#and when my coworker does wrong my supervisor always is nice

[isekyaaa]

I’m going insane so I’m just gonna vent and say this now.

In a work setting, it is very important that you clearly inform new employees of their job duties from the very start. Never ever expect that they’ll “just know.” You need to be clear about everything, and I’d say for certain duties, you should be letting them know why it is so important. This is especially so in an office setting.

Secondly, if they do something wrong, it is very important that they know what they did wrong. You need to point out what job duties they did not fulfill. They need to know the potential damage they either did or could’ve caused very clearly. Out of all times, this is not the time to be kind and minimize their actions. If they don’t realize these things, they will not understand the important role they play and they will not fulfill their duties properly.

It is not fair to an employee to punish and scold them for something they were never informed about. By opening your mouth and being clear, you essentially set them up for success, but you more importantly remove liability from yourself. If they do something wrong in the future, you have every right to move through with disciplinary measures because you know they know what they should be doing.

Im just so tired of people not communicating clearly for fear of being mean. If a job duty is a job duty, if they’re doing something incorrect, you have every right to state it because it is an objective fact. That’s not being mean. If anything, opening your mouth works toward the efficiency and overall unity of a workplace. The less you decide to set the law, the more things that will go wrong, and you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself.

[oatmilk-vampire]

Wayne Munson is not senile. He'll kick your ass for even suggesting it. He is, however, old and tired. That much he'll admit to.

He's lived a long life, aged more than he cares to admit, especially taking in his nephew as his own when his sister-in-law passed and his own brother turned into a shit father.

He thinks he deserves some time to relax.

After all, Eddie's grown now. He finally graduated high school and he's still chasing his Californian dreams.

If Wayne goes to live in an assisted living facility at only age fifty-five, well, he'd say to go mind your own damn business.

Besides, this place takes in older folks from all walks of life. Rich, poor, independent or bedridden. If he suddenly takes a turn for the worse, well, he won't even have to be moved or worse---impose on Eddie. Eddie would fight him on it, but maybe Wayne can claim it's his dying wish.

The staff's pretty nice too. Unlike some of the horror stories you hear, the caretakers here are all decent people and at least seem to enjoy their jobs. If they don't, they sure don't take it out on the residents.

They're all nice. Except for Steve.

That Harrington boy... He's not like his coworkers. No, he's so much better than the others.

He doesn't just handle his duties with the utmost care, he treats the folks like they're still human. Like they're still adults.

If someone needs compassion, he's there for you.

If someone's feeling particularly grouchy, he'll snipe right back at you.

Wayne doesn't know much about Steve, even if they always get along well, but he does know he's nothing like his old man.

He's a good one.

Steve Harrington loves older ladies. Okay, wait. That came out wrong. Can we do this again?

Steve Harrington loves working with older ladies. There, that's better.

After Steve graduated, he had two options: one, go to college and follow in his father's footsteps. Or two, be a stain on the Harrington name by continuing to work a minimum wage job he may actually enjoy until he dies.

He chose the latter.

At first he thought he might want to work with kids. Middle school, maybe. After all, he had tons of experience.

Then he realized he'd still have to go to college for that, and maybe pubescents tweens really aren't worth the headaches anymore.

Then he discovered old people.

Old people! Those super grouchy, wrinkly, gray-haired people who treat you like you're beneath them? Those people.

As it turns out, old people aren't so bad. Even the mean ones. Plus he didn't need a college degree for this job.

He loves working at the assisted living facility.

He loves innocently flirting with the women, it always brings a smile to their faces.

He loves throwing them (age appropriate) pool parties. It's something they all look forward to, even the grouchy ones.

He loves bickering with them too. Even if his supervisor looks down on it and warns him against it.

He loves caring for Wayne Munson. Even if he insists he doesn't need the care.

"Boy, go do your job." He warns when Steve tries to subtly clean up his room or fix whatever broke this time.

"I am doing my job." Steve grins at him as he nails down a loose plank in the floor so Mr. Munson doesn't trip.

"No, I'm pretty damn sure that's maintenance's job. You're spending time with me." He speaks up from his recliner.

"I can do both. I multitask."

"Go find someone else to make your favorite resident." Wayne's old, not stupid. He's well aware Steve spends a little extra time with him than any of the other folks. At first he thought it was because Steve pitied him. Now he thinks it's in the way Eddie used to follow him around. He's a father figure, yet again.

Steve feigns a gasp, complete with a hand to his chest. "Favorites? Mr. Munson, you know I don't have favorites." Steve pauses, a smile crosses his face. "That being said, you're the one I don't dislike the most."

"So now you dislike people? Shame on you, Steve."

"Well, what am I supposed to say? You're the one I'll miss the most when you're gone? That's tasteless!"

Wayne shakes his head, fights a smile.

"I'd miss you too, boy."

Maybe when Eddie moves back to Hawkins in two weeks Steve can find someone his own age to spend time with.

They'll meet soon enough.

Thinking about nursing home care worker! Steve. He'd flirt back with the ladies (that aren't senile) and he'd come up with cool party ideas for the weekends.

[bqstqnbruin]

Always be my plus one

Here we go, y'all. We're ignoring that it's 3:30 in the morning but I'm just yeeting the first part of this into the wild and hoping it goes well. Ignore typos, we all know that everything I post is a first draft.

I need to thank @hockeywocs, @chara-hugs, and @zinka8 (WHY CAN't I TAG YOU) and all the anons who have come into my ask box to help me with this! ily all!

WARNING: some description of child birth

Hope you like it!

Series masterlist

------------------------------

Part 1: Christmas Day and the day after Christmas

The name for Christmas comes from the shortening of “Christ’s Mass,” a traditionally Christian holiday that celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ to the Virgin Mary and Joseph in a manger in Bethlehem. Although the exact date of his birthday is unknown, around the fourth century the Catholic church fixed the date of this celebration to be December 25th. Other religions and belief systems have similar celebrations around the same time, such as the Winter Solstice, or Midwinter. Celebrations include a mixture of pre-Christian, Christian, and non-secular traditions, such as gift giving, completing an Advent Calendar or Advent Wreath, Christmas music, church services, a special meal with family and loved ones, Christmas trees, lights, nativity scenes, and Santa Claus to name a few.

The day after Christmas, known as Boxing Day in some European countries, is traditionally known as a shopping holiday. In America, this is typically the day when people start to return any unwanted Christmas gifts, stock up for next Christmas on items that are marked down on sale, or see friends that they hadn’t been able to see before Christmas.

=============

December 21, 2021

“One fifteen means fifteen minutes before I have to clock in. Fifteen minutes before a twelve-hour shift that I’m not ready for and don’t have enough caffeine for,” Anne muttered to herself, staring at her reflection through her car's rearview mirror. “But, fifteen minutes before getting to do something that I thankfully love, something that I enjoy doing.” No matter how long the shift in front of her, Anne had developed a habit of giving herself a pep talk before she got out of her car. “Whatever happens, you’ve helped someone.”

The last part wasn’t always true, knowing that there was the possibility that something could go wrong that she and the other nurses and doctors wouldn’t be able to fix. Lying to herself that everything was going to be ok was the only want to convince herself to go into the hospital every day. Finally mustering up enough courage to get out of her car, she grabs her bag from the backseat, heading in for yet another long day right before the Christmas holiday.

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from the job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

“Hey, Tyson, come on!” comes from inside the open doors of the building, Anne not paying attention to who it was coming from, causing her to collide with a stranger, spilling her much-needed coffee all over the both of them.

“Shit,” she says, not looking up from the brown splatter on what should be mint green scrubs. “I am so sorry.”

Standing in front of her was a curly-haired boy, about her age, wearing what she was sure was a Colorado hockey jersey. Beyond that, she had no idea. “No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Let me buy you another,” he offers, ignoring the persistent calls from his friends to hurry up.

Anne checks her watch: 1:19. “It’s ok. I don’t really have the time, I have to clock in in eleven minutes, and knowing the cafeteria or the vending machines, it would take a lot longer,” she says, trying to get by him. Before he can protest, she gets to the elevator that would bring her to her floor, thankful that it was ready to get her there without her having to wait. The doors start to close, only to be stopped by a hand stuck through them, the curly-haired boy with the coffee stain down the front of him getting on the elevator with her. Anne gives him a confused look, begging him to explain why he was trying to make her late for her shift.

“If you aren’t going to let me buy you one now to make up for it, at least let me see where you work so I can drop one off for you.”

Anne rolls her eyes, unamused by the man in front of her as he attempts to flirt with her. “That would be nice, but the chances of me getting it before it goes cold are slim to none, so you need to suggest something else if you really want to buy me a coffee.”

“Let me get your number so I can buy you one when you aren’t working?” he asks, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. 1:25. “I’m Tyson, by the way.”

The elevator dings, signaling that they were on Anne’s floor, opening the door to nurses and doctors running around, expectant fathers who were probably kicked out of the delivery room for making the mom too nervous pacing the halls, grandparents trying to control younger children who had little to no idea what was going on as they waited in the strange building. Anne walks to the backroom to drop her stuff off and clock in, typing her information into the stranger’s phone as he followed her like a puppy, his friend’s texts coming across the top of his screen asking where he went so they could leave.

“I’m Anne, and I’ve got to go,” she tells him, handing back his phone. There was no way he was going to text her, and it’s not like the coffee was that big of a deal to him. She could go to the vending machine down the hall and grab one during her break, or have someone else on their break do it for her if she needed it sooner.

“Can’t wait for our coffee date, Anne,” he says, winking at her before shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering back down the hallway.

“Who is he?” her coworker, Jess asked, popping up out of nowhere. “He’s hot.”

“In more ways than one, apparently,” Anne jokes, “he’s also wearing my hot coffee on his shirt.”

“You didn’t,” Jess scolds her, turning her around to see the coffee that was spilled down Anne’s own outfit, knowing Anne’s tendency to be a little absent-minded as she gets wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Anne, you did.”

“Not on purpose!”

“DeFormicola?” Anne’s supervisor, Jackson, pops his head into the room just as she was clocking in, “We need you in room 414.”

“Saved by the bell,” Anne teases, walking down the hall to where all the noise was coming from, trying to throw on the appropriate clothing before she went into the room, struggling to get the gloves on as she entered.

“Ok, Erin, we’re going to need you to push,” one of the doctors says, Anne standing behind him as she watched the baby’s head crowning.

This was her favorite part of the job, helping the mother stay calm and trying to make sure that despite the child coming out of her, she was as comfortable as possible. Normally, she would be with the mom as soon as she came in, Erin clearly nervous as to what was going on. They had to be first-time parents, the dad going back and forth to Erin’s side and behind the doctor, looking mortified each time and clearly regretting what he was seeing.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor says, handing the new baby to a breathless Erin.

“A boy! A boy!” the dad yells, going out to the hallway, Erin clearly unamused by whatever antics he was going about.

“Don’t worry, he’s not the first one to do that,” Anne reassures her, knowing that something like that would happen at least five more times during her shift, hearing the father’s voice repeating the phrase. “I’m going to get him cleaned up and then get him right back to you, ok?” Anne asks, reaching for the baby as everyone else around her tries to clean everything else up.

“Be careful with him,” Erin warns, not meaning anything bad by it. She was definitely a first time mother.

“I will be,” Anne tells her, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket as she does. “So you have a name picked out yet?”

“We were thinking Matthew.”

Anne turns her head, smiling at Erin. “That’s a good name. My older brother is named Matthew.”

Erin smiles at her, the father finally coming back in, clearly overjoyed by the birth of their new baby. Anne hands him back to his parents, Matthew screaming his head off as they get wheeled into another room.

Anne goes over to the desk, sitting down where she was supposed to be for the start of her shift to do paperwork, but the uncertainty in the hour by hour of the schedule was not surprising. She pulls out her phone, ‘Maybe: Tyson’ coming up across her screen.

“He’s already texting me,” she alerts Jess whose head whips away from her computer to look over Anne’s shoulder at what message the mystery man could have sent her.

“He’s horny.”

“Jessica!” she squeals, wishing she was more shocked by what her friend had said. “Why is that always your first reaction to a boy sending a message?”

She shrugs, swiveling back to her own computer, “I’m normally right. What’s he saying?”

“He wants to know when he can buy me coffee.”

“Horny.”

“Enough.”

“You should date him.”

Anne turns to her, clearly unamused by Jess’s need to continue the conversation. “I don’t have to date anyone.”

Jess lets out a long sigh, Anne knowing that she was rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying you have to, I’m saying you should.”

“Ok, I don’t want to date anyone.”

“Oh, come on Anne,” Jess says, getting up and plopping herself on the desk in front of Anne, fiddling with the wire connecting the mouse to the rest of the computer. “You work in a maternity ward where people become parents every day, and you haven’t even thought of finding a man?”

“You don’t have a point,” Anne tells her, not making eye contact with her.

“My point,” Jess says, leaning over to block Anne’s view of her computer screen, “is that you can’t be single forever.”

“Says who?”

“Didn’t you tell me that you were named after the patron saint of the town your grandmothers were from?”

Anne rolls her eyes, knowing where this was going. It was going in the same direction that this conversation always went in when she had it with her mom every single holiday. “All four of us are named after the patron saints of the towns our grandparents are from.”

“St. Anne is the patron saint of child care, grandparents and mothers.”

“She’s also that patron saint of unmarried women, so your argument is invalid, as usual.”

Jess takes in a breath to say something, cut off by Jackson calling for Jess to go into one of the delivery rooms. “Just don’t say no because you think you have to be single,” she advises as she walks away.

Anne leans back in the chair, rubbing her hands over her face. “This is how Christmas is going to go, isn’t it?” she asks herself.

=============

December 25, 2021

The number of cars lining her parent's driveway meant that she was one of the last ones there, but knowing her aunts and uncles, she wasn’t the last one there. Her parents were the ones who did Christmas Day for her dad’s family, Christmas Eve being the anniversary of her mom’s mom’s death, and, on top of that, Teresa doesn’t talk to her family over some argument and grudge being held over their parent's house.

Scanning the cars, she didn’t see the one belonging to her brother Matthew, or his wife, Stephanie. “I’ll just leave Harper’s gifts in the car,” Anne mutters to herself, trying to juggle as many gifts as she could while also balancing the box of pastries her mom asked her to pick up for dessert.

Without a free hand to open the door, Anne did everything she could to ring the doorbell with her elbow, praying that someone would come to open the door before she dropped anything.

Her younger brother, Sebastian, opens the door, a disappointed look on his face. “What the fuck is all this for?” he asks, taking some of the bags from her arms to lighten her load.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she remarks, “Yours is still in my car if you’re wondering.”

“Did you have to get gifts for everyone?” he asks, Anne greeting her aunts and uncles on the way to the tree to put everything down for later.

“Well, it’s Hazel’s first Christmas," she explains, referencing their sister's youngest daughter, "So getting her something and not getting the other children something seemed wrong, and then Jessica took me shopping and kept saying things like ‘oh this would be perfect for Lucy,’ or ‘oh don’t have you an aunt who likes mystery novels?’ And everything went downhill from there.”

Sebby groans, walking with Anne back out to her car to retrieve the rest of the gifts, Anne still holding the box of pastries since they hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet. “Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel that the bookstore was selling.”

“Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel the bookstore was selling,” Anne laughs, Sebby nodding his head. “I got a gift receipt.”

“What did you end up getting Matthew?” he asks her. Anne had texted Sebby in panic on Black Friday, coming home from a day of shopping with Lucy that left her without a gift for Lucy’s twin brother.

Grabbing the rest of the gifts and handing them to Sebby, she closes the door to her car and starts to go back inside. “I found this ‘make your own wine’ kit that I think he would like. That way Steph doesn’t have to listen to him complaining about how the stuff she drinks is ‘too sweet.’”

“What about for me?” Sebby asks, nudging Anne with his elbow as they arrange the rest of the gifts in the already mountainous pile under the tree.

“Oh, I knew there was someone I forgot,” she says sarcastically, Sebby ripping the bow off one of her carefully wrapped presents and throwing it at her. “Ok, now I’m never getting you a gift again.”

Sebby laughs, helping his older sister off the ground. The two of them wander into the kitchen, slipping in unnoticed due to the sheer number of family members and noise that was filling the room. “Aunt Anne! Aunt Anne!” Harper and Skylar squeal in unison when her nieces spot her, hoping that either she or Sebby had grabbed Harper, Matthew, and Stephanie’s gifts. She didn’t think there was anything left in her trunk.

“Hey there, fireflies,” Anne greets them, bending down as they both kiss her on the cheek. “Guess what? Santa stopped by my place and left some gifts for you, but he made me promise that you two were really good today if you want to open them after dessert, ok?”

The two girls nod excitedly, bouncing up and down at Anne’s words. To still be young and believe in Santa, that must be nice.

“Hey, ma,” Anne finally finds her mother, putting down the box of pastries in front of her and kissing her on the cheek. “Upstairs or downstairs fridge?”

“It goes downstairs. Come on, I have someone I want you to meet,” her mother says, dragging you away from your aunts that had aggregated around her. They all had excited looks on their faces, something that instantly worried Anne as she followed her mother down the stairs with the box. She could hear Matthew and Lucy’s voices, knowing that her brother and sister’s wife and husband had to be down there with them, too. “Matthew told me about this friend of his who couldn’t make it home for Christmas,” her mother whispers before she got to the last step.

“Mom, no,” Anne says, already knowing where this was heading. “I told you: I don’t need a boyfriend.”

“But I don’t have a grandson,” her mom whines, shaking Anne’s hand in her own against her chest.

“How is that my fault?”

“If you just find a nice boy, and get married, I just know you’re going to be my child that has a boy.”

“Oh my god,” Anne groans, pushing past her to get to the fridge.

Teresa pulls Anne over to the couches where her siblings were, Lucy sitting on one with her feet in Jason’s lap, Jason’s hand lazily rubbing his wife’s shins. Matthew was on the other, Stephanie nuzzled against his shoulder, all four of them with a glass of wine and three bottles open. Next to Matthew was a guy sitting there awkwardly, straightening his back when he saw you while Sebby tried to contain his laughter as he sat on the floor. “Jeremy, this is my youngest daughter, Anne. Anne, this is Jeremy,” she introduces the two of them before running up the stairs.

“I do have a girlfriend, actually,” Jeremy says, “So I’m sorry.”

Anne and her siblings burst out laughing, Lucy pouring her sister a glass of wine. “If only this were the first time Ma tried to set Anne up with a guy who was seeing someone.”

“I even tried to tell her that but she didn’t listen,” Matthew adds. “It’s better than when she tried to set you up with Adam,” he says, referencing Lucy’s partner at their optometry practice.

“Yeah, his husband wasn’t too thrilled by that potential match,” Sebby says.

They all keep talking, Anne just sitting and listening to them reminisce about all the people their parents had tried to set her up within their desperate attempt for her to no longer be single. It didn’t help that the last time she listened to them about dating was Andy, the boy who cheated on her when they got to college. Apparently going to school half an hour from each other wasn’t enough for him to keep up their two-year relationship instead of shoving his tongue down multiple girls throats before doing god only knows what else.

“When do you think they’ll stop trying to set me up with someone?” Anne finally pips in, accidentally cutting off something Jeremy was saying as she stared at the wine she was swirling in the glass.

“When you get a boyfriend,” her siblings say in unison.

“I hate all of you for doing that,” she laughs. “But, seriously, why is it so important that I have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, you know your mother,” Jason says, putting his glass down on the floor. “She saw what Lucy and I had and then wanted that for all her children.”

Lucy playfully shoves him, kissing him as Anne and Sebby groan. “She just wants you to be happy, and to her and dad, happiness is marriage and a family.”

“Where am I going to meet someone if I go to work or here where they try to bring in non-single non-potential suitors?” she asks, looking over at Jeremy. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, not able to get a word in before Matthew starts, “What if you met someone at work like how Steph and I met?”

“Yeah because there are so many single men walking around the maternity ward,” she says, her phone buzzing in front of her. “What about you, though, Seb, how’s Collins?” Anne asks, changing the subject.

“Eh,” he shrugs, his eyes wandering to Anne’s phone screen, “I’m not sure we’re going to last to graduation.”

“What?” Lucy squeals, causing Jason to jump as she threw her legs out of his lap. “I thought you said she was ‘the one’?”

Sebby looks down at his glass, a stupid smirk on his face. “Nah, that changed. She doesn’t want me to go to law school in Boston, she wants me to stay here or move to California with her.”

“But the adventure of moving with your girlfriend to another state!” Matthew offers, Stephanie rolling her eyes.

“Matthew, not everyone needs adventure like you do, hon.”

Anne’s phone buzzes again, a reminder that she had a text waiting for her. Picking it up before Sebby can see who it is, ever the nosy little brother, she sees a message from Tyson popping up as they continue their conversation about Sebby’s love life and Anne’s lack thereof. . They had only been texting for a few days since their encounter at the hospital, but every time his name came up she couldn’t help but smile, lifting the wine glass to her lips to cover it in hopes of her siblings not noticing.

How’s your Christmas been so far?

A simple ‘eh’ as a response was all that she needed to send. It could be worse, but her mom trying to set her up with a guy with a girlfriend was definitely not something that made for a good Christmas. The only thing that could be worse is if their dad came home early from the flight he was on with a guy he picked up in whatever country he had to go to that prompted him to miss the holiday. Normal dads who had to travel would bring their kids back little trinkets or a postcard, but Anne wouldn’t put it past Tony to borderline kidnap someone from the plane he was flying and bring them home for Anne.

Tyson’s contact comes up again, an incoming call that prompted Anne to step away so she could answer it. “What’s up?”

“You said your Christmas was ‘eh.’ What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” she groans, pressing her back up against the fridge.

“Well, what if I have something that might make it better?” he flirts.

“Oh? Like what”

“What if I said I’m 100% free to buy you that coffee any time tomorrow, since I know you said you didn’t have work, and you can tell me about Christmas then?”

Anne hears her siblings laugh not ten feet away, praying that they couldn’t hear her conversation. Taking in a deep breath, she knew that her cheeks were turning pink at his words. “Sure, that sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks, walking back over to join her siblings.

“I’ll text you details,” he tells her, hanging up.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy yells, interrupting their conversation. “Anne was talking to a boy.”

“What the hell? What makes you think that?” she asks.

“Your cheeks are red," Lucy says, prompting Anne to raise her hand to feel the heat radiating from her face, "Who else would you be seeing tomorrow?” her sister eggs on, her eyebrow raised since she knew she was right.

Anne tries to find her words, unable to think of a name that wasn’t a guy's name to blurt out.

“Is it Tyson?” Sebby asks, Anne’s unlocked phone in his hand.

“You jackass!” she yells, lunging at her brother to try to get her phone back.

Teresa’s footsteps sound down the stairs, her poking her head between the gap in the stair rail and the steps themselves, Anne and Sebby looking like a deer in headlights when they see their mom. “I was coming to say that dinner was ready, but what’s going on here?”

“Anne has a boy she wasn’t telling us about,” Sebby blabs, earning an ‘I’ll kill you’ look from Anne.

“Oh! Annie!” their mom squeals, running down the stairs to pick her up off the ground and hug her. “Why didn’t you tell us about him?”

“I, uh,” Anne starts, still not sure what to say.

“You have to bring him to New Year’s Day at Uncle Vince’s house,” she tells her, the rest of the siblings following Anne being dragged back up the stairs for dinner, her mom announcing that Anne had a boyfriend when she, in fact, didn’t.

=============

December 26, 2021

“So, are you going to tell me why your Christmas was only ‘eh,’ or am I going to have to guess?” Tyson asks, setting down two cups of coffee in front of them. Tyson had asked Anne to meet him at a small coffee shop that was within walking distance of her apartment, thankful that she didn’t have to drive through Denver on the day where everyone was returning anything unwanted, like her Aunt Lisa returning one of the copies of the Agatha Christie novel that her and Sebby each got her.

Anne groans, the images of last night’s dinner flashing through her mind. “Can we talk about something else, first?”

“Fine,” Tyson says, taking a long sip of the coffee, “What did you get for gifts?”

She raises her eyebrow at him, Tyson mirroring her expression except with a goofy grin on his face. Rolling her eyes, she starts listing off the stuff she got: “My parents got me a new attachment for my KitchenAid stand mixer since my younger brother, Sebby, broke it last time he was over and a voucher for a flight anywhere in the country like they do every year, um, some gift cards from my aunts and uncles, my nieces all did their best attempts at drawing a portrait of me, Sebby told me he was going to come over and make dinner for me, which scares me because he can’t cook, Matthew and his wife got me some books they thought I would like, and Lucy and her husband got me this bracelet,” Anne tells him, extending her arm out to show him.

“I have so many questions,” Tyson starts.

“I might have answers,” Anne tells him, raising her cup to him.

“How big is your family?”

“I’m the third of four, Lucy and Matthew are twins and are about five years older than me, then Sebby is a year younger than me. Lucy has two daughters and Matthew has one. My dad has two brothers; one older, one younger. The older one has three kids, the younger has two and then three grandchildren.”

“Mom’s family?”

Anne looks down at her coffee. “I’m the only one who talks to anyone on that side of the family. My mom and her brother got into a fight when their parents died over what was left to them. My uncle has two daughters and two granddaughters.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking between the coffee and Anne.

She shrugs, not really bothered by it at this point. “It’s whatever. I talk to them because I want to, so it’s fine. What other questions do you have, though?”

“The ticket voucher?”

“Yeah,” Anne laughs, “Our dad is a pilot with Southwest Airlines, so every Christmas they give us a voucher to fly anywhere we want. They say they want to make sure that we take time for ourselves, but I think Dad gets some sort of bonus for every voucher he buys.”

Tyson throws his head back laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but seeing him so happy, Anne couldn’t help but smile back at him. “What about you, what did you get for Christmas?”

“My mom and sister flew down and basically restocked my kitchen for me.”

“Ok, that’s a great present, though,” she says. “Where was your dad?”

The smile from Tyson’s face fades, not looking up at Anne. “I never knew him. My mom and grandmother raised me.”

“Oh, Tyson,” she says, reaching out for his hand. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

He shrugs, a forced smile on his face. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, I don’t think. My mom and my grandmother are the reason I am who I am. I wouldn’t give that up or change it.”

The two of them sit there, Anne trying to think about how many times she helped deliver a baby when the father was nowhere to be found. She normally figured they were busy or just not in the delivery room, not being there all together was something she couldn’t even begin to imagine. “But enough about me. Why was your Christmas ‘eh’?”

“My family has it in their heads that I need a boyfriend,” she admits, Tyson smirking at her words. “And my brother saw your texts coming up on my phone and being the asshole that he is, announced that I was texting a boy, so now, I need to find someone to bring with me to my uncle’s house on New Year’s Day that I can pass off as you.”

Tyson gives her a confused look. “Why wouldn’t you just bring me?”

Anne sits there, a shocked look on her face. “Because they think ‘Tyson’ is my boyfriend, and you aren’t?”

“So we pretend. They don’t need to know,” he shrugs, acting like it was no big deal.

“That would never work,” Anne dismisses him.

“Why not? You don’t think I’m a good actor?” Tyson whines, acting insulted at Anne’s words.

She scoffs, “Ok, one, hockey players are never good actors, and two, Sebby or Lucy are bound to figure out that you are not my boyfriend. Sebby wants to be a lawyer so he analyzes everything and Lucy is just this perfect anomaly of a human who would be bound to figure it out.”

“I think I can play your boyfriend for New Year’s Day,” he says, confidence dripping in his voice.

“No, I can’t have you do that.”

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from thhe job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

[atlafan]

She Doesn’t Like Him

Hello! This is my entry for @majorharry‘s 20K fic celebration! This was such a fun idea, and I decided to use a few of the prompts to help move the story along. “I know you’re busy, but…can we talk?” “I’m pretty good at minding my own business. You should try it sometime.” “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” “Cover up, please.” and “Well, maybe I don’t want to just be your friend.” I didn’t put any smut in this, for once in my life, I didn’t know who would end up reading this, so I wanted to keep it a little more tame than I usually do. Plus, who doesn’t love fluff, right? Hope you enjoy! This is an office worker!Harry AU. 

Warnings: angst and fluff

Words: 4.4K

Harry got along great with all of his coworkers, well, almost all of them. For some reason or another, he just couldn’t crack Y/N’s code. She was short with him, barely ever looked at him, and if she did, the eye contact was minimal. She’d look at his forehead or nose. He wasn’t sure if did something to piss her off, or what. No one else was bothered by him. Harry was one of those guys that could usually look on the Bright-side, find a silver lining, and everyone appreciated that about him. Once in a while if he said something optimistic in meeting, he would catch Y/N rolling her eyes or shaking her head.

The really interesting thing was that Y/N was nice to literally every single other person in the office. She was bubbly and personable. Harry just brought out this unpleasant side to her, and she hadn’t even noticed she was acting that way until he finally worked up the courage to bring it up. Harry didn’t want to work in a hostile environment, and he thought it was best to go straight to the source before talking with his supervisor about it. One afternoon he decides to knock on her door.

“Come in!” She says, not looking up from her computer.

“Hey.” He says as he slips inside. “I know you’re busy, but…can we talk?”  

She looks up from her computer with a scowl on her face. She sighs heavily and gestures for him to sit. He does so and looks at her, waiting for her undivided attention.

“Sorry, just let me get this email out.” She says as she types even faster than she was. Once she clicks send, she turns her body so she’s fully facing Harry. “What’s up?”

“I’m just going to be blunt…do you have a problem with me?”

“What? Of course not, why?”

“It’s just…I feel like every time I’m around, you flip a switch. It’s like you don’t like me or something…”

“Oh.” She blushes slightly out of embarrassment.

“In fact, I think this is the most you’ve ever even looked at me.” He frowns. “If I did something…I don’t know what it could have been…but would you tell me?”

“Harry, I’m so sorry…I think I’ve been a bit rude…subconsciously.” She bites her bottom lip and looks away. “I’ve been dealing with a lot lately, and I’ve been taking it out on you, which is wrong, and unprofessional.”

“To be fair, you’ve been like this with me since we’ve both been here. I don’t think you’ve ever even smiled at me.”

