your most important priority. Rather, it’s doing your job and doing it correctly, upholding the duties that the kingdom has entrusted you with, regardless of who’s by your side. 

(Though, even if you’d never admit it, J makes quite good company, most of the time.)

“No,” you insist, a hand reaching out to rub comfortingly at his forearm. “You aren’t.”

“You think so?” J says with a laugh, almost bitter. “I must say, you’ve never been that fond of me.”

“You may have charmed your way into the rest of the kingdom’s hearts, but I needed some convincing,” you remind him, reminiscent of how he would tease you constantly, dangle his promotion right above your head like a trophy you’d never be able to reach. 

“Did I do a good job, then?” J asks, hands in his pockets. It’s a quiet day, today. Even the birds have begun to murmur. 

“You did quite alright,” you say, nudging him. “Though I must say, I absolutely hate how all of the vendor’s daughters fawn all over you and give you free items like fruit, and jewelry. I’m never given that treatment.”

“You just don’t have my naturally charming, handsome, soft looks,” J says, posing in front of you as the two of you walk. The obnoxiousness of it all makes you almost want to chuck the apple you’re about to eat right at his face. 

“What do you mean? I can be charming,” you say with a pout. You pretend to flip your hair, just for emphasis. 

“You and I are different types of charming,” J says casually. “You’re strong. You speak loudly and clearly and you don’t ever flounder. You always know exactly what you want, and know the best way to get it. You aren’t afraid of anything, and are always willing to take on any challenge that comes your way. It’s… it’s different.”

And even if he thinks you never flounder, never stumble over your words or stutter, for once, you can’t think of anything to say. You’re walking along the forest’s edge with a knight you had convinced yourself that you would never befriend, and he’s just told you all of these wonderful things about yourself you never would have known he’d thought otherwise. 

J’s right. It is different. This is different. And you can hardly remember when it started to be like this. Only one day, it was just like this, and it never stopped. 

“Do you really think all of those things about me?” You ask, staring down at your boots as you walk along the dirt path, kicking small pebbles as you go. They go flying off into the grass, never to be seen again. But sometimes, you come across one you had kicked a few steps back, and you try again, earnestly hoping to see how far it will go with you by its side. 

“I mean, well…” J says, stumbling. “I don’t just think those things about you, you know? They’re facts, aren’t they? Those are things that, well, I suppose, everyone would think about you. Right?”

“You know what I think?” You ask, looking up at him. His dark hair shimmers in the light, like reflects of gold have been sprinkled amongst the ink black. “We are different types of charming. You’re charismatic and friendly, always willing to listen. You accept things graciously and are always grateful for what you receive. You pay people back whatever they’ve given you, even if it’s not the same item, even if it’s just the thought that counts. You always want to do better, and then you do. You work hard for each thing you get, and you never take it for granted.”

J grins down at you. “But you don’t actually think that, do you?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Just facts.”

“Just facts,” he echoes. 

When did talking to him become so easy? When did it all start coming to you naturally?

“Did you ever hate me?” He asks you, curious. He knows, he must, that that’s not the case anymore. 

“No,” you admit, perhaps more to yourself than to him. “I think that I just hated that you were better than me. But… like you said, it’s different now. Now, I don’t care if you’re better than me. That sort of competition makes me a better soldier. You make me a better soldier.”

“Really?” J wonders, genuine. His eyes are wide in surprise, shocked at such a candid admission coming from you. To be honest, you’re surprised with yourself, as well. “I had no idea.”

“Keep it up, then. You know—”

A taut string let go. 

The wind stopping in its tracks. 

And an arrow headed right for your heart. 

“Oh my God!” You shout quickly, unable to do much except alert the man next to you that the two of you are in imminent danger. 

Before you can even blink, close your eyes and wait for the tip to pierce your heart, J is pushing you out of the way, sending you flying to the forest floor and he pulls his bow from his back, sending a steel arrow flying in the direction of the woods. You both wait there, only a second but it’s a second too long, until you hear a thud on the ground, a final breath, and then—

Silence. 

The moment you’re both positive the assailant is dead, J turns to you, eyes wide. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m alright,” you assure him, telling him (and yourself) over and over as he pulls you up from the ground. Your heart is racing and you can’t quite seem to catch your breath, but you’re alive and so is he, and that’s all that matters. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he immediately says. “As long as you are.”

You look behind him to find an arrow stuck in a tree, but what alarms you more is the sight of blood on the tip. Immediately, you turn back to J, only to find the side of his arm covered in blood, bleeding right through his armor.

“Oh my God, J, you’re hurt,” you cry out, fumbling for something to stop the flow.

“I’m alright, Y/N, really,” he insists, placing a hand on top of your own, rubbing the back of it with his thumb for good measure. “It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.”

“We have to take you back to the kingdom,” you push, already beginning to head back towards the gate. 

“I’ve suffered worse injuries, Y/N, seriously,” he tells you, hoping to ease the pit of worry in your stomach. “I’m a top-ranked knight who prefers the battlefield over anything else. I’ve broken bones, gotten stabbed, and nearly died. This? It’s nothing. Really. Please, don’t worry.”

“We still have to get you back to the Kingdom and patch you up,” you insist firmly. “Even if you say you’re alright.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Y/N.” J goes with you obligingly, lets you walk him back to the kingdom gates. 

You urge him into the local medical practitioner, sit him down on the bench and watch as the doctor bandages his wound, reminds him not to engage in any strenuous activity while it’s healing. He sits patiently, glaring at you slightly and rolling his eyes any time the doctor speaks, which is fairly frequently. It’s clear only one of you wants to be here right now, and it’s the one of you without a scratch on your body. 

When the doctor leaves to tend to another patient, you get up from where you’re seated and sit down next to him on the bench, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Working for the Kingdom makes you stronger. Sitting in the cafe makes you think. But being with him, standing by his side, it makes you wonder. It makes your heart race and your mind clear. It makes you feel safe. 

“I think you saved my life,” you whisper softly, clutching onto him like a lifeline, like if you let go, one of you will drown. 

But that’s not the case. Neither of you will let go. Not without the other. Never without the other. 

“Really?” He asks. He already knows the answer. 

“No, I know you did,” you tell him. Things are different now, but maybe they’ve always been like this. You just never noticed. “Because in a heartbeat, I would do the same for you.”

♚ HERE ♚

“I have not seen Seokjin all day,” Jimin comments loudly one day, making everyone immediately turn to Seokjins’ desk, which looks practically untouched. His computer is asleep, his chair is pushed in, and his desktop is empty. The only thing that suggests that the man is even here in the first place is the messenger bag resting against the desk drawers, though it doesn’t look like it’s even been opened today. 

“Probably too busy avoiding you,” Yoongi deadpans, earning a “zing!” from Hoseok that makes you feel even more like you’re standing in the middle of a high school movie made by people who don’t know what high school is like. 

“Is he even in today?” 

“He is,” you pipe up. “His bag is here.”

“Of course you would know!” Taehyung teases, and he earns a highlighter to the face for his trouble. 

“He’s probably just trying to get his work done in a place that doesn’t consist of screaming and constant insults being hurled across the room,” Jimin says with a sigh, turning back to his work. It’s a fair statement, especially when the environment in your office is most often distracting, loud, and not at all an ideal work environment. It’s an absolute wonder that any of you manage to get your work done while you’re here. 

“Y/N, wanna go hunt him down?” Taehyung suggests, sending a wink your way as your eyes widen. 

“No, absolutely not, no way. I will not be tricked by you again,” you say, very reminiscent of the last time you went to go look for Seokjin and ended up with a coffee-stained shirt and a group of coworkers who thinks the two of you hooked up that one time. 

“If you say so…” Taehyung says, voice trailing off as he turns back to his work. 

But for once in your life, Seokjin’s absence is more noticeable than ever. He’s become a fixture in your everyday office life, always stopping by your desk with a second cup of low-grade office coffee for you (with a lid, of course), sending you emails complaining about Jimin and Hoseok when they’re being loud, asking you for help on every one of his difficult font decisions for logo designs, drafting emails to clients with you. It’s a sort of closeness that you never really had before—sure, you worked together and often got paired up for projects, but it’s different now. Like you jumped ship on being just colleagues but instead of drowning, you began to float.

Five more minutes pass and you pretty much resign yourself to getting back to your work, knowing that Seokjin’s probably just grabbed his laptop and found a place where he can work in peace and quiet without Hoseok’s shrill voice interrupting his thoughts. You’ll have to ask him what place he’s discovered. 

When there are four minutes left in the workweek and you are finally beginning to close out of the fifteen thousand tabs open on your Google Chrome window, the door busts open. 

It doesn’t actually bust open, so much as Seokjin comes flying through it and it slowly goes to rest on the padded door frame like it’s been designed to. His tie is loose around his neck like he’s been tugging on it all afternoon, his laptop is clenched carefully between his arm and his torso, and he’s got a flurry of papers freeballing it in a stack in his hands. 

“Oh my God, what tornado did you come from?” Jimin asks as Seokjin rushes over to his desk, cramming everything into his tiny messenger bag that definitely isn’t meant to fit a laptop and a stack of papers that thick. 

“Sehun just dumped an entire project on me that’s due on Sunday at noon with no warning, and now I have to pull together fragments of a crumbling magazine label before their final review on Sunday afternoon,” he says, terribly out of breath. He’s scrambling to gather his belongings, crashing into anything within a two-foot radius of him. 

“Dude, what the heck? I’m gonna tell Namjoon to kick Sehun’s ass,” Hoseok says with a frown, nose scrunched up. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’m alright, I can do it,” Seokjin insists, rubbing a hand through his hair as he leaves before the clock has even struck five. 

“Are you sure? You look like you want to jump out of the window,” Hoseok asks again, just for clarification. He’s not wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Seokjin become so stressed in such a short period of time before. “At least let one of us help you get settled back into your apartment.”

To your right, Taehyung whispers into Jungkook’s ear, who then does this sort of weird hand movement to Hoseok, who nods understandingly. It looks suspiciously like they just plotted someone’s murder. 

“I can’t,” Jungkook says with an obnoxiously fake yawn, suddenly speaking much slower than usual, “I’m deadbeat tired.”

“Me neither,” Taehyung says, coughing in the way people do when they just want to get out of something. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

You whip your head around as everyone besides Yoongi comes up with an absolutely bullshit excuse not to accompany Seokjin to his apartment—Jimin says he has a date right after work and Hoseok says he needs to feed his puppy before he gets too hungry, leaving only you and a Yoongi that hasn’t been listening to the conversation whatsoever to vie for the spot. 

“Yoongi?” You ask, somewhat desperate not to be the one to accompany Seokjin to his apartment. You turn to your head to glare at Taehyung, who shamelessly coughs again when he meets your eyes, smiling guiltily. 

“Huh?” He asks, turning around. 

“Fine, you know what? I can come with,” you say with a sigh, already grabbing your belongings as Taehyung and Jungkook high-five next to you. 

“Oh, really? You’re a lifesaver, Y/N, you know that?” Seokjin says, and even when he’s stressed it’s like the weight has been lifted off of his shoulders once you volunteer, and you suppose that there are worse things that can happen than accompanying Seokjin to his apartment for ten minutes. 

Seokjin gives you the address of his place so that you can drive to it yourself, the both of you pulling into the parking garage underneath his apartment complex at the same time, waving to each other from adjacent parking spaces. 

“I really, really appreciate this, Y/N,” Seokjin says with a smile as he brings you into his apartment complex, nodding a friendly hello to the security officer in the lobby. “I know that it’s a Friday night and everything as well. You’d probably want to be doing something else.”

“Ah, yes, you know me, I frequent all of the clubs and bars in this city,” you say sarcastically as you walk into the elevator. Seokjin hits the button for the seventh floor and laughs. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. It was a dick move of Sehun to drop this on you when it’s due in, like, thirty-six hours.”

“Tell me about it,” Seokjin says, exasperated as he leans back against the steel walls of the elevator. “I thought I would just get to go home this Friday night, pull up Netflix, and have a one-man movie night, but now I have to spend the next thirty-six hours doing this.”

“Well, you know all of us are just looking out for you, wanted to make sure you didn’t injure yourself from stress before you got back to your apartment,” you say as the elevator door dings. Seokjin leads you down the hallway to his door, sticking his key in and jiggling it until the door pops open. 

Admittedly, you have never been in Seokjin’s apartment, but you it was like you had already painted a picture of it in your head from his personality traits alone. You thought it would be fairly minimalistic, clean and neat, not too many flashy colors or kitschy items but things like photographs and magnets to make it feel like an office and more like a home. Pictured it as a sort of very simple, modern home, like the ones that celebrities live in because they can afford to keep their belongings clean all the time, because Seokjin looks exactly like a celebrity, gorgeous and put-together. 

Instead, Seokjin’s apartment is almost a hodgepodge of everything he could think to find to decorate, a stack of photobooks on his coffee table, slouchy leather couches wrinkled from wear, various kitchen supplies splayed all over his countertops. It’s the kind of place you can imagine him being in, existing in. You can see him standing behind his kitchen island with all of the ingredients and supplies for this wonderful dish he’s making littered across the counters. You can see him curled up on the couch, leaning against the corner of it to find that perfect spot, watching television. 

There’s a difference between owning a place, and living in it. Living in it makes it feels like a home, like it’s real, and not just for show. 

“Wow, your place is—”

“It’s really messy right now, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests,” Seokjin says, letting his messenger bag plop down on the ground as he scrambles to make his living space nicer for you. 

“No, I was going to say it’s lovely,” you tell him. “It feels exactly like you.”

“Does it?” Seokjin asks genuinely, a soft smile lacing his features. “Well then, thank you.”

You wait around in his apartment awkwardly, not really sure if stepping past the front of his couch is socially acceptable since you’re just “visiting” and he hasn’t officially invited you inside yet. The main objective of accompanying him to his apartment has already been accomplished: you made sure he got home safely and that he can do his work in peace. Finished. But even still, you’re hanging around, wondering when he’s going to kick you out for being a weird, unknown fixture in his home. 

“Um, would you like to stay for dinner? I made soup last night and I have way too much for me to eat on my own,” he offers, opening up his fridge and taking out an enormous pot. It clinks as it hits his countertop, the metal sound echoing throughout his apartment. 

“No, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say, taking this as your cue to remove yourself from the situation before you do anything else to make an absolute fool of yourself. 

“I insist, please,” Seokjin says, stopping you in your tracks. “I may have a whole project to finish by Sunday, but we should at least spend this Friday night together, right?”

You look down at your shoes before looking up at him, meeting his eyes from where he stands behind his counter island. 

“Then I will,” you say, removing your flats and padding over to where he stands, coming to a stop on the other side of the counter island. “But only if you let me help you with the project, too. It was asshole-y of Sehun to dump it all on you. At least let me handle some of the graphic aspects.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching his hand out over the counter, “you have a deal.”

This deal mainly consists of you eating some of Seokjin’s homemade soup on his couches, your laptops on his coffee table and that ridiculously thick stack of papers spread out amongst you. Seokjin already has a fair bit of information about the project at hand, but he still has absolutely zero progress since he received the assignment four minutes before the end of the workweek. 

“So, basically, what we have to do is re-organize the magazine’s overall design and aesthetic before their final review on Sunday, because if they don’t appeal to the publisher, they’re getting tanked,” Seokjin says, paging through the papers in search of a sketch. 

“So we’re their last hope,” you summarize. 

Seokjin nods. “We’re their last hope.”

“Great,” you say, not at all enthused. “No pressure at all.”

“I know. I’m so relaxed right now,” Seokjin says, clearly not relaxed. 

“You know what’s making me relaxed? This soup,” you say, finishing the last of what’s in your bowl. “It’s delicious. I didn’t know you cooked.”

“It’s just a hobby of mine,” Seokjin says with a shrug. “I picked it up when I moved to college and didn’t know how to make anything except toast.”

“You’re a very fast learner, then,” you say. “I’d pay you to make all of my meals, honestly.”

“Would you like more? I have a ton, so we can eat it all if you’d like,” he asks, already standing up and reaching his hand out for your bowl. 

You hand it over, shaking your head as he makes his way back to his little kitchen, ladling more soup into both of your bowls. “You’re too nice, Seokjin. Seriously. How am I supposed to pay back this kindness?”

Seokjin lets out a warm chuckle as he warms up your next serving in the microwave. “Believe me, Y/N, volunteering to take on this project with me with a due date in less than thirty-six hours is more than enough. You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No,” you tell him. “I want to. You deserve someone who’s willing to help you with big things like this. You shouldn’t have to deal with it all on your own.”

Seokjin grins as he returns, handing you your bowl of soup as you get back to work. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N.”

What was supposed to be a couple of hours spent grinding out a project over a shared pot of soup turns into a night’s worth of work, scribbles on paper and the redoing of the same logo fifteen different times on your computer’s much slower, less-updated version of Photoshop. The application crashes on three different occasions, causing you to nearly slam it into the wall, but you just try to look on the bright side. Find the silver lining. Of which there are none. 

Seokjin doesn’t seem to be faring any better than you are. You’ve never seen the man under such pressure before, not in the office and certainly not while you’re out of the office. He’s tugged on a crewneck sweater over his dress shirt and paces around his apartment in bright pink slippers, brainstorming aloud as you bounce ideas off of each other in a panic. 

“What if we rebranded them?” Seokjin suggests wildly. When you turn to look at the digital clock underneath his television, it says 11:17PM. You’re surprised he hasn’t collapsed underneath the pile of work he’s got on his plate. 

“What do you mean? Do we even have the authorization to rebrand them?” You ask, pulling up a new tab on magazine marketing techniques. 

“The project description says requests for anything that will keep them afloat,” Seokjin says. He immediately opens an old photobook, buried underneath your laptops, sketches, and papers, flipping through before he sits down right next to you on his slouchy leather couch. “What if we gave them more of a minimalist kind of style? They’re trying to jump off of this super quirky, very basic Urban Outfitters kind of aesthetic, but I think it makes the magazine too young, you know?” Seokjin suggests. “We could do something more grown-up, attract their market audience.”

“Are we allowed to do that?” You ask, thoroughly interested. Maybe Seokjin’s onto something. 

“Who says we can’t?” Seokjin responds, and it’s good enough for you to hop on board. 

Sitting in his apartment like this, brainstorming different ideas and collaborating on logo designs, magazine layout, and website design together, you are more productive than you’ve been in a very, very long time. Even as the night stretches on into the early hours of the morning, as you watch the clock turn from 1:00AM to 2:00AM to 3:00AM, the two of you are wide awake, the only things illuminating his apartment being a floor lamp by his television and the blue light of your laptop screens. 

“It’s…” Seokjin yawns when it’s nearly four in the morning, pen slipping from his fingers, “so late.”

“I know,” you say back, feeling your eyelids beginning to sink. “I’m surprised we’ve even stayed up this long.”

“Haven’t been up this late since college,” Seokjin says, smiling hazily at past memories. “Always had code to finish for my class the next morning.”

“At least we get to sleep in now,” you joke. Even if you still have to finish putting together a brand new image for this magazine that’s about to go under, tomorrow is still a Saturday. 

“Thank God,” Seokjin says, resting his head on the back of the couch cushion, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I feel like we did a lot tonight.”

“We were very productive,” you agree.

He yawns. “We work well together, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” You ask, leaning over to move your computer from your lap to the coffee table, exchanging it for a sketchpad to keep brainstorming. 

“I think,” Seokjin begins, and it must be just the sleepy haze his brain has entered rather than anything else that could spur him to express this, that makes him say, “that you and I make a perfect pair.”

You sit up straight at this, looking over at Seokjin as the pencil in between your fingers falls onto the sketchpad before rolling onto the floor. It looks like he’s fallen asleep, exhaustion finally overcoming him as all of the work he’s done catches up to him. In the dead of night, the only sound in the room is his soft breathing, chest rising and falling slowly as his mind begins to wander. You watch him, eyelids heavy, and think that he couldn’t have possibly thought that. No way would he say such a thing to you if he was perfectly cognizant, wide awake. After all, you’re the one with a crush on him, not the other way around. 

You lean back, pondering why a man like Seokjin would ever invite you into his home, offer you soup, and shower you with subtle compliments that couldn’t just be friends being friends, and before you know it, your eyes fall shut. 

It is nearly one in the afternoon by the time you wake up, the sunlight streaming in from the side of his apartment. It forces you to finally open your eyes, groaning as your blurry vision begins to clear. 

That is when you register these four things in this order:

This is Seokjin’s apartment.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, in which you worked on a project with him last night.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and you fell asleep on his couch. 

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and he thinks that you’d make the perfect pair. 

You hear a clink from across the room, and turn to find Seokjin, still wearing the same thing he was wearing last night, standing in his kitchen, pouring two glasses of orange juice. 

“Morning,” Seokjin says. He pauses, then corrects himself. “Afternoon, actually.” He walks over to you, handing you a glass of orange juice as you rub your eyes, waking yourself up.

“How long have you been up?” You ask him, too tired to thank him out loud for the glass of orange juice. 

“About an hour,” he says, checking the time. “I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful.”

“I feel awful, I didn’t mean to intrude on your apartment for, like, an entire night,” you say, rubbing your forehead as you try to smooth out your hair, make yourself look less like you fell asleep at four in the morning in your gorgeous crush’s apartment. 

“No, it’s alright, really,” Seokjin insists. “It was nice having company, for once. And I think we got a lot done.”

“I still feel bad, I didn’t mean to stay so long,” you say, looking around for your belongings as you try to gather your bearings. 

“It’s fine,” Seokjin reassures you, sitting down on the couch next to you as he begins to clean up the absolute mess of the coffee table. “But your phone has been ringing nonstop, so someone must have missed you.”

You fumble around for your phone before finding it having slid in between the couch cushions, pulling it up to see three missed calls from Taehyung and two missed calls from Jungkook, as well as a slew of texts from the both of them. 

“Oh, it’s just Taehyung and Jungkook,” you say with a shrug, deciding that now is not the time to bring them into the conversation. A quick scan of the texts gives you a rough summary of what you would have heard if you had answered their calls instead. 

Taehyung (9:35AM): Y/N Taehyung (9:35AM): HELLO Taehyung (9:35AM): ARE YOU ALIVE??? Taehyung (9:36AM): YOU NEVER SLEEP THIS LATE ARE YOU OKAY??? Taehyung (10:03AM): I WENT BY YOUR APARTMENT AND YOU DIDN’T ANSWER IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT Taehyung (10:04AM): TEXT ME 1 IF EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND 2 IF EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY Taehyung (10:05AM): LAST TIME I SAW YOU YOU WERE GOING HOME WITH SEOKJIN DID HE MURDER YOU??????? Taehyung (10:18AM): oh Taehyung (10:18AM): oh wait Taehyung (10:19AM): OHHHHHHHHH Taehyung (10:20AM): ;)

Jungkook (12:18PM): Kingdom just started a new event! Get online with me and let’s crush this thing pleaseeeee

“Just want me to play Kingdom with them,” you say, ignoring Taehyung’s text messages and pretending like they don’t exist.

“You really like that game, don’t you?” Seokjin asks. 

“Oh, they like it more than I do, really, I just try and keep the obsession to a minimum,” you say casually. 

“But they always talk about how good you are,” Seokjin adds. “You’re ranked second, aren’t you? That’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that exciting. I mean, it’s just a game,” you shrug it off. 

“But you like it, which means that’s important,” Seokjin says. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of the things you like. They matter to you.”

“You think so?” You ask, smiling at him. 

“I know so. Tell me about Kingdom,” he urges, nudging your side. “Please? I’d love to know.”

And for once, you don’t just shrug it off and brand it as a game you play occasionally. You let yourself love that game, for all it’s done for you and your friends (even if you aren’t the best anymore) and your happiness, and you tell Seokjin about it. About how you started playing it when you were bored one day during work and saw a forum on it. How you got the rest of the office hooked on it as well, even if they were much more obnoxious about it than you are. How you go home after a long day of work and log on, letting yourself relax as you weave your way through the rankings and quests, finding solace in the familiarity of it all. You tell him why you love it, and why you probably won’t stop playing it for a long time, no matter what becomes of your ranking. 

“It was nice being ranked first, but I actually don’t mind whoever it is that’s taken over,” you tell Seokjin honestly. “Jungkook wants to hunt them down, but I think that, whoever they are, they deserve that spot. You know, I used to hate them because the top-ranked player gets all of the best rewards, but our characters have recently started to spend so much time together that I feel like they’d probably have fallen in love by now.” You chuckle to yourself. If life were a movie, everything would always work out perfectly.

“You do?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “They spend so much time together. Who wouldn’t, right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Seokjin says, smiling. “I also have something to tell you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t tell me you’re obsessed with anime, please. That is where I draw the line.”

“Don’t shame us,” Seokjin says, a hand on his heart like he’s been personally offended. Your eyes widen. “I’m kidding,” he says, laughing as you exhale, relieved. “I actually play Kingdom, too. I just wanted to ask you about it.”

“Seriously? All this time and you just pretended like you had no idea what it was?” you say in disbelief. He’s been hiding this from you for how long? God, the rest of your office is going to have a field day with this information. 

“I just wanted you to tell me about it,” Seokjin admits sheepishly. 

You shake your head. “You could have talked to me about other stuff, you know.”

“I know, but you never talked about Kingdom and I could always see how much you loved it. It was nice, listening to you tell me about it,” he says. 

“I’ve been betrayed,” you say dramatically, opening up your laptop to pull up the game. “What’s your ID? We can add each other.”

This is where Seokjin goes silent. “Actually, I think you might already know who I am. I’m above you in the rankings.”

Your mouth drops open. 

“You’re JK0901? Are you kidding me?” You ask, absolutely floored. All this time and you had no idea that Kim Seokjin was a Kingdom expert. “What does JK stand for? I was convinced it was Jungkook and he was just lying to my face, but in reality, it was you who was lying to me!”

Seokjin lets out a chuckle. “Jin Kim. I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“I can’t believe this,” you say, practically speechless. “How long have you been playing?” 

