#anyway one more part to go in this particular series

[bi-disastersoup]

Shifters - Part 4

This one's a lot more silly than the last part. Also contains some very brief, non-explicit, tastefully censored humorous nudity.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

[aeide-thea]

god i know that complaining abt fic which most of you haven't read, and which i won't, for politeness' sake, identify in this post, is a great way to come across as both dickish and boring—

but i've been rereading a very long, very satisfyingly plotty series that's a fandom darling and the thing is, when you read like 400k of an author's work at once it really starts to become painfully apparent what their priorities are, by which i mean two things:

holy shit they're obsessed with 'what if strong powerful men who could hurt you didn't (but did hurt Bad Guys) (and it was sexy of them),' which leads into

holy shit they do not appear to have thought through the implications of saying 'i will have my heroes take over the same power structures that have enabled abuse, make no real changes to those structures other than swapping out the leadership, and then claim that everything is wonderful now bc Good Men Are In Charge'??

like. i don't necessarily need every passing fantasy to present me with a coherent, revolutionary system of politics and ethics—sometimes things are just fun and sexy and not especially Examined and that's fine!—but by the time someone's written literally almost half a million words, and done a lot of worldbuilding while they were at it, i am going to start squinting if they seem to think a Good Man can e.g. become an emperor by killing off the leadership of multiple countries and installing puppet kings loyal to him and still remain a Good Man, even if the justification was that the original leadership was maltreating its citizens and deserved to be extrajudicially executed. like. this shit was a bad, autocratic move when the US did it in real life and it's still bad now that you're having our mutual blorbo do it in fiction! and that's not even getting into the whole thing where like. they've got servants who the Good Man and his friends ""treat well"" but who very much remain second-class citizens in terms of how the story actually frames them and their concerns. [this was also a huge issue i had with foz m*adows' most recent book—everyone wants to write about fantasy nobles but they also want to make them good people and it's like. honestly i think it might be better to get comfortable writing about flawed people, but also—if your aristos aren't treating their servants like equals and your text isn't either, you haven't actually cracked the Moral Aristo paradox, sorry!] like, there's nothing that says your story has to depict a fully Healed World, nor should there be! but it's troubling if you seem to be convinced you've written one (and have your wide-eyed love interests constantly marveling at it!) when you very patently haven't.

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[tinystepsforward]

autocrattic (more matt shenanigans, not tumblr this time)

I am almost definitely not the right person for this writeup, but I'm closer than most people on here, so here goes! This is all open-source tech drama, and I take my time laying out the context, but the short version is: Matt tried to extort another company, who immediately posted receipts, and now he's refusing to log off again. The long version is... long.

If you don't need software context, scroll down/find the "ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening" heading, or just go read the pink sections. Or look at this PDF.

the background

So. Matt's original Good Idea was starting WordPress with fellow developer Mike Little in 2003, which is free and open-source software (FOSS) that was originally just for blogging, but now powers lots of websites that do other things. In particular, Automattic acquired WooCommerce a long time ago, which is free online store software you can run on WordPress.

FOSS is... interesting. It's a world that ultimately is powered by people who believe deeply that information and resources should be free, but often have massive blind spots (for example, Wikipedia's consistently had issues with bias, since no amount of "anyone can edit" will overcome systemic bias in terms of who has time to edit or is not going to be driven away by the existing contributor culture). As with anything else that people spend thousands of hours doing online, there's drama. As with anything else that's technically free but can be monetized, there are:

Heaps of companies and solo developers who profit off WordPress themes, plugins, hosting, and other services;

Conflicts between volunteer contributors and for-profit contributors;

Annoying founders who get way too much credit for everything the project has become.

the WordPress ecosystem

A project as heavily used as WordPress (some double-digit percentage of the Internet uses WP. I refuse to believe it's the 43% that Matt claims it is, but it's a pretty large chunk) can't survive just on the spare hours of volunteers, especially in an increasingly monetised world where its users demand functional software, are less and less tech or FOSS literate, and its contributors have no fucking time to build things for that userbase.

Matt runs Automattic, which is a privately-traded, for-profit company. The free software is run by the WordPress Foundation, which is technically completely separate (wordpress.org). The main products Automattic offers are WordPress-related: WordPress.com, a host which was designed to be beginner-friendly; Jetpack, a suite of plugins which extend WordPress in a whole bunch of ways that may or may not make sense as one big product; WooCommerce, which I've already mentioned. There's also WordPress VIP, which is the fancy bespoke five-digit-plus option for enterprise customers. And there's Tumblr, if Matt ever succeeds in putting it on WordPress. (Every Tumblr or WordPress dev I know thinks that's fucking ridiculous and impossible. Automattic's hiring for it anyway.)

Automattic devotes a chunk of its employees toward developing Core, which is what people in the WordPress space call WordPress.org, the free software. This is part of an initiative called Five for the Future — 5% of your company's profits off WordPress should go back into making the project better. Many other companies don't do this.

There are lots of other companies in the space. GoDaddy, for example, barely gives back in any way (and also sucks). WP Engine is the company this drama is about. They don't really contribute to Core. They offer relatively expensive WordPress hosting, as well as providing a series of other WordPress-related products like LocalWP (local site development software), Advanced Custom Fields (the easiest way to set up advanced taxonomies and other fields when making new types of posts. If you don't know what this means don't worry about it), etc.

Anyway. Lots of strong personalities. Lots of for-profit companies. Lots of them getting invested in, or bought by, private equity firms.

Matt being Matt, tech being tech

As was said repeatedly when Matt was flipping out about Tumblr, all of the stuff happening at Automattic is pretty normal tech company behaviour. Shit gets worse. People get less for their money. WordPress.com used to be a really good place for people starting out with a website who didn't need "real" WordPress — for $48 a year on the Personal plan, you had really limited features (no plugins or other customisable extensions), but you had a simple website with good SEO that was pretty secure, relatively easy to use, and 24-hour access to Happiness Engineers (HEs for short. Bad job title. This was my job) who could walk you through everything no matter how bad at tech you were. Then Personal plan users got moved from chat to emails only. Emails started being responded to by contractors who didn't know as much as HEs did and certainly didn't get paid half as well. Then came AI, and the mandate for HEs to try to upsell everyone things they didn't necessarily need. (This is the point at which I quit.)

But as was said then as well, most tech CEOs don't publicly get into this kind of shitfight with their users. They're horrid tyrants, but they don't do it this publicly.

ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening

WordCamp US, one of the biggest WordPress industry events of the year, is the backdrop for all this. It just finished.

There are.... a lot of posts by Matt across multiple platforms because, as always, he can't log off. But here's the broad strokes.

Sep 17

Matt publishes a wanky blog post about companies that profit off open source without giving back. It targets a specific company, WP Engine.

Compare the Five For the Future pages from Automattic and WP Engine, two companies that are roughly the same size with revenue in the ballpark of half a billion. These pledges are just a proxy and aren’t perfectly accurate, but as I write this, Automattic has 3,786 hours per week (not even counting me!), and WP Engine has 47 hours. WP Engine has good people, some of whom are listed on that page, but the company is controlled by Silver Lake, a private equity firm with $102 billion in assets under management. Silver Lake doesn’t give a dang about your Open Source ideals. It just wants a return on capital. So it’s at this point that I ask everyone in the WordPress community to vote with your wallet. Who are you giving your money to? Someone who’s going to nourish the ecosystem, or someone who’s going to frack every bit of value out of it until it withers?

(It's worth noting here that Automattic is funded in part by BlackRock, who Wikipedia calls "the world's largest asset manager".)

Sep 20 (WCUS final day)

WP Engine puts out a blog post detailing their contributions to WordPress.

Matt devotes his keynote/closing speech to slamming WP Engine.

He also implies people inside WP Engine are sending him information.

For the people sending me stuff from inside companies, please do not do it on your work device. Use a personal phone, Signal with disappearing messages, etc. I have a bunch of journalists happy to connect you with as well. #wcus — Twitter I know private equity and investors can be brutal (read the book Barbarians at the Gate). Please let me know if any employee faces firing or retaliation for speaking up about their company's participation (or lack thereof) in WordPress. We'll make sure it's a big public deal and that you get support. — Tumblr

Matt also puts out an offer live at WordCamp US:

“If anyone of you gets in trouble for speaking up in favor of WordPress and/or open source, reach out to me. I’ll do my best to help you find a new job.” — source tweet, RTed by Matt

He also puts up a poll asking the community if WP Engine should be allowed back at WordCamps.

Sep 21

Matt writes a blog post on the WordPress.org blog (the official project blog!): WP Engine is not WordPress.

He opens this blog post by claiming his mom was confused and thought WP Engine was official.

The blog post goes on about how WP Engine disabled post revisions (which is a pretty normal thing to do when you need to free up some resources), therefore being not "real" WordPress. (As I said earlier, WordPress.com disables most features for Personal and Premium plans. Or whatever those plans are called, they've been renamed like 12 times in the last few years. But that's a different complaint.)

Sep 22: More bullshit on Twitter. Matt makes a Reddit post on r/Wordpress about WP Engine that promptly gets deleted. Writeups start to come out:

Search Engine Journal: WordPress Co-Founder Mullenweg Sparks Backlash

TechCrunch: Matt Mullenweg calls WP Engine a ‘cancer to WordPress’ and urges community to switch providers

Sep 23 onward

Okay, time zones mean I can't effectively sequence the rest of this.

Matt defends himself on Reddit, casually mentioning that WP Engine is now suing him.

Also here's a decent writeup from someone involved with the community that may be of interest.

WP Engine drops the full PDF of their cease and desist, which includes screenshots of Matt apparently threatening them via text.

Twitter link | Direct PDF link

This PDF includes some truly fucked texts where Matt appears to be trying to get WP Engine to pay him money unless they want him to tell his audience at WCUS that they're evil.

Matt, after saying he's been sued and can't talk about it, hosts a Twitter Space and talks about it for a couple hours.

He also continues to post on Reddit, Twitter, and on the Core contributor Slack.

Here's a comment where he says WP Engine could have avoided this by paying Automattic 8% of their revenue.

Another, 20 hours ago, where he says he's being downvoted by "trolls, probably WPE employees"

At some point, Matt updates the WordPress Foundation trademark policy. I am 90% sure this was him — it's not legalese and makes no fucking sense to single out WP Engine.

Old text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks and you are free to use it in any way you see fit. New text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks, but please don’t use it in a way that confuses people. For example, many people think WP Engine is “WordPress Engine” and officially associated with WordPress, which it’s not. They have never once even donated to the WordPress Foundation, despite making billions of revenue on top of WordPress.

Sep 25: Automattic puts up their own legal response.

anyway this fucking sucks

This is bigger than anything Matt's done before. I'm so worried about my friends who're still there. The internal ramifications have... been not great so far, including that Matt's naturally being extra gung-ho about "you're either for me or against me and if you're against me then don't bother working your two weeks".

Despite everything, I like WordPress. (If you dig into this, you'll see plenty of people commenting about blocks or Gutenberg or React other things they hate. Unlike many of the old FOSSheads, I actually also think Gutenberg/the block editor was a good idea, even if it was poorly implemented.)

I think that the original mission — to make it so anyone can spin up a website that's easy enough to use and blog with — is a good thing. I think, despite all the ways being part of FOSS communities since my early teens has led to all kinds of racist, homophobic and sexual harm for me and for many other people, that free and open-source software is important.

So many people were already burning out of the project. Matt has been doing this for so long that those with long memories can recite all the ways he's wrecked shit back a decade or more. Most of us are exhausted and need to make money to live. The world is worse than it ever was.

Social media sucks worse and worse, and this was a world in which people missed old webrings, old blogs, RSS readers, the world where you curated your own whimsical, unpaid corner of the Internet. I started actually actively using my own WordPress blog this year, and I've really enjoyed it.

And people don't want to deal with any of this.

The thing is, Matt's right about one thing: capital is ruining free open-source software. What he's wrong about is everything else: the idea that WordPress.com isn't enshittifying (or confusing) at a much higher rate than WP Engine, the idea that WP Engine or Silver Lake are the only big players in the field, the notion that he's part of the solution and not part of the problem.

But he's started a battle where there are no winners but the lawyers who get paid to duke it out, and all the volunteers who've survived this long in an ecosystem increasingly dominated by big money are giving up and leaving.

Anyway if you got this far, consider donating to someone on gazafunds.com. It'll take much less time than reading this did.

[ylangelegy]

cables and crackle ꩜ jihoon x reader.

♬⋆.˚ It's goosebumps when you hear the drums / The running start before the big jump / It's that feeling, so stellar / Bro, if you like her just go and fucking tell her!

🎸╰› includes: f!producer!reader, feelings realization and denial, jihoon has a crush <3, pining/yearning, fluff, [light] angst, first date, confessions, references to producing (that may or may not be accurate).

💽╰› this is part of my ongoing series, buzz (seventeen's version) + this piece is inspired by track 01, buzz. word count: 13,800+

When you first started working with SEVENTEEN three years ago, Jihoon wasn't all that excited to have you around.

Perhaps it was his pride. BUMZU and PRISMFILTER had been the company's go-to's until they decided they wanted to bring in someone fresh, new, up-and-coming. You had been the result: Someone two years younger than Jihoon. Scrappy and hungry. Experimental, ambitious.

His hesitance at your music production has morphed from begrudging respect, to genuine appreciation, to something akin to admiration. Jihoon would never say it out loud, but you've grown to be one of his favorite producers to work with. (He doesn't have to say it, really. Everyone is already privy to Jihoon's biases.)

Now, three years in, Jihoon finds himself trying to reckon with a foreign feeling—

The flutter of his chest as you walk in to the studio. The stutter in his pulse as your fingers lightly brush over the digital audio workstation. The hitch of his breath as your head, ever so lightly, falls on to his shoulder the longer the evening drags on.

Jihoon is a 27-year-old man. As he tries to stay absolutely still, there's only one thing on his mind: Wasn't he too old to have crushes?

You could usually keep up with Jihoon when it came to these long-night sessions. One had to, considering how he was practically nocturnal at this point. But it had been a long day of minor misfortunes, the type that wear you down bit by bit.

You don't even seem to notice that your head is lolling to one side. When your cheek lands on something solid, you might think it's the back of the chair next to you— except it's Jihoon's shoulder, and he absolutely freezes underneath you.

He would be the first to admit that this isn't the first time you've ever been this close. There's been many times your bodies have gravitated to the same spot on the couch, or times when your heads are practically glued to one another while your hands are both at the keyboard, or during the times your feet accidentally meet with each other under the desk.

It's just never been this close, where Jihoon can feel the brush of each of your lashes against his neck every time your eyes fall shut.

He think he might pass out if he dwells too much on it.

He watches from his peripheral vision as your eyes flutter shut, and he thinks, for a moment, that you're out of commission. But then, you mumble, "The reverb on the snare, just now."

If you hadn't been right next to Jihoon's ear, your words might have been drowned out by the speakers. But, as it is, he hears you loud and clear. "Too heavy," you go on to say, without even opening your eyes. "We need to dial it back for a cleaner sound."

There it is, he thinks with both awe and bitterness. Even half-lucid, even half-asleep, you're still as brilliant as you've ever been.

"Mhm," he hums lowly. "I'll adjust it."

He does as you've asked. When he runs the track back, you let out a soft sound of contentment and shift slightly in your seat, blissfully unaware of how you're leaning more weight in to Jihoon's side. It's absolute torture, he thinks.

"Better," you mutter. A beat. Your drowsy inquiry comes in next. "How do you feel about the tempo in the bridge?"

He forces himself to pay attention. He runs the song back once more, this time paying particular attention to the bridge. It doesn't take him long to identify the issue— one of the main ones, anyway.

"A little too dragging," he replies. "It slows the track down a bit too much. I think it disrupts the flow. Makes the chorus—" He suddenly stops mid-sentence.

Because, for some reason, he's become acutely aware of the way your head fits perfectly into the crook of his shoulder.

He's now fully conscious of how close you are. Of the way your breath fans against his neck. Of the way your knee seems to bump against his whenever you unconsciously readjust your position.

Jihoon feels his pulse pound at his chest as he tries to keep his tone steady.

"It disrupts the flow," he repeats, his voice slightly gruff. "Makes the chorus less of a… high, for lack of word."

When your initial response is a thoughtful hum, he bites back the urge to smirk. It should come to no surprise that you're about to disagree with him. More often than not, you butted heads over minor things like this.

"Thought it was too fast," you grumble, somehow sounding a little sulky because of your drowsy state. You're usually a lot more adamant and fiery when it comes to asserting your opinions. But in the late— or early, since it's already past midnight— hour, you've tamped down my temper.

It does absolutely nothing for Jihoon's poor heart.

Your cheek nuzzles against Jihoon's sweater as you shake your head in a very that won't do manner. "The lyrics might suffer. Try slowing it down by 8 BPM so we have more space for vocal delivery."

8 BPM? Jihoon nearly chokes on an incredulous laugh. The number is so arbitrary, so out of pocket. "The tempo's already sitting at 139 right now," he bites out. "It's not like slowing it down by another 8 BPM is going to—"

Jihoon makes the mistake of glancing down at you, and damn it. You're not just leaning against his shoulder at this point.

You've practically cuddled into him.

Jihoon's breath catches in his throat as you shift once more, leaning your chin against his shoulder.

He finds himself wanting to wrap an arm around you and pull you closer. Press you into his chest until your cheek is up against his. Until your head is tucked right under his chin.

But then you're grumbling out your next words. "139?" you repeat. "Notch it down by 9, then."

The slur in your tone is just enough to remind him that you're not entirely coherent. He swallows hard, his fingers a little too gentle as he inputs the changes. 9 BPM it is.

It's a bad call, one that's made abundantly clear when Jihoon plays the track back. He doesn't even have to tell you; you're already groaning, pressing your face in to his shoulder. Your words are muffled against the soft material of his sweater.

"You were right. Should have amped it up instead of slowing it down," you mutter, though there's a distracted edge to your tone. He gives it a cursory couple of seconds, letting you gather your thoughts.

"There's an issue with the kick and the bass, isn't there?" you note.

He listens closely— and, as always, you're right. There's a dissonance between the kick and the bass.

Jihoon frowns, a little more focused now. "Yeah, I hear it too," he manages to say succinctly.

His brain is still trying to conjure up a solution when you let out a slight huff and finally peel away from Jihoon's side. He doesn't know if he's grateful or disappointed because of it.

You're bleary-eyed and your fingers fumble but your work is efficient as you click away at his mouse, at his digital audio workstation. He watches with a straight face as you add sidechain compression to the bass, as you drag the bridge's BPM up.

It's not just the music that's synced, but the way the two of you work as well. A little push, a little pull, and you manage to find balance. You know exactly what to do, even when you're tired.

Jihoon listens closely as soon as the bridge plays back and he's pleasantly surprised.

"That fixed it," he says, his eyes darting rapidly as he takes in the revised audio levels. "Yeah, I think it's good. We should move on to verse three now."

"Jihoon."

He blinks and glances over at you. You've slumped back heavily in to your chair; it spins slightly on its wheels when you do.

"I'm not going to make it through another verse," you warn. "I think I need, like, a power nap."

"Power nap?"

Despite Jihoon's best efforts, a corner of his mouth twitches. A glance at the clock tells Jihoon that it's past one in the morning. They'd been working on the track for a solid eight hours now.

He lets out a low, considering hum, before looking back at you with a slight frown.

"How long is this power nap supposed to last?" he asks dubiously.

"I only need fifteen minutes," you respond.

There's a decisiveness to you tone, one that brokers no argument even if you're rolling your shoulders from sheer exhaustion.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," he replies, though not unkindly.

He rolls the chair back, moving so that he's facing you fully. One leg is crossed over the other, his eyes studying you carefully. He's going to attempt to convince you, obviously.

"You need a good night's rest. You won't be any use at all when you're this tired," Jihoon insists, but he immediately regrets his choice of words when he sees you wince slightly.

You're no stranger to his bluntness; you know just as well that he can be both brutally honest and painfully inconsiderate. That he shows his care and concern in much more roundabout ways compared to others.

And so when you insist that you'll be good as new in fifteen minutes, he can only sigh, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his knees.

"And if you're still tired after fifteen minutes?" he counters. His tone is gentler, softer, this time.

"I'll go home," you grumble, like the thought physically pains you. "If I'm still out of it after my nap, I'll go home."

Jihoon feels some of the tension in his shoulders abate as you finally agree to a compromise. "Fifteen minutes," he reiterates firmly, holding up a single finger for emphasis. "And if you're not ready to work again by the end of it, I'm driving you home."

You open your mouth, almost like you're about to argue at the thought of Jihoon driving you home, but then you opt to purse your lips. You know how the two of you can go in absolute circles some days and so you merely shoot him a heatless glare before stalking over to his studio's couch.

It's not really the type that should be slept on. With its stiff, black leather, the couch is an awful makeshift bed for anyone. But you and Jihoon have figure out little workarounds after spending so much time working together— like the fluffy, folded comforter at the foot of the sofa and the throw pillow that's shaped like an onigiri.

Jihoon watches with a small smile as you curl up on the sofa, underneath the blanket and with the pillow. "G'night," you call out mid-yawn. "See you in fifteen."

He watches you for a beat longer, his eyes tracing the way your expression relaxes, just a little, as your head hits the pillow. After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away. He really had to work on his habit of staring.

"Yeah," he huffs as he tries to go get a head start on the third verse. "Night."

It's difficult because he can't help but steal glances, and every single time he does, he's struck by a wave of affection. You're so small, so fragile-looking, burrowed in to the sofa. He notes the way the pillow's slightly squished underneath your head, your face half-buried in the plush material…

He almost feels the urge to take a picture just to capture the scene.

And then he realizes: Why not? You're friends, aren't you? And friends take embarrassing photos of each other.

He picks his phone up from his pocket with one hand and angles the camera with the other. He knows just what he wants to take a picture of. The way your cheek is squished against the rice ball pillow, just barely visible underneath the edge of your tangled mess of blankets. The way your expression is relaxed, softened in sleep, with the slightest pucker to your lips.

He presses down on the snap button, and the shot is just perfect. The way the glow of the monitor catches in your hair, bringing out the natural color. The way your eyelashes fan out over your cheek, and the way the shadows highlight the sharpness of your features.

Jihoon's eyes linger on the image, something akin to longing twisting in his gut.

This time, he doesn't bother to push the feeling away. He does go back to work, though.

Fifteen minutes pass. And then twenty, thirty. The longer you sleep, the more Jihoon's guilt gnaws at him.

He knows he's about to wake you up, to ruin the temporary blissfulness that sleep has brought you. He knows he's about to drag you back to the studio to work again, despite the bags that are under your eyes and the exhaustion that is evident in every line of your body.

He knows he's going to be the cause of your fatigue. And he hates that— hates himself, just a little, for his need, his drive.

Still. At the thirty-minute mark, he makes his way over to your side. He reaches out, fingers hesitating for a second, before he gently shakes your shoulder.

"Hey," he calls, his tone soft and neutral. "Wake up. We need more work done."

It's very likely that the unceremonious way you've been dragged out of your sleep has gotten to you, because how else can Jihoon explain the way you drowsily move to hold him?

Your fingers reach up and curl gently around his wrist. Your eyes are still closed as you exhale, "Jihoon-ah."

It's more of a whine than anything, really, but it's one that he can't deny, not when you clutch his wrist like that. "What," he asks, his tone flat out of panic. "What is it?"

It's surreal, in a way. The way your tiredness has loosened your inhibitions, has stripped you down to the simplest, most vulnerable version of yourself, one that's practically begging for closeness.

You give his hand a gentle tug. "Come nap with me. Y'need to rest, too."

Jihoon's mind goes blank the moment the words leave your mouth, his whole body freezing. Because no, he didn't just hear that, you didn't just ask that—

And then you tug on his wrist again, and he swears his heart stutters.

On one hand, the rational, reasonable part of his mind is screaming at him to push you away, to reject the idea entirely. He needs to focus. He needs to finish the track. He needs to work, not rest.

But then he looks down at your sleepy form, the way you're clinging on to him, and all those thoughts are thrown out the window.

Slowly, Jihoon lowers himself onto the couch, his body sinking against the plush material. It's a tight squeeze. Months ago, the two of you might have called each other ridiculous for even trying to fit in a piece of furniture that was clearly not for two people to lay on.

The thick of comeback season absolutely shatters any attempts of appropriateness or discretion. As Jihoon complies with your absurd request, you somehow manage to throw the blanket over the two of you.

Jihoon isn't a stranger to casual touches— he's had to survive through years of constant skinship between the members— but there was something different about this.

The feeling of your body, curled against his own. The way you hold his fingers in your grip, like a comfort, like an anchor. The scent of your hair, so close he could just nuzzle his face into the messy strands.

He tries very hard to focus on the negatives. On how cramped and uncomfortable the couch is, how he's going to end up with a backache—

— but his mind doesn't want to cooperate. Because all he can see is you, all he can feel is you; the way your soft, warm body is pressed against his own, the gentle rise-and-fall of your chest against his, you, you, you.

His mind goes blissfully vacant, and before he can even think to stop himself, Jihoon is wrapping his free arm around your waist, drawing you in.

Jihoon doesn't mind the sudden increase in body heat that comes with having you pressed so close to him, not when your back is solid and warm against his chest, not when the curve of your hips slots so smoothly against the shape of him.

He lets out a shuddering breath as you press his palm against your stomach, the fabric of your shirt slightly rucked up by the motion. You're so soft.

