#and I NEED NEED NEED TO MAKE MORE THAN SEVENTEEN DOLLARS AN HOUR

[lizlemondyke]

I just refuse to leave 90 minutes early for what is supposed to be a 40 minute train ride!!!! i’m already heading into an eleven hour shift, it’s maddening to sacrifice my entire sliver of morning to the whims of unreliable transport and it’s maddening to be a little late every day.

[tinykittendelusion]

Seventeen's reaction when they overhear another member having sex (🔞)

a/n: overheard my friends have sex at the party last weekend made me curious how the boys would react.

triggers: sexual content (MINORS DNI)

Scoups

Dad mode activated

He was just going about his day when he suddenly heard loud moans from the maknaes room. He'd sigh with a faint blush on his cheeks. Later when he sees Dino he'd remind him to be safe.

Jeonghan

Teases them about it

Jeonghan was backstage with the rest of seventeen and they were about to go on stage. He notices that Joshua is missing. He'd go to check on josh near the toilets when from one of the cubicles he hears yous softly moaning Joshua's name. Would smirk and later tease him about it.

Joshua

Would laugh and ignore it

Now you need to understand Joshua has the patience of gods. so when he overhears you and Dokyeom in the shower he just shakes his head and finds another room to hang out in.

Jun

Face red whenever he takes to both of you

In your defence you thought all the members had gone home. But jun came back to get his sweater when he hears you and hoshi in the practice room going at it he'd just turn around and leave forgetting all about his sweater. He'd be so red the next day that the members would think he's not well.

Hoshi

Would yell Horanghe and leave

When he walked past Woozi's studio he heard something fall and he wanted to check just that. It's not his fault that you both were going at it on the floor. He'd yell loudly "HORANGHE" and leave but you'd notice his red ears for the next few days.

Wonwoo

Leave and stay in a hotel for a few days

You and mingyu were having sex in the kitchen when this precious bean arrived home.But as soon as he opened the door he could hear you both so.. he closed it. Would stay in a nearby hotel for a few days just to give you privacy. Mingyu might start thinking that he is seeing someone.

Woozi

Would make a sensual song

They were overseas on a schedule and you had flown over to surprise Seungkwan and woozi's only mistake was his room was right opposite seungkwan. When coming back from drinking with the other members he could hear your moans loud and clear in the hallway. Later that night he kept tossing and turning thinking about what he overheard. Ends up writing a millian dollar song.

Dokyeom

Avoids you both for a few days

In his defence he thought the both of you had passed out somewhere, he didn't expect you both to be having sex completely wasted in the restaurant's washroom. He would immediately turn around and send a hyung to deal with it. Would avoid both minghao and you for a few days because he would be so awkward and embarrassed.

Mingyu

Would give you soundproofing material for your birthday/anniversary

You and wonwoo were LOUD not his fault. He'd be sitting in his room and contemplating why he's living with his best friend and his girlfriend when he is rich enough to afford another house. Would gift you guys some soundproofing equipment cause "i want to be sane". Is more annoyed than embarrassed.

Minghao

Invest in soundproof headphones

The dorms were a place for him to relax but how could he when you and Jun were apparently having the sex of your lives? would roll his eyes and text vernon for recommendations on soundproof headphones. Again he's more annoyed than embarrassed but he won't bring it up to either of you.

Seungkwan

Starts singing loudly

His house was filled with moans every time they'd come back from an overseas schedule you and your boyfriend jeonghan kept going at it for all night. Tired and irritated boo starts singing on the top of his voice and ends up singing till dawn. He gets so lost into singing and having fun he never realised that the noises stopped hours ago.

Vernon

Shuts the door

The boys were all at your and scoups place to watch a movie between which you and scoups had escaped to his room for more interesting things but one of you forgot to close the room properly and vernon was tired of you both ruining the movie for him finally got up and shut the door and then turned up the volume of the tv.

Dino

Gets turned on

You and vernon sounded like you both were having the best sex of your life. Dino was sitting in the living room with the strawberries his dad had given for all the members.He suddenly realises he's sporting a boner and leaves quietly. It's not because he's attracted to either of you but the act of sex in itself.

a/n: I laughed way too much while writing vernon's and hoshi's parts😭🤣

[etraytin]

Desert Bus For Hope Is Coming!

So I know everything sucks and is crappy right now, but I have good news! We are only two days out from the most wonderful time of the year: Desert Bus time!

Once a year in November, the fine Canadian gamer comedians at Loading Ready Run shut down everything for a week and turn the whole studio into a vehicle designed solely for the purpose of raising money for Child's Play. Starting on Friday, November 8, they will begin playing Desert Bus, the world's most boring and tedious video game, round the clock until people stop paying them to do so. Every hour costs seven percent more than the one before it, and the marathon continues until the next hour cannot be reached. To make this epic struggle more palatable, they also spend the week entertaining the audience with games, skits, comedic bits, and pretty much anything anybody can come up with. In the seventeen (17!) years they have run this marathon, they have raised over 10.6 million dollars!

All right, you say, sounds great, but what is Child's Play and why do they need all this money? Child's Play is a charity that was founded by gamers in response to a half-baked thoughtpiece saying that video games were making kids violent and ruining their minds. They fought back not with words but with actions, raising money from their community to put toys and video games into children's hospitals, for the kids who most needed joy in their lives. Over the past two decades their mission has evolved from not just directly providing toys, but also sponsoring the creation of guidebooks to help therapists select the best toys and games for therapeutic purposes and providing grants for Child Life Specialists in hospitals to make sure that the kids are getting to be kids as much as possible.

So basically what I'm saying is, if you're hurting right now and you need distraction and fun and some hope that people are doing good in the world, this is it. They're streaming on Twitch starting at 6pm Eastern on Friday and going til they run out of money (usually about six and a half days in recent years.) It's (mostly) PG and a safe, inclusive space to hang out and maybe start feeling better. Plus it's for a good cause!

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Beyond the Blood Tie - Chapter Twenty Seven.

Big thanks to the little core group reading this for your engagement. I think you might really enjoy this next chapter... ;)

Previous Chapters - One  Two, Part One Part Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen  Twenty  Twenty One  Twenty Two  Twenty Three  Twenty Four  Twenty Five  Twenty Six

Words - 5,925

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Edie's POV

"This whole thing suddenly feels like it's going at a thousand miles an hour. What the fuck?" I quietly exclaim, while sitting on the front step with Angel smoking a cigarette. We're currently waiting for Charles to arrive back, after going out to find out what Brooke knows. Since he isn't being followed (Ursula hasn't been out yet, so she doesn't know if she is or not) and he didn't want to bring them back here, he's gone to meet them, and since Brooke isn't the one being watched, or him, he's fine to do so as well. He just doesn't know if the house is being viewed from a great distance or not, hence everyone's reluctance for them to come here. Ursula doesn’t want Elias to know she’s onto him, obviously.  

"After Charles has returned and we've finished discussing all of this, I'm going to take you upstairs and fuck you until sunrise and beyond. I need to immerse myself in anything other than this pile of shit, if only for a few hours.” I can hear it in his voice, the pissed off tones. I can’t say that I blame him at all.

"I want you to as well," I reply, turning and giving him a smile. His frown doesn't shift, but when I turn away again I do feel him kiss the back of my neck softly. This really is unbelievable, and makes me truly wonder, much like everyone else no doubt, how long has it been going on for? I wonder when Brooke was approached for a start, and the rest, well... I'm still trying to process the rest. It feels selfish to think it, but I hate that it's now overshadowing the great time I've been having in my new relationship. Even though nothing drastic has happened, things are far from normal.

"Has anyone ever been suspicious of her in the past without reason, because of her status as the eldest vampire residing in America?" I ask, after a few silent moments.

"Never. Ursula has always been very well liked and respected, as I've said." he mutters, sounding terse. I decide not to say anything else out of fear of pissing off my boyfriend any further than he already is, so simply light myself another cigarette and remain quiet. I know he isn't pissed at me, but my asking him questions he probably finds totally irrelevant (my word of the day) will no doubt bother him. After a few minutes of silence, I feel one of his hands slipping into my tight fitting little black t shirt, entering my bra to gently stroke my left breast.

"Boob therapy," he explains.

"Is it working?"  

"For now," he sighs, kissing the side of my head. We head back inside shortly after, and once there only have another twenty-five-minute wait until Charles arrives back at 4:50am.

"As usual, my boy, your senses never fail you. Brooke confessed to me that she'd been approached by a female vampire while out on Halloween in a night club with you all, and offered a substantial sum to become a mole for her. They gave her fifty thousand dollars to integrate herself more within the friendship group, and begin casting doubt over Angel, planting false evidence around his workplace, or at Edie's home to make it appear he is of course guilty of crimes against humans, or TVM involvement. The only name she could give me was a false name, but after describing her to me I know exactly who it is. Short, overweight, reddish black hair and wore bright cerise pink lipstick," Charles announces to the room as soon as he arrives. Everyone bar me begins nodding knowingly.

"Dawn Cavendish, I might have known,” Ursula begins, laughing a little. “Elias's little arse licker, she is. Oh dear, Chief Weston. You're barely covering your tracks here.”

"What did Ahmed have to say about it?" I ask Charles, wondering indeed what my friend thinks about all of this.

"He broke off their romance completely, told her he couldn't trust someone so underhanded. He seems a good chap, your friend. Size of a bloody Arabian giant, isn’t he? Goodness, he must strike pure terror into any humans taken into his chamber," he replies, while removing his jacket and then turning to his wife. I make a mental note to call Ahmed first thing when I wake, possibly meet up with him and talk too before we go to work. I'd call him now, but since this conversation seems to be becoming wound up, I can feel something else becoming just the same, too. If Angel's libido was a tightly coiled spring, right now you could ping it all the way to France if you let it go.

"Darling I'm going to spend the time until sunrise doing some investigation. Let's just say either way I'm going to get to the bottom of Dawn's involvement before I do anything else. There's nothing else to be added to this for now through discussion. Goodnight, all," she says before departing, leaving Angel and me free to practically run from the lounge and up the stairs, undressing as we go when we hit the hallway leading to his bedroom.  

Before I've even got through the door, he's on me, growling hungrily in my ear as his hands reach around my waist and he begins undoing my jeans. His other hand flicks my bra undone, and he turns me in his arms to kiss me almost savagely as I yank myself out of my remaining clothes, propelling me backwards until my back hits the bed. He disposes of the rest of his own clothes in a hurry before his nakedness is pressed firmly to mine, sharing kisses edged in embers and utter need.

I know this isn't going to be the kind of sex that'll consist of hours of endless foreplay, in fact I think very little will be shared, or required for that matter. Our hands roam all over each other, with me rolling him over onto his back as we continue to kiss, reaching down to begin using my hand to stimulate the big erection currently touching my stomach. His mouth leaves mine and he moves down the bed a little, just enough to be able to reach my nipples with his mouth, while I groan at the sensation of him sliding a finger inside me. It only takes mere moments for his thorough probing of my g spot for me to be wet enough for sex, and so move his hand and guide his dick inside me, sinking down onto it with a very satisfied moan.

From now until past dawn (he feeds again meaning he can keep awake) we fling each other around the bed in an entanglement of limbs, the sex we share so hot you'd think the temperature had a direct line to hell. I'm dragged, turned, pulled, pushed, licked, kissed, bitten and fucked until I can hardly remember my own name, trying to give just as much punishment back to him as well. That's hard when you're human and your other half is a vampire, but I try nonetheless. He needs to be exhausted, to make his brain shut off with all the thoughts regarding his creator and the trouble seeming to be arising all around her and her family. It works too, for both of us, even though I didn't need my mind taking off it as much as he did.

We're so exhausted that as we're lying still joined together, stroking and kissing each other we both fall asleep. I wake before he does though, as going to sleep with a very big vampire still inside of and on top of you isn't comfortable for long. I sleep on until 2pm after flinging him over onto his back. I'm glad I've woken early, even though I'm tired still of course it means I get to quickly get myself ready, kiss my sleeping boyfriend goodbye and leave him a note (I think that's going to become a cute little ritual between us) saying goodbye before I leave, deciding to treat myself to a cab so I can get home quicker and call Ahmed on my way. He tells me he's home and just making himself a late lunch, and says to come round now if I can since he's made too much food for just him as always. Ahmed Khamir and portion control don't go hand in hand! He always cooks too much.

"Drexl, hey boy, hey beautiful," I coo when my friend opens the front door to me a little while later and his gorgeous, big blue pitbull comes running to lavish attention on me. It's so the other way around with pitbull's. They want to pet you. I'm so glad Ahmed doesn't agree with the brutality that is ear clipping and tail docking, like a lot of morons out there subject this beautiful breed to, to make them look tough. Drexl is the softest, sweetest natured creature I've ever met. Would he hurt a fly? Well, he ran away from a bee one time, so that should answer your question.

"Dude, damn you look... I can't put my finger on it.” Stepping inside, I’m quick to wrap him in the hug I think he needs.

He sighs, his huge arms tightening around me. "I'm just disappointed that a girl who was seemingly so nice would decide to accept money to fuck over my best friend's boyfriend. I know I have no real loyalty to Angel since I don't know him well, and even though you're not directly involved, I'll still have more loyalty to you than some girl I was only dating for a few weeks.”

"Well, ultimately it's Ursula who's being fucked over, but I suppose if this Elias guy can use her offspring in this too, as well as Charles and EZ, I guess he'll have no qualms about doing so," I lament as we head through the house into the kitchen.

"That's just what Charles said to us. He's a fucking decent vampire, you know. He paid for Brooke to get a cab home out of his own pocket, but not before telling her she should pack her bags and get out of Vegas, for her own safety because of those who paid her to plant false evidence against Angel. He told her she was off the hook with him for actually confessing and that he appreciated her honesty," Ahmed replies, gesturing to where he's laid out a plate and cutlery for me at the counter in the kitchen.

"Yeah, he's very gentlemanly, Charles is. Anyway, enough of this talk unless you have anything else you want to say on the matter?" I say, wanting to move on from the subject. I have a feeling I'm going to be dealing with it enough until Ursula unravels Elias and his little plan.

"Nope, I've nothing to add, other than I hope the family get to the bottom of all this before anyone is hurt, or worse," he says before serving up lunch. After eating we go and sit in the garden, throwing Drexl his ball and playing tug o' war with him and his rope toy, which he enjoys immensely. Playing with the lovely dog is not the only thing to lift my spirits today, for when I arrive at work at a quarter to nine, it seems I have a delivery waiting for me.

"These arrived a half hour ago, you lucky little bitch," Aileen says from behind one of the biggest bunches of flowers I've ever seen. I love tiger lilies, and this bunch consists of nothing but those. After taking the huge arrangement from Aileen, I put them down on the table and then take the card out to read as I sit. 'Just because I love you. Angel.' He's so fucking sweet.

"From your vampire, I take it?" she asks, while I attempt to bite back the size of my dopey smile.

"Yes," I reply, the grin firmly coming back.

"She's in love!" she announces, while I wave my hand dismissively.

"Shut up!" I scold, tucking the note back into the cellophane wrap the flowers are bound in before getting up to make myself a cup of coffee.

Aileen continues with her teasing, poking me in the side with her finger. "Oooooh, she's gone pink!"

"Stop it!" I protest, lighting up a cigarette and trying to calm down my inner cheer. It's just so nice of him to think of me like this when he has so much on his mind regarding Ursula right now. Aileen leaves me alone eventually, and we discuss work and the rotation of detainees coming in tonight before I head down to my chamber to smack the shit out of a woman who enjoys beating up girls who are smaller than her, just for kicks. By the time I'm done with her, she's going to be the one feeling small, she really is.

I'm not seeing Angel tonight, so when I get back after work all I want to do is get into the tub and relax, have time to do all my usual girly stuff like shave my legs and pluck my eyebrows and the like. When I do arrive home though, well I find that perhaps someone else guessed that too. Wondering what the nice smell drifting through my house is, I follow my nose until I get to my bathroom, and then open the door to find one hell of a surprise.  

The bath has been filled with steaming hot water, and my whole bathroom is filled with cinnamon scented candles, the cause of the lovely smell wafting through my home, and in little vases all around there are more of the tiger lilies like those he sent me while at work. He must have literally just left as soon as I hit my street, because he isn't stupid, and he wouldn't have left burning candles unattended for more than what probably was only a minute or so.

‘Even though there's trouble brewing in my home life, I still want to enjoy my new relationship with you as much as I have been, if not more. So, this will include frequent surprises and declarations of my love for you such as this one. Get used to it. Angel.’

That's the note he left for me rested on the side of the tub, secured underneath a whiskey over ice. He's too good to me, I've decided. This is the kind of thing you read in fictional novels or see on the TV. I'm not used to this level of romance in everyday life, since I've never seen it before. Okay, I lie. I have, but not to this extent. Sarah used to love bringing me lunch in bed after I woke from my morning sleep (she used to work at home in the old apartment I shared with her for a time) or rub my feet for me after a long night at work, but never anything like this. I wish he'd stayed and waited for me, and while I think on that as I undress as if by magic, he calls me.

"You're so fucking romantic," I tell him upon answering my cell, hearing him laugh deeply.

"I try," he replies. "So did you like your flowers? Also, how was work?" he then asks me attentively. Attentive, that's exactly what Angel is. I'm lucky to have him.

"I loved them, thank you. You're such a great boyfriend, really you're the best. As for work, it was damn tiring. I'm very glad to be stepping into this tub, ahhhh, that's better. How was your night?" I reply as I make contact with the water and then rest back fully.

"It was good. I wasn't followed and wasn't watched at any point either. I managed to get to work and then step out to procure a feed mid-way through the night, and nothing. I think yesterday's display of quick wit has made whoever was watching us decide to regroup. I bet they weren't expecting to be picked up upon or have Brooke sniffed out quite as quickly as it all happened. Ursula thinks they'll be quiet for a time. I plan to enjoy it, and I'm going to start by taking you somewhere tomorrow," he says, while I reach for my whiskey.

My curiosity is immediately piqued. "Where are we going?"  

"You'll see, it's a surprise but I know you'll like it. I'll meet you from work, and for now let you enjoy your bath. Goodnight, I love you," he replies as I sip my whiskey, and for the first time feel something within me want to say it back, but I hesitate.

