#and ''aw shit if i beef it then no one will know to feed my cat''

[clavissionary-position]

—gilbert spoilers, be aware—

Emma: Gil, I've noticed there's very little seafood in Obsidian.

Gilbert: (sets his research away) That's correct. What little we have comes from our lakes, and it's still too much of a hassle for us to consider importing. (He pats his lap)

Emma: (sets the giant tray of cookies down on his desk before plopping onto his lap) So people here have never had calamari?

Gilbert: (wraps his arms around her waist) Mmm, I'm sure people in certain circles have. I think they served it once during a ball in my youth. (He opens his mouth as Emma begins feeding him)

Emma: (pauses) Ah. I'm guessing those particular circles are... no longer around?

Gilbert: (smiles meaningfully) You catch on quick. (He pecks the cookie out of her hand and speaks while chewing.) Our aquaculture industry is far better than it was five or six years ago. Actually, I've thought about engineering our own species of squid.

Emma: Uh... what? Engineering? (She uses her fingertip to dab away some crumbs on his lip)

Gilbert: (watches her delightedly knowing that she's expecting him to bite any moment now) Hehe, indeed. I'm sure you've noticed while cooking here that not everything we grow is native to Obsidian.

Emma: (still on guard as she withdraws her finger without incident) Well, breeding and cultivating is one thing, but you said engineering. Like making something from scratch. Making meat, erm, I guess seafood. In a lab. Gil, I've never heard of anyone doing something like that outside of horror novels.

Gilbert: Little Rabbit. (He places a cool hand on her head and gives it a single pat) What's more horrible to you? Creating food or being without it?

Emma: (stares at him because he's clearly oversimplifying things)

Gilbert: (stares back with a pleasant smile, sunny as can be)

Emma: ...

Gilbert: ...

Emma: ......

Gilbert: ......

Emma: (epiphany)

Gilbert: (widens his smile, showing teeth)

Emma: So all the beef, the pork... The meat I've been baking into your cookies... (stares at the cookie in her hand as Gilbert's shadow covers her entire arm)

Gilbert: Hehe, not all of it, of course. But a country like Obsidian could hardly have come back from a famine as quickly as we did without some help.

Emma: (looks at Gilbert with a mixture of fear and awe; tries to only feel the awe)

Gilbert: (bittersweet pout) There's a certain principle that says that anything that can go wrong will go wrong at some point. You could call it the burden of the scientist. Knowing the worst-case scenario is only one mishap away, but also knowing that you can save ten-thousand people today. Oh—but as the evil villain, I've always pushed boundaries to satisfy my own curiosity.

Emma: (remembers what Roderich once said to her)

Gilbert: Ahaha, whaaat?

Emma: (looks him in the eye sincerely) I hate lies, you know.

Gilbert: ...!

Emma: (heaves a long sigh and then suddenly pushes a cookie into Gilbert's mouth) Despite what you say, I don't think you've ever really stopped to appreciate everything you're capable of, and everything, all the good that you've done.

Gilbert: (tries to speak but Emma silences him by partially covering his mouth with hers for a split second)

Emma: (pulls away with half the cookie in her mouth and a sad smile) The meat here in Obsidian is the best I've ever had. What hurts me is that I might have gone on without ever knowing just how thoroughly you've tread over every facet of my day-to-day life. Not just my life, but everyone's.

Emma: (chews cutely as she rests her head on his shoulder) What's horrible to me is not knowing how radiant you are.

a/n: i know jack shit about growing meat in a lab and i was too lazy to google soooo. also i remembered that the meat cookies emma starts making for gil are made using the meat from obsidian military rations, at least initially, ahaha ^^; emma didn't particularly care for the taste of the rations on the occasion(s) when she tried them, sooooo. but let's pretend she made her own jerky from Obsidian Beef to put into the cookies in this fic lol

[dyrewrites]

Order In! Questionnaire tag game

Cooked up by @dearunreliablenarrator over here

I am leaving this one OPEN because I am curious about everyone's answers...so if you see this, do it. =P

--

This is a fun one I had to be specifically picky about, on account of so many of my characters not eating 'food'.

We'll be using 'Pale Blood' characters, wherein two of them absolutely eat normal things.

Delmas, Den, Odea and Ron...take it away.

Oh man did they take it--got long so under a cut.

what is one comfort meal that'll change your whole mood for the day?

"You feed this big, hot piece of--"

"Den."

"I can't help it, he's--fine. You feed him, what was it called? The stuff with the noodles and meat and mushrooms."

"Min throws one fit and the whole pack's gotta shame my shrooms..."

"Stroganoff, Den, that's the name."

"Yeah, that. Give my sweet fang here some of that and he's putty the whole day."

"Is that why you hugged me yesterday?"

"Nah, that was all you, Ron. You're very huggable."

"Who invited the ghoulfriend..."

"Aw, look at the arm candy, thinking he gets a say in where I go."

"Aw, and look at the abomination, thinking it can contribute to a discussion about food. Eat any good dead people lately?"

"Plenty, precious. In fact, just this morning I ate your mo--"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Not doin' this. Question over."

what is an experience (good or bad) that has turned you off or on to a food completely?

"Ever see a witch fish synth-beef out of a sink drain...and eat it?"

"Once. I did that once, and if you two hadn't been crashing on my fucking couch you wouldn't have seen shit!"

"What about something you saw him eat, hon, maybe go there instead of shrieking."

"Oh, we can't discuss what I've seen Den eat or this little interview will get decidedly more explicit."

"Wait, what was the question?"

"Speak of the entree."

"What I miss. Why's my boyfriend laughin'...Odea, did you break my wolf?"

if you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy or sweets off the earth what would it be?

"I would like to eliminate dairy, for the sole purpose of making my dear, sweet coworker here less--"

"Ron, if you finish that sentence I'm feeding you to my cats."

"Does the witch not do dairy? Del, Del, why didn't you tell me she can't handle dairy. Even synth? I need ice cream. Or just cream, can we get heavy cream?"

"Den, no."

"But maybe it would loosen her up to be horribly embarrassed and it would please me. Don't you want to please me?"

"I'm not answerin' that. But I will answer the question; brussel sprouts. Even the real thing is like eatin' an old shoe."

and dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

"Cheesecake."

"Hon, no."

"Hon, yes, get this witch some cheesecake!"

"Three tiered chocolate brownie cake..."

"Oh and I'm being unreasonable with my fantasy dessert?"

"You know you'd be eating it alone, babe."

"I'm aware and I want it."

"I'd eat it with you, Del."

"Thank you, Ron...but no, it's all mine."

and if you'd like a refill on your drinks or a to go box, here are some extras...

what are some food fusions that should never be mixed? "Blood and citrus...it clings." "What, did you have a bloodbag with an OJ chaser, how do you know that?" "Kinda. Whoever I drank left a bad taste, so I grabbed an orange to wash it out. It did not."

Cooking is a life skill, why haven't you started learning yet!? "Oh, but I have." "No, please, don't get him started. You'll be here all night with the 'oh, woe is me a halfie what needs foods and bloods, having to learn to cook just to survive...'" "The fuck, Odea." "What, I've heard it so many times. I can't again. Please." "Fine, maybe I won't cook you that lasagna you've been beggin' me for all week. See how you enjoy my stories then." "No, no, I'm sorry. I love your story! Tell it again, please, please?" "Nope, blood's been spilled and I ain't cookin' you shit. The chef is off duty." "Wait, does that mean I get no omelette tomorrow with all the bits of heart meat cut into cute little heart shapes?" "Mm, of course you get your breakfast, sweetness...you didn't mock my cookin'." "I didn't either! I mocked the reason. C'mon, Del, please?" "Nope." Is there a smell that reminds you of something you never want to remember? "Salt and citrus and no, I ain't sayin' why." "Fucking glittershit's why." "Den." "Right, right, not saying."

->blank for you below!<-

what is one comfort meal that'll change your whole mood for the day?

what is an experience (good or bad) that has turned you off or on to a food completely?

if you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy or sweets off the earth what would it be?

and dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

and if you'd like a refill on your drinks or a to go box, here are some extras...

what are some food fusions that should never be mixed? what food spot are you gatekeeping and why? Cooking is a life skill, why haven't you started learning yet!? Is there a smell that reminds you of something you never want to remember?

--

->Taglist for Pale Blood<-

~lemme know if you want on/off~

@rowanmgrey-author @lychhiker-writes

[galpalaven]

!!!!! Truth serum time !!!

For Cal - what is the most exciting adventure you've been on?

For Riz - What's the most embarrassing situation you've ever been in?

For Ravan - What's your beef with Banu-Haqim inquiring minds must know

TRUTH SERUM EEYYY

READMORE FOR LENGTH I DIDNT MEAN FOR CAL TO RAMBLE LIKE THAT

Cal

"Most exciting, huh? That's a tough one. I've had some pretty--well, pretty bad 'adventures' in my time. Suppose it'd have to be the contract I took first starting out monster hunting."

"It was about--pfff--five or so years ago now? Losing track of time as I get older, heh. It was my first time back to the Underdark after I'd left when I was younger. I had luckily had the foresight to ask a couple of friends to come with me, offered to share the wealth as the local Adventurer's Guild had pointed me down into the nearby entrance to the Underdark for a monster problem the town was apparently having."

"Anyway, we go down there, me leading the way because I'd actually spent quite a bit of time around the city when I was a kid. Had reports of something in the tunnels nearby that was giving some of the locals a headache trying to get to and from their homes that were outside of the town. The people out that way had been cut off for about a week when we went down there."

"It was a good thing that it was me, probably, and not someone else less experienced with the Underdark that got sent down there. I was at least familiar and had an idea of what we might be dealing with, though I was concerned all the same. If it was what I thought it was, well..."

"Turned out it was exactly what I thought it was. Biggest Carrion Crawler I've ever seen to date--and I mean, those things get pretty big but this thing was massive. Just absolutely fucking enormous. I have no idea what it was feeding on that got it to that size--don't wanna know."

"Dunno if you've ever seen one of those things, but they're these giant centipede things with like these tentacle things," he wiggles his fingers as he talks, "that eat people and smell like rotting bodies. Ugly, nasty beasts. Killing them is straightforward enough, but they're fast and if they grab hold of you, it's not fucking good."

"So my dumbass is apparently feeling heroic that day, and when my friend Mel was about to get grabbed by about ten of those nasty tentacle things, I jumped in the way. It literally was big enough that the fucker swallowed me. Whole. Didn't even bite me."

"I, uh, well. I blacked out a bit. Woke up covered in giant bug guts clutching my sword and shaking. My friend Maya laughed so hard that I thought she was going to throw up. Apparently, she was no longer worried about me going into this profession if that was how I handled being eaten. Go figure."

Riz

"Aw, shit, goin' straight for the kill with that one, aren't ya? Man, it's--ugh, it was stupid. Early days of smugglin'. Didn't know my way 'round yet. Got myself in a dumb fuckin' deal which ended up bein' a setup for a robbery somehow. They took everything from me including the clothes off my back and my fuckin' shoes. Had to walk my happy ass into town butt naked and pray that the innkeeper was generous enough to let me run up to my room through the servant's passages."

"She did end up lettin' me run up the back, but not after laughing her ass off at me. Gave me a pot and the lid to cover myself after she stopped wheezin'."

He tilts his head with a smile, a far-off look in his eyes. "Nice lady. I'd like to stop by the inn again and see how she's doin'. Most other folk would'a just run me outta there whether I'd already paid the day before or not. Not easy bein' this pretty, ya know?"

He grins and winks, but his grin doesn't quite meet his eyes.

Ravan

His smile is venomous as he tilts his head, looking you up and down. "Brave one, aren't you? Hmm."

He stares for another moment, before looking away, a bored expression on his face.

"It's not the Banu Haqim I have a problem with, usually. The ones I see around Vegas are just fine when they pass through. I have many friends in their ranks. No, no--the one I have a problem with is far, far beyond my equal, unfortunately. I may be an elder, but even with the strength of my blood, I'm no match for a methuselah."

"The creature is known by many names. The Black Shepherd. The Herald of Haqim. The Skinless One. I believe the current followers of his order call him Ur-Shulgi, now."

His eyes are hard and vicious, full of hate when he looks back at you. "He killed my wife. I'd been with that woman for 700 years. We raised my daughter together. He doesn't know about Nox yet, but I'm sure he will. It's why I Embraced her when she asked--I won't repeat the mistake I made with her mother."

*Note: Nox is not related to Ravan or her late mother by blood in VtM! She was a baby they found abandoned after cleaning up a Masquerade violation. The fact that she looks just like the two of them combined just felt like fate.

THIS WAS SO FUN~

[tsuki-sennin]

Merry Three Days After Christmas~! It's... evidently not very cold out in Oishi-Na Town, but that's okay! It snows in spirit~! And uh... the service I usually use died, so now I had to find a new one, lucky me~! And no, I'm not gonna use Crunchyroll, I have standards.

Anyways Yui, Kokone, Ran, Rosemary, Amane, Takumi, and all the rest are apparently celebrating a super secular Christmas, that's pretty epic of them.

Spoilers, I guess...

-Damn, I can't believe Black Pepper Man was Takumicchi Man all this time!

-Okay time to write them out, let's go

-Oh shit, we're getting revelations today?

-Yes CooQueen, I really think Fennel's gonna help.

-Oh shit, last Recipeppi?

-"One more thing~! I want Yui Nagomi's head on a silver platter!"

-Man, this theme song hasn't gotten even remotely old, idk how the musicians affiliated with Toei do it.

-Something Fennel holds near and dear to his heart </3

-Can't believe Yuin won.

-Beef stew! Only three hours remain...

-Ohhhhhhh fuuuuck, here comes Fennel.