“Do I need to smile because I’m a woman, or are you someone that just needs the validation?” Harry’s mouth falls open. “I see you, Harry. You float through this halls, bounce from office to office, cracking jokes. It makes me wonder when you actually ever get any work done.” She leans forward and rests her chin on her palm.

“You’re not like this with everyone…just with me.”

“I apologize if I’ve been cold towards you, really I am. I’ll try not to be, okay?”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She graces him with a weak smile.

“I hope you don’t just think I’m a goof off, I really do work hard.”

“I’m sure in your own way you do.” She sighs and turns her attention back to her computer. “Are we done, I got about fifteen emails alone just from sitting here with you.”

“Um…yeah, we’re done…thanks for the chat.”

“Anytime.” She says without looking at him.

He leaves her office and closes the door behind him. What she said was starting to seep in. Did others see him as lazy or a clown? Harry worked really hard, so what if he would go chat with others when he needed a break? He also wondered what it was she was dealing with. He hoped she wasn’t alone with whatever it was. He was no stranger to therapy. Harry saw someone once a month or more if he needed it. Once he’s back in his own office he sits down and looks out the window. At least she said she would try to be nicer.

//

Y/N’s version of being nicer, was avoiding Harry at all costs, which he hated. He was a people person, and it killed him when people didn’t like him. He knew it was stupid to think that way, but that’s anxiety. He saw her in the break-room, grabbing her lunch out of the fridge. He decided to spark up a conversation. He thought maybe she would like him more if she got to know him better.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hello.” She says, putting her container into the microwave.

“How was your weekend?”

“Fine.” She wasn’t looking at him.

“That’s good.” He stands up and walks over to her. “I went to the movies with one of my best mates, haven’t seen him in a while. Have you seen any good movies lately? I like going when I can. Sometimes a few of us from here go, maybe you could-“

“You know something?” She looks at him now, just as her food is finishing. “I’m pretty good at minding my own business. You should try it sometime.” She snatches her food, and brushes by him as she walks out.

Harry sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair as he watches her leave. A couple of other colleagues walk in to have their lunches.

“Harry! Haven’t seen you all day.” Lora pouts. “Come sit with us.”

“Think I just lost my appetite.” He frowns.

“What’s wrong?” Amy asks, as she sits down. Harry sits with her and Lora.

“It’s Y/N. She hates me.”

“Y/N?!” They say at the same time.

“Y/N doesn’t hate anyone.” Lora says. “She’s way too nice to hate anyone.”

“Well, apparently she’s nice to everyone but me.”

“Have you tried talking to her?” Amy asks.

“Yeah, we spoke Friday, and she said she’d try to be nicer to me, but…she just snapped at me out of nowhere.”

The women look at each other. They knew Y/N for a while now, they never really noticed her attitude towards Harry, but now that he was bringing it up, things were starting to click.

“Is it because I’m one of the few guys here?”

“No.” Lora squeezes Harry’s forearm. “She likes men plenty. I’m sure things will get better. She really is lovely.”

Harry felt better after speaking with the ladies at lunch. He usually enjoyed gossiping with them as it was, but it was nice to be able to vent a little. He was standing at his desk, rocking out to some music, working on some data when Y/N stormed into his office and slammed the door shut. It startles him, and he pauses his music immediately. She was fuming.

“Y/N, is everything-“

“Stop, just stop!” She charges towards him. “I told you to mind your own business, didn’t I?”

“Y, yeah you did…”

“So what do you do? You run off to Amy and Lora, your little mother hens to tell them I haven’t been all that nice to you. I stay away from you, I keep it professional, I do not to be your best friend.” She crosses her arms.

“I never said we needed to be best friends, I just wanna know why you’re literally nice to everyone here but me.”

“I’m getting divorced!”

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t! Because I didn’t want you or anyone else to know! But now, I just had to explain to them why I’ve been a little pissy towards you. You wanna get to know me, Harry?! Wanna know why we’re getting divorced?! My husband, whom I’ve known for ten years, my best friend in the entire world is gay. He’s just come to terms with his sexuality, and I have to be okay with it and support him! It’s not that I’m not, I’m very happy for him. He’s free and open to live his life as he wants to now, but now I’m left to pick up the pieces. I want to hate him, but I can’t!” Tears were welling up in his eyes. “I almost wish he had just cheated on me or something, but no, he’s gay. And you know what my family had to say about it? All they said was how stupid I was. How could I not have known? Obviously I didn’t know! If I did, I wouldn’t have married him after three years of dating! He feels terrible of course, but he’s been too busy going out and meeting men to notice or care that I’m crumbling from the inside. So you’ll have to excuse me that I’m not jumping at the chance to laugh at one of your stupid fucking jokes!”

Harry stood there stunned as she stood there catching her breath. It was clear she had been bottling all of this up. He felt terrible for her. There was a lot of turmoil going through her. He wanted ask what all of this had to do with him, but maybe he could get to the bottom of that later.

“Let’s get a drink after work.”

“What?! Are you crazy? What makes you think I would possibly want to go anywhere with you?”

“Y/N.” He sighs. “Swallow some pride and let me take you out for a drink after work. You seem like you need to let out some steam, and if I need to be the target, I’d like to have a shot in front of me.”

It was the most adult thing Y/N ever heard Harry say. He was actually being serious.

“Okay.”

After work the two decide to meet at a local pub. They sit down at the bar, and Harry orders two shots of Jameson. They clink their glasses and take the shots.

“You know, I actually think I needed this.” She smirks at the empty small glass, and Harry orders two more.

“So…no judgement or anything, but walk me through your marriage.”

“Well, we met when we were freshmen in college, and became fast friends. He was my best immediately. We were always together, and then one day he kissed me. I was actually dating someone else at the time, so he apologized and said it was because he was drunk.” She shrugs. “My boyfriend and I at the time ended up breaking, up and that was when he and I got together. We were together for a few years before we got married. We’ve only been married a year.” She sighs and takes her next shot. “Keep ‘em coming.” She tells the bartender.

“How did he tell you?”

“He made me this really nice dinner.” She smiles and then her eyes well up. “I thought he was going to tell me he was finally ready to start trying for kids, but…I was wrong. He told me that…I basically kept him alive, that I was the only person that could make him smile, but something was missing. He grew up in a really conservative home, and even when he went to college he still had so much repressed. He told me he wanted to be with men. He didn’t cheat on me or anything, he said he’d never hurt me like that, but he works with a few gay men, and he was talking to them more and more. Things sort of clicked for him one day. We just finalized the paperwork over the weekend, and on Friday I have to leave work early to go meet with our lawyers to finalize things.” Her voice cracks. “We have to sell our house, and I haven’t figured out where I’m gonna go yet. It all still doesn’t feel real.”

“I’m so sorry, that’s a really tough situation.”

“It’s been so weird, packing up all our memories. And I honestly couldn’t tell! Whenever we…well…you know…he was always very passionate.” She blushes and wipes a few tears away. “We have a glass of wine each night as we pack things up. Sometimes we laugh and other times it’s just silent. He feels terrible, and I’ve been trying not to make him feel more guilty.”

“Where’s he going?”

“He found some guys to move in with…in a different part of the city.” She sighs. “I suppose it’s better to not have brought a child into it.”

“Can I ask…why you’ve been taking things out on me?”

“You…you’re just like him.” She looks away. “Not physically, but you have the same exact sense of humor. I picked up on it early on, and maybe at first I liked it, but when things started to go wrong you just started to piss me off. That, and you’d always be so cheery. It was annoying…” She takes another shot and so does he. “I’m sorry, Harry. It was a stupid reason not to be nice to you and to be nice to everyone else.”

“You’re going through a lot, I understand.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone else.” She looks at him. “I see a therapist once a month. I have my own issues. She’s amazing. I could give you her card, you need someone to talk all this through with.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She sighs. “Talking to you has made me feel a little better…guess talking with a stranger is good.”

“Hey, I’m not a total stranger. Despite your bad attitude we do work well together.” He grins.

“Don’t push it.” She smiles and shakes her head. “This was much needed. I didn’t know Jameson could go down so smoothly.” She was starting to slur her words.

“So, you said you weren’t sure where you were going to live?”

“I’ve been looking at some apartment, but I’m bummed. I’ve really liked living in a house. Maybe I could rent a detached condo or something.”

“This may sound a bit forward, but I actually rent a house. It’s a rent to own situation. It’s spacious, and I could honestly use a roommate.”

“Harry, you’re not seriously asking me to move in with you.”

“You’d have your own bathroom. We’d just be sharing the kitchen and laundry…and the living room, oh, and I guess the-“

“Why are you being so nice to me? I’ve been so awful, and-“

“Because I’m a firm believer in treating people with kindness. Plus, I wouldn’t mind my monthly payments going down. You’re used to living with a guy too, shouldn’t be too weird for you.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“Sure you have.” He smiles. “You’re sure as hell not going to move in with anyone else from work. And I can only guess your parents have offered, but that’s not an option for you is it.”

“Dear god.” She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

“Let me know when you can move, I’m more than happy to help.”

//

Y/N couldn’t believe that she was moving in with Harry, but she really had no other choice. She sure as shit wasn’t going to move in with her parents, and all of her close friends were married with kids. She couldn’t afford to live on her own, nor would she want to. Much like Harry, she was a people person. She’d go crazy if she lived alone.

Harry helped her move and everything. Got her things settled, explained how the washer and dryer worked, as if she didn’t already know, and he explained how he liked things organized in the fridge. She thought it was interesting how particular he was. She even started seeing the therapist he recommended, and she was doing better. She kept in touch with her ex-husband, but she told him they needed some time apart. She needed time to fall out of love with him.

Y/N and Harry were having a ball at work now, and it made him so happy. They had way more in common than she thought, and she loved getting to gossip with him after work in their now shared home. Things weren’t even awkward! She was grateful she had her own bathroom, and they both seemed to be on different laundry schedules. One night she was sitting in her room, watching some TV when she spilled some soda on her shirt.

“Oh, shit.” She groans. She peels the shirt off, and puts on a new one. She puts her robe on and heads down to the laundry room. She stops short when she sees Harry in there, only in a pair of boxers, tight boxers. “Cover up, please.” She says as she turns away.

“Y/N!” He practically shrieks. “I’m so sorry!” He snatches some sweatpants and a t-shirt and puts them on right away. “I’m decent.” She turns back around to look at him. “Sorry about that. You don’t usually do your laundry at this time.”

“I know, I, uh, spilled and, um…”

“Oh, let me take a look at that.” He takes the shirt from her. “I’ve got some stain fighter, I can throw this in with my next load if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m already putting some stuff in, not a problem.”

“Thanks.”

He smiles at her and sprays some of the stain fighter on the spot before tossing it in with his things. He presses the button and sits up on top of the dryer, grabbing his book.

“Do you always just sit in here? It’s not like you’re in an apartment building.” She smirks.

“Old habit, I suppose. To be honest the sounds of the machines are sort of calming, and it gives me a chance to catch up on my reading.”

“Oh.” She nods.

“Does that need to be hung up or can it go in the dryer?”

“It can just go in the dryer, it’s a bed shirt.”

“You were getting ready for bed?”

“I was just hanging out, watching TV.”

“You should watch TV with me more. We eat dinner together.”

“Yeah, and then I like having time to wind down, just be with myself, you know?”

“Oh, right, yeah.”

“But I like knowing you’re in the house.”

He smiles at her and puts his glasses on, opening his book to where he had dog-eared it. She thanks him again for washing his shirt, and that was that. When she gets back up to her room she tries not to feel flustered when she thinks about the small glimpse she got of his body. He was littered with tattoos, and she had absolutely no idea. Sure, she had seen the ones on his arms, but on his torso? His thigh? Y/N always liked tattoos. She didn’t have any of her own, but she really liked them on men, for some reason.

The next morning, her shirt was folded on top of the dryer. She smiles and brings it up to her room to put away. Sometimes in the morning, Y/N could faintly hear Harry singing in his shower. He sang everything, nothing was off limits. Sometimes it was Gary Pucket and the Union Gap, and other times it was The Backstreet Boys. After living together for a few months, she noticed he would sing certain songs depending on his mood. Lately, they had all been love songs. She wondered if a new woman had come into his life. It made her happy to know Harry was happy.

She was making some scrambled eggs in the frypan when he comes downstairs. He was still humming whatever song he was singing before.

“Want some eggs?” She asks.

“That’d be great, thanks.” He smiles at her. “What’s your Saturday look like?”

“Just hanging out for a bit, and then…well…I don’t know. I’ve been invited to a party tonight, but I’m not sure if I want to go.”

“Why not?”

“It’s at Dave’s…”

“You’ve started speaking more?”

“We have.” She nods and scoops some eggs onto a plate for him. “I miss him, he was my best friend. Him and his roommates are having a big party, and he really wants me to come. I just don’t know if I could walk in there alone.”

“Hello!” He waves to her. “I love parties, I’ll go with you.” He sticks his fork into the eggs and takes a bite. “Delicious as always.”

“Thanks, and…you don’t already have plans?”

“Not really.” He shrugs. She doesn’t quite believe him.

“You really wanna go?”

“I do.” He smiles. “It’ll be fun.” He looks down at his chipped nails. “Should probably fix these up.”

Y/N giggles to herself as she watches Harry walk away. He could get frantic when he needed to go somewhere. She found his little quarks to be charming. Whatever woman was now in his life was a lucky lady.

//

“You look really nice by the way.” He says on the drive there. She was wearing a black dress, nothing special, she thought.

“Thanks.” Her leg was shaking. His large hand reaches for her knee.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

“You can hold my hand the entire time if you want.”

“You’re the best, Harry, thank you.”

Once they get to Dave’s she takes a deep breath, and they go inside.

“Y/N!” He practically says in tears, kissing her on the cheek. “You look wonderful. I’m so glad you came.” He straightens up when he sees Harry. “And who is this?”

“I’m Harry.” He smiles and shakes Dave’s hand. “We live together.”

“Oh?” He smiles and Y/N and gives a wink.

“It’s not what you think.” She chuckles. “Come on.” She loops her arm through his. “I need some wine.”

Dave leads her into the house and introduces her to the new people in his life. After a couple of glasses of wine she felt perfectly fine. Her and Dave were laughing like old times. Harry was mingling with the other people. He would glance over at Y/N to make sure she was alright. The house was packed with people, and he sort of wanted to get her alone. He notices that she’s gone out on the balcony for some air, so he follows her.

“Hey, stranger.” He says to her.

“Sorry, I left you completely alone in there.”

“No problem, found plenty of people to talk to. Although, I have to admit, I really like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you too.” She smiles. “Now that I’ve had some liquid courage, I have to ask, who is it?”

“Who’s who?” He chuckles.

“The girl you’re madly in love with.”

“Wh…what are you talking about?”

“I hear you singing in the mornings, you’re repertoire has been nothing but love songs lately. So, who’s the lucky lady?”

“Oh, Y/N.” Harry shakes his head. “There’s no one new.” She looks at him confused.

“Then why all the love songs?”

“I’m definitely in love, you were right about that, but I haven’t met anyone.” He steps closer to her and takes one if her hands in his. Her heart nearly stopped.

“We’re friends.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to just be your friend.”

“How…I mean…when did you start feeling this way?”

“A month ago.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We were so in sync when you first moved in, it was great. Then one morning you made extra toast and bacon and eggs. You just…made me breakfast, out of nowhere. It was so nice. I was really happy that you had started being nicer to me, and then I just realized that you in general made me happy.” He uses his free hand, that wasn’t squeezing hers, to tuck some hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to feel the same way, maybe it’s just some silly crush, but I think you’re really special. You’ve been through a lot, and Dave’s really lucky to have your heart. I guess I’m just hoping you’re ready to give it to someone else.”

“Oh, Harry.”

She wraps her arms around him, and he does the same with her. They hold each other close for a little while.

“You have so much love in your own heart, and you really want to give it to me?” She asks.

“I do, if you’ll let me.”

“I think I could be open to it. I’ve been so happy living with you. To think I used to be so mean.” She pouts up at him , and he thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Would you kiss me?”

“You want me to?”

“Yes.”

He smiles and leans down. His nose brushes against hers before their lips meet. She tasted like the wine she had been sipping on, and he didn’t mind one bit. Her hands tugged at his hips to pull him closer. His lips were soft, and she wanted more. He cups one of her cheeks to deepen the kiss. His tongue swipes along her bottom lip, and she opens up for him. At first maybe just to take a breath, but when he licks into her mouth, she’s not mad about it. Her tongue meets his, only for a moment, before she pulls away. She smiles up at him, and he’s beaming down at her.

“And to think I didn’t want to come tonight.” She laughs.

“We would have kissed eventually, I’m sure of it.” He grins and she swats a hand at his chest.

“Oh, shut up, and order our uber.”

“You wanna go so soon?”

“Hmm, stay here or go home and make out?” She holds up both of her hands as if she has weights in them. “Seems like the latter wins.”

Harry laughs and kisses her cheek. They both go back inside and say goodbye to everyone. They get into the uber and head home. Y/N felt really lucky. Over the last few months she’s been able to get to know Harry really well. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like him. She had no idea he had these feelings for her, but she was delighted it was her he was singing about. Even though going through a divorce sucked, and she had to grieve over her long gone relationship with Dave, he was living his best life, and now, so was she. Y/N didn’t know what the future would hold with Harry, but she was starting to believe that everything happened for a reason. As he pulled her closer to his side and kissed the top of her head in the car, she knew that everything in her adult life was leading her to him.

[softbiker]

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (not Stucky)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: maybe a couple curse words? I don’t remember. Lots of coffee

Summary: Steve is fond of a particular barista. Bucky has a favorite customer. Let’s see where this goes! 

A/N: Somewhat inspired by real life events, this is (hopefully) going to turn into a new series! No idea where I’m going with it or how often it will update, but let’s have fun and see where it goes! As always, let me know what you think and thanks for reading <3

It’s July - early morning and already hot - and the door squeaks loudly somewhere over her shoulder as she preps a fresh batch of coffee to brew. She doesn’t look up or turn around, intent on her task, but she calls a distracted “good morning”, along with her coworkers. The humid morning air has left a sticky fog on the windows and doors, on skin and clothes, and it follows them inside, in spite of the air conditioning. She’s already regretting the long-sleeved shirt she plucked from her laundry pile, though it was the only passable shirt she could find and still be in dress code.

“Hey, you got front?” Bea, her supervisor, pipes up over the headset. Her head bobs over the open door of her bar fridge, where she’s counting milk.

With a nod, she turns back around from the brewing machine, putting on her customer service smile as she sees-

“Oh, morning, Steve,” she laughs, her smile blooming genuine. “I barely heard you come in, sorry.”

“No worries,” Steve smiles. His eyes look tired, but she knows hers are as well - it’s 6:30 in the morning and they’re already into their work day. He ducks his head, leaning a hip against the front counter. “I’m quiet, I guess.”

“What can I get for you?” she asks, tapping away at the screen to open her till. “Just the americano with stevia and almond milk?”

Steve chuckles and blushes under the dark stubble on his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. It strains the seams of his plain white t-shirt, stretched too tight already across his broad shoulders.

“I’m predictable, huh?” his nose scrunches as he asks, and she drops her eyes back down to the screen in front of her, displaying his order as she rings it up.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she shrugs, pursing her lips in an effort to contain her smile. “Anything else for you?”

“Uh, yeah actually, can I get an iced coffee, too? With a little bit of cream?”

“Sure thing,” with a couple of swipes at the screen she’s got the order rung up. She pushes it through, prompts him to swipe his card, and glances down towards the bar, wondering where her coworkers have suddenly disappeared to.

“Well - I guess I’ll get those ready for you,” she quirks an eyebrow at him as she makes her way down towards the espresso machines, with Steve following along, separated by the counter between them. He watches, her head down, labeling a cup and pulling espresso shots, turning for a stevia packet.

“So,” he clears his throat. “How you been?”

“Oh, you know,” she shrugs. “I’m here - and it’s 6:30. And hot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs. “Tell me about it. I’m already sweating.”

“Same here!” Her face disappears as she bends down to dig in the fridge for a tetra of almond milk. “I mean, I really played myself today - wearing long sleeves. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Wow, rookie mistake,” Steve shakes his head.

She slides the americano out at the end of the bar, after adding a cardboard sleeve to protect against the scalding heat of the water. Their eyes meet over the drink, his fingers just slightly brushing hers even as she spins away and grabs the cup for his iced coffee. Conversation lulls; he clears his throat, takes a small sip of the drink and enjoys the slight burn on the tip of his tongue. She’s fast and smooth, never quite looking at him but never turning completely away from him; he’s in the corner of her vision and she’s the center of his. The cream swirls downward into the iced coffee, softening the color and the taste - though Steve has never been a fan of cold coffees, but he knows how Sam takes it.

“Here you go,” she holds out the iced coffee with a polite smile, plucking a straw from the caddy next to her and extending it in her other hand.

“Thank you-” he trips over whether or not to say her name; he wants to say it, and it’s written right there on her apron, offered on the tip of his tongue. He’d like to taste it. But the leap of familiarity scares him, as it has the last two months he’s been coming in here, and he swallows down the letters. Settles for an answering smile.

“Guess I’ll see ya tomorrow?” he half-jokes, coffees in hand, backing towards the door one step at a time. He watches her head bob as she ducks down to grab a rag out of her sanitizing bucket; she wrings it out and wipes down the counter, sparing him a lifted eyebrow, a sly sideways glance.

“Maybe-” she smirks, swiping an already clean spot on the counter before dropping her rag back in the bucket. “I might be off tomorrow.”

“Might be?” Steve’s head quirks to one side. “You don’t know?”

“Well…I asked someone to trade shifts with me so I could have the weekend off…” she sighs and crosses her arms. “But I haven’t heard back from her, so it’s probably not happening.” Her wry smile is accompanied by a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s just as well, though. This place would probably fall apart without me.”

“Oh, definitely,” he chuckles. “So I guess, maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good one, Steve!” she waves as he ducks out the door, bell jingling overhead at his departure. It really is hot today - her cheeks feel warm. Her whole body does, actually; but the cafe is quiet and empty now, the sun just rising over the buildings outside, and she gets a sip of water from the cup she keeps stashed under the front register.

“So how’s your man today?” Bea jokes over the headset. Looking over, she can see Bea’s mirthful expression peeking around the corner from the back of house where she’d been washing whip canisters.

“Yeah, when are you and Steve gonna go out?” Ally’s voice joins in the teasing, innocently sarcastic in her trademark way.

“Come on, guys,” she huffs, glad that neither of them is out front on the floor, where she was unable to hide her smile. “Steve is just a customer. He’s just another nice regular, that’s all.”

“Uh huh. That’s why you giggle every time we bring him up?”

“I do not!”

“Well, you just keep telling yourself that,” Bea smirks, banging through the back of house door with an armload of milk. “But you should know that store is taking bets on when he’ll finally ask you out.”

She chooses not to answer, just rolls her eyes and heads out the front door to set up the patio umbrellas. It’s July, early morning and already hot, but at least there’s a breeze out here - enough to cool the blazing in her cheeks even as she wrestles the umbrellas open to shade the outdoor tables. Her mind drifts away, to Steve’s easy smile and Steve’s breathtaking eyes, and the way he always dropped a dollar or two in the tip jar. Not to mention, the stretch of his white tees across those ridiculous shoulders.

Well, anyway. He is a nice regular. That’s why she enjoys him coming in every day, that’s all.

**********

“She there today?” Sam smirks as he eagerly plunges the straw into his iced coffee, swirling the cream into its depths. He waggles his eyebrows at Steve’s flushed cheeks while he takes the first satisfying sip.

“Yes.” Steve clears his throat, keeping his eyes down on his own drink. They’re sitting in Steve’s office - well, Steve is sitting, safely behind his desk. Sam posts himself in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his feet crossed. He watches his friend’s flustered fluttering behind the desk - Steve shuffles papers, taps on the keyboard of his computer to open his email, moves his coffee to one side of the laptop and then the other.

“Well?” Sam prompts, gleefully swirling his iced coffee, listening to the ice rattle before taking another loud slurp. “You ask her out yet? Give her your number at least?”

Steve scowls up at his buddy over his laptop screen.

“Sam you don’t get it-” he huffs. “This girl…she’s - God, she’s so beautiful, Sam. You know how many guys must hit on her every day? In a town like this?” He shakes his head. “I’d just be another asshole to her; she’d file my number away with all the other guys she’s not gonna call.”

“Whatever, dude,” Sam rolls his eyes. “That’s just an excuse for you to not take a chance on it. You just gonna keep going in there early in the morning and wasting money on coffee you used to brew at home?”

Steve doesn’t dignify that particular dig with a response, instead choosing to take a large swig from his coffee - he had to admit, she made a damn good cup. Simple as it was. But he knew, as many excuses as he made, he was addicted to more than just the espresso; her sweet smile perked him up in the mornings the way caffeine just couldn’t quite cut it.

He’d been going into the cafe at the crack of dawn for at least a month now. Sam practically begged him once to go out for an iced coffee, an early morning at the end of May, and with a sigh he’d agreed, though he complained loudly about wasting money on expensive coffee shop brews when he preferred to make his own in the coffee pot sitting three feet away from his desk.

The bell dinged over the door, the sun already streaming through the windows at the early hour, summer flushing full and bright. Familiar coffee shop sounds and smells carried across the empty cafe as he strolled in, hands in his pockets, taking in the quaint tables and mismatched chairs, an overstuffed sofa invitingly empty in one corner. Cute. He shuffled towards the counter, not really looking, till he heard a voice welcoming him in and-

She turned around from the brewing machine behind her, smiling soft and brilliant, her eyes a 6 am combination of sleepy brightness, caffeine buzzing in her own veins already.

One hit. That’s all it took to get him hooked.

*********

Her shift couldn’t have ended soon enough. The bright sun and gorgeous summer weather had her itching under her apron, aching to get outdoors in spite of the heat. Every few minutes it seemed she turned to the register to check the time, or slipped her phone from her pocket. Never quite time, never quite close enough. Until-

“Okay, if you’ll just wipe down the bar, you’re good to go,” Nat sighs as she ties her apron, looping the strings around her waist and knotting it in the front. Nat usually takes afternoon and evening shifts, so they haven’t gotten to know each other well, but there’s something about the redhead that she both likes and fears.

With a little whoop of joy, she whirls around to her bucket and grabs the rag for the last time (today at least) and wipes away the splashes of syrup, coffee, and milk that have accumulated over the course of her shift. The counter is a little sticky, but a little elbow grease dissolves the tacky syrup puddle, and with a flourish she stows her carton of coconut milk in the fridge under the counter, tosses her rag back in the bucket, and flashes a peace sign to the other baristas on the floor.

“Alright, I’m out you guys!” she calls, already tugging her apron over her head. Her tote bag hangs on a hook in the back of house, and she rolls the apron up into it before stepping over to the computer to clock out.

“Whatcha doin’ this afternoon?” Bea is off now as well, having handed off the keys to Nat, and was tucking her own apron into her backpack, her Juul sticking out of one corner of her mouth.

“Mm. It’s such a beautiful day…” she sighs. “I think I’m going to go read at that new place I like, get a cold brew, maybe sit outside.”

“Leaving this coffee shop and going to another one?” Bea laughs, taking a hit off her vape, a little cloud puffing in front of her face. She’s not supposed to have it inside the building, definitely not supposed to use it inside at least, but the current manager hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to tell her to stop, so she carries on as she pleases.

“Gotta support local business.” She swings her tote bag up on her shoulder, regretting her habit of stuffing it so full that it’s uncomfortably heavy, and then she’s on her way out the door. “See ya later!”

Besides being a proud supporter of local businesses, she’s also totally addicted to the Garage - the other café and pub she frequents whenever she gets the chance. Their cold brew? Smooth and chocolatey. Their patio? Perfectly shaded and comfortable. Their vibe? Grunge-y without being dirty, hipster without being pretentious. She’d loved it from the first moment she stepped inside on her afternoon off, looking for an iced drink and a cozy spot that wasn’t her own home. What she found? A near-perfect coffee shop with amazing sweet potato fries.

“Oh, hey welcome in!”

Well. And there’s that, too.

“Hi, Bucky - how’s it going?” she smiles at the barista and bartender behind the counter, who is currently stocking the pastry case with an assortment of mouthwatering scones. His hair is swept up in its usual bun, and his mechanic’s shirt is tucked into a pair of black jeans, the short sleeves rolled over his biceps to reveal one flesh arm bearing a full sleeve of tattoos, and one gleaming polished prosthetic.

“Oh, it’s going,” he shrugs, a little bashful. He wills his eyes back down the the pastries at hand, though it’s hard with the way she smiles, hands in the back pockets of her shorts as she approaches the counter.

“Been busy today?” she asks, giving the menu a customary glance, though she’s too far gone on their cold brew to ever order anything else.

“Not too bad, no,” he shakes his head, sliding the glass panel behind the pastry case shut and tossing paper box from the bakery in the trash bin. “Little bit of a rush earlier around lunch, but nothing like what you guys get in the mornings.”

“Oof, for your sake I hope not,” she shudders. “The morning rush is wild, you’ve got no idea.”

“Oh, I’ve got some idea, I’ve seen that drive thru line,” he smirks, leaning his elbows on the counter. Unconsciously she takes a step closer, leaning against the other side of the wood, a mere couple of feet between them.

“I’m literally triggered by the words ‘drive thru’,” she says, with an exaggerated eye twitch that makes him laugh.

“Alright, alright, I won’t bring it up again, my bad,” he raises his hands in supplication, an almost prayer, watching her nose wrinkle and rearrange the pattern of the freckles there.

“Well, anyways, can I get a cold brew, please?” she sighs, looking at him under her lashes.

“You got it,” he nods, tapping the counter. “Perfect day for it, too.” They both glance out the wide front windows of the café, where the patio furniture is arranged under a well-shaded awning strung with criss-crossed globe lights. In the midsummer afternoon, it’s a perfect place to be lazy in public, to sip a drink and read, to pretend to be the sort of person who gets to do those things in the middle of the day.

“It is,” she sighs, looking wistfully at the patio.

“You can go on and get a seat,” he lowers his voice as a couple new customers shuffle into the café. “I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Oh, you sure?” She glances around, noticing that he seems to be the only staff member here. Their shop is laughably less busy than hers, able to survive on a single barista for any length of time during the day, but she still doesn’t want to make more work for him. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Nah, it’s no problem,” he smiles, dimpling his scruffy cheeks. “I’ll have it out in a minute.”