"Goodnight, honey." I tell him simply but warmly before hanging up. I wanted to tell him I loved him too, but I'm not sure I'm saying it because I really mean it, or if I'm saying it because he obviously loves me deeply.  

I don't know what's wrong with me, I guess Ursula was right. I'm pretty emotionally crippled when it comes to romantic love. I feel guilty for not saying it back to him, because I can physically pick up on something small within him that feels a little disappointment when I don't return the sentiment. We sense a hell of a lot more about each other, the more of each other's blood we drink. My tie to him is stronger than his to me though, but even so I'm surprised I didn't pick up on him when I was walking toward my house, when he was preparing this bath time surprise for me.

I wonder if next time he says it to me if I'll have the guts to say it back, and I also wonder why I seem to be scared of saying it when I know I've nothing to lose by doing so. He loves me already; I should feel wonderfully secure in that. I then begin to wonder whether there'll be anything specific he says or does, something random that makes me feel the swell of love so strongly I'm powerless to keep it in. Time will tell, I suppose.  

Angel's POV

"I thank you for your advice as ever, Constance. We will speak soon, I hope." Those are the words I just heard Ursula say, ending a phone call with her creator. They had little in the way of a relationship for the first five hundred years, until Constance reconnected with the offspring she'd abandoned quite early in her vampirism. It's the night after I flower bombed Edie, and I hardly saw my creator the previous evening, so thought I'd come straight in after work to spend some time with her before I go back out to meet my love at 3am.

"Calling for advice? If I was facing this and we didn't live together, you'd be the first I'd call too," I tell her, watching her turn in her seat and then get up. She walks over and strokes my cheek before kissing it, hugging me while resting her cheek to my chest.  

"It's nice for me to hear, that you'd do that. Yes, that is the reason I called Constance earlier. She advised me to do exactly what I thought I should, keep my ear very close to the ground and be quiet while I'm about it," she confirms as we move to sit down. As usual, I take the couch and she sits in her armchair.

"Have you begun to do so yet?" I ask her, too curious not to.

"Yes, as they have been snooping on me, I will now begin snooping on them, or rather having a careful and very discreet eye kept on Dawn Cavendish at all times. I'm hoping her love of gossip might lead to a slip up, but I don't want to reveal much more to you than that. I figure the less you know, the safer you are in all of this, this action to discredit me and show me as a traitor to the AVA. If you know nothing, know no names, then you can't be held accountable to anything in a worst-case situation.” That's fair enough, I suppose. Even though I must confess, I'd rather be in the thick of it as much as she is, because I want to help her. I tell her as much, too.

She smiles fondly, resting a hand to her chest. "If there comes a time where your help is needed, I shall come to you. As any good mother would, though, I want to spare my children. Even though neither you nor EZ came from my womb, you're still my sons. So, are you seeing Edie tonight then?"  

I nod, shifting back in my seat a little. "Yes, I'm taking her up to Hangman's Hill. She's never mentioned it before and she loves to learn, so I thought I'd take her there. Hopefully she'll find it interesting."

"Oh yes, I can believe she would! She has a very thirsty mind, does young Edie." She comments, something I only know to be true. Hangman's Hill is a famed place in Las Vegas, for it is where the first punishments for crimes took place over forty years ago when the USAC was being formed and enforcement of this type began.  

Hangman's Hill was, obviously from its name, the place they hung people up to beat them, or if their death was called for, where they strung people up by nooses and let them hang until they died. The big gallows are still there, as well as lots of other frames they used to tie people to and beat them, leaving them out there in all weather conditions before Correctional Department's were established. I hope Edie hasn't been there before, because I can't wait to take her.  

Saying goodbye to Ursula I head out, meeting Charles on his way back in and sharing some banter about his long working hours and my relatively shorter ones before I leave to meet Edie at the CD. I also pick her up one of her favourite things to eat on my way there, an absolutely foul-smelling chilli dog I make the people at the diner wrap in several bags over its Styrofoam container. This is how much I love her.

"I can't thank you enough for this, I'm starving!" she tells me five minutes later, taking the heavily wrapped container from me as we kiss.

"I also got you this, for any kissing you want to do after eating it," I tell her, taking a pack of gum from my pocket, making her laugh. She turns and says goodnight to a couple of her colleagues before we head down the street and she begins eating her food. It smells like death warmed up, death and feet. If it was physically possible for me to throw up, I would.  

After waiting for her to eat her food and talking to her about our respective evenings at work, I hail us a cab and we head through the main drag of Vegas and up to the edge of the Nevada desert, where Hangman's Hill is located.  

"Oh my god, this is Hangman's Hill, isn't it? I've heard about it, but I've never been up here! Damn, I wish I'd picked up my camera!" she exclaims excitedly after we've got out of the cab and walked the rest of the distance up to the hill itself, the huge gallows coming into view.

"It's a good job I thought ahead and brought this with me from the shop, then.” Taking the small digital camera we use at the shop to photograph our work from my pocket, I hand it to her, Edie smiling widely, granting me a huge kiss as she takes it.

"This is such a nice surprise, thank you! It's one of those places I always mean to come up and visit because of it being the first place us punishers did our job, but I've never got around to it." She scurries off up the hill at speed, making me smile as I watch her begin to snap pictures, squeaking 'there's still blood on them!' as she takes a closer look through the darkness with the powerful little mini torch she has on her keys. I take the torch from her and be of use by holding it while she handles the camera, figuring eventually I might as well just shoot up a few feet and hover above the gallows with the light.

"What the fuck? No way, you levitate into the air?" she cries, immediately pointing the camera up at me to take a few pictures.

"Yes, we all can. When we move over large spaces of land we technically fly.” Of course, I remember instantly she's never seen me do this before, my little floating trick.

"And you only show me now?" she yells incredulously, looking stunned.

"You still have much to learn about vampires, as you know we aren't forthcoming with a lot of information, and I like to continually surprise you as well.” She continues to photograph while I answer various questions she asks about the finer details of the history of Hangman's Hill, informing her that the first punishments began taking place here on May 24th, 2068 and the first execution on July 3rd of the same year.

"It would have been so much different, my job that is, had I been born earlier," Edie comments while running her hand down a large post at the front of the gallows, and then pulling it away quickly when she gets a splinter.

"It would have, you're right. The punishers who worked up here really had a hard time of it, what with the heat and then the cold of the desert when night fell. I read somewhere that they had to eat massive amounts of protein and sugar to keep going, it was so gruelling to work like that under the hot sun," I explain to her, watching her nodding.

"I can imagine. Geez, I wouldn't have liked that much. Okay so being out in the sun is something I do enjoy, but not to work as hard as I do, damn," she mutters, grabbing onto an upper beam of wood and then climbing the side of the gallows, eventually ending up sitting on the beam across the top and looking out over the horizon. I join her, taking her hand in mine and kissing it before we just sit and look at all the many lights illuminating sin city below us. I love living here, and I don't see myself moving on for at least a couple hundred years yet.  

We sit up here for a time longer before deciding to head back to her place, following the quiet road the cab dropped us on all the way around the low-lying hills, which will eventually bring us back to civilization, Edie and I discussing ideas for her next tattoo. I get the distinct impression she’s going to take full advantage of the fact she’s in a relationship with a tattoo artist.

"I've been thinking about it, and I think if you have time soon I'd like you to over the scars on my chest. I'm unsure what I want, but I want it to be quite delicate looking, nothing too solid," she explains, while we walk hand in hand along a large curve in the road.

"We can sit and look through pictures on the internet when we get in, see if we can find an idea to work with," I suggest as the rest of the road begins to come into view, along with a small hill behind a large cluster of trees. The hill is filled with tombstones. Great, a cemetery, packed with ghosts who'll more than likely try to talk to me as I pass by. They like that they can communicate with us, even though for the most part, we don't.

"Yeah, that'd be great. As long as you promise to fuck me to sleep after.” Immediately, I spin in front of her, my arms sliding around to grip her ass. “Oh, he likes that idea,” she purrs, kissing me heatedly.

My eyebrow rise is the confirmation that has her giggling. “He really fucking does.” Continuing our past the cemetery, we exchange tentative ideas for her tattoo, and I try not to be distracted as a few ghosts drift out and start talking to me. I then find it very hard to continue concentrating when Edie talks about possibly having some kind of script or song lyrics tattooed, since currently I can hear her name being called over and over.

"Edie, sweetie can you hear me? Edie, baby! I'm over here." Oh, fucking fuck, no. No, no, no. Not Linda, please not her. Please don't be Edie's mother, please be the spirit of her grandmother or something. I know she can't see or hear her, but I don't want to have to suffer the spirit of the woman who made her life a living hell until she snuffed herself out.

"Hey, hey! You, big Mexican guy with my daughter, I know you can hear me! I know you're a vampire, tell my daughter I want to talk to her, please, please can you do that for me, mister? Oh my god, oh you're so beautiful, Edie. You look just like I did when I was your age," she continues with as her form floats to right in front of us, hovering along backwards as she looks at me pleadingly in between catching little glances at Edie. The ghost has brightly dyed red hair, bad makeup, neon blue leopard print leggings and a white off the shoulder gypsy top. That's Linda alright. I ignore her completely and try to continue listening to Edie. My rage, though. If Linda were still alive, I’d fucking put her through massive amounts of pain for what she did to my girlfriend.  

"I think Cambodian script looks pretty, and Arabic. All I gotta do to get a correct translation for that is email it to Ahmed's mom too, since she's fluent," she explains, while the ghost of her mother doesn't stop yacking.

"Edie, Edie! Baby, its mommy! Sweetheart you're so perfect, look at you. I'm so sorry, please forgive me," she sobs, shaking her head and reaching out to try and touch Edie, even though of course she can't. All the same, my protective streak rises sharply, letting go of her hand and wrapping an arm around her instead, holding her close as I begin to walk us a little faster.  

"I just felt something cold right by my cheek; did you feel a breeze just then?" Edie asks, seemingly able to have felt Linda's touch of her cheek a little.

"Yeah, just a breeze," I nod, determined not to let on that the ghost of her mother is right in front of us, even though I can feel my temper starting to rise very, very quickly. How fucking dare she. It's a little too damned late to apologise now, now she's dead and the damage has been done. Fucking abusive piece of shit.  

"Please, tell her I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for the way I treated her, I was a drunken mess with a terrible life and a husband who didn't love me."  

Oh no. She did not. She did not excuse away years of child abuse like that, blaming anyone other than herself.

“Angel?” Edie questions when her mother’s words have made me come to a complete stop, a deep growl rattling my throat. “Honey, what’s wrong?” She looks at me with concern, her fingers stroking at my arm.  

“I have to reveal something to you, but I really don’t want to. I know how upsetting it’s gonna be,” I begin, Linda still there hovering.  

“What is it?” I hear her heart do a little nervous somersault, turning to her, taking her face in my hands and kissing her forehead.  

“It’s your mom. She’s standing right in front of us,” I begin, sighing, Edie shaking her head in confusion. "Vampire lesson number two to learn tonight is the fact that we can communicate with the dead, see and hear ghosts. Your mother is buried in that cemetery, and right now her ghost is begging for your forgiveness and telling you how sorry she is. Permission to fucking let her have it?”

Her mouth falls open, looking to her side and then back at me. “Permission granted.” I kiss her again before turning to the ghost of that wretched bag of bones, who still looks expectant for me to comply.

“So, you gonna tell her, then?”  

"Tell her what, Linda? The steaming heap of bullshit you’re still telling yourself now to absolve your guilt? Nah, I ain’t doing that, but I will tell you a few fucking things,” I begin, anger pulsing through me. “Your husband didn't fucking love you because you fucked anything with a pulse behind his damned back and got yourself pregnant with a child who wasn't his, who you then beat the shit out of from three to fifteen years old! You want forgiveness for that, huh? Fuck you, she ain’t forgiving shit! What you left for her in your suicide note, you messed her up. She’s thirteen years past it and still she can’t fully move on, and you did that. You." I roar at her transparent image, surging forward rapidly until I'm right in front of her. "And if you were alive right now, I'd torture you to death for what you did to her."

“Listen, I know I messed up, just please, tell her...”

“No! We’re fucking done here. I ain’t telling her anything that comes from you, you poisonous bitch.” Taking Edie’s hand, I pull her close, hating the fact I can feel her trembling, a huge chest echo thudding through me when I see she’s crying.  

“You have nothing to say that I want to hear, mom. Go fuck yourself,” she then speaks to the spot her mother’s ghost occupies, Linda’s form reaching her again as she begins to lament her sorrow once more.  

Pulling her back into my arms, I stroke her face, shaking my head. "No, she doesn't deserve them." I tell her, moving my thumbs to wipe away the tears brimming her eyes before picking her up and getting her out of here quickly. We arrive back at her home moments later, and as I predicted, she breaks down as soon as we're inside, but what she says through those tears I have to say, I don't expect.

"I love you, Angel. I love you so much! For everything you do for me, who you are, what you just said to my mom, and for being the first person ever to protect me from her." She cries after flinging her arms around my neck. I hold her to me tightly, stroking her hair and letting her sob.  

Everything Linda put her through has swollen up within her, and I know it'll take considerable time for me to try and get it to deflate once more. Underneath my sadness for her having to endure those memories, though, I feel the most sublime happiness that finally she told me she loves me. We vampires, we're not made of stone, you know.

[pandorafallz]

Vampire AU | Chapter 24

Quaritch once again eyed the new report from the newest repaired dozer to…the new downed dozer and second AMP suit that had been recalled due to damage. Another failure that was chalked up to poor maintenance but Quaritch could feel something was amiss and it felt like it was good old sabotage.

This was not the work he had wanted to do the moment he returned for a full debrief from Frontier West and even then, his work there wasn’t yet complete. He had more important things to do than this. He had put in an inside man to help with the repairs; to ensure the repairs weren’t done to be faulty. He had swapped out the patrol teams and gone over reports and video logs of the shift and they already had scans of the area on the system so there shouldn’t be problems. If that failed to draw anything, he couldn’t call it sabotage on their end.

With the dozers without internal scanners anymore—Selfridge had ordered to remove them entirely as they would shut down dozers at every ‘interesting’ thing the scanners picked up—they had fewer ways to update the terrain unless it was hand-scanners. No one had time for that shit in Selfridge’s book and Quaritch was too busy to give a fuck about it too. They were dozing blind.

Selfridge seemingly looked to be reading his report but even Quaritch could see the guy’s eyes weren’t rolling across the text a lot.

“I’ve got Mansk currently acting as Head of the base until I decide who runs the base. Walker is his head of security until then as well. I’ve got a few men in places but… We’ll need a lot more to fill out the ranks.” He wasn’t thrilled given he wanted Mansk back with his team here but...he was making do.

Selfridge exhaled deeply, rolling his head back. “How many more?”

“A hundred or so more.”

“A hundred!” Selfridge exclaimed, “That…too many! And I’ve seen the number count, you don’t need that many people.”

“I will. Once arrests have been made.”

“Arrests?”

“Next page,” Quaritch nodded to the report Selfridge was slacking on. He waited a few moments, as the guy skim-read through, tapping to the next page then pulled a face.

“You gotta be kidding me…”

“All evidence that we could get shows that…Mercer created the TAP program about seventeen years ago with Cortez. It became actuality a year later. Kidnapping Na’vi children and committing full-out genocide of a Na’vi clan and chemically contaminating the area with toxins to destroy the bodies and evidence. They wiped the TAP-1 Facility so we couldn’t find the back-up saves; someone got to it hours before we did. Someone did leave us enough to work with. Now, I’m not here to preach to the Na’vi and you know that normally, I couldn’t care less given how far away from me they are” Quaritch started, “but…the Frontier West SecOps committed war crimes, an uncalled for genocide attack and poses a huge threat to the safety of those bases. I’ll round up anyone alive that was part of the slaughter. That’s twenty-seven men and women still alive out of the fifty that were listed, six returned back to earth over the last few years, and the rest were killed by animals, wildlife and stupidity.”

Quaritch was honest in his words. Originally, he couldn’t care less. They were heading down to force the Omatikaya out of their home for the human’s greater need. One clan was in the way of it and…well if he was a complete warmonger, he’d be gunning for failure if Sully had been a good boy in his mission and burn the people out if they refused to go. He used to have the same goal with Selfridge but… it was becoming more apparent the guy had no loyalty to anything that wasn’t green or with dollar signs on which had become a pressing concern given the oversight it put onto his department. Quaritch was trying to be patient here which was more than what he was used to giving.

Mercer was his own RDA leader and ran his resources collection with passion but…his oversight had got the man killed. He had taken too much from a lot of clans in the area and…Quaritch did not like the weight it put against the RDA in that sector. They needed more to keep it secure but they also needed more with less Na’vi blood on their hands to…seem less of a threat.

War crimes had their degrees and Quaritch was not innocent. He knew that. But…it crossed a line in his book when there was needless reason for it. This…saren-something clan had no cause; the RDA was not defending themselves or their technology, nor was the ground the clan on holding anything of use to the RDA. No build-up of an attack either. They killed the adults and the teenagers and took the ones small enough to be useful.

Sooner or later, the Na’vi clans were gonna find out…and he couldn’t imagine the base being safe with as much red on their crew as it was. Na’vi liked vengeance when it was called upon. They needed a fresh roster of SecOps that he could trust to run a base than these shitheads that Mercer liked to have around.

“Miles, look, the chances are they’re just doing what they were ordered to. Mercer’s dead and Cortez is dead. There’s no one to punish.”

“Everyone uses that excuse to justify themselves from crimes they’ve committed as a unit. It’s an old reason and I won’t stand for it in these circumstances. Their very presence puts a target on everyone’s back. We need a new roster and I won’t have anyone who was part of this remain on that soil. It’ll undermine RDA authority.”

“What about Colonel Harding?” Selfridge asked, setting the tablet aside tiredly and his hands coming to rub his face.