“Not that long,” Seokjin shrugs. “I picked it up because I wanted to impress a girl I liked.”

“Really? All this effort for a girl you like?” You ask, still in disbelief. You suck up the way your heart is sinking at the thought of him liking another person, but then you remember that it wasn’t like you had ever made a move on him anyway. Smiling, you ask, “Will you at least humor me and tell me who it is?”

Then, Seokjin looks you dead in the eye, and says, “You.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he wraps a hand around your torso and pulls you into him, pressing his lips firmly on yours as you gasp into his mouth, body tensing up before you melt into his touch. 

It’s a quick kiss, nothing too crazy, but it overwhelms you nonetheless, leaves you gasping for air like you’ve been underwater this whole time and have finally surfaced. When you part, you look up into his eyes only to find that they’ve turned into crescents. He’s grinning down at you like he’s finally gotten it right. 

“You did all of that for me?” You ask. “How did you even know?”

Seokjin looks particularly guilty. “You’re not necessarily… that discreet, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the heat already flaring in your cheeks. “Oh God, you knew?”

“It was fairly easy to figure out,” Seokjin admits. “But the good news is: I felt the same way. So, no harm done.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you say, curling into his chest so you don’t have to look him in the eye. 

“You’re incredible, Y/N, you know that?” He asks, pulling you away from him just so he can get a better look at you. He’s standing in front of you, looking at you like this is what he’s been waiting for. Like all this time, he’s been waiting for you. “I’d do it all over again if it meant I could end up with you.”

“You would?” You ask, pulling him in for another kiss. There’s plenty more where those came from, but you’re already feeling greedy. Why wouldn’t you? If life was a movie, then wouldn’t this be the happy ending? 

“In a heartbeat.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, hazelestelle!

For @hazelestelle <3

Read On AO3

*****

It's Always Something, Even at Christmas

Chapter 1

“I need you to be my date.”

Stiles turned so quickly he fell out of his chair and cursed as he hit the floor and landed directly on his elbow. He glared up at Derek from the floor and gave him a look as he rolled his eyes and said, “Could you at least try to come in through the front door like a normal person?” while Derek stood there just inside his window, hands inside his leather coat, looking entirely undisturbed at the fact that he’d scared the crap out of his emissary.

“I need you to be my date,” he repeated, looking thoroughly annoyed, but Stiles, being far too attuned to the Alpha’s moods, noticed the slight hint of desperation in his tone. “The stupid firm I’m working for is having a Christmas party and if I don’t come with a date, specifically you, then that woman who works across from me is going to jump me.”

Stiles snorted as he got to his feet, rubbing his elbow, tossing the man a look as he went back to his laptop and said, “You could just not go to the party, you know that, right?”

Derek let out an exasperated sigh and threw himself onto Stiles’ bed and uncharacteristically rubbed his hands over his face and said, “God, I wish it were that easy. This stupid architecture degree was supposed to make my job easier, not harder,” he complained, and then said, “The thing is, I just finished helping the partners with a big project and they personally invited me to their private Christmas party. At their house,” he explained. “If I say no, I’ll look like the world’s biggest asshole…”

“As opposed to…?”

Derek shot him a bitch face and Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Seriously, dude. I still don’t know how you convinced them that you were a nice guy,” he commented, turning his attention back to the research that he’d been doing before Derek had so rudely interrupted him.

Something had been hunting the local pets in the area and Stiles had narrowed it down to a few supernatural beings. Being the Hale pack’s emissary wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The pack still had him pulling all nighters to help them out, on top of his normal job, which was working out of the new local FBI offices. When he’d finally finished his training, he’d put in a request and they had gladly let him set up a new office just outside of Beacon Hills. Anything for the new wunderkid agent who was making the agents back in D.C. look bad.

When he’d finally gotten back home, however, he discovered that Derek had returned back, as well, and with a degree in architecture, which was downright baffling to him because he had assumed that when the man had disappeared back in the Mexican desert that he’d gone off to do werewolf stuff…apparently, not so much. From what he had gleaned through secondhand information, Derek had gone off to New York and settled in and gotten his degree at NYU.

To think that they had both been on the east coast at the same time, only an hour and a half train ride away from each other for nearly five years…Stiles sometimes wondered if Derek had known that he was in D.C. but hadn’t cared enough to do anything about it.

And then Stiles had found out that the man was an alpha again. That had thrown him for a loop.

When he’d gotten back, he’d found out that Deaton was planning on leaving, so Stiles had used up all of his spare time picking his brain about what it meant to be an emissary, and suddenly found himself with a second job when Derek had asked him in the most formal way possible if he was willing to be the pack’s emissary.

He’d said yes.

And then Erica and Boyd had rolled back into town after hearing that Derek was back and an alpha, yet again, despite having left back in junior year when things had gone to hell in a handbasket around Beacon Hills. And Derek had himself a little pack consisting of those two, Isaac, and a new kid named Liam, who Isaac was incredibly protective over.

So now Stiles was living back at home in his old room with his dad, just like in high school, and Derek was still breaking in through his window.

Considering that they were both adults, it was more than a little bit weird. But, at the same time, it was familiar and safe, so he kind of enjoyed it. Despite being twenty-four years old and still living at home, his dad let him keep whatever hours he wanted and he and came and went as he pleased…and Derek still couldn’t use the front door.

“Look,” Derek said, sounding tired, “They said I could bring a date and I told them that I would bring you, and they all…”

When his voice suddenly dropped off, Stiles looked over at him, trying to figure out why the heck Derek looked guilty as hell. He was now looking at the floor and had shoved his hands so deep into his pockets that Stiles was certain that they were about to rip at the seams.

“They what, Derek?” he prompted him.

He finally looked back up at him.

“They’ve apparently all assumed that you’re my boyfriend because I’ve talked about you so much.” Stiles’ eyebrow shot up and he opened his mouth to say something, but then Derek cut him off with an eyeroll and said, “Look, I talk about you because you’re our pack’s emissary, but I can’t tell them that, so they get a highly edited version of my weekend events and your name comes up a lot, and they all just assumed, and please don’t make this any harder than this is for me.”

He was sorely tempted to make fun of him, but he instead withheld the impulse and licked his lips and said, “If I say yes, what will I be expected to do at this party?”

Derek huffed, but then answered, “I don’t know…act…boyfriend-like. Do whatever it is couples do, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders and Stiles took some perverse pleasure at seeing how uncomfortable he was, but also felt a faint twinge of regret. “Hold hands, kisses on the cheek, pet names…stuff like that.”

The picture he gave him was one that Stiles had secretly wanted for years. He’d fallen for him back in high school but had known that someone as gorgeous and amazing as Derek was way out of his league, even more so considering his werewolf status and all of his abilities. He consistently attracted older women to him and so Stiles knew that he would never have a chance, but it was nice to know that Derek had talked about him enough at work and in such a way that his coworkers thought that Stiles was his boyfriend.

He thought about torturing him a bit longer, but instead capitulated and said, “Sure, why not. When and where is it?”

Derek’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Next weekend. I’ll pick you up Saturday night, don’t worry about it.”

“Dress code?”

Derek gave him another look.

“Uh…don’t know. I’ll find out. Just…thank you, Stiles,” he said, and the emissary nodded, keeping his emotions in check, even though he kinda wanted to shout from the rooftops that he was going on a date with Derek Hale. So, what if it was a fake date, it was better than nothing.

Derek moved to leave through the window, and Stiles couldn’t help but say, “Does that mean I can call you Der Bear?”

He heard him growl as he dropped to the ground and he laughed.

Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

--

“So, I hear you and Derek are going out on a date,” said Erica as she sprawled out on his office couch, kicking her legs out behind her as she lay on her stomach, staring intently at her nails as Stiles finished up a report for the head office, thoroughly entrenched in getting through it before he called it quits and went to lunch, which was the reason why she was there.

“It’s not a real date, it’s just to keep his coworkers off his back,” he said, still staring at his screen as he typed.

She let out a snort, rolled over to her back and shot him a look.

“Yeah, fake, right. You do know that Mr. Grumpycat has been pining after you for years, now, right?” she shot back at him and Stiles shook his head, knowing better than to take anything of what she said as serious. “He’s been all broody and serious ever since you came back to Beacon Hills,” she complained.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“So, no different than usual, then?” he couldn’t help but retort, flipping a page on the papers that he was referencing as he wrote his report.

But at that, Erica sat back up, her hair spilling around her shoulders in that effortless way that most models would kill for and gave him a look and said, “Actually, before you showed up, he seemed to have really changed. He was wearing more normal clothes, like sweaters and stuff, not a leather jacket to be seen. He was even smiling more, acting like a person, you know?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “It was like seeing the human side of him for once. But then you showed up and he becomes all Broody McBrooderson again…”

Stiles sighed, though slightly amused at her description of the alpha, but ignored her just long enough so that he could finish his report, and then stood up, reached over and grabbed his coat and said, “Can we just go to lunch?”

She rolled her eyes at him a second time, but then smiled.

“Fine. Lunch it is.”

And with that they walked out arm in arm from his office, and Stiles smirked when he saw a few of the other agents sneak glances at her, most of them unaware of the fact that she was taken. He was fairly certain that quite a few of them thought that Erica was his girlfriend, but he didn’t really care.

She wore her skinny jeans, thigh high black boots, and her usual too-tight low-cut top with a leather jacket thrown over it for good measure. Stiles looked like a worn-out door to door salesman next to her in his rumpled suit, but he didn’t mind. Ever since he had come back, the two of them had bonded in a way that Stiles had always wished they had and now she was like the best friend that he’d never had…she had even beat out his old best friend, Scott. Scott had left Beacon Hills to go to vet school and, according to his mom, he wasn’t coming back.

He still kept in touch with him, but it was sort of an unspoken understanding between the two of them that Scott wanted nothing more to do with the goings-on of Beacon Hills and the supernatural drama that came with it. Stiles was fine with that, and still kept in close contact with Melissa…who had been spending a suspicious amount of time with his dad, recently.

He didn’t want to think about it too much, so he turned his attention to Erica as they sat down in the booth at the diner and ordered their usual. As soon as their food arrived, he changed the subject.

“So…how’s Boyd doing?”

At the question, she lit up and Stiles smiled as she began to jabber away.

“Oh my god, he’s doing so good. Ever since he found that job at the hospital as an orderly, he’s been doing so good. He really loves helping people, you know?” she said with a bright smile, dipping one of her fries into her milkshake and taking a bite. “I’m still working on trying to finish my GED, which is a serious pain in the ass, but as soon as I get it, I’m looking into becoming a volunteer counselor at the youth center,” she admitted, sounding a bit shy as she did, and Stiles smiled.

She was amazing with teenagers, especially the girls, and Stiles thought it was a perfect fit for her.

“I’m happy for the two of you,” he said, completely sincere. He didn’t have any romantic prospects, male or female, but he was okay with it. He was just happy to see his friends finally happy.

Erica gave him another blinding smile…but then it turned devious as she said, “So…this ‘fake’ date that you and Derek are having. I hear it’s for the private Christmas party that he was invited to, right?” Stiles groaned, but she didn’t let up. “I bet there’s gonna be mistletoe there. I don’t care what it takes, you need to drag that boy under it and get it on with him already!”

He threw a french fry at her, but she caught it between her teeth and continued to grin at him.

Finally, he said, “I’m not dragging him anywhere, let alone towards something that could potentially kill him. Look, I know you think that he likes me, too, but trust me when I say that it’s barely concealed annoyance. At best.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious! I mean, when he asked me to be emissary, of course I said yes, but that’s all I am to him. I am a tool that helps keep the pack safe and that’s it, Erica. That’s all it’s ever going to be. And I’m fine with that, seriously. I love being someone that can help the pack, the person that you guys can turn to when the going gets rough. Hell, that’s why I joined the FBI,” he added, eating one of his own fries.

She arched an eyebrow at him, and he could see the look all over her face.

“Stiles. He likes you. As in, he likes likes you.”

He gave her a look right back and said, “Oh, so we’re reverting to middle school terms, now? What next? You gonna hand me note from him that says, ‘do you like me? Check yes or no’?”

She rolled her eyes and practically pouted as she said, “Look, he’s my alpha and I can tell when he’s not acting right and ever since you came back his scent gets all weird whenever you’re around or any time that he’s thought that you might be in trouble, and Isaac and Liam have both been worried about him, too,” she admitted, and Stiles was taken off guard by the naked honesty in her tone.

He licked his lips, put down the burger that he was about to take a bite of and said, “You…you’re serious?”

She nodded.

“Yeah. So…don’t fuck this up, okay? He may act like you’re just doing him a favor, going to the Christmas party and all, but I know that this means a lot to him,” she muttered, picking at the edge of the table, chipping off a piece of the flaking formica with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “He acts all tough around you, and only you, and I may not know why…but I know that he has feelings for you, Stiles. So, don’t fuck this up.”

He took a deep breath…but then nodded. At that, she seemed to relax, and they went back to their lunch, him talking about his research on the creature that was going after the local pets (most likely a lamia, though he had no idea how it had made its way to Beacon Hills), and Erica chiming it about the online college classes that both Isaac and Liam were taking, and how the additions onto the Hale house were coming. According to Erica, both of the boys wanted their own rooms, but Derek was insisting that they share because he was not adding two bedrooms.

By the time they were done, and Erica was walking him back to his office, he was feeling a bit better.

She lightly squeezed his waist before she left and whispered into his ear right before lightly pecking his cheek, “Don’t fuck it up.”

He snorted and hugged her right back and returned the gesture.

“I’ll try not to,” he replied with a fake put-upon look, and she gave him a wry smile in return before turning around and heading back down the street.

--

It was the day before the Christmas party, and Stiles was running through the backyard of Mrs. Newton’s house in the middle of the night, trying his hardest to not get caught by the nosy old lady who had a tendency to spy on her neighbors through her back windows. He had found the lamia. Which wasn’t a lamia. Instead, it was a rogue were-coyote, and Stiles was looking like an idiot with dirt-stained jeans with the left leg completely soaked through. He had almost cornered it a few houses down, near a bird bath in someone else’s backyard, but then it had bolted at the last second and he now had a ruined pair of pants.

He panted, trying to catch his breath. Sure, he was fitter than he used to be, but he’d been chasing it for over an hour at that point.

Bent over at the waist, still catching his breath, Stiles begrudgingly pulled out his small pouch of mountain ash, hating that he had to use it, but knowing that it was necessary.

“Okay, you little fucker,” he muttered, pulling out the smallest amount needed because he hated wasting it. “I’m going to track you properly and find your goddamn den if it’s the last thing I do, because you are seriously ruining my night.”

He closed his eyes, concentrated, and then let out a trickle of it from between his first finger and thumb…and let out a sigh of relief as it glowed slightly and drifted in a straight line back through the backyards until it headed for the woods. He followed it, letting out small amounts each time he ran out of glowing ash to follow, and was grateful that he’d decided to wear his boots as he ended up going deep into the woods just beyond the Hale property.

He followed it to a small den where he found a young boy, no more than ten, curled up back in the corner of his roughshod den. He was wearing only a small pair of blue shorts, the rest of his body covered in dirt and grime, and small bones littered the ground around him; what was left of the pets.

He seemed to be shaking, so Stiles gently reached out with one hand and said, “Hey, kid, I’m not here to hurt you…are you just hungry?” he asked and was taken aback when bright gold eyes snapped up to meet his.

The boy then nodded.

Making a quick decision, Stiles helped him out of his den and put his own jacket around the boy’s shoulders and walked him back to his house.

As soon as he’d settled him down, gotten him into some clean clothes and gotten him some food, he started to feel less anxious. However, just as the kid (Lance, he had told him in a voice barely above a whisper) was finally settled, he heard the front door open, so he quickly went to cut off whoever it was…and his eyes went wide when he saw that it was Derek.

“Where is he?” the alpha growled, his eyes flashing red, and Stiles stopped him with a hand on his chest, and said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy! It’s not what you think! It’s a kid!” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep his voice down, unsure of how much the young were-coyote could hear. “His name’s Lance and he’s only around ten and he was only going after people’s pets because it was easier for him to hunt and get food…I think he’s been abandoned…”

Stiles watched as Derek went from full-metal-alpha to suddenly looking worried, his brow furrowed and his eyes glancing back towards where he could obviously smell the kid was, back in the kitchen.

“Abandoned? Who would do that to a kid?”

“Some pretty shitty people, that’s who,” Stiles replied, noticing how Derek’s entire body language had shifted from attack-mode to protective-alpha mode.

He went silent and watched as Derek seemed to be listening in on the kid and then couldn’t help but ask, “So…sense anything wrong with him?” and Derek shook his head and answered, “No, just…he smells like anxiety. I think he’s been alone a long time. But he only just got here. He doesn’t smell like the preserve,” he commented. “More like…diesel.”

At that, Stiles nodded and said, “Probably sneaking onto long-distance hauling trucks. Easy to hide on and gets you plenty of miles away from a previous hunting ground. Smart kid.”

Derek nodded as well, and they stood there for a moment in the front foyer, Stiles’ hand still on Derek’s chest. He seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled it back, rubbing it on the thighs of his jeans, and then Derek looked at him, gave him a once over, and he snorted.

“What happened to you?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I was chasing after a were-coyote in the middle of the night and a birdbath accosted me, that’s what happened,” he quipped, just remembering the clinging wetness of the left side of his jeans. He absently tugged at it and said, “Gotta say, that kid is fast. Faster than you, that’s for sure,” he added, knowing it would irritate the alpha.

True to form, Derek gave him a look, his equivalent of a bitch-face, and Stiles smirked, but then asked him on a more serious note, “Hey, can you watch after him? I’ll introduce you two, but I need to go upstairs and change because this is starting to seriously chafe…”

Derek nodded, and Stiles walked back into the kitchen with the alpha right behind his shoulder and cautiously approached the table, silently grateful that his dad was on the night shift.

“Hey, Lance…this is Derek. He’s a werewolf, he’s an alpha, and he’s my friend,” he softly explained, putting his hand carefully in front of the bowl of cereal that he was eating. “I don’t want to leave you alone, just yet, so would it be okay if he spends some time with you while I go and change out of these wet and dirty clothes?”

Lance looked back up at him with his now hazel eyes, his gaze slightly confused, and nodded.

“Okay, then.”

He motioned for Derek to sit down across from him and went upstairs and quickly stripped out of his ruined clothes and hopped into the shower. He cleaned out the grime, rinsed off as best he could, and as soon as he was out of the shower, before he had even put on any clothes, he threw a towel around his waist and went and checked the missing persons database on his work laptop, putting in the first name Lance and looking for kids around his age. He couldn’t have come from nowhere.

While it searched, he threw on sweats, an academy shirt, and ran his fingers through his hair, drying it as best he could, ignoring the fact that his stomach had flipped when he’d seen Derek look at the kid with such soft affection that it had made his heart ache.

God, he’d be a great dad.

His computer dinged, and he hopped over on one foot, pulling a sock over the other one, and squinted as he looked at the information that had popped up onto the screen.

Lance Santiago. Thirteen years old, missing for the last nine months ago from Ogunquit, Maine. Parents murdered in a home invasion, no other living relatives.

Swallowing around the knot that had formed in his throat, Stiles pulled up the police report from the home invasion and closed his eyes for a brief second at what he saw on the screen in front of him…and then opened them again and made himself look at the crime scene photos in the way that the academy had trained him to.

Each of their necks had been viciously ripped open, and the coroner’s report had said that the intruders had used several different tools to make the marks, but he knew what they really were: they were from the claws of a werewolf. And the kid had apparently witnessed the whole thing, but then had inexplicably escaped from the foster home that they had put him in. They had tried to find him for the first three months, but then had given up, and now he was here, in Beacon Hills.

He let out a long sigh and headed back downstairs and stilled in the doorway to the kitchen…

Derek was flicking pieces of cereal in Lance’s face and Lance was smiling and laughing and throwing cereal right back at him while Lance was talking in rapid-fire Spanish and Stiles was baffled when Derek was speaking fluently right back at him, grinning almost the entire time. The alpha had taken off his jacket and thrown it over the back of his chair and sat there in just a dark red sweater with the sleeves rolled up, eyes sparkling, lips effortlessly wrapping around the foreign syllables, while Sam chattered excitedly right back at him.

It was like something out of a movie.

He watched them for a moment longer and then said, “Hey, you two, quit making a mess,” and Lance looked up, wide-eyed, but Derek just shook his head and said, “It’s no worse than what you do.”

The kid still seemed scared for a moment, but then Derek reached out his hand and put it on his shoulder and said, “Está bien, Lance. Está bien.”

He then stood up and walked over to Stiles and said in a low voice as they both moved closer to the fridge, away from the table, “He knows some English, but not much. I can speak with him, fine, and he seems to trust me. So, if it’s easier for you and your dad, he can stay with me and the pack, if you’d like.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles just fell a little bit more in love with the man.

He nodded.

“It’s a good idea but be careful. I found him on file, and he’s gone through a pretty bad trauma. If anyone can help, though, it’d be you guys,” he conceded, though a little wary to have him out of his sight for too long, the kid’s dark brown hair flopping into his eyes and reminding Stiles of just how young and vulnerable he was.

He then looked at Derek and said, “Uh, when did you learn Spanish, by the way?”

Derek ducked his eyes, not quite meeting them, and said, “Uh, I, uh…I started to learn as a kid. Mom and dad insisted. I kept up with it over the years, mainly because of the other packs down south, but…yeah. It comes in handy a lot.”

He seemed thoroughly embarrassed at being put on the spot, so Stiles dragged his eyes away from him, looked back over at Lance who was finally finishing his cereal, and asked, “Think the pack will like him?”

The alpha smiled.

“When we were talking, I found out he loves Star Wars. I think he and Isaac and Liam will get along really well. Boyd is more of a Trekkie, but they’ll get along,” he said, looking at the kid with a soft, almost find look. “It seems we’ve got another mouth to feed for Christmas.” As he said that, however, his eyes went wide and he said, “Oh, shit. The party. Tomorrow night.”

“Well, tonight, really,” Stiles supplied, looking at the time on the microwave. Two-thirty-six in the morning.

Derek rolled his head on his neck and said, “I don’t want the kid to have his first night with the pack all alone, I shouldn’t do that to him. I can call Erik and tell him that I can’t come to the--”

“Hold up there, big guy,” Stiles interjected, putting a hand to his shoulder. “You have to go to that thing, and you know it. They personally invited you, and, as much as even I hate to say it, you need to make good with these guys so that they can see just how valuable you are. You’ve got a pack to feed, buddy, and even if you do already have a shit ton of money, I know you care about this job, and I think Lance can handle one night alone with the pack. It’s a Friday night, right? They can order in a few pizzas, watch some movies…he’ll probably feel more comfortable around some weres closer to his own age, anyway,” he added, trying to make Derek see sense.

Derek looked at the kid and then back at Stiles. And then back at the kid, who was now looking at the two of them with those wide, hazel eyes of his, his brow slightly furrowed as if he was trying to understand what they were saying about him. Derek looked at Stiles one last time.

He then walked over to Lance and said something in Spanish that Stiles didn’t catch, Lance said something back to him, and then they both smiled.

Derek grabbed his jacket from where he left it and then said, “Okay, that settles it. I’m taking him back to the house for the night, he’s going to spend the day with the pack…and then I am coming over to pick you up at seven, Stiles.”

He then threw him a smile and said, “By the way, it’s dressy casual…but don’t wear the reindeer tie, please, I beg of you,” and Stiles grinned.

“But it goes with everything, Derek!”

He rolled his eyes and lightly tugged on Lance’s shoulder, who followed him to the front door. Stiles gave the kid’s shoulder one last squeeze and then watched as the two of them walked down the road, heading off in the direction of the Hale house. It was a good fit for him, Stiles thought to himself, wondering how he was going to deal with the fact that Derek was obviously already attached to the kid. Lance needed to not have anyone looking for him…and Stiles might have a solution for that.

Chapter 2

After getting four hours of sleep, Stiles was back down in the kitchen rifling through the cabinets, this time with his dad giving him judgmental looks over the edge of his newspaper.

“You’re telling me you went after a were-coyote on your own last night?” he said in a tone that Stiles was all too familiar with.

“Yes, but I wasn’t in any danger, pops,” he griped, finally finding the pop-tarts, ignoring the second judgmental look that he got as he pulled one out of the foil and took a bite out of it. “This kid is thirteen years old and no danger to people, he was just hungry, alright? The pets were easy hunting.”

The sheriff put down the paper, reached for his coffee and asked, “You say he’s been missing for nine months?”

Stiles nodded as he dropped into the chair across from him.

“Yeah. No family to speak of, just…a lot of horrible trauma.” His dad nodded. “I’m just glad that we found him first before anyone else did. Derek and his pack are a good fit for him, right now,” he thought out loud. “If anyone’s going to be able to help Lance figure out how to deal with it all, it’ll be those four and Derek.”

His dad nodded, took a long sip of his coffee and then said, “So, he’s staying with Derek and the pack. That’s good, I guess, but it’s not a permanent solution, you know that, right?”

Stiles gave his dad a look and reached across and stole a sip of his dad’s coffee, ignoring the glare that he gave him as he did.

“Yeah, I know it’s not a solution, but don’t worry about it, I’m already looking into what I can do,” he explained, handing his father’s coffee back to him, pushing it across the table. “I looked into the criminal file of what happened to his parents and it looks like they never even had any suspects for the murders, and if I let him go back, he’ll just end up with a foster family who doesn’t know about the supernatural and I can’t do that to the kid. I figure both of his parents were just like he is, and so the attack was most likely something personal, which means that there’s a werewolf out there looking to hunt this kid down and kill him. Lance most likely only got away because of how fast he is. I don’t think even Derek could keep up with him, even if he wanted to,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling worn out and wishing he could figure out how to help him.

They shared a look, both of them aware of just how hard it was going to be for the kid unless they could make sure that he was safe. So, Stiles came to decision that he would warn the pack that someone might be tracking the kid, even with everything that he’d done to get away from the werewolf that had killed his parents.