She’s back out the door and at her favorite table; he can see her from his place behind the bar, with her feet tucked up on the sturdy outdoor ottoman, her bag stuffed under her chair and book already cracked open in her lap. She’s not looking at the page, though - the beautiful day seems to distract her, as she lifts her face into the breeze and stretches her legs out further across the ottoman, spreading out to catch even more of the sunlight.

Wanda hip checks him as she breezes through from the kitchen, having come in through the back door.

“Your girl here today?” she teases, raising one brow suggestively. Bucky scowls at her, embarrassed and flustered and a little guilty.

“She’s not my girl, Wanda,” he corrects her. “She’s just a customer.”

“Pretty regular customer,” Wanda shrugs.

“Doesn’t mean anything. We’ve got plenty of regulars.”

“No other regulars that you look at like that.”

He doesn’t respond. Turning his back on her, he takes a straw from the condiment bar and grabs the cup of cold brew he just poured, and stalks around the counter towards the door.

Wanda stands in the kitchen door, a bin full of dirty dishes under her arm, and watches as he crosses the patio, tucking one hair behind his ear and smiling at the sweet girl with the book in her lap. The girl smiles back, squinting in the bright summer sun, and laughs at something Bucky says, while Buck ducks his head and shoves his hands in his front pockets. He lingers, lingers far longer than required for delivering a single cup of cold brew.

Yeah, sure. She’s just a regular, alright.

[milkhwi]

detective! jeno

summary: you’re still trying to get the hang of your new internship while following around the best detective in town- lee jeno. who also figured out he stole your heart

genre: FLUFF & slight angst?? + sum comedy too

a/n: back on the grind. kinda. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE JENO!!

masterlist

-

Lee Jeno. everyone in the police department KNOWS who he is and it’s like a big ass department??? like damn mr. popular

BESIDES him being known for being able to solve cases in like a heartbeat exaggeration

he’s also known for looking stone cold yet his handsome face like omg wHO WOULDNT FALL FOR HIM

at first he looks VVV intimidating because especially during the job?? he hardly smiles??? he’s so strict AND SCARY then again uh not the type of job you’d smile in

but once he smiles EVEYONE MELTS FOR HIM global warming who???

like sometimes a few coworkers would go to work early in order to talk to him at his station since he’s like always the first one there

it’s honestly like a bunch of highschoolers going to school early in order to talk to the cutest guy before class starts and he doesn’t really mind it but jaemin and renjun tease him about it the most

“JENO STOP GIVING THEM THAT SMILE THEYRE GONNA THINK YOURE IN LOVE WITH THEM TOO” -renjun

“JENO MAKE THOSE MOVES” -jaemin

like once he’s in his office he starts to get so serious and very concentrated but everyone gets heart eyes by just looking at him i’m looking at u secretary

but no matter how many people are straightforward about liking him or asking him to out he’s like sorry can’t,, gotta solve some investigations but he’s just trying to reject them nicely

ANYWAYS so his police department was looking for interns and you and some friends decide to apply because that’s the best place you could ever apply to

and you’re like pls accept me pls accept me pls accept me

and YOU AND ONE OTHER FRIEND GET IN AND ITS LIKE YAY!!!

but then your friend lee donghyuck who knows eVERYHTING is like ouu you guys should try staying away from lee jeno. he’s scary when it comes to the investigations. and both of you KNOW who he is and like gulp please don’t make him my supervisor

anyways it’s your first day and you and your friend are nervous because yikes this workforce lowkey kinda dangerous but :DD WORTH IT

then you get all your docs from the secretary and you’re like so who’s my supervisor¿?

“lee jeno“ hahahhaha :,( pls say sike

so then you and your friend part ways and you knock on jenos office, very scared

“come in” phew so far so good

and the hand you’re holding your documents is shaking and you grip it harder to stop the shaking but it makes it worse

and you get closer to him, “hi um,,, my name is y/n and uhhh you’re my supervisor for the time being haha”

and his face lights up and he smiles at you and you’re like damn an angel but then you’re like snap outta it

“oh nice to meet you! i’m lee jeno i hope we can get along well” and internally you’re like damn haechan was wrong huh he’s an angel

so a few days into your internship it’s not that bad?? just some paperwork so you’re like oh this isn’t that bad

plus since you’re stuck in jenos office it’s pretty good since you glance at him every 10 seconds and you’re like damn he was sculpted by gods huh

and you find it cute when he doesn’t understand some documents he has a little pout and you’re like AHHHHHHH SO !! CUTE !! and when he figures it out he HAS THAT ICONIC EYE SMILE AND HIS EYES ARE SPARKLY

and you try not to stare at him when that happens but you can’t you really can’t he’s so wow your heart skips a beat when he smiles ?? and you’re like ?? haha what’s going on with me

and you and jeno are usually the ones who also have to stay late to finish all the paperwork and he’s like “sorry for having you to stay really late ://“

and you’re like “no! no! no! it’s fine!!! i’m used to it anyways” and it’s already the end of week 1 and you don’t think it can get worse than this

n e ways work seems simpler and like that’s not how detectives are sO jeno now takes you to crime scenes since he has another helping hand and this week jeno is so serious?? and cold?? like um where did his smile go

but you help him with a lot of stuff and the crime scene honestly is a bit scary since the murderer is still out there buut it’s ok you’re ok

and you help jeno around the crime scene trying to gather more evidence and you’re like jesus the atmosphere is really dark you can’t breathe like it’s kinda scaring u a lil so you crack a slight joke to lighten the mood up

and jeno just glares at you and you go !!! big mistake and he’s scolding u “please take this seriously there’s no time to joke around” and his voice is a slightly deeper than usual like harsh and now the atmosphere feels darker and you’re like welp great

but besides that you feel your kinda shatter like oh :((( that was a bad idea why’d i do that omg am I DUMB or am I DUMB HE PROBABLY HATES ME NOW

anyways you’re like “sorry” with a sad tone almost to the point your voice cracks but you gulp and go back to trying to find evidence and writing stuff down

and not long after you’re like ?? hm think i found something and you call jeno over and you’re about to touch the evidence and he quickly grabs your hand and is like “don’t touch it !!” and your eyes widen because YOU DIDNT EXPECT THAT??

but thank god the lights were slightly dim because his hand was warm and soft and you feel butterflies in your stomachs LIKE AHHH?!!!! and your face heating up and you look back at him

and jeno looks back at your hand and quickly pulls away and is like oops sorry

and you’re like i-it’s fine obviously trying not o stutter but failing miserably

but jeno is blushing too like omg what did i do

but then you guys gather the piece of evidence + scan the whole scene again one more time

and then you guys head back to jenos office to try and pull things together

but as you’re walking you recall how warm his hand felt and you shake the feeling off and grab both your hands to keep them warm since it’s still early spring and you’re slightly shivering

and jeno notices and is like “oh um are you cold ??” and you nod and he clears his throat and grabs one of your hands and puts them on his jackets pocket and saying “i hope this kinda helps you” and you feel your blush coming back again because!!!!! THIS IS WHAT COUPLES SHOULD DO EXCUSE ME

and you’re dYING but luckily it’s kinda dark out so he can’t see your face turning into a tomato and you just give him a smile

and then once you guys are inside the building he lets go and you’re like :(( my hand feels lonely again pls hold it

but then you’re like WHAT AM I THINKING I DONT EVEN LIKE HIM you do

and like you guys finish early and head home and you can’t sleep because you remember the FEELING OF JENOS HAND ON YOURS and it makes your heart burst

on the other hand you’d think for a detective jeno would KNOW IF HE LIKES YOU OR NOT but he’s also overly confused cue jaemin and renjun face palming

anywaYs a few weeks pass and you guys are assigned a new place to investigate so you get over there early in the morning and then you stop right in front of jenos office because you hear someone else

and then that voice is like “i like you jeno for a really long time and i hope you’re able to give me a chance” and your heart drops and you’re like oh because the rumors about the secretary planning on confessing to jeno were true and you couldn’t deny they had good chemistry and they’d make a really good looking couple

so then you like wait outside the building sighing not knowing why and wondering if jeno accepted her confession or not and you shake it off and wait for jeno so you guys can leave

inside the crime scene you’re just quiet and trying to focus on looking for evidence and the atmosphere feels so off but jeno doesn’t even notice it

and afterwards you guys go back to his office you’re also silent and he’s kinda like ??? but maybe because you had to wake up early

and then you decide to leave early and jenos like oh okay and you’re moping as you leave and you call donghyuck to hang out and he’s like damn who broke your heart

and you’re like NO ONE it’s just,,, idk why i’m sad it was after i accidentally heard the secretary confess to jeno

and it clicks to haechan and he’s smirking and you’re like what spill it

“so you fell for detective jeno huh”

and you’re like no !!! and start blushing

and he’s like omg are you dense you’re an intern for a DETECTIVE COME ON

and you’re like you’re right,, but it’s too late since he’s probably with her now :(((

on the other hand detective! jaemin and renjun keep eyeing eachother because jeno keeps talking about you and how you looked sad today

but at the same time they’re like wait . lee jeno?? falling for someone???

and then renjun is like “you’d think for a detective you’d know if you’re into someone or not”

“does she like you back though??” jaemin curiositly asks

“i,,,, i don’t know?!?!??” AND THEY BOTH GASP BECAUSE?? HELLO THERE HAS BEEN A LOT OF CLUES AND HES A DETECTIVE

and now it’s jenos goal to figure out if you like him or not with the help of detective! renjun and jaemin

step 1: try to see if they avoid you or making eye contact

so he sees you next to the printer resting on the wall and walks over and places his arm against the wall and basically pinning you there and your eyes widen and you look anywhere but at jeno aND YOURE LIKE UM UHH GOTTA GO

step 2: try to see if they blush if you make a sudden move

and during one of the investigations he hears you calling him over and he pokes your elbow causing you to turn around and your faces are inches away and suddenly you’re a tomato again and jeno teases and is like omg are you gonna have a fever?? and he touches your forehead and you’re so warm he tries not to giggle at how cute you look

and during all of this donghyuck is sipping his tea while you freak out about all the things jeno has done to you and you’re like jeno is gonna give me a stroke and he’s gonna be the one trying to SOLVE WHO CAUSED IT EVEN THO IT WAS HIM

but this plan ultimately helped jeno figure it out and now he’s gonna ask you out because wow his detective skills really helped him out

so one cold late day after going to another crime scene he thinks it’s the perfect timing since the sun is about to set too and you’re shivering but looking at the sky and jeno gives you his coat

and you pause and you’re like “aren’t you gonna be cold??” and he’s like “my hands are kinda cold” and you’re like damn kinda wanna hold your hands but that will lead me to cardiac arrest but your hands brush against eachother and you’re like goddamnit and you wrap his hand against yours and you’re like blushing madly and he smiles at you

and you’re like “better??” and he shakes his head and both of you stop walking and says “now my lips feel cold” and like you guys are really close anywhos so you gotta close the gap

and you’re like hsjdjsiis i’m not that bold bUT STILL and he’s giving that cute small pout and you’re fighting the urge so you bite your lips slightly

but then jeno just pecks your lips

and your heart?? goes 127mph

and he’s like i know it’s sudden but i like you

and you’re speechless?? because lee jeno??? liking someone??? actually?? and your mind is in chaos but you go ahead and peck his lips for 5 seconds and then you’re like “i- i- i like you too” and he pulls you into a hug and says “thank god because i really put my detective skills to work on this case”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

No ones ever done that to me before with Arthur please! Female reader if possible

For once, I actually wrote something that’s only 3 pages rather than 15! Anyways, nothing wrong with short and sweet. Hope you like it! 

You’ve had a horrible day. It seems that from the moment you got out of bed, just about everything that could go wrong has. You were late to work because of a massive traffic accident and your boss said he didn’t want that as an excuse for your lateness and you should have checked traffic conditions when you got out of bed. Not only that, but the office has been having network issues off and on all day and because of it, you and your coworkers aren’t able to help clients as efficiently as you’d normally do. The result of this is you get yelled at by multiple clients over the phone. 

By lunch time, you’ve already had enough of it. You went into the bathroom just so you could have a breakdown for a few moments. That was when Arthur texted you, asking you how you’re doing. It’s his day off, but even if he were at work, he always texts you during your lunch hour. You just texted back saying it’s been a rough day and he responds with a sad face emoji, but then you have to go right back to work before you can say anything else. 

The afternoon proved to be no better than the morning. More screaming clients, continued network issues. Your boss is angry with everyone. Usually he’s pretty collected, but he’s been an asshole to everyone today, including you. It’s a relief when he gets pulled into a two hour meeting. You grabbed yourself a cup of coffee to try and help keep things going, but then the mail guy accidentally spilled it, covering your desk. He said sorry but then went on his way, leaving you to clean up the mess. 

Arthur texted you multiple times and you’ve answered them when you can, but you can’t really go into too much detail. However, halfway through the afternoon, after a client called and got angry and said some pretty horrible things to you, you took a break and headed outside to get a breath of fresh air. You called Arthur then and cried to him a little, just stating how hard of a day you’ve had. He offers words of comfort and tells you how amazing you are, but without being physically there, he can’t do too much. You thank him though and head back inside. 

An hour before your workday ends, the network finally gets back up to working properly and your boss threatens everyone to stay an extra two hours to clean up the mess. That was when his supervisor came in and told him they couldn’t do that as it was no one’s fault the network had problems. You silently thanked him, feeling like you dodged a bullet. However, the last hour was like a tornado. People running around everywhere, trying to get as much work done as they can in the last hour. 

Right when the clock strikes five, your phone rings. It’s Arthur and he’s just making sure you’re coming home. You thanked him and promised you’d be home soon. You’re in the car now and you’re sobbing. On days like this, you detest your job. Sure, you don’t have to deal with the public as much as past jobs you’ve had, but still enough that you can’t just tell rude clients to fuck off like you want to. You still have to put on that happy smile and pretend like it doesn’t phase you. It does though and it takes a lot out of you. It doesn’t help that your boss was an absolute shithead today either. He’s not the friendliest guy, but he’s always been reasonable until today. 

When you pull into your driveway, you take a moment to compose yourself. You don’t want to be a downer for Arthur when this is his first day off in two weeks. You put on your happy face and head inside only to find that most of the lights are off, a soft orange flickering from the kitchen. 

Arthur walks out of the kitchen with a soft smile. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says in a calm voice. 

“What’s all this? What’s going on?” you ask.

He walks over and takes your bag from you. “Sounds like you had a pretty bad day. Wanted to make you feel good about something. Now come on, let’s get you into something comfy.” 

He leads you into the bedroom and you see he’s already laid out your favorite baggy t-shirt and lounge pants. You quickly strip off your uncomfortable shoes and clothes and put on your comfy clothes. He smiles at you and takes you to the kitchen. There, you find he’s lit the room with some candles and laid out the table with your favorite meal already waiting. 

“You did this for me?” you ask. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, putting a hand on your back. “And when you’re done with dinner, I’m gonna draw you up a nice bath with your favorite salts. Like I said, I want ya to feel good.” 

“Arthur,” you say, trying not to tear up. “You didn’t have to do this for me. You haven’t had a day off in so long, you should’ve used it doing something that makes you happy.” 

“This does make me happy. I just want ya to feel good, darlin’.”

You turn around and give him a light kiss before heading over to the table. He pulls out your chair, sliding it in when  you sit down. 

After dinner, you start heading towards the bathroom when he grabs you and pulls you into a tight hug. He pins you against him and you happily bury your face into his chest. That’s when the tears come. He rubs your back softly and murmurs in your ear that it’s going to be okay and it’ll be better tomorrow. You cry yourself out on his shirt and even when you can’t let go of anymore tears, you stay in his arms. He just feels so safe and warm and how amazing it is to finally have someone there to help you stand when you can’t anymore. 

He whispers in your ear, “How about that bath, sweetheart?” 

You nod and he kisses you again before he takes you to the bathroom and turns on the water. When it’s full enough, you strip and are about to get into the tub when he stops you. You turn and see he’s nude as well. You give him a curious look and he just chuckles.

“Just thought you might like some company in here.” You smile up at him and he gets into the tub, letting you slide in front of him, resting your back on his chest. His arms fold around you comfortingly. After a while, he speaks up. “Maybe after this, I can really make you feel good, hmm?” 

You shiver a little, knowing he’s talking about fooling around. “That sounds amazing, Arthur. You always know how to make me happy in that bedroom.” You turn around and kiss him. “Thank you, Arthur. No one has ever done this for me before.”

He smiles and kisses you back. “You deserve this, darlin’. You’ve no idea how much you’ve changed my life since I met you and I never want to go back. I love you.”

[brokebuckkmountain]

Today was the worst

(long rant ahead, mostly about workplace politics with irl problems sprinkled in for flavor)

So. I’ve already been in my feelings lately due to like: life sucking, it’s the plague times, I am struggling to find a psychiatrist despite being told it was imperative I get help immediately, it’s winter and winter makes me sad, I’m losing friendships left and right thx to Miss Rona, I hate my job, yesterday was the one year anniversary of my breakup, there’s tons of gossip about me at work for things I genuinely did not say, and some of my work buddies are ignoring me for no apparent reason (including my best friend who has been ignoring me since my literal birthday a month ago? It’s all her friends that are ignoring me to it’s hard not to think it’s something related to that). Also, those PMS mood swings are a bitch.

I wanted today to be a good day. I wanted to get up early. I wore my new clothes and new perfume and was excited to train a coworker I genuinely like who was never trained when she was hired a year ago and struggles to get through her shifts. I mean I volunteered to do it for free because she deserves the help. But no no. Today was not a good one.

-I was woken up at 3 am to a litany of text messages from an ex asking to hook up again. Promptly fell back asleep and missed my later alarm, causing me to have to skip my workout this am and rush my shower.

-My boss didn’t assign my trainee online learning or make a schedule, told me I was a “strong enough trainer” to just do what I felt needed to be done. That was all he said to me, no further instruction. This is important later. Trainers and trainees are considered non-coverage and I run into an issue with this everytime I train- shifts want us on the floor doing different tasks than what I’m actually teaching. I personally think being a little backed up for 30 minutes is preferable to new hires not knowing how to do things because they never got one on one time, but most supervisors think otherwise.

-My trainee and I had about 25 minutes until our joint lunch break. She had expressed to me that knowing more about the mechanics of coffee- what is the body of a shot, why does it expire, what’s the difference between blonde and regular- was helping her, so I decided 25 minutes whizzing through that part of training before lunch was fine. I was immediately chastised by someone we’ll call Manager 1 because that “isn’t part of the training”. It very much is, and is available on every training resource, it just never gets taught because of time constraints and corporate not really caring about coffee quality. Manager 1 has consistently made a scene every time I train a new hire over us doing training and not just whatever she wants to get done. Manager 1 is also known for berating almost every one, and has lied about altercations that never happened between me and customers before to our manager. So she’s not exactly a fan favorite of mine. I maintained that the coffee basics was part of training and returned to the back, planning to use that time to do coffee basics and more memory games for drink recipes.

-After about 5 minutes, my coworker came to the back and told me the two managers wanted us out there helping. I went out alone to tell Manager 2 (who was technically in charge and generally less awful) what we were working on and asked if they really needed us or if they’d be okay. She said they needed us and Manager 2 began snapping that we were floor coverage, that my trainee was supposed to be on the floor all day, and that she had no business in the back “staring at a computer screen” (which we were not doing, but I digress). Since this is about the fourth time I’ve had this issue with this particular manager, I responded that we were supposed to be doing whatever I felt needed to be done, not working the floor. When they maintained that they were “under the impression” from our boss that my trainee and I were to remain on the floor all day, and we were coverage, I said “I guess I got confused by the dashed lines on the schedule that signify non-coverage as us being non-coverage” and went to get my trainee.

-My trainee knew the situation because she had overheard, got super nervous, and started making drinks wrong that she had been making correctly all day. During this time I overheard Manager 1 and Manager 2 not-quietly discussing them both texting our boss to complain about me. Fair, I guess, since I planned on doing the same when I was on my lunch. At one point they both left the bar area to send their texts and squat by the safe while waiting for it to unlock (it’s on a timer and beeps when it’s ready, no need to hover) which only infuriated me more- they moved us to bar so they could leave it. When it was finally our lunch time I sent my trainee and was pulled aside by Manager 2. I tried to move the conversation to the break room (something I have always been adamant about- not publicly berating coworkers in front of others) but she stayed on the floor where multiple people were and reprimanded me for my bad attitude. I told her I was never instructed to stay on the floor, had a schedule, and would’ve been more flexible if they had actually spoken to me rather than yelling and demanding. She maintained that I had a bad attitude and needed to follow orders. I said, once again, “mutual respect goes both ways, if you want me to incorporate things into my training schedule then you need to have an actual conversation with me about it and not demand it at random”. She said that as my superior I wasn’t allowed to “talk back” (ignoring my point that they had both, indeed, begun yelling at me) and told me my bad attitude “wasn’t a good look” and that she didn’t feel I was understanding. I said I understood perfectly that I shouldn’t be rude, but that they shouldn’t yell at me either, and I wasn’t going to take unprofessional yelling to pull me off my job as a trainer. Manager 2 didn’t listen to a word I said and kept going “you can’t have an attitude, do you understand?” so after a period of staring at her silently I said “Can I clock out for my lunch now and proceed with training?” and walked away.

-After lunch I was able to continue training, only because that part of the training constituted us being on the floor helping. I apologized profusely to my trainee for putting her in that situation, reassuring her that regardless of who was in the “right” or the personal issues of the people on the floor, my first priority was her being able to successfully learn and feel comfortable. She told me she had a hard time focusing on drinks and was anxious after the scene, and that she felt the public reprimanding I received was far out of line and unprofessional. I told her I knew that, but being as it was two managers against one me, I would probably still receive a write up tomorrow morning and not to let it worry her when it did go down (tomorrow is our final day of training and my last day before a long break from work, so I know it’s going to happen in front of her). She said she would talk to my boss on my behalf and I told her not to worry, I didn’t want her pulled into workplace drama, but she insisted it wasn’t right (she is considerably older than everyone in the workplace and I think a little protective of me since we volunteered together and I’m the only one who doesn’t chastise her for small mistakes). We’ll see if she says anything tomorrow but I don’t want her to feel like she has to “go to bat” for me and involve herself in unnecessary drama against people who will lash out at her.

-While trying to clock out, I overheard Manager 2 trying to get other coworkers of mine to give accounts against our boss to his superior over not liking their scheduling. Perhaps I’m biased, because I am friends with my boss and literally vacationed with him this summer, but he is the type to listen to concerns and always give people the benefit of the doubt. I’ve never seen him give a write up and he bends over backwards to accommodate people. So whatever their issues are, something tells me they haven’t brought it up to him. Manager 2 frequently breaks safety protocols because she “doesn’t care if she gets Covid” and has vacationed out of state many times resulting in us not allowing her to come back to work and being short staffed. Despite this, I’ve never given my boss her name when he asks who is breaking safety protocols. Manager 2 is well known for being deeply unpleasant, her and my boss have been at odds for years from working together at another location, and has frequently tried to egg on other employees to get our boss in trouble while refusing to make any formal complaints herself. If you’ve been following for a while, she’s the same ass-kisser who used to say my old boss could break any rules she wanted and allowed herself to be constantly demeaned in hopes of a promotion (10 years without a promotion and she thinks it’s unfair rather than realizing she’s mean and unpleasant, chooses to attack the people who do get the promotions she wants). I know there’s a way to spin those two plotting against my boss as a way to cast some doubt on their accounts of me, but no way to do it without being a blatant shit disturber who’s just retaliating. Which is not how I want to live my life. But he deserves a heads up.

-Now I’m sitting at home with an arts and craft project I came up with to give my coworkers all a gift before the New Year and no desire to do it. Like, fuck these people, why should I do something nice for them? Even though I know the majority are good people, just not the ones in management. No energy, completely lethargic (yay depressive episode and still no antidepressants because I can’t get ahold of a goddamn psychiatrist even though my GP okayed the antidepressants herself), wishing I just could get a better job but I need the insurance at mine. It’s one thing to be constantly belittled and insulted by customers (and a very big thing, at that), but to get it from coworkers too just makes me feel awful, day in and day out. I know I’ve hated my job for the entire 3 and a half years I’ve been there and bemoaned how much less interwork drama I’ve had at every other job I’ve had (so I don’t think it’s all me, many agree it’s a toxic environment likened to a high school), but quitting a job you’re great at, passionate about (at times), live super close to, that gives you insurance, during a pandemic? Harder than it looks.

Life sux. Super anxious for tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Pls don’t reblog.

[aliciameade]

Bechloe Week 2019: Day 2 - Coworkers

“In the Closet” - Rated T

Also on AO3

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“Burning the midnight oil again?”

Chloe looks up and over her computer screen and smiles. “Always.”

“Why are you still here?” Beca leans against the empty desk across from Chloe’s and pockets her iPhone. Her clear intent to focus on their conversation makes the ever-present butterflies in Chloe’s stomach stir.

She uses the welcome interruption to stretch, arching her back as she lifts her arms. She knows it makes her shirt ride up; it’s why she does it. “I need to get my team’s budget for Q2 uploaded before midnight.”

“Procrastinate much?” Beca says with a smile. It isn’t lost on Chloe that her eyes seem to pointedly avoid Chloe’s once she’d finished stretching.

Chloe shrugs and rolls her chair back from her desk to twist absentmindedly back and forth. “I work better under pressure.”

“I feel that.” She watches as Beca pulls something out of a back pocket of her jeans: a keycard, which she waves conspiratorially. “I swiped Aubrey’s badge when she was in the bathroom and I’m going to raid the snack closet. Want something?”

Yeah. You. “I’m good, but thanks,” Chloe replies with a dismissive wave. Her long-standing crush on her coworker—or rather, her ability to control her crush—tended to wax and wane. Sometimes, Chloe feels a zing of happiness when she and Beca catch each other’s eye as one walks through the other’s area and it would keep her happy the rest of the week. Sometimes, Chloe walks past the copy room to find Beca on her hands and knees in front of the huge printer/copier trying to fix the paper jam and Chloe returns to her desk mind so full of fantasies that she would have to step into the restroom to touch herself.

It wasn’t that dating coworkers is disallowed. Neither is the other’s supervisor; they aren’t even in the same department. But Chloe had spent the first three months of Beca’s employment sure the woman was straight, or, at the very least, in a relationship with a man. Beca started to bring in personal items for her desk and Chloe loved the glimpses into her life until one of those items was a photo of Beca kissing the cheek of some guy in front of the entrance to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

“Some guy.” Chloe knows who it was: Jesse, Beca’s boyfriend.

Or, she assumes he’s Beca’s boyfriend. She was always meeting him for lunch, or he would stop by the office just to bring her a cup of her favorite coffee, or she’ll say, “Jesse,” when Chloe teasingly asks her who she’s texting when she notices her smiling at her phone.

That smile was something else. It did things to Chloe. Twisted her up inside. Made her second-guess her words from time to time which was a rarity for her when she had a crush. But “crush” seems an ill-fitting term for what she feels for Beca. Enamored. Bewitched. Besotted. Those are more apropos.

But hidden among all the photos and trinkets, Chloe had noticed one tiny flash of bright colors. A rainbow bracelet, one of those rubber ones that companies toss out at the Pride parade every year, wrapped around a cup on Beca’s desk. She’s thought a lot about that bracelet: if Beca just likes bright colors (that didn’t seem right). It doesn’t have to mean anything, of course; maybe Beca is a good ally.

Or maybe Beca’s something other than heterosexual and got the bracelet because she caught it at a Pride parade celebrating herself.

Chloe raps her nails on her keyboard a few times trying to remember what she was in the middle of doing before Beca interrupted her but her focus has shifted. She thinks about snacks, or, more accurately, the fact that Beca is in the snack closet. More than once over their few years working together, a fantasy has slipped through Chloe’s mind involving bumping into Beca somewhere in the office long after working hours—a conference room, the restroom, the break room, the snack closet—and making a suggestive comment to her, followed by a lengthy daydream of pinning her to a wall or sitting her on (or bending her over) the conference room table.

“Oh, my God, chill,” she says with a mind-clearing shake of the head. It does little to clear away the lust, though, and despite the nonstop argument happening in her brain, she rolls her chair back from her desk to stand.

She isn’t going to the snack closet. She just needs to take a lap, walk through the empty halls to give herself something else to think about.

Except in doing so, she finds herself stopped in front of the half-opened door of the snack closet watching Beca rifle through the cabinet that houses the company’s supply of chips, cookies, and crackers. There are already a few options on the nearby table, one of them being Chloe’s favorite (Oreos) and she can’t help but wonder if Beca had chosen it for her despite turning down her offer.

She sneaks up behind Beca until she’s inches away, then leans in with, “Boo!”

Beca’s reaction is a combination of a gasp and the word, “Shit!” as she tries to flee only to be trapped between the cabinet and Chloe. “Oh, it’s you,” she says after whipping her head around, eyes wide with surprise. “Jesus, don’t do that, dude.”

“Couldn’t help it,” she says with a shrug and doesn’t make an effort to move back and give Beca space. It was too nice to be so close to her. She smiles brightly when Beca turns around after finishing straightening out the bags of snacks she’d disrupted in her fright. “Find anything yummy?”

Beca seems taken aback by Chloe’s proximity but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she swallows and tilts her head toward the choices on the counter. “Can’t go wrong with Cheetos.” Beca’s eyes are furtive; they refuse to hold Chloe’s gaze more than a second and in their nervous flitting, land on what seem to be Chloe’s mouth more than once.

The possibility thrills Chloe and she bites her lip as a test and it works; Beca’s eyes fall to her lips again. “So, I’ve been wondering,” she starts, “how long have you and your boyfriend been together?”

Beca’s brow furrows in confusion. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, you have pictures of him all over your desk. Jesse?”

A bark of laughter escapes Beca and she covers her mouth with a shake of her head. “Oh, my God,” she says with a small groan as she drops her hand. “Jesse is not my boyfriend.”

Chloe’s heart picks up pace. “No?”