For once, Jihoon finds himself hating everything else— the studio, the album, the uncomfortable sofa, this damn comeback for robbing him of an opportunity to simply hold you.

Jihoon swallows, his throat suddenly dry as the words slip past his mouth before he can even stop himself.

"You're too close," he mutters in your ear, his lips so close to the shell that he's half-convinced you were going to feel his words against your skin. He's being a hypocrite, really, since he's the one holding you, but he needs to maintain some sense of propriety.

"Mmm," you hum, still more asleep than awake. You exhale an apology as you try to sleepily shift away, mumbling something like "didn't notice" in your languid effort to disentangle.

Your movement has to be the most half-hearted attempt at putting space between the two of you. So Jihoon tightens his grip, his fingers curling over your hip to keep you from shifting away.

He doesn't want you to move, not even an inch— and it's greedy of him, really— but the thought of losing the heat from your body is more than he can bear, not when you're here and you're so close.

His hold is firm, almost demanding. As you settle back down, Jihoon buries his face against the back of your hair, his mind going blissfully quiet.

"Dunno why y're so cozy," Jihoon murmurs, his words slightly slurred with the exhaustion that's catching up on him now, too.

He tries not to think too hard about it, the intimacy of it all. He tries not to focus on how he's practically molding his body against yours.

Just a nap, he thinks. It's just a nap.

Your voice is so soft, so quiet, nearly lost against the sound of Jihoon's thrumming pulse in his ears. He catches it anyway. Your quiet murmur of "G'night, Jihoon-ah."

He feels strangely light-headed. It's hard to focus, hard to think, his thoughts fuzzy around the edges as he slowly starts to succumb to drowsiness.

Jihoon lets his lids flutter shut, his mind sinking into darkness. "Sweet dreams," he mumbles back.

In the end, Jihoon is the one who has sweet dreams.

They're fractures of a bigger picture, pieces to a puzzle he could never piece together.

He sees your tired smile, hears your soft laugh, feels the brush of your hair against his chin. He sees you in flashes, in glimpses, always out of reach. Never close enough.

They're so vivid, these dreams— so real— that Jihoon swears he can almost feel you, can almost hold you. When he reaches out for you, for the dream version of you, it feels like he's grasping at air.

There are hints of other things— flashes of studio lights, melodies and songs that drift in snippets. But they all fade to the background in the face of you, the way you shine in his dreamscape like a sunbeam.

Seungcheol is the one who finds Jihoon and you the next morning— or, rather, the next early afternoon.

He's not surprised to hear that Jihoon didn't come home to the dorm. He's not surprised to find Jihoon asleep in his studio. He is surprised to find Jihoon spooning you— his co-producer, the one they all thought he was a little too soft towards.

Seungcheol's eyebrows raise to his hairline. Jihoon was never the affectionate type. And yet here he was, curled around you like a parentheses. Seungcheol takes a quick picture on his phone before gently nudging Jihoon with his foot.

"Yah," the leader says, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his tone, a little too-amused. "Jihoon."

It takes a few nudges for the words to register, for Jihoon's sleeping mind to slowly come back to the world of the living.

He feels… groggy. Exhausted. And strangely warm.

After several long moments, reality catches up with him. As his sleep-addled mind slowly pieces everything together, Jihoon's eyes flutter open and it takes all of two seconds for him to process the fact that he's spooning you.

Jihoon's eyes widen, and his head snaps up to a grinning Seungcheol.

"This isn't what it looks like," Jihoon says immediately, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

He almost screams when he tries to move away, when he tries to untangle himself from you, and your soft, sleepy whine sounds more like a protest than anything.

He should've let you go. He should've, but when you make that noise, when you curl in closer to him, the part of Jihoon's brain that's awake shuts down entirely.

Jihoon freezes and tries desperately to ignore the way Seungcheol snickers.

Seungcheol keeps his hands in his pockets as he watches Jihoon with growing amusement. Put-together, frumpy Jihoon, stunned in to silence because his co-producer is latched on to him.

It is, as Jihoon had said, very much not what it looked like. Seungcheol can see that the two of you are still fully clothed. Hell, he wouldn't have even imagined Jihoon going that far when the boy barely thought of romance that way.

Still, it's just a little funny. "Long night?" the leader drawls, not even trying to conceal his sheer mirth at the situation.

Long night is a huge understatement, and Jihoon shoots Seungcheol an acerbic look that's not nearly as effective as it normally might be. Not when he's still trying to detangle himself from you without waking you up.

"You have no idea," he grumbles under his breath, his eyes flickering down to your exhausted expression as you cling to him.

He can feel the way his heart stutters at your closeness, the way his chest tightens. Not the time, he scolds himself.

"We were working on the album," Jihoon says, as if that explains everything.

He's given up on trying to move, because he knows that if he keeps trying, you're going to stir— and the last thing Jihoon needs is an awake you, all warm and soft and adorably disheveled.

"Can you... leave?" he croaks to Seungcheol. Jihoon's cheeks are tinged with a furious red color; he prays to any deity that Seungcheol will simply chalk it up to shame. "I'll give you details later, just..."

Jihoon shifts minutely, and a muted noise of protest escapes from you. He shuts his eyes and sends a silent plea at the ceiling of Please, God, not now.

Seungcheol, for his part, lets out an amused huff, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Alright, alright," the leader says, holding his hands up to show he's conceding. "I'll leave. I'll talk to you later."

He grins. "And try not to have too much fun, yeah?"

The smirk only widens when he sees the flush on Jihoon's face. The leader saunters out of the studio, the door clicking shut behind him.

And Jihoon is... well... left with you.

Silence descends, and it's deafening.

Jihoon can feel each and every beat of his own heart, can hear your slow, soft breath coming out in steady, even exhales. You're asleep— still clinging on to him, your body pressed firmly against his own— and Jihoon tries not to focus on the feeling, tries not to think about how you're so soft, so warm.

He should move, he thinks. He should untangle from you, put at least two feet of space between you, and yet.

Jihoon can't, not when you look so peaceful against him. Not when you're making little noises every now and then, the soft, low sounds coming from somewhere in your throat.

It's a special kind of torture, having you so close when he knows he can't do a single thing about it. Just a taste, an inkling of closeness— and now he's hooked, wanting for more.

He knows it's selfish, what he's doing. To have his arm wrapped around you, holding you tighter than he should. To relish in your warmth as you sleep— but Jihoon can't help it, not when he knows this might be the only way he could ever get to hold you.

He knows you're not his. You can't be his, for several reasons.

But for this brief, quiet moment in time, you feel like you could be.

There's no way of telling how much longer you stay there. To Jihoon, it feels like an eternity and then some; in reality, it's probably only a couple more minutes. You shift in your sleep, letting out a big yawn. Jihoon tries to not flinch when you stir.

For one ridiculous moment, he considers closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, so he can have a few more seconds, a few minutes longer with you in his arms. But then you're moving again, and Jihoon can feel his heart in his throat as you blink, shifting to look up at him.

"Huh," is the first thing you say as you squint up at him. "Hi."

"Hey," is his lame response, his tone oddly, uncharacteristically soft. He swallows when he catches the way your eyes flicker all over his face, as if drinking him in.

There's a lot to take in, he's sure. His arm is still around your waist and your leg is slotted between his. The blankets are a mess; the noonday sun, peeking through the studio's heavy curtains.

As your mind finally seems to catch up, you let out a groan. "S'rry," you slur, voice still thick with sleep. "We overslept. I'm a bit clingy when 'm tired."

Yeah, right. Clingy is not a strong enough word for what you had become in your sleep.

Jihoon tries to ignore the feeling of your legs tangled together, the way you're practically molding against him. He tries to tamp down the way his breath hitches, to ignore the way his heart skips a beat when you let out a sleep-filled groan.

"You were hanging on to me for your life," he remarks in a tone that is far more amused than exasperated.

"Yeah, I figured," you say wryly, glancing over at the clock to see the damage. Jihoon's eyes follow your gaze. Two in the afternoon. Your shared 'nap' had lasted a full twelve hours.

"Wow," you huff. "We were out for a while."

"That we were," Jihoon agrees, and he's more than a little reluctant when he lets you go, unravelling his own limbs from yours. The space between your bodies feels like a physical blow, but Jihoon tries not to seem too put off by it.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't slept that long since I was a trainee."

"That's unhealthy."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

There's a calculated casualness in your next words. "Did you at least sleep well?"

The slight concern undercutting your tone makes Jihoon rather light-headed. "I slept like the dead," Jihoon answers easily, and he doesn't even have to lie about that.

His rest had been more peaceful than it had been in years, and if he's truthful, he'd blame it all on the fact that you were wrapped so firmly around him, all soft skin and sleepy warmth. You'd fit so perfectly with him and Jihoon is fairly sure he's never going to get the sensation of you pressed against him out of his mind.

A corner of your lip twitches upward. "Don't say that," you tease as you stretch your arms over your head. "Because we may actually be dead soon enough."

There's still an album to finish. A couple more tracks due in mere days. But Jihoon's suddenly feeling much better in a way that he hasn't in a while.

Even the ever-present stress and exhaustion feels almost like an afterthought, like it's barely even there. In the midst of it all, there's only you, still mussed from sleep.

It helps that you're taking the little cuddle session with surprising grace. "Wanna order in breakfast? Lunch?" you inquire, like you can't quite decide what to call your first meal of the day when it was well in the afternoon.

"Breakfast-slash-lunch sounds good to me," he answers, a hint of a smile visible in the curve of his mouth.

You order Chinese food. Something proper and real, a break from the convenience store rice balls and energy drinks. In the time it takes for the takeout to come, you and Jihoon speed through the song that had been plaguing you both last night. It seemed that being well-rested did you both well.

When the food comes, you go to collect it. In your absence, Jihoon finally checks his phone.

Suddenly, the studio feels ice cold, because he has seventy-something unread messages from his group chat with the boys.

He clicks the little arrow that takes him back to the first unread message, and surprise, surprise— it's from Seungcheol. The stolen snap of Jihoon and you cuddled together glares up at the producer, paired with the world's most annoying message.

🍒: Our Woozi-yah's a big boy now. ㅋㅋㅋ

The messages don't stop there, because Seungcheol had essentially given the others the green light to blow his phone up.

Jihoon scrolls through them, his expression growing more and more irritated as he reads through the suggestive and ridiculous messages the boys have chosen to send.

⚔️: Jihoon-ah~ Who knew you had it in you~ 🐈‍⬛: finally! 🦦: LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

Jeonghan, as per usual, is the worst offender of them all. Jihoon is just about to try and get a word in when a new, rapidfire sequence of texts pop up, the second eldest member clearly having entirely too much fun with this.

👼: So cozy, our Jihoon-ie! So cozy ♡ ♡ ♡ 👼: Finally, our Jihoon found himself a pretty girl 👼: We didn't know you were such a cuddler~~~

Jihoon's fingers are itching to reply something back, but it's hard to even make sense of the messages; they're coming in so fast. Every time he tries to type something back, another notification pops up with more texts, so he's forced to sit and watch as the members tease him relentlessly.

But then—

🐱: Cough up @Joshua @Vernon 🐢: dammit. couldn't have waited four months, woozi hyung? -_- 🦌: I didn't lose as much, so it's okay~ 🐯: WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER

The other boys all chime in with their own odds, and Jihoon realizes with horror that his bandmates had bet on him.

The horror quickly morphs into disbelief mingled with irritation.

So they'd bet on him? And on what exactly? That he wouldn't fall for a girl over the course of three years working together?

He doesn't even look at the odds before he types an aggravated reply.

🍚: You guys bet on me???

No one even tries to deny it. Soonyoung, the menace that he is, is the first to respond.

🐯: Not all of us ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ 🐈‍⬛: and it's just if you'd get with your fav producer. lol

It occurs to Jihoon, then and there, that the boys presume him and you are dating. It's a misconception he has to amend before any of the twelve can make some wisecrack about it in front of you.

🍚: We're not dating.

Jihoon doesn't bother to hide his irritability.

🍚: We were just napping together.

It's not the last of it, as it turns out.

More texts flood in after his message, and while there aren't as many jokes as before, it's easy to tell that the members are just dying to tease him about this whole thing.

When you return to the studio bearing your takeout, you're greeted with Jihoon typing furiously away at his phone, a disgruntled sort of look on his face. "You alright over there?" you call out amusedly as you pad over to the studio couch.

"Yes, and no," Jihoon answers shortly, a hint of petulance to his tone. If he looks up at you, it's only for a moment.

For someone who tends to be stoic and brooding, he's not exactly having the best morning right now. Jihoon is more than a little annoyed from the relentless teasing, and while he tries to fight it, there's a lingering feeling of humiliation, too.

A part of him wonders if this is what he deserves— for having had that moment with you this morning.

"Well, whatever it is—" you give a dismissive wave of your hand before plopping down on the couch.

He almost smiles at that; you've known each other for an odd number of years. It was enough time to be fairly acquainted with each other's habits and mannerisms, to know when something was worth pressing in to or not.

"Come on," you urge him. "The faster we eat, the sooner we can finish."

"Okay, yes, I'm coming," Jihoon answers hurriedly, and he makes a hasty beeline for the coffee table, where your takeout boxes are set out neatly.

He gives the group chat a final glance, just to make sure they're not texting anything too embarrassing. The more he scrolls the more he's bombarded with messages about you, and you would have thought the group chat was dedicated entirely to you, considering the number of texts.

He groans and locks his phone, turning it face down on the table as he takes his seat.

"Here," you say as you gently place Jihoon's order in front of him. Chao fan with a side of sweet and sour pork; a can of cola.

The way you seem to automatically know all the things he orders, the way you know what the right order to pick for him is, it almost gives Jihoon the sense that you've been working with him for even longer than three years.

He's not sure what to make of it, but it feels strangely nice, somehow, knowing that there's always something or the other that you would already know. He takes a bite out of his meal, wondering when it was that this relationship of his with you had become so comfortable.

It's an odd sensation, really.

Jihoon had always been more than content to keep to himself. But there's no denying that he feels a certain kind of peaceful contentedness when he's with you.

Perhaps it's how the two of you work so seamlessly together. Perhaps it's how you somehow managed to get under his skin. There's a certain comfort that Jihoon isn't used to having that's settled around the two of you.

And it's the kind of comfort that might make him vulnerable.

He can't have that, so he privately decides to keep you at a distance.

It's a distance you reciprocate. Both Jihoon and you know better than to tread the careful line of your friendship, especially in your line of work.

The two of you work like a well-oiled machine, like a lit match being tossed in a haystack. Jihoon and you are relentless, as always, and you finish off the rest of the mini-album in the next three hours.

There's still fine-tuning to hurdle through, but as Jihoon and you replay the last track for the first time, he has to concede. The worst is over.

You slump forward in your chair, your forehead resting against the work desk of his studio. "Done," you breathe. After a moment, you add, "For now."

"For now," Jihoon echoes.

There's a long pause between the two of you as you both relish the peace and quiet of a fully completed mini-album.

"Let's go for coffee?" he finally asks, glancing to where you're slumped in your chair.

You tilt your head ever so slightly until your cheek is pressed against the desk and you're looking up at Jihoon. You smile ruefully as you speak, your tone almost apologetic. "No to coffee. I think I want to go home and knock out for twelve hours."

You go on, "You should do the same. We've been in this studio for…" You pause like you're doing the mental math, and then a disbelieving laugh slides past your lips. "About thirty-three hours, Jihoon-ah."

Thirty-three hours is almost incomprehensible. Jihoon isn't even surprised, because of course, that's the kind of work ethic you've come to expect from an idol— but, thirty-three hours?

Jihoon's head is spinning. There's a strange, odd kind of haze settling around him, almost like he's caught between a dream and consciousness. He's tired, yes, he's more than tired, but Jihoon knows that he doesn't really need to go home to sleep.

Except he can't say no, not when your words are coming with all the weight of a command, not when you're looking at him like he's some helpless, pitiful wreck, needing some sort of care. He hates it.

He hates that you see him.

"Okay, okay," Jihoon says in a rush, standing from his chair. "I'll go home."

He's always known that any work done with you ends with him doing exactly as you say. You might have never said the words to his face before, but Jihoon isn't an idiot.

He's wrapped around your goddamn finger some days.

The thought that he's now more than willing to do whatever you want from him has never occurred to him before now, and it leaves him feeling slightly shaken, slightly unsure of everything.

It takes you both about ten minutes or so to get everything in order, then another seven minutes to head out of the company building. The relief Jihoon feels as you finally find yourselves outside is immense, even if it is a chilly, early winter evening.

You glance at your wristwatch before distractedly asking him, "You'll be okay behind the wheel?"

"'Course," he says as he fishes for his keys. For a moment, he contemplates asking if you want a ride home. It'd be out of his way, but it's something he's almost willing to bear.

Almost.

Instead, he forces himself to say, "See you. Take care."

You give the same pleasantries back before beginning your trek to the train station. Jihoon, for his part, finds his car in his designated parking space.

The drive home is the most boring and uneventful thing ever— except when Jihoon looks in his rearview mirror. The sight of you disappearing into the distance makes him feel strangely hollow and a bit wistful.

His stomach gives a weird, twisting lurch, and he's tempted to make a U turn right there and then and find a reason to be back in his company.

Maybe he'll tell you just how alone he can sometimes feel after an album is completed. How there's always this sort of lull in the days, hours after his work; how he fights it off by doing more work, even if it's not all that necessary.

He wants to ask if you ever feel the same way, too.

But you had never really been a part of that loneliness, and now you were leaving. And— just for the night— Jihoon can't help but feel more lonely than ever.

He doesn't want to be lonely.

He wants to be left alone, in a company of his own thoughts, with nothing and no one to distract him. But, for some odd reason, he wants you around.

It's almost too much to bear, so Jihoon turns the radio on louder and lets the sounds of music drown out the patter of his ragged heartbeat.

Jihoon and you are forced to reconvene a couple of days later, albeit on circumstances that neither of you are particularly fond of.

Sungsoo, the company's CEO and executive producer, is already seated at the head of the table when you walk in. Jihoon sees the way your eyes scan the meeting room; he tries not think too much of the way the tension in your shoulders seem to ease when you spot him.

The sight of you makes Jihoon's heart do a little dance, which makes him want to both pull you close and run far, far away from you.

For now, he just gives you a nod of acknowledgement and shifts his eyes back to the older man sitting across the meeting table from the both of them.

You sit across from Jihoon. Sungsoo doesn't even bother to sit; he merely launches straight in to his agenda.

"Good work on SEVENTEENTH HEAVEN," Sungsoo says right off the bat. Jihoon knows it's more of a cursory greeting than anything; there was always going to be more than just a pleasant compliment.

The other shoe drops soon enough. "I think there's more work to be done, though, specifically on three tracks," the CEO presses on.

Three tracks.

Jihoon feels his jaw clamp tightly. He's been through these kinds of corrections before, of course, both from himself and the company. Sungsoo says things about the lyrics of Back 2 Back, and the organization of Yawn, and the chorus of Diamond Days.

And while Jihoon has been through this, has needed to take things apart or put stuff together to appease the higher-ups, it's never any easier. His hands are clasped tight, and he's trying his best to hold himself together, but on the inside, he wants to scream.

This is a part of him. These are all parts of him, big and small, and it's always just a bit of a jab— to have his heart put in someone else's hand, and then to watch that heart be poked and prodded for the sake of... what? Commercial gain?

At one point, Sungsoo pauses to look between Jihoon and you. "Are you not going to take notes?" the older man asks.

You respond before Jihoon can. "Rewrite the second half of Back 2 Back, tweak the instrumentation balance and structure of Yawn, adjust the rhythm for Diamond Days' chorus," you rattle off. "I— we got it, sir."

"Right. Good," he says, and Jihoon doesn't like the condescending tone that Sungsoo uses with you, but at least it's not aimed at him.

The older man sits back in his chair, and Jihoon lets his eyes drift away from the company boss just for a moment to look at you. A strange feeling fills him. He wants to name it appreciation, wants to claim it's nothing more than a little admiration.

But then he'd be lying to himself. Because that warm kind of feeling shifts into— just a little— something a bit more than what he's supposed to be feeling for a co-producer.

Before he could dwell on this thought any longer, Sungsoo clears his throat and Jihoon quickly tunes back in. He's not thinking about that right now, and that's final.

The meeting wraps up not too long after with some parting reminders on deadlines and the upcoming comeback. Jihoon can tell by the look on your face that you're a bit dazed, and Sungsoo's parting words only add gasoline to the fire.

The CEO says both your names as he readies to dismiss you. "The two of you are a good pair," he notes, and Jihoon almost short-circuits.

Pair.

Right. A good pair of co-producers. Not anything else, not anything more.

Both of you mumble your appreciation for the CEO's remark. And Jihoon, like the fool that he is, feels that warm, fuzzy glow bloom again. He doesn't care what it signifies; at the moment, he's just too happy to work with you again.

By the time you head back to his studio, there's not much that either of you can really say. Marathon edits were not new to either of you; you both slide in to work mode without much preamble.

The music starts playing and the edits start pouring in, and the five or six hours spent on the three tracks fly by without Jihoon even noticing it. It gets to the point where he's working on autopilot— one hand on the mouse, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The thing about working on autopilot was that it made the process quicker but left little room to feel or think, which was both a blessing and a curse.

At the six-hour mark, he finally deigns to glance at you. Your gaze is focused on the digital audio workstation as you cut some low frequencies from the guitar on Diamond Days, but there's a slight quiver in your hands as you do it.

While Jihoon doesn't see what you're having trouble with, he can sense that you're off. He knows the signs of stress and exhaustion better than most, what with the hours he puts in.

"Aigo," he calls out to you, and his voice is a little raspy— hoarse— because he's been humming and singing for the better half of the evening. "Are you okay?"

"Still in the green," you say wryly. You had a bit of a traffic light system to refer to when talking about how far gone either of you were.

He watches intently as you implement the changes to Diamond Days, as you give a disapproving shake of your head at the revision. Still not to your standard.

Of course you wouldn't be at the red light stage— not even close, he muses. But in Jihoon's head, there was already one foot on the red light spectrum— and it wasn't just because of the revisions.

"Let's take a break," he suggests.

The idea comes out of absolutely nowhere, even for him. A break—? When was the last time he had voluntarily done that?

Jihoon's been having more questions than answers lately, but he just chalks it all up to being stressed. And maybe a little tired.

Anything except what it really is.

This time, you actually do glance up from the workstation. There's mild surprise on your expression as you tease, "Yah, who are you and what have you done to the indomitable WOOZI?"

"Huh?" he deflects. For a brief moment, he almost feels a little shy around you.

"I'm just bored," he explains, and he's surprised that he can lie so well and sound so casual. "You don't need to come if you don't want to. I just wanted to get some air."

But of course you're coming, already pushing back against the table at the rare invite from Jihoon. "The usual?" you prompt.

To others, a 'usual' might have indicated a trip to the cafeteria, a smoke break on the sidewalk. But Jihoon and you both hated the company's food and neither of you smoked, and so your breaks were spent somewhere a little more unorthodox.

"The usual," he agrees.

He leads you across the company building, the walk to your destination full of comfortable silence. Eventually, you make it to your designated break place: The company's rooftop.

Jihoon takes his usual seat at the far end while you sit closer to the ledge. The atmosphere is thick and humid from the weather, but there's a breeze to keep the heat bearable.

When Jihoon said he wanted to get some air, he meant it quite literally.

He doesn't want to give away his real intentions on calling for the break. Still, he can't help the question that slides out of him as he watches the glittering lights of Seoul beneath the two of you.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks, glancing at you.

"I am," you answer quietly, your gaze still fixed on the city. "Thanks, Jihoon-ah. I needed this."

He almost smiles. "Of course."

This was the first time since he's met you that he'd asked you to do something just because he thought you needed it. And it isn't long until that fact has Jihoon wondering why the heck he's been putting things off so much lately.

He doesn't get to mull over his thoughts for long though— not when there's a sudden urge to do another thing that he realizes he hasn't ever done.

He takes out his phone and opens up the camera app. "Yah," he calls. "Look here for a second."

You do as he asks, glancing over your shoulder, and the soft click of his phone breaks through the white noise of the city below. When you let out a surprised laugh, he thinks it's the second best thing he's ever heard. Only after music.

"What are you doing?" you chide, a bit of a giggle in your tone as you raise your hand— palm facing Jihoon— to your face, as if trying to shy away from the camera.

"I don't know," he admits. A laugh tumbles out of him, and he knows he's blushing— but he's not ashamed of it this time, not really.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he assures you. He holds in a chuckle at the way you're blocking your face and snaps another picture.

Maybe he's delirious from all his work. That has to be it, he thinks, as he clicks away despite your sputtered protests.

"Alright, fine," you huff, feigning annoyance. And then— oh.

You brace your hands against the ledge and tilt your head to one side so you can flash Jihoon an easy, practiced grin. "Cheese," you sing-song.

It takes quite a lot of willpower for Jihoon not to just sit and stare, that strange feeling welling inside of him coming to fore. He's not proud of it, but it's there, and the fact that there's something about you that makes him feel this way makes everything a little bit more complicated.

"Cheese," he agrees, taking just one more picture of you.

He knows he's smiling too hard, his eyes turning in to crescents with just how damn fond he feels to be snapping photos at your side.

You can never tell from the expression on his face, but he's wrecked with the knowledge that he had just done three things he had never done before:

He's asked you to do something solely because he thought you needed it.

He's taken a picture of you (with your knowledge, this time).