Stiles pulled another pop-tart out of the packet and took a bite, and then said, with his mouth full, “By the way, going to a Christmas party with Derek tonight, so don’t wait up,” and at that, his dad’s brow shot up and he threw him a smirk.

“You and Derek, huh?” he drawled, taking another sip of his coffee, and Stiles rolled his eyes and stood back up, saying, “Oh, don’t you start, pops. It’s not like that. Derek’s coworkers are convinced that I’m his boyfriend because he’s always talking about me because of the time we spend together on the weekends with my emissary duties. Complaining, mostly. He can’t exactly tell them the truth, so he’s been dragged into taking me to the party as his date. It’s not real, it’s just to keep the higher ups happy.”

His dad nodded, not saying anything more, but Stiles could see the faint humor that still lingered on the corner of his lips and he knew that his dad was probably going to be laughing about the situation for a long time, getting a kick out of his seeing his son like this.

He shrugged it off and went and got dressed and headed off to the office.

As soon as walked inside, Agent Katherine Richards greeted him with a coffee and a cheery, “Morning, Agent Stilinski!”

“For the last time, Katie, if you don’t start calling me Stiles, I’m going to put you on filing duty for the next two weeks,” he playfully griped, grabbing the coffee that she gave to him every single morning without fail. He then yawned as he asked, “Now, did you get me a copy of that file that I e-mailed you about this morning?”

She gave him a look and said, “You mean that e-mail that you sent me at five am? Yeah, I did, and you’re welcome,” she said with an arch tone, tossing it onto his desk as they both walked into his office. “Let’s just say that the local authorities in Maine don’t like it when someone from the FBI wants their files for a case that they couldn’t solve. Something about it making them look bad, I guess,” she mused, leaning her hip against his desk and throwing him a knowing grin. “Why’d you want it?”

Knowing he could trust her, he said, “I found the kid.”

Her eyes went wide.

“You mean the kid who saw who killed his parents? He’s the only witness, Stiles! Where did you find him?”

He trusted her, but not that much, so he avoided answering by instead saying, “That’s not important, what’s important is that he’s safe and secured and we don’t have to worry about him right now. Now, I need to make sure that I am out of here by five today, because I have to go and be a fake boyfriend for a friend of mine,” he explained and was amused when Katie’s eyes lit up.

“Fake boyfriend?” she repeated, her tone sounding all too eager. “Oooh, is it for that girl that you have lunch with a couple of times a week? The stunning blonde with legs for days that looks like she should be walking a Victoria’s Secret runway?”

Stiles chuckled at that apt description of Erica, knowing she would love it, but shook his head.

“No, no, not her. She’s already got a boyfriend,” he quickly said. “This is for my friend, Derek. He got dragged into it and so I’m trying to help make it a little easier on him,” he explained, already turning his attention to the file that she’d given him.

Katie gave him a look…and then said in a carefully measured tone, “Is this the Derek that you mentioned before?”

Stiles glared up at her, annoyed with himself for forgetting that he’d mentioned the alpha more than a few times to his own coworkers, and said, “Yes, it’s that Derek. No, we’re not actually dating, and no, it’s not anything serious. I’m just covering his ass for his bosses,” to which she retorted, “Yeah, I bet you’re covering his ass.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed and the patted the file that she put on his desk and said, “As fun as this conversation has been, don’t think you’ve distracted me from this, Stiles. While I am incredibly curious about this Derek guy, I am not forgetting that you just found the key witness in a brutal murder that has yet to be solved. You’ll bring me in if you need help, right?” she asked, looking and sounding genuinely concerned, and Stiles nodded and patted her hand.

“I promise, Agent Richards.”

With that, she left the room, and Stiles went back to his work. He dug through the file to figure out exactly who to contact and how to keep everything intact so that they wouldn’t find out…while also keeping a close eye on the time, making sure that he didn’t work too hard. He needed to be able to leave by five so that he would be ready to go by seven.

Of course, things didn’t go as planned. He shot off a quick message to the pack, did some paperwork, and then the next thing he knew, he was looking at the clock and it said six thirty and he was twenty minutes from home.

Shit.

Slipping the file into his bag, he ran out of the building, shouting a quick, “See you tomorrow!” over his shoulder as he did, and probably broke a couple of laws as he raced home, trying to figure out how many he could get away with breaking to make sure that he had enough time to shower.

He ran into his house as quickly as he could, grateful that his dad had already left for his night shift about an hour before, and then scrambled up the stairs and threw his bag onto his desk and looked into his closet helplessly, trying to figure just what the hell dressy casual was.

However, before he could even look in his closet, let alone get a shower like he’d originally planned, he heard a knock at the front door.

Shit.

He turned and ran back down the stairs and as he swung the door open, the first words out of his mouth were, “Please, please, please don’t be mad, but I am not dressed, yet, I only just got home, and…why are you looking at me like that?”

Derek was staring at him, mouth slightly open, looking like he was struggling to catch his breath. Stiles looked down at himself, trying to see what was wrong, wondering if he had dropped food or coffee on himself earlier in the day without noticing, but only saw his usual work clothes: a white dress shirt, the top couple of buttons undone, his rumpled black pants and jacket, military issued FBI boots, along with his shoulder holster, which was slightly askew because he’d already removed his weapon, and he was baffled as to why Derek was staring at him.

“Uh, Derek?” he said, snapping his fingers, and the alpha shook his head and said, “Yeah, I’m…you’re fine. What you’re wearing is just fine.”

Stiles looked back down at himself a second time, baffled, and then looked at what Derek was wearing and couldn’t help but smile and say as he noticed his outfit, “And you are looking like a dad going to a PTA meeting, oh my god, are you wearing loafers?” he exclaimed, unable to stifle a giggle as he saw the black leather on the man’s feet. Derek rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Stiles kept going.

“Not only loafers, but you’re wearing a belt that matches them, and is that a tailored sport coat that doesn’t quite match your pants with a pink shirt? Dude,” he put his hand on his shoulder, “I thought someone like you with a ton of money would be wearing Armani or something. But this…?”

He gestured up and down at his outfit and Derek glared at him, no longer staring at Stiles’ clothes and bit out, “I’m not Peter, I don’t care about expensive clothes. Now, get your ass in my car so we can go already. Like I said, what you’re wearing is fine. Though you might want to lose the shoulder holster,” he added, looking at his shoulder distractedly.

Stiles glanced down and shrugged, stepped back into the hallway to take off the holster and grab his phone and house keys, and then followed Derek out to his car. He still had the Camaro.

As soon as they had pulled out onto the main road, he asked, “So…Erik’s your boss, right?”

Derek nodded, eyes focused on the road.

“Yep. Good man, great architect. His partner’s name is Geoff, and they’ve been running the architecture firm for over fifteen years now. And they’re looking to take on a third partner,” he added lightly, and Stiles knew exactly what he meant.

“So, tonight is about showing off how amazing you are?” he said, trying to ease the tension that he could feel coming from him, but then saw his hands tighten on the wheel, so he quickly backpedaled with, “I’m not going to make fun of you tonight, Derek, I promise. I mean, I knew this was kind of serious, but I had no idea that you were trying to make partner. Now that I know, I will make sure to be on my best behavior, no matter what. Only good things, I promise.”

Derek’s fingers released their death grip on the wheel and Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief. Now that he knew just how serious he was about the evening, he quickly put aside any thoughts that he had of telling some of the man’s more embarrassing stories, instead focused on how he could show his bosses just how amazing he was.

When they pulled up the driveway to the house, Stiles let out a low whistle.

“Holy shit, they got money,” he said, slightly awed at the large, A-frame cabin that stretched out into one of those cabin McMansions that he’d only ever seen on Hallmark movies.

Derek nodded, pulled up behind a black Rolls Royce, and put the Camaro in park and then let out a long, nervous breath, glancing up at the windows of the house apprehensively. From where they sat, Stiles could hear the faint strains of holiday music on piano and could see the glimmer of Christmas lights in the windows. He watched as Derek swallowed, looking more nervous than he’d ever seen him before, so Stiles reached out and put his hand over his, trying to calm him down.

Derek’s eyes suddenly dropped to where Stiles had his fingers wrapped around his…and then took another breath and lightly squeezed his hand.

“Okay. I can do this,” he said, still sounding nervous, and Stiles corrected him, “We can do this, Der. Trust me. I’m going to be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

At that, the tension was broken and the alpha chuckled and shook his head and said, “Yeah, well you better, or else I’m gonna make your life a living hell. Now,” he squeezed his hand a second time, “How about we go on inside? Honey.”

Stiles let out a sound that was close to a laugh and gave him a fake, sweet look and said, “Of course, Der Bear.”

Derek groaned and Stiles grinned.

They pulled apart long enough to get out of the car, and then Stiles plastered himself to Derek’s side, tucking his right arm through Derek’s left and leaned into him as much as he could, enjoying every single second of being able to touch Derek as much as he’d always wanted to.

Just before they walked through the front door, though, Derek turned his head just enough to look Stiles in the eye and said, “You ready to be affectionate with me? ‘Cause as soon as we walk in there, they are going to be expecting us to act like a couple. So…you going to be okay with that?” and Stiles scoffed, arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Dude, listen to my heartbeat as I say these words: this is the best idea that you’ve ever come up and I can’t wait to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

He watched in amusement as Derek’s eyes widened at hearing the honesty and Stiles grinned and said, “Now take me inside, honeybuns.”

Derek laughed and pulled the door open, moving out of Stiles’ grip so that he could put his hand on his lower back to usher him through the door ahead of him, and Stiles preened under the intimate touch, wishing with all of his heart that it was real.

Erica’s words echoed in his head… I know he has feelings for you, Stiles. So, don’t fuck this up.

He swallowed, feeling his first twinge of nervousness.

He could do this.

The foyer alone was intimidating. The ceilings were, of course, vaulted, and swept up nearly twenty feet. He let Derek move him to the main room, where a whole lot of people in dressy clothes mingled. Before Stiles could take it all in, however, a man in a dark blue sport coat with a nicely trimmed beard walked over to them and said in a loud, friendly voice, “Hale! So glad you made it!” and then reached out and pulled Derek into a half hug.

Stiles watched in amusement as Derek tried to return it, though it was obvious to him that he was uncomfortable with it, patting him on the shoulder and saying, “Thanks for inviting me, Erik.”

Suddenly, Erik pulled back and said, “Oh, right, I forgot…no hugs. Sorry about that, just caught up in the holiday cheer. Is this the boyfriend we’ve heard so much about?” he asked, pointing at Stiles with the glass in his hand, looking curious.

Before Derek could say a word, Stiles stepped forward and said, “Stiles Stilinski, pleased to meet you.”

Erik gave him a solid handshake, looked him up and down and then looked back over at Derek and said, “You have good taste, Hale. Also,” he turned his attention back to Stiles, “Pleased to meet you. Feel free to tell us as many embarrassing stories about this man as possible. He’s so closed-lipped around the office, it’s a miracle that we even knew that he had a boyfriend. Of course,” he said giving a short chuckle, “That wasn’t too hard to figure out considering how much he talked about you.”

He lifted his glass to him in acknowledgement and Stiles couldn’t help but share a smile and say, “Yeah, well, not too surprised. I am a big part of his life, after all,” and gave Derek a shit-eating grin.

Derek just shook his head and reached over and gently tugged at his hand and Stiles found it remarkably easy to fall in next to him and let him lead him into the rest of the room, where he was introduced to at least twenty different people in under ten minutes, and he was pretty proud of the fact that he could remember all of their names.

Part of his training as an FBI agent was to be able to hold onto a lot of information in a short amount of time, and it was finally coming in handy.

Eventually, he let himself be split off from Derek and watched with a fond smile as Erik and Geoff flanked him on either side and started to talk with him in hushed tones, both of them smiling, while Derek attempted to smile, though he still looked like he had just been thrown into the lion’s den.

Stiles stifled a laugh at the sight, took a sip of the apple cider in his hand, and was taken off guard when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You must be Stiles, the boyfriend,” a feminine voice said, turning him around, and he found himself levelling his eyes at a lovely woman wearing a dark violet dress, and thick blonde hair spilled over shapely shoulders, showing off her stunning warm complexion and blue eyes. “I’m Jane Caruso, I work in Interior Design at the firm. My desk is right across from Derek’s,” she said, and Stiles could see the way that she was assessing him, a sharp glint in her eye as she looked him up and down.

He took another sip of his drink, making her wait for his response, putting her on the defensive (using his FBI training, yet again) and saw her shift uncomfortably as she waited for him to speak.

Finally, he said, “Yeah, I’m the boyfriend,” and extended his hand and gave her a polite handshake.

Not missing a beat, she held his hand for a moment longer than necessary and then leaned in and, glancing at him and then shooting a look over at Derek as she asked conspiratorially, “So, how the hell did someone like you snag a specimen like him?”

Without hesitation, he pulled his hand back and replied, “Oh, we’ve known each other since high school,” and then looked down at his drink, smirked, and the looked back up at her and said, as if he was embarrassed (though far from it), “Actually, I was the one in high school. I was sixteen, he was twenty…things really didn’t start until after I graduated, of course, but…you know how these things go,” he finished, taking another sip of the cider, enjoying the way her eyes widened and she leaned slightly away from him.

He had to withhold a laugh when Jane then said, sounding completely off-balance, “Oh, that’s…so you two have known each other a long time, then.”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, when we first met, we hated each other. I even got him arrested for something he didn’t do,” he said, laughing, looking over at Derek, knowing that the werewolf could hear every word of his conversation, and could see his jaw twitch, even from a distance, and he bit his lip, wondering how much he could get away with.

“You got him arrested?”

Stiles chuckled and then quickly amended, “Yeah, but I didn’t mean to. My dad can tell you what happened better than I can, anyway,” he said, knowing exactly what she was going to ask next.

“Your dad?” she asked predictably, and Stiles answered, “Yeah, the Sheriff. Noah Stilinski.” He threw her an easy smile, once more pleased at seeing her even more wary of him.

She then took a sip of her own cider and bit her lip…and after a moment she asked, “Son of the sheriff. That sounds like you had a lot of pressure on you growing up in Beacon Hills,” and he nodded, and then she said, obviously trying to throw him off balance once more, “What career path did you follow? Are you a deputy, on your way to follow in your dad’s footsteps?”

Jane then gave him a smug look and Stiles saw her once more eyeing Derek discreetly from the corner of her eye, and he withheld his idiotic grin and managed to maintain an almost bored tone as he answered, “Oh, no, local law enforcement wasn’t for me.” She smirked, looking like she’d won…and then he knocked her down with, “I’m a special agent for the FBI. We just started a new office right outside of Beacon Hills, and I run it with a few select agents. We cover mostly federal cases, but we help out the local law enforcement when they need it.”

He swore she went three shades paler and saw her almost choke on her sip and he shot a glance in his fake boyfriend’s direction and saw him roll his eyes up towards the ceiling, and Stiles knew that Derek was on the edge of coming over and pulling him away from her.

She managed to recover and then say, “You seem rather young for an FBI agent, let alone a special agent.”

He nodded, understanding, and explained, “I got into a training program right out of high school, so I did my schooling and training out at Quantico. Lot of work, but Derek was only a couple of hours away by train at NYU, so we made it work.”

He knew that Derek was still listening and felt a bit bad about saying it, but also thought it was a good reminder to the werewolf that he could have visited him and let him know he was alive.

Sure, it was petty, but ever since Stiles had found out, he’d felt like Derek had deliberately chosen to not contact him and it hurt.

He turned all of his attention to Jane, and gave her a smile as he said, “He’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know? I feel really lucky that we found each other when we did. I don’t think I would have gone into the FBI if I’d never met him,” he admitted, knowing that even from that distance, Derek could hear his heartbeat and how steady it was. “After getting him into so much trouble when I was in high school, like, so many times, I realized that I wanted to help innocent people stay out of trouble, so…I became a bit ambitious.”

At that, Jane seemed to soften a bit, giving him a hint of a smile, and then she commented, tapping her finger on the edge of her glass, “He does seem to bring the best out in people.”

Stiles nodded and smiled widely and said, unable to keep the pride from his tone, “He’s a hell of a great guy, and one of the best men I’ve ever known in my life.”

From where he stood, he could see Derek go a bit pink, and he smiled. Jane gave him one last look, said a polite goodbye, and then walked away back into the crowd, leaving Stiles to mingle with everyone else. He felt that he’d done a good job at keeping her at bay, so he turned up his charm as he mingled with the rest of Derek’s coworkers, finding out that a few of them knew Danny through a tech firm that the architects worked with.

Soon, he wasn’t even putting on any airs and was joking back and forth with a guy named Adam who worked security at the building, finding out that they were both die hard fans of DC and Marvel.

Right while they were in the middle of a discussion over the chemistry of Henry Cavill and Ben Affleck (which they both agreed was more than just platonic), Derek was right up behind him slipping an arm around his waist as if he’d done it a thousand times before, saying, “Please don’t tell me you’re talking about how Superman and Batman are gay for each other, again,” and Stiles grinned.

“Oh, we totally were, and we agree that Superman is definitely a bottom,” he admitted, and shared a laughing smile with Adam, who politely tipped his cup towards him and nodded in agreement.

Derek groaned and shook his head.

Stiles then asked, before he forgot, “So, how was it talking with Erik and Geoff?” and Derek let out a long sigh and Adam gave them both a knowing look, nodded and said, “Yeah, those two are intense. Amazingly brilliant, but intense. I’ll leave you two lovebirds, alone. See you at D&D night next Wednesday?” Adam asked as he stepped away, and Stiles nodded.

“Count on it, man!”

Derek shot him a look.

“D&D night? Do I want to know?”

Stiles gently nudged him with is elbow and said, “Dungeons and dragons, you plebe. Found out that they have a group that meets every week on Wednesdays, from seven to ten in the evening, and Danny is a part of it, too, so they invited me. It sounded like fun, so I said yes. Is, uh…is that a bad thing? Me making friends with people at your work?”

Derek opened his mouth as if to say something…but then he closed it.

And then he said, “No, not at all.”

There was a long moment of silence and then Stiles observed, “Uh, you still have your arm around my waist, Der…”

Derek’s eyes went wide, and it seemed that he was about to move, but then he just lightly squeezed Stiles’ hip and muttered, looking down at the cider in his hand, “Yeah, well…people are still here. Watching,” he added unnecessarily, unconsciously moving Stiles closer to him. He bit his lip, making sure not to point out what Derek was doing as he really didn’t want to stop it and wanted to savor the closeness for as long as he could, basking in the physical affection, even if it was fake.

Derek then said, “I noticed that you dealt with Jane. You handled that pretty well,” he said with a grin teasing at the corner of his lips.

Stiles chuckled.

“I totally got your back, Derek. She won’t be bothering you, anymore. Promise.”

He looked across the room, easily spotting her blonde hair and violet dress in the crowd…and made a sound of disbelief in the back of his throat as he saw her flirting with a pretty brunette in a blue dress. He nudged Derek a second time and discreetly pointed her out and snorted at the expression on Derek’s face.

And then he said, “Well…looks like I don’t have to worry about her, after all.”

Stiles laughed and let himself a little bit closer into Derek’s side, knowing that it wasn’t going to last forever. He saw several looks sent in their direction, but all of them were approving, as if they all liked Derek’s choice of boyfriend, and that made Stiles feel warm in his chest and wish even more that it was all real. Even though it wasn’t.

Still, as the evening progressed he became more and more comfortable with the way that he was allowed to reach out and touch the usually taciturn alpha, and he got to see Derek actually smile, and the first few times it was completely disorienting, but then he started to get used to it and was now determined to make sure that he was the one who was always making Derek smile, even if it was only as a friend, because it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

It was really nice to see that most of the people that Derek worked with all seemed to like him, and they all seemed to like Stiles along with him, and it was rather refreshing to not have the usual side-eye that Stiles had seen in the past from people who looked down on ‘alternative’ lifestyles.

Eventually, the evening started to wind down and Stiles was grateful that Erik and Geoff had kept the gathering non-alcoholic, which meant that no one was stumbling outside, and everyone was safe to drive home.

He and Derek were the last two to leave, as it was nearly thirteen thirty, Erik and Geoff leading them to the front door, thanking them both for coming. When Geoff pulled the door open for them, however, Stiles was surprised to see that it was snowing, and that a good inch was already on the ground.

Derek didn’t seem the least bit phased and so Stiles quickly deduced that he’d been aware of it because of his werewolf senses.

“Oh, wow, it’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” said Geoff, the tall, burly man leaning out the front door and looking up at the snow as it heavily fell, some of it landing on his head. He ducked back in, brushed it off his salt and pepper hair, and then remarked, sounding concerned, “Maybe it’s not all that safe to drive back. Derek, you have a Camaro, right?”

Stiles smiled when Derek nodded and then said politely, “Yes, but don’t worry, I have the snow tires on. I checked the weather before I came over tonight and knew what to expect.”

He then turned to Stiles and leaned in and pressed his lips to his temple and his left hand skated over Stiles’ hip, his thumb absently tracing the inside of his hipbone, an intimate gesture if he’d ever felt one, Stiles thought to himself.

“I’ll go get the car, you wait here,” Derek muttered, giving him a soft smile, and then he disappeared out into the snow-covered blackness, leaving Stiles to wait in the foyer with his two bosses, feeling even more off-kilter than before, butterflies suddenly flapping hard against the inside of his ribs.

Geoff chuckled at him and said, “Oh, I know that look. Totally besotted, am I right?”

Stiles shook his head, ducked his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, and then responded with, “Oh, you know…can’t get enough of him, right?”

Erik smiled and said, “Considering you guys have been together for a while, it’s rather refreshing to see that the spark still seems to be there. Hale’s a great guy, and I can easily see him becoming a more important part of the company down the road.” Stiles heard what he was implying, and he couldn’t help but feel excited for Derek. Erik then added, “He really came through on our last project. He thinks outside of the box and we need that kind of mindset to keep us from getting too stagnant in our work.”

Stiles couldn’t help but comment, “Yeah, that’s Derek, alright. He’s good at seeing new perspectives.”

They both nodded back at him.

Before anything else could be said, Derek had pulled up to the front door and Stiles couldn’t help but grin as he bolted out of the car and jogged up the steps to where Stiles stood and offered him his arm. Stiles felt his cheeks warm, and so he quickly followed after him, relieved when he settled warm and only slightly damp into the passenger’s seat.

Derek shifted the car into gear and as he navigated the roads that were just starting to get slippery, Stiles said, “Hey, so, Erik and Geoff pretty much told me without telling me that they’re definitely going to make you a partner at some point,” and was confused when Derek just simply hummed, “Oh, that’s nice,” his gaze still focused on the snow dusted road in front of him, and Stiles did a double take at his reaction, wondering what was going on with him.

What the heck? The whole point of Stiles going with him was to make sure that they made a good impression on the partners, and Derek was acting like he didn’t care.

Trying to get his attention, he reached out and squeezed Derek’s knee, and was amused when all Derek did was take one hand off the wheel to reach down and link his fingers with Stiles’.

He tried to brush it off like it was nothing, even though his heartrate had just jumped up to twice its normal speed, and said, “Not that the hand-holding isn’t great, Der, but…you do realize that we’re not back at the party anymore, right?” and it was rather amusing to see Derek glance down at his leg and then suddenly try to decide whether or not he should let go, and then finally say as he unlinked his fingers and patted Stiles on the back of the hand, “Sorry, just…habit already, I guess.”

At that, Stiles chuckled and couldn’t help but quip, “Aww, only one night and you’re addicted to me? Not that I blame you,” he drawled. “I was an amazing boyfriend, tonight. In fact, according to most of the people I talked to at the party, I am certifiably the best boyfriend ever,” he added, discreetly drawing his hand back over to his side.

Derek rolled his eyes and looked annoyed, but Stiles saw the smile at the corner of his mouth.

Deciding to push it a little bit further, he said, “Doug, the guy who helped with the electrical on your last project, said that you talked about me just a few days ago, saying something about my amazing test scores at the Academy?”

The alpha immediately countered with, “Hey, no, I was talking about how it was a freakin’ miracle that you even got into the Academy! Let’s clarify that,” he added, pointing a finger in the air.

Stiles just shook his head.

“Nah, you like me too much to complain about me,” and Derek bantered back, “Correction: you annoy me enough that I complain about you enough at work that they all think that I’m dating you.”

He laughed a second time and knocked his knee into his door and said, “They probably just think that you sound like an irritated boyfriend. Like, you complain all the time about me, but the way that you complain implies that you actually still really like me…”

His voice drifted, and then Derek said after a long moment, “I was ready to kill you tonight when I heard you tell Jane that you once got me arrested.” Stiles quickly went to defend himself, but then Derek cut him off with, “If I wasn’t so scared of her, I would have walked over there and dragged you out by the back your neck and tossed you out into the snow.”

Stiles snorted.

“I’m sorry, but I just find it hilarious that you, mister werewolf alpha, someone who has stared down an alpha pack and just about all of the scariest creatures that have ever gone bump in the night…are scared of a woman.”

Derek gave him a look, but turned his attention back to the road as he said, “You met Jane, right? She’s worse than an alpha pack all on her own,” and Stiles made a noise of agreement and said, “Okay, okay, no argument there. She was pretty terrifying…but I think I handled her pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

Derek nodded.

“Sure did. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Stiles waved his hand and said, “Ah, don’t mention it. It was kinda fun, actually. Never seen someone go pale so fast in my life, and I’ve intimidated wanted criminals in holding cells. This was definitely more fun,” he said with a grin.

He leaned further back in his seat and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence as Derek drove the rest of the way to his house. Stiles, though still a little bit worried about the snow, found his thoughts drifting to the young were-coyote staying with Derek’s pack, and wondered what they were going to be doing for Christmas, since it was only two days away. He thought about asking, but one glance at Derek’s profile had him questioning himself, so he said nothing.

The Camaro pulled up in front of the house and Stiles glanced at his phone and couldn’t help but say, “Hey, you even got me home before midnight. Such a gentleman.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but the effect was ruined by the way his lips twisted up into a fond smile as he did.