“Best friend. Not boyfriend. Gross,” she adds under her breath.

“Any boyfriend?”

The corners of Beca’s mouth twitch. “No.”

“Girlfriend?” she hedges.

At that, Beca’s left brow arches. “No.”

“Partner of any kind?”

“Single and ready to mingle,” Beca says and then seems to regret it, grimacing. “I mean, uh, no.” She’s still thinking so Chloe waits for her to continue. “Um...you?” The question is forced and she can tell Beca feels awkward, but then again, Beca seems to feel awkward during most of their interactions.

The good news of Beca’s singledom makes it easy for Chloe to slip on a flirty smirk. “Oh, I’m very ready to mingle.”

“That’s nice,” Beca says with a tight jaw and a nod.

“Mm, it is.” Chloe lets her eyes slip to Beca’s lips and lingers there long enough that Beca’s blushing when she looks up again. “You know, Beca—”

She’s cut off by Beca darting forward to kiss her. It’s quick but there’s no doubt in Chloe’s mind that it was intentional and she smiles into it in the brief moment it lasts.

“I’m sorry,” Beca says the second their lips part. “I shouldn’t have just—”

“Ready to mingle, indeed,” Chloe interrupts with a wider smile as she steps further into Beca’s personal space to rest a hand on her shoulder, thumb grazing the curve of her neck. She hadn’t been expecting it to play out this way, with Beca kissing her first. She hadn’t been expecting it to play out at all; she’d really been more on a fact-finding mission of curiosity, to crank up the flirtation and see if Beca would bite or not.

Instead, she seems to be the one who got hooked.

“Don’t apologize,” she continues. “I liked it.”

Beca manages to blush even harder but her chin lifts and the uncertainty in her eyes begins to fade. “Well, I mean, you’ve been hitting on me pretty hard, so I figured I’d put you out of your misery.”

The direct, punchy flirtation rattles Chloe, unprepared for it as she is. She also hadn’t expected Beca to call her out on her past—and current—behavior. “Was I that obvious?”

Beca squints at her. “Painfully.” Then she smiles one of the genuine smiles that always ties Chloe up in knots. “Took you so long to make a move; you forced my hand.”

“Well, I do like a slow burn.” She’s not totally sure how she’s keeping her cool right now; her insides feel like they’re on the spin cycle.

“The snack closet though? Of all places.”

“I had a fantasy.” She says it before she thinks she should maybe censor herself and it’s her turn to cover her mouth and blush. “Shit, forget I said that.”

This time, she gets both eyebrows lifting, accompanied by what should be an illegal smirk of impressed surprise. “Seriously? In here?”

“Oh, my God.” She has to cover her face with both hands. She’s legitimately mortified; admitting to your crush seconds after learning it’s mutual that you’ve fantasized about having sex with her in a closet at the office is high on Chloe’s list of what not to do [in real life].

“Hey,” Beca’s saying as she drags Chloe’s hands away from her face. That’s all she says because she leans in to kiss Chloe again.

This time it’s not as shy and it’s definitely not as quick. It’s slow and gentle and does wonders to erase Chloe’s moment of oversharing. She sighs and puts her hand back where it was along Beca’s neck and likes that Beca tilts her head when she does it like she’s inviting her to it. She likes how soft Beca’s lips are and the way they retreat only to return at a different angle. They’re figuring out what works, that first kiss that is as unfamiliar as it is thrilling and she knows they find their rhythm and angles when she hears Beca exhale. It’s not a moan, not even close to one, but it’s definitely a sound of pleasure.

She feels Beca’s hand on her shoulder mirroring her own and that’s what does it. Finally flips that switch inside her that’s been holding her back. She sighs, then lets the tip of her tongue slip along Beca’s lower lip. A tease. A question.

Beca’s copies the motion along Chloe’s lip a few seconds later and her heart leaps.

She inches her hand higher along Beca’s neck until her fingertips are slipping up and into the hair at the nape of her neck. Beca shivers and Chloe does a poor job of hiding her amusement, earning a mumbled, “Shut up,” against her lips before Beca’s tongue slips past her smile.

Someone does moan, then, but Chloe’s not sure who. She doesn’t need to know. All that matters is that Beca is an amazing kisser and things are beginning to escalate. Beca’s hands are in Chloe’s hair and Chloe’s are splitting duty between cradling Beca’s head and holding her waist to keep her close.

When Beca twists away to take a gasping breath, Chloe gives her a minute, just long enough before she proves she’s as good a kisser as Beca, teasing and playing with her tongue in a way that draws out a moan that is distinctly Beca’s.

“Shit,” Beca breathes when she turns away again. She’s all but clinging to Chloe who gives her a reprieve and shifts attention to her neck, trading kisses with teasing licks along its length and when she lets her teeth scrape, more an absentminded accident than anything, Beca moans again and her hips roll up into Chloe’s. “Shit,” Beca repeats, “okay.” She’s winded and it’s obvious. “Okay.”

Chloe eases back to look at her but her head is turned and her eyes are closed. “Okay?”

Beca nods sharply.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Yeah. I mean, no!” Beca finally opens her eyes and faces her. She looks well-kissed. “Sorry, I—”

“You’re right; we should stop.” Chloe says it so Beca doesn’t have to.

Beca starts to smile. “I don’t mean to deprive you of your fantasy.”

“Oh, my God, shut up,” Chloe laughs, giving her a light shove.

“Ah, dude! The edge of this cabinet is digging into my back enough as it is.”

Chloe gasps; the thought of Beca being in any kind of discomfort is horrible. She takes a step back, not even having noticed she’d had Beca seriously pinned awkwardly against the counter and cabinet. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay.” Beca rubs at a spot on her shoulder and Chloe wishes she could kiss it better, but it might be a little too soon for such affections. “For the record, I really didn’t want to stop.”

Chloe’s still turned on and that doesn’t help settle her any. “No?” She watches in disbelief as Beca takes a step to close the distance Chloe created when she moved back.

She watches in disbelief as Beca shakes her head while she leans in and kisses Chloe again, now so confident that Chloe’s not sure how to process it. She retreats after a few seconds, though, and smirks. “My fantasy is doing it on Aubrey’s desk.”

Chloe gapes.

“With you. To clarify.” Beca winks and leans to kiss her again, another thorough yet brief one. “But maybe not for our first time.”

“No, yeah. Right.” Chloe smiles, still spinning. “Totes.”

“So, are you going to ask me on a date sometime this century? Or…”

She finally feels her brain start working again and hops like she’s been zapped. “Yes! Oh, my God, yes. Dinner? Tomorrow?”

Beca nods. “7:00 pm. Pick me up after work?”

Chloe laughs and pulls Beca back in for one more kiss. One, she hopes, will be one of a million more to come.

[mirrorballparkers]

dorky love notes ➵ t.h

my masterlist :)

authors note → hdjsjck i’ve never written for tom and i wrote this on mobile but i thought this idea was cute ya know tom makin u all shy while ur trying to wOrk and he's cute so u can imagine why

wc → i might’ve gone overboard sjjckx 2147

warnings → tom being a complete dork, duh.

summary → during a long and tiring shift at your job, a cute and familiar face shows up and messes up your whole game. in a good way.

you had been at this cozy, warm cafe working since eight in the morning, and it was currently only three in the afternoon. although you enjoyed working here, you wanted to go home to your boyfriend more than anything; to run your hands through his brown curls, watching television for hours and hours on end.

as you’re wiping down the coffee machines with a sanitary rag, you quietly hum to yourself as you hear the familiar jazz instrumental play in the background. that’s what you adored about working here; it was never too crowded, the people were always nice, and the music they played was always so quiet and relaxing. you were so invested in cleaning the bar area; the angelic sound of sinatra playing in the background, that you didn’t even hear the bell sound the door made.

“hey, someone needs to get their order taken. i can take over here, hon.” your coworker stands beside you, holding out their hand for you to give them your washcloth to.

you give them a friendly smile back, thanking them in return as you quickly grab an apron hanging from the back wall and making your way to the register, having no idea who’s order you were just about to take.

“hi! what can i g-“ before you could finish your sentence, your face immediately grows warm as you come face to face with your boyfriend, tom. flushed face, the familiar butterflies growing in your stomach - you stare at him starry-eyed as you’re trying to form a coherent sentence.

the brown eyed cutie giggles as he tilts his head, his smile telling a story as always. “hi, can i get...one cute girlfriend of mine to go?” tom always knew how to make you incredibly bashful, but right now was not the time.

“tommn,” you whined, fiddling with the sharpie laying on the counter. “what’re you doing here?” you question shyly as if it wasn’t obvious that he wanted to see you. had you known he was coming, you’d actually try to look your best; but, your hair was messy, the required uniform consisted of a boring colored shirt, khakis, and a ridiculous hat that made you look twelve years old; not to mention you had zero makeup to cover the bags under your eyes.

but tom still thought you were looking utterly adorable and pretty. he always did.

he shrugged cutely, brown eyes brighter than ever, and they were only bright when he saw you. he, on the other hand, looks adorable. he was dressed casually, in a basic hoodie, jeans, and his hair was all messy and curly due to the rain from earlier. so cute. “haven’t seen ya, all day, love. i missed your face. also, your humming was cute. was that our song? fly me to the moon?”

you scrunch your nose up, feeling your cheeks flare up and mess with the keyboard from the cash register in front of you, pressing random buttons as you avoid eye contact with tom. didn’t help, he knew you were shy. “it might’ve been. and are you just saying that because you want a free coffee?”

“i don’t even want a coffee, i just wanted to see you.” he laughs, swinging his arms back and forth as he gives you a wide, goofball grin. “what time are you off, babe? maybe we can go for a nice walk? oh! on my way here, i saw some flowers! peonies, your favorite. i thought of you.”

“don’t,” you try not to smile as you lift up your index finger, “don’t do that, tom. i’m working.” you shake your head as you blush profusely.

“aw don’t do what? all i’m doing is talking to my pretty girl!” tom spoke in a warm, angelic tone. but also slightly teasing. all he wanted to do was snuggle you and kiss you all over - and he couldn’t wait to do that later on. his girl.

“that! you cannot make me all...flustered while i’m trying to do my job.” before tom could answer, you hear someone behind you clear their throat. turning around, your eyes widen as your supervisor had their arms folded and a blank stare at you. never in your life had you been more embarrassed and mortified; surely it wasn’t toms fault, you’d never blame this on him. you just were embarrassed that she was about to scold you in front of your boyfriend.

“oh, hi. sorry, i was uh -“

“not taking the next customers order - there are two people behind him and you’re wasting their time.” they snapped, turning to the other to people in line and giving them an apology for you taking too long. luckily, none of them were impatient nor rude and just smiled back.

you rub your forearms, embarrassed, and turn back to tom as you see the soft, worried look on his face; the kind where you just wanted to hug him and tell him it was okay. kind of like when you scold your puppy for getting into the couch cushions and instantly feel bad for being rude because they’re so soft and warm - never would harm a thing in the world.

that’s how tom looked, his brown eyes with green and yellow specks - an utter dream. the last thing he wanted was for you to be upset with him. but you were far from it.

“gah..i’m sorry, y/n. if i had k-“ tom starts to ramble on about him being wrong for messing with you while you were on duty, but you shushed the cute boy.

“don’t apologize, it’s okay tom. my boss is just a jerk.” you giggle nervously. “uh, do you mind..waiting for me? i only have like... forty-five minutes left.” you question, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“yeah of course! i’ll uh..just go wait at a table. go ahead, cutie.” tom gave you a warm smile as he stuffed his hands in his front pockets and waved at you, walking over to the nearest table.

“hi, im sorry about the wait.” you apologized to the customer and proceed to take their order.

as you’re writing down the customers name on the cup, you felt his pretty eyes on you; butterflies forming, shaky hands, red cheeks as you try to write the name but only for you to drop the stuff in your hand - causing a little scene.

 tom couldn’t help but snort at the scene in front of him, “dork.” he mumbled to himself as he doodled a little on the napkin in front of him.

 you glance over at him and attempt to glare, only to just simply wave shyly at him. no way you could be upset at him. he waves back at you, mouthing, “get to work, doofus.” you roll your eyes as a lame try to avoid blushing and smile wide as you get the customers coffee ready.

while making the customers drink, you look over at tom who is smiling at you. smiling back at him, you didn’t notice the countertop right in front of you - your body bumping right into it, making you drop the cup for the billionth time in the past five minutes. embarrassed, you tell the customer that you’re fine and adjust yourself quickly. you were a flustered, dorky mess around tom and there was no way to fix it.

tom pouted to himself as he saw you struggle, adoring how shy you had quickly become in the last half hour. he adored you.

see, tom admires the small things; the way you smile at the customers and how kind you were, even if they were being grumpy. you were always kind to everyone and that was something he adored so much about you. he noticed that you had a habit of not making eye contact with people, being very bashful and timid.. yet, you were also bubbly and happy. you did this quite often with him, but he adored the fact that it was with everyone too. well, it was more with him, in the end.

he also loved the cute conversations you made with people. asking them how their day was, giving them suggestions on what drink to get when normally baristas just take the order and go about with their life. tom adored you so much it was insane. every little soft, poetic thing about you.

as the next half hour goes by, the same thing happening; you being flustered by something tom does, such as giving you a dorky look or something cute, you finally finish your shift.

grabbing your belongings from the break room, you eagerly clock out and say a quick goodbye to your supervisor and other co-workers that were lingering in the back. you tried your best not to smile as much, but you just couldn’t help it. after five hours of being on your feet, and most importantly missing your boyfriend you were about to go to him and get all the hugs you wanted and needed.

you trudge your way, quite eagerly, over to tom; biting your lip as you try not to smile too much. you were rubbing your forearm as you nervously come up to him and wave shyly.

“hey. i’m off.” you spoke softly.

toms heart fluttered at your cute smile, and without hesitation, he pulled you into a warm embrace. “mm i’ve wanted to do this all day, cute stuff.” his lips were pressed against your hair, giving you tiny kisses. you weren’t very prone to pda, so this made you timid and tom loved it.

“tom, you know this stuff makes me nervous!” you groan into his chest. as much as you felt people’s eyes on you, nobody was paying attention.

he chuckles lightly as he brushes a few strands of hair out of your face, “you look famished. ready for our walk? i wanna get you those cute flowers.” he beamed.

you nod sweetly, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “sure!”

“cool! okay, wait i have something for you.” tom gives you a half smile as his slightly clammy hands reach into his back pocket. he pulls out a slightly crumpled up, brown napkin with the logo of the coffee shop name. “uh, it’s kinda lame..but i was getting a little bored and i wrote you something.”

you scrunch your face up in confusion as tom hands you the little napkin, sending butterflies into your stomach as his hand lightly brushed against yours - tom giggled slightly as he saw you blush at the small touch.

you hold the napkin and glance at the words written in green ink; nice touch. your lips slowly curve into a goofy grin as you see the dorky message:

hey. as i’m watching you dorkily mess up all these orders, (hmm i wonder why) i just wanna say that you look cute and i can’t wait for our walk later. :) - the boy that adores u

p.s.

 that person, the one with the cool yoda shirt, asked for a mocha, not a hot chocolate. you’re the biggest dork i know.  

and on the bottom of the note, he attempted to draw a ton of hearts - they looked like butts and it made you giggle; and he also drew a stick figure of you and him holding hands.

tom often was the one that made you shy, but there was no point in lying that he was most definitely blushy right now. he felt so..dorky and lame; but he knew, in the end, you’d appreciate this small thing.

a tiny giggle escapes your mouth, your hand touching your warm cheek.tom runs his hands through his soft, brown curls, “uh...whaddya think?” he inquires shyly.

“you made me shorter than i am,” you spoke quietly, giving him a playful glare.

tom scoffs, but also felt relieved, ”wow thanks for telling me whether it’s good or not, dork.”

“it is! i like it, i just...why did you make me shorter!”

“because you are shorter i don’t know why you insist you’re, like, 5’10.” tom laughs, grabbing your free hand and swinging it back and forth a little. “well, i know you’re blushing, sooo.. i take you do like it.” he smiles and rubs your hand with the pad of his thumb.

“i am NOT.” you squeaked, only to grow even pinker.

tom ducks his head as he laughs, bringing his hand up to poke your cheek. he loved having this warm, shy effect on you. it was so sweet and cute. “you’re adorable. yes you are, cutie.”

“come on, my shy goofball, let’s go on our walk. i’ll hold onto your stuff for you. and, i believe there are some peonies with your name on them.” he says, holding his hand out for you to hold; something he always did, he never just grabbed it. he wanted to be polite and make sure you were okay. and you always were.

“of course, nothing is as cute as you, my nerd.”

•

tagging a few so it doesn’t flop: @spideypeach @cutiehollands @cutesparker @plushparker @gigglyparker @rileywrites-parker (lemme know if u wanna be removed !)

[ryukoishida]

QZGS Secret Santa Fic: In which QYF is a CSI and MF is a lab tech and they go on an adventure to solve murder cases. [CSI AU]

Written for QZGS Secret Santa 2018 For: @synoshian

Title: Evidence of Things Unseen Fandom: Quan Zhi Gao Shou / The King’s Avatar Character(s)/Pairing(s): MoQiao (Mo Fan/Qiao Yifan); featuring other members of Happy Summary: One gentle, talented crime scene investigator + one brooding, uncommunicative lab technician + two murder cases = an unexpected blooming romance?! [CSI AU] Rating: PG13 A/N: A CSI AU that nobody asked for… Also, please excuse any inaccuracies in the science-/mystery-related stuff in this fic. I tried. I regretted only a little. Happy holidays, Lies! I hope you enjoy this mess of a fic :’)  

-

“Yifan, great job on solving the Liang Hailing case. Her mother gave me a call just now; she wanted to thank you especially for being so kind and considerate of her and her family during the investigation,” the graveyard shift supervisor of the Hangzhou Crime Lab, with a lit cigarette dangling from between his middle and ring fingers, complimented the newest member of his team with a proud grin.

On his messy desk was a name tag, scuffed on the surface and crookedly placed, informing the visitors of his office that his name was Ye Xiu.  

“T-Thank you, Ye-qianbei,” Qiao Yifan, the twenty-year-old Level II Crime Scene Investigator who’d only recently transferred to the Hangzhou Crime Lab four months ago, bowed slightly, always extra courteous to those of senior ranks. “It wasn’t just me though! The colleagues down in the lab had been very helpful and efficient — especially Mo Fan.”

“Did you say Mo Fan?” Ye Xiu raised an eyebrow, his tone remaining in the same languid, nonchalant manner of his but his piercing stare made Qiao Yifan shrank back a little as if he’d said something wrong.

“Y-Yes, sir,” Qiao Yifan nodded, the volume of his voice turning significantly lower than before, but he knew from working with Ye Xiu for the past few months that the man rarely got upset or furious, if at all, even when the investigations weren’t’t going his way, so Qiao Yifan continued gingerly, “he was the one who suggested to me the possibility of how the suspect used chewing gum to administer traces of cyanide into the victim’s body. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve never thought to check for the amount of xylitol presented in the victim’s oral cavity and connecting that with the suspect’s habit of always chewing gum.”

Ye Xiu took a drag from his cigarette before pressing the glowing tip against the ceramic surface of the ashtray and discarding the bud.

“Remember what I said to you when you first transferred from the Beijing Crime Lab?” Ye Xiu didn’t comment on Qiao Yifan’ compliment on Mo Fan’s part during this investigation, which the young CSI didn’t comprehend, but he replied as politely as he could anyway.

“That… I should be courageous?” Qiao Yifan said, recalling Ye Xiu’s simple words on the first day of his job. Qiao Yifan was a lab analyst at the Beijing Crime Lab, and though he did his job well, he was unable to stand out among the other talents in the lab, including his best friend Gao Yingjie, who, upon recommendation of the crime lab’s leader Wang Jiexi, had quickly promoted from his lab analyst role to a Level I CSI.

From the depth of his heart, Qiao Yifan knew working inside the lab alone wouldn’t make him happy; he could still go further, he could still do more – so much more. And that had ultimately became the significant turning point of his decision to move south to pursuit an opportunity that Ye Xiu and his team was able to provide for him.

Ye Xiu nodded.

“Yifan, you have the abilities and you work hard, so don’t be afraid to take credit where credit is due, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Qiao Yifan smiled timidly, but Ye Xiu’s commendation had always been a shot of confidence that he needed.

Someone was knocking on Ye Xiu’s office door, the agitated rhythm signifying the person’s impatience, but the senior CSI ignored the distraction as per his usual habit when he didn’t feel like having any extra visitors.

Before neither man inside the office could react, however, whoever was outside had decided to enter anyway: the young man, dark forelocks haphazardly falling into his grey eyes, donned a pristine white lab coat, which contrasted starkly with the black hoody and skinny jeans that accentuated his willowy figure. Even without speaking, his body language exuded waves of hostility that most would sense and stay far away from. This could most likely explain why the twenty-two-year-old always kept to himself and would rather work alone in the lab, with earbuds on at all times while inspecting specimens under a microscope.  

“Mo Fan, what can I help you with?” Ye Xiu eyed the stack of papers in Mo Fan’s hand and could immediately deduced the intention of the lab analyst’s visit.

“Ye-qianbei, I’ll head out first,” Qiao Yifan was about to take his leave. It was clear that Mo Fan wanted some privacy to talk to their supervisor about something important.

“Yifan, you can stay. I still need to go over one of the reports you submitted last week. This will be quick,” Ye Xiu then shifted his gaze towards the lab analyst who only spared a brief glance towards Qiao Yifan before he trudged all the way up to Ye Xiu’s desk and slammed the document down.

Ye Xiu merely lifted one of his eyebrows, and said with an unmoved tone, “again? How many times does this make?”

“You know how many times I’ve applied,” Mo Fan replied coldly, hands stuffed inside the pockets of his lab coat.

“Are you trying to apply for a level one Crime Scene Investigator position?” Qiao Yifan’s curiosity was piqued, and even Ye Xiu thought it rare that the usually quiet and reserve CSI openly expressed his interest in his coworker’s career direction though he chose not to comment on it.

“What is it to you?” Mo Fan turned towards the other man with a hint of coldness in the metallic grey of his irises. His tone never rose above the volume of a mumble but the tenor with which he spoke was enough to coat his words in frost.

“N-nothing, I just thought… I just thought it would be nice to have you on the team is all,” Qiao Yifan murmured, shrinking back a little from Mo Fan’s intimidating manner, but he continued with a nervous smile, “I think you have what it takes to be a good CSI and it’d be a waste of your talent to be constrained in the lab.”

“Hmph.”

Ye Xiu looked between Qiao Yifan, the young and promising newcomer who was gradually coming out of his shell, blooming into an excellent investigator, and becoming an integral part of the night shift team, and Mo Fan, the brooding, aloof lab analyst who might be exceptional at his current position but didn’t understand the importance of communication and cooperation within a team.

“Do you know why I didn’t approve your application the previous two times, despite recognizing that you have the knowledge, skillset, and instinct of a CSI?” Ye Xiu leaned back against his chair, his expression slightly frivolous but his dark eyes were stern.

“I didn’t communicate well,” Mo Fan lowered his head. He knew what his weakness was, but to overcome it, to force himself to make his thoughts known to others was something else entirely. He wasn't good at conveying himself in a socially-acceptable manner and this often made people misunderstood his intentions, and while this could be troublesome, Mo Fan also didn't have the energy or the patience to correct other's views of him.

“You didn’t communicate at all,” Ye Xiu corrected with a sigh before pulling Mo Fan’s application documents towards himself. “Not only does that make the investigation process less efficient, it’ll also endanger your teammates’ lives in certain situations.”

Mo Fan flinched visibly when he mentioned that; he still remembered Fang Rui’s bruised face and broken leg was all a result of his own lack of communication with his partner at the time, that Fang Rui essentially got injured because he was covering his back.

Ye Xiu casually flipped through the pages of Mo Fan’s application, and said, lifting his gaze to look straight at Mo Fan again, “Yifan here was just saying that you’ve helped him out in his latest case.”

“I was just doing my job,” Mo Fan said, his brows dipping into a slight frown as if he was half annoyed and half confused as to why Qiao Yifan would even bother bringing him up in the conversation in the first place.

“Fair enough,” Ye Xiu nodded, “here’s what I propose: for the next case, I’ll assign it to the both of you; you two will work as partners while I observe. Yifan is the most accommodating CSI I’ve ever met so if he has anything negative to say about you, you’re out, got it?”

When Mo Fan forced himself to look directly back at his supervisor, Ye Xiu was surprised and amused to find the subtle determination burning in those usually indifferent grey eyes, and he thought perhaps third time could really be the charm.

-

When Qiao Yifan arrived at the crime scene, a stretch of deserted dirt road in the more secluded part of Jilongshan Village that led out into forested hills with very few streetlights in between — perfect for a body dump, really — he saw that Mo Fan, who he’d been trying to contact ever since he was called in to work, was already taking photographs of something on the ground.

The CSI approached his partner, the strap of his forensics kit cutting into his shoulder. When Mo Fan still didn’t acknowledge Qiao Yifan’s presence even after the younger man cleared his throat a few times behind his stooping figure, Qiao Yifan started in a soft voice, “Mo Fan, I’ve been texting you for the last half an hour…”

“I know,” Mo Fan murmured, and his camera clicked a few more times. Then about ten seconds later, he said in the same bland tone, “I was busy.”

Qiao Yifan could clearly see that, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he noticed that the assistant coroner had already arrived on scene and was currently inspecting the body. He gently tapped Mo Fan on the shoulder once, which was enough to cause the other man to freeze, and he said apologetically, “I’m sorry. Um… should we head over to the body? It looks like Dr. An is already here.”

Without turning around or establishing any sort of eye contact with Qiao Yifan, Mo Fan quickly pulled himself to his feet and made his way towards the victim. Qiao Yifan followed, his fingers tightening around the strap of his kit.

“When’s the time of death?”

An Wenyi almost lost his grip of the thermometer that was still stuck in the victim’s liver when he heard Mo Fan’s voice directly behind him.

“Hello to you, too,” An Wenyi greeted him warily, though his gaze never swayed away from the body before him, and he sensed the lab analyst settling to the right side of him.

“Only you tonight, Dr. An?” Qiao Yifan stooped across from the coroner and watched as the man continued to inspect the body.

“Hey, Xiao Qiao,” An Wenyi greeted the CSI in a slightly friendlier tone since Qiao Yifan was known to be a likeable and approachable member in the team, and the assistant coroner always enjoyed working with him. “Guan-qianbei has been called to another crime scene. It’s been a busy night.”

“What have we got so far?” Qiao Yifan asked.

“Rigor’s already long set in,” An Wenyi told them, pulling out the thermometer after taking the reading. “Liver temp puts his TOD at about two to four o’clock in the afternoon.”

Qiao Yifan inspected the corpse in a quick survey: for someone who’d been supposedly ran over by a car, there wasn’t a lot of blood on the concrete or on the body itself, and though there were clear tire marks on the victim’s clothes and half-dried muddy tracks on the road, there was a strange lack of headlights or taillights glass shards which was usually associated with deaths involving vehicle collisions.

It was almost as if…

“He was lying down when the car ran over him,” Mo Fan murmured.

“He was already dead when he was brought out here," Qiao Yifan concluded.

“Can you tell us what the COD is?” Qiao Yifan asked while taking more detailed shots of the body.

"I can tell you that the car did a lot of damage to this guy's body: broken bones, ruptured organs, the works. But like you said, it's very likely that he'd been long dead before the car ran him over so at least he didn't have to suffer," An Wenyi said, his gloved fingers carefully sifting through the blood-matted hair to reveal a much gorier wound on the side of the head. "Serious head trauma is probably what did him in — looks like he was hit by a blunt object — but I'll confirm once Guan-qianbei does a more detailed postmortem."

"Thanks, Dr. An," Qiao Yifan smiled gratefully at the medical examiner and continued to take detailed photos of the victim's wounds. He paused when he got to the fingers — they were rigid and dirty but the blue tint in the fingernails was unmistakable.

"The lips, too," Mo Fan said as if he was reading his partner's mind.

"Cyanosis caused by underlying disease?" Qiao Yifan tried to zoom in using the lens of his camera before taking a few shots.

"Unlikely."

“Then… poison?” Qiao Yifan tried.

The corner of Mo Fan’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Hey boys, looks like we‘ve got an ID,” a woman’s voice chimed in.

"Mucheng-jie," Qiao Yifan lifted his head up to greet the police detective, who looked especially elegant and sharp in a crisp white shirt, leather gun strap curving over her shoulders, charcoal grey dress pants and black ankle boots that emphasized the length and strength of her legs. She had a notepad in one hand and a pen in another.

“Evening, Xiao Qiao,” Detective Su Mucheng sent the CSI a bright, friendly grin before shifting her attention towards the other man, who turned his head abruptly away as soon as he detected the woman’s amused gaze. “And Mo Fan, what a rarity! What finally drag you out of the lab?”

Mo Fan didn’t even reply to the playful teasing before he turned at his heels and stalked away.

“Wait, Mo Fan, w-where are you going?” Qiao Yifan was a patient man, if not slightly soft-spoken, and Mo Fan was precisely the kind of person that made it really hard for Qiao Yifan to reach out to… Not that he wasn’t willing to try, because he was genuine when he said that Mo Fan would make an excellent CSI, but there was a limitation to what he could do at his own end.  

“Tire tracks,” Mo Fan only said, his voice barely audible over the scarf he was wearing over the bottom half of his face.

Qiao Yifan could only assume he meant he’d be inspecting and taking photos of tire tracks of nearby ground to determine the possible models of the car involved.

“Charming as usual,” Su Mucheng commented with a smirk, and tucked her pen inside her pocket before continuing, “I heard what Ye Xiu’s planning for him, but at this rate, the possibility of him passing the review is slim to none.”

“I want to help him,” Qiao Yifan sighed, his gentle gaze following Mo Fan’s figure in the distance, “but I don’t know how when he doesn’t allow anyone to get close to him.”

“You really care about him, huh?”