“Unfortunately, someone got to her records first before we arrived and wiped any involvement she had in the genocide and following years. As I said, I had Mansk running a team into the TAP Con-1 facility to sweep for intel but they’ve found squat. The team believes Harding also runs a black market of Pandoran animal parts which have been shipped off as Na’vi artefacts and put a good amount of money in her pocket and the RDA’s. We can’t remove her without evidence as we have with the others, so we’ll be trying to get witness statements from the SecOps guys to be enough to charge her with their crimes and get her shipped back to Earth for the same trial.”

“The RDA won’t make it a public sceptical.”

“I know. Don’t care.” Quaritch shrugged. “But my point stands; new people. I want SciOps to help back the SecOps up, Avatar Drivers and try to settle negotiations of truce with the near clans.”

“That’s a lot of money you’re gambling.”

“The only avatar driver they had was for the TAP purposes, nothing useful for science or research like Cortez was actually trained for. I checked her records. A new area of the world means more plants and shit that might be beneficial for humans. Pandoran samples are still sought after on Earth. I did my research into Madaki’s family on Earth when I was learning more about his defect possibilities. It seems the plants they have are actually helping Earth. We’re still making money and humans are still benefitting. It’s worth the cost.”

Selfridge seemed to glower but he had a point. They might as well be useful while they had a base there.

“Run it through with Augustine on the…most suitable people to go. No more than four drivers. She’ll be gone to Site 26 soon. I know she’s in the Avatar compound right now sorting shit out still.” Selfridge waved in the vague direction of the compound. “How’s the search going for those who defected at West Frontier?”

“Non-existent.”

“What?! Why?! They killed people to escape, Colonel.”

Quaritch gave the puny excuse of a human with a solid stare. “They have killed which is one of the reasons why I’m weary about bringing them in but the case and reason why I haven’t is because of the six Na’vi teenagers that they’re with and no doubt still looking after. I won’t bring the kids in with the same reasons why I won’t bring the assaulted deserters in. The chances are they’ll be getting the kids to a clan for safety but will no doubt ally themselves with a clan for their own protection if the kids vouch for them. Not worth my trouble or the lives of my men. Pandora is not kind and sooner or later their numbers will be cut down.”

-

Grace thumbed through the tablet Everdeen had handed to her as the fellow avatar checked through the sampling kits. Grace was ninety per cent sure in this body that Everdeen’s avatar wasn’t being controlled by Lilith Everdeen but rather and most likely, Grace Everdeen who Grace was familiar with the schedules and scientific tools to pose as her own sister.

It was known, more publically known due to Jake that identical twins were able to navigate their sibling’s avatar given the matching DNA and neuro links that were mirrored between bodies. That was a welcome surprise for the RDA who could no doubt invest more for one. Quadruplets, like the Everdeen four, were currently unheard of into connecting with a single avatar before now.

Only Grace and Maze knew as they had caught the subtle differences in their scent when one of them was already linked up. All four Everdeen’s had linked up at some time or another. Thea and Amanda Everdeen were SecOps. Lilith and Grace were SciOps. An even ground of skill range which made the Quad a very desired group and why they made it into the RDA as a complete set but the fact that they were an identical and tried to dress the same as much as possible made them…uneasy to be around for those that didn’t have a greater sense of smell to tell the difference.

Grace found she didn’t mind the SciOps two to switch, as they both had areas they studied in that differed but were still important to her department. Both had different views of their work and it was interesting to see how far one would try to stay in character to be ‘Lilith’ when out and about.

The Two SecOps Everdeen’s had returned from West Frontier after helping with Quaritch and had conversed heatedly at night, which had sprung up the topic that all four were gonna bounce given the…aftermath of the RDA’s actions in regards to the Sarentu Clan.

Grace knew a little from overhearing at night, and didn’t like the growing picture that had formed as the four discussed their experience from the other base and…well as much as she didn’t blame them for leaving on those accounts, it was still gonna fuck a lot up and she had already tried to plan forward but… she needed to get ahead of this more directly.

“Dr Everdeen,” Grace decided to bite the bullet on this one, going for opening with work first. Grace Everdeen was…the more nervous type out of the four and would be more susceptible to listening. “Have the Na’vi artefacts from the Sarentu clan been dropped off yet at the Compound?”

Everdeen looked up and then nodded after checking another tablet “About ten minutes ago, doc”

“Go get them and put them in the longhouse. I want us to look over them before we decide on our next course of action.” She knew the likes of Selfridge would certainly see to him attempting to sell these artefacts off so this gave her another opportunity to protect them from his greedy corporate hands.

With a nod, Everdeen peeled off from organising the samples and Grace assigned Louise to take over for their absence.

Grace would rather do her samples but she knew her priorities. There were other things to sort out in the next few days and this new load of RDA shit certainly was filling up her day more than she had planned. Upside of not sleeping, her evening was put to use in catching up on work and she certainly used those hours to keep them all on track before her departure so they weren’t too disorganised by this new wave of change. Current samples were a little more delayed and the preservation was harder to retain on them and yet…humans had to sleep.

Grace picked up a travel case as she headed to the longhouse, getting the case prepped onto the table and with the tablet ready for proper documentation and for scans for digital records and recreation should she find…a better home for the artefacts.

Everdeen appeared hauling two massive boxes on wheels with help but looked a little surprised herself and she finally got to the table. “I thought we were getting trinkets.” She muttered.

Grace raised her eyebrow at the box as well. “Me too. I wonder what they recovered.”

“Maybe they’re bigger than anticipated?” Everdeen wondered, her head tilting curiously. “We don’t know what the RDA recovered from the Sarentu Clan, could be a lot of it fit in these two?”

“Let’s open up and see. No point daydreaming about it, Everdeen.”

The first box was… comprised of weapons. Mostly. Grace counted 8 Sarentu blades, only four with covers. Two bows, four arrows, a small collection of arrow heads and three spearheads, there were also tools as well which looked to be a resin axe head; its handle long gone. Arm guards, Na’vi shoulder padding for their hunts. None were put away lightly.

There was a lot of detail and beauty to take in the craftsmanship of the tools. Everdeen seemed to coo most was the arm guards; inspecting them under the light as Grace took 3D modelling scans.

“Look at the detail. The guard was made from material tightly woven with…different patterns to the Omatikaya’s weavings despite similarities.” She touched lightly over the hardened side, “but…I think the material was soaked in resin and hardened.” Everdeen’s with her ears high in delight. She turned it in her hands.

“What’s your assessment?”

“Female’s arm guard, left-handed so most likely a companion piece for her bow.” Everdeen said, “Could be one we have here? That one with weaving looks like it could be part of it?”

“Unlikely,” Grace remarked but didn’t outright dismiss the notion as the guard was placed into the travel case along with the blades. “We can’t assume matching sets without evidence. This looks like a grab and stash so it’s most likely all mixed up.”

“I know.”

“We’re scientists. We can’t make up stories without hard evidence.”

“Sorry, Dr Augustine.”

Grace opened up the second box when the first was organised and fit well into the travel boxes, aside from the bows and arrows but she requested them to be wrapped and put into the Samson’s cargo supply ready in advance.

The second box contained…more clothes and personal belongings. Toruk Toys, loincloths that...looked small and probably for kids. A few necklaces, chokers, decorative pieces and some more body armour. There was a blanket that was a multitude of finely crafted coloured fibres and thick platted edges of what looked like an Ikran’s head guard. At least, a partial one. All were beautiful and certainly, the Sarentu were skilled in their craft despite their nomadic tendencies.

“Banshee?” Everdeen tilted her head at the head-piece still in her hands. “I had no idea they even had them for a nomad tribe. Nomadic tribes would tend to use Direhorse to aid in moving their tents and equipment.”

“Hunters or clan envoys use Ikran. The Olangi Clan are the clan in this region that only have one Ikran rider at a time as an envoys. I met Akwey, the clan’s leader once.” Grace said. “The other clans use them for hunting mostly.”

“The Olangi priories their Direhorses more than anything. It’s their speciality over the grassy plains.” Everdeen remarked, “but… I suppose it makes sense. Banshees are faster than Direhorses when emergencies arise and can cross difficult terrain. They don’t need many.”

“It’s most likely the Sarentu had one for an envoy if the Olangi is anything to go by,” Grace remarked, finally setting it down into its new case but her attention turned to see…one little thing that caught her attention the most. A cord of string and beads.

Her blue fingers gently lifted the cord from the bottom and laid it out on the wooden surface.

“A songcord?” Grace tilted her head in concern, “Why did the RDA take someone’s songcord? This isn’t…” She felt a spike of anger as she examined it. It was rows of blue beads, a few yellow and red but what stood out was the carved crystal that…was made to look like a symbol; it was curved in shape that looked like a small abstract, tidal wave, and four deep holes were carved into the bottom. No Na’vi would abandon their songcords nor hand them over. The cord here…she had to assume it was from one of the killed Sarentu in the conflict if Mercer wanted these things to be taken and sold. Disgusting, really.

“That’s a Sarentu symbol.” Everdeen gasped in wonder, “They… I read in an early report the Sarentu use ritual scarification; every Sarentu gets the marking after birth under their left eye or gets given one if they’re accepted into the clan in later life.”

Grace held a hand out to stop the woman from picking it up. “No. I’ll handle this one.”

It felt….disrespectful as she took the scans of the cord but by not doing it she’d come across as being emotional and non-objective. This was science; respect for artefacts was always going to be in the grey area. Once the scans were done, she set the cord into a little bag and tucked it into the last travel case.

“Dr Augustine.”

Her head turned in mild exasperation as Colonel Quaritch of all people seemed to appear at her waist with a displeased expression

“What do you want? I’m busy.” She let herself sound annoyed. “You’ve brought a lot of shit I need to organise before I’m bounced off to the mountains.”

“Someone has to and you can handle it.” Quaritch remarked, “I’m getting new people put into the West Base and flushing out the waste and I need SciOps. If you can spare some drivers, I’ll be happy.”

“You want my avatars?” That was new. Quaritch didn’t tend to give a fuck; she had heard enough he thought avatars were creepy and pointless.

“Yes. Four.” He said in a tone of ‘matter of fact’. “Pick whoever seems best fitting and the link technicians you can afford to lose.”

Grace stared at him for a moment. “You couldn’t have bothered with just…normal scientists? Those without Avatars?”

“Avatars are less likely to be shot on sight so….no.” Quaich shrugged, “It’s simply safer for science teams to have avatars so the natives don’t shoot first and questions later. They distrust humans but they will trust something that looks like them.”

“Not always the case.” Grace pointed out. “The Omatikaya know enough to be just as weary of avatars. Most clans are aware of Avatars, even if they’ve never met one. Clans are connected, so news travels.”

“Better chances than without.” Quaritch gave her a look. “I’m not here to sit about with discussions. I’ll get Selfridge to assign the four if you don’t and leave tomorrow.”

“Back the hell off, Miles.” Grace gave him a deep glare. “SciOps isn’t your department and it ain’t Selfridge’s either.”

“Hasn’t stopped him before, Grace, and won’t now.”

Grace tisked, shaking her head. Asshole. She had planned and got assignments ready in advance for all of the current avatars for when she was gone. Losing four avatars… she was going to have to freaking change all of it, especially when they’re gonna be down another avatar.

Sampling probably had to come tomorrow then. Fucking…

“Fine, but it’ll be a few days for they’re set to go. I have everything on a tight schedule without you messing it up for shits and giggles. Ugh.” She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, her tail swishing irritably. “This is the last thing I need night now.”

“I’ll wait for your report on who’ll be coming.” Quaritch gave a lazy salute.

Grace glowered at his back as the human left but her annoyance only grew as she realised that Everdeen had also vanished off elsewhere.

Damn.

-

Grace figured out a plan before they unlinked for ‘dinner’. She only made a vague appearance but didn’t stay for long as she pulled Jocelyn into her empty lab to help with her plan on who to choose to go to Frontier West besides their abandoned meal.

“Look, the Quad is gonna bounce regardless. If we move them to West Frontier, it delays them but it’s…probably better that they bounce from Frontier West than Hell’s Gate anyway and less heat on you for oversight. It’ll delay them enough for them to get a lay of the land and locations to link shacks and lab sites that Frontier West established and abandoned.” Jocelyn pointed out, going over her notes and it didn’t surprise Grace that the Technician knew about the Quad’s plan.

“I was going to talk to them but—”

“Don’t. That’ll put you in an awkward spot if they see you on camera if you go to any of their bunks about it.”

Ah, good old-fashioned plausible deniability. She had a point but… she wanted to reason with her team here; get some goddamn control established so that Selfridge wouldn’t get his panties in a twist and pull the plug. Sure, she could certainly motivate Selfridge into not closing the program but she, like the rest of the vampires, did not want to touch Selfridge with their gifts and it wasn’t due to his position in Hell’s Gate.

Kamath had said it was unwise to stick their minds in trash.

Grace concurred with that opinion. Subtle intimidation so far had worked without the need for hypnosis or compulsion.

“I’ll inform them last minute. They’re planning on bailing in a week and are already packed so it shouldn’t take them too long to leave. If we tell them too soon, then they’ll bail as soon as possible.” She considered.

“Maybe, maybe not. Hell’s Gate is much more secure and Amanda Everdeen has her own ship. Since Reza stole her own ship straight from the airfield, the security’s gone up. If they’re taking the avatar, they clearly have a plan to get it out with them. Frontier West is less secure and with a lot of open gaps in security given the downed manpower. They’ll have an easier time escaping there and be less likely to be caught. The terrain of the Kinglor forests around Frontier West isn’t as familiar to the RDA.” Jocelyn remarked after a moment.

“I’m not sure if it’s worth the risk. I don’t want to help them here, you know.”

There was a flutter of feet at the lab door, the faint scent of Kamath wafting through the gaps before it opened. Grace didn’t bother to look her away as she took the tablet from Maze’s hand.

“If you want, assign me to go to the other base,” Kamath said with enlightened enthusiasm.

Grace looked to her fellow vampire in surprise. Kamath had been very… passive about shit. Went with the flow and had very little care if shit that wasn’t her work. “You want to go to Frontier West?”

Kamath nodded, smiling a little with passion burning in her tone. “It’s a new location, new science and more forests to enjoy. I don’t mind Hell’s Gate but doing dozer patrols are boring as hell. I may be a SecOps AMP suit pilot but I am still a scientist. The Kinglor forest is named after the insect called Kinglor. I want to study that species and I can’t do that here.”

Grace considered her thoughtfully. Kamath would be an asset and she could see the usefulness of having her there. AMP suits were heavily used in that region anyway so she’d fit right in.

The only problem Grace saw was…the fact she was a vampire and that alone made it hard to see if it was worth the risk. Kamath gave her a look, sensing her train of thought with ease. “I know the risks.”

 “How many humans are stationed at Frontier West?”

“About three hundred but there’s going to be a small overhaul. Quaritch’s thoughts are harder to read but he’s going to do a mass extraction of bad seeds. Even if he has Mansk and Walker stay, there should be plenty of humans to feed from between us all.” Kamath said, “They have their own medical bunk and own blood supplies.”

“You don’t have Dr Solis to cover your ass.”

“But the doc there, Dr Malik can be persuaded. I can get him on our side with ease.” Kamath said confidently. “All I need is a face-to-face with him. Mansk can give that to me. As head of SciOps and the fact that I was contracted here as a scientist, you can put me on a ship. Put me on the Quad’s ship on the way there and I can keep them on base for at least two weeks before they pitch a tent into Eywa’s big bush.”

Jocelyn couldn’t contain the snigger at the last bit.

Grace thumbed the numbers briefly, the amount of people; the typical human recovery times between feeding between three vampires…  It wouldn’t be a huge strain, especially if they got a few humans as part of the blood donations. If the human Mess had a garlic incident again… that would be bad.

“I don’t see any garlic part of the food supplies. I can call Mansk and see if they have any there. We shouldn’t be starved out again.”

“Stop reading my mind” Grace gave her a look of annoyance.

“You barely use your gifts, what’s the point of having this ability if I don’t freaking use it. Plus… your mind is quite loud.” Kamath waved off causally. “Proximity.” She gestures around on that one.

“She’s not wrong, you really should use your gifts more.” Daniel of all people seemed to appear, full speed onto a stool…only the force and speed caused the stool to slide six meters down from his original spot like a running cat trying to stop on a glass table. The sound dug straight into their ears and they collectively a shared group wince. “Sorry.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Says the woman who wants your ‘being a meal’ memories back.” Kamath pointed out. “Telepathy is more than just reading minds and wiping memories. Vampires have Ancestral Memory, you might benefit from learning from our Foresires, you know.”

All vampire heads stared at the woman.

Kamath looked at them and then rolled her eyes. “How do you think Mansk knew to keep it all a secret from the human population after he turned? Or why we know turning kids is a big no-no? How we instinctively how to channel our shticks when we’ve never done weird shit like that to start with?”

Grace stared but…opted not to open that can of worms. Nope, not today. That was not a rabbit hole she needed to dip her head in and get suckered down when she had to focus on the here and now.

“Kamath…” Daniel stared but Kamath just gave him a look but turned her attention back to Grace.

“Just... please put me down for the West Base.”

Grace stared but…nodded after a moment. “Okay.”

She gave her a grateful look, “Thank you.” With a final, displeased look at whatever Daniel was thinking, Kamath left.

“Kamath! Ava!” he called after her. “I’ve been a vampire for almost five years! You can’t just drop all that and then bail!”

“She just did, Choi.” Jocelyn chuckled.

Daniel spun to face her with a mildly offended look then lent straight into Grace’s personal space as she tried to review her tablet. “Sign me up to the other base.”

“Just so you can bother Kamath?” Grace leant away with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes! And I can see wonderful new things. Mostly the second because I’m still a scientist and the West has a lot more new things that I wanna poke with a stick and see what happens.”

“Did you discuss this with your girlfriend?” Grace asked, “Because it’s a two and a half hour run back and forth because I am not adding another vampire to West Frontier by bringing her along.” In all honesty, her patience was wearing thin now. She wanted to get to work, not worry about all these details that no one else had to deal with.

Oh, the small things she didn’t have to deal with if she was still human. Ignorance was truly bliss…

Daniel paused, “I’ll���get back to you on that, Doc.” He rose to his feet and hurried at a human pace before Norm seemed to appear in the lab.