-Cinnamon, hello.

-So, the stone broke because you got kicked out, huh?

-Yeah let's take a minute.

-Last time I went into a dark scary cave with somebody from another world full of fairies powered by a very specific concept, a seahorse attempted genocide, so I think maybe Takumicchi'd like to breathe.

-There's a pretender amidst we!

-Can't even call your dad, smh, this sucks Mari-chan.

-Help us, Cinnaman!

-Feed the hungry, cure the sick! Just like Jesus would do!

-Ah, no wonder this is a Christmas episode.

-Ooooooh...

-That's so pretty, holy crap

-Oh shit, we're back!

-Both Special ones, eh?

-Gowas! Gowas!

-Narshe's back!

-"What the fuck?

-Bundoru, Bundoru!

-Spiritoru too!

-"Where did that filthy cat man leave his particle accelerator?"

-Skaaaaaate!

-Aw, Dad :)

-You seem like a real swell guy, Papa Hikaru.

-Wheeeeeee

-Awwwww, you miss your dad, huh Fennel?

-"Nyaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

-...okay, I know this seems a little odd that your daughter knows this random dude who could bench press you, but trust me, it might be way better or worse than you think in a few minutes.

-"Mr. Yui's Dad is my name. ...my dad's name isn't Mr. Yui's Grandpa though. I married into the Yui's Ancestral Line clan."

-Come over to our place~!

-You're pretty sus, Mr. Fennel.

-Precious things.

-Big fat juicy feesh!

-Ah I see Kome-Kome's out and about!

-Aw, the little Hanamichi kiddos, that's nice!

-Yummy foofd...

-Oh my god, Amane brought her weird-ass brothers.

-Well goddamn, Ranchi! Share some with me and Koko-neechan!

-How big is that FUCKING FISH!?

-Amane with the Drank.

-Hell yeah, girl, go ahead! Party time! Party time!

-It's a Chrimbus Buffet!

-Fennel with the simple compliments.

-Catto

-Aaaaaaaaah, Kokone's butler! He's here! Ya boy! Todoroki! DILF can get it!

-Aaaaaaaw

-She was always obsessed with rice!

-Shinamon! The brother!

-He jelly

-"...thank you, Yui Nagomi. I have discovered my final target."

-WIZARD MAN

-Ah, headed off!

-Oh, Kokone! Your mom's comin' home for Christmas, huh?

-Noooooo, Yuin!

-The Rice Balls!

-"Right... the rice balls."

-Oooooh, this is a big one.

-"Come ON Seccy, it's Christmas! You're really gonna ruin TODAY!?"

-"Fuck you, you little shit! I'm getting that Christmas bonus!"

-...

-DID THIS BITCH JUST SUMMON A FUCKING POPCORN MACHINE

-Or, y'know, you could've asked Fennel to send you to the Delicious Field, that was something I'd have considered doing. I mean, I know he's evil, but

-Time to pop Seccy's kernels!

-Alright ladies, you know the drill! C'mon, c'mon! Let's stomp some ass!

-What was that, the thing had like... a second's worth delay before it opened fire on Yum-Yum.

-FINALE THE FIGHT JUST STARTED, WHYS YOUR SPECIAL THE FIRST ATTACK YOU DO

-DAMN GIRL 5000

-"Dude, c'mon, you look fucking miserable! You ruining the fun for everyone else won't make you feel better! Your Jordans are fake!"

-You fuckin' tell her, Yuin!

-Kome-Kome!

-Our last little Christmas prayer!

-C'mon, Seccy.

-Oh, here he comes!

-Damn, didn't mess around for even a second!

-Hello, Fennel!

-So, you're Godatz-sama.

-You're a right bastard, aren't you?

-Cool design though, love the extra classic overlord look.

-Godatz would totally be that one scene in Fist of the North Star. Where Souther makes the children he enslaved watch him eat a monstrously decadent banquet, takes three bites of steak as they look on in starvation, and flips the whole table right in front of them.

-And this catchy and happy theme song right after the shot of Yuin looking as sad and deflated as a wet dog! Girl you just got shot!

-GIRL, BOY WHY YOU FIGHTIN'

-Guess I gotta wait till Saturday night then. New Year's Eve! Fracc

[yardsards]

it can be a pain in the ass when my cat screams at me to take her outside. but sometimes it's good to have something forcing me to just sit outside and look at the sunset and watch the cars and fireflies with her

[erodasfishtacos]

could u please do like a harry x youtuber/influencer!reader and like lots of fluff🥺

Hi bubbie! Here you go :)))

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Language

Harry was panicking. His mum and sister were going to be here in less than two hours and he’s burnt the eggplant parmigiana he had worked tediously on. 

He grabbed what he had left in his fridge - ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, and a little bit of bacon. 

It was the type of foods he usually strayed away from so sometimes when his shopper would bring this stuff home - he’d avoid it and admittedly sometimes it would go bad sitting in the fridge.

The singer pulls up YouTube onto his phone - hoping something would come up when he typed in the ingredients on the search bar.

He clicks on the first video by cookingwithnofucks. A chuckle at the name as an advertisement plays.

A cute, bubbly girl appears on screen in a beautiful modern kitchen. She has a shirt on that says ‘fuck the patriarchy and eat pizza’. A high ponytail and minimal makeup.

“Okay - today we’re making a cheeseburger casserole,” the girl chirps, “It’s a heart attack in a dish but it’s so fucking good.”

Harry finds himself smiling as he crinkles his nose - it sounds absolutely disgusting but he’s intrigued more by the girl on the screen.

“Shit, I forgot to introduce myself. Hiii, if you’re new - I’m Y/N and I do cooking shit. Subscribe to my channel and all that jazz,” she titters while cutting open her beef package.

Harry follows along step-by-step, shaking his head as she doesn’t describe the instructions nearly well enough and is generally all over the place.

It’s a fucking cooking channel and at one point the meat starts burning. She just laughs and says, “s’just a little crispy!” 

The casserole turns out looking even better than Y/N’s to be honest. It’s done in just the right amount of time for him to shower before his family arrives.

He makes sure to subscribe to her channel - eyebrows raising when he sees that she has 16 million subscribers.

Harry wanted to spend longer, looking at her social media but there was a fixed time so he locked his phone and went to get ready.

**

Anne - always the sweetheart just tells Harry that the casserole is delicious even as a bit of grease runs down her fork from the fatty meats.

Gemma wasn’t as kind, grimacing at the casserole and remarking, “You truly are turning into an American, huh?”

**

Laying in bed that night, Harry swipes back onto YouTube. Going back to the page he just subscribed to - under a pseudonym. He clicks on another video.

“Uh, okay. So I’m cooking...fuck, it’s called unicorn bark. It looks like a magical animal puke but it looks delicious so we’re going to try it.”

Harry realizes he’s been watching this girl cook for nearly an hour. Different videos from desserts to dinners.

She curses like a sailor, fucks up almost every recipe, and makes a mess everywhere. But she’s smiling and talkative which makes him quite memorized by her.

**

“I hate editing,” Y/N groans, letting her head fall dramatically against the desktop. Her best friend and dog looked at her oddly.

“I keep saying you need to hire someone, you stubborn bitch,” Laney retorts, clicking through her Instagram feed.

“Fuck off,” she tells her friend with no real heat. The video was almost fully edited - how to make spicy as fuck jalapeño poppers.

There is a calm silence for a while until Laney gasps, “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Y/N asks, not really caring as she clicks her mouse to trim a segment.

“Harry fucking Styles just followed you on Instagram and Twitter!” Laney shouts, her dog - Rufus popping his head up in confusion.

Y/N looks at her friend to see if she’s really serious and sees no signs of deception. “Oh my god,” Y/N replies. She loved Harry Styles in One Direction and as a solo artist - a fangirl if you will.

Y/N was a well-known influencer and has run in the circles of many celebrities. She’s even met Liam Payne but she’s never been able to bump into Harry.

Her alerts tell her it to be true, she swallows as she looks back up at Laney, “He dm’ed me.”

“Open it! What did he say?” She squeals, squeezing herself on the chair next to her, peering over her shoulder at the phone.

Y/N is a bit nervous, trying not to have a mini aneurysm as she opens the message thread.

HarryStyles: Hello. Just wanted to let you know that your cheeseburger casserole recipe saved my ass last night. Cheers x

“He’s totally coming onto you,” Her friend states instantly, bouncing excitedly - she also had a bit of a crush on the singer.

It takes the two of them a minute to cool their shit before Y/N manages a reply.

Y/N/LN: Well I guess it’s only fair. Your songs have made a few of my nights much better. I’m a bit of a slut for Fine Line.

Harry laughs behind his screen at the cheeky reply he gets back. He’s usually never this forward - especially on social media where he likes to fly under the radar.

HarryStyles: Well if you fancy my music that much, I totally love for you to come to a show. I’m performing in New York City in two weeks.

“This has to be a joke, right?” Y/N sputters to her friend, eyes wide at the invite to a concert she already had tickets to.

Y/N/LN: I’m not going to lie, I already have tickets to the show. However, I don’t have any backstage passes to meet the man of the hour. Do you know someone who can hook me up?

It does wonders for Harry’s narcissism to know that she already had tickets for his concert. Was he really going to do this? He hasn’t met up with some like this since his One Direction days.

He had to remind himself - she may just be friendly and take this as a totally casual interaction. Which would be normal, Harry really shouldn’t be so infatuated with someone he’s watched cook on social media.

HarryStyles: I think I can arrange that. Shoot me your number? I’ll have them sent digitally to you with instructions on how to get backstage.

Y/N is a bit dumbfounded at how fast they agreed to meet up. A harmless backstage tour - he could just be a fan of hers and totally not interested, right?

**

Over the next few weeks, they never really stop texting. Harry sends her pictures of the recipes he copies off her channel - that usually always look better than the original. He sends her clips of him goofing around during tour rehearsal. FaceTimes her when he’s finally home for the night.  

She sends him videos of her watching Harry Styles Best Moment Part Five. A few photos she snaps throughout the city of him on billboards and buildings, in Times Square. YN facetimes him when she’s frustrated with filming or watched a sad movie.

It didn’t make sense to either of them how seamlessly they’d clicked - especially without meeting. They were a perfect balance for each other. Harry - laidback, organized, level-headed. Y/N - eccentric, all over the place, adventurous. 

Jeff had told him that he’s been gaining media attention from his social media interactions with Y/N. They like each other’s photos, begin following each other’s friends, and comment goofy things on their posts.

“Listen, I have a great idea,” Y/N begins - which Harry learned is never good. “You should film a video with me sometime.”

Y/N knew she was going out on a limb and instantly regretted the questions she’d been building the courage to ask for days when it’s quiet on his end. There’s static for a moment and Y/N needs to fill the silence.

“It was - I was just, uh, I know you’re probably too busy. I was -“ She stutters, embarrassment flooding her.

Harry cuts her off, “I’d love to.”

“Yo-you would?” She asks timidly. Was she really going to have Harry Styles in her apartment? If so, should she take down her poster?

He laughs sweetly, “Why do you sound so surprised? I can’t wait to come to New York, love.”

Y/N giggles, “Not the fact that you’re performing in front of a sold out crowd at MSG? I don’t think seeing me will top that.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meetin’ you in person since I came across your channel. You so lovely,” Harry replies, his voice a little softer but more serious.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admits, picking at a thread in her jeans.

“Me too,” Harry murmurs, despite not wanting to admit it - he wanted her to know this was new territory for both of them. He didn’t want her to think that this was something that he did often. But a little too prideful to admit it’s the first time he’s ever done something quite like this.

“What if you don’t like me?” Y/N whispers, she...well she didn’t compare to the models he’s been seen with before. She’s regretfully fell into the rabbit hole of looking up his past flings and relationships.

Harry barks out a disbelieving laugh, “You can’t be serious, darling. I’ve been gone for you since I saw you burn that ground beef.”

**

Harry was having a bad day - scratch that. An awful one. He tried to go get coffee at eight in the morning and got bombarded by fans, he left the shop without even ordering. They followed him back to his car and it took him fifteen minutes to pull out.

His favorite Mickey Mouse Gucci suitcase he was bringing along on tour had busted. The zipper unraveling and the trim falling off as a result. It was a one-of-a-kind.

Then he’d been stuck on a Skype meeting about tour merchandise with a group of business partners for the last three hours - all he wanted was a fucking nap.

When Y/N’s contact vibrated across his screen, he’s itching to answer but declines as he needs to give these people his attention.

When she calls again, Harry feels a prickle of annoyance. It’s not even at her - to be quite honest. It’s just the shitty day and everything’s piling up.

He always got like this before he kicked off a tour - stress level maxed out and his ability to handle minor incidents nearly shot.

I’m busy

Okay! Sorry, just have a super exciting surprise for you, bub! 

I really do not feeling like talking. I’d rather be left alone.

Oh, alright. Hope everything’s okay! Do you still want to facetime later?

Harry leaves her on read because he doesn’t want to slip up and take out his frustration on her. He’d been known to do that and he didn’t want her to think he was anything but besotted with her.

**

Y/N feels a little hesitant as she begins the uploading process to her channel. The red loading bar told her it’d be twenty-minutes before it’s going to be posted to her 16 million subscribers - one of them being Harry himself. 

Twenty-minutes for her to back out and cancel the upload. She starts having doubts about it when Harry never replies to her text which is unlike him. 

She takes Rufus out to avoid staring at the loading screen with unnecessary anxiety and uneasiness.

**

Harry is just getting home from a business dinner with the touring company’s management team. The tension and anxiety from today piling up on his shoulders and he just wants to call Y/N and crash in bed. 

He tosses his keys in the little bowl in the entry and kicks off his dingy white vans to the side. His phone dings with an alert from Gemma.