“W-what do you mean?” Something in the knowing way Su Mucheng smiled at him made Qiao Yifan paused, and his cheeks tainted pink with uncomfortable heat once he realized the detective’s underlying meaning of her question. “M-Mucheng-jie, don’t joke about something like that, please!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Su Mucheng laughed good-naturedly, patting Qiao Yifan’s shoulder like an older sibling would consoling her younger brother after a good tease, “you two just make it so easy for me. Anyway, as I was saying, victim’s name is Liu Gen, 40 years of age. His work ID says he’s an employee of Shanhu Machinery’s purchasing department. No previous criminal records, but his wife, Li Fangjing…”

Su Mucheng chuckled coldly.

“What about his wife?”

“Let’s just say his wife’s quite another story,” Su Mucheng said, shaking her head, “officers have already located her and are in the process of bringing her in to the station for questioning.”

“I’ll be there after the autopsy,” Qiao Yifan said.

“Why don’t you send Mo Fan over instead?” Su Mucheng suggested. “Being a CSI also required you to question suspects based on the evidence you guys found, right? It’d be good practice for him.”

“…sure, I’ll let him know,” Qiao Yifan felt anything but sure at this point, but he knew Su Mucheng was right.

-

Under the pale white lights of the examination room, coroner Guan Rongfei was cutting open his latest corpse, a white-collar worker by the name of Liu Gen. He was weighing the body’s organs when Qiao Yifan came in.

“Dr. Guan, I got your message. You mentioned you have something for me?”

Without a word or being diverted by Qiao Yifan’s arrival, Guan Rongfei merely angled his chin towards the metal cart to his left, where several labelled items were arranged neatly on the surface. The medical examiner wasted no time and began to report his findings to the CSI.

“COD is blunt force trauma to the head, which shattered the left temporal and parietal bones; the bone shards pierced into the brain and he bled out in minutes. No sign of defense wounds, most likely meant that the victim was already unaware of what’s happening around him or was immobilized through other means. There’s some black, sticky substance around the head wound; the sample’s on the table,” Guan Rongfei recited the information, not even cognisant to Qiao Yifan scribbling away in his notebook. “Broken bones and ruptured organs are consistent with being run over by a heavy vehicle while victim was lying flat on his back, but the event took place post-mortem. Also found some epithelial cells under his fingernails. And speaking of fingernails…”

Guan Rongfei finally lifted his head up from the scale after weighting the last organ, and turned to Qiao Yifan with a grin.

“Cyanosis — but no history of any chronic medical issue that could explain its presence,” Guan Rongfei analyzed, “so poison it must be.”

“Any clue as to what sort of poison?”

Guan Rongfei shrugged and returned to his dissection of Liu Gen’s body.

“Waiting on the tox report; I believe your partner’s working on it as we speak. After all, Mo Fan is the best toxicology specialist we have.”

“So, everybody knows…” Qiao Yifan sighed, collecting his samples and putting them into a small cardboard box for easy carrying.

“Ye Xiu believes in transparency within the team, if you can believe in that man’s bullshit,” Guan Rongfei said, his lips tucked into an amused grin.

“Thanks, Dr. Guan,” Qiao Yifan only said, heading towards the door to return to the lab to join Mo Fan.

“Anytime. Now get out of here so I can dissect this man in peace.”

-

Mo Fan’s phone was buzzing incessantly on the table when Qiao Yifan stepped into the lab, but the owner of said phone paid no heed.

“What’s… all this?”

After dropping off the sample of the sticky black substance to Trace, Qiao Yifan returned to his own workspace in the lab, where he was about to run DNA analysis on the epithelial cells Guan Rongfei had found in the victim’s fingernails, but instead he found boxes and boxes of what looked to be everyday household items stacked all over any available desk surfaces.

“Stuff I’ve picked up at Li Fangjing’s residence,” Mo Fan replied from his position at the counter, where he was administering some chemicals into vials of the victim’s blood samples.

“When did you—” Qiao Yifan was about to ask him when he had the time to go over to Li Fangjing’s place, but then he realized Mo Fan must had rushed over right after they were done processing the crime scene without notifying him. Again. “Never mind.”

Qiao Yifan began to set up his work station for DNA testing.

“How’s the tox report coming along?” Qiao Yifan asked instead, his tone slightly more strained than his usual milder manner. He carefully snipped off the tip of the cotton swap with the epithelial cells and placed it into a test tube, adding a few drops of clear solution into the vial before placing the mixture into the Thermal Cycler to amplify the segments of DNA he had on hand.

“Already did the basic screen,” Mo Fan said, his attention never straying from his task, his hands always steady and careful as he handled the specimens and placing them into the ultracentrifuge. “Nothing out of the usual.”

"Hey, Mo Fan," Qiao Yifan had nothing to do but wait for the result of the DNA analysis, so he attempted to initiate another conversation, "that must have been really heavy, to carry all that by yourself. Why didn't you tell me you were going to Li Fangjing's?"

"There was no need. I was fine," Mo Fan replied flatly, his body continued to move fluidly between putting blood samples into vials and putting them into the humming machine that analyzed and distinguished between the different toxins.

"But Ye-qianbei—"

"I know what Ye Xiu said," Mo Fan snapped.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep," Qiao Yifan apologized, instinctively shrinking back.

"That's why I can't stand people like you, Qiao Yifan..." Mo Fan muttered, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip around a glass vial with so much pressure the other man was afraid he would break it. "Why are you apologizing when you did nothing wrong? Why are you being so nice to me when..."

Qiao Yifan couldn't hear the remaining of Mo Fan's question, for his voice became softer and softer until it seemed like he was refusing to let any more words out of his mouth.

Mo Fan sighed, a hint of frustration in his exhale, and retrieved the toxicological report that the machine was sprouting out. He quickly scanned through the numbers and lines of text, his eyes narrowing slightly in concentration.

"Found our cause of cyanosis," Mo Fan stated, handing the sheet over to Qiao Yifan without meeting the other man's eye.

"Tetrahydrolozine… Isn’t that a vasoconstrictor? And that much of it too? No wonder Liu Gen didn't have any sort of defence wounds on him; he was already incapacitated when they attack him," Qiao Yifan shook his head, placing the sheet down.

"Eyedrops..." Mo Fan suddenly said, turning his eyes sharply towards the boxes of items that belonged to the victim and his widow.

"What about the eyedrops?" Qiao Yifan asked, curiosity obvioius in his voice.

"There were many emptied Visine bottles in their bathroom — way more than the suggested healthy dosage for two people — and I found more unopened bottles hidden in the storage room."

"So, you're saying the wife poisoned the victim with eyedrops, hit him over the head when the poison hindered his body’s movements, and then run him over with a car to make it look like an accident?" Qiao Yifan tried to understand Mo Fan's logic.

Mo Fan didn't reply him but he looked thoughtfully at the eyedrop bottles that he’d collected from Liu Gen’s apartment.

“Maybe not all of it… but the woman definitely poisoned him,” Mo Fan murmured, and gestured to the stack of files piled up on one side of his desk. “Previous cases involving Li Fangjing’s two late husbands; this woman is trouble.”

Mo Fan’s phone buzzed again for the fifth time since Qiao Yifan came in, and Mo Fan finally decided to pick up, but all he said was several ‘mm’ and ‘okay’ before he hung up again, his expression darkening just a little. He took off his lab coat and headed for the glass door without another word.

Qiao Yifan couldn’t help but ask, “where are you off to now?”

He wasn’t demanding an answer, but there was a hint of desperation laced in that question, as if the CSI wanted nothing more than for Mo Fan to include him or to tell him what was going through his mind. He half expected the quiet lab technician to ignore him again, so when Mo Fan paused by the door, a hand already reaching for the handle, and said that he needed to head down to the police station where Su Mucheng was about to question their prime suspect Li Fangjing, Qiao Yifan could feel himself smiling a little as he bade him goodbye.

-

Down at the police station located only a few blocks away from the crime lab, Su Mucheng and Mo Fan were sitting at the table in one of the many interrogation rooms across from a well-dressed woman in her late twenties.

Li Fangjing seemed at ease despite being notified that her husband had been found dead — possibly murdered — at the side of a deserted road more than half way across the centre of the city where he lived.

“Ms. Li, where were you yesterday afternoon from two to four o’clock?” Su Mucheng asked politely.

“I don’t understand,” Li Fangjing tucked a piece of hair behind the curve of her ear and crossed her arms, her eyebrows raised in annoyance. “I thought I’m here to help with the investigation of my husband’s death, but you cops make it sound like I’m the suspect here.”

“You are,” Mo Fan said without skipping a beat.

“Excuse me?” the woman’s tenor raised an octave higher.

“You are our prime suspect,” Mo Fan said, his expression remaining neutral and cold.

Li Fangjing laughed, the sound shrill and unpleasant, making Mo Fan wrinkled his nose in mild disgust.

“You’re serious?”

“We found extremely high levels of Tetrahydrolozine in Liu Gen’s system — enough to cause blurred vision, breathing problems, and coma,” Mo Fan said.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“The CSIs found many emptied bottles of eyedrops in the bathroom, as well as cases of unopened ones in storage,” Su Mucheng told the other woman, who still appeared to be nonchalant, so the detective continued with a smile, “and in case you don’t know, Ms. Li, tetrahydrolozine is the active ingredient in eyedrops, and we found your fingerprints all over those used bottles.”

“We both suffer from dry eyes,” Li Fangjing explained, rolling her eyes, her thick fake lashes trembling with the exaggerated movement. “I didn’t realize that was a crime, Detective.”

Both Su Mucheng and Mo Fan knew it was a weak excuse, but they had stronger evidence against her anyway, so they let it pass for now.

“No, dry eyes is not a crime, but let’s not forget Chen Guanghai and Tian Jing, hmm?” Su Mucheng flipped through a case file, and placed two photos down on the table — headshots of the deceased men who used to be closely related to Li Fangjing — and the detective continued, “Ms. Li, you were married to Chen Guanghai in 2015, and then he passed away due to a drowning accident in his own bathtub about half a year later. In 2017, you got married to Tian Jing, but he then also happened to pass away from accidentally slipping and falling head-first to the ground nine months after the marriage. And now, we have Liu Gen, your third husband to die within the span of four years. You are either very cursed, or you are an active participant in each and every one of these deaths.”

“What? Is marrying three men who died prematurely also a crime these days?” Li Fangjing chuckled, “goodness me, you law-enforcers just keep getting more and more hilarious by the second.”

“A person convicted of insurance fraud can be imprisoned for up to ten years,” Mo Fan added helpfully.  

“According to previous investigations, Chen Guanghai and Tian Jing had purchased life insurances and the beneficiary was always you,” Su Mucheng flipped to another page, which displayed copies of insurance contracts signed by the two victims, “so don’t tell me you don’t have the motive to make their deaths look like accidents in order to collect the life insurance payments.”

“If you cops had found enough evidence, you would’ve locked me up a long time ago instead of wasting my time here,” Li Fangjing lifted up one of her manicured hands to inspect her nails, painted bright red though slightly chipped at the tips, which Mo Fan immediately noticed as soon as his eyes settled on her gesture.

Li Fangjing lifted her gaze just in time to see the young lab technician staring at her hands, and a slow, teasing smile began to appear on her glossy lips.

“But if all cops are as adorable as this one here,” Li Fangjing nodded appreciatively at Mo Fan with a flirtatious smile and a knowing look, and said, “I’d love to come down to the station to chit-chat more often.”

Just then, he received a text from Qiao Yifan.

Found DNA match to epithelials under Liu Gen’s fingernails; it’s Li Fangjing’s.  

“I don’t see why I have to stay here being interrogated like a criminal any longer,” Li Fangjing pulled herself up gracefully, her heels clicking against hardwood floor as she turned for the door. “We’re done here.”

“We found skin cells of another contributor beneath Liu Gen’s fingernails,” Mo Fan’s words halted Li Fangjing’s movement, “they belong to you. Did he scratch you as he fought for his life after being poisoned? Did you hit him over the head when he fought back?”

Li Fangjing turned around sharply, a sly grin making her almost serpentine.

“My husband and I always enjoyed rough sex; he was a scratcher when he got… passionate. Would you like me to strip down and show you where he left his marks on me the last time we did it?”

As if she’d caught a whiff of Mo Fan’s discomfort oozing out from his body language and the grimace on his face, Li Fangjing was striding towards Mo Fan with a leering grin.

“You—” Mo Fan took a small step back — an entirely instinctual reaction when he sensed someone wanting to invade his personal space — and he hated himself for it, hated how weak he was presenting himself to be. Despite his best effort, heat pooled around his cheeks as a mixture of repulsion at the woman and frustration at himself simmered and burned like a violent chemical reaction.

“Thank you for offering, Ms. Li,” Su Mucheng smiled, stepping in front of Mo Fan to shield him; her manner remained pleasant but now there was a rigid, cold light to her eyes as well, “but that won’t be necessary.”

“Suit yourself,” Li Fangjing threw another knowing smile towards Mo Fan before she exited the interrogation room.

“Mo Fan…” Su Mucheng began, the ice in her eyes melted and was replaced with genuine concern, yet before she could even get a word out, Mo Fan was already bolting out of the door.

-

Mo Fan’s cell phone had been buzzing in his back pocket for the past hour.

Trace got back to me with the sticky black substance in victim’s head wound. Main components are pine soot, egg white, fish skin, white sandalwood, and pearl dust. I’m guessing: high quality calligraphy ink.

Found a jade paperweight amongst the things you collected at victim’s residence. Got traces of blood and ink on it. Will run blood DNA against both victim’s and suspect’s reference samples.

Also found a few workable prints on the paperweight. Will run them through AFIS to see if we have a hit.

Call me when you’re done down at the station please?

Mo Fan, Mucheng-jie told me what happened with Li Fangjing. Where are you?

He placed his phone screen facing down on the table.

The black coffee sitting untouched before him had turned grossly cold a long while ago, but he only ordered the beverage just so he could have an excuse to sit in the cafeteria, which had become rather quiet once lunch rush had ended. Currently only a few stray employees of the lab who’d worked past their lunch time were seen eating their late meals and chatting unobtrusively amongst themselves.

They knew not to approach Mo Fan from all the rumors they’d heard, and so he was left alone to his own thoughts, though not for long.

“You’re hard to find,” Qiao Yifan slipped into the seat across from Mo Fan, his tone quiet but kind, “I was worried.”

“Why?” Mo Fan grunted, lowering his gaze to concentrate his attention on the minute scratches on the back of his phone. They looked particularly irritating at this very moment, for some reason.

“Well, I mean, you’re my partner,” Qiao Yifan explained, his laughter taut and nervous, “of course I’d be worried. I heard what happened during Li Fangjing’s interrogation.”

“I fucked up. She got to me,” Mo Fan admitted in a low, frustrated growl, fingers gathering into a tight fist on the table, “I shouldn’t have let her, but I did anyway.”

“Interrogation is another set of skills all together,” Qiao Yifan tried to comfort his partner, “you get better at it the more you do it and get used to dealing with different types of people.”

“I bet you were good at it when you first started,” Mo Fan murmured. That was another trait that Mo Fan admired about the younger CSI, though he would never admit this to anyone; he had the kind of easy-going personality and agreeable manner that almost everyone felt connected to right from the start.

“Me?” Qiao Yifan chuckled, but it wasn’t the kind of warm, lighthearted sound that Mo Fan found comforting, and it made his heart clenched tight; it had a hint of self-deprecation in it that Mo Fan wasn’t used to hearing from the usually mild-mannered man. “Oh, no. I was terrible at interrogating suspects when I first started my job — couldn’t maintain eye contact to save my life, and the number of times I’d stuttered from nervousness? Don’t even get me started. My team supervisor from Beijing could attest to that.”

“Huh,” Mo Fan only made a small noise of acknowledgement. He never knew that part of Qiao Yifan; he’d always just assumed the man was a natural, but he supposed that assumptions without evidence were always too dangerous and led to inaccurate interpretations — just as the case with murder investigations and relationships between people.  

“Come on, let’s head back to the lab and see if we’ve got a hit on the print from the paperweight,” Qiao Yifan stood up and waited with a soft, encouraging smile.

-

“Mo Fan, Yifan, care to explain to me what all this is about?”

On Ye Xiu’s desk was a new case file showing photos of a very familiar face — a face that Mo Fan had just seen in the police station the day before — but now looking very much pale and lifeless.

Autopsy photos of Li Fangjing.

“She was found dead in her own home early this morning with a bullet in her chest and traces of clear liquid around her mouth. Day shift had already processed most of the evidence and had recorded their findings, but this is our case and I want us to handle it in the best way possible.”

Ye Xiu glanced over at the lab technician, who stared back at him blatantly with his usual indifferent expression.  

“Mo Fan, there are eyewitnesses who said that they’d seen a man with your physical descriptions talking to Li Fangjing outside her apartment complex last night and that the man seemed especially agitated during the conversation,” Ye Xiu’s tone remained disinterested, merely stating what the reports had told him, but the look in his eyes was critical and sharp. “Did you meet up with Li Fangjing by yourself yesterday after you and Detective Su finished interrogating her at the police station?”

“I did,” Mo Fan didn’t even try to deny it. He knew it was useless; besides, he had no intention to hide it either; he was prepared for the repercussions when he initially decided to do this.

“You are aware that you are never supposed to approach any suspects or eyewitnesses without the presence of a police officer, correct?”

“Ye-qianbei, please, there must be some kind of misunderstanding—” Qiao Yifan’s voice was tinged with panic when he realized what was about to happen.

“Leave it, Qiao Yifan,” Mo Fan murmured, “I don’t need you to defend me.”

To Ye Xiu, Mo Fan said, “yes, I’m aware. I will take responsibility for my own actions.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Ye Xiu sighed in disappointment despite his words, and he continued with a frown on his brows, “Mo Fan, you will be taken off from this case. I’ll assign Wei Chen to take your place, so Yifan, from this point on, you are no longer to report any case-related details to Mo Fan, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the two men replied quietly.

On the way back to their office, neither men said anything to each other until they each settled into their own work desk, where Mo Fan was staring blankly at his computer screen and Qiao Yifan was fiddling with a pen restlessly.

“If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” Mo Fan heaved a small irritated sigh, spinning his chair around to face the CSI.

“You didn’t do it,” Qiao Yifan started, his gaze steady as he looked at the other man with firmly pressed lips, “I know you didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Mo Fan said, chuckling coldly as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, “Ye Xiu took me off the case, which means I’ve failed the review.”

Which meant he’d lost another opportunity to be promoted into the CSI position he’d been striving for, Qiao Yifan realized without the man admitting it out loud.

He hated how defeated Mo Fan looked at that moment, the mask of indifference and composure showing cracks and crevices and threatening to break, and Qiao Yifan wished he could do more.

-

“Xiao Qiao, did you receive Li Fangjing’s autopsy report from Dr. Guan?” a man with a gruff, grainy voice stemmed from too many years of smoking asked the moment he entered the lab and threw himself onto the closest chair.

“Wei-qianbei, you’re back,” Qiao Yifan greeted the Level III CSI with a polite smile before turning his attention back to his original task of processing the new DNA samples and replied, “yeah, I have. COD was the gunshot to the heart, but so far, no matching weapon has been retrieved from the crime scene; the bullet has been sent to ballistics for further analysis. The clear liquid around her mouth is tetrahydrolozine, and there’s some traces of it found in her system as well, though not as much as in her husband’s body. Dr. Guan also found bits of flesh in between her teeth, which he believed was left behind by the assailant when she was biting whoever was attacking her. I’m processing the DNA now.”

“Good, good,” Wei Chen nodded appreciatively before heaving a heavy sigh. “Now that our only suspect’s dead, it’s back to square one for us.”

“Well… Maybe not entirely,” Qiao Yifan quickly sifted through pages of documents and located the one he was looking for, and he showed it to Wei Chen.

“You got something from the prints you dusted off from the paperweight?” Wei Chen was impressed with the young CSI’s efficiency, and he glanced down at the contents of the file.

“Yeah, but it’s strange,” Qiao Yifan replied with a slight frown, “I ran the prints through AFIS and it came back to this man here, Sun Xiuying. He was imprisoned for several accounts of identity theft, as well as weapon and drug possession back in 2003; he was released in 2009.”

The mugshot in the file showed a young man in his early twenties who’d experienced a harsh life on the street; his face was ruggedly handsome but it was marred by old scars and new bruises, and his eyes had the kind of haunted light to them that made people’s spines shiver and their instincts to scream for them to keep away.

“There was no trace of Sun Xiuying when the police searched through his last known address though,” Qiao Yifan said, “so I guess that’s a dead end.”

“Actually, you know what else has been bothering me?”

“Hmm?” Qiao Yifan wandered over to where Wei Chen was poring over a stack of documents, which turned out to be bank statements of Li Fangjing and her two late husbands.

“Check this out, this line here,” Wei Chen pointed to the one particular line on Li Fangjing’s bank statement that he’d highlighted in neon green. “This deposit was made one day after Li Fangjing had received payments from the insurance company. That amount was almost three-quarters of the total payment she got. The account number traced back to a guy named Zhao Yanglei. Li Fangjing claimed that he was a close childhood friend of hers who was experiencing financial difficulties at the time, so she sent him money to lend him a hand. But honestly?”

Wei Chen slammed the file close dramatically, the sudden loud sound startling Qiao Yifan, “I call bullshit. I mean, just look at these photos taken from security footage and the eyewitness accounts, and then try to convince me there isn’t anything even slightly romantic going on between those two.”

From the grainy photos captured by elevator security cameras, the man and the woman featured in the footage were clearly more intimate than mere childhood friends: the woman, a younger and more scantily-dressed Li Fangjing, was practically draping herself all over the man, her face buried within the crook of the man’s neck as they laughed about something only the two of them knew.

Li Fangjing and this Zhao Yanglei were at least sexually — if not romantically — involved while Li Fangjing was still married to Chen Guanghai and Tian Jing.

Upon closer inspection, Qiao Yifan thought the man’s face looked vaguely similar in that jaggedly charming way and the fox-like artfulness in his eyes was reminiscent of the man in the mugshot both CSIs had just seen — that of Sun Xiuying.

But before Qiao Yifan had a chance to voice out his observation, a series of beeping from the computer announced that the program had found a match to the DNA sequence that Qiao Yifan had input into the system half an hour ago. Qiao Yifan jogged over to his work station to check the results.

“Any luck with the skin DNA found in between Li Fangjing’s teeth?” Wei Chen asked.

Qiao Yifan’s eyebrows raised higher and higher in incredulity as he read the outcomes from his computer screen.

“Wei-qianbei, you’re going to love this,” he waved the older CSI over.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our long-lost friend Sun Xiuying,” Wei Chen whistled, clearly amused.

“Who’s also under the identity of Zhao Yanglei,” Qiao Yifan added.  

“Now then,” Wei Chen got up from his chair and cracked his knuckles, “shall we go arrest ourselves a murderer?”

-

“Hey, so what’s up between you and that Mo Fan kid anyway?”

“Wei-qianbei! What even… How…” Qiao Yifan babbled nonsensically, which only made the older CSI chortled in glee.

“So, there is something going on between you two young things!”

“I’m here, too, you know,” Mo Fan decided to make himself known in this conversation from the backseat of the Jeep that Wei Chen was currently driving.

“Wei-qianbei, please, can we just… concentrate on the task at hand?” Qiao Yifan begged, and then glancing briefly at Mo Fan through the rear-view mirror, he said in a slightly exasperated tone, “and Mo Fan, what are you even doing here? If Ye-qianbei finds out, you’ll be in so much trouble.”

“Never knew you had it in you, young Mo Fan,” Wei Chen, who was senior to both of his colleagues and so presumably to be the most responsible out of the three, was having the time of his life as he watched everything unfold. “Sticking it to Lao Ye, huh? Good for you, kid, good for you.”

“I can’t let you go into this by yourself, Qiao Yifan, I—” Mo Fan paused, his lips pursed as if he was forcing words back down into his throat.

“Wait, wait, there he is, I see him,” Wei Chen lowered his voice though there was no need to do so, but the other two men instantly perked up, “that’s him walking out from building 7025, right? The man in the hideous blue suit?”

“How long is it going to take backup to arrive?” Qiao Yifan asked, his gaze following the movement of their prime suspect.

“About ten minutes,” Wei Chen replied, and then he looked over at Qiao Yifan, who was already opening the car door and stepping out into the street, “Xiao Qiao, what the fuck are you doing?”

“We can’t let him get away, not like this,” Qiao Yifan muttered. “I’ll just stall him until backup gets here.”

“Qiao Yifan, are you insane?” Mo Fan tried to reach across the seats, but his fingers only caught empty air as the young CSI slammed the door close behind him without a backward glance.

Wei Chen and Mo Fan could only stare, flabbergasted, as Qiao Yifan crossed the street and calmly approached their target. The man seemed startled by Qiao Yifan’s appearance but so far, nothing out of the usual was happening.  

“Mr. Zhao Yanglei?” Qiao Yifan asked.

“Yeah,” the man looked him up and down unabashedly, his dark eyes narrowing in suspicion when he asked, “who the hell are you?”

“Crime Scene Investigator Qiao Yifan,” he introduced himself formally, his signature friendly smile firmly in place. “I’d like to ask you a few questions pertaining to Li Fangjing’s murder. You are, after all, acquainted with the victim, correct?”

“That’s right,” Zhao Yanglei nodded slowly, his previous cautious expression turning into that of a mourning lover. “Anything I can do to help capture whoever killed Fangjing.”

“Great,” Qiao Yifan sounded relieved, “on behalf of my team, I’d like to thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Zhao.”

“Of course. Mr. Qiao, if you don’t mind, I’d rather us do this in the comfort of my own home. Is that all right?”

Qiao Yifan only hesitated for half a second before he assented. The gun strapped to his hip felt heavier than before.

“Wait, where’s he going with the bastard? What is he doing?” Wei Chen was pressing his face against the car window as he watched his younger colleague follow their murder suspect into the apartment building that Zhao Yanglei was just getting out from minutes ago. And then he heard the back door opened and closed, and Mo Fan, dressed in his usual black jeans and hoodie, was seen following the two into the building after he clumsily showed his badge to the doorman.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes, don’t they know my elderly heart can’t take any of this hot-blooded excitement anymore? Damn.” Wei Chen radioed for backup again.

When Mo Fan got to the front door of Zhao Yanglei’s unit, the door left slightly ajar, he stopped dead. He realized belatedly that he was probably making a big mistake — a mistake that might even cost him his life — but he was already here, and even though he wasn’t armed with a gun or anything that could even act as some sort of weapon, Mo Fan was fuelled by the need to protect the man with the kindest, most dedicated heart and the sweetest, most genuine smile.

Mo Fan pushed the door further apart and stepped in. For a long second, he couldn’t hear anything, but then Qiao Yifan’s voice — muffled by the wall of being in another room — floated down the hall towards him, pulling Mo Fan closer to where Qiao Yifan must be.

“How could you do that to her?” Qiao Yifan sounded raspy, almost like he was struggling to breathe, and Mo Fan hurried his pace. “She was clearly in love with you, so much so that she was willing to commit crimes to please you, but in the end, all you gave her was a bullet to her heart.”

A dull thud of metal against flesh. An uttered groan of pain in response.

“Ha, you think she loved me? Is that it?” Zhao Yanglei’s voice was growing louder and more irritated the closer Mo Fan was getting. “Little boy, you don’t know anything, do you? I don’t need a woman who blabbed her mouth to any attractive man that bitch sets her eyes on; she’s a liability. Look where she got me. But this ends here.”

Another solid blow. Another groan of stifled agony, and then the sound of a body hitting the ground.

And this was what Mo Fan saw when he finally found them: Qiao Yifan lying limply on the floor, face turned sideways and his eyes tightly shut, with bruises blooming on his cheeks and blood trickling from his temple, and Zhao Yanglei towering over him as he aimed his gun at Qiao Yifan, a crazed glint in his eyes while he unlocked the trigger safety.

Somehow, Mo Fan was able to force his legs to move despite the buzzing in his ears and the conflicting thoughts of knocking down Zhao Yanglei first to dislodge the gun from his hands and rushing over to Qiao Yifan to make sure he was all right clashing messily in his mind.

He only remembered a loud boom that exploded by his ears, like thunder or fireworks bursting directly above his head — too much and too close — and then everything turned into a blur.  

-

His head felt heavy like he’d been asleep for a decade, and his bones were aching from staying upright in the same position for too long. As he gradually become more aware of his surroundings, he could sense the humming of the medical equipment, the quiet murmuring of the nurses and patients, and the sharp tang of antiseptic in the air. He was in a hospital.

And then he heard an all too familiar voice, but he wasn’t talking to him.

“Yifan, if backup hadn’t arrived on time, do you know what could have happened?”

“I’m sorry, Ye-qian bei,” Qiao Yifan murmured.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you. I never saw you as the type to rush into a situation so recklessly like this,” Ye Xiu continued, but then he glanced over at the still asleep Mo Fan before shifting his gaze back to his subordinate, his expression one of sudden comprehension.

“I’m sorry,” Qiao Yifan said again.

Ye Xiu sighed.

“You do realize that you’ll be expected to write an introspection report once you’re released from the hospital.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I should demote you,” Ye Xiu muttered, mostly to himself, “the higher-ups would want me to do that, but fuck them. You played a significant role in solving the two cases and apprehending the killer. And Mo Fan, when are you going to open your eyes? It’s incredibly rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversation.”

“Tsk,” Mo Fan blinked his eyes open, the white florescent lights overhead momentarily blinding him until he made out the shape of Ye Xiu standing by the bed and Qiao Yifan leaning against two pillows on said bed. The bruises hadn’t had time to fade away yet, but he had bandages wrapped around his head, which made his short hair curled in adorable messy swirls that Mo Fan had a sudden urge to touch.

He nipped the buds of those strange thoughts as soon as they rose up in his mind.

“And I suppose congratulations are in order, Mo Fan. Once you pass your gun licensing exam, you’ll be officially promoted to being a Level I CSI.”

Mo Fan blinked again.

“Wait… what?”

“You heard me,” Ye Xiu said, grinning.

“But… you kicked me out of the investigation,” Mo Fan was still muddled.

“Young people these days sure are forgetful,” Ye Xiu shook his head in mock disappointment. “I said you would not be considered only if Yifan has anything negative to say about you. Well, Yifan hasn’t said anything to me, and you two caught the murderer. That’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it? So, there you have it.”