Norm blinked in surprise as Daniel passed him without a backward look then to them. Grace didn’t do anything but she was sure her expression of exasperation said it all.

“Bad time?” Norm asked.

“No, just…finishing some side projects. Gotta lot of things to move around now.”

“Need any help?”

Grace pondered her tablet for a moment then nodded, “Help me reschedule. I’ve gotta put four avatar drivers out and this opens slots and closes some.”

-

“How are the kids?”

The question was…loud in the vastness of the Refuge. Lots of people were asleep; hammocks and cheap futons were spread around as everyone still tried to make sense of the space now that the core building was complete. Including the secret compartment where Alma’s human body lay in cryo-sleep. Tucked away. Hiding. A few were awake, still trying to create or finish things off before bed.

Hajir didn’t know why but couldn’t bear himself to ask but he knew it was important if Alma had asked. Perhaps to spare them the sight of seeing her human…or perhaps sparing them seeing her dying. He didn’t know how close they were but he had a few of the Na’vi kids ask about her often.

“They’re…adapting. They’ve found a location for the Aranahe clan and want to make contact. They’re uncertain if they should.” Alex answered, barely looking up from his soldering.  “They… want Alma to weigh in since they know her and she briefly met the clan years ago.”

“Oh dear…” replied Anqa wincing.

“Now you see the problem. I think Nor will go ahead and do it anyway. He wants to…meet a real Na’vi anyway.”

“I don’t see why not. They’ve got to learn from their roots somewhere. Another clan will be what they need to learn to be Na’vi.” Anqa mused.

“How did the raid go?” Hajir asked after a moment.

“We got what we came for. The base was really creepy and very run down so we didn’t explore much. Also, we downloaded all the data we could from the bases black box but we’ll store it for now given how…corrupted it seems to be. The RDA wiped all the original servers but not the back-ups. I’ll ask Priya to get a program to reconstruct the data but that’ll take time to work.” Anqa shrugged, “It was fun.”

“How’s the tank?”

“Currently undergoing UV sterilisation. It’s… the best option we got. We did a solid wash when we got it but UVC’s working for when we pump the water in.” Alex said, “It’ll take time to treat all of the water to make it safe for Alma’s avatar but we have the time. Ri’nela’s been concerned about her getting bed sores and weight loss.”

“How long can we tank her Avatar?” Anqa asked curiously, “Like… I figured there’s some stock limit we have, right?

“Eight weeks, unless we can get our hands on more Avatar nutrient packs,” Alex answered for Hajir.

“If we all work to plan, the Cryo-link pod should be ready in good time,” Hajir said, hoping to get the group back to business. “I’ve gone over the scans but… the avatar needs its own implant while Alma’s in cryostasis. If she’s gotta stay in that big blue body, she can’t rely on auto schedule link and unlinks.”

“It’s not like there’s other options.”

“No, but I’ve been running a few scans of Alma’s avatar the last few days since I came up with an idea.” Hajir couldn’t help himself as he set his tools down, grabbed his tablet and moved close to Alex to show him his findings. “The Avatar’s brain picks up sounds and touches to their form but, as there is no controller, there’s nothing to be done about it. There’s a basic response, like turning the head away from the too-loud sound, or in gestation, thumb-sucking. Basic reflexes.”

Alex looked curiously at the data, “You want to tap into these simulated responses to activate the link time?”

“Yes, like… humans wake to loud sounds, a general body clock or to a stimulus in the environment. If we put an implant in the avatar, it’d be useful for her to relink when morning; it’d follow Alma’s human circadian clock if the crown you are making remains active constantly.” Nodding to Alex’s project where he was crafting a head-piece that.

Alex blinked in pleasant surprise. “So she’d effetely be…living inside her avatar day in, day out? Even when her avatar body goes dormant to rest; they’d still be linked?”

“Just…theory but yes. But to be linked like that, the avatar needs a connection to the human body otherwise there’s no…independence. Automating sleeping and waking and relying on us to do it… I’m not sure she’d like that.” Hajir didn’t know Alma that well but… he could imagine how frustrating it would be if it was him in her situation.

“I never considered that,” Alex looked genuinely impressed. “We could imbed the implant at the base of the queue and stimulate from there. That’ll save us a lot of surgical hassle. Bind it under the braid will protect it as well.”

“Will you need to modify the headpiece?” Anqa asked, looking a little lost but trying to be helpful.

“Probably but… it’ll be more of a software thing to deal with than a hardware.”

“I’ll draw up some sketches tomorrow on a few ideas of what the Avatar side should look like. Can someone get me a scan of Alma’s queue? I’ll be helpful to know the measurements and all.”

“I can.” Heads turned to see Priya coming in with a tray of coco from the open space of a doorway “Ri’nela knows more about queue maintenance than the rest so she’ll probably help me if I ask.”

“Alright.” Hajir nodded his approval. There was no mistake that the young Na’vi had a caring nature; even for something as Dormant as an avatar. But… a familiar face was all she knew that needed help. It took three humans to turn the avatar over due to their scale differences. Having a Na’vi assist was always a great relief.

Masterlist

[goldeneyedgirl]

Re: sex-worker alice— Have you written jasper finding out the alice he left is a sex worker? Cause oof i need to see the reaction to that

The initial meeting between Alice and the Cullens - from Alice's POV - happens on the street accidentally, and Edward identifies the bruises Alice has as something she does for work and is consensual - Jasper is definitely more focused on finding and harming the person who inflicted harm on Alice than comprehending what Alice actually did as a job.

There are also notes for a scene where the various Cullens try to get Jasper to talk about Alice's career choice and Jasper very stubbornly refuses to talk.

The below is the closest I've gotten to the first kind of confrontation, and is a very very rough draft

I'd say I was surprised to see another Cullen waiting for me after work, but I would have been more surprised to be left alone honestly. The surprising part is that it was Jasper. I was sure Carlisle and Esme would make another bonding attempt before Jasper came near me.

He stood up like a gentleman when I walked over, looking every bit as good as I remembered, but I had long since stopped caring what the Cullens thought of my clothing or how I looked. Not everyone was as wealthy and privileged as they were, and sometimes food and shelter came before plush winter coats and buttery-soft leather boots. Not all of us could have flawless skin and glossy hair every moment of the day. 

…Maybe I was still a little jealous. 

"Hi." Jasper's voice is soft, and I can feel his eyes search mine for a moment before I look away, to jam my phone in my bag. 

“Hi. Wasn’t sure who to expect today,” I said in a wry voice. “Figured it would be Esme again.”

He chuckled. “Are we that transparent?”

“Mmm-hmm.” 

//

"Just because you didn't want to see me naked, doesn't mean other people don't," I said calmly, taking a sip of my milkshake. 

Jasper scoffed, and for a moment, he looked annoyed. "That's not true," he began, and I raised my eyebrows. That was probably the closest we’d ever gotten to actually discussing sex. Some very restrained and polite kisses were the closest we got - the singular time we came close to making out, he’d insisted he leave. And I know my sixteen- and seventeen- year old self in her Hello Kitty underwear and thrift shop dresses wasn’t exactly the stuff of teenage fantasies, but I had definitely wanted more back then. 

Jasper gritted his teeth and changed the subject. "I thought you got free college through the state?”

"I get free tuition. I still need to pay for food and shelter and clothing and books,” I said. “Plus I need a car, and new glasses and a whole bunch of human things. The details don’t matter, Jasper, I need to work to afford school.”

“Not like this,” he snapped, and I realised this was as upset as I had ever seen him. 

"An hour of my time starts at one hundred dollars, Jasper," I retorted. "The house pays me sixty from that. There are no jobs for nineteen year old high school graduates that pay close to that. I've had nights where I’ve made a thousand dollars.”

He turned his head away from me. "I don't want to know that.”

"Why?" I demanded. "Because if it's some antiquated notion that I should have stayed virginal and pining for you - after you left without saying a word - whilst being screamed at by women who wanted extra foam in their coffee for ten bucks an hour we have nothing left to say to one another. We both know that you haven't sat around since the Civil War waiting patiently for marriage, so why was I supposed to? Especially when you had no intention of ever seeing me again?”

"You're selling your body, Alice. You can't expect me to be okay with that.”

“It’s my body,” I hissed, standing up. I almost missed Esme’s sad eyes and flowery euphemisms about saving me from my bad choices. “You don’t get to fuck off secretly and then turn up two years later - by accident - to judge me and complain and send your family to try and save me from myself. I needed saving when I was sixteen. Not now.”

Shouldering my bag, I turned to leave when his hand whipped out and clamped around my wrist suddenly and I tried not to flinch, the old bruises protesting at his tight grip. 

“You were supposed to be mine,” he said in a low tone that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Whether it was something supernatural or just the anger in his voice, I didn’t know. 

I pulled my wrist away and he let me go. “No,” I said quietly. “I’m not property, Jasper. And whatever we were supposed to be was over the minute you left me in Forks alone. Tell your family that I don’t work Wednesdays.”

And with that, I walked away. 

[bluejaywalker10]

You know, something that really pisses me off is the concept of marginal profits or savings. Like gas for example. If I've got gas that might be ten cents cheaper a gallon than at another place, I've saved a whopping $1 every ten gallons. If I fill up once a week for a year, that adds up to $52 extra dollars I've been paying. But not buying the cheaper gas isn't going to make an extra $52 materialize in my bank account. $52 over a year isn't going to buy me insulin, or get me the extra $400 a month I need for rent. Even if I was really "foolish" with my money it doesn't make that much of a material difference. If I spark joy in myself buying deodorant and face wash that's more expensive, oh no! I bought some that was $16 for both, and if I got cheaper stuff I'd probably have them for $8. I go through them pretty slowly for whatever reason, so if I pay an extra $8 every six months I've "wasted" $16 over the year. Add it to the $52, I've wasted $68. $68 is the cost of a good grocery run, so I guess the reason why I wasn't eating for the rest of the year was because I didn't find cheaper gas and toiletries. That isn't gonna make me rent. Doing that for brand name groceries vs off-brand groceries, spending $20 a month for fun subscriptions, I did some quick math for me and that would be about $1,078 if I fucking quadrupled my numbers. $1,078. The cheapest rent in my area is MINIMUM $1,200 a month. But I guess I can't move out because my ARFID only lets me eat brand name Pop Tarts instead of the Kroger ones.

And don't get me STARTED on marginal profits with companies. I'm a repair technician for DeWALT Factory Service and there were seventeen late clock-ins at work last week. The production manager brought us into a meeting and said that if everyone's five minutes late every day for a year, that adds up to hours and days of lost work. I'm sorry, what? Because again, that's not time you're actually getting work done. I dunno about you but again those five minutes from each person don't actually materially add up to eight hours or whatever that someone was dicking around or late. They don't actually mean anything. All they mean is I get anxious and feel such incredible guilt when it's hard for me to get up in the morning, and my boss sees the same number of tools repaired on my production reports.

It's all bullshit and I'm so tired. The best budget in the world won't save someone from rising costs of living and the strictest tardy repercussions aren't going to make the damn numbers go up.

[poetryfuckinsucks]

a short story about getting older

“stagnation is a funny thing, because typically when it occurs, it goes unnoticed.”

-nobody important

When I was six, I began to notice that everything around me was changing. Things got hotter, people got taller, but more importantly, people changed. It was subtle at first. A newfound disdain for certain people, or a need to fit in. 

But it seemed that no matter how hard I tried, nothing about me changed. I never seemed to get taller, or learn, or grow. I stagnated. How sad is that? I tried everything at that time. By sixteen, I remained the same.

 It was somewhat terrifying. I had to watch the people around me grow and change, and experience life, and I stayed the same. I lost hundreds of friends each year, until I stopped trying to make new ones.  As well, I never got to leave. My parents, terrified and confused, treated me the same every year. Of course they tried, but trying never did anything. 

 I had taken every pill, gone to every doctor. They all said the same thing, with the same empty smile. 

”Just wait it out. You’ll grow up soon.”

We paid thousands of dollars and countless hours, but it seemed that nothing worked. And then I turned seventeen. My parents had grown old as well, I could see the tiredness in their eyes. I knew nobody anymore. Was I supposed to go to college? Get a job? I had been repeating the third grade for the past ten years, not because I wanted to, or was too stupid to move on, because there was nowhere else for me. 

Birthdays were no fun anymore. On my eighth birthday, my parents started giving up. I sat there, in an itchy party hat, with a bright cake, waiting for someone to show up. They never did. I invited sixty people that year, just hoping for one. On my ninth birthday, two people showed up, thinking it was their little brother’s friend’s party. They stole cake and left. 

By seventeen though, I was desperately lonely. I looked too young to know or fit in with anyone truly my age, and couldn’t stand anyone who looked like me anymore. It was easier before. I lost everyone at thirteen, and after that, I had nobody. No boyfriend, no friends, barely even parents anymore. I could see it in their eyes, in the way they spoke behind doorways.

 I wasn’t stupid like I used to be. I used to believe that I had done something, that some God had punished me through this. I wandered for years, trying to be better as though that would make anything change. I read every moral philosophy book on the shelf, no matter how much it bored me, and yet, I still didn’t change. It started to become stupid to believe that I was at fault. I gave up too, I guess.

I started to smoke at twelve. That was when I stopped caring. Not truly, I think, but outwardly. My parents were furious. They grounded me, I slapped my mother, and ran out. Not once did I wonder why I blamed them. But I did. I ran away for a week that summer, living under a bridge and smoking. I never stopped smoking, but I missed the jam my mother bought, and came home. They welcomed me back, crying and saying they missed me. They didn’t seem to understand me anymore. 

At night, I left. I still do sometimes. I would wander the house first, staring in every mirror, examining my youth. My thin hair never seemed to help, and I could never wear anything new. I felt the same as I always did. I wasn’t allowed into bars, or clubs, or whatever I tried, but I was allowed into house parties. They didn’t notice me there. I was too short, or too dull, or something, but nobody seemed to see. So every night, I’d put on a sweatshirt to hide my age, and find a house party. I didn’t ever get truly messed up or anything, nobody would party with a kid, but I slept. Better than i did at home. 

I had the strangest dreams then. I had a recurring dream, often influenced by the hazy smoke: 

I was running. There was someone behind me, a boy. Sixteen, no my age, no sixteen. We were on the beach. He calls for me to come back, and as I spin into his arms, I notice that I am tall. My hair, which never seemed to grow either, had reached the small of my back, curling and cascading down. I feel free. But this boy, whom I have never seen before, pulls away. He asks who I am, and I can’t seem to answer. Who am I? In this dream, I try to give myself a name. I call myself Lidia. I never found out why. But that’s what he calls me. Lidia. Nobody called me anything anymore. 

Sometimes in this dream, I see myself as an old woman. Wrinkled with age, I want to grimace. I tell myself I want to be older, but not this old, right? Won’t I die? I hear myself say I don’t want to die. I take the hand of the man beside me, someone just as unrecognizable shriveled as I have become. I smile at him, he made a joke I didn’t hear. 

That’s when I always woke up. I’d wander outside, in some sort of trance, likely under some influence, and cry until I went home. 

Whenever I’d come home, my parents weren’t mad anymore. My mother used to be, but by thirteen, she told me how lucky I was that nothing affected my face. She was drunk sometimes. Not always, not often, but sometimes. That was when I really listened. I had learned enough at those parties: this was when she told me what she was thinking. She would tell me how happy she was that I was so young, that I’d never grow up. She never took me to doctors anymore.

 I would look into her eyes then, when she wasn’t looking anywhere, and see the misery. She seemed more lonely than I would ever be, and yet, I still saw myself. She was so young sometimes, crying when nobody saw, and getting angry over everything. My cigarettes, the new clothes, being out, or sometimes at nothing. But she was always there for me, and I promised never to grow up. There was little truth in that. I already had grown up, far much more than she had. 

Sometimes I thought back to when I was truly younger, around five, maybe four. I used to dance, though it was a distant memory. I danced with my mother, in kitchens, living rooms, and sometimes in crowded auditoriums. We were alive then. 

The night before my eighteenth birthday, I felt strangely hesitant to leave. I stopped into my parent’s room before I left, which I never did. I noticed then how my shadow seemed to leak into the room with the light of the house, and crept in. My father was working in another room, but my mother was asleep. Despite the makeup smudged down her face, she seemed peaceful. I leaned over carefully, and kissed her forehead. 

“I forgive you.”

The strange words escaped my mouth before I truly understood them. But I meant it. More than I had ever meant anything before. And then I left. I did not look in the mirror, and lit a cigarette as I left. 

I went to sleep that night feeling good. Not content, not placated or drunk, but good. It felt different. New. I wanted to think that when I woke up things would be different. I needed to. 

[writerpeach]

Expensive - Part Deux

Twice Mina x Male Reader

smut, oral, anal, richgirl!mina

4941 words

masterlist

“Here you are, ma’am. Please enjoy your meal.”

Myoui Mina thanked the waiter while flashing her signature gummy smile, reaching for the newly opened bottle of ketchup placed in front of her. She shook the bottle a few times, drawing a smiley face on her over-easy eggs and cutely giggling to herself before taking a bite.

“Delicious,” Mina said, taking a strip of bacon elegantly eating it. She took a sip of strawberry milk, using a napkin to wipe her mouth afterwards. Even in such a quaint and simple diner, Mina stayed prim and proper to the very end. It was quite the juxtaposition, the blonde Japanese girl being dressed to the nines in a restaurant where sweat pants and a t-shirt was the unspoken dress code.

Mina had traveled the world, dined in several countries and expensive Michelin star restaurants, sampling various cuisines in several different continents but there was a time where a girl just needed bacon and eggs to start the day, especially when you were lucky enough to be accompanying her to breakfast.

Your plates had been cleaned off, your stomachs filled and appetites satisfied. The only thing left was what Mina had planned for the day, and you were willing and able to obey whatever needs she needed fulfilled.

“Where to?” you asked, finishing your own glass of cold milk as Mina took her black card from the waiter, replacing it with a crisp one hundred dollar bill and signing the receipt with the prettiest signature. Mina never allowed you to pick up the check when you were in her presence, insisting on you never spending a dime. You stopped arguing after the first few times she had done this, it was one of the few things you learned she wasn’t going to budge from and you weren’t going to complain about a free meal.