And he's let this thing he has for you be so in control of him.

It's a damning thing, he muses as he tucks his phone away. What would happen next was up to the universe.

Admittedly, it almost all felt like a test, and Jihoon is terrified he had failed.

But then you reach out, your hand casually resting atop of Jihoon's. You don't clasp your hands together or intertwine your fingers. You merely keep it there as you cast your gaze back down at the city, like you're giving Jihoon a chance to pull away.

It's almost instinctual, how he turns his hand over and links his fingers together with yours. His fingers are longer, so your fingertips curl over his and you’re left holding his hand for the first time.

You don't say a thing about it. Jihoon tries to rationalize the action on your behalf. Maybe you're just delirious and tired, too. Maybe it's cold and you need something to hold on to. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

All the while, his heart thumps in his chest.

Did he even deserve this? Was this okay?

Would it be okay if he just sat there, looking down onto the city, holding your hand and nothing more?

His brain refrains the earlier remark he'd given you. It doesn't have to mean anything. It's just a hand in his, a quiet evening, a moment that will eventually pass.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but why does Jihoon want it to?

Back in the studio, neither of you say a word. Not about the photos of you that Jihoon now has in his phone; not about the way you initiated holding his hand. Not about how the two of you held on for just a bit too long before heading back from your break.

The two of you do what you do best: You throw ourselves in to the last of your work.

It takes you two a record of fifteen minutes to fix what had been wrong with Diamond Days, and then some twenty more minutes to make sure the three other tracks are alright. Jihoon does the honors of sending them over to Sungsoo for some final checks.

Once the email goes through, you lean back in to the couch of Jihoon's studio. "And now we wait," you exhale, sounding equally exhausted and elated.

With your work for the day done, it feels like whatever veil of formality had held the mini-album together is broken— and you're now just two people in Jihoon's workplace, tired, and done working for the day.

Jihoon stretches his arms out and sags against his chair, letting out a groan.

"And now we wait," he repeats. A beat, as he keeps his eyes trained to the ceiling. Then, softly, he adds, "You did good, you know."

He sees you glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. "You, too," you offer quietly, sincerely. "You did well, Jihoon-ah."

His eyes remain on the ceiling, his mind taking him back to how it felt when your hand rested atop of his. It had felt strange and it had felt good— and the fact that you'd so boldly initiated it in the first place made it even better.

The thought that there was a possibility of it being a one-time thing made him almost want to cry, for whatever reason.

It's just so weird, and Jihoon has never felt like this before. He's never caught in a complicated sort of feeling like this. But the way you'd held his hand was different— and the more thoughts he thought about it, he realized that your touch was different from the touch of anyone else's.

"Can we talk for a second?" is all he finds himself able to ask, and it's a surprise to him— considering how much the two of you have never talked about things that were just about you and him.

Still, he wonders that perhaps now, with everything that's happened here, there was something he needed to tell you. Something he wanted you to know.

He hears you shifting on the couch, spots a corner of your lip quirking upward in a show of interest. When he fully turns to look at you, he notices the way you've braced yourself against the back of the couch to meet his gaze.

"Sure," you say. "What's on your mind?"

Jihoon rubs his hand over his mouth as he thinks of a way to articulate his thoughts.

There are so many words here that don't need to be said. There are some words that he wants to say but that you simply don't need to hear.

There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but he needed to filter them very well because he wasn't sure if they'd cause a misunderstanding.

"I'd like to keep doing this," is what eventually comes out.

His fingers find his earlobe out of nervousness. His heartrate only seems to spike when you stare back at him for a moment, your eyebrows raised like you're waiting to see if he'll elaborate.

And so elaborate he does. "All of this," he goes on. "Producing for the group, collaborating with you, just… seeing you and talking to you and… having you around."

It feels a bit weird to express after three years of working alongside each other, but it's also the first explicit admittance Jihoon has made abut wanting to keep up your collaboration.

He's not surprised when you try to pass it off with some humor. "I'll stick around for as long as you'll have me," you say almost jokingly, but there's almost a desperate weight of truth in your words.

Jihoon sighs, his expression tightening. There was a whole lot he wanted to say to you— he wanted to make a lot of things very clear— but he also wanted to keep whatever was blooming between the two of you going.

He tries not to dwell on it. Not now, with his feelings as fresh as they were.

"I've been thinking," he starts, his voice quieter now. "Maybe we could… get to know each other or something. Spend the day together— away from the company. Away from this life. Just as… two normal adults."

Another pause.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Jihoon-ah?" you kid after a torturous minute.

Jihoon goes quiet for a moment, the gears turning in his head.

He really was asking you out on a date, wasn't he? How would he even spin this as something simple and innocent?

What had he been expecting in return when he asked you? Why did he ask in the first place if it wasn't to actually find out who you were and why you were the only person he could really say he wanted to spend time with?

Questions, no answers. He's going to go insane.

"You know what," he blurts out before he can lose his nerve. "Yeah. Yes, I am asking you out on a date."

You're both stunned in to silence, and you look like you're just about to say what you should. A 'no'. Something about this not being proper.

But then there's a faint ding from Jihoon's laptop, and he glances over just in time to see that Sungsoo had responded in the affirmative to your revisions for the group's eleventh mini-album.

A stuttering, relieved breath escapes you. Jihoon, for his part, lets out a huff, his shoulders falling. He hadn't even meant to ask you out on a date; he was only going to ask you to spend the day with him.

Now, though, it was out in the open. And he'll be damned to take it back.

"Looks like we're free now," he muses, far too prideful to let Sungsoo derail this conversation. Jihoon's voice is edged with hope as he goes on, "So, what do you say?"

Jihoon has no way of knowing this, but you admire his persistence. When you laugh, it's what changes your mind, what privately convinces you to take him up on his offer.

Because Jihoon had still somehow managed to make you laugh despite it all.

"You know what? Okay," you say readily, one shoulder raising in half a shrug. "Let's go on a date next week, Jihoon-ah."

It would definitely beat sitting in Jihoon's studio, alone and bored, until Sungsoo had sent over their next project.

"Okay," he repeats, his lips curling in a tentative smile. "I'll let you know what plans I come up with, then."

"Alright." You're already rising from the studio couch, preparing to take your leave for the evening.

As you gather your things, Jihoon tries to look back at his workstation instead. Like the sight of it might somehow give him the answers to where to take you, what to do, how to go about all this.

You pause at the door of his studio. "Text me," you say.

It's nothing short of a miracle, how Jihoon is able to respond "I will."

And then you're gone, but the loss doesn't feel as prominent as it usually does. Because now, Jihoon has something to look forward to.

He doesn't remember the last time he allowed himself to be so selfish.

His thoughts over the next few days are consumed with the upcoming date.

Everything he does seems to center around how the date will go, where he'll bring you, and how he would survive a day in your presence without completely humiliating himself.

He takes his time planning. By the time next week rolls around, he's a mess.

His ears are burning as he dials your number and presses the call button.

Your tone is casual on the other line. "Hey, Jihoon-ah," you greet. "What's up?"

Jihoon takes a moment to just hear your voice. He internally groans at how a simple what's up already has his heart rate picking up like nobody's business.

"Hey," he finally says after he gathers himself, his free hand shoving into his pocket. He's pacing his apartment bedroom, fighting for his life to keep calm. "I… just wanted to call about tomorrow."

When you respond, your voice is cautious. "Sure. What about tomorrow?"

There's a slight pause again, and Jihoon can already feel the sweat forming on the inside of his palm.

Surely, you wouldn't think he was calling to cancel? Why would he have waited until the day before?

"Just needed to ask you about something," he admits, his free hand coming up to fiddle with the hair on one side of his ear. "I just wanted to… ask a question. Uh…"

"What… are you going to be wearing?" he finally spits out, his face already going red as the words leave his mouth.

Why the fuck can't he be cool about this? Why can't he be casual and chill about the date and about seeing you? It's so goddamn frustrating— he needed to get a handle on himself and soon, he thinks with despair.

"Oh. Uh…" From the other end of the phone, you seem to be shuffling around. "I was actually going to ask what our plans were," you admit rather meekly. "So I can dress accordingly."

Jihoon's eyes widen, and for a moment, he feels even more like an idiot than he usually does.

You had no idea where you were going, he realizes, and as a result— you had no idea what to wear.

"Oh… right," he says, mentally facepalming himself. He was supposed to be the one giving you information, not the other way around. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

He takes a second or two to collect himself, because— God, he did not want to mess this up. If you found out about the amount of work and effort he'd put in this thing, you'd definitely laugh at him.

"Nothing too formal, but don't be super casual," he says slowly. "You'll want a jacket, maybe. And wear comfortable shoes."

He takes another deep breath, steadying himself before he adds, "And I'm going to pick you up at ten. Is that alright?"

Jihoon's instructions are a touch on the vague side, but you don't seem to mind as you let out a huff of amused laughter. "Dress warm, comfortable jacket and shoes, ten in the morning," you repeat. "Okay. Got it."

You go on, "I'll text you my address. I— we've known each other so long, but I don't think you've ever come over, have you?"

Another good point. Jihoon and you spent most of your time at the company. There were rare occasions where you'd join the group's post-comeback celebrations with the rest of the staff, but those were always at some rented-out restobar.

"Yeah. Well. Just text me, then," he says lamely, already mentally berating himself for how much of a fool he's acting. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Jihoon-ah," you bid, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

Just like that, Jihoon's heart rate picks up again— except this time, it's not just nervousness he feels.

There's that strange sense of anticipation, the slight thrill of excitement he gets with the mere thought of seeing you the next day, and he nearly lets out an exhale to quell all those feelings.

"See you," he says finally, his voice barely above a murmur.

And then suddenly— he's hanging up, the realization of everything finally settling on him. This was actually happening.

He sits on his bed for a moment, just mulling over the conversation, before he lets himself fall back onto the mattress in horror. He had just hung up, hadn't he? Did he even say goodbye? Did he even say something nice? He was a mess.

He lets out a long, pitiful whine in to a pillow as he wonders for a second or two if he should call back just to say good night to you properly.

In the end, he decides against it. He didn't want to come off as desperate and it was pretty likely that he'd just dig a deeper hole for himself.

Still, he can't help but let out an annoyed, strangled sound as he turns to look at the ceiling.

He was going to have to put a lot of effort if he didn't want to embarrass the hell out of himself.

Come the next day, Jihoon is standing outside your apartment at exactly ten in the morning.

He knocks almost tentatively, and he's only a little surprised that you swing the door open without missing a beat.

You flash him a smile in greeting. "Come in," you say, ushering him in to what he can only describe as uncharted territory. "Can I get you something to drink? Water, juice?"

He's so tripped up over how you look— the smart-casual outfit, focused on warmth, as he'd advised— that he almost misses the offer.

"Ah," he stutters. Barely a minute in and I'm already done for, he thinks ruefully. "Do you have— cola?"

You give a small sound of assent as you move further in to your apartment, towards what he assumes is the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," you call, and Jihoon is left to bear witness to your space.

It looks very much like that of an artist's. There's floor-to-ceiling corkboards on almost every wall and a blackboard full of chalk markings— bearing everything from concepts to half-finished lyrics.

You have bookshelves groaning under the weight of music albums— Jihoon sees a number of SEVENTEEN's— and instruments crammed in to nooks and crannies.

He suddenly remembers how, for some reason, you had never really let him come over to your apartment before. And now, he understands why, because your apartment almost felt like a reflection of your own brain— chaotic, but brilliant. It was a creative genius's studio, and it was more than just a little bit captivating.

You return with a can of Coke. "It's a lot, isn't it?" you muse.

Jihoon shakes his head. It is a lot. But also— he knows how gifted you are, knows how driven you can be. Seeing it here, so openly on display, has something stammering in his chest.

"Is this all your work?" he asks a moment later, still glancing around. "Is this… everything you've been working on? You've been keeping it here?"

"Not all of us have separate studios," you shoot back. There's an easy smile on your face, indicating that you're just teasing.

When you seem to realize that your initial jab hasn't answered Jihoon's question, you amend, "It's not all of my work. You should see my childhood bedroom back in Jeju."

"Jesus," he says with a slight chuckle, his fingers pressing around the metal of his soda can.

He doesn't know why the thought of your childhood room in Jeju having more of this surprises him. But, then again, that was just the kind of person you were. An ambitious, freethinking, creative genius, the same qualities he'd grown to appreciate over time.

And now he was about to go on a date with you. How the hell had he gotten this lucky?

He isn't quite sure what compels him. All he knows is that the question, almost rhetorical in nature, is out of his mouth before he can reel it back in.

"You really love music, don't you?"

The question seems to throw you off-kilter, but you recover surprisingly fast. You're thoughtfully smoothing out the patches on your denim jacket as you retort, "I love it about as much as you do."

If it had been any other person, Jihoon might have scoffed, might have privately thought they were cocky or just outright lying. But it's you, and his heart twists in to a knot at the thought of how willing he is to accept that cardinal truth.

That you and him loved music in equal measure.

In a hopeless attempt to collect himself, he shoots back his soda in several big gulps. The carbonated drink burns as it goes down his throat; he forces it to stay down.

"We should probably get going," he prompts once he's done with his drink.

"Right, of course."

You go to throw away his empty soda can for him, and the way you move makes it abundantly clear that you're unaware of the effect you have on him.

As the two of you step out of your apartment and find your way to Jihoon's car, he can only hope that it won't be that long of an afternoon.

Despite the way he keeps both hands on the steering wheel, Jihoon can still feel the nerves racing up and down his spine. He's nervous, excited, his emotions a mess as he tries to get himself together.

He can't believe that after years of talking about music and just working together, after all this goddamn time, you were finally going on a date together.

The car radio is just a touch too loud, which is to be expected, considering that it was Jihoon's vehicle. You have to pitch your voice above it to be audible.

"Where are we going?" you ask as he peels in to traffic.

"You'll see when we get there," he responds.

The disapproving pinch of your expression draws a laugh out of him. He doesn't give you the opportunity to press any longer as he fiddles with the radio dial, upping the volume just a touch more.

He'd planned this date carefully after spending far too much time agonizing over all the details. He was damned if he wasn't going to keep some things in the dark.

It's a quiet drive for the most part, with only the radio keeping the silence from being too deafening. But, frankly, Jihoon isn't too bothered by the silence because it gives him ample time to collect his thoughts, to try not to focus on the way your hand is right there, a few inches away from his on the gear shift.

He keeps his eyes on the road, keeps his expression neutral, and keeps his cards as close to his chest as possible.

Once Jihoon is finally pulling in to a parking lot, he manages to find his voice. "We're here," he notes, like it's not the most obvious thing in the world.

He waits a moment for you to also unbuckle your seatbelts, and only then does he climb out of the car. He quickly walks around to your side, pulling open the door for you and gesturing for you to follow him as he crosses the parking lot.

"What is 'here', exactly?" you ask Jihoon as you walk up to the building in front of you. It looks rather unassuming; nothing on the outside giving out what it might be. Just white walls and a sign outside that's still too far to read.

Jihoon catches the way you try to make out the sign, and he can't help but find himself feeling a touch flustered because goddammit, was he allowed to find everything you did endearing?

He clears his throat before finally answering. "A planetarium."

Now, Jihoon definitely doesn't miss the way your eyes widen, nor the small tone of excitement that betrays the otherwise casualness of your voice.

"That's cool," you say with your hands shoved in to the pockets of your jacket. "Never been to one before."

He can clearly see how excited you'd gotten just at hearing where he'd brought you. And, frankly, it just makes his pulse race all that much more.

"Well, let's go in and have a look then, shall we?" he offers, his voice a little on the quieter side as he tries valiantly to not mimic your excitement.

As you approach the building façade, the signage comes in to better view. It boasts of an immersive planetarium experience, but what stops you dead in your tracks is a note tacked on the front door.

Closed for a private event.

"Oh?" you're saying, a slight edge of disappointment in your tone. "It's looks like it's—"

But before you can finish your sentence, the door is pulling open, and an important-looking man— the manager— is already stepping up to address Jihoon.

"Mr. Lee, right on time," the employee greets with a bow. "We've set everything up for you."

The oh that escapes you, this time, is a lot softer.

Jihoon can't help the small grin that immediately works its way across his lips at your reaction. He'd been hoping to catch you by surprise, and he can tell that it worked.

He gives a polite, somewhat formal half-bow in return to the manager before glancing over his shoulder to you. There's a hint of smugness in his voice as his gaze lands on you again. "C'mon," he says as he starts making his way in to the planetarium.

The inside is mostly dark; Jihoon gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the change. There's no one else here but the two of you, and Jihoon isn't really complaining about the emptiness. It just means he can have you all to himself, without having to worry about having anyone else around.

He can hear your footsteps, following behind him, and he has to mentally remind himself to keep himself together before he finally glances over his shoulder at you.

"Surprised?" he teases, the ghost of a smirk making its way on to his face.

He revels in the look of awe on your face, the way you all but ignore him to pull a couple of steps ahead. You're surveying the lobby like it's already the main exhibit, and Jihoon has the sudden urge to rent out every gallery in Seoul for you to see.

Your next words are one-two punch on Jihoon's poor, poor heart. "I think you've got some nerve, Jihoon-ah, pulling out all the stops on our first date," you muse, your face still upturned to the entryway.

Jihoon almost trips right over his own two feet as the casualness of your words registers in his mind.

Multiple dates. You were implying that there might be multiple dates to follow. That you wanted there to be multiple dates.

He takes a quick breath, trying to maintain any semblance of a nonchalant attitude as he responds. "What?" he says, the smirk just a touch more shaky on his lips. "You think this is 'going all out'?"

He continues to walk, catching up to you a few moments later. "I'm offended. How dare you think that I'd settle for anything less than perfection."

"If this isn't 'all out' yet for you," you quip. "I'm a bit nervous as to what is."

He only responds with a small chuckle. "You'll see."

He leads you to the next room over, and this particular one is far more darker. The only source of light is from the projector against the back wall, projecting a constellation map on the opposite wall.

Jihoon glances over his shoulder once more, watching the small look of wonder on your face. He leads you to a small couch in the center of the room before sitting comfortably beside you on it.

His face is partially illuminated by the lights of the projector, and he can clearly see the way you're taking in everything around him.

"You like it, hm?" he gently prods, watching you again.

It's a lot to take in, honestly. The high ceiling, the projected constellations, the lights dancing across both your faces. Even the way the room has been rearranged— the single plush couch, the type that allows you to recline and gaze up at the faux sky of constellations— is all so damn good.

"I like it," you concede, your voice barely above a murmur. You speak like you're scared that talking any louder will break an illusion. "It's— yah, Jihoon-ah. It's so pretty."

In that moment, Jihoon almost forgets how to breathe.

There's something so soft and gentle and fond to your voice as you speak, and the way your words came out almost reverently does something to Jihoon that he couldn't quite explain.

"Pretty," he repeats, eyes still trained on you. "It is, isn't it?"

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a long time; Jihoon still watching you instead of the exhibit. You didn't just say it was pretty. You'd said it with words and tone and expression that told him just how much you loved it.

Christ, he was a goner. He was far gone for you.

After what feels like both an eternity and a second at the same time, Jihoon finally shifts his gaze away from you, glancing up at the ceiling above him. He's quiet for a few more moments before he finally speaks again.

"Y'know…" He starts, the sound of his voice just a touch quieter than usual. "When I was a kid, I always thought the stars were my favorite thing."

Jihoon glances over at you again, noticing the way you were still practically enchanted by the projected stars above you. It makes him bite back a small, amused smile, before he continues.

"I used to sit out in the field by my house and count them, name them, make up my own stories for each of them. I thought they were the most magical, most incredible things in the whole universe."

He thinks of his home back in Busan, the way the moon reflected over the sea water. He thinks of a version of him from lifetimes ago— a boy he'll never be again.

He almost misses him.

Jihoon lets out a soft huff. "And then I got older, and life got really shitty and busy, and..." His voice falters a bit. "The stars were no longer as important to me as they were before."

He exhales, the sound filling the quiet room. He can feel you listening, can feel you taking in every sincere word of his. And that's enough. That means something.

"But..." He goes on quietly. "Sometimes, there are moments that come, and the only things that matter are the stars again."

It's just like Jihoon to spew something poetic without pretense or shame. In his peripheral, he sees you glancing at him, and it takes everything for him to not let this feeling overwhelm him.

"I hope you have more moments like that, then," you say, your voice equally soft.

There was something so endearing about the sentiment you'd said, and he knew that you meant every word of it. And that made it all so much worse for his heart.

He's so whipped, it almost makes him want to laugh.

This is one of those moments, he almost says. Even if it's not real stars.

He can't help it anymore. Despite all the times he's had to keep up his usually cool, calm demeanor with you, despite his usual attitude, despite his usual shyness, the urge is just too much and—

He slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer.

That was one thing the stars could do: Give him a bit of courage.

When you don't resist his gentle tugging, he figures he can do just one more thing.

His free hand moves to your chin, gently coaxing your head up so that you’re looking at a specific point up at the ceiling.

You're so focused on the stars, you barely even register the sound of Jihoon’s voice again.

"The most special stars," he murmurs. "They all have names."

He’s still speaking into your ear, and you can feel his warm breath against your skin. "That one," he says, his voice like gravel. He slowly, carefully tilts your chin up just a little more. Coaxing you to look up even further. "Is my favorite."

His calmness is belied by the fact that his heart is a jackhammer in his chest. All he can do, really, is try to get you to look at one of the larger stars that's almost dead center in the middle.

"Why is it your favorite?" you inquire, the genuine curiosity in your tone almost mistakable for breathlessness.

"It's the brightest star in the entire sky." His gaze darts between the star and your face, the shadows of the room hiding the way his chest tightens at the sight of you listening intently. "It's called Sirius."

His voice is still soft, but there's a new note to it that you've never heard before. It's quiet, reverent, almost like he's about to tell you a secret.

"The Romans called it the 'dog star'," he continues. "Because it's the brightest star in Canis Major, the big dog constellation."

He lowers his head a little so that his chin is almost resting on your shoulder, and his arm around your shoulders tightens just a fraction.

"But to the Chinese, it was known as the 'heavenly river commander'," he goes on. "And the Arabs called it the 'chief star in heaven'."

Jihoon is getting nervous, now, but he has to do this. He has to.

It feels like the first flicker of a neon sign as he goes on, "To all those different people, it was all of those things. To me—"

He pauses, feeling the words stick in his Adam's apple.

The brightest star in the night sky.

For the longest time, Jihoon had wondered whether he would find something to call it, too. The closest he's come has been the boys, his music.

But that felt like an understatement. They weren't just a group, after all; they were his whole life. And so it was more apt to describe them as the universe, as the entire planetarium.

Which left him with the brightest star—

"To you?" you repeat, tilting your head back to meet Jihoon's gaze head on.

"What's it called to you?" you prompt.

In the relative darkness, he can't read you as well as he might have wanted.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't change what's he's going to say, anyway.

He gives you his answer—

He says your name.

And then he leans in— his heart at your feet, all yours for the taking.

[lordprettyflackotara]

till dawn || eyeless jack || part three

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: LOTS OF PLOT, being chased teehee scary, unrealistic demon sex bc be so honest w yourself that’s why you’re here, breeding kink, bondage/choking kink. there will be one more part, a finale to this lil series :’) i think for my next series for the creeps im gonna go with either jeff or masky, haven’t decided yet. ANYWAYS, enjoy!!

the finale to till dawn is here

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to burst through your rib cage.

The sound of crunching leafs echoed behind you, one set of footsteps in particular on your heels. Eerie laughter filled your ears as you threw one foot in front of the other, desperate to get away.

You had decided to follow Jack once he left your house. It wasn’t a logical thing to do, knowing that from what Jack talked about other beings like him existed. You knew Jack was a one of one and so were the others he told you stories about. He promised to introduce you to them someday, but not today.

Curiosity got a hold of your better judgment, causing you to slowly trail behind him. Curiosity was about to kill the cat. You could feel your lungs burning, a whooshing sound flying past your ear. You gasped as a rusty axe had been thrown into the tree beside your head. It had nearly nipped you, your ear millimeters from the blade.

What you didn’t realize, was that the moment you walked into these predators territory, you’d become the prey.

Jack knew you had followed him. He was fine with you doing so. Up until now, he had assumed the Supernatural borders prevented any human from entering. As an animalistic growl escaped his throat, weaving through the trees, he realized he had never been more wrong.

Toby was close behind you, Jack could hear his mouth twitching with pride as he got closer to you. Your presence had alerted every creep within a five mile radius, none of them aware of who you were. It was Jacks job to stop them from getting to you, ignoring the loud drum of your heartbeat. Thankfully Jack was the fastest, his killing style driven by animalistic primal hunger. He was gaining distance on Toby, reaching one hand out and grabbing him by his hair.

You forced yourself to not look back, to not question the sudden silence of your purser. Typically you thought of yourself to be a decent runner, now realizing track in high school could’ve never prepared you for a situation like this. Once all you heard was silence, you allowed yourself to slow down. Panting, you leaned against the sharp forest bark of one of the trees. Everything around you looked the exact same, like a never ending loop.

It was official. You were lost.

The sound of rushing water intrigued you, your eyes darting in each direction to find the source. Despite the eerie feeling of being alone in such a dark forest, you felt like multiple sets of eyes were watching you. Stalking you. Hunting you. The moonlight dimly lit the forest floor, your feet carrying you in what you believed to be the direction of the river. You had been camping before, the sounds of bugs or owls having previously been a comfort.