Ye Xiu was about to head out through the door when he turned back to Mo Fan and said, “you also owe me an introspection report, so get on that as soon as you get back to the lab. I’ll be leaving for today.”

Mo Fan sank further back into the chair, and Qiao Yifan chuckled at the dumbfounded expression on the usually aloof man’s face.  

“Congratulations, Mo Fan,” Qiao Yifan said, a warm smile lighting up his face and even through the cuts and bruises, Mo Fan thought the other man looked beautiful.

There went another strange thought.

“Thanks,” Mo Fan murmured, cheeks heating up slightly. “I owe it to you, I guess.”

“I should be the one to thank you,” Qiao Yifan said, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously, “I don’t know what I was thinking, going along with the suspect like that. If you hadn’t been there…”

“Yeah, you definitely weren’t thinking then,” Mo Fan said, his lip curling up into a smirk. “Just don’t do it again. You might not be that lucky next time.”

“I’d trust you to always have my back though,” Qiao Yifan admitted, and then perhaps realizing he was revealing too much, he turned his head away in silence.

“Thanks, Qiao Yifan, for trusting me,” Mo Fan said, his voice losing that cold apathy that usually drenched like ice water in his words, and Qiao Yifan turned towards him to see the other man smiling — truly smiling for the first time since they met, a timid, little curve like the gentle arc of the crescent moon.

“I will never let you down.”

[princettegil]

There's been something I've been meaning to talk about for a while now but it recently came to a head about a week ago and I've came to realize that the medical field is probably one of the most uncaring amd worst places to work for someone with mental illness! You'd think the medical field would understand, right? Nope! Out of all the jobs I've had, none have been this bad at working with me or helping with my issues. I won't go into detail about what happened but I haven't had much in the way of anxiety attacks in the last couple years (cept for a couple incidents.) All in all, I've been doing stunningly better! However, when I have a job I tend to have a lot more anxiety issues (no matter what the job is, it just seems to happen.) So I've had about 3-4 attacks since I started work at the beginning of this year at a hospital (working one of the lowest rungs that still deals with patient care.) But that's to be expected; I figured that would happen since it almost always does, but I was intent on trying to sticking it out this time. Now, I don't like pity - let's just get that clear right now. I don't like pity, I don't like bothering people, I try my best to at least be as good as my peers at my job and I absolutely abhor bothering people with my issues (be that mental illness stuff or standard job difficulties.) Basically, I try to hold my own as best I can and I don't like to mention my mental health issues unless it's clear they're absolutely becoming an problem. Well, first (technically 2nd but the real first was a very small and not full blown attack) anxiety? A nurse happened to be in the room with me and took me to the main office where they let me chill a little and transferred me to work with a less trying patient. That's good! That seems reasonable yeah? Though what they did I agree was a good move, the way the nurse (an RN mind you) acted towards me was... odd. You'd expect a nurse to be well trained with things like anxiety or panic attacks and know both how to help out and seem considerate, right? Well... you'd be very wrong! Though she wasn't mean she didn't seem to understand at all what was happening to me even after I told her I was having an anxiety attack. She clearly didn't know much in the way of how to help me calm down or even deal with me at all working on her floor. But whatever, maybe she was tired? Nurses work their asses off after all! Maybe she just wasn't well trained with anxiety issues? It could happen. I gave her a pass in my mind but noted how it was strange for her to be so seemingly uncomfortable with a simple anxiety attack, especially one of a coworker. My 2nd anxiety attack went mostly unnoticed and I dealt with it the way I normally do. Took a break to go to the bathroom and try to chill out, stayed there a bit longer than my break actually allows but made sure I was okay before going back to the patient's room to continue my shift as normal. At the end though I made sure to inform my supervisor that I could no longer work with said patient because he was behind my prior anxiety attack as well. They didn't really agree but that didn't disagree with me either that they'd make sure I didn't have to work with him again. Then the 3rd anxiety attack. The big one. The awful one. The one that really forced my realization. Like I said, I won't go into detail on what happened. Lots of things happened that night all at once and some caused serious issues but are unrelated to the topic of the hospital's treatment of anxiety attacks. But the stunning thing I did realize was just how non-understanding and non-accomodating my supervisors (years long medical workers, especially in nursing fields) could be. At one of my last jobs, though they ran everyone to the brink of exhaustion and stress (causing many people to quit around the same time, including myself) they at least we're kind when they realized I had anxiety issues. It didn't actually work out the way they promised but they were willing to work with me and make simple accommodations to help me out (like working in the back when the store got really busy.) They were also very understanding and assuring even though I was terrified that they found out. At another job, though I didn't stay long last the first month's training classes, they were also understanding and my trainer took the time to explain how she understood what anxiety was like and gave me plenty of time and space to calm myself down (we got along so well I even friended her on FB after I quit and she's still really nice to me.) Basically, my other jobs were understanding. They didn't pity me (thank gods!) but they were open, supportive, understanding, accomodating and those coworkers who had been through similar really helped commiserate with me which helped me feel more comfortable knowing I wasn't alone. The hospital I work at now? None of the above! They weren't mean mind you, they technically said just enough to make it so that I probably couldn't sue them for treating me differently due to my mental disabilities (I have no intention to) but it really did seem like they wanted to put in the bare minimum of care to make sure that didn't happen. Did they tell me how they understood that anxiety was difficult to deal with? No. Did they try understandingy issues? No. Did they ask or try to accommodate me (like helping me to find a more suitable job there or letting me know I could ask to switch patients if things got hard? No. Did they seem any bit empathetic or even sympathetic? No. They gave me time to calm down (though they seemed pretty ansy for me to hurry up and breath so I could talk or rather, listen to them.) They said they were worried a couple times (while seemingly sounding and looking like they didn't give a single shit and were simply required to say it.) Did they at all mention anxiety is a disability or offer any tips for dealing with it? Nope! Instead they told me, in only slightly prettier words, to suck it up, deal with it on my own, don't cause problems, and that it's only gonna get worse from here. Not exactly kind or what you'd expect from medical personnel huh? In fact, that's my main concern - it was MEDICAL PERSONNEL! I could see this with grocery store staff or call center supervisors and probably write it off as just being ill informed or more caring about the cash and not the employees. But... trained, licensed, careered RNs and nursing staff!?!? Staff that I KNOW have had to deal with and care for mentally ill patients of all sorts? Staff that likely occasionally have to help out in the adjoining psychiatric center!? People whose job is literally to care for other people!? This is what disturbs me! This is what concerns me! If they treat a fellow employee like this then how do they treat the actual patients with problems!? Look, I know nurses don't have it easy! I have both family and friends who are CNAs and RNs and I know some of the shit they go through and how stressful it is. Especially since starting a hospital job and seeing stuff firsthand, I have MAJOR respect for those that can do such jobs! You guys have to have balls of steel! No... platinum! Dear gods the shit you ppl go through! I can easily see why you'd be frustrated especially with a coworker who can't handle the shit you deal with daily! I get it. I can see why you'd snap at patients and even eventually experience burn out and stop giving a shit in general. Hell, I wouldn't blame you one damn bit! But I would hope most of that would be split decisions, heat of the moment type stuff. Not when you've had almost an hour to absorb what's happened and had plenty of time to think through what to do or how to act. If you treat your co-workers like this, how would someone expect you to treat your patients? Not one of the 6 jobs that I've had treated my anxiety issues THIS BADLY! I'm talking data entry places, places with tiny cubicles, telarmarketing places, call centers, grocery stores, RETAIL stores! If nothing else I'd expect at least understanding from medical field workers! My supervisors, even a few of my coworkers - did not only not seem to understand but didn't even care! I was told by one to pretty much man up or quit! And some of these people, I KNOW have either personally dealt with mental health issues themselves or know someone close who has. Even if you know the job is tough, even if you know it may get worse, even if you've personally dealt with worse - you can't even say something as easy as "yeah man, this shits hard, I get it."? If I ever mentioned how hard my night was, my coworkers in the group chat didn't even care enough to respond. I mean, I'm sure you've had hard nights too! Let's talk about it! Let's commiserate and complain together! There's over I of us on this shift and I know you all have gone through shit, let's let off a little steam about it! There's gotta be at least one of you who'd love to rant it out! I find when you complain together about a tough job it makes you feel better knowing there's others in the same situation. Just knowing you're not alone can help a lot! Heck, answering every question you know the answer to with "just call the supervisors" cause you can't take 2 mins to say something like "click the x button on the menu" to help a coworker is a bit extreme isn't it? That last anxiety attack I had suicidal thoughts for a short bit in the midst of the worst part. I asked my supervisors for any advice they might have (hoping they might share some of their 20+ years of health field knowledge) they ignored my question and sent me straight to the ER even though I told them I was fine now. I can see the reaction for legal reasons but they didn't seem worried about me personally but how it may affect my job. They refused to listen to me. I went to the ER. Sat there, had blood work done and answered a few questions about how I was feeling and they let me leave. Why? Because they had determined I was fine and no threat to myself or others, just like I had told my supervisors. They never did give me advice. But they did screenshot my phone to show HR. So no, I don't want pity and I don't want people to get super worried about me but I'm always worrying that I'll be fired because of my anxiety attacks and the least a supervisor or coworker could do is tell me they understand it's tough (the job or the anxiety) or give me helpful tips or listen to me or ask how they could help. But being ignored, told to man up, told to quit, treated like I was just a legal risk and quickly unloading me onto anyone else they could - that's not how you treat someone! Someone with anxiety, depression, mental illness, learning disabilities, young people, old people - ANY PEOPLE! And what's worse is you are MEDICAL STAFF! You should KNOW about this stuff. You should KNOW how to handle it! You should KNOW to at least act like you care! You should KNOW how to comfort or calm someone or make them feel comfortable and not just like a legal risk or a bother that you don't want to deal with! HOW TF DO PATIENTS FEEL ABOUT THIS KIND OF TREATMENT!? My managers are always complaining about inspections and how the hospital is rated by patients and why and how to improve our scores. Well, as someone who's been an employee and now a patient too, lemme tell you your main patient displeasure issue - YOUR ATTITUDE! I thought before that some patients were just asking too much of the staff but now I know that they were right. But it's not about getting your apple juice quicker it's about being treated like you're either just a giant thorn in their side or a pit of money! Maybe next time I won't ignore that survery phone call.

[bqstqnbruin]

Always be my plus one teaser

Ok, here we are with the first ~1k of always be my plus one, so hopefully y'all enjoy this

WARNING: mentions of child birth

---------------------------

Christmas Day and the day after Christmas

December 21, 2021

“One fifteen means fifteen minutes before I have to clock in. Ten minutes before a twelve hour shift that I’m not ready for and don’t have enough caffeine for,” Anne muttered to herself, staring at her reflection through her car's rear view mirror. “But, fifteen minutes before getting to do something that I thankfully love, something that I enjoy doing.” No matter how long the shift in front of her, Anne had developed a habit of giving herself a pep talk before she got out of her car. “Whatever happens, you’ve helped someone.”

The last part wasn’t always true, knowing that there was the possibility that something could go wrong that she and the other nurses and doctors wouldn’t be able to fix. Lying to herself that everything was going to be ok was the only want to convince herself to go into the hospital everyday. Finally mustering up enough courage to get out of her car, she grabs her bag from the backseat, heading in for yet another long day right before the Christmas holiday.

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from the job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

“Hey, Tyson, come on!” comes from inside the open doors of the building, Anne not paying attention to who it was coming from, causing her to collide with a stranger, spilling her much needed coffee all over the both of them.

“Shit,” she says, not looking up from the brown splatter on what should be mint green scrubs. “I am so sorry.”

Standing in front of her was a curly haired boy, about her age, wearing what she was sure was a Colorado hockey jersey. Beyond that, she had no idea. “No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Let me buy you another,” he offers, ignoring the persistent calls from his friends to hurry up.

Anne checks her watch: 1:19. “It’s ok. I don’t really have the time, I have to clock in in eleven minutes, and knowing the cafeteria or the vending machines, it would take a lot longer,” she says, trying to get by him. Before he can protest, she gets to the elevator that would bring her to her floor, thankful that it was ready to get her there without her having to wait. The doors start to close, only to be stopped by a hand stuck through them, the curly haired boy with the coffee stain down the front of him getting on the elevator with her. Anne gives him a confused look, begging him to explain why he was trying to make her late for her shift.

“If you aren’t going to let me buy you one now to make up for it, at least let me see where you work so I can drop one off for you.”

Anne rolls her eyes, unamused by the man in front of her as he attempts to flirt with her. “That would be nice, but the chances of me getting it before it goes cold are slim to none, so you need to suggest something else if you really want to buy me a coffee.”

“Let me get your number so I can buy you one when you aren’t working?” he asks, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. 1:25. “I’m Tyson, by the way.”

The elevator dings, signaling that they were on Anne’s floor, opening the door to nurses and doctors running around, expectant fathers who were probably kicked out of the delivery room for making the mom too nervous pacing the halls, grandparents trying to control younger children who had little to no idea what was going on as they waited in the strange building. Anne walks to the back room to drop her stuff off and clock in, typing her information into the stranger’s phone as he followed her like a puppy, his friend’s texts coming across the top of his screen asking where he went so they could leave.

“I’m Anne, and I’ve got to go,” she tells him, handing back his phone. There was no way he was going to text her, and it’s not like the coffee was that big of a deal to him. She could go to the vending machine down the hall and grab one during her break, or have someone else on their break do it for her if she needed it sooner.

“Can’t wait for our coffee date, Anne,” he says, winking at her before shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering back down the hallway.

“Who is he?” her coworker, Jess asked, popping up out of nowhere. “He’s hot.”

“In more ways than one, apparently,” Anne jokes, “he’s also wearing my hot coffee on his shirt.”

“You didn’t,” Jess scolds her, turning her around to see the coffee that was spilled down Anne’s own outfit, knowing Anne’s tendency to be a little absent-minded as she gets wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Anne, you did.”

“Not on purpose!”

“DeFormicola?” Anne’s supervisor, Jackson, pops his head into the room just as she was clocking in, “We need you in room 414.”

“Saved by the bell,” Anne teases, walking down the hall to where all the noise was coming from, trying to throw on the appropriate clothing before she went into the room, struggling to get the gloves on as she entered.

“Ok, Erin, we’re going to need you to push,” one of the doctors says, Anne standing behind him as she watched the baby’s head crowning.

This was her favorite part of the job, helping the mother stay calm and trying to make sure that despite the child coming out of her, she was as comfortable as possible. Normally, she would be with the mom as soon as she came in, Erin clearly nervous as to what was going on. They had to be first-time parents, the dad going back and forth to Erin’s side and behind the doctor, looking mortified each time and clearly regretting what he was seeing.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor says, handing the new baby to a breathless Erin.

“A boy! A boy!” the dad yells, going out to the hallway, Erin clearly unamused by whatever antics he was going about.

“Don’t worry, he’s not the first one to do that,” Anne reassures her, knowing that something like that would happen at least five more times during her shift, hearing the father’s voice repeating the phrase. “I’m going to get him cleaned up and then get him right back to you, ok?” Anne asks, reaching for the baby as everyone else around her tries to clean everything else up.

“Be careful with him,” Erin warns, not meaning anything bad by it. She was definitely a first time mother.

“I will be,” Anne tells her, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket as she does. “So you have a name picked out yet?”

“We were thinking Matthew.”

Anne turns her head, smiling at Erin. “That’s a good name. My older brother is named Matthew.”

Erin smiles at her, the father finally coming back in, clearly overjoyed by the birth of their new baby. Anne hands him back to his parents, Matthew screaming his head off as they get wheeled into another room.

Anne goes over to the desk, sitting down where she was supposed to be for the start of her shift to do paperwork, but the uncertainty in the hour by hour of the schedule was not surprising. She pulls out her phone, ‘Maybe: Tyson’ coming up across her screen.

“He’s already texting me,” she alerts Jess whose head whips away from her computer to look over Anne’s shoulder at what message the mystery man could have sent her.

“He’s horny.”

“Jessica!” she squeals, wishing she was more shocked by what her friend had said. “Why is that always your first reaction to a boy sending a message?”

She shrugs, swiveling back to her own computer, “I’m normally right. What’s he saying?”

“He wants to know when he can buy me coffee.”

“Horny.”

“Enough.”

“You should date him.”

Anne turns to her, clearly unamused by Jess’s need to continue the conversation. “I don’t have to date anyone.”

Jess lets out a long sigh, Anne knowing that she was rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying you have to, I’m saying you should.”

“Ok, I don’t want to date anyone.”

“Oh, come on Anne,” Jess says, getting up and plopping herself on the desk in front of Anne, fiddling with the wire connecting the mouse to the rest of the computer. “You work in a maternity ward where people become parents everyday, and you haven’t even thought of finding a man?”

“You don’t have a point,” Anne tells her, not making eye contact with her.

“My point,” Jess says, leaning over to block Anne’s view of her computer screen, “is that you can’t be single forever.”

“Says who?”

“Didn’t you tell me that you were named after the patron saint of the town your grandmothers were from?”

Anne rolls her eyes, knowing where this was going. It was going in the same direction that this conversation always went in when she had it with her mom every single holiday. “All four of us are named after the patron saints of the towns our grandparents are from.”

“St. Anne is the patron saint of child care, grandparents and mothers.”

“She’s also that patron saint of unmarried women, so your argument is invalid, as usual.”

Jess takes in a breath to say something, cut off by Jackson calling for Jess to go into one of the delivery rooms. “Just don’t say no because you think you have to be single,” she advises as she walks away.

Anne leans back in the chair, rubbing her hands over her face. “This is how Christmas is going to go, isn’t it?” she asks herself.

[storytaeme]

eau de résistance - yoonkook

Yoongi has an existential crisis after he devirginized an adorable freshman who also happens to be his fan. Safe to say, it’s a little hard to avoid falling for someone as cute as Jeongguk. 

(alternative title: baby, f a love song, i need you to say it)

▸ Elements: Romance, Angst, Smut  |  College AU, Interns AU

▸ Word Count: 13,017 words

▸ A/N: After some major fuck ups on my end, I decided to just post this fic up here instead of ao3! Based on a thread I made a while back for yoonkook week :D title from stay frosty royal milk tea by fob just cause I can never title

Out of all the horrible mornings that Yoongi has been through (and that was a lot), this was perhaps the worst one of all. There was something about the crushing realization of a mistake that had his heart clawing against his chest, the undeniable permanence of a consequence that one had to accept in the wake of such a grand error, that made him want to fling himself out a window and backflip off a cliff into a pit of molten lava.

“Joon, I think I might have devirginized someone.”

“What the fuck?” Namjoon sputtered, milk dribbling down his chin and his lips quivering like an earthquake. Yoongi would’ve laughed and commemorated the sight with his phone if he weren’t so busy having an existential crisis that crumbled all he’s ever known about himself.

“I might have devi—”

Namjoon shook his head, “I heard you the first time around, I’m just not sure why you’re telling me this detail to your sexual life. Or why this ‘devirginizing’ is of any importance to my breakfast, which looks kinda gross now thanks to you.”

“You are aware of my rule.”

A snort slipped past the younger’s lips as he rolled his eyes and focused on spooning more cereal into his mouth. “Right, right, no virgins because apparently everyone will fall in love with your magic dick that can woo those who encounter it.” Sometimes he couldn’t believe Namjoon was an honor student with a perfect GPA when he made duck faces with puckered lips.

“Listen,” Yoongi hissed, jerking his index finger in his roommate’s direction, “you know it’s bad. You know.”

“I know how bad it was, but dude,” Namjoon gave him a look, “not everyone’s gonna think you’re whipped for them just because you deflowered their innocence and took away a piece of their soul and goodness from the path of Jesus Christ.”

Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temple. “I don’t know why I bother talking to a preacher who lost his virginity to a sugar daddy at age eighteen. I forgot.”

“Shut the fuck up, do not judge me for my life decisions. I was doing it for investment in future endeavors, in other words, college.”

“You finished off that allowance in the first week by binging on vodka to celebrate your getting a sugar daddy!”

Namjoon glared at him because he clearly had made a solid argument. “That’s beside the point.” That was exactly the point. “Anyway, tell me more about this person. Do I know them? Are they hot? I don’t mind taking seconds if they’re solid in the sheets.”

“First of all, you’re fuckin’ gross,” Yoongi offered him a look of unadulterated disgust, which was how he perceived Namjoon most of the time anyway. “Second, he’s a freshman.”

“Oh so like you.”

“Undergraduate freshman.”

Namjoon let out a whistle and wiggled his eyebrows, sticking his tongue out lewdly, “You like those ones, don’t you, hyungie? Fresh face, wide-eyed, perky asses ready to shake.”

“Biggest eyes I’ve ever seen,” Yoongi muttered, his mind instantly whirring back to the night before. Which was an incredibly stupid idea because he was well on his way to a raging boner with the memory alone.  

“So?” the younger shrugged, “you don’t see undergrads a lot. You’ll probably never see this kid again. Also, I thought you said you weren’t gonna fuck with undergrads this time around. Wild kids those ones. We’re getting too old for this.”

Despite the urge to argue that Namjoon was still, in fact, an undergrad, Yoongi took a deep breath and sighed, pursing his lips and glancing out the window. It’s well into the afternoon yet the sun looked absent, however he could still feel a warm tingling on his skin. It was unnerving. “He was different,” Yoongi murmured, knowing that Namjoon was already giving him a look.

“What? His dick sparkles or something?”

“Piss off,” Yoongi flicked crumbs in his direction, ignoring Namjoon’s calling him immature. “He was… cool. Like, really passionate about music and dance. It was cute seeing him ramble on about how excited he was about all this.”

“That’s nice, that all?”

“He’s also a huge fan,” Yoongi said quickly, hiding his face behind his coffee. So, maybe he had been a teensy bit assuaged by the fact that the kid knew his SoundCloud songs like a father does the Bible. Who didn’t like praises? Especially if it came from a very, very good-looking guy who just happened to be a fan, you know. It was all in the coincidence.

Namjoon snorted, “Pleasing your groupies I see.”

“Anyway,” he pressed, “thought it was okay, was cool. I was a little drunk ‘cause we met at some party then one thing led to another and we fucked.”

“Okay, that’s good. That’s like progress.”

“No, not good. The kid was good—” Yoongi moaned absentmindedly. God, the thought of the guy’s thighs flexing and tensing every time he sank down on Yoongi, the kid taking the lead and fucking himself down and the filthiest words spilling from his lips while Yoongi could only whimper helplessly and follow along to whatever the boy had in store for him for the night (and it was a lot). It was good. It was fucking incredible that Yoongi figured—hey, this kid knew what he was doing, he was probably not a virgin.

Guess again.

Namjoon crinkled his nose at him. “Jesus, pull your head out of your ass. I can practically see the image in my head with your boner popping. I get it, he’s really good. So what’s the problem now?”

“He said thank you, Joon. Thank you. He cuddled me afterwards and thanked me.”

“Okay,” Namjoon stared at him quizzically.

“Nobody fuckin’ says thank you after a hookup.”

“You know, unlike you, there are people who have common courtesy even in their procreative endeavors.”

Yoongi glared at him, “Bitch, we gays can’t procreate, this is why you’re not in biology.”

“So he thanked you, what’s the big deal? He’s just nice is all.”

“Seemed too sentimental for me,” Yoongi huffed and threw a scathing look Namjoon’s way before the other could open his mouth to say something he would regret.

Namjoon chuckled, “Well, lucky for you, we have separate programs from undergrads. So, what are the chances that you’re going to see him again?”

Yoongi wanted to die.

If he thought that running into Jeongguk in the streets was the worst thing he could happen, he thought wrong. Dead wrong.

After a crummy morning with the exploding espresso machine courtesy of Namjoon and face-planting down the stairs in his hurry to leave his flat, the last thing he needed was another run of bad luck. However, obviously, the universe had it out for him. Because there he was in the studio he worked in, the studio he dedicated his time and heart into, standing face to face with none other than the kid who had given him the best dicking of the century, ten out of ten would do again. Worse—the kid also had a huge name tag hanging around his neck that clearly said INTERN in big, black, bold letters.

Yoongi didn’t fuck with virgins, and he especially didn’t fuck with coworkers.

Now he’s gone right ahead and done both.

“Are you following me?”

The kid looked alarmed for a second, eyes growing wider than he thought possible, pretty pink lips parting. Yoongi felt his cock twitch in his slacks, remembering how those exact same lips had been wrapped around his nipples. Shit.

“H-hyung,” Jeongguk cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly and even blushing. Fuck, he was cute. Too cute for his own good. “I—uh, no. You said that I could come check out the studio when we—” he paused, gaze flicking up from beneath his thick lashes to look at Yoongi “—we, you know. So I did and I applied to their internship program and I got in.”

Note to self: do not fucking drink. Ever. Again.

“Right, that’s cool,” Yoongi cleared his throat, hoping that the loud, nervous rumbling in his heart wasn’t obvious. “Intern, right. That’s cool.”

At his words, Jeongguk’s lips quirked up on the corners. It seemed that Yoongi’s nerves had cancelled out his. “You said that already.”

“Right, cool.”

Jeongguk giggled a little and Yoongi wanted to smack himself with a book. Preferably a very, very thick and hard one. “So guess I’ll be seeing you around, hyung. Supervisor wants me to reorganize the filing cabinets.”

“Ah, yes, intern work. I remember those days.”

“You make it sound as if you’re three times my age. Calm down, Grandpa,” Jeongguk smirked, “you know, if you’re free, I wouldn’t mind an extra hand to help.”

Yoongi’s mind might have traveled elsewhere with the suggestion, but he just huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, right. I’m way past those days, kid. Have fun, don’t get too many paper cuts.” With a cackle, he left a groaning Jeongguk to start chipping away at the mountains of folders in the record closet.

Tolerance was built as is the case with alcohol, patience towards idiots, and a numbness towards things that made his adrenaline levels spike. It was supposed to build. It was supposed to fester and grow and stop his heart from flipping all over the place whenever he caught sight of Jeongguk. The first few days, the intern looked like a deer in headlights whenever someone called his name. Yoongi hid his smile each time because the younger was cute. Jeongguk was hardworking and sweet, and so easily likable that everyone in the office quickly fell for his toothy grin and silly laugh. He was eager to please, always running here and there for errands. Sometimes, he would even give a cute little salute and a small ‘aye, aye’ before he got started on whatever task he was assigned to. It pissed Yoongi off that some of his colleagues were taking advantage of him that Yoongi might or might not have spilled blistering coffee on a few of them.

But Jeongguk didn’t seem to mind, seemed to like moving around and having things to do. Yoongi figured that it would be fine that they had gotten involved before. Sure, they crossed paths, but it wasn’t as if they were going to fall into step (or bed) together again anytime soon.

Interaction was fine. Yoongi could talk to him and ask him to do things around the office without wanting to get down on his knees and suck the younger off (most of the time, at least).

However, the tolerance just wasn’t there. It wasn’t enough.

It was during quiet hours in the studio that Yoongi realized how weak he truly was for the younger. Whenever Yoongi stayed overtime at the recording booth, he would find Jeongguk popping by to check on him from time to time. Even when he insisted that it was basically his bedtime, much to Jeongguk’s distaste, the younger would hover around and watch Yoongi work with the brightest eyes. When the elder asked him why he wanted to spend so long in the studio, he had just shrugged, “It’s cool watching you work. You know a lot and I want to learn from you.”

As if his ego and heart hadn’t been inflated enough, this just put the cherry on top of the cake. Jeongguk would bring him steaming mugs of coffee, done just the way he liked it with a sprinkle of sugar and a splash of milk. In his sleep-deprived state, he really couldn’t complain about any dose of caffeine. The younger would hover quietly behind him, watching his fingers move deftly at work over the sound system.

“Guk, you really shouldn’t be out so late,” Yoongi grumbled, giving the taller boy a light shove as they jogged down the steps of the studio. It was a little over one and Yoongi was making his way home at long last. Jeongguk had stuck around again, yawning this time as puffs of warm breath mingled in with the cold air outside.

“‘M fine, just a little tired,” Jeongguk mumbled cutely, bringing his fist up to rub at his eyes.

Yoongi’s heart twinged at the sight. He yanked off his own scarf and wrapped it around the younger’s neck. Jeongguk was decked out in nothing more than a flimsy sweater that could barely barricade him from the miserable winter temperature. There was no way he was going to make it back home alive in that getup. “You should learn to dress properly too,” Yoongi grunted under his breath, tightening the knot around the boy’s neck. “You’re going to catch hypothermia at this rate.”

“Mm, nope,” he giggled sleepily, “I’m basically a human heater. Feel me.” He stuck out his bare hands in Yoongi’s direction.

The elder glanced at them hesitantly and Jeongguk nudged them forward again, doe eyes practically begging him to touch them. Yoongi sighed, relenting and mimicking the gesture. His fingers slowly ran over the back of the boy’s hand, the pads of his fingertips smoothing over the delicate veins before wrapping around the hand altogether. He was right. He was warm.

However, with how hard his heart was beating in his ears, Yoongi wasn’t quite sure if that warmth was emanating from the boy across from him or if it rooted in some sort of unfamiliarity brewing in his veins. Nevertheless, he quickly pulled away and shoved his hands deep, deep into his pockets. Jeongguk’s eyes remained wide and curious, peering at Yoongi as if he was attempting to pry into his thoughts.

“Let’s head back, kid,” Yoongi grumblesd under his breath, opting to show interest in his shoes rather than the intrigued expression painted on the younger boy’s face.

With small talk and a struggle against the bitter cold, Yoongi walked Jeongguk to the same station and parted ways when Jeongguk hopped on a different line. Safe to say, he spent the train ride home trying to rid himself of the image of a certain someone’s soft features and, especially, his deliciously warm hands.

In spite of Yoongi’s constant insistence for Jeongguk to leave earlier, the kid still refused to listen—instead choosing to stay late nights at the studio, bearing gifts of sustenance to keep Yoongi (read: the living dead) alive. Most of the time, he ignored the other’s presence and focused solely on his work before him. All his life, his time had been dedicated to music and all its accompaniments, but the universe had added another his way.

Jeongguk was curious and inquisitive, but never impolite with his questions. He did his best to keep out of Yoongi’s way but it was difficult for the other man to ignore his existence when he was so… big.