“You’ll be accompanying me to several places this morning, I have to prepare for a gala this weekend and need new outfits.”

“Sounds fun.”

“You’ll be trying on clothes too, I can’t have you looking like a slob next to me.”

✦✦

The way your back was pressed against the inside of the dressing room door meant you were doing anything but trying on clothes.

“We’ll be out until midnight at the earliest, so there won’t be anytime to play with you later,” Mina said with one hand pumping your leaking cock. Several potential outfits were hung out on the wall, but Mina had taken your pants and boxers off down to your knees as soon as the door had shut.

“Look at me when I’m jerking you off.”

Mina’s tone was cold as the small hand slowly stroked your cock. Her free hand had cupped the side of your face and demanded your attention as she squeezed every bit of pleasure out with her delicate slow strokes.

“I could make you cum in ten seconds if I wanted to,” Mina said, squeezing your throbbing shaft harder with every pump of her slender fingers and running a thumb over your swollen tip.

Your breath hitched at her touch as she gave your balls a firm squeeze, running a finger alongside your shaft from base to tip and rubbing the underside of your leaking cockhead.

“Let’s make it interesting. If you can make it to thirty seconds you can fuck me against that mirror.”

“Ready?” Mina asked, her ice cold gaze staring into your soul as she bit her lip and gave one long stroke from base to tip, making sure to twirl her hand around every inch of your shaft. You took a deep breath and nodded nervously.

The painfully slow pace she had been using up until now dramatically changed as Mina gripped your cock harshly, picking up speed with every stroke.

“Twenty six...twenty five…”

“You already know how loud I get in the bedroom. You’ll have to cover my mouth to keep me from moaning your name while this nice dick is inside me,” Mina said, keeping her eyes tightly focused on your own as you moaned.

“Seventeen...sixteen…”

“You’re doing well. Do you want to fuck me that badly? Do you want to fill my tight little pussy with this throbbing cock?”

It was bad enough you were forced to look into Mina’s lustful bedroom eyes while she jerked you off in the dressing room, counting down with that sweet voice dripping with honey whispering in your ear at the same time.

“Nine...eight...six…”

“Almost there. I can’t wait for you to make me cum on this cock.”

You gritted your teeth and dug your toes into your shoes, trying to desperately find any sort of outlet for the pleasure shooting through your veins. Mina blew hot air into your ear after every five numbers. You couldn’t make it much longer, trying to think of anything but the sexually charged Japanese woman stroking your shaft.

“Bet you’re just dying for me to walk out of here with your hot cum dripping down my thighs...”

Mina went for the killing blow as she furiously pumped your cock, using her other hand to play with and massage your full swollen balls.

“Four...three...two…”

The end was in sight in more ways than one. You tried everything in your power to hold back, but as soon as Mina’s luscious lips said the word, you grunted and erupted uncontrollably, thick spurts of milky white semen firing out of your cock and coating her fingers and the unfortunate dressing room’s tile floor underneath.

“That’s too bad, I really wanted to be fucked before tonight.”

Your body trembled as those few final moments of climax subsided, the disappointed look in Mina’s eyes as she jerked you off past the point of sensitivity. She gave your depleted shaft a few more rough squeezes before licking her fingers clean.

“I like the black shirt, try that one on first. Get dressed and I’ll see you outside.”

✦✦

Mina had an affinity for handcuffs.

The cold steel wrapped around each of your wrists matched the cold atmosphere in the room as each of your arms were spread wide as an eagle and secured to the headboard of her canopy bed. The expensive silk sheets against your naked body were the only comfort you felt as Mina’s cold hands were caressing your bare chest.

“Do you like being Minari’s little fucktoy?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and demanding an answer which was rather difficult to give as she had stuffed her wet panties in your mouth.

You answered the only way you could and frantically nodded your head, knowing Mina hating repeating herself. You were rewarded with a slap to the face as she relentlessly rode your cock, her ice cold gaze staring daggers into your eyes.

“Good answer.”

There was little you could do in that moment as Mina took you in and out of her slippery tight hole, using you for her own selfish pleasure which was arousing in its own way. Perhaps had your dressing room romp got the way she wanted it you would be in a different situation,

Spending a night with Mina was never the same twice in a row. There was always some changing aspect of it, something she had changed to keep you on your toes. At times it was a quick blowjob before you finished inside her, sometimes it was hours of her edging and torturing your cock as she devilishly cackled the entire time. You hated to admit it but you loved the unknown mixture of fear and anticipation.

You didn’t mind the position you were in, limbs splayed out on Mina’s bed as she worked out her frustrations and took her second orgasm of the night. The naked blonde had straddled your waist, riding your cock for what seemed like eternity, each pop of her wide hips bringing you closer to orgasm.

You weren’t sure what was louder, the constant moans and gasps that escaped Mina’s sinful lips or the creaking of her luxurious bed, both competing in a stalemate.

Mina spent several movements grinding away her orgasm as her wetness drenched your shaft, taking every last second of pleasure from your body as her pretty eyes stayed half-lidded.

“Are you not going to cum as well?” Mina asked, and you found yourself unsure at how you had lasted this long as the tightness pulsating around your cock continued.

“I-I was waiting for you to be satisfied,” you said, not trying to convey the obvious fact that you were wrapped around Mina’s little finger.

“Well, that’s sweet but you’ve done your job for tonight. You were a perfectly capable toy for me to use tonight. Now I expect you to cum, I don’t have all night.”

It wasn’t as if you had several options as you were merciless at her whims, unable to do so much as lay a hand on her pristine naked body as much you wanted.

“Hurry up and cum inside me.”

Mina’s words weren’t so much of a request, but that of a demand, as if she grew tired of using you and wanted to move on. She was quick to urge you past that point of no return, the slap of her plump ass bouncing on your crotch as the tightness in your abdomen grew harder to control.

The look in Mina’s eyes was enough to drive you over the edge. The way she rode you mercilessly drove you insane, you couldn’t last another second if you wanted to. The bed squeaked in protest and you swore it was liable to collapse at any second as her tight small body slammed down on your cock, filling up her warm little hole was too much to handle.

“F-fuck, Mina, I’m gonna cum,” you moaned out, sending a desperate sense of relief inside the woman you were buried inside. Mina’s eyes beckoned you to give in to her body, not that you had much of a choice. With one more intense slam against your cock Mina sent you past your limits, causing your throbbing cock to fill her dripping slick walls with thick hot cum, causing endless grunting as her cunt milked every last drop out.

It felt like you had blacked out from the sharp pleasure, every muscle in your body on fire as your climax ran its course through your trembling body as Mina carefully watched. Once you had nothing left to give, your balls fully drained at her hand she gradually ceased her movements and left you gasping for air as your shaft rested inside her.

Mina didn’t say another word as she gingerly lifted her body off of your cock, releasing you from deep inside her with a loud plop as your thick load began dripping down her thighs and down your crotch. She quickly reached for the key to your handcuffs off her bedside table and unlocked them, the relieving click music to your ears.

"You have five minutes to rest, then you are to join me in the shower."

✦✦

It wasn’t often Mina was caught in anything other than expensive designer brands, colorful long flowing dresses that accentuated every curve of her body, or form-fitting pant suits that were tight in all the right places.

After a late afternoon business call Mina had neglected putting clothes back on after her scalding hot shower, getting out in a cashmere robe and slippers as she took a seat on the couch, tablet in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other.

“Try some,” Mina said, gesturing to a half-full black bottle resting upon the kitchen table. You retrieved your own glass before joining her back on the couch, giving the glass a swirl as you watched the dark colored liquid splash around in your glass before indulging.

“What do you think?” she asked, scrolling through her tablet, catching up on various events and aspects of her day.

“It’s good. I’ve never really had wine except out of a box in college, but this is really good.”

“That’s a shame, I’ll have to catch you up. It’s one of the finest bottles from my parent’s vineyard.”

“Your parents have a vineyard?”

“They have several. One of my responsibilities is to check in to make sure everything is running smoothly from time to time.”

Every time Mina opened up just a little you felt grateful, feeling just that bit of closeness that existed.

“Do you know what the best way to drink wine is?” Mina asked, putting her tablet down on the glass coffee table in front of her.

“Can’t say that I do.”

Mina paused, downing the leftover wine in her clear glass before carefully placing it away and taking a seat on your lap, letting you feel the softness of her bare thighs. Her small hands grabbed each side of your face, planting a deep kiss on your lips and spitting wine from her mouth to yours.

“The best way to drink wine is off the body of a naked woman,” Mina said, loosening her robe and giving you a peek of her bare chest as you swallowed the wine she had deposited into your mouth.

“Well, clearly you’re the wine expert, but I think I’ll need a demonstration.”

“I’ll be happy to give you one,” Mina said, dismounting your lap as you carefully laid her on her back with one hand, the other keeping your glass upright. She untied the belt of her robe completely, opening it up to expose her perky tits and killer set of abs that complemented such a perfect body.

Mina didn’t linger for a second, taking your glass from your hand and aiming it at her naked torso, tipping it over as dark wine stained her pale skin, the contrasting colors so gorgeous to gander at.

You admired her beauty for a moment before planting a kiss on her tight abdomen and gathering the wine on your tongue, drinking it all up and licking every inch of her sexy midriff.

“You’re right, this is the best way. It tastes even better,” you said, continuing to run your lips and tongue over the surface of Mina’s body, licking in in between her cleavage as she idly watched. Mina had been licked clean at your own accord, the delicious taste of wine lingering on your lips as you kissed her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

“I’ll give you something else to taste,” Mina said, the look on her face as devilish as possible as she pushed your body off hers, causing you to fall flat onto the couch. Moving rather quickly Mina divested her robe from her body, letting you take in the view of her beautiful naked body.

That moment didn’t last long, Mina now fully nude was delicious candy for your eyes but you only got to sample it as you felt her thick supple thighs locking around your head, using you as her seat cushion as she took a seat on your face. It was so abrupt that you barely had any time to react as you were smothered with the warm flesh of her wet heat, the slickness of her cunt introducing itself to your lips.

“You know what to do, don’t you?” Mina said, the cuteness of her tone contrasted with her sinister expression, and you didn’t dare keep her waiting as you darted your tongue and licked her pink slit several times. Mina gasped and began rolling her hips, gyrating her body and riding your face.

Mina’s taste was unforgettable, and this close you were quite literally breathing in her scent as you ate her pussy out, being suffocated with dripping pink flesh as you explored her folds with your tongue.

“I know you can do better than that,” Mina said as she put more of her weight down on you, smearing your lips and chin with her essence. You made sure not a single inch of her delicious pussy went without a swipe of your tongue as you took her swollen clit into your mouth and devoured Mina.

“There you go, eat that fucking pussy,” Mina demanded, grabbing the back of your head as she moaned and dug her nails into the back of your skull, aching to feel your tongue deeper than it was already. Her aggressiveness always caught you by surprise no matter how many times you had seen it, not that you minded for a second as your head was buried in between her luscious thighs.

Mina’s taste was so intoxicating, so satisfying to your palette more than any of the fancy restaurants that she had taken you that you could have done this all day long until the muscles in your jaw gave out.

“Almost there, don’t you dare fucking stop,” Mina moaned out as her thighs squeezed your head, pulling roughly at your hair with her fingers tangled in strands of it. You were powerless to do anything else, pinned to her couch and being a toy and you wanted nothing more.

There wasn’t anything quite like when Mina achieved climax, moaning in a mixture of Japanese and English and practically slurring every word that escaped her lips while her thighs vibrated around your head, hips bucking wildly out of control.

When Mina came was the highest her voice rose, the usual quiet demeanor of her was replaced by such filthy words filth would make a sailor blush. Screams and lustful moans filled the air as her honey dripped into your lips and you lapped up every drop eagerly.

Mina had finished the vigorous use of your face to climax all over, and you lamented the loss of her thighs squeezing your head, but if the look in her eye was anything to go by she wasn’t done with you.

“Good job. You’re proving to be quite useful.”

✦✦

(2:02 a.m.) My place. Now.

It didn’t matter that you had just brushed your teeth, put on your comfiest pair of pajamas and slipped under the covers. When Mina demanded her 2 a.m. booty call you answered, not even bothering to change as you entered the black sports car sent by her personal driver.

Mina answered the doorbell naked, without even so much as a hello you were brought into the familiar bedroom. Within seconds clothes formed a crumpled discarded pile. Build-up wasn’t a word used much in Mina’s vocabulary as she took you into her warm wet mouth for just a dozen or so strokes, if only to make sure you were rock hard and nothing else.

You quickly found yourself inches away from Mina’s naked body, her long legs spread wide in a familiar position that you couldn’t wait to dive into. Your throbbing shaft ached to feel the warmth of her body, but she had other plans as you felt something being jammed into your leg.

“My pussy is off-limits tonight,” she said, leaving you unsure to her reasons but you certainly weren’t ever going to complain about anal with Mina and welcomed the change of pace. She aided in lubing up your cock, using a freshly opened bottle and guided you towards her tight puckered hole.

Mina demanded your full attention, this time not bent over ready to be taken but kept on her back, wanting you to see her as you penetrated her back entrance. It was regrettable missing the view of her bent of beautiful ass, not that this position was lacking in anything while having the benefit of granting full vision of her Mina’s features.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

You wouldn’t dare as you pushed your cock into the tight opening of her asshole, earning a loud gasp from her lips as you penetrated her. It was a feeling that never got old, the intense tightness that surrounded you as your tip disappeared into her warm hole was breathtaking.

“I want you deep,” Mina said, clearly no stranger to anal as she was able to relax her muscles to allow your shaft to sink deeper into her tight asshole. It didn’t take much, just a few smooth strokes until you filled her ass to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” Mina moaned out, letting herself get used to the motions as she instinctively rubbed her clit on one hand as you fucked her ass, keeping her knees up and her feet flat on the sheets as her toes curled with pleasure.

You found a rhythm to fuck Mina with right away, watching the pure unadulterated bliss in her eyes as you slid in and out of her puckered hole, feeling the tight clench of it as you stretched her out little by little.

“So fucking tight. You like how that cock feels in your ass?”

“I do, but I’ll like it better when you stop talking and pound me.”

You got the hint and upped your pace, driving your shaft repeatedly into the overwhelming tightness of Mina. She freely moaned in response, the look in her lustful eyes always demanding more and you readily obliged, moving your hips even faster until you were pistoning into her gripping hole.

“Just like that, show me what that cock can do.”

Placing your hands on Mina’s soft creamy thighs, you gave into everything she desired and more as you fucked her deep as possible, giving perfectly smooth strokes into her ass without pause.

You had a hard time finding what to focus on, the tight little hole that was filled to the brim with cock, or Mina’s pretty face now contorted with pleasure and moaning with delight. The sensations around your body drove you insane, the intense tightness and heat surrounding your cock set your senses ablaze.

Mina had an equal sense of pleasure if the moans escaping her throat were anything to go by, and in no time you were absolutely drilling into her asshole, trying to force your shaft as deep into her body as it would go.

You loved every second of it, the way her tight hole squeezed the life out of your cock, it was a moment you wanted to last forever. The look of ecstasy in Mina’s eyes as you were balls deep in her ass, you wanted time to stop for eternity so you could spend every bit of it fucking her.

Sadly, your body had other plans for you, as it often did. The intensity of your thrusts picked up, and you felt that familiar feeling in your abdomen that you wanted to go away, trying to focus on how amazing Mina made your cock feel.

“Mina, I-I’m close.”

“Don’t even think about pulling out.”

You couldn’t, even if for some reason you wanted to it would be impossible to remove yourself from the tightness you felt yourself buried in. You kept Mina’s perfect features in your view, watching the deep satisfaction as you drove yourself towards orgasm. The end was near and you wanted to savor the last few moments, pumping harshly into her tight ass repeatedly.

“Give me it...give me all your cum in my ass...fill me,” Mina demanded, staring at you as sweat dripped down your brow. It wouldn’t be much longer, just a few more thrusts inside her was all you could take as you used what little remaining you had left.

With one more satisfying thrust you buried yourself to the hilt, filling Mina’s ass as you throbbed inside her, flooding her hole up with your abundant creamy load and grunting with every shot fired.

Your climax lasted what felt like forever as your balls were emptied into Mina, her tight cavern milking you dry until you were able to slowly withdraw from her gaping hole as a stream of thick semen leaked out that was the evidence of your combined pleasure.

“I expected more,” Mina said, taking a finger to her rawly used hole and taking a sample of your cum, licking it clean.

You held back on giving any reaction, unable to do much but try and catch your breath as you watched the mess you had left inside Mina.

“Clean yourself up, my driver will be here in ten minutes.”

✦✦

One of the many benefits being Mina’s companion was getting to visit countries you had only dreamed of, seeing them only in movies. Your passport went from being blank to having pages filled with dozens of stamps from places that some you hadn’t even heard of before and experiencing the comfort of first class.

You had seen so many different places yet it never got old, seeing a new place, full of new culture to learn. It had become tradition that with every new place came a new hotel suite, staying in rooms you swore were bigger than some apartments you’d lived in and you never got used to it.

It also became tradition that Mina loved breaking in hotel rooms by being fucked in them. The thrill of being in a different country with a different language and a different timezone was only second fiddle to knowing the sheets were going to be stained with your combined bodily fluids. Mina always left large bills as compensation for cleaning staff.

Between business meetings and visiting important tourist destinations, Mina still had time to fit in being fucked daily, this time outside of the balcony, giving anyone who looked outside their window a free show for all to see.

Mina was always busy which was par for the course during business trips, but her schedule had been packed to the brim the entire morning. The free time let you roam foreign streets on the lookout by yourself without any blonde eye candy on your arm, a rare instance where you felt naked not having her by your side.

The nighttime view was remarkable, the curtains drawn on the balcony window revealed one of the most gorgeous skylines you had ever seen in your life. It failed in comparison to the view of Mina on her knees with her soft lips wrapped around your throbbing shaft.

“F-fuck, Mina,” you kept moaning out loud, keeping a hand resting on the cold glass window as she loud slobbered on your cock. It wasn’t often that Mina treated you to a blowjob without anything in return, maybe she felt apologetic for being gone all day, maybe she just had an insatiable urge to shove your cock down the back of her throat.