But here, in this forest, there were neither of those things. You trudged towards the river, a large river bank coming into view. The water was harsh as it crashed against the rocks below it. Murkiness and darkness prevented you from seeing the bottom of the river, unaware of how deep it was. Or from seeing what creatures lurked below.

Jack was close to catching up with you, his focus on Jeff and Jane as they slowly closed in on you. Jane was nimble, using her small frame and agility to swing through the trees. As Jack watched them both close in on you, it occurred to him neither of them realized the other was present. If the situation wasn’t so dire of your safety he’d watch in amusement just to see what happened next. Jeff went for the kill first, Jacks body flying forward to stop him. But Jane had beat him to it.

The loud crashing sound behind you caused you to jump, instantly turning around. A man and woman, whom you could almost think to be siblings, were visibly fighting in front of you. “What the fuck Jane? Can you not see i’m doing something here?” The man growled. Unsettling crimson blood dripped down the carvings on the side of his face. His cheeks were mutilated beyond belief, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull.

Fight or flight was not crossing your mind, your body frozen in fear. “I found her long before you did dipshit,” Jane snarled. Knives occupied both of their hands, her unsettling, soulless black abyss for eyes glancing at you. “She’s a cute one, I can see why you wanted the kill. Sadly she’s mine Jeffrey, all mine,” She smirked. Jack went to intervene, the overwhelming sound of two more heartbeats stopping him. Shit, Masky and Hoody. Surely Slender had sent the proxies to check on the situation, Toby beating them due to his speed.

Jack felt conflicted, trying to rationalize what to do. If he intervened Jeff and Jane now, he would have to take both of them on as well as the proxies. His gaze landed on the two pale killers, both of them still bickering. But, if he managed to stop the proxies fast enough, he could come back and retrieve you. The proxies wouldn’t be hard to find, their heartbeats and smell practically giving Jack a map. He felt awful leaving you, the petrified look of horror written across your face as you watched the fight in front of you.

As the sound of the proxies grew closer, Jack turned around, chasing after the sound of pounding hearts.

“You always do this! I find a good kill and here comes Jane!” Jeff argued. Jane rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault we have the same type,” She debated. Slowly you tried to back away, hoping they’d be so involved in their debate they’d forget about your presence. “You’re such a bitch, always copying me and my shit, find another hobby will ya?”Jeff spat harshly.You swallowed as you kept your eyes on them, trying to figure out if you could out run them.

Snap.

Both sets of eyes landed on you, your blood running cold. You could feel the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, everything in you screaming to run. Their eyes contained a certain unnatural hunger, the kind that would only be satisfied by watching you bleed. “You know, the more I think about it, maybe we can call it even just this once, since it’s a special occasion,” Jeff said softly, glancing at Jane. As his eyes moved you noticed that he didn’t blink, his never ending gaze shifting back and forth. His eye sockets were hollow, your mind struggling to make sense of his rancid appearance. He had no eyelids?

“Maybe we should, how often do humans stumble through our forest like this?” Jane replied, chuckling. The two had seemed to come to a decision, moving in unison. They seemed to be patiently waiting for a chase, waiting for you to run. As you turned your back you heard an animalistic growl, one that you could only assume came from one of the pale killers.

What you didn’t realize, was that Jack was ready to rip Jeff apart limb by limb. The two pale killers were blindsided, Jane gasping as she fell to the ground. The demon had Jeff pinned to the ground, snarling above him. It was forbidden to kill another creep, especially on Slender’s grounds. “EJ what-” Jeff began babbling, the animalistic snarl from Jacks throat silencing him. Jane scoffed as she stood up, brushing off her dress.

“If you wanted the kill yourself there’s no sense in being so dramatic, just say so,” She quipped. Jacks gaze stranded from Jeff, settling on Jane as she fully regained her confidence. Jack was never one to hurt a lady, so instead he came up with a different solution. Standing up fully he picked her up, harshly gripping her arms as he tossed her into the nearby river.

You could hear her screams of despair as you continued running into the forest. Whipping your head around to look behind you, for the first time since you had entered the land of terror no one was following you. Your legs burned, your mind spinning. You felt dizzy, your vision beginning to be clouded with stars. The only thing you had on you was your phone. Shakily you took it out of your pocket, thumbing in the password.

Who would you even call? Jack didn’t have a phone, you had no service. You sighed, blankly scrolling between the apps you couldn’t use. Your eyes widened as your screen went black. Did it die? On seventy nine percent? You tilted your head to the side as a camera came into focus, a young blonde man with black and red eyes staring back at you. “Oh wow, hello there gorgeous! EJ sure does know how to pick em huh?” He asked. His pointy ears twitched. That was the final straw. You tossed your phone onto the ground, stomping on it with your boot. The glass shattered, your once prized possession now garbage.

Tilting your head back you let out a pained sigh. How long was it before these maniacs caught up with you? Looking around you found a decent stick. In comparison to the knives and axes the others were equipped with it would be nothing, but you’d go down fighting.

Snap.

You quickly turned around, gripping your stick tightly. Wincing as the wood cut the palm of your hand, you braced yourself. Swallowing, you tried to find the noises creator. A gush of wind breezed past you from a different direction, your eyes darting to your left. What if they were all circling you? Like a pack of wolves? What if this was in the end?

In the dull moonlight you were able to make out a tall figure, your fight or flight kicking in. Hastily you rose your stick, slamming it down on the shadow in front of you. A large hand grabbed your stick, snapping it half, before sending you on the ground. Your collision with the ground knocked the air out of your lungs, your back hitting the dirt below. Instinctively you began thrashing, a strong set of hands pinning you down.

“Hey, hey, HEY, calm down! Look at me!” Jacks voice was firm, filled with worry. Were you going insane? Seeing Jeff was definitely enough to make someone do so. He didn’t want you to end up like Nina. You blinked a few times, Jacks mask long discarded. Blood dripped down his nose, staining his upper lip. A gash sliced across his cheek, the same crimson paint dripping down his gray skin. “Jack?” You panted.

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, Jacks attention temporarily preoccupied as you attempted to catch your breath. His mind returned to normal the moment you began rambling.

“Holy shit there was a guy with an axe who sounded literally like a ticking time bomb and then this like mutilated albino couple wanted to kill me as well and then this dwarf-”

Jack gripped your shoulders, shaking you.

“Why would you come here? Do you understand how difficult it is for me to protect you here?” He panted. His body was becoming tired. Sprinting across Slender forest and fighting off all of his friends was exhausting, even for him. Your eyes were widened as his hands gripped you harder unintentionally. “You single handedly alerted every monster in the goddamn area that there was fresh meat on the market,” Jack continued. You winced in pain as his grip tightened.

“Jack, you’re hurting me.”

His eye sockets widened, the demon releasing you. He stayed on top of you, the two of you blankly staring at one another. “You’re bleeding,” Jack commented. The deeper he inhaled the stronger the scent became, electric cravings crawling across his skin. You didn’t have a chance to tell him where it was coming from, the demon grabbing your wrist to examine your palm.

The blood wasn’t bad, a small stream dripping down the precious little lines of your palm. To think that when he wanted to, he could hunt down whoever he wanted. That truly, you belonged to him. No matter the danger that he created or that others around you did, he was able to restrain himself. To protect you. The scent of your blood made his stomach flip, his body flooding with desire. Your legs shifted under him, your body becoming warmer as he touched you.

Your voice was low, a desperate whisper, “Jack…”

The worry that clouded Jacks mind was washed away by the sound of your soft voice. The only sound that could calm him down and make him feel at ease,was the enchanting sound of you saying his name. You yanked his hoodie, desperately bringing his lips to yours. Your blood soaked into the clothing, a groan escaping Jacks throat.

The delicious sound of your heart beginning to race flooded his ears, his hips slowly grinding on yours. You whimpered, pawing at his hoodie to bring him impossibly closer. Your lips melted against his, submitting to his rougher desperate kisses. His large hands slithered up your shirt, squeezing and kneading at your breast. You groaned into his mouth, the demon trying to be careful as to not nip you with his teeth.

“Here?” You panted, whimpering as he pushed up your bra. Jack kissed down the side of your neck gently, the throbbing pulse of your throat almost too much for him to handle. “I’ll make it quick love, I just need to let everyone in a five mile radius know who you belong to,” Jack huffed, bringing your right nipple into his mouth. You felt his multiple tongues attack the bud, his name spilling from your lips. With a pop he released your nipple, kissing down your stomach.

“How long until they come looking for us again?” You asked nervously, Jacks nimble fingers quickly unbuttoning and sliding down your jeans. He looked up at the sky. “I’d say till dawn,” He guessed. You giggled as he repositioned himself between your legs, your jeans shoved down to your ankles. “Guess you better hurry up then,” You say. His slender fingers began teasingly rubbing your slick through your panties, the thin cloth drenched.

“Let’s make sure you can take me first you troublemaker,” Jack teased, grinning at the sound of you moaning for him. He slid two of his slender fingers in front of you, your walls squeezing him as he curled them inside of you. Desperately you bucked your hips upwards, throwing your head back as he hit your g spot. “All that running made you awfully sensitive, huh?” Jack joked, relishing in the sight of you grabbing at his wrist, the one that was connected to the hand inside of you.

“Jack, fuck, please,” You whined. Jacks eye sockets widened.

He hesitated, “Please what?”

Your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, the humiliation of him making you say what you needed settling in. “Please fuck me,” You pleaded, your voice cracking. Jacks hands were quick to work on his belt, the sound of the metal clinking sending a chill down your spine. You bit your lip as you eyed the leather, Jack noticing. A devilish sadistic thought entered his mind, his lips curling upwards.

“You want to try something new?” Jack asked, slightly guessing. You nodded, meeting his gaze. You vocalized a plea, Jack quick to flip you over. Your bare knees hit the dirt of the forest, the smell of the earth flooding your nostrils. Instinctively you went to arch your back, Jack stopping you by yanking you back by your shirt. “You might want to stay on all fours,” He purred in your ear, kissing your earlobe. He wrapped his belt around your neck, holding the metal buckle in his hand.

It cut off a decent portion of your airway, a groan escaping your lips at the sensation of being choked. “You’re into bondage now? Such a whore for me,” Jack chuckled darkly, stroking his cock. He rubbed his tip up and down your folds, trying to lubricate his cock as best as possible. Despite how drenched you got every time he was around, you always struggled to accommodate his size. And every single time it sent Jack into a frenzy, determination to make it fit ensuing.

He glanced up at the sky, the sun rising very faintly in the distance. “We don’t have very long, be a good girl and take it,” Jack snarled, shoving himself inside of you. You felt your body being split in two, his spare hand snaking down to your clit. He rubbed circles around the sensitive bud, trying to relax your body as much as possible. “You wanna be good for me don’t you slut? Relax for me,” He huffed, bottoming out inside of you. You were tense, grabbing handfuls of leafs and dirt.

He could feel you spasm around him as you struggled to accommodate to his size, whimpering as your vision became hazy. After what felt like forever to Jack, he could feel your body relax. “There we go, such a good girl for me aren’t you?” Jack purred in satisfaction. He pulled back his hips, taking himself out of you. He then brought himself back inside, pleased to hear the sound of you letting out a choked out moan. He continued to swirl around your clit, his thrust becoming faster.

You felt light headed as the leather pressed against your throat, choking on the sinful noises that echoed through out the forest. “Fuck, if I had known letting you into Slender’s forest would’ve gotten you so hot and bothered, I would’ve done it a long time ago,” Jack panted, his cock abusing your g spot. You were seeing stars, each thrust sending you into orbit. “Taking me so well, just like a good mate should,” He growled. His grip on the belt tightened, your airway temporarily cut off.

His thrust became more animalistic, the gears in his head turning. The savage and primal instinct washed over him, his coherent thoughts now vanished. Instead they were replaced with one thought and one thought only:

Breed breed breed.

“Fuck, you’re going to look so pretty with my cum leaking from that pretty cunt of yours,” Jack snarled. He released the belt, the leather flying forward and onto the ground. His large hands instead grabbed your waist, squeezing the flesh so harshly you swore you’d have bruise in the shape of his fingers. “Jack, fucking shit,” You moaned, his thrust merciless and brutal. He showed no sign of stopping, no sign of slowing. You could feel a familiar knot form in your stomach, one that Jack had made more times than you could count.

“I can feel you getting close for me. Need you to cum for me, need to fill you,” Jack huffed, holding back his own orgasm. Your back arched as you fell further forward, the side of your face pressed against the dirt. The sun was beginning to rise, your thighs trembling. “Jack I-,” You mewled, your orgasm washing over you like a ton of bricks. Jack couldn’t resist himself, fucking you through your orgasm. His hips began to stutter, the demon screwing his eyes shut as he came deep inside of you.

Dazed, you continued to hold your ass up in the air as Jack pulled out of you. The sight of his cum seeping out of your cunt was divine. With two fingers he scooped up the dripping cum, pushing it back inside of you, ignoring your whimpers. Gently he guided you onto his lap, wiping the dirt off of your face with his thumb. The sun began rising, the beams of sunlight dancing in between the trees as they hit the forest floor.

Jack could hear your heart rate begin to turn to normal as you inhaled deeper breaths. “Cmon, gotta get you dressed before the others get back from their hunt,” Jack murmured encouraging, readjusting your bra to fit you correctly. Still in a daze, you leaned your head against Jacks shoulder, allowing him to redress you. A small breeze blew past the two of you, the faint smell of blood hitting Jacks nose. He was sure the other creeps would be back any moment now, their kills fresh blood still staining their skin and clothes.

Quickly he dressed himself, scooping you into his arms. You had never been picked up bridal style before, instinctively you nuzzled your head against Jacks chest. Making sure you both had everything, Jack quickly looked around, noticing your shattered phone. He began walking towards the mansion, taking note you were beginning to drift off.

“Yeah, I think it’s time you met Ben. He owes you a new phone anyways.”

[gurugirl]

ex-boyfriend's dad!harry part 1

Summary: After you break up with your boyfriend, his dad, Harry, stops by your apartment to drop off a few of your things. But that's not all he's there to bring you.

A/N: This full series is already live on Patreon, with all 4 parts up! Part 2 will be posted here in one week.

Word Count: 8.17k

Series Warnings: explicit content, smut (including anal, rough blow jobs), age gap, angst, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, choking, slight degradation, use of small implements (collar and leash, anal plug)

Part 1 Warnings: angst, slight inappropriate moment between you & Harry at the beginning featuring skinny dipping and subtle flirting

Ex-boyfriend's Dad masterlist

. . .

You didn’t know what had gotten into you. Skinny dipping in the pool at midnight under the stars. Well, you did know, actually. Two bottles of Italian red wine. That and your boyfriend’s dad, Harry, encouraging you. You were both at least two bottles in.

You’d been dating Tyler for nearly two years, and so Harry told Tyler to invite you to come along to their yearly vacation in Lombardy, Italy. The Style’s family owned a small villa in the hills and Harry made it a point to take a couple of weeks there every year.

So you were honored and more than excited when he invited you. Of course, you weren’t going to miss it.

And now you’d been in Lombardy for 5 days and Tyler went to bed a little early on this particular evening while you and his dad stayed outside on the patio overlooking the lighted pool drinking bottles of wine and talking about relationship things that may or may not have ebbed into very slightly inappropriate territory. But you’d think about all that later on.

Because here you were swimming buck naked with your boyfriend’s very handsome dad. You didn’t peek (not really) when he dove in with a big, dimpled smile after you slid in quickly with a squeal and he laughed with his back turned and a promise he wouldn’t look.

Because here you were taking another pour of wine with him and clinking glasses while you laughed. Wearing nothing. With your boyfriend’s very very handsome dad.

Of course, it was difficult to see fully what was going on under the reflection of the water. But you did notice a few things about Harry. About your boyfriend’s dad. One was that he had way more tattoos than you originally realized. You knew he had tattoos on his arms and you’d seen peeks on his chest before. But with him completely naked you saw a lot more. And you could tell he had a tattoo on his left thigh – something large. There were also tattoos on his hips, both sides. But more than that, you couldn’t help to notice the dark patch at his crotch and the floating thing attached to said dark patch, which you were sure was his dick. Obviously.

But you didn’t stare too hard. Well, you tried not to look anyway.

You tried keeping your tits under the surface of the water as well but every time you bounced to get toward the edge of the pool they did make an appearance. You crossed your arm over your nipples as you reached for your glass and Harry laughed.

“I’m not looking. I swear!” He raised his arms and grinned.

“I mean it’s just in case,” you giggled before you took a big gulp from your glass.

Harry was swimming toward the far end of the pool away from you, his back muscles flexing with each stroke. The lights in the pool were illuminating every one of his movements, and yours too, you were sure, as you placed the glass down and plunged under the surface of the water to swim toward him.

It felt so freeing and light to swim naked. You’d never done it before and when Harry suggested it as a sort of dare you told him how you always wanted to and that’s how this all happened. You didn’t regret it even though you were sure Tyler wouldn’t appreciate it. But you were having fun.

Suddenly you felt Harry’s hand on your ankle as he pulled at you, causing you to twist under the water. You reached toward his hand just as he let go and then pushed your head out of the water with a gasp, “Hey!”

Harry laughed. He was already swimming toward the other side of the pool, away from you, “What? What happened?” He stopped and turned toward you, a look of faux concern on his face.

“What do you mean what?!” You pushed yourself off the wall to swim toward him, “You grabbed me!”

Harry watched you dog paddle toward him with a big smile on your pretty face. He was just trying to make you laugh. Liked hearing it. Liked seeing you smile. Because he had noticed how you weren’t quite as carefree around Tyler lately. He noticed how your demeanor had changed from what he used to know of you, and he’d even overheard an argument you and his son had just the night before. He was worried that you and Tyler were drifting apart. Though it wasn’t his business at all, he figured the least he could do was to make you smile. This was your vacation too.

“Nope. I’m over here,” he laughed, “Couldn’t have grabbed you. Must have been like one of those pool monsters or something.”

You laughed loudly, the sound bouncing off the water and the trees all around. Harry smiled widely.

“You’re so cheesy, Harry,” you splashed water at him and clung to the edge of the pool.

Harry swam next to you and put his arm on the edge of the pool facing you, “Cheesy? How so?”

He was a bit close to you. Not that you minded. You trusted him but you didn’t trust yourself not to let your eyes wander. His chest was delectable and the muscles on his arms with his tattoos… his jawline.

You cleared your throat before smiling, “Pool monster?”

Harry laughed and nodded, “Yes. Pool monster. There’s one that lives in this pool. Did you not know?”

You shook your head, “That’s what I mean. Cheesy. Such a dad thing to say even to a grown woman.”

“Oh you’re a grown woman are you?” Harry blew out a laugh through his nose as he kept his lagoon-green eyes on yours.

You splashed at him again but then Harry retaliated with a massive spray of water back in your direction. You had no idea how he did it, but it was like a bucket of water was thrown at you.

Gasping you let go of the edge of the pool and flailed in the water coughing. It was dramatic but you’d swallowed a big gulp of pool water and sucked in some through your nose.

You heard Harry laughing and then felt his hand on your sides to lead you toward the side of the pool, “Take it easy. Here, back to the edge. You okay?”

You put your arms over the side and coughed, momentarily forgetting your tits were out and about for anyone to see. For Harry to see.

Harry patted your back and then as you calmed you felt his palm smoothing up and down your spine, “Sorry, Y/n. Didn’t know you’d open your mouth up and take a gulp like that,” he laughed softly.

You smushed yourself to the edge and took a breath before looking at him, “You’re trying to drown me,” you chuckled.

He didn’t mean to look. He told himself to keep his eyes on your face but you were half out of the pool, your breasts pressed into the tiles and when his eyes lowered you saw it clear as day. But maybe a small part of you liked it. He quickly moved his gaze elsewhere and you smiled as you lowered yourself back under the surface.

“Really wasn’t. Just figured you’d be ready for splash retribution. You have to keep your guard up, Y/n. Rule number one of pool play,” he laughed and then finally looked back at you. Into your eyes this time.

“I’ll remember that from now on,” you grinned and then with all you had, cupped your hands and splashed him directly in his face before you swam away laughing as he thrashed in his spot.

You heard him let out a short cackle before you heard the water moving under him. He was swimming toward you quickly. And Harry was a much better swimmer than you so in only seconds he was grabbing your arm and then pulling at you to lift and fling you forward, all your bits out for him to see before you landed in the water with a splatter and a plop.

His laughter was contagious. You turned to him with your mouth dropped open in surprise but couldn’t help but giggle.

“Sorry, Y/n! Fuck…” he shook his head and smoothed his wet hair back, “Forgot we’re in our birthday suits,” he pulled his lips into his mouth, his elbow at the edge of the pool. You followed and hung on to the edge for a reprieve from needing to kick your feet and flap your arms for a moment.

“I guess that’s just part of pool play,” you laughed. Harry nodded, his dimples casting shadows into his cheeks.

You both took a sip from your glasses.

“You and Tyler had an argument last night,” Harry suddenly spoke what was on his mind, “Couldn’t help overhear it. Didn’t mean to but…” he shrugged.

You nodded before placing your glass along the tiles next to the pool, “Right. I mean, I know we were loud. We’ve been arguing a bit more lately. Sorry about that.”

“What’s wrong? Anything I can help with? Hate to know you two are having any problems.”

You smiled at him, “No. Nothing you can help with. We just sometimes don’t see eye to eye on certain things.”

Harry sat his wine glass down next to yours, “Like what?”

“Harry, I don’t know… it’s not something I think Tyler would want me to tell anyone.”

He laughed and began to backstroke away from you and then turned and swam back, “So don’t tell him you told me,” he licked his lips and you watched as his deep pink rose-colored lips quirked up.

You raised your brows and grinned back, “You can’t say anything. Swear to me,” you pointed.

Harry moved in closer, his eyes on you, “Of course, Y/n. I would never say anything.”

You believed him. Maybe it was because he had always given you the vibe that he was a good person to tell secrets to. Or maybe it was two bottles of wine making you more likely to gab.

“He… well he’s not super adventurous in bed,” you bit your lip and looked down at the water, of course noticing the fleshy bit swaying between his legs had you averting your eyes quickly to the edge of the pool.

“Oh?” Harry hadn’t expected you to say that. “Tell me more. Why did this turn into an argument?” He put his elbows on the edge of the pool as you moved to pick up your glass.

“Like…” you glanced at him and laughed as you shook your head, “I’m not gonna tell you everything but for example,” you placed your elbows over the edge, mimicking Harry, “I… you know, enjoy giving him blowjobs. But… he doesn’t want to like,” you looked down at the tile and laughed, “Oh my god I can’t believe I’m about to say this… he doesn’t want to thrust into my throat because he thinks it’ll hurt me.” You placed your face into your hands and chuckled.

You turned to look at Harry slowly only to find a soft grin on his face, “And? Why did this turn into an argument?”

Swallowing down your saliva you decided to just drop the bigger bomb because none of it made sense without that big detail and, well, you were two bottles of red deep so why the hell not?

“He never returns the favor,” you watched his eyes widen.

“What? He doesn’t? Like ever? Ever?” The look of horror on his face was almost comical. But it definitely matched your own feelings about the whole thing.

You shook your head, “So, sometimes he does. But he’s only down there when I beg him and then it’s for two minutes tops and it’s awful. He hates doing it and it makes me feel awful about myself and he always reassures me but it’s so hard not to take personally because I am so excited to do it for him. I just don’t get why he doesn’t like it with me. And that just leads to us fighting."

Harry nodded, “Well I get why this would be an argument. And I can’t believe he doesn’t…” he shook his head, “I’m kind of surprised to hear this to be honest. Just,” he scratched his head and looked back toward the house where Tyler was probably fast asleep, “Don’t take it personally. I can guarantee it has nothing to do with you, Y/n.”

You took another sip of your wine and then pushed yourself off the wall to float back into the water, kicking your legs as you looked up at the sky, “But it’s okay I guess. Sex isn’t everything, right?”

Harry watched you float back toward the opposite side of the pool, “Right. That’s definitely true.” But while those words were true, Harry didn’t quite believe the deeper sentiment of it.

He swam toward you, taking two long side strokes, and dunked his head under the water. You lowered your legs to float upright when you felt the ripples just as he popped out in front of you, wet hair flopping over his forehead before he took his hand and ran it into his hair to push it back.

“We probably shouldn’t tell him that we did this,” you spoke as you watched Harry’s chest drip with water.

“Wasn’t planning on it. It’ll be our secret.”

That dimpled grin again made you grin in return.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” you laughed.

Harry lifted his arms from the water, “What? You said you’d never done it and that you wanted to?” He laughed.

“I did. It’s actually really fun.”

“Isn’t it?”

You nodded and glanced at the house and back to Harry. The quiet was making you feel something. Not quite nervous, but definitely something that had your skin rising with goosebumps, and your heart rate increasing. It could have been Harry’s eyes on you. The warmth you felt on your spine when you thought about how you two were both naked and that he’d most definitely seen your breasts when he flung you out of the water. His hands pinched into your thighs as he pushed you upward, which meant he probably had also seen your bottom, perhaps more.

But somehow he didn’t make you feel like you should be ashamed or embarrassed. It was quite refreshing to be around Harry. Even if you were nude and it was probably inappropriate to be doing such a thing with the father of the man you were intimately involved with. Even still, with Harry, it felt honest and natural.

“Harry, this might be one of the best nights I’ve ever had. Seriously. Thank you for having Ty invite me. This feels really special to be here in Lombardy.”