Stiles grinned, feeling smug, but then Derek reached across the seat, his shoulder and upper back pressed firmly into Stiles’ chest as he opened his door for him, and said, “Get out before I toss you and your glass slippers out into the snow, Stilinski.”

Once he felt his heartbeat pick back up (because he was positive that it had stopped when Derek was pressed up against him), he nodded and got out of the car. Before he closed the door, however, he braced his hands against and leaned down and said, “In all honesty, I had a great time tonight, Derek. I’ll gladly be your fake boyfriend anytime you need it, man. Just give me at least a few days’ notice and I’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever.”

Derek gave him a look, using just his eyebrows, and Stiles quickly pulled back.

“Alright, alright! I’m going! Drive safe!”

He slammed the door and then jogged up the front walk and sighed in equal parts relief and disappointment when he closed the front door behind him, leaning against it as soon as he stepped inside.

It had been both the best and worst night of his life. He had been surrounded by Derek’s scent the entire evening, as well as his touch, and the memories of those soft, intimate touches would linger with him for a long time afterwards…but at the same time, it had been a living hell, knowing that the alpha was only doing it because he had made a promise to his bosses.

“God, you royally fucked up this time, didn’t you, Stiles?” he muttered to himself, dragging himself up the stairs to his room.

Just as he stepped inside, however, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Who the hell was texting him at midnight?

He looked at his glowing screen and groaned.

Erica.

He swiped the screen and looked at her message and smiled, despite his annoyance, when he read, did u kiss him under the mistletoe? if u didn’t, I will totally kill u and blame it on Liam. bdubs, the new kid, Lance, is a total sweetheart, but super scared of me…, and in a second text, he likes everyone else, tho, and Stiles’ finger hovered over the screen as he thought about how to answer her.

Finally, he texted back, didn’t kiss him, but there was groping of a sort. glad Lance is getting along with everyone. give him time, he’ll love you, too, I’m sure of it.

He then put his phone down long enough for him to strip down and then flopped on top of his covers in his boxers and the undershirt that he’d worn under his dress shirt all day and that entire evening, settling in for at least a half hour of texting. He could have showered, and probably should have, but he didn’t want to remove the smell of Derek’s cologne, just yet, and he knew that made him come across as weird and possibly slightly creepy, but he didn’t care. He lifted part of the shirt to his face and took a deep breath.

It smelled like pine and woodsmoke, with just a faint hint of spearmint and apple cider. The scent was permanently etched into his memory.

A minute or so later, Erica texted back.

how could u not kiss him??? r u mentally ill?? he dressed up for u!!! he even wore nice smelling stuff, and Stiles snorted at the way she texted. She was a year older than him, and still texted like a thirteen-year-old girl and he found it simultaneously annoying yet endearing.

He waited a moment, trying to figure out what to say, and then typed back, can you just not push it? he was a total gentleman and I helped with a couple of problems. but he doesn’t see me that way, woman, my life is not a hallmark christmas movie, and he smiled at his witty response. He made himself more comfortable on the bed and started to flip through a couple of other apps as he waited for her reply, knowing she would probably blow up at him in spectacular fashion, as she usually did when he pushed her buttons like that.

So, he wasn’t all too surprised when she texted back a few minutes later with, but it *could* be a hallmark christmas movie! just a little nudge and u 2 could be fucking like bunnies in ur childhood bedroom on christmas morning!

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, Erica?” he muttered to himself as he finished off the conversation with, thank you so much for that disturbing image of my childhood bed, with that, i am going to bed. night.

His phoned dinged one more time.

Coward.

He rolled his eyes again, but then turned off his phone and settled in to go to sleep. He didn’t have work in the morning, and so he was going to sleep in as late he wanted to.

Chapter 3

He slogged down to breakfast at nearly eleven and his dad shot him an amused look as he poured him a cup of coffee, and then said as he handed it to him, “Late night?”

Stiles heard the tone in his voice and rolled his eyes and said, “For your information, I was back by midnight, and I went to bed shortly after. There was no drinking, just a lot of socializing,” he explained, and then yelped as his dad suddenly took the mug away from him.

“What the hell was that for?” he said, his voice far too high-pitched for his liking, and his dad shot him yet another look and replied, “I only gave it to you because I thought that you were hungover. Since you’re not, you can pour your own coffee,” and then went and sat down at the table with a plate loaded with food that he definitely shouldn’t be eating, but Stiles couldn’t find the energy within himself to argue about it, so he decided to simply ignore it and get on with what was left of his morning.

Just as he was finishing breakfast, his dad asked, “Have you figured out what to do with the kid?”

Stiles let out an aggrieved sigh.

“More or less, yeah.”

He pushed his mug to the side and explained what he had gotten done the day before.

“Instead of trying to go through official channels, I dug through the werewolf leads and think I found who the werewolf was that killed Lance’s parents,” he said, and he saw his dad’s eyes widen in shock that he’d found it out so quickly. Stiles really didn’t want to explain the dirty details, so he waved a hand and said, “Yeah, I know, it’s freaky that I found it out so quick, but let’s just say that emissaries keep track of that sort of thing, and there aren’t that many packs left east of the Rockies, so it wasn’t all that hard to find out.”

He rolled his head on his neck and added, “Ever since Deaton left, he left me a list of emissaries around the country that I could contact should the need arise, and I managed to find out that there isn’t a pack in the northeast…but that there is one just over the border in Canada. So, I did a little bit of searching and think I found the rogue werewolf. His name’s Reynault.”

His dad simply gave him a long look and then said, sounding nervous, “Please don’t tell me you’re going after him yourself,” and Stiles quickly shook his head.

“Oh, hell no. Don’t worry about me, pops. He’s already being tracked by the pack in Tennessee. Talked to Heather, their emissary,” he said, picking at the edge of the table with his thumb, “And she said that they’re closing in on him. Apparently, Reynault is a rogue from a Canadian pack that used to have land that went down into the northeastern part of the U.S. and he is determined to keep it as part of the original land, though no one else from his previous pack approved of it.”

His dad then leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug, and said, “Aren’t territory disputes meant for emissaries? Like, what you’re supposed to be doing? I mean, why go after a couple and their kid? They weren’t even werewolves. What’s the logic behind that?”

Stiles let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Werecoyotes’ territory constantly shifts from place to place, unlike werewolves, who settle and put down roots.” He began to motion with his hands, and said, “Usually the packs ignore them because they’re so transitory, nomadic, and tolerate them being on their land without any issues…but Reynault has it in his head that they were infringing on land that belonged to his pack. Apparently, the Quebec pack found out what he did and kicked him out. He didn’t care.”

The silence that stretched between them was tense, and Stiles knew that his dad was about to say something about staying safe.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“Kid, I know that you’re an agent in the FBI and an emissary and all that amazing stuff that makes me incredibly proud to be your father, but this…this sounds really, really dangerous.”

Without missing a beat, Stiles said, “That’s why I’m handing it off to the Tennessee pack. Heather, their emissary, is going to help them take care of it. She’s an old hand at this sort of thing, and I trust that she can catch him and put him in his place. They have a good alpha, too. Rachel Heartwood. They’ll find him.”

His dad nodded, and then stood and moved to walk out of the kitchen, but then paused and stood next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and then squeezed it tightly.

“You’re doing good, kid,” he murmured, and then walked out, leaving Stiles with a faint smile on his lips.

They weren’t huge on affection, but Stiles knew how his father showed how much he loved him and that was more than enough. He smiled to himself and then got up and put together a plate from the leftovers of what his dad had already cooked. It was nearly noon, so he considered it a brunch, so he purposely decided to finish off the rest of the bacon so that there was nothing left for his dad. He didn’t need to clog his arteries anymore and Stiles wasn’t going to let him put himself in an early grave.

Just as he was finishing up his food, his mind still flashing back to the night before, remembering every touch on his skin…his phone buzzed.

He checked the screen.

Erica.

Oh, boy, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy for her on the Eve before Christmas…but he answered it, anyway, immediately regretting saying hello when the first words out of her mouth were, “Stiles! You have everything you need to make cookies, right?” Dear god, what was it now? “Oh, who am I talking to, of course you have cookie mix. Right, well, Derek, Lance, and I are coming over! See you in a few minutes!” she rambled out before he could get in a word edgewise.

Just as he was about to reply, she hung up and Stiles groaned.

He leaned back in his chair and yelled up to his dad, who had gone upstairs, “Yo, pops! Erica and Derek are coming over, along with the kid, and, apparently, we’re baking cookies. You don’t mind us taking over the kitchen for a few hours, right?”

“As long as you clean up after yourselves and save me a few!” he yelled back down to him, and Stiles nodded.

Fair enough.

He ambled back into the kitchen and checked the pantry and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that they had everything they needed to make cookies from scratch. Rubbing a hand over his face, he started to pull it all out and had only just started to set it up when he heard the front door open and close, and couldn’t help but yell out, “Erica, you have to learn how to knock!”

She appeared in the kitchen doorway, hanging off the frame with a shit-eating grin on her face and said, “Aw, but what would be the fun in that? Oooh, is that the stuff for the cookies?”

Lance was right behind her, sticking close to Derek’s side and he gave the kid a reassuring smile before looking up at Derek and giving him a smile, as well. The alpha returned his look and patted Lance on the shoulder as they shuffled into the kitchen, Derek then saying, “I apologize for her. But it’s not like I really have any control over her,” he said sounding genuinely frustrated, giving her a slight glare, to which she replied with sticking her tongue out at him and Lance giggled at her.

Stiles smiled at seeing the kid already relaxing and then showed him where the baking sheets were and had him help with making the cookie dough.

As they started pulling everything out for the cookies, Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “Is there a reason why you aren’t doing this back at the house?”

Derek and Erica shared a look over Lance’s head, and then Derek explained, irritation in his voice, “Well, we would have, but it seems that Isaac and Liam got into the frozen cookie dough in the freezer two nights ago and ate it all. So, we had nothing left to make the Christmas cookies with, and I didn’t have the ingredients to make them from scratch. When we went out for ingredients, we found that most of the grocery stores are closed already, so Erica suggested that we call you. Next thing I know,” he added, sounding thoroughly annoyed, “She’s making me drive over to your house.”

He then shrugged and apologized.

“Sorry for crashing in on you like this,” and Stiles quickly brushed it off and said, “Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it, sourwolf.”

He then looked back down at Lance, who had finished mixing the ingredients and was looking up at Stiles questioningly, as if asking him what he was supposed to do next. With a smile, Stiles showed him how to roll out the dough and then cut out the different shapes with the cookie cutters.

Pretty soon, Erica and Derek were helping the kid, as well, and Stiles pulled back slightly so that the three of them could spend more time bonding with the young werecoyote.

He found it amusing that every time that Lance said something, or Erica did, Derek was translating for each of them, and Stiles tried very hard to tamp down on his reaction to hearing him speak Spanish so fluently. He never knew he had a thing for other languages. Or maybe it wasn’t languages, but Derek. Watching the alpha gently reprimand Erica as she tried to steal a bite from the batter and then gently say something to Lance in Spanish…well, it was definitely doing something to him, somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

His dad poked his head in at once point to tell him he was going to do a couple of hours of paperwork back at the station, and Stiles nodded him off.

By that point, they had the first batch in the oven and had already started making the next batch. They had to make enough for the entire pack, of course, so Stiles estimated that they would be making at least three more batches, because he knew what the wolves’ appetites were like.

He eventually pulled out a couple of phrases he remembered from a Spanish class that he had taken way back in his freshman year of high school and laughed when Lance had to correct his pronunciation.

At some point while they were making cookies, Stiles ended up between Derek at Lance at the kitchen island, while Erica stood on the other side of Lance, getting Spanish lessons.

“Una galleta,” Lance said, pointing at one of the cookies on the tray and Stiles chuckled when he heard Erica try to repeat the word, not even coming close to rolling the double L sound correctly, and Lance laughed, and then Erica said, “Cookie.”

They were surprised when Lance smiled, picked it up and looked at her and said, “Good cookie?”

She smiled and nodded.

Without thinking about it, Stiles leaned slightly into Derek’s shoulder, forgetting that the closeness that they had shared last night at the party wasn’t allowed anymore, and he was just about to apologize and pull back, but then Derek’s hand reached up and stroked his lower back, so he took a risk and stayed where he was. Derek didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss, so Stiles said nothing, just soaking it in as much as he could until the alpha came to his senses.

And then Erica looked over at them and shot a smirk in Stiles’ direction. He felt his cheeks heat up, and so he ducked his eyes and quickly pulled away from the casual embrace under the guise of going to the fridge to get something to drink, and then offered everyone else something as well in order to keep himself occupied.

Eventually, they had done five batches in total. Stiles threw them all into two large tupperware containers (with a few set aside for him and his dad), with the promise that they would be returned to him.

Just as they left, Stiles held Derek back for a moment and asked, “Is he doing okay? I mean, is the pack treating him right?”

Derek nodded.

“Yeah, they really seem to like him. Apparently last night was a huge success because when I got home, I found them all sprawled over the couch in a massive pile, Lance right in the middle, watching the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. He seems to like Liam the most,” he added with a soft smile. “I’m just glad he feels safe with us.”

Stiles nodded back at him and then lightly punched him on the shoulder and said, “Now get out of here and go celebrate the holiday with your pack. I’ll bring by your present sometime tomorrow, after dad and I open up our own presents, okay?”

Derek nodded and then quickly headed back to the Camaro, where Stiles could hear Erica and Lance arguing, Lance going off in rapid Spanish while she just shook her head and yelled back at him in English.

Yeah, he was going to be just fine.

--

Stiles had thought about telling Derek about what he’d found out but had then decided that it could wait until after Christmas. Besides, he wanted to get a confirmation from Heather before telling him what he knew, because he knew that if he told the alpha about Reynault then he wouldn’t care whether or not it was Christmas, he would leave to go and hunt him down himself, and Stiles didn’t want to take away from their well-deserved holiday cheer.

Instead, he finished putting the last couple of presents for his dad under the tree, and then made up a batch of eggnog that would appeal to both of them.

At around four, his dad was back home, and Stiles managed to convince him to sit down for a while to relax and have some eggnog and a couple of cookies.

When the sheriff coughed at the first sip, he smirked, knowing that he’d made it just right.

They then did their usual tradition and ordered a meat lovers pizza and put Die Hard into the blu-ray player, which they both firmly believed was definitely a Christmas movie. It had become a tradition back when Stiles was only twelve, and it was something that they enjoyed doing together every single Christmas Eve. Their biggest meal of the holiday, though, was always lunch on Christmas day.

They always piled up with heavy foods and it was the one time of year where Stiles didn’t get on his dad’s case about his diet. Instead, he let him indulge, and though they had never invited anyone to their exclusive Christmas lunch, Stiles had the faint inkling that this year his dad wanted to invite Melissa over. He knew that it should bother him a little bit, but the truth was that he was thrilled that his dad had found someone special in his life, and he couldn’t think of anyone better than Melissa. She had practically been a second mother to him over the years, after all.

Just as they had completely settled and were more than halfway through the movie, Bruce Willis giving his famous line from the vents, Stiles phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, and he looked at the number and recognized the Tennessee area code and quickly stood up and said, “Dad, I have to take this.”

He quickly ducked into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Stiles, this is Heather. I thought about e-mailing or texting you, but I then I realized that a phone call would be best. We’ve got him.”

Suddenly his shoulders dropped, and tension that Stiles didn’t even realized he was holding fell from him almost instantly and he let out a sigh of relief and slumped against the fridge, resting his forehead on the cool metal, and breathed out, “Oh, thank god. You have him contained?” he couldn’t help but ask.

She quickly answered, “Inside a room made from mountain ash, inside of a mountain ash circle, with mistletoe vines in the ground. Reynault isn’t going anywhere, Emissary Stiles,” she added with a smile in her tone, and he chuckled at the way she so formally addressed him, and he smiled and replied, “You have no idea how good this makes me feel. Knowing that he’s locked up and not getting out is the best Christmas present you could have given me. By the way, did you contact--?”

“Yes, we contacted him. He says he’s taking care of everything back in Maine and in D.C., and that it should all be taken care of before tomorrow morning.”

Stiles let out another sigh of relief and slowly stood back up, lightly tapping the palm of his hand to the counter, and then he said, “I’ll tell Derek and Lance tomorrow. They’ll be so relieved. I mean, he only just got here, but I think Derek really likes this kid. And he really likes Derek, too.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “Well, like I said. It’ll all be taken care of. Have a Merry Christmas, Emissary Stiles.”

“Please, call me Stiles. You keep calling me by my title and it’ll go straight to my head, just ask my fellow FBI agents,” and at that, she laughed and politely replied, “Fine, then. Stiles. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

And with that, they hung up, and Stiles felt a lightness that he hadn’t felt in a couple of days…except perhaps at the party the night before. He couldn’t wait to tell Derek, but he didn’t want to ruin their pack Christmas, so he would wait until he dropped by later tomorrow with his presents. They deserved to at least have a little bit more time together. He wasn’t sure how Lance would react to hearing the Reynault was no longer a problem, so he decided to play it safe for now.

He walked back into the living room and was surprised to see that his dad had paused the movie. He looked up at him curiously when he walked back in and asked, “Who was that? Sounded serious.”

Stiles nodded and then sat back down.

“Yeah, that was Heather, the emissary for that Tennessee pack I told you about. They, uh…they caught him. They have Reynault completely secure and he will face charges properly in werewolf style law,” he answered, knowing that that most likely meant that he was either going to be killed or permanently contained, though it all depended on him.

The sheriff arched an eyebrow, but instead of saying anything about it, he nodded and started the movie back up. Traditions had to be upheld, after all.

--

Stiles was startled out of his sleep at three am on Christmas morning, his phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand, and he blearily reached for it, silently praying that it wasn’t Erica calling. He could probably deal with anyone but Erica at that point. He loved her, but she was a menace.

“’lo?” he said, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes, rolling back over to his back.

“Hey, Stilinski. Have some good news for you.”

Oh, he knew that voice.

He blinked a couple of times, and then said, “Agent Davis? Is that you?”

“Yeah, sorry for waking you up at…oh, god, three am, I’m sorry, I totally forgot how early it is back in California,” his friend back at Quantico said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But I took care of handling the information about Reynault. According to the FBI, he no longer exists and the attack on the parents was an animal attack, and the child has been declared dead. How does Lance Hale, sound?”

At that, Stiles shot up in his bed and stared straight ahead in shock, not quite sure that he had heard what he’d just heard. He knew that Agent Connor Davis was good, but this was far above and beyond what he had expected.

He gaped for a moment, and then finally got out, “Oh my god, Connor, I don’t know how the hell you did this, but this…this is freakin’ amazing, man! He’s, he’s…he’s already connecting with Derek and the pack and now he has a place if he wants it, and…seriously! How the hell did you pull this off so fast?” he asked a second time, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his emissary friend at the FBI had just pulled off the biggest Christmas miracle of all time.

Connor answered, “Well, let’s just say that I friends that owe me quite a few favors and I cashed them in because this seemed like a good time for it. Lance deserves to have someplace where he can feel safe. No one deserves to go through that kind of trauma…”

His voiced drifted and Stiles couldn’t help but say, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The line went quiet for a moment, taking it all in, and suddenly he felt like he needed to tell Derek at that very moment…but it was still just after three in the morning, and he had the feeling that the werewolf wouldn’t appreciate being woken up in the dead of night right before Christmas morning. He bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth, trying to figure out just what to do.

Before he could get too worked up about it, however, Connor said, “I’m sure that he’s exactly where he needs to be, Stiles. I know you and I trust your judgment. Besides,” he drawled, sounding far too smug, “From what I’ve heard about the Hale pack and from what you’ve told me about Derek, I bet Lance is making friends quickly. As are you.”

He heard the intonation in his voice and groaned and wondered if nearly everyone he knew was aware of the fact that he had a crush on Derek Hale.

Finally, he said, “Okay, look, yes, I like Derek but it’s not like that. I don’t know how many times I’ve told people this, but he doesn’t like me that way, so if you could just--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stilinski, just chill. I just think that you’re a little bit close minded and that it might not all just be on your side, you know? I keep in touch with other packs and other leaders, and quite a few of them have met Derek and have heard the way that he talks about you, and I’m just, you know…putting the pieces together,” Connor finished, and Stiles’ hackles lowered.

Oh. Wait…Derek talked about him? To other packs? How was he not aware of that?

Deciding he’d had enough emotional turmoil, he said, “Well, thanks for calling me. This is the best news, and I can’t wait to tell him. Thanks again, Connor.”

“No problem, Stilinski. By the way, don’t forget to check your e-mail.”

They hung up, and Stiles knew that he should go back to sleep, but he was suddenly wide awake and wired, and so he threw off his blanket and pulled on his old lacrosse hoodie and wandered over to his work laptop, pulling it out and flipping it open. He skimmed through his work e-mails, ignoring all of them except for the one that Agent Davis had just sent him.

He smiled as he read it, realizing that he needed to do something especially nice for the man because he had just somehow pulled off the impossible. He drafted a reply, trying to put as much gratitude into it as he could, needing Connor to know just how amazing he was. He’d met Agent Davis when he’d first gotten his job and the guy had immediately recognized a fellow emissary. Stiles had been startled to discover that there was someone else in the supernatural world that had chosen a job in law enforcement, but they’d quickly become friends.

He now had connections with the few packs that were out east because of the man and he was grateful for it, because they had all been far more helpful that Deaton had ever been and he stayed in touch with them through secure channels and used them as resources when things went weird in Beacon Hills, which happened more often than not.

After going through a few personal e-mails to a couple of emissaries, one in North Carolina and one in Ohio, he glanced at his phone to check the time.

It was just after six am. Too late to try and get more sleep, he knew, because his dad typically woke him up at around seven on Christmas morning, every year, without fail.

Letting out a long sigh, he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, wondering what his dad had gotten for him that year. Last year had been a set of leather holsters that he had ordered from a professional leather worker up in Wyoming, and he still used them. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got another gift that was in the same vein as the one before. Though his dad didn’t say it, he knew that he was proud of him getting into the FBI, and show tried to show it through the gifts he got him throughout the year.

Just as he felt himself starting to drift, though, he heard from his window--

“Hey, I need to talk to you--”

He opened his eyes just in time to reach out and catch the edge of his desk with his fingertips to keep himself from falling over, and then swung accusing eyes over in the direction of the voice, wondering what the hell Derek was doing there in his room at six fifteen in the morning. On Christmas morning. When he was supposed to be with his pack.

“Dude, what the hell, man?” he hissed out, keeping in mind that his dad was still asleep only a couple of doors down from his room. “How many times do I have to tell you that we have a front door and that you should use it? Also…what the hell?? It’s Christmas morning! Is there a reason why you’re over here scaring me out of my skin instead of back with your pack, dealing with sugary, hyped-up pups tearing into their stockings and presents and driving you up the wall??”

He evened out his breathing as much as he could as he brought the chair back to the floor, once more level, but he knew that he couldn’t hide from Derek just how fast his heart was racing. Normally, he would have been embarrassed, but considering what the alpha had just done, he felt it was entirely Derek’s fault.

Derek just gave him a once over and said, “Like I said, I need to talk to you. I’m worried about who went after Lance’s parents, and I think I should--”

Stiles quickly cut him off, waving a hand in the air and saying, “Dude, don’t worry about it, I’ve already taken care of it,” and at that, Derek’s brow furrowed, and he gave him a curious look, and Stiles realized how it sounded, so he quickly explained.

“Look, I was worried, too, so yesterday I used department resources, as well as a few of my own, and I tracked down the werewolf that killed his parents.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“Turns out he was a rogue from one of the Quebec packs who was acting outside the authority of the alpha, trying to claim it as a territory dispute. I managed to track him down to Tennessee and contacted the emissary there, and she just called me this evening to say that they’ve got him contained.” He paused to yawn, and then scratched his neck and said, “Also, I got a call from an agent friend back at Quantico who cut through all the shitty red tape and made it so that Lance Santiago and the man who killed his parents no longer exist.”

Derek, still partially perched on the sill of Stiles’ window, just looked at him with wide eyes, his mouth partly open, and Stiles was fairly certain that that had been his own expression when Connor had told him the news.

Finally, Derek breathed out, sounding incredulous, “How…how did you do all of this so quickly? I mean, tracking him down means…you would need…”

Stiles rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but quip, “Dude, did you never wonder how the hell I became a full-fledged field agent with their own field office at just twenty-four? With three paid agents who work under me, all of them older than I am?”

Derek came the rest of the way into the room and sat on the edge of Stiles’ bed, his brow still furrowed, and Stiles let out a long sigh, flipped his laptop closed, and then said, “Okay, apparently you had no clue, so looks like I’m gonna have to explain it to you,” and went and joined Derek on his bed, trying not to pay too close attention to the fact that all he wore was his boxers and that he hadn’t showered since the night that they had gone to the party.

“As soon as I started the internship, one of the agents took an interest in me and I quickly found out that he was an emissary.” Derek gave him a wide-eyed look and Stiles chuckled and said, “Yeah, I know, it totally took me off guard, too, but because he recognized my spark, don’t ask me how,” he quickly said, throwing a hand up to stop the alpha’s inevitable question, “I still don’t get it, myself. But he recognized it and immediately put me on the fast track to becoming an agent. Luckily, I passed most of the tests simply because I had the experience thanks to my dad and all of my adventurous teenage years in Beacon Hills.”

Derek then finally said, “Is he the same agent that you just mentioned? The one who cut through all the red tape?”

Stiles nodded.

“Yep. Connor’s a great guy,” he said, smiling fondly. “It’s because of him that I got this amazing job in the first place. It’s because of him I was able to come back home to work, instead of spending ten to twelve years back in D.C., trying to work my way up the daisy chain of bureaucrats to get to a job where I could finally choose where I wanted to work.”

Derek looked up at him at that, drawing his gaze away from the floor, and said a low tone, “I didn’t know that. I just…I guess I just thought you were that good, I guess.”