You had to forcibly pry your attention away from the magic Mina was working on your shaft, not wanting to finish in her mouth right away. Looking up you saw the outside view, noticing the night sky filled with beautiful bright stars, tall lit up buildings with neon that could be seen miles away and a gorgeous full moon made up the perfect backdrop of the city.

It was all impossible to focus on.

The only thing that caught your attention was the blonde bobbing her head rapidly, keeping her eyes glued on you as she sucked you off and covered your shaft in her warm saliva. Mina was no slouch when it came to her oral skills, and it was up to her whether she wanted you to last thirty seconds or ten minutes.

It always caught you off guard, the contrasting nature of Mina in the bedroom and outside of it. She was always so elegant, so prim, so proper - and yet here she was so goddamn loud as she gave the sloppiest blowjob without a care in the world, throwing her former inhibitions away.

“Your balls must be so full, I do feel bad I didn’t have time to drain you earlier,” Mina said, letting her eyes do the rest of the talking as she pleasured your cock, holding on to your thighs firmly as her mouth and tongue went wild. You could only take so much from her, the look in her eyes almost taunting you to try and last any longer.

Mina knew all your weaknesses and focused on hitting them all at once, going for the killing blow. Soft lips swallowing every inch of your cock, her wet tongue wildly playing around all while keeping a seductive look on her features, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mina, I-I’m gonna fucking cum,” you moaned out, trying desperately to hold out for just a few moments longer.

“About time, let it all out. I expect you to cover me,” Mina said, removing your cock from the warmth of her mouth and aiming it towards her stunningly beautiful face. The air in the room became harder to take in as you took deeper breaths, watching Mina furiously stroking your cock and encouraging your release.

Your climax didn’t wait for you, the shared anticipation at its peak as you erupted and painted Mina’s face in thick white streaks, splashing her forehead, cheeks and those talented lips, groaning audibly with every spurt released. Mina didn’t stop until she was satisfied you were emptied, sucking the sensitive tip of your cock as your generous load began slowly dripping down her face.

It took the leftover strength you had to not collapse to the floor, the satisfied look of Mina’s gorgeous face now stained with hot semen was an unforgettable sight.

“You made quite a mess,” she said, flicking against your sensitive head and cleaning your cock with her tongue to make sure not a drop was wasted.

“I’m not done with you so you better have some saved up for me later. I’m going to have a very fun night with you.”

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”  

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”  

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane." 

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

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[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

Warnings: 18+, explicit, references to past non-con/rape (not between main pairing, not explicit), daddy kink, Peter in lingerie, references to gaslighting and abusive relationship (not between main pairing, not explicit). The warnings are for the story as whole, not for this chapter specifically. I’ll add more in the future, if needed.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

“He can’t do this!” Ned slammed his hands down on the counter between them, as Peter took a swig of the cheap wine he bought with the last ten bucks he had in his wallet. “He isn’t even in all of the videos, at least half of the money is rightfully yours!” He kept going, stating the obvious, but Peter just sighed and shrugged.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Ned, I’m just relaying what he told me: he’s not gonna give me anything. It’s his channel, his equipment, the money from the subscriptions goes straight to his bank account, so it’s his. It’s all his. His words, by the way.” He took another swig of wine straight from the bottle. He had been drinking from a small glass Ned offered him – he wasn’t a pirate – but it soon proved to be too small to quench his pain, so. Yeah. Pirate style it was.

“You have to sue his ass, Peter, he can’t get away with this,” MJ intervened. She was sitting next to him on a stool by the kitchen counter, so he turned to look at her with a deep frown on his face.

“Did you not hear me saying I just spent my last ten dollars on this bottle of wine? I have, like, twenty four cents left in my pocket. And that’s it. I can’t hire a lawyer, I can’t even feed myself right now!” He raised his voice a little, but quickly got himself back under control and apologized. His friends were not to blame for his predicament – they did try to warn him Beck was bad news, he didn’t want to listen. “And you know what? I don’t give a fuck. He can choke on all of it if he wants, the videos, the money, the subscribers, I don’t fucking care.” It wasn’t true, of course. Well, partially. He really didn’t care about the money, videos, subscribers, etc, but he cared about Beck. He would have given everything else up if it meant he could keep him.

Which was stupid of him, of course. But he certainly wasn’t winning any awards for being a great decision maker.

“It’s still not fair. I mean, I knew that guy was sleazy, but you’d think he’d have the decency to at least give you something, you know? You’ve been together for three years, he’s been making money off your ass for almost as long. How could he just fucking kick you out and not give you a single dime? After all the money you’ve made for him? It’s fucking sick, that guy is fucking psychopath if you ask me.” MJ’s face was turning red from anger, which made Peter smile a little. It felt good to know he was loved by someone, even if he hadn’t been the best friend to them for the past few years.

The thought made him close his eyes for a second, guilt creeping over him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called either of them – maybe on Ned’s birthday, almost two months earlier. They used to be inseparable, the three of them; the three musketeers, as corny and lame as it sounded. For years, those two were the only family he knew, but when Beck came into his life, everything changed.

Stupid fucking Beck.

Peter used to think of him as his own personal super-hero – it did feel like he had come to save him, after all. They met when he was seventeen, he had been living in foster homes for almost seven years by then, after Ben and May passed away. At the time, he was with his fifth family, and there were so many children in that house, so many of them came and went, that their foster parents didn’t really keep tabs most of the time. It was easy to sneak out, and Peter did, often.

He met Beck on one of his night walks – and their first meeting should have raised all kinds of red flags, but for whatever reason, it didn’t. Beck slowed the car next to him, rolled down the window and asked how much Peter charged for a blowjob. Just like that. The teen gasped at first, but when he looked around for a moment, he realized he wasn’t in the most family friendly neighborhood. There were, in fact, some men and women around him who definitely looked like they were there for that, but Peter was in sweats, for crying out loud, and he definitely looked his age – or even younger than that.

His wide eyes must have given him away, because the older man quickly apologized and showed him a charming, white smile. He made up some excuse about mistaking him for someone else and the boy said it was ok. He was going to keep walking when Beck asked what his name was. Then how old he was. Then where he was going, where he ha come from.

Looking back, Peter knew he should have run. He should have left, because there was no excuse for an adult man like him to keep asking a teenager so many questions right after he basically offered him money to suck his dick. But that Peter, that 17-year-old boy, was still a bit too naive. To have such a handsome man showing interest in him – his kind, blue eyes smiling at him, warm and safe – was inebriating. He actually looked at him. And cared. At least Peter thought he did at the time. And he was so lonely back then, even that little bit of attention meant the world to him.

He should have run, but he stayed. Should have run, but got in his car. Should have run, but ended up giving him a clumsy hand job in the backseat, after just a few sweet promises whispered in his eager ears. Beck was so good with words, he could have convinced Peter to jump off a bridge that very same night if he wanted.  

They exchanged phone numbers. For weeks, they texted and called each other, until they could  meet again. By then, he was smitten. At twenty, he could see how innocent he had been, how trusting and open he was with a complete stranger. A 32 year-old stranger, at that. Ned and MJ, his only friends from school, warned him that it wasn’t okay. That it was weird for a man his age to be interested in a teenage boy, but Peter said they were wrong. He said he wasn’t just a regular kid, he had been through stuff they could only imagine. He was mature and experienced, and Beck could see that, which was why he liked him.

Looking back now, it was embarrassing how wrong he was. Beck was an illusionist. Sad thing was everyone could see the trapdoor but him.

“So what are you gonna do now?” MJ asked, fishing another bottle of wine from under the counter and placing it in front of Peter, who almost cried in gratitude.

“You mean besides crying myself to sleep for the next few months?” He wasn’t really joking. The only reason he wasn’t crying right at that moment was because he had spent almost three hours bawling his eyes out on a park bench close to their – well, Beck’s – apartment, hoping against hope that Beck would reconsider and come after him. When it became clear it wasn’t going to happen, he headed to the only place he knew he could find refuge – even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Yeah, besides that, obviously.” She opened the wine bottle and before he could take it and drink straight from it, she poured three glasses and Peter sighed, defeated.

“I have no idea.” He answered, only slightly surprised that he actually meant it. He had absolutely no clue what to do. For three years, he hadn’t had to worry about money – or anything, really. Beck took care of everything and he just assumed it would always be like that. That he would always have him by his side to take care of him.

He rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Are you going to keep doing porn?” Ned asked, a worried expression on his face. Peter remembered he hated the idea when Beck first suggested it, as soon as he turned eighteen.

People are gonna lose it, Beck said. A pretty little twink and a hot daddy? We’re going to be a hit.

And they were. Their first videos blew up quickly, people were either disgusted by the thought of them together – because of the age gap – or completely enthralled. The haters helped them get more views, and Peter soon learned that there really was no such thing as bad publicity. Beck promoted their videos on twitter, where they accumulated thousands of followers. Peter remembered that, back then, many people sent him worried messages, saying he was too young, that Beck was a predator, that he was taking advantage of him.

In retrospect, they might have been right, after all.

He wasn’t too sure about doing porn when they first started, he knew once they released the first video, there was no going back, there was no way they could ever take it down – the internet was forever. Nothing was ever truly deleted. He wanted to be a dad someday, what if his children ever saw those videos in the future? What would have Ben and May thought? What about his parents?

None of this matters, honey, Beck assured him. These kids don’t even exist yet, don’t worry about them. And your relatives, well… They’re gone, sweetie. You can’t really disappoint them anymore.

So Peter did it. And he was terrified at first, he felt so exposed, people all over the world could see him in his most vulnerable moments, all of him, in every position Beck managed to put him in, in any outfit he thought the public might like, in any setting he thought might bring in more viewers, more subscribers, more money.

Soon, just the two of them weren’t enough. Their viewers wanted to see Peter with other people – other daddies –  and Beck saw another opportunity to increase his profit. Peter was strongly against the idea at first, it felt too much like prostitution, which was where he wanted to draw the line, but, again, Beck sweet-talked him into it.

It’s nothing like prostitution, honey, he said. I’ll be there the whole time, I’ll be the one filming and directing, I’ll be the one paying the other actors, all the profits are ours. How is that anything like prostitution? It’s just like what we’ve been doing so far.

So not only there were a bunch of videos of him and Beck out there in the world, there were also lots of videos of him with other men, some of whom were old enough to be his actual dad. There was even one video in particular that he was specially embarrassed by – and sadly enough, that was the most viewed one so far. It was fucking humiliating.

At some point, Peter should have realized it became all about money for Beck – and maybe it had been like that all along, he just hadn’t noticed before. Over the last few months of their relationship, they never had sex just for fun, just for the hell of it. There were always cameras, and lights, and roles to play. Beck never said he loved him anymore. Barely touched him. Barely kissed him. He should have seen it coming. He had been too blind, or just… Didn’t want to see what was happening right before his eyes. He ignored all the signs. The voice in the back of his head telling him something was off.

But anyway, porn. Could he still do it?

“I don’t know,” he answered, finally. He looked at his best friends and sighed with a shrug. “To be honest, it was never something I enjoyed, and I don’t know if I could ever do it without him somehow involved, you know? I did it with him because I felt… Safe? I don’t want to get involved in the actual porn industry, I’ve heard some pretty fucked up stories.” Peter had heard horror stories about other boys in the industry, and even though his own story was no fairy tale, there was nothing so bad that it couldn’t get worse.

“How about Just4Fans?” MJ asked and both Peter and Ned turned to look at her in shock. “What? You guys were pretty popular, right? You won awards and shit, so there must be at least a few hundred people out there who would pay money to see some dirty pictures of you, maybe some short videos. That way you won’t need to go into professional porn and you wouldn’t need a partner, but you could still make decent money. And fast.”

Well, it actually made sense. It wasn’t like there weren’t hundreds of videos of him being fucked raw all over the internet, anyway. A few dirty pictures couldn’t hurt. And besides, it didn’t need to be forever, just until he figured something out.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he conceded, drinking the last of the wine in his glass. MJ sympathetically filled it up again and he mumbled his thanks.

“What do you think he will do now?” Ned asked carefully, and Peter shrugged for what felt like the hundredth time. There was so much he didn’t know.

“Probably keep shooting videos with his new boy-toy.” He managed to say it with a steady voice, but his eyes burned. He still couldn’t believe how… replaceable Beck thought he was.

When he noticed them interacting online a few months earlier, before the boy was even eighteen, Peter was alarmed, but when he confronted the older man about it, he said he was crazy and seeing things, picking up fights for no reason. He always twisted things in a way that, somehow, Peter was the one apologizing to him in the end.

Months later, just weeks after the kid turned eighteen, there he was – homeless, penniless and lost – meanwhile the other guy was probably getting comfortable in his bed. If Peter didn’t hate the kid, he would pity him. In a few years, he would probably meet the same fate.

“Do you think he would take the videos down if you asked?” Ned asked, and Peter scoffed.

“Yeah, right, those videos will still make him a lot of money monthly, he’d never delete them.” And Peter would have to live with the fact that he would always be just one google search away from complete humiliation and exposure. If he ever tried to get a serious job, those videos would stand in the way. If he ever managed to meet somebody decent and good, those videos would be a testament to what sort of person he was in the past. Fuck, some of them were really fucked up.

“So… Should we create fake twitter accounts to trash talk his short dick or what?” MJ was already grabbing her phone and Peter laughed halfheartedly, shaking his head.

“He’s not worth it. Karma will take care of him, I’m sure.” He drank the last of his wine and whimpered sadly. “So… Can I crash with you guys for a few days? I promise I’m not gonna overstay my welcome! I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the Just4Fans thing works out.”

“Of course you can, nerd, stay as long as you need. We’ve got your back, c’mon.” MJ got up from her stool and gestured for him to do the same. “Do you mind taking the couch?” She asked as she headed to her bedroom in the tiny apartment.

“Not at all,” he answered with a sigh of relief, then went to grab his suitcase by the door. Three years together and that was all he had to show for it. A single suitcase with a few changes of clothes, after being kicked out of the house on a cold February night. His eyes burned but he took a deep breath, blinking them rapidly to avoid the tears.  

“Then make yourself at home. Our casa es su casa.” MJ placed a pillow on the couch and handed him a thick, warm blanket.

“We’ll figure something out, okay?” Ned clasped him on the shoulder with a gentle smile on his face.

“Okay.” He sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his crushed chest.

He waited for his friends to go into their respective rooms, waited to hear their quiet snores, before he allowed the tears to run freely down his face, replaying everything Beck said to him when he kicked him out.

Before he knew it, he was a sobbing a little, so he buried his face in the pillow to muffle the noise, as he tried to convince himself that things were going to be okay, that he was going to be okay. But at that moment, that was hard to believe.

[mae-gi-writes]

Obtuse | Bang Chan (Stray Kids) - PART TWO

Summary ☆ "I don't know. I want to be his friend but then again, I don't. I mean, how can you simply be friends with someone when every time you look at them, you're thinking about how much more you really want?"

Genre ☆ bestfriends to lovers au, angst, slowburn, suggestive themes, college au, fluff, soft Chan x oc (Micha)

Word count ☆ 

. ° ☆ ° .

PART ONE | PART TWO

. ° ☆ ° .

Idiot, Micha kept on replaying the words like the words to her favourite song, Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

There she sat in the hospital chair beside her mother’s unconscious body, her life hanging by a thread with the help of the machine that beeped obnoxiously in the corner, and all she could think of was of the messed up realization that she was in love with her best friend.

Chan hadn't spoken a word as she'd sobbed and sobbed, even though she wasn't sure what she was crying about exactly. He'd only wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in to rest his head against hers in an embrace so firm and filled with warmth that her heart tugged in pain. He was so close that it pained her, the realization that he was so close yet so far was a blow that left a permanent bruise.

So she'd pushed him away, wiped her tears and gestured him to follow her.

He said nothing as he sat beside her, shifting every now and then as he succumbed to the dreadful silence filling the room.

And she hated it, that he was here as if this was the most normal thing for him to do. Because it wasn't. As if on impulse, Micha couldn't help but glance at his attire that confirmed her suspicions he'd just gotten out of the gym, probably having dropped everything to rush to her side.

"Who told you?" Micha asked. Her voice felt weird, strangled as she spoke.

Chan shifted and she felt his eyes on her face, the warmth of them permeating through her skin, "Felix called."

A stagnant pause ensued. In the silence, Micha forced herself to swallow down the lump of emotion stuck in her throat, forced down the feelings that seemed to have erupted through her every pore like she had just opened up a pandora's box of truths.

Go away, was what Micha's brain screamed. Go away.

But her heart protested. Please don't leave me.

Her brown orbs lifted to his side profile. Please don't leave me.

Even if I love you.

"You should go," is what she murmured out instead, "you're wasting your time."

"Don't say that," he replied, tone firm.

His silent assurance, that made it even harder to push him away. Micha didn't know how to feal with these feelings and though she wished she had stayed blossfully ignorant of them, there was no denying the cold hard truth that now blared atop her head like a red alert sign.

At some point, Micha's eyelids had fluttered closed for the next thing she knew she was squinting, disoriented and cuddled into a warmth that smelt of familiar pine and boy aftershave. Chan.

It was so familiar, laying on his chest and smelling that comforting scent of his, a scent that reminded her of home. She couldn't help but notice how well she fitted against him, the warmth of his hands casual on her waist and his nose nudging her temple and her heart skided to a momentary halt.

This was Chan. Just Chan, her best friend. Nothing else, nothing more.

So it was a relief once the doctor slid through the door, causing her to instantly jostle Chan out of the way. He stated that while her physical injuries would heal in a few weeks, though the one thing that worried him the most was the fact that her mother might not wake up from her vegetative state.

Micha would've fainted if not for Chan's strong hold on the back of her elbow and at some point, her father ushered her out with firm orders that the young man take her home.

"Here," he stuffed a few dollar bills in Chan's hand despite the latter's protests, "get some dinner. I insist."

The next few weeks were a blurry mixture of visiting the hospital while helping her father to run the family restaurant whenever she could. They took turns sleeping and watching over her mother's unconscious form, talked about the happenings of their everyday life in hopes that it would trigger something, anything.