“I’m glad you could come. Honestly, I love Tyler but he’s not nearly as much fun as you.”

You chuckled softly as you looked up at the dark sky, clinging to the edge of the pool. When you kicked, your leg slid against Harry’s. You could feel the solid warmth of his shin and the virile hair that tickled your skin.

“Oh. Believe me. I know I’m way more fun than he is,” you spoke the words as a joke but both you and Harry knew that you were saying something a bit bawdy regarding Tyler’s prudishness.

You gazed at the night sky, the stars bright and flickering in and out of existence before your eyes. Every now and then Harry’s leg would bump against yours but you liked it. Neither of you would do anything to stop the subtle and innocent brushes of skin.

“Isn’t it wild how right now, as we’re looking up at the stars that some of them are already burned out, while others are coming to life and being born right before our eyes? But they’re light years away so we have no idea of the magic that’s taking place.” You spoke quietly.

You could see in your peripheral that Harry had turned his head to look at you, “We’re just at the mercy of the universe, Y/n. Me, you, and everyone else here. It’s beautiful and exciting, isn’t it?”

You smiled, keeping your gaze upward, “I love that. Just as the mercy of the universe,” you turned to look at him as your leg floated against his, “It’s beautiful.”

. . .

“So then you are cheating on me!”

You shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose. Tyler was always jealous. Always worried you were cheating on him somehow. He didn’t trust you. And that made you not trust him.

“This is a great example of why I’m breaking up with you. You always accuse me of cheating on you, yet… I have never and would never! It’s such an insult! You just don’t get it, Ty!”

He put his hands on his hips and laughed coldly as he paced around you, “Something is up. I don’t buy that you just suddenly want to dump me. We’ve been together for almost two years. Why now if it’s not because of someone else?”

Rolling your eyes you crossed your arms over your chest, “Something is up! But it’s not because I’ve been cheating. Fucking Christ you’re insecure.” You sat down on the couch in your two-bedroom apartment. You were glad your roommate was not there. “You and I just… we’re not good together I don’t think. At first, it was good, Ty… So good. But… when I opened up to you and told you what I like, what I wanted to try… you made me feel like a cheap slut. Like my request was unreasonable and how you said you would never look at me the same again… and I don’t know,” you put your head in your hands and looked down at your knees, “You’re not willing to meet me in the middle at all and I just think that it’s a deal breaker.”

“A dealbreaker because I won’t spank you like you want to be spanked? It’s so weird, Y/n! How can I feel good about hitting you?”

“Yes, actually it is a dealbreaker. Because you don’t have to beat me. Just spank me with an open palm.  And not only that, you don’t like going down on me, yet I give you half-hour-long blow jobs and I fucking love it. Why don’t you reciprocate?” You shook your head and held your hand up, “Never mind. It doesn’t matter why you don’t, it’s over. This is over.”

“You’re shallow. You always have been. You were just with me because I have money and could buy you whatever you wanted. And I did. But now you’re done and on to the next thing. I know you, Y/n. You forget.” He stepped toward you as he pointed his thumb at his chest, “I put up with it for so long because I actually loved you. And I still do. I could overlook it all. Everything you’ve done I’d just forgive you because I love you. Knowing you would break up with me for this just proves to me you’re lying. Just remember that,” he pointed at you with his brows raised in warning, “That I loved you despite the fact that you lied to me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. His stupid words made you lose it. You leaned forward and your body shook from how hard you’d begun to laugh until you cackled in loud guffaws like an idiot. Tears poured from your eyes as you tried to stand up and compose yourself but you couldn’t stop the scene you were making. It was one of those fits of laughter that make it look like you’re crying because your face was scrunched up and big wet tears were pouring from your eyes. And you tried to stop but it was so hard to calm yourself that you only got even more wound up trying to stop and the whole thing started all over again.

Yeah. That’s what was going on when you broke up with Tyler Styles. Your boyfriend of almost 2 years. You were laughing uncontrollably after his usual bullshit spiel had pushed you over the edge. And you knew he believed his own bullshit and that just made it even funnier.

You loved him. From the beginning he was amazing. You two really got along well but then you started having sex regularly and things changed fast. When you two first started having sex it was infrequent due to your distance (you were away at a college in a different state) so when you could have sex it was wild and hot and it didn’t matter what sort of preferences either of you had. You didn’t care. You were getting to have sex. Good sex. And that’s all that mattered.

But then you moved back into your hometown to finish off the last year of college at home and you had access to Tyler every day. Then you got an apartment with a roommate and Tyler began staying with you and you two were going at it a lot more.

It was great. Until it wasn’t.

You also realized, during that year of being with him every single day, that he was insecure and manipulative. And that wound up turning into very insecure and manipulative after you told him you wanted to be choked a little. Wanted to be spanked. Wanted him to spit on you and in your mouth. Wanted him to rail you. Wanted to try anal.

You thought if you told him what you wanted things would get better in bed because, in all honesty, he wasn’t doing it for you anymore. Not that you didn’t love him and enjoy him. But he hardly ever ate you out, and you got bored of that same old thing. He didn’t seem to mind. He got to nut in you and roll over and go to sleep. Like you were an old married couple.

And that just wasn’t going to cut it for you. You were too young to have underwhelming sex with a guy who thought less of you for liking the things you did. You just weren’t compatible anymore.

But what was worse? The way he didn’t trust you. The way he tried to make something that was his fault into your fault. The way he’d talk in circles and would never own up to his mistakes and point out what he felt you’d done wrong.

And of course, there were the questionable texts you found between him and your friend Yola just a few months before.

That was not your finest moment. You were tired of him accusing you of cheating or acting suspicious of you every time you went out with the girls and so you wondered if he was cheating on you. And the moment you and access to his phone after he drank himself into oblivion one night you went through it. You always swore you would never be one of those women to go through their boyfriend’s phone. But you were in the end. And while the texts between the two of them weren’t all that bad, you still had your guard up.

So you paid close attention to him and how he acted when she was around. You started checking his phone regularly. Started looking through his comment history on Reddit. Perusing his likes on Instagram.

You became what you never wanted. In the end, you never found anything incriminating. Which was a relief, of course, but even if he wasn’t cheating there was no more love there. You were done.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

Still laughing, you wiped your tears and stumbled dramatically, holding onto the wall between your couch and the front door. You’d just about had enough of him. “You–“ you hiccupped a laugh and wheezed as you bent forward to calm down. Sticking a finger up to indicate you needed a minute you shook your head and finally stood upright to look at him in the eyes, your breaths and bursts of giggles slowing, “You are so full of shit. Did you just hear yourself? I can’t handle the way you always minimize your own issues. Just…” you pointed at the door, “Leave. Okay? This is over.”

. . .

“She laughed in my face when I told her I loved her and that I would forgive her for cheating,” Tyler went home and cried to his dad about you breaking up with him.

“She was cheating on you?” Harry raised his brow at Tyler who was slumped pathetically on the couch.

“Probably. I think so because she’s been interested in doing things in bed and I can’t figure out why. It’s gross.”

Harry sat down and draped his ankle over his knee, “What’s gross? I’m confused about what happened?”

“She’s a bitch. She was using me–“

“Whoa, hold on there. Watch how you talk about her. You were with her for almost 2 years. Don’t say that about Y/n.”

Tyler sat up straight and looked at his dad, “But her reasons for breaking up with me are so shallow. I’m not pleasing her in bed? Because I won’t choke her or spit in her mouth? It’s like she turned into a different person. I think she must have been seeing someone else because she broke up with me over it.”

Harry nodded wondering what could be so bad about any of that. But of course, he enjoyed a little bit of rough sex himself. He was surprised Tyler seemed so put off by it. But after learning what you had told him that night in Lombardy, he figured this shouldn’t be too big of a surprise.

His son didn’t even like to eat pussy. If Tyler didn’t look almost exactly like him, he’d wonder if this was even his son. Because Harry liked all kinds of kinky shit in bed.

“So she wanted to try some kinkier things with you. Did you try any of it with her?”

“You don’t even know the half of it, Dad,” Tyler shook his head, “Anal sex too. I mean… what woman wants that? I don’t know. Maybe she was addicted to porn or something.”

Harry swallowed thickly and looked toward the window for a moment in thought as his back heated up at that comment. Anal sex. He tried not to imagine you in that way but it was hard. He’d already gone down that tricky little road in his imagination after that night you both skinny-dipped together. He’d seen you completely naked. He hadn’t meant to look but when he grabbed you by the back of your thighs and pushed you out of the pool he slid his hand up to your bottom and your legs spread as you landed into the water and he saw it all. He’d lost his damn mind when he did it. It was like he was playing with a lover there for a moment and he’d forgotten you were his son’s girlfriend. Well, now ex.

“You didn’t answer my question. Did you try exploring with her at all? See what you might like?”

He shook his head, “I’m not going to choke and spit on someone I love. And anal?” He said the word as if it were disgusting, “It’s so weird. I don’t know what happened to her. She used to be so sweet.”

“I see. So it sounds like you two were no longer sexually compatible anymore and you’re just assuming she’s been cheating.”

“Are you taking her side on this? She broke my heart, Dad. We used to be so good together. It was perfect and then suddenly she just wants me to hit her and be rough with her? It doesn’t add up.”

Harry sighed and shook his head as he leaned his back into the couch cushion. He and Tyler had always been able to talk about anything and everything, which he was proud of. But he wondered if Tyler really saw the bigger picture about you and how important it was to be with someone you’re compatible with. Harry wasn’t going to tell his son what happened that night. The things you’d told him in confidence. And between what his son was telling him now and what you had told him before, he could tell Tyler wasn’t telling the whole story.

“Look. I know you’re upset and hurt but from what you’re telling me it doesn’t sound like you actually know if she was cheating or not. Right?”

“But what else explains her breaking up with me?”

“Tyler, for some people, it’s really important to be sexually compatible with your partner. That can be enough to end a relationship. When someone isn’t satisfied in bed anymore, it might lead to other issues as well.”

“But she used to be satisfied. Something changed. I just don’t know what.”

Harry really wanted to be supportive of his son. But the way he brushed off his lack of effort to make you happy did concern him. It felt like Tyler didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. And it seemed to make sense based on what he knew. Based on what you told him.

He thought back to that night with you in Italy.

He draped the towel over your shoulders as you crossed your arms to cover your chest, “You know I would understand if you felt that was enough to break up with Tyler over. Things like that can slowly erode a relationship from the inside out.”

When you’d clutched the towel safely in front of yourself you turned and shook your head, “It wouldn’t be just for things like that. He’s also really insecure. Always thinks I’m doing something I shouldn’t. He’s even accused me of cheating on him,” you rolled your eyes.

Harry already had his own towel wrapped around his waist, his bottom half fully covered from view, “Well that’s definitely something. If you don’t mind me asking…, why are you still dating him?”

You both began to walk toward the house, clutching your clothes in your hands, “Because it feels like such a waste if we just end it after 2 years, you know? I just want to be able to make it work with him. But I don’t know how much more I can take. I love him… it’s just hard.”

He nodded and put his arm over your shoulder to bring you in for a quick side hug before you walked into the house, “Just do what’s right for you, Y/n.”

. . .

You slept like a baby that night. You weren’t sure if it was because you’d finally had the guts to end it with Tyler or because you wore yourself out laughing like a madwoman. Either way, you realized how easy it was to be without him. How good it felt to be done with him. Relief.

You thought about Harry and his words to you, just do what’s right for you. And this was right. He had given you good advice.

The last time you saw him was when you parted ways at the airport after spending two weeks in Lombardy with him. And while Tyler was there, you both fought the whole time. Tyler was more like an afterthought on that trip to you. After the big fight that Harry overheard, you didn’t even sleep in the same bed with him.  So you wound up spending a lot of time with Harry without Tyler around. It was fucking fantastic. Especially the night under the bright stars in that big pool telling each other secrets.

It was one of the best nights of your life. Harry was one of those men that were rare and truly kind and thoughtful. But he was handsome and charming as well. You’d always found Harry very attractive but you’d have never done anything with that attraction. Besides, you figured it was natural to find other people attractive. And not only that, the apple truly did not fall far from the tree in this case. Well, looks wise anyway.

Tyler was two inches taller than his father and a bit leaner, but he had the same brown wavy hair, green moony eyes, and raspberry-pink lips. Harry’s voice was deeper with more baritone but they did sound similar in some ways. Once you thought Tyler was talking to you until you heard him say your name, and then you knew it was Harry (you had your back turned). Harry said your name in a way that made your neck prickle with heat.

But as much as they looked alike physically, that’s basically where their similarities ended. Where Tyler was insecure, his dad was confident. Where Harry could laugh off a mistake, his son would explode and get red in the face and blame the nearest person for the problem even when it was something small. You could go on but it was useless to dwell on it. The truth was Tyler was nothing like Harry in the ways that mattered.

You didn’t want to think about Harry the way you had been. But it was hard not to. The way he handled himself and didn’t sweat the small things… how mature and understanding he was. How he didn’t get embarrassed easily and that allowed him to be more vulnerable and honest.

And all of that combined with his sturdy, masculine body and the more mature features on his face… Harry was indeed more physically attractive as well. Sure Tyler looked so much like him it was uncanny, but Tyler’s more youthful body and face were lacking something for you.

You’d never really been into older men. Harry was the exception to this. And you only allowed yourself to really see it on your Italian vacation with him.

You felt like you’d miss him more than Tyler. That was the only thing that really sucked about the breakup. Not seeing Harry again.

But it turned out, you would be seeing him again. Because two weeks later when you got a dm from Harry you were quite surprised. In fact, you’d just been thinking of him as you were settling into your bed. It was nearly midnight. It had become routine for you to think about him throughout your day. Especially at night. Maybe inappropriate but you were single and Harry Styles was very good fantasy material.

Hey. Hope you’re doing well. I have a box of your things and thought I could stop by tomorrow afternoon to drop it off if that’s good with you.

And you didn’t know exactly why you did it, why you suggested having him stop by on a night when your roommate was out of town instead, but you did. Maybe you were just feeling him out. Testing the waters so to speak.

You were certainly curious about what could happen if you and Harry were alone with no major consequences to hinder something from happening… you were both single and you had been severely neglected in bed. And something told you Harry would give you what you’d been seeking. That is if he were interested. It was a stretch to think he’d do anything. You were his son’s ex after all. It would be quite scandalous.

It was silly, you knew it was. But when he said he could come over at the newly arranged date and time, somehow it made you feel like you’d just set up your first date since breaking up with Tyler.

It wasn’t a date. No, you needed to get that silly notion out of your mind. Harry would be cordial and warm with you. You actually couldn’t imagine anything much happening in reality.

Yet here you were, an hour before he was due to arrive, making sure your skin was smooth and applying a pretty-smelling lotion all over your limbs. You’d even picked out an outfit. Something that wouldn’t make it look like you were trying too hard but that was just cute enough for him to hopefully notice. It was just a regular Thursday night after all. Well, it was supposed to be.

You could admit you were looking forward to seeing him again. Even if nothing came of it. Even if he just dropped off the box of your things and you handed him Tyler’s stuff and he hugged you and said goodbye… well. That would be okay. Disappointing but the more likely scenario.

When you heard the buzzer go off your heart rate picked up and you felt shaky as you ran to your front door to hit the button to let him inside the building. Your head was filled with images of what you’d imagined the night before but you pushed it down the best you could as you swallowed and took a deep breath.

None of that, Y/n.

The knock at your door came faster than you thought it would as you jumped and clutched your hand over your heart. You needed to chill. You needed to live in reality.

Unlocking your deadbolt, you took another breath in and slowly blew out to calm yourself and as you opened up the door you saw him. It’d been weeks. Just over a month since you’d seen him.

And he had a small box in one arm and a bottle of red wine in the other.

“Hi.” He looked handsome. His clothes were tidy and he looked fresh and clean and you could smell his cologne as you hugged him and then he followed you inside, “Hi. Thank you for switching the day for me,” you turned to him after closing the door, “How have you been?”

Harry looked around your living room and then back to you, those pretty green eyes taking you in making you feel that recognizable spine tingle. Your temperature began to rise without your permission.

“Good. Missed you coming around. Uh…” He held the box out to you, “Your things.”

You took the box with a small smile and then he lifted the bottle of wine by its neck, “And I brought this. Didn’t know if you had time to talk or anything but thought we could share a bottle and sit for a while. Only if you wanted.”

Yes. Yesyesyesyesyesyes… this was exactly what you wanted.

“Oh, that’s so nice of you. Of course, I’d love to sit and chat with you, Harry,” you grinned widely. There was nothing you could do to contain the broad smile that broke out over your mouth or the heat that rose to your neck, “I’ll just put this in my bedroom. Be right back!”

You quickly walked into your hallway, still smiling like an idiot, and then entered your bedroom and dropped the box to the floor. You squealed very quietly to yourself and stomped your feet lightly with fists balled up to get out the pent-up excitement, anxiety, and nerves you were feeling before pressing your palms down on your bed for a moment to relax. The grin on your face only got bigger.

“You okay?”

You shot up and turned to see Harry standing in the hallway outside of your room and your eyes widened. Had he seen your whole little display?

“Yeah! I’m fine.” You smiled.

“Sorry, I followed behind you to see if I could find the bathroom and noticed you were having some kind of fit.”

You pushed a quick laugh out of your mouth and felt your back and thighs scorch in embarrassment. He’d seen you. There was no way he wasn’t aware of what that was.

“Um… don’t worry. I’m okay,” your nerves were bubbling over, “The bathroom is the door at the end. The one that’s open.”

“Okay. I’ll be just a minute. Gotta drain the snake,” he grinned.

When he was out of sight you closed your eyes and shook your head. What an absolute dolt you were. But you did not miss the reference to his dick either. Maybe he was trying to feel you out as well.

In the kitchen, you uncorked the bottle and pulled two glasses down. You didn’t have proper wine glasses yet but figured he wouldn’t mind. Harry was not one to fuss about such things.

You placed the bottle and two glasses at your table and sat down just as he appeared and sat down in the chair next to you.

“How have you been, Y/n? With the breakup and everything?” He asked as he took the honor of pouring a glass for each of you.

You kept your eyes on the glasses as you spoke, “Good. Great even. I miss some things about him but it got too complicated at the end and I feel like I can breathe now.”

“That’s good to hear,” he laid his eyes on you as he handed a glass to you, “Cheers.”

You smiled and tapped your glass against his before taking a sip and then reaching for the bottle to see what kind of wine it was.

“Oh! Did you get this in Lombardy?”

Harry laughed, “Actually no. I bought it at the grocery store. They happened to have this wine there and thought it was fitting for the occasion.”

“Fitting for the occasion of you bringing me my ex’s things?” You puffed out a chuckle.

He nodded, “Yes actually. I mean just because you and my son aren’t seeing each other anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t still have good memories of you.”

You looked down at your glass and blinked. He was so nice. He always made you feel so cherished in some ways.

“Yeah. I guess that’s true,” you allowed yourself to set your gaze on his, “I feel the same really.”

Harry nodded, “He told me all about the breakup. That you told him you weren’t satisfied. I had to hold my tongue when he started talking about it. He doesn’t know I have inside information.”

You laughed, “Oh god. I did not go about the breakup in the best way. I wanted to tell him all the reasons I didn’t want to be with him but… I don’t know. There were just so many and I didn’t want to like, pile it all on him and hurt his feelings. I never got around to the bigger issues with his insecurity, the way he was manipulative at times,” you shook your head, “He made some speech about how he loved me despite my lies… and I can’t remember what he said but it was so phony that I couldn’t stop laughing. I broke down in laughter and I think I offended him.”

“Yeah, he told me you laughed in his face. I can only imagine what he might have said. He was pretty convinced you were in the wrong. Didn’t think he’d done anything to cause you to break it off with him.”

“I’m… I feel a lot better now that it’s over with him.”

“He said you suddenly wanted things in bed and you kind of alluded to wanting things he wasn’t willing to do before but was it sudden? Or is he just making that up?”

You shook your head, “I’ve always been into more adventurous things. Well, I mean since I was old enough to know what those things were. When we first got together we were long-distance so it didn’t matter as much but once I moved back here that’s when it got tricky. I tried to subtly initiate things but he wasn’t picking up on it. And then a few months of that I decided to just be straightforward and told him what I wanted. He flipped out and told me he’d never look at me the same.”

“Kind of figured it was more along those lines.”

“Yeah…” you tapped your fingers on the wood of the table and looked at him, “How about we talk about something else?”

Harry sniffed and turned his body toward yours, draping his arm over the back of the chair he was sitting in, “Good idea. I was just gonna suggest that,” he grinned and looked away from you as if to work up the nerve for what he was about to say before placing his eyes back on you, “So where’s your roommate?” His raised brows and the grin on his face felt like he knew something already.

“Oh. She’s visiting her parents for the weekend.” You swallowed thickly at the scrutiny of his eyes.

He nodded slowly, “I need to be honest with you,” he pulled his lips into his mouth and grinned before continuing, “I checked your Instagram and then found your roommate and noticed that she was away based on her posts. You didn’t happen to plan it like this on purpose did you?”

Your lips parted as you looked at his face in surprise. A thick blanket of embarrassment surrounded your body as you hesitated with an answer.

“And that little fit you had in your bedroom. Tell me what that was.”

You cringed and looked down at your lap. You’d been busted. There was no way out of this. Unless you lied to his face and you didn’t want that. Because he was asking you directly, which meant he had a reason for bringing it up.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I…” you shook your head and slowly dragged your gaze back up to his, “Yeah. I did plan it like this. Um… Thought it would be nice to see you without someone else here.”

He continued nodding, “And your little display? That was because you’re excited to see me?” He finished off the sentence with a grin which had you feeling at ease suddenly.

“Yeah,” your response was hardly a whisper as you smiled back at him.

His grin widened and he licked his lips, “Okay. I see. Well, let me tell you my thoughts because I want to be clear with you, Y/n.”

You nodded and angled your body to face him directly. Your heart was raging in your chest so wildly you were almost light-headed.

“I initiated coming over because I wanted to see you in person. To talk, to know how you are. I hoped you’d be just as excited as I am. And it appears that you are,” you watched his eyes drop to your outfit and wind down to the spread of your thighs over the chair you were starting to melt into.

“And since you wanted me here when no one else was around I think you wanted something to happen between us. Now, I hadn’t expected it really but I wouldn’t mind it going in that direction.”

You swallowed and felt every bit of your skin begin to overheat. You kept your eyes on him but you were unable to form a response.

“What is it you wanted to have happen tonight, Y/n? Hoped I’d show you something you had been missing out on? Do you want something from me?”

You flattened your palm on your thigh and averted your eyes to your glass of wine, “Yeah.”

The gentle touch of his finger at your jaw, nudging your face toward him made you inhale shallowly, “Keep your eyes on me, okay? You and I won’t be playing any games here. Understood? I’m gonna need you to be open with me. Tell me what you want.”

The way he was speaking to you and the soft touch of his hand had you almost convinced you were in some kind of sexy dream that you were about to wake up from any minute.

“I…” your voice was breathy, shaky, “I think… anything.” You worried at your lip between your teeth and hoped he’d take over for you. Hoped he’d answer the question for you.

He shifted his hand to thumb over your bottom lip and pulled at it, “Don’t do that. Gonna hurt yourself. Tell me what anything means, Y/n. I’m not a mind reader.”

You cleared your throat and looked to the edge of the room and he tiskd at you, “I said keep your eyes on me, love.”

“Sorry,” you turned your gaze back to his.

“You’re having a hard time coming up with an answer then? Want me to throw out some ideas you can say yes or no to?”

You nodded.

“Well, I’ll start off by naming something I think you’d like, something I’ve been dreaming about doing to you. Okay?”

You continued to nod.

Harry took your hand in his, pulling it to his lap, “I want to show you what it feels like to be eaten out by a man who enjoys it more than almost anything in the world. Would you like that?”

You let out a quiet moan and nodded, “Yeah.”

He nodded as he stood and pulled you up with him, “Let’s start there then.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed part 1! I promise you that the smut will commence in part 2 (and be prepared, part 2 has approximately 9k words of smut out of 10.8k words total, so she's FILTHY)

PART 2

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[beansprean]

E11 Ideas in no particular order:

Simon the Devious rug pull/reveal

Simon the Devious was behind the documentary all along. He is Greg the camera guy. The documentary was produced by the Daltry Brothers Production Company with thanks to the Toby Daltry Memorial Film Foundation

Outrageous nandermo flirting throughout

Nandermo secret off-camera relationship (we already have canon nandermo QPR I just wanna remind everyone Guillermo is officially in the polycule)

We find out via tv news in the background that Jordan got hit with that sign Nandor threw and he died (no one cares bc they are doing more interesting things)

Nandermo get served by the local Staten Island Chapter of Vampire Vigilantes for operating as superheroes without a permit

"Clip show" where they all watch the documentary

"Clip show" where they all watch the documentary and its full of 'deleted' scenes that we have never seen before (leading to revealed secrets and arguments and confessions and-)

1 hour special that is literally the documentary (with a special guest narrator)

The Guide x Miguel I am so serious

The entire episode is just a backdoor pilot for a spinoff series (seanmaine sitcom?) (life as cravensworth's robinson's monster?)

The house blows up/is destroyed somehow

Colin, as part of the house based on my own personal EV lore, dies or nearly dies bc of this. They get a new house and bury him there and then he pops back up babystyled and the monster has to be his dad now

The monster sacrifices himself to save his dads (noooo!!!!!!!!)