At that, Stiles laughed, though tried to still keep his voice down, remembering his dad was asleep, and said, “Wow, that’s, uh…super flattering, I guess, but no, sourwolf. Just got really lucky with the right person who got me where I could do the most good for the Agency. Not gonna lie, a lot of the cases I take I have to run supernatural interference, so my agents don’t wise up and find out what’s really going on out here near Beacon Hills.”

Derek’s brow softened and he gave Stiles a look that he couldn’t quite nail down.

Feeling a bit exposed, he quickly stood back up and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and said, “So, yeah. Lance is officially off the grid, so if you want to take him in, you can. In fact, how does Lance Hale, sound?”

At that, Derek looked up at him in shock.

“Lance…Hale? Do you mean…?”

Stiles shrugged, a bit nervous as he admitted, “Connor managed to change some records so that you have a baby brother who was adopted right before the fire.” He quickly told him everything that he’d read in the detailed e-mail that Connor had sent him right after their conversation. “He lives with you here in Beacon Hills and is now currently registered at Beacon Hills Middle School.”

Derek gaped up at him, and Stiles was even more confused when he suddenly surged to his feet in front of him and said in a breathless voice, “I don’t know how to thank you, or him, but I need to find a way…”

Stiles felt completely off-balance as Derek leaned into his personal space, their mouths shockingly close.

“Stiles…” Derek then suddenly stopped and took a deep breath, and then he leaned his head down and took another long deep breath through his nose, practically nuzzling into his neck, and then murmured into Stiles’ ear, “You’re still wearing the shirt that you wore under what you wore to the party,” and Stiles swallowed, unsure of what to do, so he remained stock still as Derek proceeded to do whatever he was doing. He then said, his lips brushing against Stiles’ jaw, “I wanted it to be real…”

What was he talking about? What did he meant that he wanted it to be real? He wanted what to be real--oh. Oh.

Oh.

As if he was acting on instinct, he brought his hands up and slipped them around the back of Derek’s neck and said, “Oh, god, so did I, but I thought that was probably pretty damn obvious, by now.” He heard Derek swallow and the alpha said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I wasn’t sure if it was real or if I was just imagining it, you know? I thought maybe because I wanted you to want me in the same way so bad, that I was imagining things…”

Stiles shook his head and slipped his fingers into the hair at the base of Derek’s neck and murmured right back at him, “You weren’t imagining things…”

That seemed to be the trigger, because suddenly Derek had pulled his head back and was pressing his lips to Stiles and he was melting under the sheer heat of him, turning his entire body so that he was pressed up against him from shoulder to thigh, and he didn’t think that he’d ever felt more comforted yet turned on at the exact same time.

And then, through a series of events that quickly became a blur, Stiles found himself on his back on his bed with Derek on top of him, hands sliding under his sweater to pull it over his head, and then was nuzzling his mouth and nose into his neck and down the center of the shirt, letting out these small little sounds that made Stiles think that he was fully embracing his wolf side and scenting him up and down like a wolf trying to claim its territory on a mate.

He was more than a little bit turned on, and then just about lost it when Derek’s tongue darted out and licked at his nipple through the shirt, and then sharply nipped at it, causing Stiles to yelp and squirm.

“Ah, Derek! What are you, what are doing,” he breathed out as he slid further down and traced his tongue across his exposed hip bone.

“I’m claiming you as mine,” he muttered into his skin. “I’m gonna mark you up and make you the prettiest present I’ve ever had in my life,” and Stiles’ eyes rolled up in the back of his head at the sheer amount of desire in his words. God, the threat of being bitten into and marked up by claws and teeth should not be that hot, Stiles thought to himself as Derek then lightly tugged on his boxers, exposing even more skin to his ever-questing tongue.

He slid his hand under Stiles’ hips and forced his legs apart and nosed down into the crevice of his hip and then let out a low hum that sounded like he was enjoying himself.

Stiles reached down and ran his fingers through the alpha’s hair and breathed out, “This is easily the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten, but Der…you’ve got pups waiting for you back at home,” but his admonishment went unnoticed as Derek reached between them and pressed warm fingers to Stiles’ erection, causing his brain to short circuit.

He bucked up into the grip, eyes rolling towards the ceiling, and then nearly passed out when he felt Derek’s tongue trace over him through the fabric of his boxers, and he heard him inhale deeply once more, and Stiles wondered what he smelled like to the alpha wolf, because however he smelled, it seemed to be bringing out every single part of Derek’s possessive side, because he growled, “Mine,” and then lightly suckled at the tip of his cock through his boxers and Stiles was certain that he was going to die from it.

But then the pressure suddenly went away, and he looked down, wondering why Derek had changed his mind and was blown away by look in his eyes as he stared up at him from between his legs.

“God, Stiles…you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he said, sounding completely breathless.

And then he moved up, his thighs still resting between Stiles’ legs, but now his chest covered Stiles’ as he reached back up for another kiss, and as he wrapped his arms around the alpha’s shoulders, he realized he never wanted to stop kissing him. Despite the promise of something more, all he really wanted to do at that moment was to continue to kiss him and hold him in his arms for as long as he could.

Derek slowly undulated against him, their cocks rubbing in just the right way, and Stiles gasped while Derek continued to kiss him, running his tongue down and over his neck, playfully nipping the entire time and he knew that he was going to end up with so many marks that it was going to look like he had barely won a fight against a very determined vampire with blunt teeth. Part of him, the part of his brain that was still working, was telling him to push Derek off and make sure he got back home, but another part of his brain, the much more selfish part, was telling him to never let him go and hold onto him as tightly as he could.

Torn between the two, he simply slid his hands down Derek’s back and then lightly squeezed when they got to their targeted destination.

Derek grunted and then thrusted hard against him when he did, causing Stiles to moan more loudly than he meant to.

He bit his lip and tried to remember that his dad was still asleep.

But then--

“Hey, kiddo, it’s time to get up for…”

They both froze and Stiles slowly turned his head to see his dad standing in the doorway of his room, one hand still raised as if he’d knocked on the door. Stiles then realized that he probably had, but he hadn’t heard it because he had been…occupied.

All three of them were frozen. And then his dad coughed, raised an eyebrow at them and said, “Uh, why don’t you come down a bit later. I’ll put some coffee on,” and he turned and left, muttering something under his breath as he walked back down the hall to the stairs, and Stiles was confused when Derek suddenly snorted then pressed his forehead to Stiles’ shoulder as his body shook with laughter, as if he was trying to contain his mirth at the whole situation.

Amused, but also annoyed, Stiles tapped his shoulder and said, “Alright, what gives? Being caught by my dad isn’t that funny, man…”

Finally, Derek caught his breath and looked back up at him and explained, “When your dad left, he said that he owed Melissa money.” Derek arched an eyebrow at him, as if trying to tell him to put the pieces together…which Stiles finally did.

“Hold up, are you telling me that…that the two of them were betting on when the two of us were going to get together?!”

Derek nodded and slowly rose up to his knees, so that his weight was no longer on top of his, and Stiles already missed it. He quickly sat up, as well, and then reached out and pulled Derek back to him with a hand around the back of his neck, stealing yet another kiss from him, and was pleased when the werewolf seemed almost breathless when they both pulled back from it what felt like ages later. He didn’t really want to stop kissing him, but he knew that he had to.

“So, uh…Merry Christmas,” he said, not sure of what else to say.

Derek gave him a long look…and then he reached over and cupped his jaw and Stiles couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

And then Derek said, “You were right, before. I need to be back with my pack. But…you’re still coming over later, though, right?” he asked, his tone unsure and Stiles quickly reassured him with, “Of course, I’m still coming over, sourwolf. I’ll just also be bringing an overnight bag,” he added with a smirk and Derek’s smile widened.

“Sounds great,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He then said, “By the way, I’m sorry I never told you I was okay or tried to visit you when you were at the Academy,” and Stiles felt his heart clench, and he just shook his head and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it, Derek. It wasn’t either of our faults. Just…bad timing.”

Derek nodded.

And then he moved to go back out the window, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Seriously?” he drawled, gesturing widely with his hands. “After all this, and you’re still going to go out through the window? We are fully grown adults, Derek, you can go out through the front door like a big boy,” he said, arching an eyebrow at him, and Derek gave him a look over his shoulder and replied, “I like doing it this way. Makes me feel like I’m making for the years we lost when neither of us acted on our feelings. We have time to be adults later,” he said, completely taking Stiles off guard.

Feeling a sudden surge of affection towards him, he bolted to his window and planted a hot, wet kiss right on Derek’s mouth, feeling a rush of hormones as he then whispered against his lips, “In that case, when can we park your car on some back road and christen the back seat of the Camaro?”

Derek grinned.

“How about New Year’s Eve?”

Stiles grinned.

“It’s a date.”

And with that, Derek lightly jumped to the ground and Stiles stared for a moment, watching him take off back home, looking forward to going over later in the day to see him and the pack. This was the best Christmas ever, he thought to himself as he tugged on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, noting the stain on the front from where Derek had…yeah.

Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the inappropriate thoughts before he went to spend the morning with his dad, he grabbed his phone and tucked it into his hoodie and sauntered down the stairs, ignoring the smug smirk on the corner of his dad’s lips as he handed him a mug of coffee. The two of them sat on the floor next to the tree and Stiles handed over his present and eagerly ripped at the paper on his own, wondering what his dad had gotten him that year.

“Are you serious?” he said as he pulled out the matching hat and jacket, both with the Mets logo on them, and he saw the scrawl of a familiar signature on the back of the cap and the shoulder of the jacket. “How the hell did you get this?”

His dad shrugged and grinned and answered, “Let’s just say that you’re not the only one who knows people, kid.”

Stiles laughed, pulled his dad into a strong, back breaking hug, and then slid the jacket on, thrilled with how well it fit him.

He then gestured at his dad as he tugged on the cap and said, “C’mon, open up your present, don’t leave me hangin’,” and then smiled when his dad finally pulled off the wrapping on the present that Stiles had spent a total of two minutes wrapping. He smiled even wider when his dad let out a sound of surprise at what he found.

“I’m not going to ask how you got it, I’m just going to say thank you,” he said, pulling out his pocketknife and opening the box, pulling out the brand-new leather jacket with a blue and red leather stripe down the front right side. It was an exact replica of one from a tv show that he’d loved when he was younger, and Stiles was glad that he was finally able to afford to spoil his dad for once. The look on his face as he put the jacket on over his t-shirt was priceless.

But then his dad’s smile turned into a smirk and he said, “So, you and Derek…”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Oh, god, do we have to have this conversation right now? It’s bad enough that you saw us…you know, the way that you saw us. By the way,” he quickly added, pulling the coat and hat back off and putting them back into the box, “Derek told me what you said, about how you owe Melissa money. You two bet on us?”

He wasn’t proud of how his voice cracked slightly as he said it, but then his dad chuckled and shook his head and said, “Yeah, we did. I know you, Stiles. I’ve known for years that you’ve had a crush on the guy. Why do you think I was on your case when you and Scott first met him? I know all the signs of a repressed crush turned into fake anger. You kept on going on and on about how you hated him, and then when you came back and Derek asked you to be his emissary, well…I knew it was just a matter of time.”

Stiles smiled at that, but ducked his eyes, feeling his face go slightly warm.

And then his dad added, pointing a finger at him, “That doesn’t mean I want to walk into what I just saw earlier, again. If you’re gonna do…that…then do it somewhere else. Understood?”

Unable to help himself, Stiles said, “Oh, we’ve already got a date tonight, and for New Year’s Eve, we’re christening the Camaro,” and grinned when he saw his dad make a face and let out a disgusted sound. He may have been an adult, but that didn’t mean he had to be mature.

“Gee, thanks for that imagery, kid.”

“You’re welcome, pops,” he said, reaching out and playfully batting him on the arm.

They then shared one last smile and headed off to the kitchen for breakfast.

Yeah.

Best Christmas ever.

[hajimewhore]

Falling ⛈️ (Matsukawa Issei/Reader)

on [Ao3]

➸Rated T, fem!Reader, 7k+words    ➷Part 1 of the Haikyuu Song Fic Collection    ➷Angst, depression, fluff, humor, Makki is bestest friend   ➷When you met Matsukawa for the first time, you were immediately drawn to him. He’s tall, handsome, has a mysterious air to him. The more you got to know him, the more you saw firsthand how caring, loving, and passionate he could be.

After getting to know him longer, you also began to see how self-deprecating and hard on himself he could be.

[Masterlist] [part 2]

A/N: This is the first part of a two part Matsukawa/Reader piece! It’s also my second fic here, and the first entry to the song fic collection I’ll be doing. Per the title, it’s based on Harry Styles, Falling, ENJOY! ♡

Hanamaki Takahiro, previously ‘between jobs’, was a classmate of yours that recently started working at the restaurant you served at. It was upon your recommendation, something you might’ve come to regret given how much of a smug bastard he could be. Regardless, you enjoyed his company, and morale was boosted whenever he worked.

Currently, you find yourself taking back that sentiment.

The entirety of your Saturday night shift was spent with Hanamaki hovering around you, attempting to convince you to come out to drink with some of his friends and other coworkers.

And by the time you clocked out to get the hell home, Hanamaki was perched at the break table outside ready to pester you some more.

“Hanamaki, can I at least go home and change first?”

You whine, folding your apron and tucking it under your arm.

“No way, that’s the classic ‘I’m just going home to change but I’m actually going to stay in and “forget” to text you’ move, I’m not buying it.”

He loosens his tie with a knowing look, and you grimace at how easily he caught on to your plan. You make sure to chalk ‘perceptive’ before ‘smug bastard’ in your mental description of Hanamaki.

“Besides, there’s a perfectly fine sweater in your backseat and I know you’ve got an extra set of shoes somewhere in there.”

You trudge to said car, regretting giving him a ride to work the other day. You swing open the door with a little more drama than intended, before tossing your apron carelessly to the passenger side.

“I’ll make it up to you, how about next week?”

“Don’t be like that. It’s the weekend, enjoy it before Monday is here.”

He leans back against his car parked besides yours and you sigh. You just finished exams, so you don’t have any material to study. And you haven’t spent much time with your coworkers outside of work. One or two drinks wouldn’t hurt.

And judging by the way Hanamaki is looking at you expectantly, he already knows you don’t have a shift tomorrow or any plans.

“Fine!”

You huff, taking a seat behind the wheel. Hanamaki tilts his head in your line of view to flash a bright smile,

“Great, see you there!”

Perceptive smug bastard.

Downtown is lively tonight, you note, but luckily you were able to snag a good spot close to the bar. Hanamaki should be grateful you didn’t have to circle around for spaces or park by some seedy alley or lot. You might’ve just ditched him if it came to that.

Then again, you’d never hear the end of it if you did.

When you check your phone, you scowl at the texts in your work group chat.

Kazami- Can’t make it, I got a shift in the morning! Hashira- me either :( Hanamaki- laaaaame Iwasaki- sorry man, next week?

“Those flakes!”

You lock your phone without replying. You can’t exactly blame them, you heavily considered bailing too. Hanamaki just happened to be enough of a persistent, perceptive, smug bastard. You note the addition of ‘persistent’ to the growing list of adjectives that describe Hanamaki.

You trudge along the street, dreading the intense socializing you’re about to go through. Since the aforementioned flakey coworkers won’t be there, Hanamaki is the only person you’re going to know.

He’d mentioned some of his friends from high school were meeting up, and that he hadn’t seen some of them in awhile. If you had one, you’d bet your left nut that Hanamaki was going to forget to talk to you and give them all his attention.

You steel your resolve as you step into the bar, scanning for that obnoxious strawberry blonde. Is he not here yet?

You shoulder past some strangers, stealing a seat at the bar. You might as well grab something if you have to wait on him.

“Baybreeze please,”

You smile at the bartender, who nods and promptly snags the liquor off the glowing shelves. You watch, momentarily mesmerized by the shifting colors illuminating the liquor and sleek countertops.

He places the cocktail onto a beer napkin, and you hand him your card to close the order.

Where the fuck is Hanamaki?

You pull out your phone to check for any texts, sipping at the drink.

Your brows furrow, nothing from him. You shoot him a text asking if he made it yet, and he’s quick to respond that he’s looking for parking.

You scowl, the night hasn’t technically started if he’s not here yet, and the dread you were feeling before doubles.

“Here you are, miss.”

When the bartender hands your card back you note there isn’t any receipt.

He shrugs at the questioning look you give him,

“Guy over there covered it.”

He tilts his head and you follow his eyes to the other end of the counter.

You blink when you catch the gaze of the culprit.

He’s tall with dark hair, his curls are perfectly styled tapering to the right side of his face, dark eyes to match. He’s illuminated by the neon colors adorning the bar, highlighting his sharp jawline. You feel a bit nervous under that sharp gaze, and a little lightheaded at the smile he flashes. Did you mention he was really tall?

You flush when he rounds the bar and makes his way towards you.

“Hey.”

A simple introduction, his voice is deep and it sends a shiver down your spine. He cops the empty seat beside you and you find yourself straightening your posture.

“Hey. You didn’t have to buy my drink, you know.”

You take a sip from the cocktail to busy your hands with something.

“I needed a good icebreaker.”

He shrugs, taking a swig from his own beer.

“I think ‘Hey’ is just fine.”

You tease and he laughs lightly at that, and the sound of it alone makes you blush. Hopefully you can blame it on the alcohol.

“Meeting someone?”

He raises a thick brow, and you can tell he’s testing the waters with you.

“Ah, yeah. My friend is on his way right now.”

Though if Hanamaki is inevitably going to ditch you for his other friends, you might as well see where this road is taking you.

You note the contemplative flash on his face and you feel the intense need to clarify,

“Just a friend. He’s my coworker.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes shine at that, and you can’t help but feel a little excited by the way he’s so interested in you already.

“Noted.”

“So—“

You pause, realizing you don’t even know how to refer to tall, dark, and handsome,

“Sorry, I don’t even know your name,”

You introduce yourself and a grin spreads across his cheeks, laughing again. He places an elbow on the counter and rests his chin against his palm, and you once again note how attractive he looks with the shifting colors of the bar highlighting his features like a silver lining on a cloud.

“No, that’s my fault. I should’ve probably started with that. I’m—“

“MATSUKAWA!”

His eyes widen briefly before lifting his head from his palm to see whoever yelled that at the top of their lungs.

You follow the familiar voice to the best of your ability through the cacophony of voices and music, to see none other than your favorite bastard coworker, Hanamaki.

He quickly makes his way before you, slinging his arm around presumably ‘Matsukawa’. He also makes great work of physically and mentally cutting off the momentum that was building between the two of you.

....don’t get the wrong idea though, you are still very, very, interested in who this guy is exactly.

“Hanamaki!”

You both voice at the same time, and the two of you share an equally confused look.

“I see you’ve already met my friend,”

Hanamaki comments so very astutely, and you’re not quite sure which person he’s referring to. He raises a brow at the fact the two of you are sitting together, mid conversation before he barreled in.

At this current moment you’d like nothing more than to swipe that shameless and knowing look of his face.

“This is Matsukawa Issei. He’s one of the friends I told you was coming tonight.”

Hanamaki continues, he pats his shoulder roughly and Matsukawa slaps him on the back to return the gesture.

“Nice to meet you, Matsukawa.”

You smile, and he glances over with those dark eyes you’d love to get lost in if Hanamaki wasn’t here to ruin your fun.

“Likewise.”

A similar shy smile crosses his lips, and it almost looks out of place on his striking features.

“Did Makki seriously just butt himself into Mattsun trying to pick up a girl?”

A different voice jumps in, and it’s attached to a tall brunette with a handsome face.

“Asshole, don’t talk about people when they’re right there!”

Another guy enters the commotion, and to your astonishment he doesn’t hesitate to wack the guy in his gut.

“Ow, Iwa-chan, you brute! Mattsun deserves it for ditching us like that anyways.”

The brunette brushes back a perfect coif in his hair before nursing the wound in his side.

Matsukawa’s cheeks redden, and you can tell it’s not because of the red light the bar lights transitioned to.

“Mattsun, huh?”

You cover the soft laugh that escapes your lips and his lips turn down. Is he pouting?

“Aww, gang is all here now!”

Hanamaki grins, introducing you to ‘Oikawa Tooru’ and ‘Iwaizumi Hajime’.

You’re sneaking glances at Matsukawa, and you can tell he feels grateful the attention of his friends are off of him now.

The five of you make your way to a booth, letting the guys catch up for a bit. Oikawa just flew in from Argentina, Iwaizumi has a break from school in California. Matsukawa actually attends the same college you and Hanamaki attend, to your surprise. The campus is relatively small, and you’re left wondering how you never spotted the tall, attractive man, even in passing.

Initially, you’d felt like the night was going to be a drag, not wanting to get left out of Hanamaki’s circle of friends.

....but at the time, you didn’t know the handsome guy at the bar that paid for your drink was one of them.

You find yourself easily wrapped up in conversation with them, losing track of time, and practically in stitches laughing through their banter.

You’ll apologize to Hanamaki later for making such a fuss. You make it a mental note after wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of your eye.

“Hanamaki surprisingly gets a lot of numbers written on napkins, actually.”

You recount to Matsukawa, who at some point started a conversation with you that broke away from the group’s antics. The other three are still chattering away across the booth, but they’re paying no mind to your end.

Oikawa shouts something unintelligible at Iwaizumi, causing Hanamaki to practically bust a gut.

Matsukawa slides closer to you, and you’re knees brush against each other. The close proximity allows you to converse with a little more ease over the deafening noises surrounding the bar, but it doesn’t help your rapidly increasing heart rate.

“‘Surprisingly’? What, Hanamaki not your type?”

He tilts his head, and you’re able to catch all the little features of his face you weren’t able to at the distance you had before. Beauty marks, imperfections, childhood scars you’d love to question at a later date, but it all comes together to make the man before you seem that much more appealing.

“Mmm, no. I like someone taller. He’s good looking, but I’m not too into the strawberry blond. I like dark hair.”

Realistically, you’re not that nit picky about what features you like in a guy, but you couldn’t resist the opportunity. And the way Matsukawa lights up just fraction, with that self assured expression, makes you bite back a blushing laugh.

“I’m not that much taller than him, you know.”

He responds with confidence, and you narrow your eyes ready to tease him.

“What makes you think I was talking about you?”

You reach over to poke his chest, no longer able to resist touching him. Your hands had been fidgeting at your sides, toying with your sweater sleeves and brushing your hair the entire night. The touch wasn’t even anything special, a fingertip to the fabric of his loose tee wasn’t anything to brag to your friends about, but it sent a wave of excitement through you nonetheless.

“My bad, how presumptuous of me. Forgive me for being so rude.”

He laughs at the set up that played out perfectly for you, resting a hand to your shoulder in his exaggerated apology.

His gesture definitely covered a bigger surface area than yours had, and the contact a little less brief. For some reason, you feel a spike of competitiveness surge in you.

You rest your palm on his knee, using it as leverage to shift closer to him on the booth.

His gaze flicks to your hand briefly, to your thighs that gently press next to his, and he deftly accommodates your intrusion of his space by resting his arm around the back of the seat.

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what type of girl you’re into. It’s only fair, you know!”

You flash your most innocent smile, eyes catching his when they shift back to you.

“My type hm? Well currently, I think I’m—“

“Mattsuuuun,”

Oikawa takes that exact opportunity to sling his arm around Matsukawa, and his brow ticks at the second interrupted moment of the night.

“Oikawaaaa,”

He mockingly whines back, peeling his friend’s arm off his shoulder. You momentarily feel disappointed for the loss of attention from Matsukawa, but soon find yourself laughing at the display before you.

“Mattsun, ‘m so drunk. Can we please head back? Before I throw up? I might just throw up if we don’t. And it’s gonna be all over your lap. You don’t want that right?”

Thinking back, Oikawa did mention he was crashing at Matsukawa’s place before heading back to Argentina.

“If you throw up in here I’m beating your ass, you hear that Shitty Oikawa? Drunkawa? Learn your limits!”

Iwaizumi scolds with a scowl you’re beginning to think is always present on his face, but he hoists Oikawa’s arm around his shoulder for him to lean on anyways.

“Alright, alright. You don’t have to manipulate me in to taking you home.”

Matsukawa sighs, before tapping your thigh apologetically to slide out of the booth.

“Should’ve made him stay with Hanamaki.”

He mutters under his breath, but you’re able to catch it over the music somehow.

“Good seeing you Hanamaki,”

Matsukawa turns to Hanamaki, throwing a peace sign.

“Don’t give me that, we’re in the same town but I hardly see you! Hang out more often, okay?”

Hanamaki huffs, before pulling him to a brief hug.

“I’ll definitely try.”

He glances back to you, and you’re dying to know what he’s thinking while he’s giving you that smirk.

“Come on big guy,”

Matsukawa aids Iwaizumi in dragging Oikawa out of the booth, wrapping an arm around his side.

“It was nice meeting you.”

He turns to face you with an exasperated look, and you wonder in that moment why you two hadn’t exchanged numbers yet.

Now would definitely be the most inopportune time, considering his hands are full with.... well, Oikawa.

You bite your lip, could you just ask him for it and you could just enter it in your contacts?

No, that’s much worse. Not in front of his friends, especially Hanamaki, and it’ll definitely make you sound desperate.

“You too. I had fun tonight. Get that one home safe, okay?”

You force out a laugh, and he nods at your instructions before saying his goodbyes to drag Oikawa back with Iwaizumi.

You collapse back onto the booth, pressing your hands to your burning face.

Augh, you should’ve asked for his number sooner!

When you pull your hands back, you squawk at the sight of Hanamaki with that shit eating look before you.

“Shut up!”

You blush, this time you might actually smack the look off his face.

“I didn’t say anything!”

He snickers, and you give him an angry stare, but it’s definitely coming across as a red faced pout.

“You didn’t have to. It’s all over your face.”

It’s indeed all over his face. He’s doing a poor job of hiding that smirk, he’s got one eyebrow raised, arms crossed, and that patented, all knowing Hanamaki look in his eyes.

“...I’m just sayin’, the sexual tension between you two was astronomical.”

“Aaaaahhhh! Shut up, shut up!”