The unforseen circumstances caused Micha to push back her internship by a semester and that so meant that she was permanently home and permanently swamped by none other than her best friend.

"What are you doing here? You’re supposed to have class," Micha asked upon noticing him slide out of the the kitchen with two sets of noodle bowls on a tray. It was no understatement to say that NomNom Noodles Restaurant was bustling with hungry customers as it was a Friday evening. What Micha hadn't expected though, was to see Chan's sloppy smile and sweaty forehead.

He shrugged, "your dad told me you could use the help."

Her heart tugged, partly churning with affection followed by this burning annoyance to get him out of her sight.

And he was helpful; he was a charming waiter that cracked jokes whenever he could, grabbing the dishes from her hands the moment she walked out of the kitchen, wiping tables he wasn't even assigned to. And all that made it harder for Micha to push him away. Oh how she wanted to ignore him, to make him understand that she needed a space, and a lot of it.

But she didn't want to hurt him. Not when he deserved so much better.

"Oi."

Micha was whipped back to reality when she felt Chan's finger poke her forehead, only to be faced with his dimpled grin, "earth to Micha. Customers are waiting."

Heat flushed through the back of her neck. She swatted him away, "don't touch me with your greasy hands."

"Aw shut up you," he made a move towards her, causing her to sidestep with ease, "stop it, Chan--"

She whipped around, almost bumping into one of the chairs as Chan's arms circled around her shoulders to pull her back to hug her close, "Chan!"

"Don't I smell nice? I'm just sharing it with you!"

And as if on cue, the door chimed open, both their heads whipping up with welcoming grins.

Only to face Ayeong's smile.

"Ayeong!" Micha all but shoved Chan away as she noticed the slight, barest slip of the said girl's smile.

Chan whooped and ran up to his girlfriend, cheeks flushed and eyes crinkling into crescents, "baby girl! You came!"

"And I brought company," she allowed him to kiss her cheek just as the door opened to reveal Minho and Seungmin bundled up into their coats.

Swalllowing down the sudden lump of pain, Micha went forward into Ayeong's open arms, "hey, it's been a while."

"I know!" Ayeong hugged her tight, so genuine that tears threatened to fall. Micha squeezed back slightly before quickly diverting her attention to greet the two other boys.

The restaurant was empty by the time their noodles were fresh out of the pot, meaning that they had the restaurant for themselves as they caught up on life and remembered their high school days. Micha learnt that Minho was interning at another restaurant, Seungmin had passed his Design projects with flying colours, and Ayeong had already signed a contract with the business hotel that she had trained with.

"That's amazing,” Micha said to Ayeong, "do you like it?"

"I do," Ayeong beamed, "and my superiors are nice too. They're all a bunch of guys so they aren't complicated."

"Careful Ayeong, one might think that you're gonna change boyfriends," Minho teased and caused the girl to stick out her tongue at him before leaning against Chan's shoulder.

Micha's eyes instantly shot away, swallowing hard at the knot forming in her stomach. She couldn't help it. It was like second nature to hurt herself by catching small glimpses of their entwined hands, of the adoration dripping from their eyes and she wished she could just make all the pain end.

It seemed like Minho noticed her unusual demeanour, for as they were leaving the restaurant after washing up the dishes, he'd stopped by the door to shoot her a concerned look.

"You okay, Micha?"

Surprise flitted through her face for a few seconds, "uh, yeah. Yeah I'm fine."

She saw him glance at Chan's figure before looking back at her with pursed lips, eyebrows knitted together as if deep in thought, and shook her head.

After all, who could deprive Chan of his happiness?

. ° ☆ ° .

It was safe to say that Micha fell into a routine; waking up to visit her mother in the early morning hours, replacing her father at the restaurant when it was his turn to sit at her mother's bedside, avoiding Chan at all costs even though he was practically throwing himself in her way, and locking up at around ten, nine earliest if the restaurant was void of clients.

She would've made a much greater effort at pushing Chan's helping hand away if not for the fact that her mother was mostly occupying the forefront of her mind. The truth was, a small part of her was actually relieved that Chan stayed no matter how angry she seemed, how cold she was to him. He was a big puppy constantly coming back for more no matter how much she kicked at his countenance.

And that made her feel even worse.

"Me and Aejong made pancakes the other day," Chan chatted on one late evening as they were clearing the tables, with Micha responsible for wiping them down while he mopped the floor, "she's a horrible cook. As unbelievable as that sounds."

"Why? Because she's too good at everything?" Micha knew she sounded bitter, but her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, lashing out without control.

Chan, as oblivious as he was, didn’t seem to catch her sense of mockery, “maybe not everything. But she’s definitely very talented in many ways. I never knew she took piano lessons until she was seventeen. She passed the exams and all.” 

"Good for her.” 

“You know what’s the best thing though? I really like that she never boasts about herself. That, I admire that--”

“Yes Chan, I get it,” Micha finally snapped.

Chan paused in mid-mop, “What? What did I do now?” 

Her teeth sunk onto her lower lip as she kept on wiping down the tables instead of answering his question. 

“Why are you angry with me?”

"I’m not angry with you,” she folded her dishcloth a little too aggressively and turned to the other table. 

“Then why are you talking to me like that?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Micha.” 

“I said it’s nothing!” Micha finally whipped around to scowl at him and maybe it was the mixture of saddened pain whenever she thought of her dying mother along with the continuous stab, stab, stabbing of knives that pinched her heart every time she saw Chan so much as utter his lover’s name, a name that wasn’t hers, that brought tears to her eyes despite her not wanting to let him in, not anymore, not when he was one of the sources causing her pain. 

But the young man’s frustrated expression gave way to instant worry the moment he caught her eye. He made a move towards her. 

And that was when she burst into a fit of angry, heart-wrenching sobs. 

It was as though all the pain and the pent-up emotion that she’d stuffed at the back of her heart like an unused closet she could throw away the key suddenly burst open without warning, for once she started crying, Micha found that she couldn’t stop. Her tears only heightened upon feeling the warmth of her best friend’s embrace, pulling her closer and allowing her to sob her way through the tides of pain and worry and sadness that seemed to have taken over her countenance. 

Cheek pressed against the side of her head and hands softly rubbing comforting circles along her back, Micha just allowed herself to feel sorry for her state, if only for this one night where she thought that everything was slipping through her fingers; her mother, Chan. Her career. Her future. 

Once Micha had cried all the tears from her body so that there were none left, she could only rest against Chan as he rocked her from side to side, the only comfort that was holding her broken pieces together at this point. She hated it, loathed it. His kindness, his genuine concern for her. 

It made it so much harder to push him away. 

“How long have you been holding this in?” came his softened murmur against her hairline. She shivered unconsciously, hating the way her heart seemed to beat a little faster merely for his alto. Or maybe it was the closeness, the intimacy of his touch, especially in the dim lights of the restaurant with only the soft distant sounds of traffic in the distance to keep them company. 

“It’s not about how long,” Micha’s fingers unconsciously gripped the back of his hoodie, hoping to extend this moment for a little longer. Just for tonight. She continued in a mumble, “everything is...everything is just so overwhelming.”

"Want to talk about it?” 

Micha’s lips pressed into a thin line. When she spoke after her slight bout of hesitation, her voice trembled, “it’s like I’m not even in my life anymore. I feel like I’m in a nightmare-- and I can’t wake up.”

He hummed in reply, hugged her just a little tighter and kept rocking from side to side. That was all the encouragement she needed. 

“I mean, my mom’s a vegetable and she’s--dying,” a small sob echoed through her throat, “I know how these patients end up. I see no other solution. She’s going to wither away in that bed and I can’t do any fucking thing about it. And then there’s my degree which I’m not completing because we obviously need the money for mom so I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, to my life and to my career and just, I just can’t breathe Chan and it scares me, it scares me so damn much--”

“Hey hey,” he pulled back just enough to see another path of tears dribbling down her face, thumb reaching up to brush it away, “it’s okay, shh. Enough crying, hm? You know I hate it when you cry.” 

That only incited her to cry some more and Chan made a noise of protest before he cupped her cheek, gently wiping them away as they fell, “I know that everything sucks right now. I--I can’t even imagine how impossible everything must be for you, and I can’t tell you that things will sort themselves out because we never know what might happen.”

“But,” he continued with a gentle squeeze to her hip then and she tensed slightly at the intimacy of his gesture, “I swear it gets better. I swear it on my heart. And if you want to cry then cry, I’ll be here. If you need to shout, to scream, to punch someone, I’ll be there Micha,” tilting her chin up so that she had no choice but to gaze at him, he cracked the softest of smiles that left her all giddy inside, “I’m not going to let you go through this alone, that I can promise you.”

Swallowing thickly, it was hard not to squirm underneath the soft glimmer of his soft maroon-eyed stare. So she dropped her eyes while mumbling out a soft, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he whispered back.

“You don’t deserve to be here, you-- you’ve done so much for me and I don’t even know how I’m supposed to repay that--”

“There is nothing,” he cut her off firmly while his hold tightened unconsciously, “to be sorry for.” 

Still, Micha’s eyes suddenly found interest in the patterns of her best friend’s shirt, knowing that there was no possibility of eye-contact now, not if she wanted to keep her self-control in check. Maybe it meant nothing for Chan to hold her so casually in his arms, but there was no denying the fact that anyone looking through their restaurant window could mistake them for a couple, and the thought caused Micha to reel back in self-disgust. 

As if sensing her inner turmoil, her best friend’s hand went up against the back of her head before he nudged her to his shoulder. And while Micha’s brain was shaking in disapproval, she couldn’t find the strength to fight against what her own body yearned for, returning back into his arms and telling herself that it was just for tonight. Tonight, she would push everything at the back of her mind and just for now, would enjoy the mere warmth and comfort that came with Chan’s arms.

Burrowing her face into the crook of his neck and taking in his scent, Micha allowed her eyes to slip closed for a moment, trying her best to engrave this into memory. 

Just for tonight, she promised herself inwardly. Just for tonight, she would be selfish. 

Just for tonight, she would imagine that Chan was hers. And no one else’s. 

. ° ☆ ° .

"Do I have to be there?"

Micha caught Minho's eye as he helped her hand through her coat sleeve. The said young man's eyebrow rose at her question as if she'd never asked a thing so dumb, "yes you do."

"But why?" She stomped her feet while whining, "I don't even like to drink. Or dance."

"It's my birthday. I call the shots."

"I hate you."

"Aw, me too," he pinched her cheek with aggressive fondness and Micha batted him away with her hands, scowling and muttering a string of curses under her breath as she trailed after him towards his car.

Minho's birthday was to be special as he was turning twenty-two, the perfect excuse to go out and drown themselves in alcohol. Felix, Changbin and Jisung had even rode all the way from their campus to stay over for the long weekend, taking advantage of the public holiday to party the night away.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Minho asked as he slowed to a stop at a red light.

Micha turned to him, "yeah?"

He hesitated for a few seconds. Then, "do you like Chan?"

It was so sudden, like ice running down her back and making her go tense, fingers curling onto the material of her dark pants. Micha gazed out at the stop light until it went blurry, not knowing what to say to make it sound truthful.

"No--"

"I know he doesn't see you," Minho spoke up hurriedly, "but I see the way you look at him. I couldn't help but ask."

It wasn't like she had planned to let her secret out so soon. But he'd caught her red-handed. Her shoulders slumped, followed by the softest of sighs escaping her lips.

"You caught me," was the only thing she said.

Another pause that allowed the words to settle between them, before the light turned green and the car moved forward. A good distraction against the awkwardness sticking to Micha's heart like sweat.

"Do you..." Minho paused, "do you think you should tell him?"

"No."

"Don't you think he needs to know?" Minho turned his car down a street lined with pubs. They were slowly approaching their destination, “It’s not fair to him.” 

She kept her gaze out of the window, partly too embarrassed to face him and partly to keep herself from crying, "what good would it do?"

She was glad that they had reached the parking lot of the restaurant bar at that point, for she had no intentions of continuing a conversation that led to nowhere and, ignoring Minho’s call for her name, quickly jumped out of the vehicle and strode right up to the doors of Seniora’s. 

The restaurant was already full and she was glad that they had at least booked a private VIP spot in advance, thanks to Seungmin’s amazing organization skills. Micha weaved her way through in the dim spotlights shining atop dark mahogany tables that blended in with the darkness, trying to find their respective table among the throng of pretty, made-up girls in too-short dresses and guys who had no problem puffing out their cigarettes right into her face. 

“Guys!” Felix’s voice boomed through the jazz notes floating through the air, and Micha turned towards his voice to see him waving frantically, a huge grin on his childish face, ‘over here!”

His excitement was contagious as it caused her own lips to stretch into a mirroring grin. She bounded into his arms without hesitation, “Felix! You made it! You said you had an assignment to finish.”

“You know how convincing Minho hyung gets once he sets his mind to it,” the freckled man gave her a once over before he whistled, “don’t you look--”

“--Fucking gorgeous, Micha,” the pair turned towards the voice, seeing Changbin with open arms while she squirmed at his compliment. He was being too kind, though her sleek black jumpsuit that clung to her curves was definitely a contrast to her usual sweater and jeans. Behind him stood Jisung and Seungmin, as well as a few other of their classmates, girls and boys included.

Her eyes suddenly locked onto a familiar pair of dark orbs. Chan. 

“Hello! Hug, please?!” Changbin’s hand brought her attention back as he waved before her, scowling in mock annoyance. Micha grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck, “come here you big baby.” 

“Careful Mi, he might have wandering hands now that he sees you’re more than just a replacement for Chan,” Seungmin commented while giving her shoulder a squeeze. 

That earned the latter a glare from the said muscled man, “what? I’m just stating how beautiful she looks.” 

Micha made her rounds of greeting -- did Minho’s friend group triple by tenfold since she was gone?-- and was exhausted by the time she finally stumbled before Chan.

“Hey, look at you,” Chan offered her a dimpled grin and she swore she wanted to coo at how cute he was. Stop that, Micha gave herself a mental slap as he continued, “all I’m gonna say is, stay away from Changbin tonight.”

“He’s not going to do anything,” she rolled her eyes, “I’ve known him long enough. I’m basically his brother.” 

Her best friend said nothing, only gazed at her in that undecipherable way of his, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that couldn’t be solved.

“What?” she asked. 

“Uh--nothing,” he dropped his gaze, looked away just in time for their attention to be diverted by Minho calling for a round of shots, “alright alright everyone! I’ll open up the party, shall we?”

Before she knew it, Micha had been tugged along by none other than Felix only to be dragged to the counter where a row of shots were being filled to the brim. She didn’t have to ask, knew instantly by smell that this was definitely not water. Her nose burned at the sting of vodka permeating her nostrils and she cursed under her breath as Minho handed her one with a teasing, yet sympathetic grin.

“I think you’ll need it tonight,” Micha couldn’t stop herself from scowling at the underlying meaning in his words. She swore at him, “dick.” 

Micha hadn’t realized how monotonous, how boringly routine, her life had become ever since she flew back to her motherland. What with her mother’s situation in hospital and her running around trying to cover up all of her father’s blind spots, Micha had forgotten how it actually felt to be young, to be as carefree as she usually would be during university in-between her constant flow of assignments, how she used to get into this ‘fuck-it’ mood and hit up the arcade with the rest of the boys before winding up at one of the local bars, beers in their hands as they competed on who could chug down their drinks faster. 

So she took advantage of Minho’s birthday to let herself relax and actually pay attention to what was happening to her, around her. Just in this moment. Nowhere else. And it felt good. It felt...alive. Free.

She danced along to the music, chatted with the other girls who she now realized were quite cool and sassy in their own flirtatious ways, drank shot after shot every time another one of her friends dragged her back to the bar without realizing that maybe she should’ve kept count.

Until it was all too late. The alcohol didn’t have any effect. Until it hit her like a tow truck.

And maybe this sudden rebellious streak had manifested itself the moment her eyes lingered over the familiar pair of figures on the dance floor, chest clenching and heart crumbling at the sweetest brush of Chan’s fingers against Ayeong’s forehead. Micha turned away just in time to halt the tears burning through the corners of her eyes and she impulsively made a grab for Changbin’s arm before pulling him along with her, “let’s get another drink.” 

“Are you sure Mi? You kinda look tipsy already--”

“It’s on me. Now stop being a wuss and come on.”

Seniora’s was filled to the brim now that it was almost past midnight and the sea of bodies aided to calm the storm threatening to split her heart into. It made it easier to breathe, easier to push back the thought at the back of her mind as the alcohol paved its way through her blood and thrummed against her veins. 

It felt good. Too good. And Micha wanted this numbness to last forever.

. ° ☆ ° .

Unfortunately, it didn't.

"It's alright, you're alright," Changbin's soothing alto comforted her as she kept on throwing up the contents of her dinner, continuously dragging her hair back to hold it up and out of the way.

"Oh god--" Micha's stomach lurched "I'm sorry--" she couldn't stop herself from vomiting once more and boy, was she glad that Changbin had dragged her out of Seniora's just in time.

"So?" Felix called from the corner of the small street in which they were hiding from curious eyes. No point in giving people something to talk about, "how is she?"

"Holding up," Micha called back despite the sour taste in her mouth. When it felt like she wasn't going to pass out anymore, she slowly dragged herself upwards, throwing Changbin's concerned expression a weak smile.

To which he replied, "you look like shit."

"Thanks Changbin. That's exactly what I need to hear," Micha rolled her eyes, feeling his strong arm wrap itself around her waist. She allowed herself to lean into him just this once, fearing that she might trip over her feet and fall flat on her face if she wasn't careful.

They stumbled over to Felix who, upon giving Micha a once-over, stated that she was to be sent home at once.

"I'm fineeee guyssss," Micha whined through slurred words, "pluss, I really wanna...dance y'know?"

She swayed a little for good measure, only to stumble and she would've landed flat on the sidewalk if not for Changbin's arm holding her upright.

"I'm bringing you home," Changbin's tone was firm.

"Nooo, I don't want to go home yet!"

"Micha, you and I both know that you're too drunk to make those decisions right now."