Just between the two of you (you, the reader, and Yoongi), Jeongguk’s size was definitely something that caught Yoongi’s eye the first time around—and the second and the third.

“Guk, gonna say this again, but you should not stay this late,” the elder sighed, yanking off his headphones and letting them wrap around his neck loosely. Jeongguk is yawning on the couch, homework before him seeming to be filled with sleepy, barely legible scribbles. “You’ve got classes tomorrow and I heard Professor Taesuk isn’t the friendliest with people who fall asleep in class.”

Jeongguk let out a small whine, “But I don’t wanna go home yet. I can’t focus on homework at home. I do better work here.”

“But you need rest,” Yoongi pressed again, “you should’ve gotten this done earlier and maybe cut back some hours at the studio. You’re not even getting paid.” Jeongguk, as a starting intern, was basically offering his services for free—sacrificing time and effort to build a network of connections that might come in handy someday.

“I like watching you work, makes me feel like I gotta be productive too,” he grinned unapologetically with droopy eyes.

Yoongi’s lips thinned into a stubborn line. “Go home for tonight. Come on. I’ll walk with you to the station as always.”

It’s become a habit for the two to trudge together through the cold for the commute back home. It wasn’t the best of circumstances but Yoongi appreciated those moments of silence as the snow and gravel crunched underneath their boots. Other times, Jeongguk would hum a familiar tune, his honeyed voice carrying in the wind. The sound intermingled with the rhythmic beats of Yoongi's heart, intertwining to create a melody that had his soul warming in the frost.

“Hey, hyung,” Jeongguk started just as his train arrived at the platform. Yoongi looked up. “Thanks—” pause “—for everything. You’re even cooler than I thought you’d be and I just… I like hanging out with you. You're everything I expected and… more.”

The announcement of the train’s next stop rang loud and clear across the station, but the only thing echoing in his ears was Jeongguk’s sweet words. Even as the train rushed towards them, the rails rattling with the sheer force of it, Yoongi thought they could never compare with the thrumming in his veins and the bells ringing in his ears. Jeongguk’s cheeks were pink from the cold and perhaps from the confession. “Um, no problem. You’re not so bad yourself,” Yoongi cleared his throat, feeling his own face flame just a tad.

Yoongi didn’t quite know how to remove the sudden, strange fluttering in his stomach, the little flips and churns of his gut, nor did he know whether the thundering in his ears would last or whether it would fade as quickly as the snow melted away into spring.

As the seasons changed, Yoongi found himself more and more entranced by the boy. Jeongguk was always caught within his line of sight. Whatever he was doing, whether it was cleaning up desks for his colleagues or stumbling over his feet to get coffee for the head honcho, Yoongi would always spot him. He pitied the younger for having to work the laborious, tedious tasks that nobody else wanted to do—after all, Yoongi had to go through the same thing when he himself had been a starter.

But Jeongguk never once complained or whined, never once felt an ounce of bitterness even when Yoongi supplied him with the opportunity to let his frustrations out. Instead, he would beam and say that this was a step closer to his goal of success.

“Wait, you want to make music but you’re going into business?” Yoongi questioned, puzzled. His hands froze over his setup as he turned to give the younger a confused look. Jeongguk had only shown passion towards the artistry Yoongi and the studio created, always raving on about a track or a production. Although he had been mostly involved in administrative tasks rather than content creation, Jeongguk had never spoken so highly of the financial side of the business nor has he expressed interest.

Jeongguk shrugged and grinned, “My parents don’t trust me in music, but I do still need their support to go to college since my grades don’t really qualify me for a merit scholarship. But it’s fine! I was thinking of going more into music business? I think that would be pretty dope, but I like singing and learning to produce too.” A pause ensued and the two sat in silence as Yoongi chewed on his words. Before he could respond, Jeongguk continued—this time with pink coloring his cheeks, “And that’s why I’m really grateful to you, hyung. You’re really cool and I’m learning so much from you.”

And Yoongi—in typical Yoongi fashion—opted for a response that allowed him to turn away and mask his embarrassment. Jeongguk had no problem exposing his admiration for the elder, but Yoongi struggled to control his heartbeat and preventing his death from utter elation.

A small giggle behind him indicated that the tactic hadn’t worked very well after all. And somehow, a part of him didn’t mind that in the least.

It had become a custom for him to slide on his headphones and slip into a zone of focus that barricaded him from the entirety of the outside realm. He existed for hours entirely for his music and the vibrations that pulsed through his ears. Every blemish in the song he cleared with his bare hands and instruments. By the time he was a teensy bit satisfied with his progress, the haze in his reality would clear. Pulling off his headphones, he turned to check on Jeongguk. “Hey, kid—”

And the sight that greeted him was both heart-stopping and endearing. His headphones clattered to the ground and he cursed at himself, quickly picking them up before whipping his gaze to the younger boy to see whether the noise had affected him. However, aside from a small whimper that had Yoongi’s heart squeezing, he was still sound asleep.

“Unbelievable,” the elder muttered, though he couldn’t keep the subtle smile off his face. Lifting himself off the chair, Yoongi did his best to pad quietly to where the boy lied. His face of slumber ever so serene—gone was the mischievousness and blinding smile, leaving a tired angel at rest in its wake.

Yoongi crouched down, ready to shake Jeongguk awake to send him home for the day. However, as he raised his hand, he found himself halting. His keen eyes observed the way his soft bangs fell against his face, how Jeongguk would scrunch up his nose unconsciously every time it tickled his skin. Smiling, the elder instead moved to brush his hair away from his face, gently stroking his temple. Jeongguk’s face melted into one of ease, a smile making its way upon his lips.

The moment seemed to have pulled the brakes on time—the entire world moving in slow motion, from the gentle rise and falls of Jeongguk’s chest, to the way Yoongi’s digits sifted through the younger’s silky strands, and how the boy’s eyelids fluttered open drowsily. Jeongguk blinked slowly, gradually gaining consciousness as reality dawned upon him once more.

Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat, catching in surprise. On the other hand, the other man seemed to have done the same—his eyes widened, awestruck at the moment. For a while, the two made no moves—staying stiff and still to keep the tensely fragile air steady. It was as if one shift of muscle could’ve shattered the entire moment into shards. But it was proving difficult to breathe and Yoongi wasn’t sure if this was good for either of them, but he didn’t—couldn’t—bring himself to move.

He should’ve pulled away, should’ve coughed or done something to tear away from the intensity of the second. But he didn’t. He was a coward and he liked Jeongguk and he didn’t think that he would ever get a second chance at this opportunity—to stare and observe this beautiful human being too good and too untouched by this world.

However, the other had other things in mind as he scooted forward on the couch. Their faces were a few mere inches from each other. Yoongi could feel the warmth of their breaths mingling in the air. “Hyung,” Jeongguk whispered, slicing gently through the silence. He drifted closer and closer, his eyes falling shut once again. Yoongi prayed and hoped that he had just fallen asleep, but the quick skip in his breath indicated otherwise as his lips finally pressed against the elder’s.

And it was as if time had truly stopped—the entire world freezing on its axis, unmoving and the earth had stopped revolving around the sun and the moon pausing its rotation.

Yoongi was still positioned awkwardly, but he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t deny the familiarity of Jeongguk’s lips, how wonderful they felt, how soft they were, how long he had been waiting for this exact moment.

Jeongguk parted his lips cautiously, gauging the other man’s response to his action. There were alarms blaring in Yoongi’s mind, warning him that this was the point of no return—if he crossed this line, there was no going back. No going back to being coworkers sharing amused looks across the halls, no friendly, quiet nights in the studio.

For once, Yoongi didn’t listen to his head.

He kissed Jeongguk back with as much fervor as the younger gave. Their lips melted together as if they were meant to fit perfectly, like clay around its mold. Yoongi barely registered Jeongguk’s sharp intake of breath before he slowly crawled above the other boy, straddling his hips as he leaned down to join their lips again. His heart burned with flames that licked up his skin, his hands beginning their journey to explore the wide expanse of Jeongguk’s body. He swallowed every whine, every little, delicious whimper that slipped past the younger’s addicting lips.

Jeongguk responded to his every touch, every stroke of finger underneath his shirt and down the outline of his stomach. He canted his hips up to meet Yoongi’s, moaned as he relished in the sensations of Yoongi’s fingers digging into his scalp and tugging his head back. With his neck exposed, the elder dipped his face to taste his neck, sucking slowly at first before adding the graze of his teeth to the mixture. Jeongguk released soft pants, choked breaths as Yoongi lapped at the marked skin—the golden glistening with a bit of moisture and blooming with prints he had left behind.

It was satisfying to see Jeongguk come undone underneath his fingertips. It seemed that, whatever Yoongi did, the younger would respond so promptly, so violently that it fueled this sudden, carnal desire within him. He memorized every little noise, every twitch of the boy’s fingers.

Before long, shirts were strewn across the floor, abandoned without a second glance. Yoongi’s pale fingers traced pretty circles on the boy’s abdomen, dancing gently along the surface to elicit shivers from the younger who caught the digits and nipped at them teasingly. “Didn’t know you really liked my abs, hyung,” he giggled.

Yoongi rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, “Cocky shit. You know you look good.”

“I do,” he beamed and then softened, “but it still feels good to hear it from you than anyone else.”

His words pricked at the elder’s supposedly colder heart, chipped away at the ice. Yoongi recognized the tone—that sound of adoration and admiration—and that was a dangerous tone for the game they are trying to play. And Yoongi made his next mistake by once again choosing to ignore the second glaring sign that this was wrong, that there was a better path.

“Hyung?” Jeongguk questioned, peering up at him with those pretty, bright eyes. Yoongi had written them—those pretty, bright eyes—into his lyrics, into one of his ballads that sounded much too soft to be included in his mixtape. It was the kind of song he would tuck away as a memory piece for a nostalgic day.

“Less talking, baby,” he grunted instead, touching their lips in the middle as his fingers fumbled with Jeongguk’s buckle.

Their pants soon joined other articles of clothing on the floor, leaving them bare in the coziness of the tiny studio. The only sounds bouncing off the soundproof walls were Jeongguk’s labored breaths and the shuffling of skin against the fabric of the couch. Yoongi kissed along his jaw—that pretty, sharp jaw—and down his neck, over the bruises, and down the column of his pretty throat. Everything about Jeongguk screamed perfection and that voice inside of Yoongi was in turn commanding him to take a piece of it, to have a taste of the crème de la crème.

And who was Yoongi to deny his inner voice? He bit and nibbled, loving the way the canvas of the younger’s body blossomed before him with his imprints. He made his way down, running his tongue along the lines of his toned body, dipping it into the dimples of his waist.

Yoongi licked his lips when he reached his final destination. Jeongguk’s length curved thick and proud against his stomach, a tantalizing sight from a tantalizing man. It would be a lie to say that his mouth didn’t water at the sight. Jeongguk exuded everything sex embodied in that very moment and Yoongi was a mere mortal falling into the temptations created by the hands of sin.

“Hyung, f-fuck, please,” he whimpered, fingers absentmindedly tangling in the elder’s silky locks to tug him closer. “Can you—would you—”

Never in his life had he seen Jeongguk so distraught. Even their first night together, the younger had been so composed, had left the other man instead a stuttering mess. But this time, the tables had turned and Yoongi was going to milk this as much as he could.

Grinning, he thumbed the slit of Jeongguk’s pulsing cock, “What do you want, Jeonggukie? Tell hyung what you want.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk flushed again, pretty pink lips parting in a gasp as he jerked his hips up slightly to get any form of friction from the elder’s hand.

“You have to tell me, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi muttered and gave his length a quick squeeze, just enough to have him squirming uncomfortably.

“M’want—I just want your mouth—” Jeongguk’s breath hitched in his throat as Yoongi gave a tentative lick, tongue barely grazing the head. A long expletive left the other’s mouth and the elder chuckled. “Come on, hyung, you can’t do this to me. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts so much. Want your mouth—nothing else, p-please. I want your mouth on me, hyung.”

With every breathless, hiccuped plea, Jeongguk proved to only urge Yoongi to tease him even more. His fingers danced along the length, his fingertips brushing along the riverlike veins, and his mouth puffed out warm air against the already sensitive skin. His pale digits toyed with his cock and wrapped and tightened around it, stroking ever so lightly. “Keep begging, kid, maybe you’ll get there.”

“You’re so mean—hnnng,” Jeongguk whined, “s-so mean, after I rode you so well last time.”

Yoongi laughed, “Rode me once and think you’re hot shit already? That how you should be treating your elders?”

The younger pouted, eyes clouded over with misty lust. “You’re not that much older, Grandpa.”

“Keep that up and I’ll think you have a grandpa kink or somethin’,” he jokingly jeered.

“I can feel my boner dying at this very second,” Jeongguk noted with a pointed glare at both Yoongi and his pained dick.

His lips curved into an amused grin. The kid could be a brat after all. He supposed Jeongguk had always gotten what he wanted, always was some sort of superman with how well he did everything he did. Now that Yoongi had the ball in his court, it was almost hilarious how conflicted Jeongguk looked when he had to sacrifice his pride to beg for more from the elder. “We can’t have that now, can we?” Yoongi grinned, finally dipping his head and showing some mercy towards the younger.

He mouthed along the cock and the heat of his lips seemed to be more than enough to drive the younger right out of his mind. His tongue dragged along the length and swirled around the head. Jeongguk was throbbing, his entire body clenching and relaxing according to Yoongi’s gestures. His moans filled the empty room as he relished in the sensations of the other’s ministrations.

“Look at you all pretty for me, Jeonggukie,” he murmured, teeth scraping gently along his cock. “I’ve never seen a prettier baby than you. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you, hm? Do you like this? Do you like hyung’s mouth on you?”

The words that tumbled from the elder’s throat had Jeongguk’s blood rushing through his veins, heartbeat thundering in his ears as he could feel waves of pleasure and tension crashing over him. “Y-yes, love it so much, hyung. Your mouth—fuck, mmm, feels s’good—you’re so—ahh, oh—please, please. It feels so good, hyung.”

“Good, pretty baby,” Yoongi cooed, placing his cock back into his mouth and sucking it deep. He bobbed his head to take in as much as he could of Jeongguk’s thick length inside of him. The younger’s body was shuddering with thrill as he twisted his fingers harder into Yoongi’s hair.

Yoongi couldn’t help himself, loved the way Jeongguk kept pulling at his hair. His desperation was palpable and crackling through the air. He groaned into the cock in his mouth, vibrations immediately carrying through Jeongguk’s entire being. His fingers played with his balls, clasping them tightly, and covered what his mouth couldn’t.

There was something so satisfying about the weight of Jeongguk’s dick in his mouth. A satisfying feeling of fullness as he licked and lapped at the length. The cock glistened with moisture underneath the studio lights and Jeongguk looked so pretty, all frenzied and short of breath. He would look even prettier if he were spread—

“Hyung, want you,” Jeongguk moaned, this time his hands halting Yoongi’s movement and pulling him away. “God, I want you inside me. P-please, miss the feel of your cock filling me up.”

Yoongi licked his lips. Fuck, this kid really was something else. For once (or maybe the second time) in his life, Yoongi was going to voluntarily break one of his rules. At least this time he knew Jeongguk was definitely no longer a virgin. “What do you want, Jeongguk-ah? Did you say you missed me? You liked my cock that much?”

Jeongguk voiced his complaint as he, with trembling fingers, pushed himself up and around, flipping over so his ass was in full view for Yoongi. And what a fucking fantastic ass it was. The younger's hands splayed out across the cheeks and pulled them apart. His puckered hole was beckoning Yoongi closer, begging him to stick his tongue in it until Jeongguk was a writhing mess or shove his cock in there to fill him up.

“God, you’re fuckin’ pretty, kid,” Yoongi grunted, dancing his fingers lightly along the smooth skin of his cheeks. The other twitched in response, nudging himself backwards to encourage him. “S’cute, what do you want?”

“Y-your cock,” Jeongguk whined almost pitifully. Need leaked into his tone, his breathlessness a clear indication of his strong urge for more. “Please, hyung, want your cock in me. Want you to fuck me stupid,” he moaned, pushing himself back again to press his bare ass against Yoongi’s front.

The friction had Yoongi biting back a groan. Those plump mounds would look so pretty swallowing up his length. “Let me prep you first.”

“No need,” he gasped, “M’loose—loose enough anyway. Fucked myself earlier.”

“Earlier?”

Jeongguk was growing more restless by the second, and he certainly seemed far from accommodating to Yoongi’s inquisition. “T-the bathroom, lunchtime. Just needed to get off. Kept thinking of you in your studio—fuck, you look so hot.”

His confession would make a priest blush and Yoongi’s mouth watered at the thought of Jeongguk shoving himself up against the wall of a tiny bathroom stall in the office, fingers buried deep and curling inside of him until his knees buckled. God, what a fuckin’ concept.

“So naughty, Jeonggukie,” Yoongi breathed, hand pressing down to give his ass a good squeeze. “Do you do that a lot? Fuck yourself in the office?”

“Hnng, n-no, not really—maybe, I don’t know—God, I can’t think right now,” Jeongguk choked and squirmed in agitation.

“Should give you a toy to stuff your ass next time, keep that in the entire day hm,” the elder was musing aloud, thinking about how a fantastic idea that would be. That seemed to only add fuel to the fire as Jeongguk released a deep, throaty sound to signal his pleasure.

Jeongguk whimpered, “Y-yeah, that would be good. Want a cock shoved up in me—maybe a dildo. Got a nice one at home.” He was rambling at that point and Yoongi took that opportunity to roll on a condom and slick it up with lube. Despite his distracted state with his wild imagination, Jeongguk’s words died in his throat the second the sloppy sounds of Yoongi stroking his wet cock resonated in the room. “Shit, oh my—fuck, hyung, please. I want you now. Want you to fuck me hard.”

Yoongi himself couldn’t wait any longer and wrapped a hand around his member to guide it towards Jeongguk’s hole. He traced the tip along the rim again and again, grazing over it teasingly. It was driving the younger insane because all he wanted was to be stuffed full of cock, craved that satisfying feeling of being completely and utterly fucked.

“Alright, you ready, Guk?”

The younger tossed a glare over his shoulder. “I’ve been ready for two hours now.”

“Sure it’s not the entire day? Heard someone fucked themselves in a public bathroom earlier.”

“Ha, you’re hilarious—” The drawl was dropped the second Yoongi squeezed himself into the tight tunnel. Jeongguk let out a long groan as his cock twitched in front of him. He could feel his entire body tensing to the familiar sensation of being filled up. “Fuck,” he moaned, “feels s’good. Shit, hyung, so good. Fuck me, please please please.”

Yoongi nodded and eased himself in and out slowly, almost torturously. He was doing his best to avoid hurting the boy but the pace he was setting seemed to only pain Jeongguk more. The man was pushing himself back to meet Yoongi’s tormenting rhythm.

“Goddamn, hyung, fuck me faster. I can’t feel shit right now,” Jeongguk protested childishly, his words complemented by a deep pout.

He almost forgot how bratty Jeongguk could be. This was why, that first time, he couldn’t believe that Jeongguk was a virgin. He seemed to know how to egg the elder on, how to provoke him to do his worst, which was exactly what he wanted. Yoongi did as he was asked and snapped his hips forward—hard. The entirety of his cock slipped inside the hole and, considering he wasn’t particularly big, was able to hit him balls deep.

“Shit, fuck, right there,” the man underneath him hiccuped, grinding his ass back against Yoongi. “Just like that. Harder. Faster.”

Yoongi followed suit and swung forward again. He pulled out his cock halfway, enough to have Jeongguk feeling empty and pissed when Yoongi stayed that way for far too long. Just as the younger was about to let another complain spill, Yoongi thrust back into him deep and started fucking into him at a speed that rendered the boy senseless. He was trembling all over, muscles tensing and relaxing in alternating motions.

The usual silence in the studio was quickly replaced by the sound of the younger’s pleasured voice and the sound of skin against skin. There was something hypnotizing and sexy about fucking in an empty studio, about knowing how he had colleagues and, if any of them were to work overtime, might be fortunate enough to catch them red-handed. Or, in Jeongguk’s case, bent over and fucked by the mysterious and private part-time producer, Min Yoongi.

“R-right there—oh man, fuck yes—aaah,” Jeongguk whined, squeezing his eyes shut as he let his entire body be consumed by the sheer wonder of Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi was enjoying himself as well, fucking into the boy and relishing Jeongguk’s sounds—a clear telltale that his body and sensations were bathing in gratification. “G-god, you’re so good at this. Fuckin’ me so good, hyung. Such a great cock, missed it a lot,” he grinned over his shoulder.

What a sight the kid was. Ass full of cock, hair matted against his forehead, and that gorgeous, confident smirk spread across his face. He was the personification of lust in that very moment and Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to argue otherwise considering he was taking pleasure in the very definition of sex in human form.

“You touching yourself, Guk?” Yoongi asked, chest heaving.

“N-no, do you want me to?” He sounded so small. Fuck, that was hot. Being shorter in stature himself, Yoongi thrived on the ability to make others bigger than him feel much smaller than him. It was a kink, sure. It was a particular kink when it came to Jeongguk who was fit and ripped and whose presence screamed loud.

“Do it, stroke yourself, baby,” he cooed, sliding in and out faster and harder. The corresponding noises were lewd and messy, just the way Yoongi liked it. The lube made it much too easy for him to fuck into Jeongguk, liquid dribbling down the boy’s thighs every time Yoongi pushed inside him.

Jeongguk was obedient, doing as he was told and reaching his hand down to touch himself. His cock was rock hard and pulsing painfully. He nearly cried with relief and hurt when he began to run his fingers along the tough length. “F-fuck, feels so good—goddammit,” he cursed.

Every time Yoongi pushed forward, Jeongguk would lurch along with the motion and fuck into his own hand. Each stroke of friction sent liquid fire shooting through his veins, the heat spreading quickly throughout his body.

In spite of his lack of experience with Jeongguk, the way the man was trembling was an indicator that he was close. So close. The stuttered breaths and expletives leaving his mouth were also more than enough to indicate the same. “Shit, shit, fuck—so good, gonna—oh fuck, waited so long for this. Hyung’s cock—fuck, so good. Wanna come, wanna fuckin’ come all over so badly. Please.”

“That so, Jeonggukie? You wanna be a messy baby?” Yoongi goaded, grinning to himself proudly when the younger shuddered with his words. “You like being made a mess, huh? Like being a little slut getting fucked open in a studio like this. Do you like being messy, baby?”

“Mmm, yes, hyung, l-love it. I wanna be a mess just for you—your mess,” Jeongguk hummed, ass fucking back so Yoongi would be pushing into him harder.

“You going to come all over yourself, baby? Are you going to come for hyung?”

Jeongguk nodded eagerly, his entire body shaking, “Y-yes, please please, can I, hyung? Can I come please?”

“Think you’ve been a good boy for me, baby?”

“Yes, yes! I’ve been so good, hyungie. Been so good to you,” Jeongguk pleaded desperately, voice growing more frantic. His words were slurring together and his tone begging.

“You’ve been so messy though, I don’t know if I like messy—”

“I’ll clean up! Please, I’ll be clean. I’ll clean up from now on.” At this point, the younger was saying anything to gain his orgasm. His hand was still tugging on his cock. The tip was throbbing, red coloring almost blue. He needed the release and Yoongi wasn’t as heartless as he himself believed.

With a feigned deep sigh, one that had Jeongguk’s stomach falling, Yoongi pursed his lips. “I mean—”

The forced disappointment in his tone was enough to have the younger pleading again. “P-please, hyung. Oh fuck, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll be so good to you, I promise. Just want your cock, nothing else. Make me your messy baby. I’ll be messy, I’ll be clean, whatever you want.”

There was a niggling feeling nagging at the back of Yoongi’s mind that Jeongguk’s words were treading on dangerous waters, one involving attachment that Yoongi wasn’t sure he wanted to venture into just yet. So he let the boy have exactly what he needed. “Okay, Jeonggukie, you can come. Go on, come for me. Show me how much you have inside of you, how messy you can be.”

Jeongguk’s lips part with his words, breath knotting in his throat as he allowed himself to let go. As Yoongi continued to jerk his hips into him, Jeongguk reached that sweet peak and spilled into his hand. White, sticky come coated his fingers quickly, dripping onto the couch and staining it with ivory. He was messy for sure and Yoongi would be lying if he said that didn’t turn him on.

He could feel his own climax chasing after him, clawing at his skin and begging to be released. “Fuck, t-that’s hot,” Yoongi groaned, “M’gonna come soon.”

The younger, ever breathless, was still tingling from his orgasm and quaking from the force of it, paused Yoongi’s movement. “W-wait, want you to come on my face. Please. Want your come on my face.”

Goddammit.

Yoongi was going to fucking burst with his words alone. He wasn’t a teenager but his limits seemed to have been tested with Jeongguk. “You sure? Your face?”

“Y-yeah,” Jeongguk breathed, quickly scrambling to lie on his back. He gestured for Yoongi to climb on top of him and the other did so, throwing his legs on either side of the man and hovered his cock over Jeongguk’s face.

As if to make things worse (or better), Jeongguk let his eyes slide shut as his jaw fell to pop his mouth open. His tongue stuck out, waiting patiently for the sweet nectar building up inside of Yoongi. “Fuck,” he groaned, yanking on his cock faster and squeezing harder, “you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this. Your ass is pretty, your face is pretty. Would look even prettier covered in my come.”

Jeongguk murmured his agreement and kept his mouth open, tongue hanging out and anticipating. It certainly didn’t take him very long to spiral down into temptation. His come soon streaked across Jeongguk’s face, splattering abstract lines across the boy’s beautiful face like a blank canvas painted over in a masterpiece. Jeongguk kept his mouth open, Yoongi’s come landing sweetly on his tastebuds. The white garnished the boy’s face prettily. The sight only impelled Yoongi on even more and he milked his cock as much as he could to get all of his pleasure out and onto the boy’s features.

It truly was something else to see Jeongguk when he was completely sober and coming down from his high. His beauty was unrivaled and Yoongi couldn’t deny how fucking gorgeous he looked with Yoongi’s come all over his face. Jeongguk closed his mouth and swallowed the liquid that had ended up on his tongue, throat moving with the action.

God, he was fucking beautiful.

However, the guilt for making a whole mess took over quickly and he reached for tissues to offer the younger. Jeongguk took it with a nearly inaudible thanks and began to wipe himself down. Yoongi, unsure of what to do, leaned back against the couch in full, naked glory. There was no denying how satisfied he was, the adrenaline dissipating from his veins as fast as it came.

Jeongguk was next to him, drying himself up and removing the mess from his face.

The silence that ensued was deafening. It was as if a contraption had taken hold of the air and squeezed all the oxygen out of it. Gone was the intensity of the atmosphere, leaving an awkward aftertaste. Yoongi cleared his throat, Jeongguk didn’t look like he was breathing. The two sat side by side and Yoongi couldn’t think of a time more awkward than this, not even the time he caught his roommate jerking to Elton John in tears.

Yoongi licked his lips and made the first move, reaching for his crumpled shirt on the floor to slip it on. Jeongguk fumbled to do the same, fingers seeming to tremble with the force of nature. The two got dressed in the utter quietness, neither one of them saying a word to ease the tension weighing heavy in the room.

As the elder shifted over to clean up his music notes and tidy up his studio, Jeongguk took note and packed up his work, shoving everything into his backpack distractedly.

“So, you heading back?” Yoongi coughed, prompting the younger to jerk up and whirl around. He swung around so fast, the elder worried that he might’ve gotten whiplash.

Jeongguk pinked, gaze finding the mirror and trailing down his neck where Yoongi had left his mark. His eyes danced with something akin to hunger. His glance flicked back up to meet Yoongi’s. Instead of addressing how Yoongi had basically mauled the other man over, Jeongguk only cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

“Cool—” Cool? That’s the best you could do, Min? “Let’s walk over to the station then.” Even if Yoongi hated painstakingly awkward situations, the last thing he wanted was for Jeongguk to risk his life at ass o’clock because he got some dick from a fool like him.

There was a pause in which Jeongguk tilted his head, eyes widening ever so slightly, as a small smile painted itself on his face. “Okay,” he spoke softly, voice quiet in the thundering of Yoongi’s heartbeat.

The walk to the station felt longer than it usually did. The space between them growing by the second. Jeongguk’s long legs took him a step further than Yoongi each time, but he always slowed down and adjusted according to how Yoongi moved. They fell into step together and, although Yoongi appreciated the gesture, appreciated Jeongguk, there was a strange bubbling in his stomach that had the hairs on his skin rising.

He had a good time with Jeongguk, sure. But what about the aftermath? This wasn’t supposed to happen again. He already had his qualms with the idea of fucking Jeongguk the first time around, and he was foolish enough to do it a second time. Instead of resolving whatever past issues he had with Jeongguk and his emotions, he ended up caught in a tighter struggle in these tangling vines. Instead of finding answers, he was left with more questions and doubts that had his stomach churning uncomfortably.

Yoongi was a man of certainty. He was certain of his aspirations, certain of his preferences, but Jeongguk had stained a grey area in his black and white.

“Well, this is me,” Jeongguk stated slowly as his train arrived at the platform. Yoongi looked up, pressing his lips together and glancing at the moving machine to avoid Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Get home safe, Jeongguk,” he breathed finally just as the doors opened.

When he finally met the younger’s eyes, it seemed as if he had more to say. His eyes had always been so big and expressive—windows to the soul as people say. However, after a moment of searching Yoongi’s, he managed a small smile, shaking his head to himself with thoughts Yoongi wasn’t privy to. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hyung.”

With one last salute, he was climbing aboard with the doors closing behind him. Yoongi was left in the sudden silence, the rattling of the rails absent to grant room for his pervasive anxiousness.

He didn’t quite know what to do. But one thing was for sure—he was screwed.

The thing with Yoongi was that he never reacted well to news that rocked his boat. His nerves had the tendency of leaping from one end to another, zapping and frying his entire brain and rational thinking.