You jump from your seat, very animatedly waving your arms frantically in an attempt to physically blast his words out of existence. You can’t believe he just said that. Hanamaki laughs heartily, and your blush reaches maximum red.

“If you want, I can give you his number? You kinda looked like you wanted to ask but—“

“Stop talking, please!”

He throws his hands up in defense, and you do your best to scowl under the embarrassment filling your entire being.

“I’m out, see you Monday. Makki.”

You stick your tongue out and he snorts,

“I heard enough of that during my high school career from Oikawa, please don’t make that a thing.”

You wave him off flippantly, making your way for the exit.

“Then I’ll be sure to tell all our coworkers about it.”

You can’t help but smirk when you hear the groan that escapes his lips,

“And get home safe, okay?”

“Yeah yeah, you too.”

He waves, heading to the bar to close his tab.

It’s been a week already, and you’re still thinking about Matsukawa.

You wonder if you should’ve taken up Hanamaki’s offer at the time for Matsukawa’s number. At the time, you’re certain he would’ve handed it over with only a minimal amount of teasing.

Minimal is still a lot for Hanamaki, but you think you could’ve handled it better back then.

And though you only had two drinks the entire night, you definitely could’ve played the ‘oops I guess I was a little tipsy’ card with him.

But now, the only thing keeping you from asking is the sheer embarrassment that’ll come with it.

‘You must really like him if you’re asking for his digits a whole week later!’, your inner thoughts do an excellent job of replicating Hanamaki’s smug voice.

You tie your apron on, shaking your head of the thoughts. You’ve got a long night ahead of you, and you don’t even really feel like working tonight. You only came in as a favor since Iwasaki had to call out. You’d much rather be at home studying.

By that, you mean procrastinating with video games and/or browsing through shows you won’t end up watching. And what a wonderful night in that would’ve been, you let out a melancholic sigh.

Despite your hopes of a slow night, this Saturday is as busy as the last.

“Hey, you got a one top at 22!”

Hanamaki’s voice calls from down the line, and you briefly wonder why he sounds so shit-eating, or if he’s just always sounded like that and you’re only just now noticing.

“Heard! Thanks, Makki.”

You stick your out tongue at him, and he rolls his eyes at the return of his high school nickname.

A one top is exactly what you needed. Normally, you’d be all for taking bigger tables, but since you weren’t even supposed to work tonight, you’re alright with taking it easy.

“Hey, welcome to—“

When you round the corner of the table, you lock eyes with Matsukawa.

“Hey.”

He gives a short wave, and you briefly panic, ditching the whole specials menu monologue that was readied in your brain.

“Hey.”

You’re proud you didn’t stutter, but it’s not much to pat yourself on the back for considering it was only one word, and ‘Hey’, no less.

“Someone told me you’d be happy for me to take up one of your tables for awhile, and I needed to get out of the house and study so....”

He gestures to his school bag and his laptop with a ‘here I am’.

“And who’s this ‘someone’?”

You glance to the section beside yours, catching Hanamaki’s gaze. He has the audacity to wink before turning to take a table’s order.

“Who else?”

Matsukawa smiles, and you find he looks just as attractive in the restaurant’s warm low light as he did in the neon lights of the bar.

“Well, I’m glad he did then. What can I get for you then, Mattsun?”

“I’ll grab a black coffee. And Matsukawa’s fine, please, only drunk bastards call me Mattsun.”

You laugh at the dig towards Oikawa,

“One black coffee then, Matsukawa. I’ll be right back.”

And black coffee seems so him. He’s probably one of those guys that advocates the natural taste of ground coffee beans, you snort to yourself as you warm the cold ceramic of the mug with hot water. You tend to lean towards more towards lattes and flavored specialty drinks, but you’re not complaining about his tastes. In fact, you’re eager to learn something new about him even if it’s just his coffee preference.

Well, he’ll have to deal with the shit no-name brand your restaurant settles for.

“You’re welcome!”

Hanamaki bursts in the kitchen, nearly dropping half the dirty plates precariously balanced on his arms. He’s obviously referring to the fact that he’s the one who tipped Matsukawa off about tonight.

“Use a tray next time! ...and thank you.”

You blush, shuffling out of the kitchen before Hanamaki can tease you.

Despite Matsukawa’s help camping at one of your tables, it’s still a busy night. So you find yourself flitting between tables and conversation with him.

You also find yourself too chicken to ask for his number, despite the perfect opportunity Hanamaki has orchestrated for you.

“Thanks for coming in again, Matsukawa. You didn’t have to do that.”

You smile nervously, watching him pack away his notebook.

“Not a problem, thank you for giving me a place to get some work done.”

He shoulders his bag, and you work up the courage to ask for his number before he goes.

The way he towers over you, looking so handsome with that cool expression makes you think twice though, and you find yourself far too intimidated to make the first move.

“Have a good night, don’t work yourself too hard.”

He waves, and you bite back the question that’s been weighing at your mind the past hour or so.

“You too!”

You spin around as soon as he’s out of sight, hands pressed to your face. How could you let that opportunity pass you by?!

Aughh!!

“Wow, Hanamaki isn’t the only one getting numbers on the napkins now, huh?”

One of your coworkers snickers, plucking said napkin off of a table.

You peer up to see her by... wait. That’s your table. That’s the table Matsukawa was sitting at. Holy shit.

“Holy shit!”

You run over, practically snatching the napkin out of her hand.

“He seemed kind of scary, but in a handsome kind of way. Lucky girl, nice!”

She pats you roughly on the back as a smile overtakes your features.

Matsukawa actually left his number for you.

You manage to rush to the back storage room to squeal out your joy, before you could startle any customers with your excitement.

Carefully, you tuck it into your book so not to lose it.

Thank you Hanamaki...!

You fell into a relationship with Matsukawa with ease, as if it were the most natural thing for you.

Late night texts turned into prolonged phone calls, which turned to hanging out in person, and those hangouts turned into dates. Eventually, you and Matsukawa found yourself in a comfortable relationship.

Matsukawa went from a stranger you met at a bar to your boyfriend of two years and roommate.

You’d finished your degree, and quit the job at the restaurant for a job at as a graphic designer.

Matsukawa ended up dropping school to help run his father’s funeral home business, eventually he’d take over entirely. It wasn’t exactly what he’d intended, considering he was studying sports medicine. In the end, a career is a career, and it’s honest work.

He’d been mildly upset at the prospect of it, but you’d convinced him it was admirable of him to help with the business, and you’d support him regardless.

“You’re too good to me.”

He kisses along your neck, and you giggle at the feather light touches tracing up to your jawline.

“What are you talking about? If anything, I could do more for you.”

You blush, preening at the attention. He shifts your weight onto his lap, and you wrap your arms around him to balance yourself.

“Exactly, you’re being so modest. Too good for a good-for-nothing like me.”

He seals your lips with a warm kiss before you can complain, and you let him get away with it.

“Hush, you’re perfectly perfect. Come on. Let’s grab coffee at the cafe.”

You stroke his cheek gently, before stealing an extra kiss from him. And two more for good measure.

Despite the plan you tried to initiate, you wind up tangled in the sheets. Lips meeting lips and skin, lingering longer with every new kiss.

He whines in complaint when you finally pull back to ready for your outing. You smile at the cute noise, though you can’t get the conversation from earlier out of your head. Pulling out a new set of clothes, you eye him carefully.

Matsukawa’s been awfully self deprecating lately. He’s always had a dry, witty humor, but the self deprecation has been leaning more towards critical than humorous these days.

You think maybe showering him with a more words of affirmation and affection will do him some good, especially some coffee from the his favorite cafe.

You grab his hand, threading his fingers with yours before walking hand in hand to the cafe near by.

“You know I love you right? So much.”

You swing your hand with his, peering up at him with all the feelings of love and care you can muster, and he returns your words with a soft smile.

“I know.”

He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb.

For a moment, you thought he might’ve been improving. But his mood is quick to drop at any given moment, dipping far more often than it rises.

The worry you felt initially don’t even compare to the concerns you have now.

You can tell he tried to brush it off to start, remembering an incident awhile back.

“Hey, Issei.”

You put away the leftovers from an awfully quiet dinner.

“Hmm?”

He doesn’t bother to glance up from his work book, overviewing a client’s paperwork.

“Are you alright?”

You can’t think of a better way to ask, so you settle for the vague question.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

You bite your cheek, at the comment. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary today, you haven’t had a fight or anything, and as far as you could tell his work has been tiresome but relatively normal. You know for a fact he’s not ‘great’.

“You just seem... off, lately. Is something wrong?”

You press on the matter, you don’t want to keep prolonging it.

“I work with dead people and sad people all the time, sorry I’m not exactly feeling stoked.”

He sighs, closing his work book and you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out.

“Issei,”

You warn after a beat of silence. You know it bothered him to start, but he’d grown accustomed to the field quickly and adapted well to handling clients experiencing grief. He’d even confided in you once it gave him fulfillment helping people overcome their heartache.

“What, is it depressing to be around me?”

There’s that self deprecation, rearing it’s head back in.

“What?”

You’re shocked he’d even imply it, you’ve never felt that way. You were a little disappointed he hadn’t been as affectionate as he used to, but you never held it against him. You’ve been worried about his mental health these days, but you never felt depressed to be in his company.

“You can say it. I won’t blame you.”

He runs a hand through his dark locks, exhaustion etched across his features.

“We talked about this Issei! I love you, and I support you. I’m not ashamed of what you do for a living, or who you are.”

You cry out, knowing full well what he’s getting at. In the past, he’s commented on such things in passing. That he’s a guy with a scary face, and someone as sweet and cheery as you looks out of place with him. That your boyfriend is a funeral worker, and it must be so awkward for you to deal with.

The comments had always been nonchalant, and you were sure to shut them down, but you can see now it’s always been at the back of his mind.

“I know, I know. I just keep thinking you’d be happier with someone else.”

He mutters, eyes shifting away from your hard stare.

You sigh softly, closing the distance between you two and wrapping your arms around him. For once, you’re taller than him due to his seated position. You press your nose to his hair, and he tucks his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“If I cared about petty things like that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Issei, I love you.”

You’re sure to repeat it again, and you’ll do it as many times as you need to,

“I love you, I love you.”

You press your lips to his head, holding him tight. You feel his hands trail up your sides to lie tightly around your waist.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His face stays pressed to your shoulder, and you rub his back comfortingly.

“Don’t, it’s okay. I love you.”

You won’t even hold it against him if he can’t say it back.

And you wished that was a sign for better, but it was a steady decline from there.

You never ended up talking about the incident, and he always brushed off your concerns, quick to change the topic. You held your tongue most days, not wanting to put any pressure on him.

But you just wanted to understand what he was going through. You wanted to help him, support him, like you said you’d always do.

“Can we talk?”

You know it’s a phrase anyone in a relationship dreads hearing, but it’s the most straightforward way to convey how serious you are on the matter.

“...”

He doesn’t give a response, but he takes a seat at the edge of the bed to give you his attention.

“If you aren’t happy, I want you to be honest with me.”

Matsukawa narrows his eyes, a wash of anxiety overtaking him. His hands fidget, shaking as they clutch at his knees. Was this your way of trying to tell him that you were unhappy with your relationship?

“I’m not happy. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

When the words reach your ears, you bite your lip. Hesitating briefly, you stride towards the bed to sit beside him. You rest your palm overtop his shaking hand, nervously running your thumb along the edge of his knuckles.

“Of course I don’t want to hear that. But I’m glad you’re being honest, I just want to know why you’re hurting.”

“I don’t think this relationship is working out.”

That was the last thing you expected to hear. Your whole body freezes and your eyes widen, unsure how to respond. It feels like someone’s dumped a bucket of ice down your back, and your lucky your sitting or your legs would’ve given out then and there.

“It’s not what it used to be.”

“I-Issei, come on. I know you don’t mean that—“

“We should end things.”

“Why?”

You don’t know the cause for all this turmoil. Your relationship had been fine, almost perfect. Hanamaki had made jokes about the two of you getting married even. You always smacked him for teasing you, but each time you hoped that would be the outcome of your relationship with Matsukawa.

You saw the signs of depression appearing day by day in Matsukawa, but you didn’t think confronting it would lead to this. We’re you wrong? Had you misinterpreted everything completely? Was he bored of this? We’re you really just that bad of a girlfriend?

The intrusive thoughts start to snowball out of control, and you look up to him with watery eyes for a sign of a joke. A tell that he doesn’t mean it. But his face is neutral, and the only thing you can see is him contemplating his next words.

“I cheated on you.”

The tears drip down your cheeks without your permission, and you pull your shaking hand from his to wipe them away.

You think about how he’d always be the one to do it for you, but you quickly dismiss the thought before you have more reasons to cry.

“You’re lying.”

He has to be. He’s not that person. He wouldn’t have the time, he wouldn’t have the lack of care, the lack of composure, he loves you—

“I’m not.”

He shuts you down immediately.

“Then how come I don’t believe you?”

“You’re in denial, it’s the truth. I’m sorry. It was when me and Hanamaki went out for drinks last month. He left early, I stuck around. I met someone. I drank too much, I wasn’t happy with our relationship, I couldn’t help it.”

That night he’d stayed the night at Hanamaki’s, he’d told you himself. Hanamaki had made jokes about it on one occasion. Was that a cover up? Is that the real reason Matsukawa has barely touched you in the past month or so? You can’t believe it. You refuse to. Matsukawa wouldn’t do that to you.

His eyes are trained on yours, but there’s no emotion behind them.

“What ever self destructing thing you’re trying to pull, knock it off.”

“I’m being serious, stop looking for excuses!”

He’s raising his voice now, and you’re practically shaking at this point.

“I’m not! I know you, and you wouldn’t do that! You’re always looking for ways to put yourself down. You need to stop trying to destroy everything good for yourself because you don’t think you deserve it!”

You wish you could’ve told him calmly, gently, like he deserved, but you’re so infuriated and confused you can’t control the way the words spill out in anger.

He clicks his tongue, averting his dark eyes from your heavy stare.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe it. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought, I fucked up, it happened.”

“But why?”

You can’t believe you’re even entertaining the blatant lie, but the more he affirms it the more you feel your confidence slipping away.

“Because I don’t love you anymore!”

His own words rattle in his brain, stinging and heavy in his chest. He knows he doesn’t deserve to feel that pain when he’s the one intentionally hurting you.

‘I lied, I’m sorry, I love you’

He wants to take it back immediately, but he forces down the words, keeps his face stern. Why is he doing this?

Your eyes well up with more tears, and his hands ache and itch to reach up and brush them away, tell you that you were right. Caress your face and kiss you softly. That he’s just fucked up, that he just wants the best for you.

You deserved better than him, and this was the only way he knew how to make you leave him.

The tears spill down your cheeks, dripping from your chin and onto your knees. You tell him to quit the act already, and he presses his forehead against yours and screws his eyes shut. It takes everything he has to maintain it.

“I’m sorry.”

He stands, and his heart aches more when you try to pull him back in.

“Issei...”

Your voice is rough, almost a whisper and he clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away.

“I’m gonna crash at Hanamaki’s. I’ll get my things in the morning.”

Before you can say anything else, he’s closing the bedroom door and grabbing his keys.

He quickly toes on a pair of slides and shuffles out the door, but not before he hears the broken sobs coming from the bedroom you shared.

He grits his teeth, biting back the tears.

He almost expected you to chase him out and grab him by the hand, hug his back, anything, something.

But why would you? He’s such a piece of shit for even thinking that, not after how he lied, the hurtful things he said.

For Matsukawa, this only proves he was right to think he wasn’t good for you.

He waits til he’s in his car to lean his head back, willing the tears away. He doesn’t deserve to cry, he repeats to himself, but they’re falling regardless.

“So are you gonna tell me why you came to my door step looking like shit, or am I gonna have to keep sitting here awkwardly pitying you?”

Hanamaki cuts straight to the bullshit, but to his credit he lasted a solid five minutes without saying anything.

Hanamaki lets out a long sigh at the continued silence,

“Fine. You can crash here as long as you need to, but at least tell me if you need anything.”

Matsukawa nods his thanks to him, as Hanamaki shuffles the room. Laying back on the couch, he rests his arms across his eyes and attempts to sleep, but it’s all in vain.

When he went back to your apartment, you hadn’t been around. Simultaneously to his relief and disappointment. As much as he wanted to see your face, it was for the best.

For longer than he’d intended, he found himself laying back in the bed you shared. Your scent fills his nose, and the familiar sheets give more comfort than the couch he’d been crashing on before. The comfort doesn’t last long, considering you’re not laying beside him like he’d gotten so used to.

He can almost hear the words of affirmation in your soft voice, affectionately whispered against the shell of his ear. The light kisses pressed to his lips, his cheeks, nose, brows, eyes as you both laugh in each other’s arms.

He desperately wants to call you, or for you to come back home so he can tell you to forget what he said.

He forces himself out of bed with a sigh, slinging the bag he packed over his shoulder.

The crisp air outside fills his nose, and the warm sun beats against his skin, but the pleasant weather only serves to make him miss your scent and warmth instead.

Hanamaki’s ‘As long as you need to’ turned out to be a week so far.

Work had been hell for him. His father scolded him for acting more depressed than the guests coming in, and the comment alone made him feel like shit for treating his breakup like a loss of life.

Matsukawa finds his feet carrying him to the cafe the two of you frequented. A part of him desperately craving the coffee, but most of him wondered if he’d run into you.

A stupid wish really, what could he possibly even say to you? Why would you want to see him?

“Coffee, black please.”

The barista gives him a expression that reads faux apology,

“Sorry, we didn’t get any in today unfortunately. Can we offer you something else?”

He settles for tea instead. He’d normally feel disappointed and whine about it you, the coffee here is his favorite after all. He can’t feel bothered to at the moment.

A notification sounds from his phone, and he checks without thinking.

‘I miss you’

His grip around his tea tightens, it’s from you.

He locks his phone and pockets it before he can do something dumb like respond with an ‘I miss you too’.

Pitching his nearly full tea, he strides out of the cafe. He heads back to Hanamaki’s apartment, knowing full well he’ll be around since he’s not at the restaurant anymore.

For the most part, Matsukawa tried to stay out of his hair, staying longer hours at the funeral home or eating out. Sometimes just walking or driving around to stay out, feeling sorry for himself. He’s grateful for Hanamaki’s kindness, and didn’t want to burden him anymore than he had been.

But right now he really wanted to see his best friend.

“We broke up.”

Matsukawa finally decides to enlighten him, and Hanamaki doesn’t even try to hide the disbelief from his features.

“Ahh. She wouldn’t talk to me much when I messaged her. I thought you might have had a big fight or something, but breaking up?”

He gives Matsukawa an apologetic look, but he can tell that he’s still skeptical.

Is it really so hard to believe that you could have better than him?

“I told her I cheated on her.”

At that, Hanamaki is quick to switch gears. He grabs Matsukawa by the shirt, nails scratching through the fabric into his chest, but he can’t feel bothered to care about the sting.

He returns his best friend’s manic glare with an indifferent stare.

“You what?! Matsukawa, are you fucking kidding me, how could you do that to her? Are you that much of a piece of shit you’d throw away the best thing that ever happened to you?”

The words hit home, and Matsukawa averts his gaze, not sure he can handle the anger bleeding out of his friend.

He berates himself for his cowardice, for not being able to withstand it when he deserved the harsh words that Hanamaki’s right to dole out.

He’s right, you were the best thing that ever happened to him. But how could he be the best thing that ever happened to you? He’s pathetic, he’s depressing to be around, he’s got an intimidating face, he quit school to work at a funeral home for god’s sake.

“I didn’t, I lied.”

Hanamaki’s sour expression contorts to a baffled one,

“Huh?”

“It was the only way she would leave me.”

Hanamaki’s grip loosens from his tee, and Matsukawa presses his hands to his face.

“Why would you do that?”

Matsukawa doesn’t respond, rubbing his palms against his already red rimmed eyes.

“Matsukawa... talk to me, man.”

His hands drop between his knees and he glances back up to catch Hanamaki’s worried expression.

“What if I’m someone I don’t want around?”

Matsukawa voices the thoughts that have been plaguing his mind for months, the words sounding so familiar to his ears despite never having said them out loud.

Hanamaki’s lips draw into a thin line, unsure what to say to his friend.

“If I can’t even stand myself, how could she be around me?”

“Matsu—“

He cuts off Hanamaki, ignoring his terse tone and stern expression,

“What if I’m someone she won’t talk about?”

His breathing starts to become more labored, and it feels like the walls are closing in on him, he can’t meet Hanamaki in the eye. His chest tightens even more, and he didn’t think that were possible.

“It’s what I wanted, I know that, I was a selfish asshole for keeping her stuck with me. I pushed her away because of it, and I get the feeling that she’ll never need me again,”

He’s almost in a full blown panic attack, his palms are shaking and Hanamaki tries to reach out to him, but he flinches away. Hanamaki is at a loss for words and what to do, he’s never seen his friend like this before. He’s been always cool and composed, never one to wear his heart on his sleeve.

“And I don’t know what I’ll do after that. I miss her too—”

“You idiot!”

Hanamaki sighs, flopping onto the couch beside him.

Matsukawa quiets after Hanamaki’s outburst, lightly panting after his rambling, not used to talking so fast and much in a short span of time.

“Just be honest, tell her how you feel.”

A/N:

Don’t hate me for that guys! Look forward to the next part, I promise I’ll make it better 😭

Leave your thoughts, I’d love to hear them! ¯\_(ツ)

[Masterlist] [part 2]

[bi-hippie5]

Blonde Curls |Luke|

Description: Luke leaves Charlotte two years ago not knowing she was pregnant. Then he runs into her best friend at an interview.

Notes: I was thinking of turning this into a longer series but I just ended up with this

Masterlist

Luke can admit that press can be fun but after a full week of it he’s ready to take a nap and not wake up for a couple of days. Luckily the band was on their last radio interview of the day and he was that much closer to crawling into bed. 

“Welcome boys we are so excited to have you, Jasmine is just finishing up her current interview and we can set up soon” one of the employees of the radio station explained as they all take a seat on the couches set outside the room. This was a new interview they hadn’t done in the past so they didn’t really know what to expect. He had heard that the radio show was pretty new but was probably one of the most popular ones in the area.

They only had to wait for maybe ten more minutes before the door opened louds laughs filled the waiting area. People exit saying thank you and going their own ways before Luke's eyes land on a very familiar face. It's not the face that haunts him at night but of the one person that probably hates him just as much.

“Shit” Luke whispers under his breath as Jasmine walks out to meet the boys before the interview. He wanted to run and hide right now as his ex-girlfriend's best friend is shooting daggers at him while giving quick hugs to his other band mates. Ashton looks over to check on him since he was the only one that had the chance to meet her before.

“Luke” she mumbles, not even bothering to get closer to him as the other two boys look at him confused.

“It’s been a long time Jasmine” he laughs awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck as her gaze only gets harsher.

“Two years actually” she corrects him and it stings more than it should as she turns her back to him. Her tone is completely different with the other boys as she brings them into the room with Luke trailing behind. Charlotte hasn’t left his mind since the day he got scared and walked away. He hasn’t been able to be serious with anyone else since and he knows that it's all his fault. But, now seeing Jasmine makes the pain come right to the surface. Jasmine was Charlotte’s best friend since middle school, she was the first friend she introduced him to. At the time they had hit it off great laughing and having fun. They had gotten pretty close actually since Charlotte had the biggest impacts on both of their lives.

The whole interview he can feel how awkward it was. Jasmine didn’t really talk to him at all directing all of her questions to the other three. He wasn’t upset about it since so much was running through his mind. No one can blame her for hating him because what happened would make anyone look like a jerk. Charlotte and Luke had been together for four years and lived together for two of those years. They were happy and everything was perfect, at least that's what she thought. Luke wasn’t sure exactly happened but one day it just got real, this was it for him like Charlotte was the one he wanted to spend his life with. But, everyone kept bringing up marriage and asking when he would propose and he got freaked out. One day he got back to the apartment before she did and completely left only leaving a note that said ‘I’m sorry i can’t do this right now.’ He regrets it to this day, what was he thinking.

After the interview was over he told the boys to not wait for him as he hung back. It had been two years but that was too long and needed to see her and fix it.

“Jasmine please just tell me where she is” he begged once they were left alone. Jasmine knew she couldn’t physically hurt him but the looks she gave him would have to do.

“Why should I tell you fucker, you left her and never turned back. You didn’t have to pick up the pieces” she spit at him poking hard at his chest.

“Please I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind the last two years i need to make it right”

“It's not gonna happen buddy she moved on and picked herself up she doesn't need you” Jasmine laughs at him turning away and walking into her office slamming the door in his face. Luke stood in the hallway feeling like such a dumbass. He should have just stayed in the apartment that day till she got home and they could talk through his fears.

“I know where she is” Ashton says from behind him. When they were together Charlotte had developed a nice friendship with Ashton. He was so disappointed when Luke told them what had happened and the terrible choices he had made. But just because they broke up doesn’t mean he was gonna break his friendship with the girl and has kept in touch this whole time. Luke was his best friend but there was one small thing that stopped him from telling him where she was this whole time, and his name was Landon.

------

“Have a good night Claire” Charlotte waved at her coworker as she headed out of the salon leaving her to close up. Everything was in its place already; it was just some sweeping to finish before her mom arrived. She set her phone down at one of the stations hitting play on the music before grabbing the broom.

Luke could see her through the window of the door as she danced around the salon  with a broom in her hand. She looked good, like really good wearing black ripped jeans and a nice black cropped sweater. Her blonde hair was shorter, now up to her shoulders and a bit more silver but she was still as beautiful as ever. He paced outside for a few minutes before working up the courage to finally walk inside. The bells on the door alerting his presents but she didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry we are closed, we open at 10 tomorrow if you want to make an appointment” her sweet voice fills his ears after so long. Just hearing her voice and seeing her it's like finally taking a deep breath of fresh air.

“Charlie” he whispers, finally finding his voice again. Her body stiffened at that voice, it's the one she heard on the radio and the tv but also haunts her at night.