"But Changbinnieeee I just--I really want to--" and as soon as the picture of Chan's face flashed before her eyes, she felt her resolve crumbling into the form of tears, "I want to...forget about him--"

It hurt too much. She couldn't keep it together. It was like she was forcing herself to hold in the pain burning through her loins and no sooner had had she tilted up to meet Changbin’s eyes that she burst into wretched sobs.

She felt him still for a moment, arm hesitantly tugging her closer, hand wrapping around her head in comfort, “h-hey,” he peered into her face, slightly panicked at her outburst, “what--what’s the matter?” 

“Mi?” Felix’s voice joined in. Warmth swept over her side, “Mi, what’s wrong? Do you not feel good? Do you want to go home?” 

Micha nodded, and felt herself getting tugged to Changbin’s chest. That made her cry even harder, for while his scent was nothing short of comforting, it wasn’t the warmth she was looking for.

All she wanted was for Chan.

But he wasn’t hers. And he never will be.

“I got her,” she heard Changbin’s words over the raging storm tossing her heart aside. Warmth circled her shoulders -- his leather jacket, no doubt -- and she allowed his hands to steer her away from the loud bass beats of the restaurant bar and she had to give that to him. No matter how much of a bad boy he was, no one could possibly deny him of his heart of gold. That Micha was pretty sure of.

They were halfway up the street with Changbin flailing for a cab when a familiar car pulled up their street. Its window rolled down, causing Micha’s breath to halt in her throat.

“Need a ride?” Chan’s eyebrow was raised in amusement, only to drop in concern upon noticing her pale composure, “what the--Micha?!” 

“No,” Micha quickly stuffed her face into Changbin’s shoulder, “Changbin, please...” 

The latter, as confused as ever, nudged her towards the car, “come on Mi. Chan’ll take you home.” 

“Nooooo.” 

"Not the time, Micha. Seriously, get in the car.” 

“I said noooo--”

Too late, for Changbin simply whipped her up in his hold, walked right around to the passenger door while ignoring her trying to sock him one, before plopping her into the seat. He slammed the door in her face and waved goodbye, “see you tomorrow, loser!”

Great. That was exactly what she needed. To be alone with Chan.

“Well someone drank a little too much tonight,” was the first thing he said the moment he pulled onto the street, a little smirk sent in her direction. Micha only sighed heavily, before leaning away to look out of the window pane. 

This was painful, sitting here with Chan with all those unresolved feelings burning her loins while he sat, totally oblivious and charming and just so breathtaking that it physically hurt her fingers from stopping any attempts to hold his hand, just touch his skin, just-- feel him. 

“Where’s...Ayeong?” she mumbled against the glass.

Just the name caused her chest to tighten. 

“I dropped her off with the other girls. They’re having a sleepover or something.” 

“She’s not spending the night with you?” 

“No.” 

“Ohh how dumb of her,” the words rolled off her tongue so easily now that there was alcohol swimming through her veins. It actually felt good to know that Ayeong was not to be with Chan that night, “it’s her-- it’s her lossss.” 

“Oh you are so drunk.” 

“I am...” she hiccuped and threw him a scowl, “not drunk!” 

Chan chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair playfully and that simple act merely got her heart racing, “I’ll see if I have some extra aspirin to give you for your headache tomorrow--” 

"Chan, can I--can I tell you something?” 

He stopped at the red light and as his head turned, eyes finding hers in the darkness of the morning hours, a surge of courage suddenly overtook her.

She wanted to blame it on the alcohol even though deep down Micha was certain a small part of her had always wanted to let her best friend in on the most deepest, darkest secret she wished she could carry to her grave.

But this secret that had been eating her from the inside out, was something that was making her heart to burst at the seams. And while she never even imagined of hurting Chan that way, she knew that this was inevitable. It had to be done, for her to move on from it. Because she’d realized then and there, that it would be impossible for her to just bury those feelings away, no matter how hard she tried.

So that left her with no other choice.

“I think that,” her hand rose up as if on instinct to poke his cheek then, eyes drooping with sleep, “I think I....might be in love with you.” 

-----

Tagging: @allyg-onz​ @elysianxshepherd​ @rindomo​ @freckledquokka​ @maedesculpaeusoubi​ @missskzbiased​ @seungoclock​

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 4: Rollerskates

***

At Hawkins Middle School, when you hit the fifth grade, you have to write an essay on where you see yourself in ten years. Little Steve, who sat in the front row of Mrs. French’s home room wrote his in blue colored pencil, declaring proudly in that essay that he’d be an astronaut. He later learned that was very unrealistic, and space freaked him out so he wasn’t too bummed about it, he’d chosen it based off of the poster hanging above the chalkboard, so it was fine. But despite not knowing who he wanted to be then, he never expected that in his “ten years from now” he’d be working at a roller rink in California, making minimum wage helping little kids up off the ground when they fell.

That’s what he did for forty hours a week, every week, paying low rent only because Robin was generous enough to let him stay with her, insisting that one hundred dollars a month and help cleaning up was plenty to float the bill. He followed her to California thinking there’d be more for him there. More than just the Family Video that was getting ready to be converted into a Blockbuster Video by the time he got out.

But after job searching in the booming city proved to be unsuccessful, and learning that being picky was not a privilege he had, he settled on the run down roller rink on the outskirts of town where the red carpet on the walls was peeling off and there were dips in the skating floor that made Steve’s job as the designated savior to all the kids, and occasionally adults, who couldn’t hold a vertical position.

He wore the ridiculous referee style shirt with the black and white lines that almost made him look like he’d just escaped from prison, and he circled around the rink, over and over again, for hours on end while open skate was alive and amateurs were in desperate need for his assistance. It wasn’t all bad. Steve had no problem helping up the crying five year old girl who hit her knee hard enough that he could already see bruising, and escorting her off the rink and getting her ice and a bandage, he had no problem with the twelve year old boy who had at least one hand in contact with the wall at all times who was knocked over by some high school jerks.

He hated when the mother’s who came with their kids would purposely fall over with a snicker as soon as Steve switched in on the floor. Very dramatic with their execution, sure to always trip over some nonexistent hole in the floor when Steve was close by just so he’d reach out his hand and lift her from the ground, likely the most action she’d seen in a while. He hated being used like that, he despised when he would turn to leave and they’d gawk at his ass as he skated away, some very drunk and very brave women had even gone as far to steal themselves a squeeze.

When Steve first got the job, he figured it would just be the thing he did to get by before he found a real job. But after the tenth interview resulted in a call beginning with the line “we regret to inform you” he decided to invest in more than one black and white striped shirt. He was going on five years now and his hourly pay had only raised by a dollar in that time, only after taking up extra duties behind the concession stand and skate rental. He worked there long enough to know the regulars. He knew the kids that he needed to look out for, the ones with the wobbly knees that did less than skate and more so stomp around, the teens on rollerblades who were just begging to get themselves kicked out by going the wrong direction, and he definitely steered clear of the women who definitely hit the bar before their Friday night roller skating escapades. He also watched as little kids who fell over every thirty seconds who spent the bulk of their time sitting out and watching improve and grow into solid skaters who could go an entire night staying up on their feet without issue. He knew almost everyone by name, there were rarely ever newcomers, so when the little girl in her little white skates with purple laces rolled out onto the floor by herself, he was not only shocked to see a new face, but shocked at how a kid looking to be barely four was outskating kids ten years older than her. She wasn’t doing any flips or tricks or anything extravagant, but she was smooth with her movements, she was fast, and she had a balance that could compete with his own.

So Steve had to do some investigating. He exercised his privilege of being the only adult employee and sent the new seventeen year old out on the floor while he looked around the seating area for a second unfamiliar face.

Except he doesn’t find an unfamiliar face. Every face in the crowd of skaters in the rink and parents watching from the side is a face he’s seen before.

But one face stands out amongst the rest.

“Billy?”

It had to be him. His hair was short and he'd grown a short beard, but Steve knew that skull tattoo and those blue eyes anywhere.

“Steve?” Billy said back, looking at him in shock. Steve was just glad he was still recognizable.

“Hey man, what are you doing here?”

Billy just pointed out at the floor. “No other rinks in town would let her skate because she’s “too young” so we came here.” He said, and Steve’s eyes found the little girl with the white and purple skates and instantly saw the resemblance. With her blonde curly hair and blue eyes and freckled cheeks, she was the spitting image of Billy. “How long have you been in Cali?”

“Robin and I moved over in ‘86, she just graduated from UCLA.”

Billy looked at him quizzically. “Buckley? The two of you a thing?”

Steve couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “I think her girlfriend would take issue with that.”

And Billy just matched his laughter. “You know what? That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“What about you? Wow you got a kid now! You got a wife too?”

Billy shook his head. “No, no. I love Bridgettes mom, but uh… we weren’t exactly compatible.”

“Well it looks like the two of you made one hell of a kid, that’s for sure.”

“We sure did.” Billy says as he looks out at the rink fondly, and Steve sees an entirely different person from the mullet wearing asshole who beat the living shit out of him once, the guy who had a lot more going on than people knew about, the guy who was in pain and never had an authentic smile. He saw into those deep blue eyes and was able to forget about the guy he was, because somehow after only minutes after crossing paths for the first time in five years, he was falling for him, for this new and happy Billy Hargrove.

And Steve says fuck it. He’s spent years having middle aged women literally fall for him, and it was time he took a page out of their book. He doesn’t go as far as to grab his ass, but he makes the bold move.

“Would you maybe want to go out for coffee sometime to like, catch up?”

Billy looks at Steve for a second too long and Steve instantly regrets it as Billy looks him up and down. He wants to take it all back right there but he watches Billy smile and silence his thoughts by saying “Sure. Meet here same time next Friday?”

And Steve doesn’t know what to do next. He’d avoided the dating scene entirely after one bad encounter with a guy he met in ‘87 and it was suffice to say he was out of practice. “Yeah! Great! It’s a uhh…” he paused, not knowing how to finish that sentence.

But fortunately, this version of Billy still had the same amount of game that he did when he was seventeen.

“Steve?” He says, catching Steve mid blush and breath caught in his throat. “It’s a date.”

[9tzuyu]

children of tragedy [pt.2]

note: hi. i totally did not mean for this to be a filler chapter but thats what it ended up being :(. i hope you guys still like it though. this is mostly natasha x reader (platonic), so maybe that’ll make up for it? lmk your thoughts!

mistakes are mine as always.

warnings: talk of alcohol abuse

pt. 1 | pt.3

🏷 @peggycarter-steverogers @blackxwidowsxwife (tagged since its nat centric)

when you left in the middle of the night while wanda slept in the other room. you didn’t bother waking her to say your goodbyes, instead wanting things to be quick and simple. telling wanda goodbye would only prolong that process. 

you did, however, leave one last sticky note on the kitchen table for her to see when she woke up. it was nothing over the top, just a reminder to make sure she ate and took care of herself.

(and of course your signature smiley face at the bottom of the paper. she loved your odd little version of a smiley face.)

you packed a bag separate from everything wanda put together and stuffed it to the brim with bare necessities. clothes were replaceable. what you had with wanda was not. besides, she probably wouldn’t mind keeping a few of your sweatshirts. they were always her favorite.

rummaging in the side pockets of your jacket you found the last twenty dollar bill you had and used it to catch the next bus across town. 

in all honesty you would’ve texted natasha to tell her you were on your way, but your phone had been dead for three days and you didn’t bother charging it after last night’s conversation. natasha wouldn’t mind though, you’ve been friends with her for over seventeen years. she was the only person who knew about your upbringing and all the abusive relationships between. she’d been there countless times to pick you up from the hospital your exes put you in, never once blaming you for what happened.

similarly to wanda, natasha never judged you for your decisions or ways of coping. she worried just as much as wanda did, but knowing you hated having to talk about things she kept silent. there were only a handful of times natasha could think of where you talked to her about what happened.

with a deep breath in, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and stepped off the bus. the walk to natasha’s house from your drop off area was only about fifteen minutes, but within that short amount of time you managed to get worked up over wanda. your thoughts were so loud that by the time you made it to natasha’s door step you had tears streaming down your face, your nose red from wiping it with the sleeve of your jacket. 

natasha was quick to answer, but she hadn’t expected you of all people to be standing right in front of her. snapping herself out of shock, she pulled you in for a hug before moving back to check you for any signs of bruising. 

there were a few, but they were fading nicely against your skin. and the cuts she found looked like they had been treated with care, which only confused the redhead. she hadn’t heard from you in over eight months, so it wasn’t surprising that she missed out on hearing about wanda. 

what a shame, you thought to yourself. she would’ve loved her.

natasha closed the door behind you and brought you over to her sofa. you laughed remembering that you were in this very same position last night; although it wasn’t like natasha could break up with you or anything of the sort. 

“stay here, i’ll be right back.”

you glanced at the clock on natasha’s wall seeing that it was three in the morning.

it was only when natasha came back when you noticed her disheveled hair and chapped lips. it was clear she was sleeping prior to you knocking on her door. she immediately noticed the guilty look on your face and quickly went to stop you from overthinking.

“none of that now, i don’t care at all that you woke me up at three in the morning. i haven’t seen you in over eight months, i’d be angry with myself if i hadn’t heard you knocking.” unsure how to reply, you nodded solemnly. 

she smiled, “are you hungry?” you licked your lips, food hadn’t crossed your mind in hours. “very.”

you followed her to the kitchen where she brought out a can of soup and set it to cook on the stove. 

“i don’t have much, i keep forgetting to go to the store.” she shrugged, leaning against the counter top.

“s’okay.” 

you awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, arms folded as you stared off into space. natasha took this opportunity to really get a look at you.

she could see the outlining of a bruise on the side of your cheek, and judging by the size, you had to have taken a pretty bad hit. there were also a few bruises around your neck as if someone had tried to choke you. 

she bit her lip, wincing internally at the thought of you getting choked so violently that it left marks as dark as the nail polish natasha once used as a teenager. it hurt her even worse knowing that this person was supposed to love you. 

you caught natasha’s gaze and shifted yourself further away from her. she tried not to frown, but you saw the slight downward movement of her eyebrows before she had a chance to look unbothered. 

“the soup, tasha. it’s going to burn.” you reminded her. 

“ah!”

she stirred the liquid content with a spoon and brought it to her mouth. “just right.” you watched her pour a safe amount into a bowl before giving you a spoon she hadn’t wrapped her lips around.

“lets go sit down so you can eat, yeah?” 

you followed her like a lost little kid back into the living room. if it hadn’t been for such serious issues at hand, natasha would’ve commented on how adorable you looked clutching the bowl with two hands while you unconsciously bit the insides of your cheeks because you were scared of breaking something. 

she gave you time to finish eating. you ate slower than she remembered, but she didn’t think too much of it. the last bite was when natasha when noticed the large scar across your hand. 

(god did she hate herself for not seeing it sooner because what the hell?) 

you moved to go put the dish in the sink, but natasha stopped you, gently grabbing the scarred hand to keep you from leaving. 

“don’t worry about that right now. set it on the coffee table and i’‘ll take care of it when we’re done here.” her voice was soft enough for you to feel safe, an affect only one other person could do. 

natasha didn’t say anything else, she wanted you to feel in control, to feel comfortable enough to talk about it.

the crack of your knuckles could be heard after a few short seconds of silence. there was no reason for you to feel so nervous. it was just natasha after all. she would never hurt you.

(you were brave. you were okay. you can do this.)

“she was so good to me, nat.” the redhead scoffed, but you were quick to defend your now presumed ex. 

“she was! this time i really mean it, and i know that sounds redundant but i would put the love i have for you as a friend, as a sister, on the line.” she seemed to believe you after that. the look in your eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

“what happened?”

your lip started to quiver, “i ruined it.” natasha moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around you so that your body rest against hers. “how’s that?” 

“i can’t stop drinking, couldn’t, and she had to do the right thing for herself.” her grip tightened around your frame. she hated not knowing you were drinking again. the first few times weren’t too bad, but she had a feeling this time was more than she could help with.

“she was so good to me, tasha and i ruined it. i fucking ruined every bit of it because i’m too weak to-”

“stop. do not finish that sentence or else i’m going to give you a sisterly lecture for the next three hours about every good thing that makes you who you are.” her threat came off as a joke, but if needed, natasha would actually hold herself to her own word.

you sighed and visibly deflated, natasha allowing the tiniest smile grace her lips from behind you. 

“what was her name?” your eyes found their way to natasha’s hands and the rings that clung to the base of her fingers. “wanda.”

“how did she treat you? i mean really treat you.”

you fiddled with her rings, twisting them back and forth absentmindedly, “she used to bandage my wounds with like, five layers of gauze, i swear. i always thought she was just being over dramatic, but sometimes the bleeding would even seep through that.” 

your breathing began to slow down. “she would always come when i needed her, whether that be when i blacked out from drinking or if i was sick and needed help taking a bath.”

“she sounds like a good person.”

“she is.” 

natasha hummed, “you really scared me, you know?” you moved to try and face her, but she kept her arm wrapped securely around your torso. “i didn’t hear from you in over half a year and now you’re here. you’re my best friend and i thought you were dead.” there was a crack in her voice. god knows she didn’t want you to see her cry.

(that’s why she held you in place, but most of all because she missed having you close.)

“i’m sorry, tasha...” 

“just don’t ever do that to me again or i will kill you myself.” you rolled your eyes at her reply. “i’m not, i promise.”

you moved off her lap, turning your body so you were face to face with her. “where do i go from here, nat?” 

she thought dor a second, “can you make it through tonight without a drink? or will withdrawls be too bad?”

you paused, surely you hadn’t gotten to the point where withdrawls were as serious as you’d seen in all the medical shows and documentaries. “i think i’ll be good.”

natasha nodded in approval, “do you want help?”

it was the question of the century for you. the answer should be a simple yes, but it never failed to amaze you how much weight could be carried behind a three letter word. there was a chance for you though, something you might not ever get again. and honestly, natasha’s heart couldn’t take another relapse like this. eight months of not knowing if you were alive or not was bad enough, she couldn’t imagine not seeing her dearest friend for the rest of her life.

“yes,” you exasperated, “yes, i wan’t help.”

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[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. 

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