You two are the literal cutest ever. It’s quite gross.

Harry slides onto a stool in his kitchen, confused by the text message before she’s sending the link to him.

Fine Line Inspired Cupcakes!

Harry isn’t quite sure why his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest. A sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes that this was probably the surprise she was excited about.

He clicks on the thumbnail.

“Hiiii, it’s Y/N. Okay, well today we are going to bake some Fine Line inspired cupcakes. And if you haven’t listened to the album - get your ass out from rock you’re living under and stream it on Spotify!”

She has her hair down in long, waves and a loose cropped shirt that says TPWK in rainbow embroidery.

Harrys mouth is dry and he can’t take his fucking eyes away from the screen. 

“Soo, I was thinking the first batch would be cherry flavored? ‘Cause he has a song titled ‘Cherry’. Let’s start there. First - I need to find my measuring cups.”

In true Y/N fashion, she scours her kitchen - cussing and yanking stuff out of her neatly organized cabinets before huffing and storming off to the side.

She comes back into view, a little frazzled but smiling when she holds up the ring of plastic measuring spoons, visible bite marks notched into the material.

“My asshole of a dog had a little snack,” Y/N shows the camera before shrugging, “Let’s get this shit started. Okay, you’re going to need one cup of sugar - no wait, two? I can’t read my fucking handwriting.”

Harry’s absolutely enamored by this scatter-brained, giggly girl who manages to produce cute blue and pink cupcakes that very vaguely resembled his album cover. His heart felt a million times too big for his chest.

He was enraptured for the entirety of the thirty minute video without taking his eyes away once.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt this way since his last relationship which was over a year ago at this point.

It’s not even a thought as he’s requesting a FaceTime with Y/N. 

She answers after a few rings. She has a green face mask painted on her nose, chin, and forehead with gold eye masks under each eye. She is so fucking ridiculous it’s not even funny. 

What is even more ridiculous is how gone Harry is realizing he is for her. She was quirky, unfiltered, carefree. If he was honest - he hadn’t met a girl like that in a very long time - especially a well-known influencer.

“Hi! How was your day, grumpy?” Y/N asks brightly, making a goofy face as the mask begins to tighten and crack on her skin. Not holding the earlier conversation against him and deciding to just move forward. She understood how stressful it can be.

“M’sorry. I was a bit grumpy,” He admits, “I loved your new video, darling. Did you make those just f’me?”

He can tell she’d be blushing if her face wasn’t covered, a bit bashful as she mutters, “You already know I did it for you.”

“You’re too sweet to me, only six days until we meet,” Harry replies, voice taking on a slow, lazy drawl. 

“Six days,” Y/N repeats, eyes crinkling as she smiles with excitement.

**

“Is this outfit too much?” Y/N panics. Even though there’s literally nothing she can do about it - they’re already walking towards the backstage entrance of the massive arena. It’s still about two hours until the show starts but Harry requested her to come earlier.

Laney sighs, “For the millionth time, you look fucking sexy and Harry’s going to want to rail you right when he sees you.”

Y/N shoves her lightly with a faux annoyance as they meet up with a burly man who’s blocking the entrance to the backstage hallway and rooms.

She gives him their names and pulls up the passes on her phone before he’s nodding with any expression and letting them pass.

They’re not quite sure where to go from here so they begin to wander down the long hallway toward what looks to be the main area that people are milling about.

Y/N is nearly on the ground when someone rounds the corner without looking and walks right into her. Both of them let out huffs of air as they collide and attempt to stabilize themselves.

But there are large hands grasping her arms and holding her steady. In typical Y/N fashion she’s already cursing, “fuckin like a brick wall, look out next time.”

Then she’s looking up to Harry staring back down at her with an amused expression. He doesn’t let go of her and instead tugs her against his bare chest. He’s warm and a bit sweaty - like he’d just worked out. He was only in a pair of thin, running shorts, nike tennis shoes, and a little clip holding his hair off of his face.

Y/N can’t help but wrap her arms around his waist, returning the embrace and amazed by how right it feels to be in his arms. Her face tucks right against his collarbone and it’s like they’d known each other for years.

Pictures and videos don’t do this man justice. He’s gorgeous - sharp edges and dark inked skin. Tall and muscular but dimples that are carved in his cheeks. 

“Nice to meet you, m’Harry,” Harry rumbles, removing one hand from Y/N’s shoulder to reach out his hand to her friend.

Laney shakes his hand before asking, “Laney. I’ll leave you two lovebirds be. Where’s the food?”

Harry chuckles against Y/N’s wavy hair, “Down the hall to the left.”

Laney’s trailing off without another glance, she was very food motivated despite her skinny frame. Also not wanting to intrude of the very personal first moments of their meeting.

The popstar pulls back to look down at the girl he’s fallen for in mere weeks. She’s as beautiful as he thought she'd be - if not more. He can’t help himself, “Would it be too forward to kiss you?”

Y/N smiles widely, running a hand along his jawline, “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since you stayed up on FaceTime with me until two in the morning as I cried after watching The Notebook - despite me seeing it a million times.”

Harry ducks forward to press his lips softly to her, large hands come to cup the side of her face as they connect. He’s so gentle as he moves his mouth against hers. In true Y/N fashion, she’s bold and has no hesitation slipping her tongue into his mouth.

He’s so fucking in love with her. It doesn’t make much sense - it’s definitely not logical but he’s realizing that’s okay.

“Oii, get a room!” Someone shouts from down the hallway teasingly.

Harry flips them the middle finger and pulls back, pink lips swollen and puffy, dimples on full display, “Let me take you out to dinner after the show, darling.”

“You going to wine and dine me, Styles?” Y/N giggles, unable to contain the pleasant warmness he’s spreading through her body. 

“Mmm, have t’make sure you’ll want to keep me,” Harry murmurs happily against her lips once again, pressing kiss after kiss to her to make sure she’s real, “Definitely want to keep you.”

Y/N bites teasingly at his bottom lip, hand planted on the soft but firm skin of his stomach, “You’re never getting rid of me, hope you know that.”

“Was hoping you’d say that, now let me introduce you to my band.”

                                  -- ---- ---- -- 1 year later - -- --- --- --

“Hi bitches! Today is a super special day. We have the one, the only Harry Styles filming with us. I know that’s not really that special since he’s on here all the time with me. But we’re celebrating our one year anniversary!” Y/N smiles, bumping hips with Harry who stands dutifully next to her. 

Anyone viewing can see the absolute heart-eyes and adoration he has for the girl standing next to him. He’s still as lovestruck and gone for her as he was the first time they met. Harry’s fans were thrilled - for the first time in years, he’d opened up again.

They weren’t very public on social media beside’s tagging each other in memes and posting the occasional picture. Y/N was constantly uploading cooking videos from wherever in the world she was with Harry on his tour, she’d also begin making vlogs about different foods she’s been experiencing.

---

“Okay, so here in Peru - they’re known to have this really fucking spicy beef with noddles. So obviously, I’m going to make Harry try it first,” Y/N laughs as she props the camera up on the side of the table on a napkin holder.

Harry - who has a concert in a few hours - frowns at the steaming dish in front of him, “Darling, I don’t want to try it first. It’s going to burn my mouth. Not gonna be able to sing.”

“You’re sucha baby sometimes,” Y/N rolls her eyes, slurping up the noodles with her fork while making a silly face at her boyfriend. She pulls back, straight-faced, “It’s not hot at all. Tastes amazing, though.”

Harry takes that as an initiative to shovel a spoonful into his mouth. It only takes half a moment until his taste buds erupt in fiery flames from the spices, “You bloody little brat, y’tricked me! It’s so fuckin’ hot!”

Y/N smiles widely, laughing much too loudly in the restaurant when Harry chugs the glass of water next to the plate while glaring at his love. “I’m sorry, s’just to easy with you, lovie,” She replies, leaning over the table to press a kiss to his lips. 

He’s a sucker for her and kisses her right back despite his mouth being an inferno. His heart was on fire for her and that burned much more intensely.

---

“No, love. The instructions say baking soda, not baking powder. They’re not the same thing,” Harry sighs, attempting to read her scribbled, sloppy handwriting. She’d already spilled milk on half of the paper.

“S’interchangeable, right?” Y/N hums, cracking an egg into the bowl and Harry automatically knows to look to fish out the eggshells that’d she’d let slip in because she sucks at cracking eggs but always wants to do it.

Harry reaches over her, grabbing the vanilla extract and a teaspoon, “It’s not, baby. Lemme do this real quick.”

“Will you make me a grilled cheese after this?” She asks, nuzzling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist as he finishes adding the wet ingredients to their bowl. Harry stopped questioning her thought process a long time ago.

Harry swipes his finger into the mixture of icing off to the side and rubs it right onto her nose, cackling at her pout and squeaking when she pinches at the fleshy skin of his hips. She in turn dips her finger into the sugary cream and pops it right into her mouth.

Harry eyes darken, watching her lips purse as she sucks off the icing. It was a dirty move on Y/N’s part and she knows it. It has her boyfriend dragging an icing-covered thumb along her collarbone before leaning down to slowly lick up the sugary trail with his tongue.

When Y/N slides her fingers into his hair and lets out a pretty moan, Harry’s standing back up, trailing over to the tripod and saying into the camera, “We’ll be back after a little commercial break,” and is then turning off the record button.

It takes little to no time for Harry to have Y/N’s bum on the countertop, mouth on her neck, and hand in-between her thighs.

And when they finally posted a very edited final cut of the video - well there may be a couple of fans who notice the how flushed Y/N is halfway through and a lovely purple mark on Harry’s neck that wasn’t there in the beginning of the video.

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 23: Home

[prev]

[masterlist]

——————————————————————————

After 5 long years, your family finally moves to a new house. It’s bigger than the house Kiyoomi first lived in. Since you have kids now, so more rooms must be added. You don’t even know how your husband managed to find such a big house that is close to the city.

Kia is beyond excited to have her own room after 3 long years of sharing it with her younger siblings “Wow! My room is so big!” Kia says in awe, her eyes wandering her new room. She climbs up the bed and jumps on it, letting out a series of laughter every time the sole of feet recognize the springy feeling. “I love my bed! It’s big and it’s all mine!”

“Kia, be careful or you’ll fall,” Kiyoomi warns her. Done checking with Kia, he follows Mina and your family dog, Momo, inside her new room. “Do you like it?”

“Where’s Momo’s bed?” Mina asks as she looks around the room for the said thing. The Shiba Inu follows behind her like a loyal servant.

“I thought you wanted Momo to sleep beside you?” Kia’s eyes turn wide in joy as she runs to her father. She raises her arms so Kiyoomi bends down and she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Momo, give papa a kiss too!” Mina cheers and the dog jumps on Kiyoomi. He catches him with his hands and stretches his arms away from his body.

“We’re not close enough to be kissing,” Kiyoomi tells Momo and puts him down. Momo resembles his cousin, Komori, so Kiyoomi feels awkward showing affection towards him.

Kiyoomi leaves Mina to discover her room, which is very kid-friendly since that’s what he specifically asked the interior designer of the house when it was being built. He then heads to where you and the twins are. From your posture and way of speaking, it seems like you’re having an argument with your youngest children.

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi asks you, casually putting a hand on your hip and pulling you close to him. He eyes Kin and sees the scowl on his son’s face. Kiyoomi sticks his tongue out, childishly mocking him.

“Stop that. He’s your son,” you scold your husband and he stops making fun of Kin. “Kin and Mira wants to sleep in their rooms.”

“Then, let them? Does it really matter?” Kiyoomi answers and the twins nod, agreeing to his words.

“We’re big now!” They tell you in unison.

“You’re three and you don’t want to sleep with mama anymore?” You sigh in disappointment.

“Are you scared on your own mama?” Kin frowns and you nod dramatically. Kiyoomi gags at your acting and you nudge his side with your elbow. “Do you want Kin to stay with you?”

“She has me,” Kiyoomi butts in and Kin gives him an unamused gaze.

“You’re not even home most of the time...” Kin rebuts with confidence. Kiyoomi grimaces at his son’s words and you just laugh. “Right, Mira?”

“Right!” Mira just agrees to whatever her twin brother says.

“Listen to the kids, Omi,” you whisper to him and he rolls his eyes. “Please set up the table in the garden. It’s almost dinner time.” You kiss your husband’s cheek and then you hear Kin chant that he wants kisses too. You fulfill your son’s wishes before skipping happily to your new kitchen.

The three of them set up the table just like you requested, while the two older girls help you in the kitchen. “I’m cooking the meat now,” Kiyoomi tells you as he takes out the meat from the freezer. You hum and continue cooking the other dishes.

“Go help your papa set up the table,” you order Kia and Mina. They wipe their hands clean before going out to help their father.

Kin and Mira keep running back and forth from the kitchen to the garden as they carry one plate at a time. Kia and Mina are arranging the table cloth and wiping the benches clean. Momo is helping by making sure that no bugs or birds are landing on the plates and being cute of course.

“Do you want meat?” Kiyoomi asks his kids. They don’t answer him as they are too preoccupied with other things.

Kia hears him and answers, “I’m not in the mood to eat meat papa.”

“Momo, do you want meat?” The dog barks at his question and points his forefingers at him. “You’re my favorite child for a reason.”

“Why is Momo your favorite child? You said you’re not even close enough to kiss!” Mina pouts and glares at her father.

“Mama said favoritism is bad!” Kia reprimands her father, her hands on her hips. “We are your children! You should love us equally!”

“Right! Love us equally!” Mira echoes her sister’s words, putting her hands on her hips as well.

“I thought I was your favorite!” Kin complains and Kiyoomi’s eyes dart at him.