“I’m sorry but we are closed” she doesn’t dare to turn around to look at him because if she does it will hurt more and give her mind new material to fester over.

“I wasn’t really looking to get a haircut unless it’s like that time you made me sit in the bathroom so that you could practice. I told you most girls don’t cut hair in just their underwear, seems kind of dangerous” he chuckled taking a few steps towards her. She still doesn’t move because she thought this would never happen, he left. He didn’t want anything to do with her anymore but now he’s here, at her work and she honestly didn’t know how this could get worse.

But of course it does, the chimes of the door sound against but this time she knew who it was. She finally turns around but refuses to look at him but instead at her confused mother standing in the doorway, a small sleeping two year old in her arms.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but your father has the car running” she’s staring Luke down like a mother lion ready to kill her next meal for her children and Charlotte kind of fears for Luke. He knows that looking at her mother will be worse than the reaction he got from Jasmine earlier today. However, his eyes are glued to the small figure in her arms, he looked so peaceful with his thumb in his mouth. Long eyelashes resting on his soft skin and those blonde curls he couldn't understand.

Charlotte walks past him grabbing her son from her mom. He stirs a bit but wraps his arms around her neck falling right back to sleep. She kisses her mother's cheek before placing the diaper bag down on one of the chairs.

“Let me know when you get home please” she gives her another hug and kisses both her daughter and grandson. She doesn’t even acknowledge Luke walking right past him and back into the waiting car outside. Luke can’t even imagine the reaction her protective father will have once she tells him.

Charlotte adjusts Landon in her arms before heading past Luke to grab the rest of her belongings so that she can leave before he starts asking questions.

“Charlie what is going on please look at me” his voice is softer this time and closer and she knew that he was right behind her. Letting out the breath she was holding finally turning to make eye contact with the man that broke her heart. Luke's eyes are still trained on the toddler because the curls alone gives it away, That had to be his son. “How old is he?”

“Two” she whispers softly and it was like a knife into his heart. There was no doubt in his mind that the small boy was his. Charlotte was never the girl to cheat on him and the time line adds up to perfectly.

“He’s mine and you didn’t tell me” his voice raises a little bit with the mix of emotions that were going through his body. If she was pregnant why didn’t she tell him or the fact that there is a small person on this earth that was a mix of both of them.

“Luke I can't do this with you right now” she's walking away from him. “It’s been such a long day and I need to get Landon home” he follows her outside of the salon and towards the parking lot.

“Please don’t walk away from me, can we please just talk about this because im 100% sure that is my son” she stops trying to calm her breathing slowly rubbing Landon back trying to remind herself to not yell.

“Don’t walk away from you, please tell me your kidding because if I can remember you left me not the other way around” They stand in pure silence just staring at each other. Luke didn’t know what to say because she was right, always right. “I need to go home and think Luke, I’ll have Ashton send you my address and you can come over tomorrow okay?” he nods agreeing not wanting to make her anymore upset.

-----

He’s nervous, standing in front of the apartment the address leads him to. His palms are sweating as he wipes them against his jeans fixing his hair and shirt before knocking on the white door. No one ever explains how to act when you officially meet your son for the first time. Mostly when the mother is someone he hasn’t been able to get out of his head even though it's his fault he's in this position. Charlie opens the door a few seconds after and Luke almost passes out. She’s just so damn beautiful with a yellow sundress flowing around her figure, hair half pulled back.

“Mommy” a little voice cries followed by soft footsteps. Landon comes crying behind her immediately noticing Luke standing at the door. His eyes get big and run over to his mother grabbing onto her legs to hide behind.

“Sorry he can be kind of shy” she apologizes as Landon lets out a sniffle looking up to look suspicious at who this strange man is.

“Hi I’m Luke” he gets down on his level making eye contact with the little boy.

“I Landon” he mumbles

“It's nice to meet you Landon, I really like your hair it's kind of like mine” that peaks Landon’s attention as he moves a little bit closer still keeping his hand on his mother just in case. Landon loves his hair, poor little thing cried his eyes out when Charlotte tried to give him a trim a week weeks back.

“Do you like dinosaurs?” Landon asks with the brightest eyes. Luke nods which results in a big smile from the small boy as he grabs his fingers dragging him into the apartment. He leads him into a small play room that is full of different toys and activities. Landon shows Luke his large collection of dinosaur toys having to show him each of them even imitating some of the noises for him.

Charlotte's heart was so full watching the two boys interact so sweetly. It was never her intention to keep Landon away from Luke; she really was gonna tell Luke about being pregnant. But when she came home and he was gone she just assumed he wanted nothing to do with her and wouldn’t want this baby. She was already so heart broken and couldn’t handle another regrection if he truly didn’t want to have a baby with her.

She let them play for a while, busying herself with some cleaning that needed to be done. Working and having a wild two year old made it kind of difficult to keep everything organized and put together.

“Mommy” Landon yells running into the kitchen with the biggest smile basically bouncing in his spot under her. “Can Luke come play all the time” Luke stands behind him leaning against the wall with a smile that matches his son his whole face glowing. Landon had never asked about having a dad not fully understanding but Charlotte knew that she would have to explain it at some point. Luke and her had a lot to work through but she wasn’t gonna keep him from having a relationship with his son.

“Of course buddy, but can I tell you something?” she picks him up placing him on her hip as he nods. “Luke is actually your daddy which means he's gonna be around all the time to take care of you”

“And play?” both parents laugh at the little boy.

“Yes and play would that be okay?” Landon shakes his head so fast putting his arms out for Luke to take him. He’s fast gathering the boy into his arms and hugging him to his chest.

“Charlie I’m so sorry I was just scared and didn’t know what I was thinking. But now I know that all I want is you and him and a family. You were always going to be my forever and I know we have things to work on but I’m here to fight for you, for both of you” tears were building up in both of their eyes. No words were needed as she makes her way over to the love of her life and son pressing her lips to his. They had a lot to work on but this was forever and no one was going anywhere.

[myloveandlifeinlajolla]

I’m really bored so here you guys go!

1. selfie

I never do selfies sorry not sorry.  I don’t do them for a number of reasons.  Some of the reasons I hope are kinda obvious.  I have covered this before and it comes down to the fact that the relationship I am in can lead to trouble for my dad, my sisters, and myself.

2. what would you name your future kids?

I would love to keep the family tradition and either use Gaelic or old french names.

3. do you miss anyone?

Oh man I miss having alot of acquaintances.  I was very popular in high-school for alot of reasons; most not too good.  I miss my sorority sisters.  As you get older you find out everyone grows up at different rates.  I have friends that still party like they’re 21 and I have friends that just graduated and are married, 2nd child and are like mini-van mom life!  I miss always having the option to choose whom I wanted to be like that day.

I miss my sisters sometimes.  I have always seen myself as my sisters’ mom. They are on the other side of the country and they live together so I miss them.  They are getting so close and I miss being part of the stories, the inside jokes etc... it’s sometimes a little hard to be left out.  THEN, they come home and I end up being a driver, cook, maid, and I’m like okay it’s time for you to fly out...NOW! 

4. what are you looking forward to?

I’m at a point in my life where i’m content.  I’m looking forward to creating the house into a home.  I like decorating it.  I’m looking forward to getting the house covered in flowers.  I’m looking forward to working out.  I’m really looking forward to getting my body back.  

5. is there anyone who can always make you smile?

Without a doubt it’s Catie!  I love you missy.

6. is it hard for you to get over someone?

Interesting question and I guess I have a very interesting take on it.  I loved my dad forever but there was a time during counseling where we were working on re-aligning the relationship to be more inline with a traditional father/daughter role so we were engaged in alot of behavior modification for me.  It was really hard (and made me really depressed, and self destructive and failed) but or psych was still having me see my “crush” every day but I couldn’t do any of the things that my mom did and I was only supposed to do “age-appropriate” activities.  But the thing was I loved my mom and I loved doing the things she did.  So, life was just hard. Trying to pretend like feelings for someone don’t exist is a miserable experience.  

7. what was your life like last year?

Life has been interesting,  My dad and I are now living as a couple at the house so there were/are real growing pains associated with that.  it’s no longer just his room and my room and we don’t have to sneak around the house.  That stuff is amazing and I love that.  I miss my sisters.  I miss all my acquaintances.  Catie’s husband got transferred out of Coronado and they are moving to the Virginia. My dad’s grandfather died.  Still have no clue where my aunt is.  This is the longest that has happened.  My middle sister quit softball, my youngest sister is like a full woman and it’s scary.

8. have you ever cried because you were so annoyed?

I have cried for just about every reason under the sun.  

9. who did you last see in person?

Dad as he left this morning

10. are you good at hiding your feelings?

I am not good at it at all.  Mad, you’ll know, annoyed you’ll know. Sad, you will probably see drinking wine.

11. are you listening to music right now?

Nope, YouTube is on 

12. what is something you want right now?

Honestly I feel like sex, anal and giving a blowjob

13. how do you feel right now?

Mildly horny and procrastinating writing up three proposals

14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you?

This morning, I’m a lucky girl!

15. personality description

According to my plum profile I am a marvelous manager, chief communicator, and a decision maker.

16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t?

That’s why I have Tumblr. I can tell everyone and it’s really cathartic.

17. opinion on insecurities

We all have them.  Own them but don’t let them run and ruin your life.

18. do you miss how thing were a year ago?

A little.  Everything seemed just a little bit easier.  

19. have you ever been to New York?

Oh my god yes I love it there!

20. what is your favorite song at the moment?

Memories by Maroon 5, Rebel Girl and  Kiss and Tell by Angels and Airwaves

21. age and birthday? 23 now, July 31st, 

22. description of crush.

Dad was about 6′4 225 he’s about 6′1″/2″ now I think he’s still around 230

23. fear(s)

I never talk about my fears.

24. height

I’m 5′9″

25. role model

It’s cheesy but my dad.

26. idol(s)

I don’t really have any

27. things i hate

I hate shitty people.  I hate mean and manipulative people.  There are nice to your face and shitty behind you.  If you don’t like me just be honest.  We can be polite we don’t have to be friends.

28. i’ll love you if…

I don’t like being cold so if you keep me warm that’s one way.  I like shopping so if you like to go shopping with me that’s a good way.  I love having good coffee and also tea.

29. favorite film(s)

Phantom of the Opera, Sleeping Beauty, Diamonds are a girls best friends, breakfast at Tiffany’s stuff like that.

30. favourite tv show(s)

West wing, how I met your mother, friends, sex and the city, the big bang theory, the office, scrubs.

31. 3 random facts

I was a triple jumper, I have so many bikini pieces I rarely ever wear matching parts, I suck at swimming and look like a dog swimming.

32. are your friends mainly girls or guys?

I have a ton of girl friends

33. something you want to learn

I want to learn programming

34. most embarrassing moment

The moment I hooked up with Catie’s crush in high-school and she was about to let everyone at the party know my “daddy issues” were alot more than that.  yeah that sucked.  But he was a giant dickhead so I guess it worked out.  

35. favorite subject 

Biology

36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill?

DREAMS... get married, have children, not be in a secret relationship

37. favorite actor/actress

Reese Witherspoon, and Audrey Hepburn

38. favorite comedian(s)

Ralphie May, Norm McDonald, Jimmy Fallon, 

39. favorite sport(s)

Track and Field, Sailing, Rowing, Dressage, and Surfing I was only okay at Track and Field

40. favorite memory

My prom night

41. relationship status

Taken, and like noone knows,..Sad face

42. favorite book(s)

An honorable Profession, the Great Gatsby, 

43. favorite song ever 

Still gives me chills,  Chi ll bel sogno di Doretta but you really have to be in the mood, 

LA MUSICA NOTTURNA DELLE STRADE DI MADRID. No. 6, Op.30

Pachelbel - Canon in d

More popular stuff is mashups

44. age you get mistaken for

18-20 I have a baby face

45. how you found out about your idol

I just want to be the best me I can be. no Idols.  

46. what my last text message says

To a coworker, “How’s it going?”

47. turn ons

Be nice and kind (especially to a poor/homeless)

Dapper not stylish but classic

Salt and pepper hair

In shape and clean!!!!

48. turn offs

Dirtiness, disheveld, rude, loud and crude.

49. where i want to be right now

I want to be in Manhattan looking out the window onto a city of snow, with dad

50. favorite picture of your idol

nope 51. starsign

I’m a zodiac but none of that means anything.  

52. something i’m talented at

blowjobs! No really I love them.  Also I’m great at meticulous lab work and business strategy.

53. 5 things that make me happy

1. 99% of the time Dad. 2. Being snooty and posh.  I love the opera, symphony, I love getting dressed up, and the whole ritual of it all. 3. coffee and cold misty beach air while im in a warm sweater out by the pool looking at the ocean.  4. shopping, 5. recognized for good work at work.

54. something thats worrying me at the moment

family and I really need to let things go.

55. tumblr friends

Yep got them but I don’t know if they want me to out them here. So you guys get to stay hidden!

56. favorite food(s)

Braised lamb shank is good

57. favorite animal(s)

I love big wrinkly dogs that slobber (WILL NEVER GET THEM) I can’t imagine trying to keep a clean house with fur and slobber!

58. description of my best friend.

What more can I say about Catie, she knows everything and has been my rock since I was 11!  She even planned prom for me which was why I am where I am really.  I mean It helped get us here alot faster.  She is my bestie.

59. why i joined tumblr

This iteration of tumblr has been to talk about what it’s like to be in a real relationship with my biological father NOT some cheesy porno or erotic story.  I try to talk about the real relationship struggles we have.  Answer questions etc... But I guess I am kinda boring because no one asks anymore.  

60. ask me anything you want

[endoftheworldpaul]

It's still technically Wednesday for me so looks like we got another close call update!

@dbhrarepairs Here's my submission for day 3, wrong blind date.

Both Convin and Elijah/Leo bc I shouldn't brainstorm when I'm tired.

If you would rather read on AO3, you can click here!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611682 

Again, I apologize, but I'm having serious troubles with getting the read more break in here if anyone has tips I'm willing to listen Google isn't helping.

EDIT: I FIGURED IT OUT. Well, really, I just went on my laptop bc mobile, for all its benefits for my schedule, is super confusing when it wants to be.

Usually, Nines is rather reliable. Always prepared, always punctual, always one step ahead of everyone else. 

Just not this week. Finals week had, as always, was hellish for most students. Even Nines felt some of the end of the year panic. And by some, it was more along the lines of going into an over-studying craze. 

One problem that accompanies what his close friends have dubbed The Dark Ages is that he takes on too many extra projects in a failing attempt to distract himself. 

One such project is promising four very confused and stressed friends to set them up on blind dates. Four friends that, he decided, needed something new to distract from the stresses of life. 

Friend number one—Gavin Reed, a police officer closing in on his second year out of police academy—was the one who unintentionally gave Nines the idea to play matchmaker. 

On a cold Friday evening, their weekly "chill day," Gavin was complaining about his coworkers, as usual. 

"So, there's this new guy, a transfer from Dearborn, who is so fuckin' annoying. Dude spends his entire fucking break, I shit you not, to gush about his wife. Just got married. Who cares? Lotsa people get married, why should it be such a big deal? So I say to him, "Why don't you spend less time rambling on about the missus, and more time solving fucking crimes?" And the asshole has the gall to tell me that I'd change my mind if I could keep someone around for more than a week! What a dick right?" 

While Nines loved spending time with Gavin, he made conversations interesting and he was honest, he got into moods and would, for lack of a better word, be a huge bitch about things he didn't agree with. 

Nines shot a glance towards Gavin, taking in his position sprawled out on Nines' couch, one leg dangling off the edge, fiddling with his phone. "I suppose the only option would be to prove him wrong then. Show that you can 'keep someone around for more than a week' and rub it in his face, good ol' Gavin Reed style." He scowled, "But who would be this mystery date?"

Gavin looked up from his phone, shooting Nines a confused glance. "Well, I 'spose it could be one of those friends of yours. You've got like a million, it can't be that hard to find someone who'll like me. Even if I am kind of a dick!"

Nines hummed in confirmation, mentally creating a list of potential dates for Gavin. He had a lot of pros and cons lists to make. 

Friend number two—Connor Stern, a newer acquaintance of his—was the catalyst for the second half of what would eventually turn into Nines' biggest embarrassment. 

Connor had been more forthright with his date searching. On one of their shopping trips, devised when they found out they both lived at the same apartment complex as well as frequently shopped at the same local grocery store, he had suddenly enquired as to whether or not Nines could find someone he could go on a date with. 

"I suppose, since it's been so long that I've tried dating, that I should consider pursuing romantic relationships. Now that I am about to graduate from the academy, I have more time to do so. So you have anyone in mind whom you think I could form a serious connection with, whether it be more friendly or more romantic?" 

At first, Nines was a little surprised. But he quickly overcame that because a wave of excitement washed over him. Since he began planning a blind date for Gavin three days prior, Nines had closely analyzed the personalities of all of his companions. In doing so, he had gotten closer to narrowing down who Gavin's date would be. To find Connor a potential date, all he would have to do is make minor adjustments to his list of complementary personality traits and hobbies. 

He gave Connor a small smile in confirmation. "I think I can come up with a person or two."

After narrowing down his list of potentials for Connor, he had to ask friends if they would be available in the set few days Connor had confirmed he would be free. 

Option one, a close friend and classmate, North Dufay, stated that she had to take over for a friend who was on vacation at the taekwondo studio she worked at. 

Option two, local street artist Markus Manfred, was also unavailable. His father was accompanying him to an art gallery showing in Paris, where both artists would present new works. 

That left one person. The third friend roped into Nines' disaster of a plan, Elijah Kamski, genius and programmer, and massive introvert. It had been at least three years, half of the time Nines has known him, since he had even attempted to socialize with anyone outside of his immediate friend group. Jumping from one project to the next, he had a habit of ignoring any of Nines' attempts at getting him to redirect his attention elsewhere and relax. Nines hoped that, by introducing him to someone new who would match his wit and appreciate his devotion to his goals, it would encourage him to pursue other minor hobbies and allow him to de-stress. 

Connor, who was sarcastic and determined, seemed like a perfect match. 

Finding Gavin a date took a little more thinking than it did for Connor; he had a less approachable personality. Grumpy and irritable, many of Nines' friends would be unable to withstand sharp jabs and brutal honesty long enough to get to see his protectiveness and ambition. 

North might've been a good option, but she had prior engagements. Tina might've gotten along well with Gavin, but they had dated in high school and agreed that being friends was better for both of them. At first, Chloe seemed like she might be a good match, but she had recently come out as aromantic and asexual, so Nines ruled her out. 

The only option left was the chaotic ball of energy that was Leo Manfred, Markus' half brother. When he was younger, Leo had been in a bad situation, but finding supportive friends and a good therapist that encouraged him to redirect his anger to something more productive had helped him find a purpose in life, create goals. 

Now a full time student, well on his way to becoming a psychologist, he was likely to enjoy Gavin's sass and dorky jokes. 

People paired up, all Nines had to do was organize the details of the dates. For Connor and Elijah, he decided that a less crowded, but not isolated café just off of the main streets would be perfect. Or, was that where he had planned Gavin and Leo's date? No, he was mostly sure that he had made reservations for them at a local restaurant by Gavin and Tina's shared apartment. He didn't have time to worry about it at the moment; he had a final to study for. 

Connor had the feeling that something was going to go wrong. Nines hadn't told him his date's name to prevent him from looking him up on social media platforms and form any opinions on him before their actual date. He was just told that his date was about average height, with dark hair, often wore glasses, and had horrible posture. 

So of course, when someone matching that exact description walked through the door six and a half minutes after their scheduled meet up time, he hesitantly waved. 

The man, indeed wearing glasses, seemed slightly out of breath. He hadn't seemed to try to dress up, dressed in a faded gray, long sleeved sweater and wrinkled blue jeans. 

Flopping down into the chair across from Connor, his date sighed, stuck a hand out to shake, and blurted out "I'm so sorry I'm late! My roommate let my cat outside accidentally and I had to chase her down the street so that I could get her home and by the time I did, I had lime fifteen minutes max, and I still had to shower and stuff and then i realized that my dryer broke in the middle of this last load so most of my clothes are either soaked or horribly wrinkled and I couldn't find a shirt that made my eyes look really good and I forgot to put my contacts in and… yeah. I'm so fuckin' sorry, I wanted to try to impress you but I'm doing a kind of shit job at that huh?" 

Connor blinked a few times, trying to absorb the story his date, who still had yet to introduce himself, threw at him. He tried to smile reassuringly, and shook the still outstretched hand. "Well that seems like a horrible afternoon. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Connor. You're also a friend of Nines' then I suppose?" 

"Oh yeah! Yeah I am. Uh, I'm Gavin. It's nice to meet you." Gavin shifted in his seat. "Sorry again for being late. It really isn't normal for me, I swear." 

"Well it happens every one in a while. It's sweet that you care about your cat so much that you would go out of your way to looking for her like that. What's her name, if you don't mind me asking?"

Gavin gasped and frantically pulled his phone out, unlocking it. "Her name is Dana and she's a menace! Look, she's so fluffy!" He shoved his phone at Connor, who takes in the fluffy black mass, staring up at him through the photo. Her bright green eyes reflect a tiny image of Gavin, holding his phone to take the photo and squinting in concentration. Cute.

Connor smiles. "Well, that is the most gorgeous menace I've ever seen. She looks so soft." 

"Oh she is. If I don't brush her every day, she gets violent." Connor snorts. "Ha, yeah it's funnier when you're not on the receiving end of her tiny little dagger-teeth. I should probably stop gushing about my cat; you'll think I'm crazy soon! So, uh, how did Nines describe me? Because he described you as, and I quote, a kind of tall, dark haired twink with a nice smile." 

Connor chuckled. "It seems like the stress is really getting to him if he could only describe me as a twink with a nice smile. He was a lot more bland when describing you. He said you're average height, with glasses and dark hair and a horrible posture. Which, I mean, at least he's been pretty accurate with his descriptions, even if they do seem rushed." 

Humming in agreement, Gavin asked, "Hey, what do you do? You got a job or you studying or what?" 

"Oh I'm currently in the police academy. I wanna be a lieutenant someday." 

Gavin wiggled in his seat. "Oh shit, I'm a cop too! I escaped the academy two years ago." 

"Really? Oh that's amazing! Maybe we'll get to work together on cases. It would be nice to have made a friend or something when I graduate from the academy. So what do you do now? What's it like, being a serious police officer like that?"

They continued chatting for the next two hours, occasionally buying each other snacks and drinks. Connor was hesitant to end the date, suggesting they walk to the park or go watch a movie. 

They spent most of the afternoon together, before Gavin offered to walk Connor home. Standing on the sidewalk by the front doors, Gavin slowly took hold of Connor's hands and stood on his toes to kiss Connor's nose. 

"I had a lot of fun, I'd love to see you again" Gavin murmured. 

A blush crept up Connor's cheeks. "Well it's a good thing I'm free next Saturday, because I do too." 

"Oh, well that's good." Gavin sighed. "I'm gonna hafta leave soon, or else Dana'll throw a fit. I'll see you Saturday okay? Is seven good? I got a half brother who can hook me up with some fancy reservations if you'd like."

Connor squeezed Gavin's hand before hesitantly letting go. "Sounds like a date. I can't wait. Goodbye Gavin." 

"G'bye."

Elijah was hesitant to go on Nines' blind date. In a hurry, he only said that his date was a smart kid, a couple years younger than Elijah himself, with dark brown, curly hair. 

He didn't want the guy to think too highly of him or else he might want to schedule another date, and Elijah didn't have time for that. So, he decided to show up "accidentally" almost half an hour late. Pushing the café door open, his gaze immediately landed on a grumpy looking guy, maybe twenty-ish, who was slumped over his phone in a booth in the far back. 

Shambling over to the grumpy kid, he asked "Are you Nines' friend? I'm here for the blind date."

Grumpy guy glanced up at him, grumbling a "Yeah that's me. You a little late there dude."

Slouching into the other side of the booth, Elijah quoted the excuse he planned out. "I'm sorry. My car wouldn't start, so I had to get a ride from a friend. Maybe I can buy you like a coffee or a sandwich to make up for it?"

"Well, you don't have to bribe me. If you're offering though, maybe a blueberry muffin and a caramel macchiato. And also a name?" 

Elijah raised his eyebrows. This kid was more blunt than he was expecting. It was… nice. "Hmm I suppose that it makes sense to give you my name. Elijah." He paused. "Kamski." Some people knew who he was. It wasn't that surprising for a programmer as young as he is to catch the attention of mainstream media if they're successful, which he was. 

"Leo. Manfred." Manfred, Manfred. Why did that name sound so familiar? "Are you gonna get my stuff or were you lying about that part?" 

If he had wanted to make a better impression, he might've actually laughed at that. Instead, all he did was not and stand up, heading toward the counter. As he was walking, he glanced around the café, observing a small family, a couple teenagers working on homework, and Gavin? On a date. Hmm. That's something to tease him about later. 

Returning to the table, he expected Leo to still be on his phone, but instead he was casually observing him. Might as well pass the time by talking. That usually pushes people away pretty fast. "You have a job? Studying?" 

Munching on his muffin, Leo hummed. "Mhm. Psychology." Maybe this kid is smart. "Don't worry though, I promise I only psychoanalyze on the second date." Oh. He's actually funny. Maybe this won't be as bad as he thought. 

Elijah allowed himself to smile a little at that. "Well, well, well, looks like I have something to look forward to." Elijah what are you doing? Did you just insinuate that you would like to go on a second date with this guy? 

Leo chuckles and sets his muffin back down on its plate. "Well you still gotta impress me first. Bribery doesn't work with everyone. If this were the second date, though, I'd have a hell of a lot to say about the lying and avoidance of revealing personal details. But, like I said, that'll have to wait 'til the second date." 

Definitely smart. More smart-ass though. That was more appealing than Elijah was expecting it to be. 

He sighed. "Well, since you caught me, I suppose I'll have to share something for the class. I'm a programmer. I'm currently working on developing AI tools that will recognise voices to activate or shut down household items, like a stove that shuts off to protect young children from lighting their homes on fire."