Last scene all the vampires are going into the fancy room to have an orgy and Nandor pokes his head out to say 'arent you coming Guillermo?' and he grins and shrugs at the camera and goes in and thats how it ends

Jenna was there The Whole Time (please god it would be so funny i will die on this hill)

Guillermo dies and Nandor has to turn him anyway

Guillermo dies and Nandor tries to turn him but apparently thats how energy vamps are made whoopsie

Laszlo says "Guillermo" correctly

Red carpet premiere of the documentary with all the fan favorite characters returning as guests

(maybe even including the two Freddies bc it would be very funny. Nandor getting jealous like excuse me step away from Guillermo you had your chance and Freddie is like oh sorry no I'm the other Freddie and Nandor is like o rly hello and Guillermo is like exCUSE ME STEP AWA-)

Red carpet premiere of the documentary with all the fan favorite characters returning as guests that turns out to be a trap set by the Vampiric Council and they all have to fight their way out of that shit again

Red carpet premiere of the documentary that turns out to be a trap set by Batdor and Robllermo to murder a bunch of rich people

Nadja starts an mlm foot pic empire with the monster as her bouncer (dressed in a cute little pimp suit and feathered hat)

Somehow, the Witch's Skin Hat has returned

Guillermo returns to his pre-corporate color palette (greens and browns and reds and patterns pls!!) but its well fitted and non shitty sweaters

All the ghosts of all the people they ever killed/buried at the house rise up and attack (including lisa's severed head), and this somehow leads to Dolly finishing her unfinished business and saying goodbye

The Guide is proud and relieved to see that Nandor is no longer obsessed with her and they are buddies now

She insinuates that he found what he was looking for (in Guillermo). sometimes you hurt every woman in your life because your soulmate is a man

Sean dies (noooooo!!!!!!!!)

Sean gets turned into a vampire

Sean gets turned into a vampire and immediately breaks every rule and also turns Charmaine and somehow manages to take over the entire eastern seaboard and overthrow Tilda Swinton as supreme leader of the Vampiric Council

MAJOR timeskip, like multiple years or even decades. 10 year retrospective post-documentary release?

They recreate the supernatural finale beat for beat, complete with colin in a very bad wig and two covers of "you're dead" back to back to fill up the runtime

Vampire society rises up against the house after the documentary is released and they all die

[dyaz-stories]

stars around my scars || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings & tags: so soft, fluff, angst because it's sweet home, hurt/comfort, kissing, touch-starved!hyun-su, a little suggestive but it's not too bad, hyun-su needs a hug and he gets that and more eheh

previous one-shot · next part

A/N: this can be read on its own or read as a part of the little hyun-su x reader series i've got going on at the moment! no particular context needed for this one, but i wrote it in like two hours so i hope you'll enjoy it.

Hyun-Su sits at your table like he’s not sure he has the right to be there. He’s been less cautious around you lately, less distant, now that he knows that you accept him wholeheartedly for who he is, all that he is, even the dark, ugly parts that he tried to keep from you. But sometimes, when he is in the space that is so clearly yours, he still makes himself small, as if he thinks you’d kick him out if you remembered he was there.

It doesn’t matter that you invited him in and insisted he stayed. The fear that you could change your mind at any point, that the longer he’s around, the more he risks showing you a part of him you won’t like, that’s what sticks.

When you sit down across from him, he notices your eyes landing on his bruised knuckles, sees your brow furrows. Sheepishly, he removes his hand from the table.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you ask.

You ask that a lot. Worry a lot. Selfishly, he likes that you do.

“It’s fine,” he replies, voice quiet. “It will heal.”

The wounds won’t get infected, they won’t kill him, and they’ll go away eventually. So, sure, it stings as long as they’re open, but he’s long stopped bothering with cleaning or treating them. Who cares about his pain anyway?

“That’s not the point,” you say, reaching out for his hand. He doesn’t resist when you take it in yours. How could he? Your fingers are soft, gentle, your skin is warm. It’s like he melts into your touch, like his muscles turn into lead.

It also makes him greedy, makes him want to know what it would do if you touched him more, in different ways. Inside him, the monster stirs, and Hyun-Su forces it back down.

You lift his hand and blow on the wounds that mar his knuckles. The gesture is childish, and despite himself, a smile breaks on his face.

“That’s not going to change much.”

He notices belatedly how fond his voice sounds. He’s usually so careful not to let it be so obvious, but you just surprised it out of him. If you notice, you don’t let it show. Instead, you roll your eyes at him — until you get another idea.

He looks at you in bemused interest as you lower your face towards his hand. And then he realizes what you’re doing, and his heart skips a beat.

You glance up at him, a silent request for his approval, before you go any further. He doesn’t know how to give it to you, doesn’t know if he should, if it’s safe.

He also doesn’t take his hand away.

Your lips press gently against his knuckles, and it sends a jolt through him that ignites his whole body. He can’t see himself, but he’s sure he’s blushing. When you meet his eyes again, he averts his immediately, swallows, clears his throat. But then he feels you open your fingers, letting his hand slip from your grasp, and he tightens his hold on you at the last second. He cannot bear the thought of losing your touch, not just yet.

“That—” His voice cracks. “That does help.”

“Oh,” you say, and then your thumb runs over his hand in a soft caress. He exhales, long and slow. He’d do anything for you not to let go of him.

When you stand up, his head shoots up, eyes following you like a puppy — only for you to get closer to him. You roll your lips together, still searching his expression for approval. You trace a wound on his shoulder, one he doesn’t even remember getting, if he’s being honest.

“Would it help here?” you ask.

Hyun-Su’s whole body is buzzing with the absolute, desperate need to be touched again.

All he can do is nod.

You lean in, kiss his shoulder, and he closes his eyes. He wants to drown in you. He wants you to run your hands over his body, he wants to touch you so bad, and he hates himself for remaining so still. But then you touch his cheek, trace his jaw, and he’s so infinitely thankful that you do what he can’t.

You’re the one who’s not meeting his eyes this time, as your index finger brushes against his bottom lip. There’s no wound there, they’re just chapped, and yet…

“How about here?”

He’s almost shaking in anticipation by now. He thinks he’d kill to be kissed by you — he knows the monster would. But again, he just nods.

So, standing in front of him, between his legs, you cup his cheek in the gentlest of ways, like he’s precious, and you kiss him again. It’s soft, gentle, just lips against lips.  You make a delicate sound when you part from him, and he regrets the loss of it immediately. It must be why he blurts out, before you can move any further “It still hurts.”

Your eyes go wide for a second, before a smile stretches your lips. He only gets a second to ask himself if he asked for too much, if you’re going to be disgusted with him for daring to ask, if—

You kiss him again, a little harder this time, nose pressing against his cheek. Your hands move to the back of his neck to support yourself better. Hyun-Su feels you part your lips, feels your tongue against his mouth, and that is when he loses it.

He’s happy that you have your eyes closed because, even though he feels fully in control of himself at the moment, he’s not sure which color you’d see in his just now.

He pulls you into his lap, hands on your hips at first before he moves one of them, just a little, to the small of your back. You’re all over him now, body against his, scent overwhelming, your taste on his tongue. The apartment would be quiet, if it wasn’t for the sound of your mouths together, and for the rush of his blood in his ears.

You gasp quietly into him, your teeth catch against his bottom lip and it makes him shiver. He dares then, caught in the euphoria of it all perhaps, to reach up to touch your face, long fingers stroking your cheek. His skin is on fire everywhere you touch it, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world, and he finds itself praying it never ends.

Yet it does, fairly abruptly, when he realizes, suddenly, that he’s falling. On instinct, he wraps his arms around you to protect you, and then the two of you hit the floor. The chair had to have tipped backwards at some point, without the two of you noticing.

There’s a moment of stunned silence afterwards, before you let out a quiet laugh, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Much to his surprise, he hears himself laugh as well. It just feels easy to do, when you’re in his arms. His heart is still pounding, his lips are tingling, and his breathing is shallow, but he’s feeling emotions he hasn’t felt in years.

He’s happy.

Deep inside of him, the monster takes a step back, satiated.

For now, anyway.

i've really loved writing this and i'm quite happy with the end result, especially for something i wrote so quickly, so i hope you liked it too! please let me know your thoughts either on here, in tags, in an ask or reblog the fic, it means the world to me and it lets me know you want to see more, so it keeps me motivated!

next part

[tackykachowch]

Silco was set up to be Fishbones from the start

Disclaimer: I won't take season 2 into account At All, because it can't work with setups and payoffs even if its life depends on it.

Alrighty. As we've seen Season 1 paid a lot of attention to set up canon things from LoL into the show as naturally and logically as possible, and at least from my point of view, it handled the job with flying colors. Jayce's hammer, Vi's gauntlets, Vander/Warwick etc, nothing felt out of place. But how does Silco fit into this at all? Let's get down to business to defeat the huns

First of all, what even is Fishbones? In the canon of LoL, it's one of if not the most iconic weapon Jinx has. And it is not only a weapon to her, but a loyal and "beloved" companion, as it's described in one of her skins. She constantly talks to it, and in contrast to her chaotic and impulsive nature, Fishbones is very pragmatic and calm. Sounds like a certain someone, doesn't it? But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

But how does Silco go from being Jinx's father to one of her weapons? There are a lot of points that support that actually, I was surprised myself ngl.

- Silco is the only character in the entire series who is directly and tightly connected to water and underwater creatures. Silco was "reborn" in the water when Vander tried to kill him, the first office he had was placed under the water, with a huge observational window. Silco is also fond of underwater creatures, and while other people call and see them as monsters, Silco pays no attention to it, as he thinks that there's "a monster inside all of us". And here's Fishbones, who is designed after a shark, arguably the most famous "underwater monster". But what is more interesting is that it debuted is the finale of season 1, which is titled "The monster you created". Quite a throughline there.

- Silco was the reason behind Fishbones' creation in the first place. While it does seem that it all started with Jinx, who stole the hex gemstone on the Progress Day, we also need to remember WHY she did it. She did it to impress Silco specifically, to make him to be proud of her. This want was triggered by her screwing up the smuggling mission earlier that day, and while Silco didn't scold her for it much and only advised her to rest for a bit, she saw this as him thinking that she's weak. So, after all of this Silco asks Jinx to make a weapon with the use of gemstone. Not necessarily to use it against Piltover, but to have it as a wild card if his plans go wrong. Jinx agrees and attempts to reverse engineer it, but it triggers her memories when she killed Mylo and Claggor with her bomb, so she tells Silco that she can't do it. He then goes to the river he was nearly killed in with her, and "baptises" her to help her let go of her fear of pain. This seemed to have worked, at least for a little while, because she managed to finish the weapon. So, in conclusion: Fishbones' creation was triggered by Jinx's want to impress Silco, and he helped her with its creation on every step of the way.

- this point is somewhat meta, but I'll use it anyway. In previously mentioned episode 9 Silco tells Jinx that everybody around them betrays them, and they have only each other to love and lean on. He says, quote: "Everyone betrays us, Jinx. Vander, her. It's only us". At the same time, in LoL Jinx says this line to Fishbones: "It's just you and me, Fishbones!". Well.....it's certainly a callback if I've seen one. Like- it's not even funny. They couldn't have written this line on accident.

- now onto the most interesting part for me personally. We all now that there are no accidents in animation, like. At all. Even if there are this is extremely rare, as every frame is created intentionally. Now, we do now that there are quite. A few discrepancies between writers and animators of arcane, but I don't think this applies in this particular case. Now onto the actual point. So, in the finale of season 1 Jinx kills Silco, and it's shown to us like this.

He's turned with right side ("human") of his face to the camera, while the left side ("monster") side is hidden.

As Jinx fires Fishbones at the council

It's positioned with its right side to the camera, which alignes with Silco's "monster eye". Also, Fishbone's eye has a black scar pattern around its eye, which again, resembles Silco's damadged eye. That could mean that Silco is once again "reborn", and now continues to live on in the monster Jinx created.

And here comes the most awesome part in all of this. When Silco adopts Powder, he hugs her and tells her

Do you see how the frame is positioned? Exactly. It is exactly the same framing scene with Jinx and Fishbones has. And, most importantly, when Jinx pulls the trigger, we hear the exactly same line on the background: "We will show them all". It simultaneously shows: that Jinx's attack on the council is her way of dealing with grief of killing Silco; her way of honoring Silco's fight against Piltover; and a direct transition of Silco into Fishbones. Although he's dead in body, but Jinx's memories of him and his voice now continue to live in Fishbones, her new eternal companion.

I am at awe with the fundamental work that's been done with this setup, and although s2 never followed up on this, I still can get enjoyment from the clear intent creators put here originally.

[gotham-daydreams]

How would it have gone differently if Reader didn't try to be an "overachiever" and instead just stayed quiet and didn't interact with anyone besides Alfred until they left? Their room they left being mostly blank, with only the music journals? Giving up on trying to get their attention.

I think what's so funny about this ask, to me, is that I already have a concept like this written down (along with 3 others since the current reader I'm writing for the "Not [ ]" series is one of them but with a few missing details), so this'll be fun!

I guess it generally goes how you'd expect? Which is different for the most part, but the reader's perspective on what's happening is also different.

Granted, I would like to point out that, at least for this particular concept and the idea I have for it of how this would go, does have more stuff going on pre-Batfam that do affect how they perceive what's happening, and that's what makes things interesting in my opinion. Because someone can be naturally shy or just overall more reserved either out of nature or because they feel a certain way, but still feel bad about being neglected and, despite their lack of effort, feel that pain just as much as someone who's tried. Which is valid! Besides, someone's definition of 'trying' can vary as well.

Everyone should have a chance to have a family, and form some kind of connection with people. Just because you aren't going above and beyond for one person, doesn't mean you're undeserving of certain things. Especially not a chance to have a family, or feel like you have one. That's what I think anyway.

Nevertheless, back to the reader!

From the original concept, I will be tweaking a few things to fit the ask, but the same general outcome remains! Though again, the reader's perspective on things is a tad different. But how about this- I'll show two versions of the reader.

One that's quiet and more reserved because they gave up much earlier, or just generally hopeless really early on because maybe they felt as if anything they'd do just wouldn't be enough, who'll be accurately named Quiet!Reader. With the other being more closely related to the concept I wrote for such an idea, that we'll refer to as Waiting!Reader.

Quiet!Reader would change up things quite a bit! I won't lie!

They might already have bad self-esteem that's quick to develop at the start of things, which is something to note as that doesn't get better with time. They grow more cold and distant from the family at a quicker pace both from personal and external reasons.

Put simply, they don't feel good enough, and even if they did- anything they could do to get the Batfam's attention would never be enough in their eyes. To which, they see very early on when they try to engage and do some things with the family, only to be turned down. What doesn't help is when Quiet!Reader sees Damian get adopted and almost immediately showered with love, (compared to them) and that really cements some ideas that were already developing in their head about the family.

When Damian comes into the picture, they feel replaced. Seeing him as someone to fill in the 'youngest Wayne' role instead of them, so that Bruce and the others actually have someone to acknowledge for such a title. Just someone else to further take away the little they had.

So, they further step out of the way, glaring at the Batfam with tired eyes before that eventually stops too. Envy clawing at their heart, hatred being sent through waves of pain all throughout their body. Hurt unmatched. Yet they still remain invisible. Quiet as ever. Unnoticed. Everything they ever felt dies down, and forms a cold numbness that they begin to associate with the family.

Maybe through that, they feel closer to the family in some twisted way. Now just as cold as them. Just as talkative, and just as engaging. Almost mirroring them, but they're honest about how they feel. Honest about what they think, and therefore better. At least when compared to the Batfam- and to them, even if it wasn't a high bar to reach anyway, at least it counts for something.

It was never Damian's fault, or really about Damian at all. It could've been anyone else and Quiet!Reader would've still reacted the same way, they know that. Though just seeing the Batfam show love and care to him and not them just makes them feel... worse.

Clearly they're capable of love, and can notice new additions to the family (to which they may have mostly believed that the Batfam's neglect was just something the family did for whatever reason, and thought that them being the youngest had something to do with it for a while) and that breaks the reader. It doesn't hurt, not as much as it would've, maybe, but whatever hurt is there dies down quickly as Quiet!Reader, well, quietly accepts their fate.

The Batfam clearly wants nothing to do with them, so why should they try to do all of these things for them? It's simple, they shouldn't. So they don't. Quiet!Reader gives up, and continues to live their life without them.

The Manor just becomes a place they sleep in, and nothing else. It isn't anything close to a home, and not even Alfred can help with that.

It's because of that little fact, however, that Quiet!Reader leaves much sooner than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series. Maybe once they get a friend they can trust, they essentially end up living with said friend, hence why their room remains so empty. The notebooks they even keep in the room they have in the Manor is from when they were way younger, instead of just being from a few months ago or so. We're talking years since Quiet!Reader has touched those things now.

Maybe they do 'officially' leave a month or so before they usually would as an overachiever in the "Not [ ]" series, having only bothered to return so often before because of Alfred. Though even then, they'd forget to return most nights- only being reminded to even try and go back once Alfred would personally call them, and ask them where they were.

However now, after a while of just the time between them basically living with their friend and sleeping at the manor, they stop returning altogether. Though this time around they instead personally go to Alfred to say they're goodbyes. Not explaining much, but just saying that while they might still try to come and visit him sometimes, they don't live in the Manor anymore. Alfred already knows this, and the embrace they share fully hammers in that fact.

Yet when Quiet!Reader turns away, and leaves the Manor for good- even through the front door at that. Alfred can't help but just... miss them already.

You see, while Quiet!Reader is indeed quieter and more reserved, especially towards the Batfam, with Alfred really being the only exception, they still made music.

Maybe they didn't have as many concerts or physical, grand, live performances compared to the reader in the "Not [ ]" series, they not only started earlier, but may have actually started out on a social platform such a youtube. They really started out small, but were able to find and start their passion much earlier!

Most of what they played was when they were in the Manor, but slowly they started to get involved with things music related outside of the Manor and in Gotham- and from there were able to build themselves up even more. Hell, I'd even say that Quiet!Reader is a little more well-known and popular than the reader in the "Not [ ]" series because of the amount of extra time they dedicated to their passion.

So basically, Alfred this time around has more recordings and such of Quiet!Reader actually doing something they love than with the one in the series. However! Funnily enough, they're gone for a shorter amount of time despite having left earlier than normal.

Alfred is just, extra fed up with this nonsense, and so pulls his tricks more early on, but also make them hit harder.

He doesn't clean Quiet!Reader's room to show how long they've been gone, adding onto the emptiness and almost abandoned feeling the room itself gives off because of how bare and empty it is. They're music haunts the halls, subtle, sure, but still noticeable- especially to those who are hyper aware all the time. Pictures of Quiet!Reader and Alfred begin to be hung up, and if he can manage- some with Quiet!Reader and their friends during important parts of their life.

No one is safe from the guilt and anguish Alfred seeks to cause to not only have the Batfam look for you, but most importantly, to finally notice you.

Let's just say, things work out a little too well.

---

As for Waiting!Reader? Oh man, I've been wanting to rant about them for a while!

Unlike the reader in the "Not [ ]" series and Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader had some semblance of a life before getting adopted into the Batfam. Though the idea and character themself isn't musically inclined/involved in music, or even all that interested in music for that matter- for the sake of this ask, lets say they are!

I won't dabble too much into the life Waiting!Reader had before the Batfam, as if I do end up writing them I'd also like to keep some details vague (for the sake of leaving it up to interpretation and everything), but just know that during the time they were still with their original family, they were essentially taught that they should 'wait their turn', and eventually their parents would spend time with them and care for them. Hence the little name I've given them.

So! When they get to the Manor and are officially adopted, only to be neglected and ignored during their first few attempts- because of their young age, they immediately think "oh! they're just like mom and dad!" So they 'wait' for 'their turn', believing that eventually, should they wait long enough, they'll be rewarded with bonding and such from the Batfam just as they were with their previous parents.

This mindset changes what they do as well, as Waiting!Reader even goes out of their way to not bother anyone, or "get in the way" of whatever they could be doing. Waiting!Reader treats the situation so much like their previous home life, that sometimes they might even forget that the Batfam are completely different people from their parents. The only real difference that they can think of is that they're not acknowledged at all and it seems like their 'turn' never comes. Though for a while that doesn't get them down. The Batfam is busy like they're parents were! Waiting!Reader is sure that when things die down then they'll have their time.

... Hopefully.

I can imagine that part of the reason why Waiting!Reader holds on to hope for so long is because, again, their own parents constantly reassured them that they would have their time eventually. That if they behaved, and stayed out of the way, then they would go somewhere fun with their parents and essentially be rewarded for their efforts. They were conditioned to wait, to be patient, and just comply until those around them decided to actually take care of them, and spend time with them.

Of course, as they grow up the reality of the situation does hit them eventually, but during that time they do try.

Waiting!Reader helps Alfred around the house, and so they mostly bond over doing chores, among other things. They are also more mindful, and try to keep the amount of noise they back down— so they actually don't play at the Manor all that often, and instead play literally anywhere else. If and when they do play outside, around the area of the Manor like in the gardens or something, they make sure no one is around before even thinking of playing.

Alfred does help them break a few of their habits that they got while living with their parents, but the one thing he can't seem to 'fix' is how absolutely quiet Waiting!Reader is when they walk around. Which, as on can imagine, doesn't exactly help in a situation where the whole family, except for the butler, is neglecting you.

The amount of times Waiting!Reader has caught Alfred off guard is more then you'd think for someone that works with the Dark Knight, and his various sidekicks and such, over the years. Which does say something, sure, but it's also funny!

Regardless, similar to Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader is able to start their musical career earlier than normal, and thuse becomes a little more popular than they would originally. However, they're more known for their live performances and giving back to the community. Seemingly just like Bruce as they attend charity event after charity event, and try to do good by the people.

Waiting!Reader also does genuinely try to become a vigilante as well, but they do so in a way where they only take care of the smaller/medium guys, and leave the bigger ones to the rest of the Batfam. This is because they want to remove possible distractions for their family, and while they would try to take on "bigger guys", they don't think they're skilled enough or experienced enough to even think about it. So they don't even try. (They also don't have the same theme as the Batfam- since they don't want to 'ruin' their reputation with what they're doing or something. Which does hell them further detach themself from the family later on.)

I'd say that with Waiting!Reader, the difference between them and the Batfam is more clear to them? Like, to them, the Batfam are just so good at what they do that they have no hope of reaching them. So instead of trying to reach for them, they just do their own thing and try to help in their own way.

Because Waiting!Reader takes care of smaller guys, they are kind of closer to Waiting!Reader as a vigilante.

The best way I can put it is that while the community trusts Batman and the members of the Batfam to save their city, they trust Waiting!Reader to save their homes.

So basically- Batfam is the bigger picture while Waiting!Reader focuses on the smaller picture.

Nevertheless! Also like Quiet!Reader, Waiting!Reader actually leaves earlier. Except when they leave, they leave.

Waiting!Reader straight up leaves Gotham City to attend the college that they want to go to, in an area that has more opportunity for them, that isn't close to where the Batfam lives or patrols.

So they not only leave earlier, but it also takes the Batfam longer to find them. Especially because Waiting!Reader does still do some things in Gotham, they just don't live there anymore.

I feel like out of all three readers, Waiting!Reader definitely feels like the kind of person that someone would assume is some kind of "Phantom of the Wayne Manor," y'know?

So Alfred definitely tries to make the Batfam feel bad like he does with Quiet!Reader. Except how anyone in the Batfam is reminded that Waiting!Reader even exists, and that they've been gone for a while now is through a letter that is accidentally sent to the Wayne Manor from one of Waiting!Reader's fans. From there, some research does start and the more the Batfam learns, the more they want to go and find the reader- you know the deal.

I hope this answered your question even if I really did ramble on this time- if you'd like me to clarify anything or go into more detail on a specific part, feel free to send in an ask!

[hattersarts]

okay im doing cringe (yes i am free but this is still category cringe even if i don't feel it) and putting the most homoerotic images of jeeves and bertie in a read more cut bc i cannot STAND to be looking at these pictures alone anymore.

also the wink wink potential of pg wodehouse being either gay or sympathetic and bertie never marrying and fry being part of this production of J&W sends me into tail spins bc like everyone knew right. anyway.

first is this insane moment???? hello???????? handing drink and then sitting down to play with a man (also lilies?????????? like it didnt mean anything for the set designer but NOW?)

this cap in particular makes me loose my mind bc it implies jeeves putting flowers in bertie's button holes in public is just a normal thing that he does (like i know its his job but....this is like, out in the open? your fixing your y.m.'s flower? okaaayyyyyy)

bertie in full grooms fit standing in the church next to jeeves being like the last scene of the series????? HUH???????????

okay this one is obvious but ALSO the plot of "we much pretend to be TWO PALS, TO FRIENDS, COMRADE WHO LIVE TOGETHER" was prime fic territory and delightful.

idk something about this.

and now follows the promo pictures that will haunt me to my grave of images you'd find going through an old family album with the explanation of "this is an image of my great uncle and the man he lives with and spent the rest of his life, they were good friends" meanwhile your queer ass sat there like. yeah they were in love and fucking, good for them.

anyway thanks for reading

[persevereforahappyending]

This isn't Your Fault (Rescue)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: During your distracted state Tara took the opportunity to wiggle her arm out of your grasp and began marching down the alley.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

You and Tara walked down the streets of New York to her apartment. You had finished your classes for the semester and were finally on break. It wasn’t often you and Tara truly got to be alone to go out and do something, Sam or your mom were always wanting someone to be around. It was almost a year later when they finally decided to let up and let you and Tara live normal lives again, after a lot of begging from Tara. You personally didn’t mind, you didn’t like to go out anyway, though being able to go over to Tara’s or back to your house without an escort would have been nice.