“You don’t even like me!” Kiyoomi complains back and Kin raises his forefinger up as if he’s going to make such a great point.

“But mama said you specifically asked for me, which means I am your favorite,” Kin explains and just when Kiyoomi is about to make a retorting statement, Mira shouts.

“Papa! The meat is burning!”

“Shit!” Kiyoomi curses as he tries to weaken the fire. The garden falls dead silent as his kids stare at him in disbelief and shock. Their father could curse? “What?”

“You said a bad word!” Kia gasps dramatically.

“Said a bad word!” Mira mimics Kia’s dramatic gasp.

“No I didn’t!” Kiyoomi tries to argue, attempting to sound believable.

“Papa, stop lying. Even Momo heard it...” Mina says in disappointment. The barks as if he’s agreeing to Mina.

“Remember when I said I’ll buy you a trampoline when we move houses?” Kiyoomi tries to change the topic so he can escape his children’s interrogation.

“Shit!” Kin says loudly, and as if on cue, you go out to the garden and hear your three year old son cuss with all of his heart.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi! How many times do I have to warn you about not cussing in front of the kids?!” Kiyoomi face palms and glares at Kin. The younger boy just shrugs and runs to help you with the dishes you are carrying.

Before dinner starts, you want to take a picture of your family for keepsake. Sadly, that isn’t easy to do with four kids.

Mira and Kin are fighting over who gets to sit on your lap, leading to the twins crying. Kia is restless and hungry and just wants the picture to be taken but her siblings are acting up, which leads to her acting up as well. Mina is shy and hiding behind Momo. Kiyoomi is trying his best to make the twins to settle down so he attempts to take Kin away from you, but the boy just grabs his hair and tugs on it quite harshly.

In the photos taken, you have no good ones as expected. Kia is frowning at all the pictures. In one picture she’s rolling her eyes in irritation. Mina’s face can’t be seen since she’s hiding behind your family dog. Kin is still grabbing Kiyoomi’s hair and scratching his face, holding whatever is close to him. Mira is wailing on your lap and is screaming ‘papa’ since she wants to be with Kiyoomi now. Meanwhile, you and Kiyoomi look so tired and haggard in the photos. The only one who looks good in the photos is Momo. The dog is just sitting and smiling with his tongue out. So much for just one family picture.

Dinner finally starts after that chaotic pictorial and you say your thanks before eating. Kiyoomi cuts the burnt steak he cooked into smaller pieces and attempts to give it to Kin. His son rejects it so Kiyoomi sighs and takes the meat out of his bowl.

“I’ll eat it!” Kia volunteers and lifts her bowl so Kiyoomi can put the meat in it.

“I thought you were not in the mood for meat?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at her but gives her the beef anyways.

“I changed my mind,” Kia reasons.

No, she didn’t. Kia hasn’t changed her mind. She really doesn’t want to eat the steak but when she saw Kiyoomi’s sad expression because of Kin’s rejection, she felt bad for him. She can’t scold Kin about rejecting food yet since he’s young, but she has to show him that the food their parents are providing them is special

“It’s good papa,” Kia compliments her father. Kiyoomi smiles at her and he continues to cook meat. She eats what he gives her without complains. Seeing his sister eat with gusto, Kin asks for meat and eats it.

“Me too!” Mira gives her bowl to Kiyoomi which he gladly puts the sliced beef in. She happily eats it and even feeds her twin brother with it.

Kia watches her father’s face light up in satisfaction which makes her feel blissful.

——————————————————————————

It’s 12AM and Kiyoomi feels a small hand tugging on his finger. He wakes up from the touch, and sees his son with an almost crying face. “Hi, buddy. Why are you up?”

“Want to sleep with you,” Kin answers, pulling his little blanket close to his chest. Kiyoomi’s heart softens. Kin may act like he hates his father, but deep down he wants his attention and affection too.

Seeing his son’s scared image, he jumps out of bed and picks him up. If Kin is scared, so must be Mira.“Okay. Let’s go get your sister first.” He walks to Mira’s room as quiet as possible so he doesn’t wake you or any of his daughters up.

Kiyoomi sees Mira’s door open so he quickly checks the room and doesn’t see her there. He hears murmurs from Kia’s room and also notices how Mina’s room is empty.

“Don’t be scared. Nee-chan is here!” Kiyoomi overhears Kia speak. He peeks at the small opening at the doorway and sights Kia putting Mina and Mira to bed. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

“Yes...” Mira answers, shifting closer to Mina so they can cuddle. Momo is sleeping at the end of the bed, unbothered.

“We are going to have a new baby sister!” Kia confidently announces.

‘That’s not a story! That’s a gossip!’ Kiyoomi chuckles and then enters the room, which surprises his three daughters. “What are the three of you talking about that is keeping you awake at this?”

“Papa! Tell us a story!” Kia tries to hide their recent conversation, but her expression is giving it away. She looks like a deer that has been seen in the middle of the road. “Mina and Mira were scared so they went in my room to sleep.”

‘They’re still sleeping together in one room after all.’

“Okay. I’ll tell you a story. What kind of story do you want?” Kiyoomi gives in and sits on Kia’s bed. He puts Kin down on the bed and he snuggles close to his twin sister immediately.

“About you and mama!” Kia giggles as she joins in her other siblings.

“Again?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at her. Kia loves hearing stories about the two of you. It puts her at ease.

Kiyoomi starts to share a random story about you and him during high school. Your first time meeting his family exactly. And midway, he hears his children snoring soundly so he stops speaking. He then notices Kia looking out her window.

“Go to sleep...” He tells her.

“Papa, I am so happy you’re my father,” Kia says out of nowhere, taking Kiyoomi aback. “I don’t think I would be this happy if you weren’t.”

“I’m happy you’re my daughter, too.” Kiyoomi kisses the top of her head and then smiles at her.

Kiyoomi is thankful.

Kiyoomi is very thankful that she is his daughter. If he didn’t meet Kia 5 years ago, he wouldn’t know where or who he’d be now. Having children changed him and probably made him a better person. He still can’t go on a crowd on his own, but if he’s with his kids, everything possible for him. Kiyoomi is willing to go out of his comfort zone if it means his children’s happiness.

Kiyoomi thankful that you gave him a chance to prove that he can be Kia’s father. Not just Kia, but also Mina, Mira and Kin. He knows how stressed you are with having to take care of 4 kids and him not being around most of the time, but you still stayed. You never gave up on motherhood, your children and him. He falls in love with you again and again every single day just for it. You are the best thing that has happened to him.

Kiyoomi is thankful that he has a house where you and your children are in. He doesn’t go home everyday but he knows that when he does, you’re there to welcome him. Kia is there caring for her younger siblings with you. Mina is there drawing on the living room, while her dog, Momo, sleeps on the couch. Mira is there running after her twin brother and making sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Kin is there watching everything you do because he loves you so much. You’re there raising your children with sincerity and love. You and your child are there waiting for him.

Kiyoomi is thankful that he gets to go home to where the five of you are.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is thankful that you’re his home.

“I’m also excited for my new baby sister,” Kia mentions again. Kiyoomi for sure knows you aren’t pregnant because if you are, you would be complaining about it again. Or are you hiding it from him?

“Did your mama tell you that?” He asks for assurance that this is only part of Kia’s imagination and random child babbles.

“No, but I’m sure that mama has our baby sister in her stomach.” Kia closes her eyes and hugs Mina who is beside her.

“Okay...” Kiyoomi lets it pass and slowly drifts back to sleep, too tired to go back to your room.

Morning comes and you wake up to an empty space beside you. “Kiyoomi must have gone jogging...” You yawn and stretch your arms up. It’s already 6AM but you don’t hear any of your children chant the word, “mama” so you stand up and check on them. The silence is too rare that it’s scaring you.

Mira’s, Kin’s and Mina’s rooms are empty so you get anxious. You’re telling yourself that maybe Kiyoomi brought them jogging with him so you’ll feel better, but your anxiety grows since you know that Kiyoomi will never bring the four of them with him. Momo goes out of Kia’s room so you run to it, in hopes that your children are all there.

They are, and your husband is also there.

Kia and Mina are tucked in Kiyoomi’s armpits. Their hands holding onto their father’s shirt. Mira’s face is flat laid flat on Kiyoomi’s stomach, but her body is on the bed. Kin is on his thighs, the small boy hugging the muscular leg. You let out a silent giggle at the cute sight in front of you.

And all that happiness fades when you suddenly feel lightheaded. The feeling of being nauseous hits you so you run to Kia’s bathroom, which wakes everyone in the room up.

“Babe, are you okay?” Kiyoomi asks you he shakes his kids off his body.

“See, papa? I told you mama has our baby sister in her stomach!” Kia states as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“We’re having another child?!”

End.

——————————————————————————

Thank you so much for supporting my first ever story here. This will forever have a special place in my heart. I hope you all enjoyed it ♥️

[fawnnbinary]

I’m back on my Streamer Au bullshit. Gonna use you to force me to actually get work done again. Also cause the streamer AU is still living rent free in my brain.

Anyway question (that I somewhat know the answer too) Have any of the streamers ever been canceled or been in a controversy? If so what for?

- SF Anon

Oh they are no strangers to controversy, they're online personalities! Geralt in particular is no stranger to it given WhiteWolf is very blunt and standoffish - he's got a take no shit attitude and it lands him in one sided "beef" often dlfkdlfhkj

Jask is more partial to scandals than beef because of the way people online tend to see every part of someone's personal life fit for consumption when they have an online presence, and he in particular will divulge a bit too much about himself personally because he craves the attention it gets him dkfjhdkfhj

the biggest controversy they manage to get into is definitely when Sandpiper gets cancelled over a sort of publicity stunt. The Witchers, being a bigger source of content online, have a PR team, and Jask does not. They reach out to him asking if he'd like to try and capitalize off of the fans being so enthralled with the idea of he and WhiteWolf dating. One date, ask him out on stream, talk about it later, easy. Jaskier is on board, as long as WhiteWolf is - and they tell him he is, so Jask goes ahead and goes headfirst into it. It's lovely, it allows Jaskier to kind of pretend maybe Geralt likes him (he does) and wants to date him (you are literally doing that now you fool) but he's convinced it's a friendly thing and they're just... riling up attention a bit

Geralt was never informed.

When Jaskier tries to talk to Geralt about what their next move should be in feeding the shippers a bit, if any because it seems a bit iffy morally, Geralt is absolutely shocked to hear it wasn't genuine and Jaskier is shocked Geralt didn't know. Geralt isn't upset with Jask when he was told Geralt was on board for it in the first place, but he feels awful, so awful. Their fanbases however, are not as forgiving for poor Jaskier - he's the one to tell them it was a stunt so he can ask everyone to leave WhiteWolf be about it, and they are so furious he would "lead WhiteWolf on" and "q*eerbait his audience like that" so #SandpiperIsOver gets pretty damn big

[mizunetzu]

I just skipped school and binge read all of your fanfics- They’re really good gRRRRrrr 🥺🥺 Keep up the good work!! That being said- Can I request a fluffy Hawks x male reader where the reader has a cold and is stuck in bed and Hawks takes care of him? Thank you vv much!!!

HAHHAHA WHY IS ALL MY HAWKS REQUESTS ALWAYS FLUFF (I mean ur like my second one but it’s still flufF) (and not that this wasn’t fun to write cuz it was HAAHA I’m lowkey proud)

(Also gRRRRur so nice but GO TO SCHOOL >:( BARK BARKK BAEKR)

——————

Hawks x reader - The Sick Fic

⚠️warnings - it’s as the title says. It’s the sick fic.

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

(Y/n) coughed up sticky red blood.

“Y-yeah, no. I don’t think I can patrol today, Yusha-san. The villain from yesterday activated their quirk on me-and I’m feeling a bit sick.”

Yusha, the secretary to the (L/n) hero agency, typed something down on his computer. “Is it something we should be concerned about?”

“No.” (Y/n) croaked out with a chuckle. “Their quirk isn’t really dangerous, but it did make me a bit sick. It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

“Ok. I’ll send in one of your sidekicks to patrol with Hawks-san today.” More typing from across the phone. (Y/n) pursed his lips.

“U-uh,”

“Don’t worry. I’m sending a male sidekick.” Yusha practically read his mind. (Y/n) didn’t want any stupid girls hitting on his stupid, popular, pro-hero patrol buddy boyfriend.

“Thank you, Yusha-san.”

“It’s nothing. Get some rest, (H/n). We expect you to show up tomorrow.” Yusha ended up before (Y/n) could even say goodbye. He lazily dropped his phone onto his bedside table, burying himself under his bedsheets as best as he could. Just as he was getting comfy, the urge to cough up more blood kicked him in the stomach.

He flung himself over his bed, practically shoving his head into the small waste bin under his bedside table. He wiped his mouth with his forearm after hacking up more blood, his head suddenly feeling hazy and jumbled.

He groaned, and got under the bedsheets once more. The world seemed to be against him today, as another distraction forced him out from his beauty sleep.

His phone buzzed once. Twice. Then the annoying, overlapping ring of multiple messages being spammed buzzed out his phone, making (Y/n) cover his ears with his pillow.

Annoyed, he patted around the side table til’ his hand landed on his phone, pulling it towards him and under the sheets.

‘Keigo 🍗 - where r u :(‘

‘Keigo 🍗 - who’s this...rando dude patrolling wit me :(((‘

‘Keigo 🍗 - r u asleep or smth’

‘Keigo 🍗 - wake up ur late to patrol and I need my yakitori addiction funded today’

‘Keigo 🍗 - DUDE’

‘Keigo 🍗 - BBBBBBBBBB’

‘Keigo 🍗 - IM NOT GONNA STOP SPAMMING U TILL U ANSWER ME OR SHOW UP AN PATROL WITH ME >:(((‘

(Y/n) sighed. He opened the messages, meaning that Keigo would get the ‘message read’ notification, but he couldn’t care less. Tossing the phone lazily on the table, he muted the messages app.