"That sounds pretty cool actually. Gotta babyproof the fancy smart-technology. I was expecting you to be something lame, like a very antisocial plumber or a dentist or something, but you're not that boring I guess." 

This time Elijah couldn't stop himself from laughing. Maybe, just maybe, he'll let himself enjoy this date. "'Not that boring I guess' is a compliment of the highest caliber, coming from someone as attractive as you." Why not go full flirt, if he wants this to go well. 

"Keep talking like that and I'll be swooning into your arms in no time. Seriously though, be careful, I'm starting to like you. That would be horrible, wouldn't it?" Leo raised an eyebrow.

Elijah smiled a little. "I guess it wouldn't be that bad. I think I'm starting to like you too." He snuck a piece of Leo's muffin, then hummed in delight. "That is a phenomenal muffin. You've just been hoarding it all for yourself over there? You are a cruel and unjust monster. Gimme more."

Snickering, Leo smacked Elijah's arm away from the plate. "Only nice dates who ask nicely get to share muffins." 

Elijah sighed. "Well I suppose if it's for a muffin of this quality, it will be worth it. I would like some muffin." 

Leo didn't budge. 

"...Please?" 

At this,  Leo broke off a large chunk of the muffin and handed it to Elijah. "Well, since you asked so politely, I guess I'm required to give you some now. It's good date behavior. Gotta be good if I want ya to stick around I 'spose." He smirked. Then he glanced at his watch, a rather shiny silver. "Oh shit, I gotta go. I'm house-sitting for my half-brother and I gotta feed his birds."

Elijah hesitated in saying goodbye, even as Leo rushed to clean up. Suddenly standing, he blurted out, "Maybe we can schedule that second date?" 

Leo paused, looking up at him. For a few seconds, Elijah thought he was going to decline the offer, but then he straightened his spine, smiled softly, and said, "Meet me at that Italian restaurant off of Main, next Tuesday? 6:30?" 

"It's a date. I'll see you then. I'll accompany you to your car." The both of them walked side by side, just close enough that every once in a while, their knuckles would brush up against each other. Parting with a wave, Elijah started planning what he would do to show his thanks to Nines for forcing him to do this dumb blind date thing, because it seemed that it wasn't as dumb as he originally thought.

When Nines ran into Connor in the hallway, he had to see how the date went. "So, what did you think of Elijah?"

Connor froze, turned to look at Nines, brow furrowed, and asked, "Who the fuck is Elijah?" Uh oh. 

[candace-engl-306-blog]

Pages 1-4 ish

Description of art and panel layout of the first few comic pages:

Page 1-2 ish:

A date at the top of the page indicates that it is December and the drawings and panels of this graphic story are functioning as a diary of sorts. To open the narrative, a series of panels showing a post office box (mail boxes in an apartment building), in progressing levels of morning sunlight. These panels and the ones following will be mostly black and white and drawing with pen, with loose crosshatching to show value and detail. A hand reaches out and opens the box. A hallmark letter sized envelope waits inside. The rand removes it, and there is a pause as the protagonist (Audrey) holds the envelope and examines the return address. It’s from an old coworker of her mother’s and Audrey’s old 2nd grade teacher, which is confusing because Audrey hasn’t really heard from any of her teachers in the past, and although this woman was close with her mom, she hasn’t ever gotten mail from her in the past. This won’t necessarily be obvious on the page just yet. The panel will show Audrey’s face examining the envelope, giving the reader the first real glimpse at the “narrator” so the drawing will be somewhat more precise than the previous panels to make it stand out and indicate her role as the protagonist. This will also be an important portrait of Audrey because it will be the only time the reader views her before she discovers the death of her mother.

A series of panels shows Audrey opening the envelope while still downstairs because of her curiosity. The corner of a card peeking out of the simple drawing of the envelope shows detailed and vibrantly rendered colored flowers on the front of the card. Audrey’s hand pulls it from the envelope. A cliché note about loss and grief is written in three different cursive fonts. By all accounts the design on the card is intricate and ugly. Audrey, confused, her hands shaking a little, (shown by drawing two panels that show the briefest lapse in time of just her hand working up the courage to open the card), opens the card and reads the message from her mother’s coworker. “Very sorry to hear of your loss. Please give a call if you need anything (anything underlines and written in swooping cursive). God bless, Ms. Molly”

A panel shows Audrey looking up. A man sits at the lobby desk but there’s no indication he is meant to work there or is just lounging. His expression is bored, and he stares at Audrey as if she is paint drying and he is trying not to fall asleep. Audrey checks the time on her phone. Every moment is now being rendered in its own panel to slow the pacing of the narrative and distort the flow of time.  These eventually grow darker in value and the reader then suddenly see a message typed hastily on a phone cancelling what the reader can assume was a date.

A rather thick black line cuts the above panels off from a panel that is the width of the page. From the reader’s POV, Audrey has transported to the train station. This transitional panel depicts a lowering (or raising, since the panel that would reveal which way it moves is not present) guard rail and commuter legs crossing in front of the “camera.” This is an above ground train, with only two tracks, indicating Audrey’s location somewhat outside of the denser parts of the city. Audrey stands on the platform with her arms crossed and one hand raised to her ear, holding her phone.

 Page 3-ish

A detailed drawing of Audrey in profile is lit by the phone screen pressed to her ear, indicating that she just checked the screen to ensure the call was going through before returning the phone to her ear. This light does the work of an onomatopoeia for the reader, the Samsung dialing tone is evident. For a few panels Audrey waits for an answer, the wind blowing her hair to indicate the movement of time. Audrey’s sister answers. Audrey closes her eyes, and the page becomes black and a dialogue in white lettering transcribes the conversation.

             Audrey: Hannah? Hello?

             Hannah: Audrey? A baby cries in the background. Yeah hi! What do you need, what’s up?

             Audrey: I got a weird card. Wait, what do you mean what’s up? You know what’s up.

             Hannah: Oh Audrey. Oh…

             Audrey: I got a card from one of Mom’s old friends. Hannah, when did she die? What… I?

             Hannah: I really did mean to call you. It was only a few days ago. Just hold on. She whispers harshly to a child to drop something. Audrey, you there? Try not to worry, I was going to call once the arrangements had all been made; Dad didn’t want to worry you with all this.

             Audrey: You’re talking to Dad? No. Wait. How did she die? Hannah this is a huge shock, I don’t understand what’s going on. A kid shouts on the line. Are you listening to me?

               The black background begins to lighten, and a silhouette of Audrey is visible under the still-white and fading words.

             Hannah: Oh crap, what, yes, I’m here. Look, I have to go. The baby just threw up and Peggy’s screaming at her sister. I’ll call you later OK?

             The black fades completely and the reader sees Audrey in profile again, but from her other side. She hangs up the phone and static starts to overtake the page. She looks down into the train tracks, but the reader doesn’t see what she’s seeing, just her face, blank, which is unsettling or unexpected considering how she’d discovered her mother’s death. The camera pans out and the static surrounds her more. Then Audrey’s figure is replaced by a detailed and colorful drawing of a cup of green tea.

 Page 4 ish

The same cup of green tea is held by a familiar hand. It’s the first panel on the new page. The lighting is colorful and golden, and no black values exist in most of this page. The exception is a drawing of Audrey sitting on the floor of her apartment and looking out a window. She holds a mug in her hand, but it isn’t the same mug as the cup in the top of this page. The tea from the cup bubbles up and then spills over the page, swirling into a waterfall, going from warm yellows and greens to cooler but still calm waters.

At the bottom of the page, kid feet dash past. A rope guardrail merges from one panel into the next. Two young girls appear hooking their arms over the rope and swinging on it. Behind them walk the torsos of a young couple, not a new couple, but not yet in their 40s. Their faces are hidden by the panel gutter. Remarks on time and memory can be made here, on how kids don’t remember their parents’ faces and just their smells, voices, and hugs. The woman kneels between the girls. They look out at the small waterfalls, large in a child’s memory, but really just a creek pouring over a small cliff, just barely eight feet high.

<The thumbnail sketches of these pages are in a separate post>

      And for some context, here is the written scene that became the opening scene of the graphic story (so you can see how this has developed):

I awoke early that morning by some accident, maybe knowing what the day held, if you believe in that sort of thing. I slipped on a sweater and went downstairs to check my mail. The man behind the front desk greeted me with a smile as I unlocked my box.

             The pale blue envelope tucked inside was stamped with the army seal, and as I withdrew it, I thought it felt too small and too light in my hands. I knew what it was, and I suddenly realized I needed to choose a place to open it. My apartment? No, I needed to live there. And I couldn’t do it here, in the lobby.

             I hid the letter away and took the stairs back up to my place. I sat in front of the window and lifted back the curtain just enough to see outside. Nothing had changed. The city glistened with cold, but the sun warmed me through the glass. I could taste sleep in my mouth.

             I knew that breaking the seal wouldn’t be what killed my mother, but I put it off. I sat for a while, maybe an hour. I took note of the room, of the way the sunlight fell behind me onto the floor, of what I was wearing, of the movement of the cars below, the pattern of the trains coming into the station. I counted the seconds between the guardrails dropping and the trains bisecting the road. Trying to commit to memory the last moments I had before my mother was dead.

             Finally, I pushed myself up and forced my boots on, grabbed my jacket and keys and went out into the street. The sun’s rays made it feel deceptively warm at first but then I ducked my face into my scarf against the breeze. The guardrail bells began to ring, and I headed for the station. I bought a platform ticket and the gate ate it and spit it out as the limited rushed through the station. As it passed, I reached the edge and could look down into the tracks. The cold had set in permanently over the rails, untouched by the sun. I slipped my hand into my pocket and touched the envelope there. I didn’t know what compelled me to need to open it at the station. The trains had become a vein connecting me to the city, my commute familiar, so that I couldn’t feel like an outsider while I rode to and from the hospital.

             But whatever the reason, I figured it was time. I opened the notice, and my mother was dead. As express train after express train shot past, the tracks disappeared and reappeared in a blur. I imagined watching myself getting caught underneath the platform, in the hidey-holes carved into the concrete in case you fell in. Or just lying down and waiting. If I fell in, could I make myself flat enough to avoid having my body smeared away? The letter didn’t say how she died. I didn’t know if it mattered to me; people only want to know how others died so that they can get a hint about their own end. Would my death creep up on me like a dream, allowing me enough time to realize what was happening?

             As the bells began to ring again, I stepped closer and peered down into the tracks. I thought maybe I’d start crying.

             “Hey you, stand back behind the line!”

             I jumped and backed away as the local train slowed into the station, whistling. The conductor in the front car turned his head to look at the weirdo (me) as he passed. I hadn’t been leaning over the edge, so decapitation wouldn’t have been possible, but I stopped zoning at the idea of suddenly becoming just a head. I folded up the letter and tucked it back inside the envelope.

[javerticade]

ExR Fic Recs

Here I am, posting my recs at the very end of the last day of fic rec week. Go me.

Without further ado, here are some of my favorite Enjoltaire fanfiction recommendations in no particular order!

Nondiscriminatory Hiring Practices (7851 words) by Raddtaire: Super fluffy coffeeshop AU with some sweet pining!jolras. I think this is the very first ExR fic I’ve ever read, and it’s like the Parks and Recreation or mac and cheese of fanfiction for me. It’s like a comfort food that always cheers me up. Highly recommended.

I Feel Alive (3246 words) by captainskellington: Enjolras goes to the same bar all the time, and Grantaire is the bartender. Delicious pining and misunderstandings ensue.

Friday I’m in Love (34598 words) by The Librarina: Wonderful fake dating AU. Enjolras is going home for spring break and needs a fake boyfriend to keep his parents from setting him up with people, and Grantaire agrees.

Wanderer (15596 words) by sonhoedesrazao: Busker AU. Enjolras meets Grantaire while visiting Prague and follows him around Europe. This fic is amazing and has beautiful descriptions of all the cities please read it oh my god

Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood (8037 words) by sonhoedesrazao: Oblivious!Grantaire tries to play matchmaker for Enjolras, who is quite confused about it. General fluff with silly, silly boys.

We Are Who We Are (29691 words) by sigh_no_more: You’ve Got Mail AU! Enjolras falls for an anonymous internet pen pal while also dealing with his insufferable coworker, Grantaire.

That’s How Easy Love Can Be (28886 words) by lady_ragnell: The Amis are teachers at an elementary school, and Principal Valjean proposes a “non-denominational anonymous holiday gift exchange”. Enjolras draws Grantaire’s name and takes it upon himself to spend more time with him in order to decide what to get him. Super cute and has ExR painting together!!! And dealing with little kids!!! Honestly what more could you want??

Date Night (9102 words) by samyazaz: Accidental relationship AU. Enjolras always comes over when Joly and Bossuet are on date night with Musichetta, and Grantaire can’t seem to figure out why.

9 Times Grantaire Asked Enjolras Out (+1 He Said Yes) (3343 words) by captainskellington: Title is pretty explanatory. Really cute n’ flirty, and just in time for Valentine’s Day!

bigger than we ever dreamed (13211 words) by slightlytookish: Enjolras is the former crown prince and needs a place to hide out until the media dies down after abdicating from the throne. Grantaire just happens to be available. Super domestic and fluffy.

A Picture Speaks A Thousand Words (25024 words) by BethXP: Grantaire and Courfeyrac are both pining, and they strike up a bet to see who will be kissed by their respective love interests first. (Also, Marius does not deserve this treatment from his friends.)

Sheer Dumb Luck (23002 words) by angryintrovert: Texting universe! Grantaire accidentally texts Enjolras after Courfeyrac messes up Grantaire’s contacts. Nothing but fluff and another one of my comfort food fics.

out of the woods (7328 words) by novembersmith: Grantaire really hates haunted houses, really likes Enjolras, and really wishes he weren’t stuck in a haunted house with only Enjolras to help him out. Warning for descriptions of minor injuries and blood.

I Don’t Want To Be Your Friend (9665 words) by waroftheposes: The 1975/One Direction AU. Enjolras is in a boy band, and he may have a huge crush on Grantaire, the lead singer of the indie band 1832.

Love goes towards love, as schoolboys from their books (92326 words) by GingerNinjaAbi: Absolutely incredible Hogwarts AU. Amazing slowburn relationship and achingly beautiful setting descriptions. This fic is like sweaters and tea on a brisk fall day.

Kittens and Cats and All Things Cute (21576 words) by thedarkandstormyknight: Enjolras receives a kitten for his birthday and Grantaire works at an animal shelter. So, so cute and fluffy(literally).

touching souls (5419 words) by nightswatch Based on this short film(which I highly recommend). High school AU. Enjolras is blind and quite smitten with Grantaire, who very much returns the sentiment. I love this fic so much it makes my heart melt every time.

[emphasisonem]

I would absolutely love to see your take on this: “hOOOoooOo shit, so you’re the older sibling my best friend always talks about hahah wow tHEY NEVER BOTHERED TELLING ME YOU WERE THIS HOT” au

Title: Catch Me a Catch

Summary

“James, you-” Steve stammers, face flushing as his brow furrows. “You’re- you’re Bucky?!”

“I am,” Bucky replies, taking a sip of his drink, curious to see if checking Steve out ahead of time is going to backfire because the blond looks equal parts surprised and annoyed.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve cross his arms over his chest, and yeah, maybe Bucky should have thought this plan through just a little bit more.

“Wait,” Becca’s eyes dart between the two of them. “Did you just call him James? Do you two know each other?”

In which Becca desperately wants to introduce her friend Steve to her brother Bucky, but it turns out that the two of them have already met.

So, this isn’t quite the prompt, but I like the way it turned out and I hope that you do too! Thank you for the request!

“You’re coming to my birthday party tonight, Rogers, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Becca glares down at him, bright red lips pursed tightly together. Steve knows that look well, knows there’s not a chance in hell that he’s getting out of attending this party no matter how much he’d rather spend Friday night curled up on his couch in sweats and watching Netflix.

Steve sighs, shoving the last of the newly released books into the bottom shelf of the display case he’s been working on, and pushes himself up. Becca’s nearly a foot shorter than Steve is, but with her hands on her hips, and that glare that follows him up, Steve knows better than to underestimate her.

“Becca,” Steve sighs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and kicking at the ground. “You know parties aren’t my scene, especially parties at clubs. Plus, I’m broke. All the money I make here goes toward tuition and art supplies; you know that.”

“Rogers,” Becca huffs, an amused smirk curling across her lips. “It’s an open bar for most of the night. Besides, I want you to meet my girlfriend and my brother. I know you’d probably rather wander through the city streets sketching or whatever it is you do in your free time, but you are coming. You might even have fun. And I really think you and Bucky would get along.”

“Oh my god,” Steve groans, running a hand through his hair as he grabs the empty cardboard box at his feet and heads toward the back room of the bookshop Becca’s parents own. “Beck, you need to chill out. Your brother sounds like a cool guy, but just because I’m bi and he’s gay doesn’t mean we’re gonna have some instant connection or whatever.”

“Yeah, well, you should have thought about that before telling me you haven’t been on a date in over a year, Steve,” Becca chuckles, following her friend. “You’re my friend now, and I just want my friends to be happy. And if I can also make my currently-single brother happy? Well, two birds, one stone. Come on, you’re totally his type, and he’s a good guy. Not quite as handsome as you, but most people I know find him pretty darn attractive.”

“Look,” Steve sighs, setting the cardboard box down by the rest of the recycling. “I will come to your party. I will have a few drinks. I will meet your girlfriend and your brother and be friendly. But only on the condition that you stop meddling.”

Becca squeals, throwing her arms around Steve’s midsection and hugging him so tightly that he grunts. For such a tiny little thing, Rebecca Barnes is awfully damn strong.

“All right, all right,” Steve chuckles, pushing the young woman back gently. “You’re going to break my spine and I’m not done shelving for the day.”

“Thank you, Steve!” Becca exclaims, releasing him from her hug, gripping his hands and squeezing gently. “You won’t regret it!”

And then Becca’s bouncing back to the register, leaving Steve alone to wonder about how vaguely ominous the brunette’s parting words had been.

Becca’s gone for the day to get ready for her party, and Steve’s nearly finished with his closing rituals when he hears the bell above the door tinkling gently. He just manages not to groan aloud at the idea of a customer coming in five minutes before closing, and he’s glad he does because it turns out to be his favorite semi-regular.

“I’m so, so sorry,” the dark-haired man grins, breathing heavily as he brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I know it’s almost closing time, but I got held up at work and I gotta get a present for a party. I know exactly what I’m lookin’ for; I swear I’ll only be a second.”

Steve just stares for a moment, trying to remember how to speak. Usually the man’s longish hair is hanging loose to his shoulders or swept up into a messy bun, but he’s clearly cleaned up for the party he’s attending. He’s not in his usual ratty jeans and layers of hoodies and jackets. Instead, snug, dark wash jeans hug his long legs and muscular thighs, and a polished black peacoat is what’s keeping him warm. His face, usually graced with a five o’clock shadow, is clean-shaven, and his hair is braided back away from his face. Steve’s breath actually catches a little at the sight before him.

“That’s-” Steve finally manages to reply, smiling at the man. “That’s fine, James. I’ll, uh, I’ll just be here when you’re ready, okay?”

“Thank you so much, Steve,” James grins, stormy eyes sparkling as he strides into the shelves, disappearing from view. Steve slumps forward, hands against the counter as he breathes in deeply. He wishes he’d just told Becca about the cute regular - it might have saved him the awkward attempted set-up with her brother- but then he’d have to deal with her interfering with his love life while he’s on the job.

“You doin’ all right, pal?” Steve starts at the sound of James’s deep voice laced with amusement. “You look like a man on death row.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, grabbing the book from the other man’s hand and scanning the barcode. “I’m all right. I have to go to a party tonight too, and I’m just bracing myself for my friend’s attempt at playing matchmaker.”

James grins, handing Steve some cash, and Steve nearly shivers at the feeling of the brunet’s fingers brushing against his own. “Well, you never know. Might not be so bad. And I can’t really imagine anybody’d turn down a guy as handsome as you are.”

“Hah,” Steve rubs a hand against the back of his neck as he hands James his change and fumbles the book into one of the plastic bags they keep at the register. “Thanks, I, uh, we’ll see I guess. Enjoy your evening, James.”

“You as well, Steve,” James winks, then disappears out the front door, the bell ringing hollow in Steve’s ears as he watches him go.

Steve sighs, moving to the door to flip the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ before locking the door and heading to the break room to grab his coat.

Bucky’s standing at the bar with Becca and Wanda, sipping on a vodka tonic when Bookstore Steve walks in, looking absolutely stunning as always. He’s changed into darker jeans and a navy sweater that hugs his gorgeous frame perfectly, and Bucky can’t keep from admiring him.

As soon as Becca’d told him about her new coworker, Steve, Bucky had decided he needed to check the guy out for himself, since his baby sister has a tendency to exaggerate a guy’s greatness if she thinks Bucky might be interested. Of course, knowing his sister’s schedule made it very easy to pop in now and again when she wasn’t around, and when he’d first seen Steve, Becca’s description of him as a “blond demigod with eyes as blue as a clear May sky” suddenly seemed like an understatement instead of the most dramatic thing he’d ever heard.

And, yeah, Bucky now has roughly twenty unread novels stacked around his apartment, but each of those books has given him a chance to chat with Steve, to get to know him a little better, and he has a really good feeling about the shy, polite, surprisingly sassy blond.

Bucky turns back to the bartender, signaling for another drink so that Steve won’t see his face right away. He knows the moment Steve arrives because Becca excitedly introduces him to Wanda (whom Bucky adores because he’s never seen Becca so happy) and then there’s a tug on the sleeve of his red button-up.

“Steve,” Becca shouts over the music. “This is my brother Bucky. Bucky this is my friend from the bookstore, Steve.”

Bucky turns, a wide smile on his face as he extends his hand. He’s not sure how he manages not to laugh at the stunned look on the other man’s handsome face, shaking his hand and telling him what an absolute pleasure it is to finally meet him officially.

“James, you-” Steve stammers, face flushing as his brow furrows. “You’re- you’re Bucky?!”

“I am,” Bucky replies, taking a sip of his drink, curious to see if checking Steve out ahead of time is going to backfire because the blond looks equal parts surprised and annoyed.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve cross his arms over his chest, and yeah, maybe Bucky should have thought this plan through just a little bit more.

“Wait,” Becca’s eyes dart between the two of them. “Did you just call him James? Do you two know each other?”

“He’s a regular at the bookstore,” Steve replies, eyes narrowing as he glares at Bucky. It shouldn’t be getting Bucky hot under the collar, but the intensity in that gaze has Bucky’s head swimming a bit. “And you only ever came in when Becca wasn’t around. Were you trying to check me out without your sister knowing?”

“And, I believe that is our cue to dance, darling,” Wanda purrs, grabbing Becca’s wrist and dragging her away from the two men. She smiles at Bucky over her shoulder and winks, and Bucky grins gratefully in return.

Steve’s still glaring at him, but Bucky just smiles and says, “Can I get you a drink, Steve?”

Steve blinks, then studies Bucky carefully before replying, “Yeah, okay. Any lager they have on tap is fine.”

Bucky orders the drink, handing it to Steve and the motioning for the man to follow him to a quiet corner of the club.

“All right, so,” Bucky smiles apologetically. “I know it’s maybe weird that I never told you I was Becca’s brother. But I was curious about you; the way she described you, you seemed too good to be true. And she mentioned that you were very skeptical of set-ups, so I didn’t want to blow my chances right out the gate. Especially once I started talking to you and figured out that you were not only unbelievably handsome, but that you were also a really nice guy.”

Steve’s biting on his lower lip, clearly trying not to smile as Bucky pauses.

“Go on, James” Steve urges, blue eyes warming up considerably as he bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s. Bucky likes that gaze and the way Steve’s fighting a losing battle against his impulse to grin.

“Do you know how many books I have to read now?” Bucky asks, liking the way Steve laughs. “Not that I mind; I love books. But, really, you’re the only reason I’ve been coming into my parents’ shop so often. My mom’s been makin’ fun of me about it for weeks now.”

“Is that right?” Steve questions, a gentle finger trailing up and down Bucky’s arm as he smiles, eyes darkening when Bucky shivers.

“That’s right,” Bucky answers, voice firmer and surer than he’d anticipated. “And I think maybe you should let me take you out sometime. Because I’m pretty sure you think I’m cute too. And you can call me Bucky, you know. Most people do”

“Oh, you’re pretty sure, huh?” Steve chuckles, leaning down to whisper in Bucky’s ear. “Because, I’ll be honest, cute’s not really the word I think of when you walk through the door of the bookstore, Bucky. Rugged? Sure. Sinful? Absolutely. Sexy? Definitely. But not cute.”

“So, is that a yes?” Bucky’s a little breathless as Steve’s nose grazes his cheek when he pulls back. “Let me take you to dinner?”

“That’s a yes,” Steve smiles, threading his fingers through Bucky’s and tugging him forward. “Now, what’s say we join your sister and her girl on the dance floor? I’m sure she’ll think it’s an even better present than the book you got her, given how adamant she’s been about me meeting you.”

Bucky knows he’s grinning like a fool, like a lovesick middle-schooler, but he can’t bring himself to care as he nods and lets Steve drag him onto the dance floor and pull him close.

“I told you,” Becca grins at Wanda as the two of them sway to the music. “I’m the best matchmaker of all time.”

Wanda rolls her eyes with a smile. “Truly, dear, your skills are positively occult.”

“Hey now,” Becca tugs Wanda close, lips brushing against Wanda’s mouth as she laughs. “Be nice to me. It is my birthday, after all.”

“And you got exactly what you wanted,” Wanda replies, kissing Becca sweetly as she wraps her arms around her girlfriend’s neck.

“I did at that,” Becca sighs happily, smiling when she catches Bucky’s eye, and giggling as her brother winks before he goes back to chatting animatedly with Steve.

Yup. Matchmaker extraordinaire. Becca should add it to her business card.  

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