The two of you had just grabbed dinner at one of your favorite restaurants, and you had your arms wrapped around each other as you walked down the street. You were passing an alley way when you heard something fall. You and Tara both turned, squinting your eyes to see what made the noise but saw nothing. Tara started to pull away from you and move towards the dark alley.

“Didn’t you hear that?” She asked, when you quickly pulled her back to your side.

“Yeah,” you said, looking at her like she had grown two heads. “Which is why I’m stopping you from going down a dark and creepy alley.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help but stare at Tara. Until you were attacked yourself and no longer had to keep your relationship a secret did you truly understand where Sam was coming from. You’d admit Sam was just a bit overprotective, but you also couldn’t deny that with a sister like Tara, her overprotectiveness was warranted. Tara very well knew the dangers of the world and of her life in particular, just because Ghostface was gone didn’t mean there weren’t still the random crazy’s that tried to go after and threaten her and Sam.

During your distracted state Tara took the opportunity to wiggle her arm out of your grasp and began marching down the alley. You snapped out of it almost as soon as Tara was out of your hands and without giving it a second thought you took off after her. You really hoped it was nothing and you wouldn’t have to make Tara feel guilty for the rest of her life if the two of you got murdered.

“Tara,” you whispered. You ran up next to her, sticking close to her side, for her protection, definitely not because you were scared.

The two of you froze when you heard more rattling. It sounded like someone had bumped a garbage can or was riffling around in one. You were seriously hoping you’d find some homeless man digging through trash or a worker from one of the nearby restaurants taking out the trash for the night. Those were the best-case scenarios you could come up with because anything else led to one or both of your deaths.

“Over here,” Tara whispered, seeming to not have heard you, or she was ignoring you. She grabbed your arm and began dragging you towards the trash bins against a brick wall.

You groaned but followed along. One of the trash cans was knocked over, the lid on the ground next to it. You furrowed your brow, there wasn’t anyone near it, and the alley was a dead end so it wasn’t like the person could have run away. There wasn’t anywhere for someone to hide either, unless they were rather small. There was an old pallet propped up against the brick wall and a blue tarp that had been dirtied from the rain and usual alley gunk draped partially over the pallet.

Something shuffled, moving the tarp and making you take a step back. Tara wasn’t deterred though. Tara pressed forward and crouched down, getting halfway under the tarp.

“Wh-what are you doing?” you whispered, your voice going even higher. “Get out of there,” you moved forward and began to puller her back by her waist. Tara waved her arm back, knocking your hands off her. “Tara,” you whispered harshly.

You let out a silent groan and kicked at the pavement. Even if you didn’t die in the alley, you would certainly die if anything happened to Tara. Sam would probably even murder you herself, you being her new favorite person wouldn’t even be able to save you if something happened to Tara while you were with her.

Tara finally backed up out of the tarp and you couldn’t help but let out a sigh, she didn’t get murdered in front of you, but now she was going to have to survive you. “What the hell were you thinking?” you asked, your voice no longer a whisper. “Who goes down a dark alley in the middle of night!” you gestured at your surroundings. “Who goes under a tarp after a strange noise?” you gestured at the tarp. “Seriously, babe, I…” your words quickly died when Tara turned around and in her arms was a tiny kitten.

You were sure you were making heart eyes at the little guy, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “You were saying?” Tara said, raising an eyebrow.

You reached out and scratched under the kitten’s chin with your finger. He was definitely black but if he had any other markings or colors you couldn’t tell, his fur was caked in mud and who knew what else from the alley.

Your head snapped up as if suddenly remembering where you were. “You still brought us down a creepy alley,” you said, taking your finger away from the kitten to point at Tara.

“Here,” she said, shoving the kitten into your arms. You didn’t have time process what was happening as you instinctively reached out, taking the kitten in your arms. “Put him in your jacket.”

You looked down at the little guy in your arms with a frown, you could smell him from where he was. You looked up to see Tara glaring at you. You grumbled and stuck the little guy in your jacket, making sure to keep an arm around him so he was secure and warm.

Tara began walking off back out of the alley finally. You ran to catch up, adjusting the kitten as he squirmed in your hold. “Sam’s not going to be happy,” you said as you fell into step beside her.

“She said I could have a pet,” Tara said with a wave of her hand.

“She said she’d think about it.”

Tara continued facing forward as she rolled her eyes. “It’s basically the same thing,” she waved it off again. “Who cares.”

You let out a shaky breath and continued to follow after Tara. Sam was definitely going to care, and she would be the first to point out that she never officially agreed to it. You weren’t about to try arguing with Tara though and there was no way you’d be leaving the little guy in your arms on the streets now that you’ve rescued him.

When the three of you finally got back to Tara’s apartment, she opened the door as quietly as possible and peeked her head in. “Sam!” she called. “Sam?” you strained your ears, trying to listen for any sign of movement inside. “She’s still at work,” Tara whispered back to you and pushed the door open fully.

You followed Tara into the apartment and instantly took the kitten to the bathroom. You plopped the little guy down in the sink and shrugged off your jacket that you were now definitely going to have to wash. Tara came back in with a washcloth and some hand soap.

“We can’t use that,” you said, nodding at the soap. “Kittens are too sensitive. We either need kitten specific or fragrance-free dish soap.”

Tara raised an eyebrow at you, and you just shrugged. She took the hand soap back and came back a moment later with the correct dish soap. “It’s not a permanent method,” you said as you wet the washcloth a bit before adding a drop of the soap. “But it will clean the little guy up for now.”

“We’ll get you all the proper stuff tomorrow,” Tara said in a baby voice as she scratched the kitten behind his ear.

You raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure how she intended to hide the kitten from Sam and also buy it stuff before telling her sister anything. You kept your mouth shut though and got to work cleaning off the little guy. You smiled as you wiped all the gunk off him, making sure to avoid his eyes. The kitten behaved well enough, hardly ever meowing or trying to run away, but you were sure he was just terrified and had no idea what was going on.

“There we go,” you whispered as you finished up. You finished dabbing him with a wet corner of the cloth, making sure to get out all the soap.

Tara shoved you aside when you were done and held him up high as if he were Simba from Lion King. When you got full view of him all cleaned up you saw he was all black and very fuzzy. Little tufts of fur stuck off the tops of his ears, making them look too big for his little head.

“Tara!” Sam called out, making both you and Tara freeze. “I’m home!”

Tara shoved the kitten into your arms and cracked open the bathroom door to peek her head out. “I’m going to distract her,” she whispered back to you.

“Wait, what?” you whispered but Tara was already opening the door. “No, wait, what am I supposed to do with this?” you looked down at the kitten in your hands.

You inched your way closer to the door and tried listening as Tara attempted to stall Sam. You let out a sigh and looked down at the kitten, shaking your head as Tara kept asking questions about Sam’s day. You loved her dearly, but your girlfriend sucked at stalling, if she wanted to make Sam suspicious though then she was doing a fantastic job. You were surprised at times that the two of you kept your relationship secret for so long because of how terrible Tara was at keeping stuff from Sam.

You knew you couldn’t stay in the bathroom all night, so you looked down, you silently apologized to the kitten before shoving him in the pocket of your hoodie. You were lucky he was small enough, he fit perfectly, now you just had to make it to Tara’s room without drawing suspicion. As soon as you opened the bathroom door a little more you heard a meow and looked down to see the kitten sticking his head out of one side of your pocket. You brought a finger to your lips to hush him, as if he could understand you. You put one hand in the pocket to keep it on the kitten, hopefully keeping him in place and quiet for the next thirty seconds.

Almost as soon as you stepped out of the bathroom you were seen by Sam and being called over to join her and Tara. Your eyes widened and you flicked a glance at Tara to see her with the same expression. You swallowed nervously before making your way across the kitchen.

“You joining us for dinner?” Sam asked.

“Sure,” you said. You smiled and hoped it would help cover your anxiety of the kitten moving around in your pocket.

“Assume you’re staying the night as well.” Sam’s back was to you as she opened the box for the frozen pizza, she was getting ready to throw in the oven.

“If you don’t mind.” Sam never minded when you stayed the night anymore, most times she insisted, especially when it was late like it was now. You still always felt the need to ask, you never wanted to seem rude or just assume it was okay for you to stay the night if Sam ever happened to not want you there for some reason.

“Of course,” Sam shrugged like she always did.

Sam put the pizza on the stone and then slid it into the oven. She set the timer and then turned around, leaning against the counter as her eyes flicked from you to Tara. You tightened your grip on the kitten that was trying to escape your pocket. Sam hadn’t looked down to see your sweatshirt moving yet but she narrowed her eyes as she glanced from you to Tara and back.

“What’s going on?” she asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” you and Tara said at the same time. You internally smacked yourself, that was the opposite of not seeming suspicious.

Sam opened her mouth but quickly shut it when a meow echoed through out the room. Your eyes widened and you didn’t even react as Sam glanced around the room. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Tara said unconvincingly.

Sam narrowed her eyes at her sister, then she whipped her head back around, looking directly at your pocket. You looked down to see the kitten once again sticking his head out. You sighed and took him out the rest of the way since you were officially caught.

“No,” Sam sighed. “No pets,” she looked at Tara.

“You said I could get one,” Tara instantly said, pointing at finger at Sam.

“I said maybe,” Sam raised a finger.

You shot Tara a ‘I told you so’ look which she promptly ignored. “Come on,” Tara begged. “He was on the street,” she gestured at the kitten in your arms. “You really want us to throw him back out there?” she looked up at Sam, blinking with her best puppy dog eyes.

Sam looked at the kitten in your hands as you stepped closer. She narrowed her eyes as the little guy looked up at her, letting out another meow. “He’s a survivor,” Tara continued. “Like us.” You and Sam both gave Tara a sideway glance, she seemed to really be pushing hard to keep the kitten, grasping at whatever straws she could.

Sam looked at the kitten again and sighed as she ran a hand through her hair. “You have to take care of him,” she said.

“Yes!” Tara squealed, not letting Sam finish before she started jumping up and down and running to hug her sister.

“And make sure he doesn’t have fleas,” she pointed at Tara.

Tara nodded. “Of course! We’ll go to the pet store first thing in the morning!”

Sam narrowed her eyes as she stared at Tara for another second before finally nodding, seeming to accept Tara’s answer. Tara grabbed the kitten out of your hands and took off with him into the living room. You gave Sam a grateful smile before following after Tara.

“What should we name you?” she asked, staring at the kitten with a furrowed brow as she concentrated very hard.

“How about Perseus?” you suggested, dropping down next to Tara.

She furrowed her brow as she looked at you. “Greek mythology, really?” she wrinkled her nose.

“He’s a hero!” you defended, frowning at her reaction. “Slayed Medusa.”

“Anything else?”

You glance at the kitten then at Tara. “Joel…” you quickly glanced at the floor, suddenly finding it very interesting.

“The Last of us?” Tara frowned as she glared at you once again. “Really?”

You shrugged and threw your hands up in defeat. “Well, what do you got?”

“Midnight,” she smiled proudly at her option.

You scoffed and gave Tara your own glare. “That’s so basic.”

“I found him, I should get to name him,” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“You found him after dragging me down a dark alley.”

“What?” Sam’s frantic voice came from the kitchen.

“I should get some say,” you continued.

Tara narrowed her eyes, not even acknowledging her sister. “Fine,” she grumbled. “What else you got?”

You tapped a finger on your chin as you looked at the kitten, trying to figure out what name best fit him. “What if we go Marvel?” you asked. “He’s a fighter,” you scratched under his chin, smiling as he lifted his head to give you more access and started purring. “How about Steve?”

Tara bobbed her head back and forth as she considered the name. “Maybe,” she said, still deep in thought.

You smiled, at least it wasn’t a no, the two of you were one step closer. Tara held the kitten up again, tilting her head back and forth as she observed him. You looked at Tara and then the kitten before your eyes widened and you shot to your feet.

“I got it!” you said, a wide smile on your face. Tara raised an eyebrow as she awaited your idea. “Kovu!”

Tara’s eyes lit up as she also jumped to her feet. “Perfect!” she said. She leaned forward and captured your lips, catching you slightly off guard. You barely had time to reciprocate before she was pulling away. “How is it possibly to love you even more,” she whispered against your lips before going in for another kiss, this time you were prepared.

The two of you didn’t pull away until you felt the kitten wiggling between the two of you. You broke the kiss and looked down to see little Kovu was getting squished between the two of you. You both chuckled before dropping back down on to the couch.

Once the pizza was done Sam brought out a plate for you and Tara. Then the four of you sat in the living room, eating pizza and watching a random movie on TV. You and Tara would have to go to the pet store first thing when they opened to get Kovu some food, but you figured he would be okay for the night.

After you guys finished the pizza, you grabbed a blanket to throw over you and Tara as you cuddled up on the couch. Kovu got on the top of the blanket and walked around, kneading his feet as he got comfortable. Before you knew it, you and Tara were passed out, your heads resting against each other, and little Kovu was curled up between the two of you.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin @youralphawolf72 @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter two

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 6.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from Yoongi's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of body shaming by Hybe executive, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, light fighting between members (literally crack), Namjoon has a little crush, Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions that make them finally start bonding (a little flirty too, hehe) 😉

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: CHAPTR TWO IS HERE! GOD...the slow burn exists outside the series too with me not updating for two months. I'm sorry guys but TYSM for your patience! I'm VERY excited to release this chapter bc I think Yoon & Oc are super cute, hehe. Okay anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Yoongi stands with his hands placed loosely on his hip, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. The seven of them had been practicing choreography for their new RUN BTS song nonstop when Jimin called for a much-needed, fifteen-minute break. There’s a part of him that’s thanking the younger for it and another that’s wishing he hadn’t, as every moment left alone with his thoughts is spent decoding his last encounter with you at the cafeteria.

Why had you made such a beeline for the exit the moment he was waved over by his member?

You also completely ignored his attempts to greet you on your way out. He only stopped by the cafeteria to slip an orange in his pocket before returning to his studio. He didn’t mean to intrude or incite that you had to leave with his sudden presence.

Taehyung assured him that you merely left to tend to work matters, which he’d typically sum as hyper-fixation with one’s work as he’s prone to do the same, but this felt different at its core. Your behavior seemed more intentional than that. The last thing he wants to do is misread the whole situation, but he must’ve done or said something to cause your uneasiness.

“Hyung, how did the album meeting go this morning?” A clear voice comes from Yoongi's left as his fellow band member, Namjoon, strides next to him, water bottle clenched in his fist. Like himself, large droplets of sweat dots around the man’s brow. The minor interruption shakes Yoongi out of his slightly dazed state.

“Went well.” He takes a big swish of his own water before screwing the cap back on. “We reviewed everything in three hours and the album looks better than I anticipated. There are a couple of promotional strategies that still need finalizing, but I’m pretty confident about it overall.”

“That’s great, man. __-nim’s been doing good work with TXT for the last few years, so she’s definitely suited for the job. I thought about requesting her help to promote Indigo but the timing of it all didn’t work.” Namjoon’s voice drops an octave at the last part, as if remorseful for more than a missed professional opportunity.

“Ah, maybe your next album hyung,” Jimin suddenly chimes in, slapping the taller man on the shoulder from the side. “I have a feeling you and __-nim would work well together. Think about it, you’re both natural born leaders and you’re smart too. I bet __ -nim has as high of an IQ as you.”

Namjoon’s cheeks flush with the faintest tint of rose as Jimin flashes a knowingly cheeky grin. Yoongi, of course, witnesses the entire exchange, the slightest part of him feeling uprooted by the thought of his band member and new marketing manager suddenly hitting it off. He decides not to comment on the matter, choosing to remain in ignorance instead. This is all speculation, right?

Now that they’re all on the subject of his album though, it gets him thinking that maybe he’s been too narrow viewed regarding the reason for your off putting behavior at lunch.

D-Day’s release has become a consuming priority lately, with everyone involved worked to the bone. Aside from himself, you’ve been bearing the brunt of it. He’s appreciative of course, considering the album holds a deep sense of meaning to him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to be perfect. A little pushback during the first proposal is natural, yet he did get more resistant toward ideas during this morning’s meeting than anticipated. Perhaps some of his nitpicking was unnecessary, adding to your already heavy load.

Yoongi’s head feels worse the longer he entertains the possibility. He doesn’t want to make the first time working together a complete whirlwind, especially this early. A strong, healthy partnership starts with trust, safety, and mutual respect. The same philosophy can be applied to relationships of varying natures. That reminds him—since when did Taehyung and you become so close? He’s been ruminating over it all afternoon, like a jigsaw puzzle he can’t solve.

It’s odd how little he knows.

“I heard someone mention __-nim over here. I want in.” A small grumble leaves Yoongi’s lips as Jungkook pushes next to him, displeased by how tiny his space bubble has gotten due to the huddle his members have formed around him. Just why the hell is everyone so interested in his new marketing director? That's what he wants to know.

“Can you introduce me to her sometime hyung?" Jungkook pleads. "I’m thinking about releasing an album in the next year and it’d be great if you could hook us up…yknow?”

Oh, Yoongi knows. He knows exactly what this young buck is insinuating, but it isn’t mating season yet and even if it were he will do no such thing as to “hook them up”. Besides, his conscience tells him that you wouldn't be interested in the company of a younger man anyway—not that your dating life is any of his business or anything.

“Get in line Jungkookie, behind Namjoon. He needs her for his album first.” Jimin squeezes down on Namjoon’s muscular shoulders with both hands, shaking him just enough to hype him up. His hands are removed seconds later when he’s told to knock it off.

“That’s enough about this, okay? I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung is the only one who actually needs __-nim right now because, in case you dumbasses have forgotten, D-Day is set to release in April,” Namjoon scolds the two with a commanding tone. Jungkook, per usual, remains persistent in his original request and keeps his full attention on Yoongi.

“Anyway hyung, as I was saying, I know your album takes priority so I’m in no hurry to meet her. I can be pretty patient as you know-“

“Heh, that’s a lie.”

“Shove it Jimin, no one’s talking to you.” Jungkook’s eyebrows scrunch together as Jimin snorts helplessly next to Namjoon.

“You shove it Kook,” Jimin counters. “And stop trying to date __-nim! Find your own woman!”

“I’m not trying to date her! She's my noona for gods sake! Do you think I’m oblivious to how the public reacts to idols dating? Also, __-nim is a Hybe employee, not an idol. I can only imagine the type of scandal the media would spin it as.”

“Right, we all know you actually just want to take her to your bed instead,” Jimin interrupts for the umpteenth time. “Our handsome leader, on the other hand, is interested in her professional abilities. We can learn a lot from him.”

“Why are you always trying to start a fight with me Jimin? Is it because I can take you, now that I've been building up more muscle?” Jungkook’s accusations earn him nothing more than a sea of eye-rolls until Jimin lunges himself towards him, puffing out his chest the best he can to size him up.

Namjoon rubs his face with a hand, a clear visual display of his exhaustion. He’s been moderating these stupid squabbles for nine years now. “Alright very mature, biggest boy band in the world and this is what it’s come to? Amazing, congrats to everyone for winning the award for most-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Seokjin interjects, effortlessly shouting over everyone while waving his hands. “My brothers…why are we fighting over here like a couple of peacocks? We are all beautiful in our own, individual ways. Mine, for example, is my handsome face.”

“For the love of god hyung, we’re trying to settle something. Go take your inspirational pep talk elsewhere!” Jungkook bends his knees, swooping down to throw Jimin over his shoulder but he misses when the man starts tickling him ruthlessly.

“St-ah-stop it Jimin!"

“You stop it, you frickin’ brat! Trying to take advantage of our hyungs for your own selfish gain.” Jimin then slaps Jungkook on the ass which does not go unappreciated as Hoseok cackles from the other side of the room. Up until this point, he’s been scrolling on his phone, completely unbothered by the chaos. As Hoseok nears the action, Jungkook delivers a swift kick to Jimin’s rear end.

“Ow, what the fuck Kook?!” Jimin tries soothing the sting by massaging it with his hands. “You little prick!”

“Oh come on, I barely hit you. Gaining sympathy points won’t help this time, plus I see you trying to hide a grin. You think this shit is funny. You’re sick you know that?”

Jimin makes a move to return the kick to his youngest member but ends up hitting a far taller, and leaner subject instead. Taehyung, who just returned from the bathroom, throws a hand over his abdomen and grunts from the sudden impact.

“What is—shit Jimin that really hurt!” Taehyung’s baritone voice echoes off the walls as he winces from the pain. He takes a few deep breaths, then viciously eyes the two brawlers followed by the rest of the room. “What the hell is going on? I heard you all talking about __-nim from the hallway. Yoongi-hyung here is trying to kick off his album and tour, which we are supposed to be celebrating over drinks this Friday, but here you are arguing with each other and who has the biggest dick. Well, you can all put it away because as __-nim’s best friend, and number one wingman, only I’m allowed to set her up with someone and it won’t be with any of you! Sorry hyung…” he looks at Namjoon who appears to have brushed the comment off.

As soon as Taehyung ceases his mini-speech, eery silence sets in. Hoseok is the first to dare say a word.

“Uh, so what’s this about being her best friend Tae?”

“Yeah, I had no idea either.” Jimin quirks his head to the side, awaiting the details.

“Same,” Namjoon adds in a short breath.

“What happened to us, man?” Jungkook pouts at Taehyung, a total 180 from moments ago when he was in an unsolicited sparring match with Jimin. “You used to share everything with me. Now you’re holding out on me. Since when did you and __-nim start hanging out?”

Yoongi’s ears perk up for the first time since all the commotion began, curious to hear Taehyung’s response. He only recently discovered the blossoming friendship hours ago and even then, it was a brief inside look.

“I didn’t think to mention it but yeah, we started talking since her first day at Hybe. I bumped into her on the way into work, early morning for both of us. I expected her to be a bit on the reserved side, considering she was a new hire, but she was quite friendly. The more we talked, the more I felt like I knew her as if a childhood best friend I’d reconnected with.” Pausing, he wets his lips before continuing. “We share a lot of our meals together now, like our lunches during the weekday. Her food tastes amazing by the way. I think she missed her calling as a chef but it’s more than food— it’s a love language, a labor of love.”

“Wow, you two sure are connected,” Hoseok speaks first again, seeing the rest of his members working to process the new bit of info.

“Platonically, yes.”

“This’ll be good for Yoongi-hyung and his album then! No bad blood exists here!” Hoseok shifts his gaze between Taehyung and Yoongi, pleased with the outcome. The older of the two remains speechless, yet it’s far from a dazed expression. Yoongi is instead deep in thought, the wheels turning in his head.

So maybe it’s true that birds of a feather flock together, he hums to himself. The two of you seem to be social butterflies with a vase full of commonalities. He, on the other hand, prefers his solitude. That’s not to say he’s a hermit or anything though. Hybe hosts a company-wide New Year’s Eve party every single year and he’s made his best effort to attend them all. He mainly mingles with his members, but he still makes sure to small talk with other coworkers. Come to think of it, did he even see you at last year’s New Year’s Eve party?

He can’t remember much from the night except Seokjin scolding him for not wishing him a happy birthday the minute the clock struck midnight. He was a bit tipsy at that point. Taehyung disappeared soon after to make his usual rounds, stopping to chat with everyone in his path. Maybe he took off to talk to you during that time.

Okay, he really needs to stop thinking about you.

"Just to confirm, is everyone still on for Friday night to celebrate D-Day?" Jimin pipes. "I booked us a good place to have some food and drinks.

Taehyung nods, "I am, as long as it's not the same place we saw our CFO and his much younger date feeding each other. I couldn't eat for the rest of that night."

Jungkook fakes a gag before replying. "I'm sorry but does anyone know how is he still working here? Guy creeps me out."

"I swear, I couldn't agree more. Just yesterday he made an egregiously body-shaming comment toward __-nim to someone else on the board. She kept a brave front when she told me, but I'm damn tempted to get him removed from his position myself!" Taehyung's nostrils flare as he shares his frustration, fingers digging into his hips.

Yoongi takes a final chug of his water before abruptly tossing the bottle on the floor. A sharp crack resounds through the space, instantly commanding the authority of the room. “Fifteen minutes is over,” he gruffs. “It might be twenty minutes with all the bickering earlier. We don't have time to be talking about this anymore.”

“Come on now," Hoseok says. "Didn't you hear what Taehyung said? Our CFO really is a class-A jerk. I feel so bad that __-nim has to put up with his bullshit, she doesn't deserve it." His eyes frantically search the room, hoping to rally support.

"Don't worry about that asshole," Yoongi assures, "I'll handle it." He strides over to his choreographed position on the dance floor as if a leader in his own right, the rest of the members following in his steps.

"Just don't kill him, hyung," Namjoon says, resting a hand on the older's shoulder from behind. Yoongi merely snorts lightly in reply.

Yoongi is dead tired, his feet feeling heavier the minute he stands from his studio chair. He could have left hours ago, but here it is nearly 9:30 at night, and he's only just leaving the office.

As he shuffles down the hallway towards the elevator, he notices the eerie silence. It's thick, almost palpable. There's not a soul left in the building this late at night. When the elevator doors open, he leans casually against the metal rail, closes his eyes, and mentally retraces his day.