———

(Y/n) stirred in his sleep when he heard tapping on his bedroom window. (Y/n) opened his sticky eyes, barely open enough to see a blurry red object tapping against the glass frame. Eventually, the object halted, gave up, and swooped down and out of sight. He shrugged.

Just as he closed his eyes, more pelting came from the window, this time louder and heavier. (Y/n) snapped his eyes open, flinging himself out of bed, and getting ready to activate his quirk.

He visibly relaxed when he saw the huge red wings tapping outside the window, with a certain hero crouching down, looking at him sheepishly and trying to pick open the window lock. The man waved with an embarrassed smile, his feathers following suit.

“Keigo Takami. What the fuck are you doing in my house.”

The man, Keigo Takami, chuckled awkwardly while (y/n) undid the clasps on his window. He stepped back, allowing him to worm his way in through the small window.

Keigo paused, half way squeezed in with his wings stuck in the cramped window frame. He was stuck. “Y...you need to buy a bigger window-“

“Are you dumb?” (Y/n) chuckled, the sight of Pro Hero Hawks, man who could pull absolute pussy, bent over his bedroom window, stuck with his wings awkwardly fluttering in place. “Just, I don’t know, send your feathers off until they’re small enough to fit you in.”

Keigo had a wave of realization. This man had no braincells whatsoever. “...oh, haha, you’re so smart~”

One by one, feathers jutted out from his back, each floating either inside (Y/n’s) room or outside the window. Once all of them were off, and his back were relatively empty, he tumbled ever-so-gracefully inside the room. He stood up, his wings rebuilding themselves in seconds, and did an awful curtsy.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all day to take care of my sick patrol partner who do happens to be my boyfriend,”

“Speaking of patrol -what happened to patrol? A-and the dude you should be patrolling with? You should be out by n-“

A sharp, piercing pain shot through (Y/n’s) head. Now that the adrenaline from Hawks pounding on his window was subsiding, he seemed to remember how much his head was hurting.

He fumbled down, catching himself on the foot of his bed while Keigo lurched forward. “You good?” He mumbled, taking off his black wool glove.

He rested the back of his palm on (Y/n’s) forehead, before signing uncontently and replacing his hand with his lips. Even if he was burning up, (Y/n) froze.

After a while, Keigo drew his head back. “You’re burning up...”

Silence. Hawks awkwardly chuckled and played it off by running his hand through his hair.

“Lips are more sensitive than hands are-so I was just...you need to get to bed!” Keigo quickly stood up, gently ushering the sick hero to his bed. Pulling up the thick-set covers, Keigo hazily tosses his jacket to the corner and discarded his other glove.

“Try and get some rest. Did that dude’s quirk from yesterday do this?” He got a nod in response. “Alright. I’m gonna go change and get you some shit.”

With that and a warm smile, Keigo disappeared through the bedroom door. (Y/n) followed him with his eyes, right before he was out of sight, then let his eyes droop close.

———

“Pssst.”

A finger poked at (Y/n’s) cheek. He grumbled, furrowing his brows and keeping his eyes screwed shut. He heard a sigh from somewhere above him.

Something feathery tickled him from underneath his nose. He scrunched his nose up, expecting the odd feeling to go away, before feeling a sneeze build up. The watery feeling course through his nose before his head shot up every-so-slightly to let out a weak “Achoo!”

Keigo snickered. (Y/n) finally opened his eyes. Keigo was sitting beside him, now in casual clothes, holding a convince store bag and a red feather. The feather flew out of his hand and stuck itself on his back.

“Sorry I was out for so long. You didn’t have jack shit in your house, so I bought some medicine and takeout since I know you won’t eat soup and I can’t cook.”

It was true. The only thing Pro Hero Hawks is allowed to do is heat up a hotdog, and even then he might break the microwave. And (Y/n) won’t eat soup he made if his life depended on it. If he can’t even turn on the stove, what makes you think that he’d drink a whole bowl of soup made by him and not die?

“Whad’ja get?” (Y/n’s) voice came out more gravely and deep than he expected. Under different circumstances, that would’ve been kinda hot. Keigo pulled out things one by one from the bag.

“Ok so, I got painkillers, a cooling pack, a heating pad just in case your stomach starts hurting, a thermometer, and I found these cool matching red bird keychains and I bought them on impulse. One for you and one for me~ I also bought 2 beef bowls”

Keigo layed all the items down either on the bed or on the table beside it, holding up the keychains last. Shaking them around a bit, turns out there was a small bell inside both of them. (Y/n) tried, and failed, to hide his growing smile.

Keigo placed the cooling pack on (Y/n’s) previously burning forehead. The sudden coldness forced an involuntary groan from the bed sick male. He chuckled.

“Sorry. Deal with that for awhile and I’ll feed you~” Hawks saddled up in the spot next to him, holding the two plastic bowls and worming his way underneath the covers. He placed the food down on his lap and switched on the tv.

They sat in silence, the only thing being the sounds of the tv filling the room with the occasional reaction or snicker from the two. Keigo alternated between shoveling a forkful of rice and beef into his mouth, then feeding his boyfriend and carefully making sure none spilled onto his bed. The news reporter droned on onscreen, their voice being tuned out by the two hero’s.

“By the way, Keigo,” (Y/n) started, once he swallowed his food. Keigo gave a hum of acknowledgment, holding up a finger to (y/n), then to his mouth until he finished chewing. Thickly swallowing, Keigo hummed again.

“You were supposed to patrol today. With one of my sidekicks. What happened to that?”

Keigo looked at (Y/n), before looking back at the tv so causally. For a while he said nothing, until he opened his mouth.

“I ditched.”

(Y/n) made a sputtering noise. His shock turned into a long string of hacks and coughs, which Keigo waited ever-so-patiently for him to calm down from. “You ditched?! Keigo, you’re the no. 2 hero! You can’t be caught ditching!”

“Relaaaaax,” Keigo leaned farther into the bed cushions. “I told my agency and your stupid sidekick man that I was gonna check on you. It was a valid excuse.”

“Still!” (Y/n) rubbed at his temples. Hawks shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth. “You’re sitting here watching tv with me instead of working!”

“I needed a break. Plus,” Keigo held up his unfinished bowl of food defensively.

“I can’t believe you.”

“I love you too~”

(Y/n) sighed.

“I hope you get sick.” Hawks chuckled, saying something about being immune to all sicknesses.

Needless to say, (y/n) was patrolling with one of Keigos sidekicks the next day.

——————

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is. 

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged. 

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself. 

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly. 

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease. 

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously? 

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass. 

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out. 

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you. 

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop. 

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all. 

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud. 

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you. 

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace. 

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out. 

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once. 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet. 

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak. 

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily. 

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say. 

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks. 

He thinks it’s brilliant. 

You think it’s ludicrous. 

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown. 

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold. 

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out. 

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four. 

It is 4:19. 

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine. 

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock. 

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus. 

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts. 

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it. 

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It��s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie. 

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom. 

You wonder what his is. 

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest. 

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold. 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets. 

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock. 

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at. 

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself. 

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully. 

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return. 

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach. 

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins. 

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life. 

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life. 

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory. 

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats. 

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you. 

“No,” you say. 

“Yes,” Seokjin says. 

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part. 

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs. 

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that. 

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party. 

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date? 

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap. 

Everybody, except Seokjin. 

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful. 

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. 

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out. 

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

 According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself. 

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab. 

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly. 

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers. 

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake. 

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change. 

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of. 

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder. 

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career. 

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy. 

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret. 

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you. 

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams. 

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful. 

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it. 

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather. 

So, Seokjin’s on his way. 

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice. 

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates. 

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay. 

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job. 

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off. 

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something. 

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship. 

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be. 

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with. 

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends. 

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well? 

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless. 

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance. 

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough. 

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course. 

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him. 

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day. 

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him. 

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to. 

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical. 

A realist and a dreamer. 

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract. 

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth. 

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement. 

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown. 

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch. 

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose. 

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent. 

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet. 

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks. 

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion. 

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel. 

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake. 

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind. 

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit. 

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away. 

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents. 

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours. 

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you. 

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask. 

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them. 

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes. 

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly. 

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment. 

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century. 

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt. 

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease. 

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress. 

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins. 

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh. 

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders. 

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him. 

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you. 

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end. 

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry. 

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another. 

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this. 

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.  

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside. 

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation. 

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play. 

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less. 

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material. 

At least, that’s what his mom thinks. 

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about. 

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity. 

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin. 

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself. 

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers. 

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!” 

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break. 

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside. 

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you. 

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks. 

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams. 

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up. 

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly. 

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in. 

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren. 

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already. 

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they? 

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes. 

You wonder why. 

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop. 

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says. 

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold. 

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing. 

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air. 

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to. 

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier. 

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning. 

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize. 

But still, you persisted. 

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend. 

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this. 

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress. 

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something. 

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen. 

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare. 

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true. 

 As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie. 

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is. 

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this. 

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it. 

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie. 

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words. 

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding. 

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon. 

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking. 

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me. 

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered. 

Why’s that? He asks. 

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending. 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine. 

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies. 

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped. 

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new. 

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing. 

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin? 

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question. 

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else. 

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you. 

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you. 

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas. 

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind. 

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?” 

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you. 

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open. 

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance). 

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat. 

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list. 

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins. 

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now. 

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them. 

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared. 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke. 

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him. 

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him. 

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin. 

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter. 

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real. 

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him. 

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway. 

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself. 

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye. 

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats. 

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?” 

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own. 

They’re swirling in ink. 

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you. 

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air. 

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips. 

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him. 

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever. 

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether. 

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry. 

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run. 

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life. 

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon. 

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is. 

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you. 

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself. 

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out. 

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you. 

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do? 

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him. 

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity. 

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe. 

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up. 

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along. 

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be. 

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be. 

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse. 

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity. 

Well, look at him now. 

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t. 

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint. 

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled. 

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other. 

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space. 

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life. 

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment. 

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance. 

“Long time no see,” you tell him. 

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something. 

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment. 

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show. 

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you. 

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last. 

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

It’s high time you were honest, too. 

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be. 

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

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[rusty-k]

A Theory About the Saint of Duty

[HTN/TLT SPOILERS]

Hey TLT people--

There was a reddit thread about the Saint of Duty the other day (link), and I commented some G1deon thoughts of mine that’ve been brewing in my head for a while. I figured I’d bring them to the tumblr tag to open up some discussion and see if anyone else buys this theory, or honestly just to spread some G1deon love. (I imprint on minor characters; it’s a curse.)

This is more or less copied from my reddit comment word-for-word, but here’s some general thought on Gideon the First’s personality, and why I have a theory that he might’ve lobotomized himself like Harrow:

G1deon character thoughts

G1deon as we know him in HtN is likely very different from the man he must've been 10,000 years ago. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he changed significantly between the start of the Wake affair and the events of book 2.

More so than any of the other Lyctors, Gideon and Pyrrha seemed to have had this strong synergy going on. Unlike most necros, Gideon is a buff beef jerky man, and we see two rapiers in G&P's room. The winnowing/construct trial is also referred to as "Pyrrha's trial," which has always struck me as a curious detail and suggests to me that Pyrrha knew more about necromancy than cavs generally do. We know that the saintly epithets refer to the cavs, in general, but I don't think that was exactly the case for G&P; based on the previously stated, I believe they were both equally dutiful people, willing to throw themselves into each other's studies and share each other's skills.

Aug and Mercy were forced to rush their Lyctorization process because of their reckless cavs, and G1deon was next, but the fact that Pyrrha compartmentalized suggests they were closer to figuring it out than Aug and Mercy were--which I think is greatly due to the harmony of their relationship.

We know from what the other Lyctors & John have said that Gid loved and respected Pyrrha deeply. I wouldn't be surprised if the ferocity with which he threw himself into his saintly work over the 10,000 years emerged--at least partially, if not primarily--from his devotion to her. There's Pyrrha, the most spectacular cav and an all-around badass, and Gideon--having taken her to fuel his ascension--acting as John's attack dog with an intensity that would make her sacrifice worthwhile.

It's difficult to gauge how much Gideon actually enjoyed any of this; John seems to think he did, but I wouldn’t trust John for shit, and I'm sure John's understanding of G1d is heavily skewed in his own favor.

I think it's also important to consider Pyrrha's side of this story as it relates to G1deon’s current state, as well as the Wake affair. Her actions raise several questions. First of all, how long did it take for her to realize that she could take control of his body? How exactly did it happen, the first time? And how aware is Gideon? Does he have any inkling at all? Is there something more to his forgetfulness, something purposeful?

I have to imagine that in any case, Pyrrha must have gone through a lot over those 10,000 years. 10,000 years of odd sensory deprivation, which was probably hell for a fiery badass like P. 10,000 years of watching Gideon put up with John's bullshit, of watching the other Lyctors die off one-by-one and accumulate a host of mental, physical, and emotional scars. I'm convinced that Pyrrha's relationship with "duty" changed over the course of the years as she watched from this disembodied perspective, and that her "treachery" against John (her affair with Wake & possibly feeding intel to the BoE) was just a natural progression of that change.