This time was no different. The entire ride home, through the loud, metallic screeching of the tracks, and as even as he made his way up to his apartment and lied down on his bed, the image of Jeongguk’s face—all of them, a series of images—flashed through his mind. The boy’s expressions morphing from one emotion to the next—the happiness shining through his hazel eyes, his desire reflected in the parting of his lips and the creases of his temple, and what seemed to be understanding painted on the softness of the curl of his lips.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how he could possibly face him and pretend as if everything could go back to normal again. He had painted his face in come, had let filthy words tumble from his lips, had let his pale fingers bruise the younger’s skin, and had stuffed his cock inside of him.

Twice.

There were a lot of things that Yoongi failed to not regret in life, this was just another strike on the list.

Returning to work on lack of sleep was something he was used to. However, returning to work on lack of sleep and with the most excruciatingly conflicting emotions plaguing his every thought was the worst. Even the blackest of coffees could not save him from this misery.

As if to make matters worse, the second he stepped into the studio, he spotted Jeongguk coming down the hallway with a pile of files stacked up to the top of his head. Yoongi did what he did best—run. He quickly slipped into another room and waited until he heard Jeongguk’s footsteps walk past and fade away.

“What a coincidence to see you here.” The voice that chirped from his side had him jerking back to reality, heart rate picking up in panic. Yoongi whirled around to see Hoseok smirking at him. “Missed me that much?”

“You’re hilarious,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, creaking the door open again to glimpse into the hallway.

Hoseok leaned against the soundboard, tilting his head curiously. Having been so caught up with his work and with Jeongguk, Yoongi hadn’t really had the time to spare for a few of his friends—or ex-hookups, namely Jung Hoseok. The two had met in college, ended up in the same company for an internship and, well, had previously fucked. Once—or maybe thrice. This was before they landed the same jobs and Yoongi had to cut off the hooking up because work took over his life. Hoseok had taken it in stride has he did a lot of things. It wasn’t as if he was at a shortage of men lining up to please him.

Though, even Hoseok wouldn’t be able to deny that Yoongi held a soft spot in his heart. And his pants.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, why do you look like you’re hiding?” Hoseok asked, curiosity piqued before Yoongi could mask his expression with disinterest.

The elder of the two cleared his throat, “Just, you know, the boss.”

“Boss is out for the week, you know this. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Yoongi pinched his lips, “anyway, I should get going—”

“You know,” Hoseok started, halting Yoongi’s steps, “if you wanted to see me so badly, you should’ve just asked. You have my number, Yoongi.”

The other man snapped a glare his way. “That is not why I came in here.”

“So why did you?”

“Just—” How did he manage to dig this deep of a hole himself? “—wanted to check out the equipment, I heard you got some new stuff from tech.”

“Nothing you don’t have, Mr. Perfectionist. Your setup is complete and flawless. Do you wanna keep lying so I can keep prying?” Hoseok grinned, knowing full well that he had won this battle. “Or—” he tapped his lip thoughtfully, drawing Yoongi’s gaze to the pretty pink “—did you want to see me for something else?”

Yoongi’s muddled brain took some time to process the statement and it must’ve given Hoseok the wrong idea as he stepped closer and closer until he had Yoongi caged against the wall. “W-wait, what are you doing?”

“You have my number, hyung,” Hoseok beamed again, that blinding, charming smile dancing mischievously on his face.

“Christ, you’re unbelievable,” Yoongi huffed and the other man only laughed as he took a step back. “I’m leaving now. Don’t try anything else.”

“My doors and pants are always open for you, hyung,” he sang just before the door slammed in his face. Yoongi already had one mess to deal with, he most definitely did not need another to add into the equation.

Avoiding Jeongguk throughout the day turned out to be more troublesome than he thought. He didn’t realize how much he saw the boy around the workplace until he actively tried not to. When he locked himself up in the studio, he couldn’t help but be grateful that he had a ‘do not disturb’ function on his door that kept outsiders away. Including Jeongguk.

(Yoongi was pretty bummed that he didn’t get to hear Jeongguk’s pleasant “good morning, hyung” with that crinkly-eyed, teethy smile—but he would take this to the grave)

When work time was over, Yoongi usually escaped with either:

leaving before the sun even set and taking his work home (not preferred as he hated leaving with unfinished tasks)

pretending that he couldn’t hear the light knocking on the door or the pacing which was sure to be Jeongguk outside his room (this was miserable but easier)

Over the course of the week, he tried all sorts of avoidance tactics. He wasn’t quite sure why—that was a lie, he knew precisely why. Yoongi didn’t think he was ready to face the consequences of his actions, including Jeongguk—sweet, sweet Jeongguk who had been nothing but kind to him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like the kid. Of course, he liked him to a certain degree. Yoongi just wasn’t sure how he felt about this entire thing and he would rather postpone The Talk for as long as possible rather than dealing with it.

Don’t try this at home, kids.

Eventually, these things came back to bite him in the ass. And in fact, it did. See, Yoongi tried his best to live life the way he wanted—to the fullest, or as full as he could get. But this mistake might have saved him weeks of effort and suffering in which he realized he was a complete and utter fool.

Yoongi hadn’t noticed the beep of his door, heavily engrossed in tuning the demo he was working on. His hands moved across the dials and shifts on his setup, his ears covered by the headphones and the music dancing in his mind—

“What’s up, Yoongs?”

A curse left his mouth as he accidentally twisted one of the dials too far. Yanking off his headphones and turning around, Yoongi pinned the devil himself with a glare.

“Oh, scary,” Hoseok only laughed, unfazed. He had gotten used to being on the receiving end of that look whenever he disrupted Yoongi’s work, not that it made him do it any less. “I feel like you haven’t left this studio for days now.”

“Did you switch on the do not disturb function again?” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow and cracking his neck. He had been in his studio for quite some time, but it was nothing new. Hoseok just wanted an excuse to pop by, which reminded him— “I really should get that lock password changed.”

Two people knew his passcode — one was Hoseok (a Mistake) and the other was Jeongguk whom he gave this privilege just because he came around so much, Yoongi couldn’t be bothered to open the door for him any longer.

Hoseok pouted, “Why? You don’t want me coming in here unannounced?”

“No.”

“Cold,” he chuckled, giving a little feigned shiver for good measure. “You look tired, you should get some rest.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at the younger who was smiling much too brightly, flushed too deeply. “And you’re drunk, you should go home.”

“I’m not drunk,” Hoseok rolled his eyes, swaying a little as he stepped closer to Yoongi, “just a little tipsy. Not drunk. Tipsy.” He enunciated the last word very slowly, which gave away that he was, in fact, drunk.

“Seok-ah—”

Hoseok pulled Yoongi up and seated him against the board, trapping him in and catching Yoongi before he could run. He hummed and nuzzled his nose against Yoongi’s before moving down to bury his face in his neck. Inhaling deeply, Hoseok’s breath tickled Yoongi’s skin and—wow, it had been so long. Although Hoseok may be the complete antithesis of Yoongi, their physical chemistry had been undeniable.

“Fuck,” the younger groaned, “missed you a lot, hyung. Haven’t had cock like yours in so long.”

No, no. Yoongi could feel himself getting heated and that definitely wasn’t what he wanted when Hoseok was like this—nor did he really want Hoseok. He knew this was his dick talking, but his dick was talking very loudly. “Alright, Seok, time to go home.”

“Just a little bit—please,” Hoseok begged, eyes blown up in such a way that made Yoongi both pissed and soft. “Just a little kiss,” he stuck out his bottom lip adorably.

“I don’t think that’s a good—”

Instead of whining more, Hoseok huffed and rolled his eyes before crashing his lips down against the elder. His mouth moved fast, lips sucking in Yoongi’s as his tongue slipped in between. Yoongi’s knees faltered in surprise, his hands latching onto the younger’s arms for support. Hoseok must’ve taken that as encouragement because his hands slipped down to cup the other’s bottom as he drew him closer, pressing his noticeable boner against him.

Yoongi, as any other human would do with someone like Hoseok, reacted almost unconsciously. He moved his lips against Hoseok mindlessly, enjoying the softness of his lips. Hoseok tasted familiar with a tinge of alcohol.

But, for the first time, there was a feeling pulling at his gut that raised red flags. Something about this was just… wrong.

He didn’t know how long they stood there with their lips glued together, Yoongi trying his best to calm the sudden shaking of his nerves and Hoseok relishing the other man’s company. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he realized the light streaming in from outside his studio.

Because his door was open.

And Jeongguk was standing right there.

Yoongi should’ve known better that his carelessness and indecision would get to him someday. And that day happened to be it. Before he could even blink a second time to really process that the guy he had just slept with, the guy who made Yoongi’s studio a little warmer, a little brighter, and his heart a little lighter and heavier all the same, had seen him kissing another man, Jeongguk was gone.

The door closed with a resounding click that echoed much too loud in the small room. Suddenly, his studio felt suffocating, the space seemed to engulf him.

“Hoseok, get off,” he muttered as he shoved the other man off.

Hoseok looked at him in a daze, confusion evident in his expression. “S-sorry, shit, I really thought you were into it.”

Yoongi did too. Yoongi wished he was — or maybe he didn’t. Because this spoke volumes of what Yoongi was feeling — whatever it was that he couldn’t quite comprehend. But Jeongguk. It said a thousand words about how he felt about Jeongguk. Attached, affection.

And he had messed it all up.

Even then, Yoongi’s feet couldn’t bring him to move and he perhaps had let Jeongguk turn into another one that got away.

After his brief epiphany and after Hoseok left him to have yet another existential crisis, Yoongi resolved that he should at least talk to the boy or give him some time of day. Communication is key as everyone says. Maybe it’s time to start listening to the masses.

So, for once, Yoongi swallowed his pride — and it was difficult to take down — and walked up to Jeongguk’s cubicle. The interns worked in little boxes separated from the higher ups in the company. While Yoongi had been promoted enough to be granted his own studio, Jeongguk was still left to be cramped into a tiny square. This was probably why he enjoyed being in Yoongi’s space so much.

He peeked around the nonexistent door, seeing Jeongguk hunched over his laptop. Licking his lips, Yoongi braved himself. “Jeongguk,” he started.

The other whipped around so fast it seemed as if he was about to crack his bones. “Hyung.” His voice was barely a breath and his eyes — fuck, his eyes — looked absolutely pained. That wasn’t a look he ever wanted to see on anyone, especially not Jeongguk. His heart ached at the sight and knowing he had been the cause of it had guilt eating him inside out.

“Do you want to, um, maybe grab lunch with me?”

Jeongguk’s eyes flashed with another glint of pain. He glanced away for a second before turning back to his computer. “It’s fine, I’m sort of busy.”

“Guk-ah—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” Jeongguk said, his back still facing Yoongi.

He didn’t like it. It was strange facing Jeongguk’s back. They’ve always stood side by side or face to face. Even when Yoongi wasn’t looking at him, Jeongguk was usually facing his back. He had never been on the other side of it, had never realized how shitty it felt, and he wondered how Jeongguk had put up with it for so long.

“You’re obviously upset, look I—” Yoongi stepped inside the room, drawing closer to him.

The younger visibly stiffened at the sound of his footfall. “Stop.” Yoongi did. “Don’t come closer. Please.”

Yoongi wanted to reach out, wanted to touch him again. He thought back to the winter night when Jeongguk held his hand, his giggle ringing clear in the brisk air, and how his warmth had radiated against Yoongi’s cool skin.

“I get it,” Jeongguk began this time, “we were just dicking around. Please just go, I just—I don’t want you to see me like this. Okay?”

Not okay. Yoongi wanted to argue and push Jeongguk to talk, to scream at him, to just look at him. But he couldn’t be selfish — not when he has been so countless times to Jeongguk.

“I—alright, take care, Guk. Don’t forget to eat lunch, yeah?”

The other man didn’t respond and instead their silence is filled by the light tapping of Jeongguk’s fingers on his keyboard. He still hadn’t turned around and Yoongi left quietly with his heart in his throat.

Yoongi hadn’t realized before, had been so caught up in avoiding his feelings and processing them, how different things were without Jeongguk around. He hadn’t noticed how much time Jeongguk spent lounging around in his studio or doing work, how many times he greeted him in the hallways and dropped silly jokes that had him hiding his smile. The absence was almost tangible. The weight of his disappearance was a sudden burden upon his shoulders.

And thus, it was clear what would transpire. Yoongi’s moods deflated almost instantly. He was bitter and snappy, scaring away anyone who dared ring the door to his room. And it wasn’t as if he was trying to hide it — in fact, he made great attempts to show it.

“Jesus, can you stop the sulking?” Namjoon frowned, hitting him in the face with a carrot stick. As if Jeongguk ignoring him wasn’t bad enough, Namjoon was on a healthy binge and that meant that their fridge was cleansed of all fast food and ice cream — everything Yoongi needed to properly sulk.

“I’m not,” he pouted.

“Okay, what happened?”

Yoongi gave him a face that said everything. “Nothing.”

His roommate rolled his eyes, “Alright, let’s not play dumb here. Just tell me. Hit me with it. Did you fuck up with something?”

Yoongi’s frown deepened.

“Let me guess, you fucked that devirginized slash intern guy again.”

Yoongi dropped his head onto the table.

“Oh lord,” Namjoon huffed, turning around to reach to the top shelf behind him where he pulled out a bag of chips. “Tell daddy all about it.”

“The fuck, you have chips? What happened to your diet?”

“The fact that you responded to that and not my calling myself daddy means this is bad. Now come on, talk to me.” Namjoon paused, “Also, I have cheat days, cut me some slack.”

So he did. He told him everything, rambling on about how adorable and sweet Jeongguk was, how he shat sunshine out of his ass, and how he had fucked the kid again and started ignoring him and then the whole Hoseok mess.

“Let me get this straight, you fucked him, then you ignored him, then he walked in on you attempting to fuck someone else—”

“I was not attempting to fuck Hoseok!”

“Well, that wasn’t what it looked like to him, was it?” He had a point. “Then he started ignoring you.”

Yoongi sighed, “Basically.”

Namjoon didn’t say anything for a long while and, when the elder looked up, Namjoon was frowning and glaring at him so hard, it looked as if his face was about to burst.

“What?”

“You’re kidding me right? You’re sulking because of this when the answer is so simple?”

Yoongi threw a withering look his way, “Not everyone’s a genius like you.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that all you need to do is talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Namjoon licked his lips, looking up to the heavens as if to ask why the gods were testing his patience. “You tried once. Once. The kid likes you a lot, why not use that to your advantage? The worst he could do is say no, but what have you got to lose?”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi muttered.  

“Why don’t you talk to him again? And maybe, I don’t know, ask him out properly. Take him out for milkshakes or a handjob at the movies.”

The elder moaned, rolling his forehead on the countertop. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up. I don’t even know how I feel, how am I going to deal with this?”

Namjoon smiled softly, patting his friend, “He seems like a good kid, he’ll listen.”

Guess it was finally time to get his balls back.

The following day, by the time lunchtime rolled around, Yoongi was sweating bullets. He finally gathered up the courage to pop by Jeongguk’s cubicle again, speech ready in mind. Straight to the point. Apologize and explain, then maybe ask him out depending on how he reacts to the apology. Perfect.

Except, he walked into the cubicle to see Taehyung, another intern, sitting on Jeongguk’s lap and giggling. Jeongguk was scowling affectionately, amusement dancing in his eyes, as he struggled to get Taehyung off him. However, when Taehyung’s eyes wandered to the door and widened in surprise, Jeongguk realized that they weren’t alone. He turned to find Yoongi standing there slack-jawed, the words on the tip of his tongue fizzling into the thick air.

“H-hyung!” he quickly shoved his friend off, Taehyung stumbling to his feet and glaring. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi eyed them cautiously. Were they a thing? Should he be here? Should he stay after this? Maybe they were—stop. Talking to him was important. No more miscommunication. “I… wanted to talk,” he said slowly.

It was clear that the conversation was not about to be a light one. The two glanced at Taehyung awkwardly and Taehyung stared at them awkwardly before understanding dawned upon him. Grinning, he skipped out of the room with a “good luck.”

He wasn’t sure if he was referring to Yoongi or Jeongguk.

Jeongguk shifted awkwardly in his seat, trapping his hands between his thighs (don’t think about his thighs, don’t do it, Yoongi) and peering up at him from his seat. “What’s up?”

“Do you have time after work? I’ll buy you a drink.”

Hurt flickered in the younger’s eyes. God, Yoongi was already fucking this up and he wasn’t even sure how. Jeongguk breathed shakily, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His heart stopped. Yoongi couldn’t breathe. “Or, dinner,” he scrambled, “I can buy you dinner. Lamb skewers from the cart outside? Or proper dinner, I can do too.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk murmured.

“I really want to talk to you, Guk-ah,” Yoongi emphasized, stepping inside the room and closer to the boy.

He looked conflicted for a moment, eyes darting around the room as if he was weighing out his options. Yoongi prayed to the higher powers that things would go his way—just this once. This one time he had courage. “Alright,” Jeongguk agreed, “I’m staying a bit late though to finish something for the big boss.”

“Yeah, s’fine,” Yoongi said much too quickly, tongue tripping over his words, “I’ll wait for you.”

Jeongguk softened and nodded, “Okay, see you later.”

By the time Jeongguk finished and knocked on his door, the sun had already set and the clock had just hit nine. They bundled up in thick coats before moving outside. It was a little chilly for a spring day and Yoongi almost instantly reddened from the cold. Jeongguk giggled at the sight of Yoongi’s glowing, rosy nose.

Yoongi’s heart hurt because he loved that sound so much and didn’t know how much he missed it until that moment.

They ended up settling for a barbecue restaurant two blocks away from the studio. Thankfully, the atmosphere wasn’t too heavy with the noises all around them. Even this late at night, the restaurant was still packed with patrons. From the clanking of metallic utensils to the sizzling of meat on each grill, the place was alive.

As Yoongi worked on flipping each piece of meat, Jeongguk fidgeted uncomfortably across from him. It was only after the two had a little food inside them that Yoongi began. “Listen, I fucked up.”

Jeongguk winced, “No, no you didn’t. You never promised anything more and that’s okay. I’m a kid after all.” He laughed, voice strained. “I wasn’t sure what was going on—I mean, you know, we did it again. So I thought—hey, maybe there’s something more here. But that was all on me, you never led me on or anything, but I took it that way. Thought when you were avoiding me you just needed more time, but should’ve known better. It’s my fault for taking advantage of you.”

The elder’s brows puckered in confusion, “Why are you apologizing? I’m the asshole here, I’m supposed to be saying sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jeongguk insisted.

“No, I was stupid,” Yoongi grimaced, taking a deep breath. “When I first met you, I thought you were incredible. You were this shy, vibrant kid who had a lot of passion for music and I liked that. I dug that a lot. Then we slept together and I thought you were still pretty cool and, just, I was scared. The last virgin I slept with ended up getting emotionally attached to me and—yeah, let’s just say it wasn’t a fun time. So I thought the same thing was going to happen with you.

“But you’re different, Jeongguk. It sounds cliché and stupid, but you are. You’re sincere and you’ve always been the more mature one out of the two of us. I was terrified of this whole thing mainly because I don’t really have experience with it, and the whole feelings thing—” he groaned, Jeongguk chuckled “—I’m—it’s not that I don’t feel things, I just don’t really know how to handle it when it comes like a bitchslap to the face.”

Jeongguk simpered quietly, “You’re saying your feelings about me slapped you in the face?”

“Felt like it, yeah. That whole lightbulb moment.”

“So, what you’re trying to say is, you were scared I would get attached because I, as you believed, was a virgin before I met you, and I did end up getting attached but not because of that, but now you’re attached too?”

Well, when he put it that way, it sounded so simple. “I guess—no, I mean, yeah. That’s exactly it.”

“So you like me?”

“Um, yes,” Yoongi squinted, unsure if it were a trick question.

“Like, like like me?”

Yoongi pulled a face. “Dude, we’re not five. Yes, I like you—in a way that I want to take you out to dinner and then have you for dessert in my bed.”

“God, yes,” Jeongguk groaned. Don’t get hard, Yoongi. “I want that. I mean, you’re bad at emotions or whatever but we’ll figure this out. Don’t worry. We’ll do it together.”

“Wait, so you do want me? Like you really want me?”

“How is this different from me asking if you like like me?”

The elder huffed, “I’m just being careful.”

“You’re cute.”

Yoongi tinged a deep pink. “Thanks?”

“Also, I wasn’t a virgin.”

He blinked.

“I don’t know what made you think that but I wasn’t.”

“Wait, but you—thanked me? After the sex?”

Jeongguk shrugged, a ghost of a smile still dancing on his lips. “It’s just a thank you for a good time. Common courtesy, you know.”

Yoongi was going to kill Namjoon. How was he always right?

“Fuck, you’re too cute,” the elder huffed fondly.

It was Jeongguk’s turn to blush. “Thanks, glad you think so.”

“So, uh, any plans after this?”

“You trying to offer to take me home?”

“Maybe.”

“To fuck?”

“It’s a school night, you’ve got classes tomorrow so no.”

Jeongguk pouted, “But it’s just sex.”

“Don’t you kids have a curfew?”

“Dude.”

To tie up this cheesy, little tale, Yoongi had to admit that he was an absolute fool for the entirety of his start with Jeongguk. The kid was sweet and a hard-worker. He was everything Yoongi liked in a person and more.

They took turns sleeping at each other’s places, sometimes ending up in the studio to cuddle whenever Jeongguk finished a tough exam or Yoongi winded down from working on a track too long. They would fuck each other one day, and snuggle another.

A year later, they’re working on getting their own apartment. With Yoongi working more hours, he picked up a place closer to the studio and—well, he had invited Jeongguk to stay with him if he’d like. Jeongguk didn’t even blink once before he jumped on the offer. Living together meant sharing chores and Yoongi liked the domesticity, liked that he vacuumed and scrubbed the dishes while Jeongguk did laundry and rinsed the plates.

Jeongguk was thoughtful and, turned out, he really did always thank Yoongi and curl up into his boyfriend (Jeongguk cried every time Yoongi called him that) after they slept together (he didn’t like to admit it but Jeongguk loved being the little spoon). When Yoongi made dinner as best he could, Jeongguk would reward him with a blowjob or a cuddling session—both equally as wonderful that Namjoon would gag to either one.

Yoongi didn’t think this was where his life would go, especially not with this entire mess, but for now, he was just grateful that he got his happy ending.

[nctsukashii-archive-blog]

The 23rd was soon, he knew the routine by now. He'd get cards and gifts from kids who appreciated his hard work, some who he even helped once before. It was a nice holiday to celebrate, especially when it was another one of those family get-togethers. "Hey," but he knew not everyone has that, even if they deserved it. "Labor Thanksgiving Day is soon. I'm planning on making dinner for my aunt and uncle, but if you want, you can join us. You work just as hard as us, maybe even more."

Ah, that was coming up wasn’t it? He hadn’t given much thought about it, too busy with the other thoughts that plagued his mind on a day to day basis. Cases here and there, time at home to think about what to do, trying to be decent to himself- not much thought for holidays. It hurt a bit, to think about them. He tried not to, best he didn’t. It’d only make him feel bad about himself, and he was trying to get out of that habit for everyone, and himself.

Hoshi could picture it now- the fond times before. Azarov yelling his name across a table- ‘what do you mean it’s not called thanksgiving here???’ with those big doe eyes. The tacky decorations around his house that they made together- and his mothers overly happy smile at something so gaudy hanging from her ceiling. The spirit of the holidays as he’d come home from practice to smells of American kabocha and the taste of cookies out of the oven. Such a bittersweet memory now. He wished it wasn’t so.

But, the ache only grew at what Saihara had said to him. He’d been spending too much time around his girlfriend in the past- that must be it; why else would he feel so touched by such a simple gesture? ‘Holidays are about family Ryoma, and when our kids are around the table I’ll tell ‘em the same thing I’m telling you’, she said before everything. Was, he family? It was just a coworker thing- the holidays were different from countries and he knew this, but a part of him wanted to just genuinely believe for even a moment, that maybe it was a bit more than just a Supervisor obligation to have him around. 

…His throat was constricting. How embarrassing, nearly about to cry he was at such a simple gesture as being invited over for dinner. It was sad how much it made his heart lighten. The apprentice turns around, hand gesturing to signal ‘don’t worry’ towards the fellow colleague. If Saihara saw him bawling now it’d just make him feel more flustered, and he knew it. The beanie was pulled over his eyes, fingers pressing into his tear ducts so nothing would start running down his face as he breathes to calm himself down. He really was a fool, huh? A dumb fool. But being stupid wasn’t always so bad.

“I appreciate it, really,” Hoshi begins, despite his efforts to stop it- the slight choking in his voice rings out. He doesn’t turn around. “But, ask your aunt and uncle first if I can come.” It’d feel wrong to intrude on such a thing, such a personal place like that. Just because he wished for something, didn’t mean it was true. “I don’t want to impose more than I already have.”

A pause, before he speaks once more. “C-Can I be alone for a few minutes?”

[abearwithnoname]

So a few things:

I get very depressed when my sister calls and I eavesdrop on my parents talking to her. She’s in NYC with her boyfriend at her new job that sounds pretty sophisticated and has traveling opportunities. So, logically, I feel like shit because here I am, the older sister, still at home, single, and work as a glorified manure shoveler and, well, am straight-up lame. I feel like I’m going nowhere in life while she’s making leaps and bounds, and I know that I have to be patient for my time to shine, but it feels like it’ll never come. I’m not smart, I’m not pretty, I’m not anything. She’s all of that and she’s badmouthed me for I don’t know how long now. Calling me lazy, probably stupid, saying I’m a failure for leaving WV and coming back home, saying I’m a failure for going to community college. I really hate myself and those things are what play in my head (among other things said) whenever I’m particularly depressed.

And now work has become unbearable. The boss treats us like we’re incompetent idiots. She says things are “basic,” “simple,” “elementary,” when its stuff she knows how to do, but she forgets that none of us have been in the show circuit for forty years. What’s “simple” to her is new to us. And just yesterday the trainer brought up how she thought some horses were getting fed more than they were supposed to (I really don’t know what she saw that made her think that), the boss literally said “I’ve gone over it so many fucking times” (re: what a quarter scoop is, half scoop is) when she HAS NOT SAID A SINGLE WORD ABOUT IT FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER. We’ve NEVER had this problem until literally yesterday and even then I don’t believe the trainer because she sometimes treats us like fucking children too. (See: taking a picture of something and sending it to the group chat, asking “what’s wrong with this picture?”) To make things even more wonderful, in the morning meeting we had with our supervisor right after that, the boss LIED TO HER FACE, saying “we had to put lines in all the feed scoops because apparently no one knows what a half scoop or quarter scoop is.” Way to throw us all under the fucking bus. 

So not only does she lie, but my coworker brought up a good point yesterday: at meetings when the supervisor isn’t there, the boss is always asking for someone to fill her in on what’s going on. She NEVER leads it unless she wants it to go her way or she wants to cut someone off and whatever. But, when the supervisor is there at the meeting, the boss talks like she’s run the fucking show the entire time.

Other chief complaints: we fucking babysit her dog THAT HAS NEARLY GOTTEN US KILLED ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS. 1) the dog doesn’t know how the fuck to stay out from in front of the Kubota while it’s running, 2) she fucking hides like a predator in the trees along the riverbank beside the road we lead horses on and she pops out and fucking scares the horses, 3) she’s started jumping into the river by herself without being told to, and that DOES NOT GO OVER WELL WITH THE HORSES (how many times have I almost been plowed down by now because of that????? or had horses rip back so hard???? OR BEEN KNOCKED TO THE GROUND????). She leaves her dog at the barn on her days off when she has to go anywhere BUT SHE HAS A FENCED-IN YARD AND AN ELECTRIC FENCE. FUCKING USE IT.

Also: she harps and harps and harps and harps over people needing to sign off on med sheets. So what does she not do? SIGN THE FUCKING MED SHEETS WHEN/IF SHE DOES SOMETHING. Saying “Oh, I did all the meds this morning” does NOT work. Fucking sign off on the goddamn med sheets because I am NOT fixing your mistakes after you scream at us for the same thing.

And if she sees something wrong, she doesn’t fix it herself, oh no. She’ll yell “UH, LOOSE HORSE” or “CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHY THESE FANS AREN’T ON?” or “WHY ISN’T THIS DONE?” and then wait for someone else to fix it. Lmfao my favorite is when she announces “we should turn the radio on” when she’s in the stall right next to the radio and then waits for someone else to catch her hint and turn it on.

She’s nosey as fuck and wants in on everything and then has the audacity to call some of the boarders nosey. BUT WHAT ONE OF THE FUNNIEST THINGS IS, SHE ALWAYS SAYS “ASSUME NOTHING,” THEN SAYS “WELL EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW THIS.” I.e. today: my work friend called, told me that she’d taken care of the med sheets but would put them up tomorrow and whatnot, and the boss is like “uhhh why is there not one for Gastroguard?” and my friend told her that the med sheet’s dates were done, and once the dates are done, we all take the sheet down because it’s complete. Well, the boss goes, “well she still needs Gastroguard! Everyone should know that!” and my friend said “not everyone knows it” and then stormed off because she was mad as hell. Then, as she was leaving, she passed by our office manager, and she told my friend what the boss said behind her back once she’d left: “It’s so simple, it’s elementary,” as if my work friend was an idiot, and my work friend just broke down into tears.

This boss is literally throwing all of us under the bus and she’d replace us all in a heartbeat if she got it her way. She’s like “I could get grooms from California if we provided housing” when I’m standing right beside her, as if I haven’t given that goddamn place enough of my blood, sweat, and tears.

We’ve all been talking to our supervisor (who is really nice) about it, but it all boils down to the boss’s personality. I don’t think that’s going to change. We’re all so fucking fed up. In the morning meeting tomorrow, if the boss makes any smartass comments, my work friend said she was going to rip the boss a new one, and there’s a good chance she’ll walk out right then and there. Honestly, if she does, then I will too: we’ve been put through the wringer too many times for someone who really doesn’t give a shit about us. I used to think the boarders were the biggest pain but now I know who the real asshole is. The only problem is that I don’t want to walk out and make more work for my poor coworkers, but I’m not gonna put up with the boss’s shit anymore. 

And it’s funny, because a former coworker’s parting words to me were “I thought [the boss] was my friend, but she’ll throw you under the bus. Be careful.” And I never realized how true those words were until these past few weeks.