When Wake factors in, I'd bet good money that the driving factor in both Pyrrha and Gideon's attraction to her is that she reminds them both of Pyrrha. Hell, Pyrrha even says this outright: "She was the most dangerous woman I'd ever met who wasn't me." I imagine that P's attraction to Wake, beyond this cool display of cockiness, also emerged from a sort of nostalgia--maybe Wake reminds her of what life used to be when she had a body, when she could fight and command, when she had a cause to occupy her energy. On G1d's side, he sees a woman who's dedicated and dutiful, even if it's for an enemy faction, and a woman who would undeniably make one hell of a cavalier (I think someone says this in HtN, although I'm forgetting who, so correct me if I’m wrong). I'm sure there's nostalgia in it for him, too.

Then, there's elephant in the room: Wake's fiery red hair and Pyrrha's name, meaning "flame-colored." I'm convinced that at least some of the similarities were physical. And at the bottom of it all is the inherent sexiness of finding a worthy opponent who's also hot. Lol.

Gideon Prime Lobotomy Time(?)

Here's where things get squirrelly for me, and the main reason why I have a theory that G1d's current state might be partially self-inflicted.

G&P were having discrete affairs with Wake, which inherently brings up logistical questions. First of all, how? And how exactly did Wake come to "kiss" Gideon "before she realized what they were?" How long were the durations of time in which Pyrrha kept his body under her control? In any case, after Wake & Gideon initiated their leg of the affair, it continued throughout the two years up until Gideon Jr.'s birth, which implies that Gideon Prime had some agency and willfulness in all of it. It's difficult to imagine the permanently-spaced-out-thousand-yard-stare man we know in HtN actively participating in such an entanglement.

Of course, I’ll acknowledge that it's entirely possible that I'm wrong, and that Wake just jumps his bones when she feels like it, and he's like "ok I guess," so take this as you will; but I'd like to put forth the suggestion that G1d's memory loss and overall lack of lucidity might be self-inflicted, to the tune of Harrow's lobotomy. We don't know how aware Gideon is of Pyrrha's presence, but it does seem to be the case that Lyctors having an awareness of the cav is dangerous for the cav. Being an accomplished necromancer, I'm sure Gideon was/is a smart man. Pyrrha mentions that she was "able to go underground" from him, but what if Gideon started to catch on to Pyrrha's presence through the double-affair? What if Wake let something slip? What if the thing that Wake didn't realize about them was the fact that Pyrrha's survival depends on Gideon's lack of awareness?

What if he lobotomized himself at some point, after catching onto Pyrrha's presence, at the expense of his sanity?

What really strikes me is the post-incinerator scene (HtN ch.31, pg. 292 in the hardcover):

The Saint of Duty turned his body toward you. He was clutching his rapier; but it was idle ... His eyebrows were very slightly drawn together, a sort of exhausted crinkle. He looked at you, and he said in a voice you had known since you were eight years old: "I sometimes--forget."

It was the tone--clinical, enamelled, half-defensive, half-endangered--the tone of someone admitting a final fraily. It was familiar because you had used it yourself. Understand I am insane.

It's his quiet resolution that does it for me; he knows something's missing, and he's accepted it. He's being set up as a parallel to Harrow in this particular moment, and it just makes me wonder if the parallel goes beyond his understanding of his own “insanity” and extends to the means by which he has become "insane." 

Pyrrha's already being set up as a parallel to Gideon Jr., both in terms of her formerly-skewed sense of duty and her compartmentalization, so I think this sort of dual-parallel between G1d and Harrow would work nicely, if only from a meta perspective.

In short, I think Gideon the First's feelings on everything that happened are complex, fraught. I think "duty" is what defined much of his personality, and I think what we see of him now is the result of split senses of duty having torn him apart:

he's torn between his devotion to Pyrrha (and by extension, ironically, his devotion to John) and his interest in (and perhaps love for) Wake;

torn between John's command to kill Harrow and whatever it is that caused him to pull punches (I'm guessing a combination of basic decency and solidarity); and

at the end of it all, he's quietly accepting of his own "frailty," understanding that the current situation is the shitty result of everything that's happened over the past myriad, and that there's likely no way to set himself straight, even though his shortcomings put him in direct conflict with the man he's "supposed to be," according to this awful religion, and according to what others think of him.

Anyway, for those who’ve stuck around, that’s all I have to say for now! I’m just so fascinated by the Saint of Duty/the Pyrwakeon story that’s going on behind the scenes; there’s such an understated intensity to it, and honestly, it didn’t even hit me until months after my first read-through. 

I’m curious to hear what other people are thinking, too!

[babbushka]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

3k; N S F W (sex at the station/semi-public sex, spanking, nudity, rope, creampie, name calling, dirty talk, praise kink, rough fast and dirty PIV sex, fingering, titty fixation, desk sex, come feeding)

Part of the Flip Zimmerman NSFW Alphabet // Also available on AO3!

                                                      -----------------

“I hate this.” Flip grumbles under his breath for what has to be the hundredth time, as Ron snaps another photo and winds up the film.

He’s down in the bowels of the CSPD, practically naked, wearing nothing but a pair of assless chaps and a cowboy hat, turning towards the camera and trying his damnedest to pose without looking like a total joke. Jimmy’s leaning against the wall of the impromptu photo studio, Ron’s got the camera and the lights all set up, and he hates this.

“No you don’t, or else you wouldn’t be doing it.” Jimmy points out with a little flick of ash off the butt of his cigarette, and he scowls, because despite Flip’s sour mood, Jimmy’s right. He agreed to this of his own volition, and he wasn’t backing out now.

“C’mon Zimmerman, it’s for a good cause.” Ron agrees in his practical cheerful way, and Flip shoots him a glare because he doesn’t need to be reminded that the whole of Colorado Springs is going to see his bare ass.

“Rookie I don’t care what it’s for, if (Y/N) sees me like this – ” He starts, exasperated for a moment, right when the door to this little studio opens, and in you walk.

“Sees you like what honey?” You ask, not looking up at him yet, fiddling with the door still to get it to close properly. Jimmy and Ron stifle a laugh awaiting your reaction, and they’re not disappointed when you finally do look up and see Flip standing there, cheeks out for the camera in his cowboy getup. Your eyebrows shoot up and a huge grin creeps across your face as you appraise him with, “Ohhhh like that.”

Flip blushes straight down to his belly button when you saunter up to him. He’s really naked, you’re surprised to see, he’s not got anything to cover up his cock at all. You glance around at where Ron and Jimmy are still chuckling into their palms as your husband sweats in front of you, and you kiss his cheek sweetly.

“Do you need me to leave? I can go flirt with the chief or something for a while.” You bat your lashes at him, making Flip roll his eyes and grumble to himself before getting his arms around you.

“No – for fuck’s sake, c’mere.” He scowls, grasping tightly at your waist, making you laugh as he pulls you flush to his hard-muscled stomach, your arms wrapping around his big broad shoulders.

“Is that a cattle prod or are you just happy to see me?” You grin, entirely too cheeky, and the boys burst into snickers.

Your mouth starts to water though, because though they can’t see with the way you’re pressed up against him, Flip’s cock really is big, and it’s hard and nudging at your thigh, a long thick line that makes you have to swallow hard. You want them to leave so that you can have your man all to yourself, so you can have that cock to yourself.

“I hate you.” Flip leans down to kiss you, brushes his nose against yours as his hands dig into the flesh right on your hips, holding you close.

“Mhm I can tell.” You smile against his lips, opening up your mouth for him, letting his tongue slide against yours as your fingers curl through the dark brown hair that’s so soft and so thick right at the nape of his neck.

You both lose yourself in one another so quickly, that you nearly forget that you’re at the station at all, forget that Ron and Jimmy are right there watching. You don’t mind, you don’t care if you’ve got an audience – let them look, as long as you’re getting your fill of your man, your husband.

“Take your top off!” Jimmy whistles playfully, and though you laugh, it snaps Flip out of kissing you and he turns around sharply to jab a finger in his best friend’s direction.

“Fuckin’ watch it.” Flip hisses, possessive enough that you can feel your pussy flutter, and Jimmy only puts his hands up in playful surrender.

You pull away from Flip for a little bit and he immediately turns back to face the wall so that his buddies don’t see the raging erection he’s sporting. He couldn’t even cover that thing with both his baseball mitts if he tried, not when it was hard like this.

“Mm, you know what’s missing?” You ask as you walk over to where you set your purse down by the door.

Jimmy and Ron only shrug and shake their heads, but then you fish out some red lipstick and apply it carefully to your mouth, before winking at them and going back over to where Flip’s waiting patiently for you to – kiss his ass?

You try your best not to smile as he turns around and glares at you for being such a pretty accomplice, as you press a smacking kiss right to his ass-cheek, the absolutely rock solid roundest most deceivingly firm cheek in the entire world, as you always said.  

“Oh now it’s a party.” Ron says with a handsome grin, and you weren’t sure that Flip could scowl any darker than he was in that moment, making you laugh.

“You know I knew you guys got creative with your undercover disguises but I’m not so sure this is the most workplace appropriate.” You dust off your knees and tease playfully, trying to get your Philly into a better mood. He was always so serious, all the time, he needed to lighten up a little so you wink, “Unless you’re going to a strip club, in which case, I better get to come.”

“No it’s – it’s a calendar, for charity. We’ve got to beat the fuckin’ firemen.” He huffs out, and ohh that explains it. Flip’s had beef with the fire department for as long as he’d been working with the station, you understood the stakes now.

“Everyone loves the shit out of sexy firemen.” Ron nods in agreement.

“Are you guys in it too?” You ask him, directing the question to Jimmy too, who smiles and pops his collar.

“You bet baby, Flip’s the last one we’ve got to shoot because he keeps putting it off.” Your friend explains and you turn your charms back onto your husband, grinning at how so completely Flip he could be.

“Aw be a good sport honey.” You go back over to him, slipping and sliding your hands all across his big firm pecs, getting him warmed up, getting him to melt.

“Maybe he just needs a little…motivation.” Ron asks with the camera ready, and Flip only groans, smacks a hand onto his face and shakes his head.

“I’m going to kill everyone here and then myself.” He’s joking of course, even though he says it with the straightest face possible. His cock is hard against your thigh once again, and you know exactly what’s going to get him to relax and be comfortable.

“What if you tied me up?” You whisper right in his ear, and oh how his cock jumps at the thought, the sight of you down at his feet, all wrapped up in pretty rope, like he’s just wrangled you down himself.

“There’s no fucking way I’m letting you be in this calendar, ketsl.” Flip growls, but you just grin.

“Who said anything about the calendar?” You ask, your hand sneaking a quick squeeze around his shaft and making his jaw clench, his eyes sparkle with excitement. He’s such an exhibitionist sometimes, it thrills you both.

You give him a couple seconds to think it over, and eventually he nods quickly, licks his lips and swoops down for a kiss.

“Hurry the fuck up and get these shots.” He says to Ron, letting you go and getting into the right pose once again.

You quickly get out of the way and Flip faces the wall, turning to look over his shoulder at the camera lens. He even lifts his hand and slightly tips his cowboy hat, and Ron takes as many shots as are left on the roll of film. You think that the addition of the little kiss mark is perfectly placed, right on his ass, right where you know so many women are going to lift the calendar up to their own lips and pretend they put it there.  

“Okay now scram, I missed my girl.” Flip immediately strikes up a cigarette, and Jimmy and Ron get the hint.

 The second that the door closes behind them, Flip’s on you like a bee on honey. He’s untying your halter top before you even know it, your nipples stiffening from the cool air of the room as he cups and grasps your breasts in his hands.

“Mmmmm I missed these, let me?” He asks, already getting down to their level, and you huff out a little laugh with how eager he is, how he’s already squeezing you tight.

“All yours cowboy.” You pick the cowboy hat right off his head and place it on top of yours, leaning back against a desk in the room. Flip follows your every move, eyes darkening with lust as he presses his face right into your cleavage, nuzzles his nose there and licks at one of your nipples.

“F-fuck.” He sighs out when he sucks the nipple into your mouth and you give a little moan in the back of your throat. He’s looking up at you and you’re smiling down at him through hooded lids, his cowboy hat too big on you and tipping forward, making his dick leak all over his stomach.

“You like that don’t you? Why don’t you fuck me really fast, do something with that hard cock of yours?” You scratch your nails across his scalp, making him shudder and groan as he lets go of your breast with one hand to start stroking himself off.  

“You want it? Want this big dick?” He bites and licks at his lip as your tits press right in his face, ribcage expanding with your deep breaths, pushing them out further. “Let me see, show me that pretty pussy.”

You’re good, real good for him, so you hike up your short skirt, showing him your underwear. He hooks a finger around the little scrap of cotton between your legs and tugs it aside, and he groans with how it sticks to you, how glistening and shimmering your cunt is.

From his spot down there on the floor, he pulls your nipple back into his mouth and gives it a good hard suck as he pushes two fingers inside your pussy. You have to lean back onto your elbows for support on the desk as you moan from the feeling, and Flip follows you, thrusting his fingers in and out.

“Oh shit you’re wet, listen to that, listen – hear how soaked you are already?” Flip presses his deep baritone against your stomach as he kisses your flesh, soft skin laid out on the desk for him as he stands up, leans over you and rubs the head of his cock through your folds. “That’s my fuckin’ come from earlier isn’t it? Slut, god you’re so good to me.”

You get a good look at him, at your husband’s well-groomed body, how he’s hairy enough but not too hairy, not covered in it the way some men prefer to be these days. His happy trail leads down to a neatly trimmed thatch of dark hair, hair that’s course and feels so good as it rubs against your pussy. 

“U-uh-huh, just for you, all yours, fuck me I can take it.” You know what he means, he’d fucked you when you came to visit him for lunch, had filled you up so much that you could almost feel it sloshing around in your cunt.

You wanted nothing more than to get fucked hard and fast right now, wanted to get tied up and bent over and spanked so hard that you’d see the print of his massive fucking palm for days.

He reads your mind because he’s stepping away for a minute, off to go get rope, off to go give you what you want. You flip yourself over and press your face against the desk, legs spread and feet apart, just the way he likes you.

Your heart is racing when you feel the coarse rope winding sloppily around your wrists, binding them together, giving him a good place to hold on as he roughly thrusts his cock straight into your wanting pussy. It’s easy, real easy, because you’re so used to him, had been so thoroughly fucked by him at lunch. His come squelches out around his cock, and he wastes no time fucking it back into you.

“Oh fuckin’ – ” He grunts out as he grinds his hips as close to yours as possible, just savoring the feeling for a moment.

“Ah – yes!” You gasp, your cunt drooling and dripping all over the floor where you’re bent over. Your mouth drops open and Flip takes that encouragement to roll his hips, pull out and thrust right back in.  

He fucks you hard, fast, just like you want, just like you asked. He wraps his hand around your hair and gives it a good tug, stretching your body and arching your back for him as your hands flex and clench around nothing, arms rendered useless by the rope.

His cock splits you right there on the desk, and you can’t help but moan loudly, moan out his name, little pleas of, “Oh, oh faster, Flip, honey – yesyesyes!”

He meets your every demand, and before you know it you’re crying out as his hand cracks down hard on your ass. Flip loves the way your legs shudder and twitch and shake, so he does it again, your cunt clenching down on his cock. He slaps your ass harder, pitches you forward on the desk from the force of it, and you should out his name, tears of pleasure flicking off your lashes.

“Shh, shh ketsl, you’re perfect but you gotta be quiet, shh.” He drapes his stomach across your back and covers your mouth with his palm as he goes back to thrusting inside you. He holds you like this, presses you down harshly against the desk as he rams into your pussy, your cunt taking his cock so well, the head of it nudging right against your gspot. Even with his hand over your mouth you’re still so loud, eyes shut tight, eyebrows drawn up in bliss. He licks his lips and shoves three fingers into your mouth to try and quiet you with, “Suck.”

“Mmmm – ah!” Your body jolts a little as he fucks you particularly right, right on that spot, thrusts over it again and again until you’re gasping and choking around his fingers, spit bubbling and stringing around your palm.

“Oh fuck, fuck you’re so good, so fucking tight.” He encourages as your cunt clamps down hard on him, not yet coming but close, so close, he can tell with the way you’re rocking back with every thrust he gives you, taking as much as you can, greedy greedy greedy.

“Your cock’s huge I’m – I’m oh!” You moan and whine and gasp when he pulls the hand away, using that wetness to push through your folds and rub fast fast fast at your clit, making your shoulder blades pinch back as your back arches and you gush on his cock, “Flip no fair, that’s – oh!!”

“Let me fuckin’ feel you ketsl, let me – jesus fuckin’ – oh my god.” He drops his head down onto your back as his orgasm crashes through him, his hips still moving, still seeking out the hot wet tight tight tight heat of your pussy as it spasms and flutters and throbs around him.

He dumps a fresh load of cum right into your cunt, the head of his cock so deep inside you that it’s practically knocking up against your cervix. He smooths his hand around to cup your pussy as he thrusts shallowly in you, feels how it moves inside your body and comes some more. He’s panting hot and heavy in your ear, as his cock pulses and fills you up to the brim, your pussy only able to take so much, the overflow already dribbling down the backs of your thighs when he pulls out slowly.

Flip loves watching your pussy flutter for him the minute you pull out, like your body is angry that he’s leaving you. He plugs you up with those fingers you were sucking on, fucks come back into you, loves the obscene sound it makes, the sticky wet squelch as he scoops it up off your thighs and feeds it to you.

You’re good, a good girl for him and you lick it off his fingers, that little cowboy hat perched on your head, driving him crazy. He plucks it off your head and puts it back on his own, unties the rope around your wrists and flips you onto your back so he can kiss you properly.

He’ll have to find something to wipe you both down with, and the desk, and the floor…but for now he takes his time kissing you until your breathing both evens out, until you’re sighing happy little whimpers against his lips. He cups and squeezes lightly at your breasts, kisses all over your cleavage when he pushes them together and makes you smile, blissed out real nice and hazy.

“Phil honey?” You ask, one of your hands rubbing idly at his shoulder, comforting and soothing.

“Mhm?” He asks from between your tits, making you giggle and sigh.

“When are we thinkin’ those calendars will be ready?” You ask with a cheeky wink, and he looks up at you, licks across his teeth with a little smile of his own, and kisses you once again.

And if everyone gives him wolf-whistles when he comes into the station a week later after the calendars have been printed, he doesn’t mind, because in the middle of it all, Ron had slipped him a couple photos of you with your arms all around him from before they left the room, and he can’t deny how good you look together.

                                                      ---------------------

Tagging some pals :)  @steeevienicks @heldcaptivebychaos  @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler  @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware  @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker  @goodboybensolo  @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk--maaan​ @flapjacques​ @aweirdlookingtree​ @callmemania-pls​ @theold-ultraviolence​ @og-selene​  @schopenhauerdeathsquad​ @nekonaomitard​ @feminine-machinegun​ @contesa-lui-alucard​

[gryphsdeadbones]

A thing that bothers me now that the hlvrai fandom has kind of gotten into Freeman’s Mind is that, while I completely understand not liking the edgy early-2010s humor that was especially present in the first series, it’s really annoying when people claim that Ross is a bad person for making it. It’s even worse when people forget that he’s playing a character who is a BAD PERSON and assume that he’s like that in real life. Especially since he’s calmed down with the edgier humor in the series now

Honestly yeah people seem to think that ‘asshole character = author’s morality’ when really their beef is with...awful aspects of the show seen through a 2020 lens. I’m not saying to gloss over it but rather to understand that- that’s really kind of how edgy internet humor was at that time. Obviously we know much better now, though I think some people missed the memo.

I’ve stated it before I don’t really trust or endorse Ross or have much of an interest in his other works. I can tell a lot of effort was put into it- I don’t really care what he does as long as he doesn’t repeat gross shit again. Calling him out for 2007 shit is...really fuckin weird lets be real. It’s okay not to like him or fm, making a fuss out of the really old stuff now is a waste of time. Just curate your feed and go

Content warnings for fm are out there its like one of the Main things thats talked about in the tags. 

Really all I’m doing is taking his character and doing whatever the hell I want.

hlvrai fandom itself isn’t the problem, though there is a huge issue with overreacting to extreme. That could be said of any fandom, but it’s especially bad there.

God. This hellsite isnt ready for my take on fandom nonsense. That’ll have to be an entire essay for another ask. Or maybe I can make it brief because I really Don’t have the time for bullshit

anyway tl;dr: ‘asshole character =/= author’s morality’ and also its ‘edgy outdated source =/= content creator’s morality’

[queenofthefullmoon]

An exhaustive list of Dark Souls 3 bosses I would or would not date

Iudex/Champion Gundyr

We’re starting off this list with a strong yes. Our boy Gundyr has had a hard, difficult life, and he deserves some good company. He’s tall, strong, and I trust him to protect us as we set a lovely camp site outside of the fire link shrine.

Vordt of the Boreal Valley

Vordt is big and he is feral which are truly the only two qualities I look for in a man. Together we’d be unstoppable. I mean, think about how easy it would be to go around with him: just climb on his back and let the rodeo begin, baby. This argument alone should be enough to convince you that Vordt is a suitable boyfriend, but here’s another one: if you get too hot in the summer, worry fucking not for your gigantic man can hold his equally gigantic hammer over you and cover you with snow like an italian man covering his pasta with parmesan.

Cursed Rotted Greatwood

Now while I’m certain it would be a perfect partner for some people, the Cursed Rotted Greatwood isn’t for me. For one, I am not fan of curses, or rot, or weird sticky balls, or strange orange acid, or pale white and slightly viscous hands bursting through a living tree. Secondly, I feel like the crowd of Hollows who group up around the tree would be a big impediment to our intimacy, and I’m not ready to be the mother of 20 Hollows.

Crystal Sage

No offense but you’d be an idiot for not wanting to date the Crystal Sage. All wrapped up in one package, you get a super competent sorcerer bf, who wears the coolest hat in the galaxy and an equally cool cape, and who overall looks like the upgraded version of a plague doctor. In addition to that he also has a pretty rapier so you can both engage in some sparring (which we all know is the most romantic couple activity).

Deacons of the Deep

Probably one of the worst options on the list, they’re all crusty, rotting men moaning around a biggass coffin. There are many technical questions. If I dated a deacon, would I have to date all of them? Can we go out on dates or are they obligated to stay next to the coffin at all times? Can I even date them at all?? Not that I would, because I have standards. The only pro to entering this relationship(s?) would be that I’d probably get one of their robes for free, but the cons are so numerous that I’d rather buy it myself.

Abyss Watchers

Let’s be real and honest even if it hurts. Would I date an Abyss Watcher? Yes. Maybe I’d even date two. However, would an Abyss Watcher date me? No, because they’re all in love with Artorias, and I can’t blame them for that.

Old Demon King

At first I considered dating the Old Demon King like a Russian Instagram model dates an old, rich American man: with a great deal of fake love but above all great patience in order to be the only person on the will. But then I thought about it more, and what does the Old Demon King have to offer, really? A big firework show that will leave him exhausted like the old creature he is, and maybe some pyromancies. Truly, it is not worth it, especially since I’d have to take residence where he lives, in a big old room filled with the corpses of his kin.

High Lord Wolnir

I’ve got nothing against Wolnir personally, but I have no interest in skeletons, nor in his army of skeleton children. As stated above I’m not ready to be a mother. I feel like if we got in an argument and he sighed, he would poison me with his awful breath and I would die a horrible death. Also, living on the brink of the Abyss doesn’t appeal to me that much. However I would like Wolnir to be a good friend I can talk jewelry with because let’s be honest, the man (skeleton?) is blinged the fuck out even in death and I respect that.

Yhorm the Giant

Yes, I would date Yhorm. He was nothing but a sweet, misunderstood giant who always tried to get people to trust him and he convinced me. I would put my life in his big hands. Think of the possibilities. Just like with Vordt he could carry you everywhere but in a less reckless way if you prefer proper manners. You’d never have to worry about not seeing anything at a concert. Also, may I add that waiting for you to show up while sitting on his biggass throne is an absolute power move? Yhorm is a Lord of Cinder, but above all, a Lord of this heart.

Pontiff Sulyvahn

Would I date him because of his appealing aesthetic? Yes. Would I date him for anything else? No. Sulyvahn is absolutely terrifying, completely unhinged in the most frightening way, which is that he doesn’t look bat shit crazy. I could be thinking that everything is going well in our relationship then suddenly he’d lock me in a dungeon then would feed me to his weird friend because I put a fork in the knife drawer. He could pretend to propose and give me a weird fucked up ring with his eye in it and the next thing I know I’d be running in a field on all fours. I don’t trust like that.

Aldritch, Devourer of Gods

I’m so sad about Aldritch because literally everything about him is completely unappealing, unacceptable, unnatural, unholy, abhorrent, but he has the delicate and beautiful face of Gwyndolin. While our lovely Gwyndolin looks gorgeous as ever it doesn’t make up for the fact that Aldritch devoured people and probably wouldn’t find love to be a good reason to not eat his partner. The only reason I can find to have a friendship (not even a romantic relationship) with him is if you really like experimenting with cooking and you really, really need someone to taste your inventions.

Dancer of the Boreal Valley

I feel attraction, which means that just like any other being who feels attraction, I would date the Dancer. She is beautiful, graceful, a bit feral, and would not hesitate to put a flaming knife to my throat, which is the description of my dream woman. Imagine walking the streets with her, trying to hold her hand while it dangles 3 feet above you and she insists on holding her sword, actually, so she might slay anyone who tries to approach you, which she communicates through icy breaths and murmurs. The date of a lifetime.

Oceiros, the Consumed King

Another awful choice on this list, Oceiros is RABID and also, as far as we know, still a married man. You really want to date a man that hasn’t even gone through his divorce but already looks like this? Me neither. I’m already not big on dragon fucking but the fact that he’s all viscous and has weird growths all over him is not helping. Also, he has children, and we know how I feel about that — although, given how he treats them, he probably won’t have kids very soon (too far?).

Ancient Wyvern

So I’ve stated that I’m not very big on dragon fucking. With that said, do I think the wyvern is sexy and beautiful? Absolutely so. You’re probably like « Blue you’re sending mixed signals, are you gonna date the lizard or not? » and to that I say, date? Perhaps not. I would however like to form a lifelong bond with this wonderful force of nature and fight by its side, live a long and fulfilling life travelling along with it, only to die at the same time atop the tallest mountain in the world, where our skeletons will be discovers hundreds of years in the future by brave explorers, who will confirm that the legendary songs that were written about us were in fact not just a myth.

Nameless King

You’ve just read what I said about the wyvern. I feel like the Nameless King really understands me and would respect me for that. We could bond over our love of dragons and other flying scaly beasts and perhaps share some chaste kisses while soaring the sky on our companions. It’s nice to date someone who loves pets as much as you. I feel like he would be a fun guy to hang around in general, maybe he’d let you braid his hair or try on his crown. He can arrange personalized fireworks shows for you with his lightning powers. I don’t think you’d ever be bored around him.  

Dragonslayer Armor

Dating an empty suit of armor has never bothered me (see: ds2 Ruin Sentinels), however I have beef with the dragonslayer armor. Is it a beautiful armor? Perhaps a bit worn off, but the reply remains affirmative. However, it is controlled by Pilgrim Butterflies, which basically means I’m dating one to multiple of these things in the shape of an armor, and I’ve gotta confess that I’m not down for that.

Lorian Older Prince and Lothric Younger Prince

Here comes the delicate moment where we have to make a choice without offending anyone. I personally, speaking for myself, in my own opinion, would rather date Lorian. Reason: he is big, strong, and a bit rabid, which I’ve made very clear is my type. I don’t dislike Lothric, but I feel like we’d be better off as best friends who have a really snarky group chat where we shit talk the entire kingdom. That’s pretty good because if I even just slightly disliked Lothric I’m pretty sure Lorian would sense it and would not hesitate to murder me on sight.

Champion’s Gravetender and Champion Greatwolf

Well the full name is just a formality here, I’m not completely insane so I don’t want to date this rabid wolf. I feel like the Champion’s Gravetender is just a normal dude who’s a bit in over his head and it’s not his fault but he just seems a bit boring compared to all my other options. Instead of a date I think he’d be more of an awkward flirt I had when I was bored and then I came to my senses but didn’t know how to disengage, but in the end it worked out because he was more interested in his work anyway.

Sister Friede and Father Ariandel

Again a choice has to be made and I will have to be predictable and say I’d date Elfriede. Just like Dancer she’s what the woman of my dreams is made of. She’s graceful and could easily take my life and I think it’s awfully sexy of her to be like that. I think I’d be accepted into the family pretty easily, which is important since Father Ariandel cares about Friede so much. I’d go visit him sometimes, play chess with him, bring him his flail, normal interactions with your girlfriend’s dad.

Soul of Cinder

I’m gonna be a tiny bit freaky here and say I’d date the Soul of Cinder. Dating it is just like opening a Kinder Surprise egg, you never know what you’re gonna get (sorry Americans for excluding you here). That makes life exciting and doesn’t let routine stall your relationship. Every day you can wake up with the question « What weapon will my darling walk around with today? The flaming sword, or the sorcery staff? » and be surprised by the answer. Truly ideal, but I understand it’s not for the faint of heart.

Demon Prince

I’m gonna go with a maaaaaaybeeeee? leaning towards no. I mean yes, the Demon Prince is a weird fleshy flaming demon, and that may be a bit gross, but I’ve gotta admit I admire his style, the drama of it all. The care he puts into his entrance, the attitude in his moves. If we don’t date I’d at least want to be friends so he can teach me his ways.

Darkeater Midir

I have very intense and contradictory feelings towards Midir. In one hand, holy shit, absolutely epic dragon, the spirit of companionship is growing in me. On the other hand, this beast is RABID and pretending I could tame him is foolish, and pretentious. I guess in the end the answer remains that I don’t date dragons, I just want to adopt them as my extremely exotic pets.

Halflight, Spear of the Church

Yeah I’d date Halflight, I know it’s the easy answer but look at him. I mean shit he’s walking around like a little thotty with his shirt open and you mean to tell me I’m not supposed to wanna date him because he looks pretty much like a regular dude? My boy Halflight WANTS me to date him or else he would not show up with his tiddies out to a sword fight, which as an activity already has enough erotic implications on its own.

Slave Knight Gael

I’m gonna say it unashamedly and I’ll say it again: I would date Gael. He’s been nothing but helpful and when he tries to attack you it’s to help his little lady that he’s adopted as his niece. We love a chaotic parental figure. Maybe he’s a tad bit old and dirty but there’s nothing a good bath can’t fix and I’m sure he’d appreciate having someone taking care of him for once. Again, he’s got that slightly unhinged quality to him that makes him delightful. When I walk around with my partner I want us to instill both fear and fascination in people which we would be able to accomplish perfectly well.

Dark Souls 1: Remastered date list // Dark Souls 2: Scholar of the First Sin date list

[emptyheartfoolbrain]

Thanks for being the soundtrack to some of my favorite memories

You'll be missed, you terrible villain.

Beef rap, could lead to getting teeth capped

Or even a wreath for mom dukes on some grief crap

I suggest you change your diet

It can lead to high blood pressure if you fry it

Or even a stroke, heart attack, heart disease

It ain't no starting back once arteries start to squeeze

Take the easy way out phony, until then

They know they wouldn't be talking that bologna in the bullpen

So disgusting, pardon self as I discuss this

They talk a wealth of shit and they ain't never seen the justice

Bust this, like a cold milk from out the toilet

Two batteries, some Brillo and some foil, heat'll boil it

He be better off on PC glued

And it's a feud so don't be in no TV mood

Every week it's mystery meat, seaweed stewed

(Food, we need food!)

He wears a mask just to cover the raw flesh

A rather ugly brother with flows that's gorgeous

Drop dead joints hit the whips like bird shit

They need it like a hole in they head or a third tit

Her bra smell, his card say, "Aw Hell!"

Barred from all bars and kicked out the Carvel

Keep a cooker where the jar fell

And keep a cheap hooker that's off the hook like Ma Bell

Top bleeding, maybe fella took the loaded rod gears

Stop feeding babies colored sugar-coated lard squares

The odd pair swears and God fears

Even when it's rotten, we've gotten through the hard years

I wrote this note around New Year's

Off a couple a shots and a few beers, but who cares?

Enough about me, it's about the beats

Not about the streets and who food he 'bout to eat

A rhyming cannibal who's dressed to kill and cynical

Whether is it animal, vegetable or mineral

It's a miracle how he get so lyrical

And proceed to move the crowd like a old negro spiritual

For a mil', do a commercial for Mello Yello

Tell them devils hell no, sell y'all own Jello

We hollow krills, she swallow pills

He follow flea collar three dollar bills

And squealed for halal veal, if y'all appeal

Dig the real, it's how the big ballers deal

Twirl a L after every meal (Food!)

What up? To all rappers: shut up with your shutting up

And keep a shirt on, at least a button-up

Yuck, is they rhymers or strippin' males?

Out of work jerks since they shut down Chippendales

They chippin' nails, DOOM tippin' scales

Let alone the pre-orders that's counted off shippin' sales

This one goes out to all my peoples skippin' bail

Dippin' jail, whippin' tail and sippin' ale

Light the doobie 'til it glow like a ruby

After which they couldn't find the Villain like Scooby

He's in the lab on some old Buddha Monk shit

Overproof drunk shit, but who'd'a thunk it?

Punk, try and ask why ours be better

Could be the iron mask or the Cosby sweater

Yes, you, who's screwed by the dude on the CD, nude

(We need food!)

[flatstarcarcosa]

turn

summary: it’s been two years since murderbrawl, two years since steelport. two years of eddie and reese making a new existence in florida. two years in reality might as well be a decade in the wrestling world.  tws: none? 

-----------------

the feeling of someone leaning over them startles reese. they rip their earbuds out and shove their chair back with as much force as they can, bracing themself on the tabletop. 

“woah- hey!” eddie’s voice filters through the blind panic in their brain and gets them to stop only just quick enough for him to avoid spilling piping hot coffee all over them. 

“shit,” they say. relaxing and settling back into the chair. “i didn’t even see you come in.” 

“yeah, apparently,” he says. he sets a mocha frappe next to their laptop before taking the seat across from them. “how’s the photos?” 

reese grunts and takes a long swallow of the drink. 8 pumps of mocha, and a shot of espresso. “photoshop crashed and somehow lost all of my presets for the wedding i did last month, so i’m having to start over if i want the files to stay consistent.” 

“time consuming,” he says. reese nods, setting the drink back down and resting their head in their palm. 

“if i don’t make progress by the end of the day i’m going to have to call the client and eat some of the commission due to time.” eddie grunts in acknowledgement and pulls his phone from his pocket. 

“well, shit happens,” he says, not uncaring. 

“speaking of...” reese pushes away from the table and heads towards the bathrooms. they are scarcely gone two minutes when someone behind eddie speaks. 

“excuse me,” says a male voice. eddie frowns, and doesn’t look up from his twitter feed. the biggest problem of discussing reese’s photography work in public is that someone always hears. they hear ‘photos’ and ‘wedding’ in the same sentence, and the next thing you know every bride to be in a mile radius is asking if reese is willing to work for clout and instagram followers. 

“yes, they do photography, yes they do weddings,” he says in a long-practiced monotone, “no, they don’t have any openings, and no they don’t work for instagram likes. you can reserve a booking like everyone else and wait in line.” 

“what?” the man asks. “oh, no, I wasn’t asking about that.” 

eddie’s frown deepens. he taps his phone screen dark and turns. the man speaking to him looks to be mid thirties, with a dark complexion and short cropped hair. 

“i was, uh, wondering,” he says, somewhat awkwardly. “are...are you killbane? the wrestler?” 

eddie’s spine tenses and he sets his jaw as he runs his tongue along his teeth. 

“i was,” he says flatly. “why?” 

the strangers face lights up. “wow! i...you know without the mask, i just wasn’t sure,” he says. “i’m...well, it sounds dumb out loud, but i’m a fan.”

“hilarious.” says eddie, just as flatly as before. he’s had issues in the last couple of years, ever since steelport and murderbrawl, of encounters like this. ‘i’m a fan’, someone says, before beginning to crack jokes about his loss to angel and the saints. eddie’s added more than a few arrests to his record in the ensuing time, for cracking bones when the jokes stop being funny. 

“no, i mean it,” the guy says. “my name’s sal, i’ve been following you since your defeat of angel in ‘99. was your last match with him the other year planned?” 

“no,” eddie says. “you always bother people trying to have an afternoon coffee date, or is it just a special day?” 

“i’m sorry,” says sal, “really, i didn’t mean to bother you. it’s just wild to see you, considering you’ve been ghosting the internet and the wrestling world. would it make me look like even more of a jackass if i asked for a picture?” 

“yeah,” eddie says immediately, “it would. but fuck it, in for a penny, right?” he pushes his chair back and stands. sal fumbles for his own cell phone, grinning from ear to ear. 

“do have any plans to get back in the ring some time?” he asks as he taps the camera app. 

“not really,” eddie says. he cracks his neck and crosses his arms over his chest. he’ll do a photo, he won’t do a pose. not now, and probably not ever. those days crashed and burned when steelport got carpet bombed. 

“aw, that sucks,” sal says. he steps closer and holds his phone out, still grinning into the camera. the phone makes a clicking noise as the shutter closes. he dares to hold up a peace sign, and snap another picture before putting it down. “lots of people are waiting for your big return match.” 

“the hell makes you think i’m going to have a big return match?” eddie asks sharply. sal blinks. 

“well...you’re...you,” he says. “why wouldn’t you, eventually? you still put asses in seats and money in bank accounts, it only makes sense.” 

now it’s eddie’s turn to blink. he frowns a little as he digests the words. 

“well, if you do decide to come back, just try and make sure ringsideseats or someone knows ahead of time,” says sal, “lots of people would be super pissed if they miss out on tickets because of lack of promotion.” he grins again and holds out a hand. it takes eddie’s brain a moment to catch up and for him to return the gesture in a handshake. “it was great meeting you, man. enjoy your coffee.” 

when reese returns from the bathroom, holding and flipping through a newly purchased book they did not have when they left, they find eddie still standing next to the table. he’s leaning on the back of the chair, staring absentmindedly down at the worn leather seat below. 

“i know we’d said steak, but you know, carrabba’s has steak too,” reese says. they slip the book into their laptop back and shut the lid on the computer. eddie says nothing, and they cock their head. “hello, earth to eddie, beef is on the line?” 

“what?” he asks, looking up at them. 

“i was trying to convince you to go to carrabba’s rather than longhorn,” says reese. “i feel like eating bread and shitting to death, in that order.” 

“yeah, fine,” he says. he grabs the strap of their bag and slings it across his shoulder as reese picks up his coffee cup. 

“are you okay?” they ask, pausing and looking up at him. 

“i...just had the weirdest encounter,” he says. 

“as in?” 

“with a fan,” he says. reese groans. 

“no one’s calling the cops again, are they?” they ask tiredly. 

“no,” he says. he follows them to the door and pauses with his hand on the wood. the hot florida sun bears down on the glass windows, held at bay only by air conditioning. “do you think people would actually want to see me wrestle again?” 

reese looks up from the cigarette they were fishing out of a pants pocket. 

“uh, yeah,” they say, stressing the word. “i’ve been telling you that for over a year now.” 

“no, i know,” he says. he pushes the door open, feeling the heat begin to seep into his skin as soon as the air conditioning is behind him. “i know you have.” 

“come on, let’s get lunch,” says reese. they elbow him in the side as they bring a lighter to the end of the cigarette. “sounds like there’s a discussion to be had.” 

he says nothing as they cross the parking lot to the car, and nothing still as reese navigates the two blocks to the restaurant. it is not until the first round of drinks are dropped on the table, and he has successfully wrangled a basket of bread out of reese’s gluten intolerant hands that he interrupts their whining chant of ‘wheat wheat wheat’.

“you know i spent so long on my own and doing my own thing, i don’t know where to start from the bottom up,” he says. he takes a sip of neat scotch and pops a crust of bread into his mouth. “i...can’t get by on the power of my name any more, not unless i want to just fucking job like an idiot, so i’d have to put out feelers...” 

reese sits up straighter, dropping their phone on the table top and sliding it to the left. 

“are you...being serious?” they ask. eddie looks up from swirling the straw around his drink to meet their gaze. 

“i think so,” he says. he grins, just a little and just briefly, but for a moment...

for a moment, he looks like the guy they used to watch from across a crowded casino, the one who entered a room and immediately took ownership of it. the one who could be felt as much as heard when he spoke, the one who dared try to fight off a veritable army with his bare hands. 

for a moment, eddie looks like killbane again, and reese feels themself beginning to fall from the top once more.