Overall, it was a decent day, he thinks, productive at best. Skipping dinner to work on his album tracks was an easy decision, but he might be paying for it now given the intense growling of his stomach. Despite his songs being considered perfect by his members, he can't help but tweak each one a final time. It's as if his gut tells him there's still a piece missing from the whole.

All at once, the elevator comes to a sudden stop. Yoongi's eyes shoot open, anticipation flooding his senses. Is someone still here? He listens intently, straining to hear any sound over the faint hum of the elevator. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, the elevator doors slide open to reveal an empty, dimly lit hallway. It's the 16th floor. He hesitates for a second, peering into the shadows, but there’s no sign of anyone. Strange.

Just as the elevator doors begin to close, Yoongi hears a distant, unmistakable voice. "Please hold the door!" you plead, your voice strained with urgency. He responds immediately, stretching out an arm to block the door. "Thank you so much," you say, slipping in beside him, your bag thrown over your shoulder.

Yoongi watches as you enter, curiosity in his eyes. It seems you were of like mind tonight, working late and likely burdened by the extra work he caused for you. The feeling of tension is as clear as it was yesterday, lingering as a reminder of the unspoken discomfort between you both.

But then again, there's that issue Taehyung mentioned, looming in his thoughts. He hadn't realized you overheard the horrendous comment his CFO made about you. No wonder you hurried away from him like a bat out of hell yesterday; you knew he knew. He wouldn't dare shine a light on the situation and risk embarrassing you further; no one needs to relive such a belittling experience. Yet, he's wrestling with the right words to say.

"Heading home, Min PD-nim?" You surprise him by speaking first, voice firm with a touch of gentleness.

Yoongi allows a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips, hoping it'll relieve some tension. "I am, it's been quite a day. What about you?"

You nod, shifting the bag on your shoulder. "Same here. Just had to wrap up a few things before heading out."

He hesitates for a moment, noting how you speak as if it were only a few minutes past five or six in the evening. "I understand. I was working in my studio up until now. I should be back up there tomorrow too," he says, then chuckles lightly, "Sometimes I feel like I should just live up there."

You return the subtle laugh and smile softly at him, your light brown eyes catching his dark ones. It feels like the same prolonged gaze you shared upon first meeting, yet now, it's somehow become easier; perhaps a hint of familiarity.

"By the way," he continues, seizing the opportunity, "feel free to call me Yoongi-ssi. I'm not that formal in case you didn't know." He playfully gestures to his casual attire; tan cargo pants, grey plaid button-down, and sneakers.

You seem hesitant towards the request at first, evident from your delayed response. "Are you sure?" you choke. "I don't want to over step my boundaries."

"There's no need to worry about that," he assures. "We're on equal level aren't we? If we're going to be working side by side for the next eight months give or take, I want us to feel comfortable with each other. Please, call me Yoongi-ssi."

"Okay, I might need some time to get used to that," you say, head nodding, "I'll try calling you Yoongi-ssi from now on."

"There's one other thing too," he pauses, "since we'll be working on D-Day's promotion from start to finish, I'll have many of my own opinions. It's a natural instinct for me, but I don't want to be a hinderance. I don't want anyone else giving you issues either, so I'd like to hear your full thoughts on matters, especially when it comes to important decisions."

"That means a lot Yoongi-ssi, thank you. I'm very grateful that you'd allow me to be a part of this and I'd very much like us to have an equal partnership. This is your album though, so I want to make sure it gets the recognition it deserves in the way you'd prefer."

Yoongi glances at the floor numbers displayed to the right of the elevator doors. Any second now and you'll reach the lobby. He wouldn't mind talking longer, but letting you both get a decent night's sleep is the far better idea at this point.

"I trust that D-Day is in the right hands with you, __ssi," he replies. "It's why I recommended that we work together to promote it in the first place. Bang PD was also confident in the idea. We don't doubt your expertise for a second." He pauses when the elevator doors slide open and allows you to be the first to exit. "Have a good night, okay?"

For the first time, you reciprocate the wish with a full, illuminating smile. It's not a professional one, Yoongi notes, its a real one—as genuine and sincere as his words. He takes it as a sign that the tides may finally be turning for the better. "You too," he hears you say before you push through the large revolving doors and step into the cool night air.

In the evenings that follow, Yoongi finds himself back in his studio as promised, a glass of whiskey in hand. He ultimately decided that if he was going to be here until all hours of the night, he might as well have a cold beverage to keep him company.

As he leans back in his chair, swirling the dark amber liquor in his glass, his mind inadvertently wanders to you. Were you downstairs again? Were you here with him? It would seem that given your unexpected late-night encounter in the elevator, the validity of the idea wouldn't be all that wild or far-fetched.

With each passing minute, as the clock inches closer to the late hours, he finds himself circling back to the same thought. It's as if the possibility of running into you has become a highlight of his night.

Just then, a deep and familiar voice interrupts. "Burning the midnight oil again, hyung?"

Startled, Yoongi looks up to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face. Despite it being almost 9 at night, his younger member is nothing short of flawless in appearance.

"Yeah, working on my tracks," Yoongi replies, offering a small smile in return. "What are you doing here?"

Taehyung steps further into the room, hand tucked in his pocket. "I wanted to stay late to keep __-nim company, but I'm not sure how much longer she plans on staying tonight. I was on my way out when I figured I'd stop by to see you too."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me. Want a drink?" He offers, nodding towards the nearby whiskey bottle.

"No, thanks," Taehyung declines politely, shaking his head. "I'll let you enjoy your whiskey in peace. Although, __-nim might take you up on that same offer one of these days. She has a strong taste for it, as you do. Anyway, I'm heading out. Don't overdo it with your music, hyung, they're already perfect."

Once Taehyung leaves the studio, Yoongi's previous string of thoughts return to him tenfold.

So you really are here, he muses, and you happen to like the same throat-burning alcohol. Should he venture downstairs and offer a drink? No, that would probably be too much, and he wouldn't want to interrupt you. Maybe if Taehyung were accompanying him, but not alone; he doesn't share enough rapport with you to merit such a spontaneous drop-in yet.

No, he takes another sip of his whiskey, he'll see you tomorrow morning instead; during your morning meeting. But that gets him thinking—he's still yet to decide on whether or not he'll make an appearance on Fallon's show. He’d done it with his members numerous times, but this would be the first time doing it alone. His album would indeed benefit from the exposure, though.

"Damn it," he curses, raising from his seat. "I work my ass off. I work my ass off for it all!" He then sits back down, finishing off the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn soothing his frustration momentarily. With a resigned sigh, he turns his attention back to his music. "Damn it, I guess I'll do it."

If it weren't for his phone notification reminding him of his 10 am meeting on Friday, Yoongi would have missed it entirely. Normally, he never forgets important events, but several late nights in the studio had predictably caught up with him. He feels extremely sleep-deprived today, his memory more prone to blanking than usual. Waking up with a throbbing headache at 5 am, which hasn't dimmed in the slightest, doesn’t help either. Nonetheless, with only ten minutes to spare, Yoongi has no choice but to pull himself together and head downstairs to the conference room.

"Good morning, Min PD-nim," you greet him as he walks through the door. "We're about to start."

Yoongi drags out a chair and takes a seat. You look nice today, he notes quietly to himself. He makes sure to send a small smile your way before returning the warm greeting. "Good morning __-ssi," he says. "I told you we can speak informally didn't I?"

He waits for your response, easily tuning out the startled reactions from the rest of the team. Most high-ranking officials in the organization expected to be addressed formally by those in lower positions, but here he was, openly requesting you to speak as equals. It was almost unheard of during work hours. He was Min Yoongi, after all.

"Right, of course," you reply, "You'll have to excuse me, Yoongi-ssi. It slipped my mind for a moment."

Yoongi watches as you shuffle a few papers in your hand before continuing. "To get us started, I thought we'd discuss the decision to schedule a spot on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. Will we be proceeding with this?"

"After mauling it over I think it's a good idea for the album. Do we have an idea of when this would happen?"

"Ideally after the album releases and around the time the U.S. tour begins April 26th. I say we aim for early May. Given Fallon's show's high demand, we'll need to get a jump on this as soon as we can." You shift your attention to your digital marketing and promotions team. "So-hyun, can you reach out to the producers and see what strings we can pull?"

She nods, scribbling a quick note on her writing pad. "We'll reach out today. I'll let you know as soon as we get a response."

"Excellent, thank you. I'm glad to hear you're on board with this Yoongi-ssi. It'll be a great way to promote D-Day and attract a global audience. The more smartly we utilize our resources, the better your album will be positioned in the current market." You take a brief pause to flip through your notes again. "Speaking of resources, we'll need to start booking magazine shoots and interviews. I'm proposing we run cover pages with Marie Claire Korea and Vogue Japan."

Yoongi would be taken aback by the flood of ideas and schedules you're firing at him, all within the first fifteen minutes, if he weren't already aware of your level of competency. This is exactly why he chose you, he hums to himself, your preparedness is impressive, but not surprising.

"I presume this will take place next year?" he asks. "During their spring issues?"

"Absolutely. We'll submit inquiries soon to get the ball rolling, but having the shoots completed now would be premature. Plus, it'll take some time before there are any openings with the companies. I think we should be consistent with tour dates and have Marie Claire go out in May and Vogue ready in August of next year."

"Okay, I'm fine with all that but we'll need to have something exciting released now, don't we? I know I start my weekly lives tonight, but shouldn't there be something more we can do?"

"I agree," you reply. "That's why I wanted to propose a brand new idea that came to me a couple of nights ago while I was drafting promotional content. Anytime idols release a new album or music, it gets published on YouTube, right?"

He nods, curious on where you're heading. "Right."

"Why don't we start a talk show with you as the host Yoongi-ssi? It can allow your fans to see another side of you, as well as the general public. We can invite your BTS members as guests where you can discuss music or past challenges that you've had to overcome—the choice is yours. To make it more interesting for viewers, you can have these frank conversations over a glass of whiskey or soju."

"I like the idea," he says, weighing it in his mind. "What would the timeline look like for this?"

"If we move forward with the idea, I suggest December 5th and we continue it for a max of two months. I know that only leaves us with just under two weeks to get started, but creating the set shouldn't take more an a day or a day and a half. We can also easily shoot a 30 to 60-minute video in an afternoon and publish it on YouTube the following week. Of course, a preview of the show will need to go out beforehand."

"Would we be able to invite other guests to the show? Outside of my members, I mean."

"Yes, feel free to invite whoever you'd like. We can start with the member for the first several episodes but ultimately, welcoming a variety of guests from the same or differing industries would be the goal."

"If I may." A member of the social media team suddenly joins the discussion, "I think Kim Namjoon-nim might be a good person to feature first since Indigo releases December 2nd."

Yoongi nods in agreement. "I can ask him."

"That would be fantastic, actually. If his availability is limited, we could have him guest star for the second or third episode instead," you add. "Hoseok released Jack in the Box this summer so we could have him be the first guest as well."

"Do we have a name yet?"

"Suchwita," you answer without hesitation. "It's a play on words with Daechwita."

"Suchwita..." Yoongi repeats, "Time to get drunk." He chuckles at the last few words, amusing the room, but you remain contemplative.

"How about Suchwita...time to drink with Suga, instead? It's simple and has a slight whimsical nature."

"Sure, let's use that," he answers, noticing that you've already begun jotting down the idea. "Yours is better."

Despite the adrenaline from the productive meeting with you and your team, Yoongi still feels the weight of his sleepless nights bearing down on him. His headache remains relentless and he is in dire need of a moment to himself. Once the team disperses, he slips his phone into his pocket and makes his way outside. The crisp, early morning air should offer him some relief, along with the pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket.

When he reaches the building's designated smoking area, Yoongi takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag as he leans against the cool brick wall. As he exhales, watching the smoke dissipate into the clear sky, his thoughts drift back to the meeting. The idea of hosting a talk show, "Suchwita...time to drink with Suga," still lingers in his mind. It’s an intriguing concept, and he can already envision the relaxed, candid conversations that could come from it.

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the ground nearby.

"Oh, Yoongi-ssi," you say with alarm, obviously startled by his presence. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll come back lat-"

"There's no need for that. Join me if you'd like." Yoongi watches as you hesitate to accept his offer, your feet already positioned to head back inside the building. "Seriously, there's plenty of room, and no matter what they'll tell you, I don't bite."

He allows himself to smirk as you carefully move beside him, only stopping when there is at least two feet of space between you both.

"Thanks," you say, pulling out your own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. "I needed a break too."

"Rough morning?"

"Just busy," you reply, leaning against the wall next to him. "But the meeting went well. We should be able to get the ball rolling now that we have a more finalized plan. I'm glad you liked the idea of starting Suchwita, by the way."

"I do," Yoongi says, nodding. "It has a lot of potential and I'm sure Namjoon will be more than happy to help us out. He's a natural at this kind of stuff. I guess it's why he's our band leader."

"You know you're good at all of this too, don't you, Yoongi-ssi?" You pause, taking a puff of your cigarette. "Even when you have a lot on your mind and a packed schedule, you have a knack for making people feel at ease. It's why I think producing Suchwita will be such a great way to connect with fans and other artists—you'll be the host."

He chuckles, appreciative of the remark. "You really think that? That I make people feel at ease? It's not what a lot of people assume."

"Nah," you reply, tilting your head up toward the clouds. "They're just on the outside looking in. Those who know you, who are around you and talk to you, will agree that you're a pretty calming presence."

"Well, I think we're not so different then." Yoongi shifts his eyes to your face, still looking up at the sky, and smiles softly. "So, what made you come to BigHit? Didn't you say you worked for Atlantic Records? That's a pretty good gig."

"Yeah, it was. I learned a lot there, and man, I was thrilled when I got offered the job as a brand manager. I've always loved music, ever since I was a kid. I could connect so intimately with the lyrics. Music is one of the few things that could soothe me during rough times, and it still does today. I'm sure you can understand."

Yoongi nods, intent on listening to your every word, intrigued by your story.

"Anyway, sorry about getting long-winded here" you chuckle. "I ultimately decided to move on when Bang PD reached out and offered me the marketing manager position for TXT. It gave me the chance to be a more integral part of bringing music to individuals who need it most. It's like we say, 'music for art and healing.' I'd never had the opportunity to manage a completely new set of musicians before either, let alone a group. Plus, being on the global marketing team? I couldn't turn it down."

"It makes sense why you joined us then, and I have to say, it's a blessing you did too. Music is a way of communication for me, a way I can best express my story. That includes my past, present, and hopefully future. After hearing all you shared, I don't think there's anyone else I'd trust with handling my album promos." Yoongi pauses a moment, unsure if he should ask the next thing on his mind. "How come we never met before? I mean really meet and talk?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself. But things have a way of falling into place when the time is right, I suppose." You're now looking at him, the intensity of your gaze mirrors his own. A gentle breeze tousles a few strands of your hair and for a split moment, Yoongi begins to understand what Taehyung meant earlier when he said it feels like he's known you his whole life, like a childhood friend he'd reconnected with. While it may not be to that extent for himself, there's a comforting warmth emanating from you that leaves him feeling strangely tranquil.

"Given the circumstances, I feel like we should have at least met through Taehyung by now," he slips out. "Or even at a company-sponsored event."

"Why, do you like me that much, Yoongi-ssi? After five days of working together?" Your playful tease catches him off guard, revealing a side of you he hadn't seen before. It's kind of cute-wait, what?

"I-"

"Sorry," you quickly interject, feeling the need to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

"Don't worry, there's no need for apologies. And to answer your question, I like you enough." He hopes you can hear the tease in his own tone as he responds.

You both lapse into a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. He finds all of it soothing in a way he can't quite explain.

After a few minutes, you turn to him, your expression thoughtful. "You know, if you ever need to talk or just need a break, I'm here. We're teammates now."

Yoongi looks at you, his tired eyes softening with gratitude. "Thanks, __-ssi."

You give him a reassuring smile before pushing off the wall. "I'll let you finish your cigarette. See you later? And by later, I likely mean at 9 or 10 pm in our company elevator."

"Yeah, see you later," he laughs, watching as you walk back toward the building. He takes one last inhale, extinguishing the cigarette and letting the remaining smoke escape his lips slowly.

Yeah, he likes you just enough.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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[ylangelegy]

just a little too soon ꩜ wonwoo x reader.

♬⋆.˚ An ice cold bitch when you burn like noon / Was it hidden in the cards that I'd lose you? / Was it written in the stars that we'd meet a little too soon?

🎸╰› includes: boyfriend!wonwoo, alternate universe: non-idol, long-term relationship, pet names ('babe'), deteriorating relationship, alcohol, angst, break-up, [implied] second chances, tarot card references [descriptions courtesy of labyrinthos.co].

💽╰› this is part of my ongoing series, buzz (seventeen's version) + this piece is inspired by track 09, blue moon. word count: 4,000+

There was a time where Wonwoo used to greet you at the front door.

He used to be so particular about it, too. lt had been a little routine that lasted for a good couple of months. You'd text once you were heading home and he'd respond with anything from take care to missed you today.

He made sure you never had to pull out your key. All you had to do was knock thrice. He'd then swing open the door— his glasses slightly askew, his mop of dark hair bearing the indent of his headphones— before softly saying, "Welcome home, babe."

But that had been years ago. The homecoming has since faded into something less ceremonious; his responses to your texts, if any at all, now more of can you get some soda on your way home and don't forget to pick up the laundry.

As your key unlocks the front door, you feel that small flicker of nostalgia— and something else entirely. That feeling you can't quite name. Because how can you miss someone who's still there?

As you step in to your shared apartment, you can hear the distant sounds of a game being played. It takes you only half a minute to figure out what your boyfriend's poison is tonight: League of Legends, based on the muffled commands that he's barking out.

You feel an ounce of pride when you pad in to his game room and realize that you're right. Wonwoo's gaze briefly flickers away from his computer screen.

You wave at him. He gives you a grin in return.

He mumbles something in to his microphone before hitting something on his keyboard, seemingly muting himself. When he looks up at you, his smile has become a touch more sheepish. You already know what he's going to ask before the question comes.

"Just one more match," you warn, like you always have.

He adjusts in his swivel chair. "Three more?"

Both of you know where this is heading. "Two," you say in unison.

Your strict gaze softens; Wonwoo's smile becomes a little more genuine. He beckons for you to come closer and you make a show out of it— faking a sigh, dragging your feet.

He rolls his eyes but reaches out for your hand all the same. Once your fingers are intertwined, he raises your clasped hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to the back of your knuckle.

"Thank you," he mumbles against your skin, peering up at you from behind his glasses.

You feel like a bit of a fool, to still find the action heart-fluttering after all this time. You bite back the pleased smile that threatens to fill your face as you disentangle your hand to briefly press your palm against Wonwoo's cheek.

"I'll order takeout," you tell him. "Be done before it comes."

"I'm not really in charge of the game being done by a certain—"

"Wonu."

"Fine, fine."

As you make your way out of his room, he calls after your retreating back. "No Chinese, please!"

You order Chinese anyway. Partly out of spite; partly because it's what you want.

When Wonwoo emerges from his room after the vouchsafed two matches, he lets out a displeased sound at the sight of paper pails resting on the dining table. "I said no Chinese," he grumbles.

You don't even look up from the manual in your hands. "I got you the mapo tofu you like," you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. "And some spring rolls."

"The mapo tofu you like." Wonwoo takes a seat across from you. Despite his complaints, he's already digging through the takeout to find the meal you've chosen for him. He's too used to these little stunts of yours to be fazed.

The two of you have been dating for four years, after all— living together for a little over half that time. It's a quaint, two-bedroom apartment. More often than not, you share the same bed, but the other room is there for when the other needs their privacy.

The domesticity that you two have cultivated came with its own set of growing pains. But— for the most part— you've both learned how to make it work. Respective chores around the household. Shared meals and moments like these, where neither feel a need to fill the silence.

Except, tonight, there's the introduction of something novelty, something worth talking about.

"Hm?" Wonwoo cranes his neck over at the cards spread in front of you. There's half a spring roll hanging out of his mouth as he tries to catch a glimpse of what has your attention. "Are those— tarot cards?"

You give him a small nod of acknowledgment. "Soonyoung gave them to me as a gag gift," you note. "He says that I need to get a hobby."

Wonwoo finishes off the spring roll in his mouth as he lets out a derisive scoff. "And he suggested tarot reading?"

"Hey," you say defensively. "I think it's interesting."

"I think it's bullshit."

"You think a lot of things are bullshit."

"This one especially," Wonwoo insists. "It's just a bunch of scam work."

You press the bridge of your nose with your thumb and your index finger. Wonwoo catches the action and immediately backs down, placated by the telltale sign of your growing annoyance.

"I'm not about to start charging people to have their fortune read," you say exasperatedly. "I just wanted to try something new."

Wonwoo doesn't push it. He only lets out a low hum as he picks at another roll. A pregnant silence stretches between the two of you for a couple of minutes before Wonwoo says, "Try it on me, then."

You look up from shuffling the deck. An eyebrow of yours arches upward when you notice the lack of any outwardly hostile expression on your boyfriend's face.

"You're just going to make fun of me," you grumble.

"I swear that I won't." Wonwoo pauses and meets your skeptical gaze. "I swear that I'll try not to," he amends.

It's as good as you're going to get, you decide. With a defeated sigh, you hold out the deck. Wonwoo gingerly plucks a card out, placing it face-up on to the table between you.

Amid your takeout lies a card depicting a man suspended upside-down, hanging by his foot from a tree. "The Hanged Man," you read aloud, needing to slope across the table because it's facing Wonwoo.

"Very original."

"You said you'd try to be nice!"

"I was just saying!"

For a moment, the two of you just stare at the card. "Well?" Wonwoo prompts. "What does it mean?"

"Er..." You scramble for the manual that came with the box of cards. As you skim over the descriptions, you feel your eyebrows knitting together with slight confusion. "Oh, it matters if it's upright or reversed."

"Facing who? Me or you?"

"I— it doesn't say."

Wonwoo lets out an exhale. His expression seems caught between exasperation and fondness.

"You could just tell me anything and I'd believe it," he says dryly.

"That's not the point."

Wonwoo shakes his head at your whining and pushes back against the table, his chair scratching against the floor. You pore over the definitions as Wonwoo gathers up the dishes; it seems that, for him, this conversation is already as good as done.

He has some sense to lean down to leave a quick peck on the top of your head.

"Whatever it is," he mutters against your hair, indulging you for only one more moment. "I'm sure it's a hundred percent right."

You glare at his back as he walks over to the kitchen sink.

🃏 The Hanged Man understands that his position is a sacrifice that he needed to make in order to progress forward — whether as repentance for past wrongdoings, or a calculated step backward to recalculate his path onward. This time he spends here will not be wasted, he does this as part of his progression forward.

When you date someone for long enough, their friends tend to become your friends.

That's how you've ended up here on a Thursday evening— even though you'd much rather spend the weeknight recuperating from your day at work. Admittedly, all you had wanted was some time with Wonwoo.

But Mingyu was broken-hearted, he had reasoned, and he couldn't say 'no' to his best friend. In hindsight, you probably could have opted to have the apartment all to yourself, could have had your quiet night to yourself.

Neither of you were willing to give way for what you each wanted, and so this is the compromise: You, tagging along to the speakeasy where Mingyu is drinking himself silly over some girl who didn't give him the time of day.

Wonwoo and you are seated on either side of Mingyu, while Soonyoung sits across from you three. Jihoon had passed on the whole thing— to be expected— and Junhui is running late.

That leaves you three to pick up the broken pieces of a distraught Mingyu.

"You'll find someone else, Gyu," you offer.

Wonwoo pats the younger man on the back. "It's not the end of the world," your boyfriend adds.

"Easy for you two to say!" Mingyu takes a long swig of his fourth, maybe fifth bottle of beer. "You two are, like, solved."

"Solved?" you and Wonwoo echo. You, with a half-smile; Wonwoo, with an arched eyebrow.

"Solved," Soonyoung pitches in, hiccupping as he speaks. "You've got it figured out. Aish, couples shouldn't be giving advice to heartbroken people."

That draws a chuckle out of you and Wonwoo. Neither of you make an effort to push back on Soonyoung, instead opting to mumble plattidues to a Mingyu that is getting progressively drunker.

As the night wears on, the conversation veers in to more common territories. Mingyu's apartment-hunting endeavor. Soonyoung's shitty boss.

At one point, Soonyoung chirps to you, "How are you liking the tarot set?"

Wonwoo lets out a derisive snort mid-sip of his beer. You reach behind the back of Mingyu's chair to playfully smack your boyfriend on the shoulder.

"I've been having fun with it," you say with a sniffle. Wonwoo raises his hands in a show of surrender.

"Think you're ready to do readings?" Soonyoung asks, and there's no teasing in tone. Just a genuine sort of excitement. It's in such contrast to Wonwoo that you're momentarily thrown off-kilter.

When you realize that Soonyoung is waiting, that he's expectant, you brighten up just a bit. "Actually—" You begin to dig through your purse.

Wonwoo shoots you an incredulous look. "You did not bring it," he says, sounding mildly horrified. You ignore him in favor of fishing out the tarot set that Soonyoung had gifted you.

Immediately, Soonyoung is moving aside the bottles and glasses on the table so you have space to shuffle the cards. The three boys have varying expressions on their faces: Soonyoung is enthusiastic, Mingyu is curious, and Wonwoo is resigned.

"Me," Mingyu croaks, putting down his bottle. "Can you read for me?"

"It helps if you ask a question," you say.

Mingyu looks like he's thinking long and hard about his query, though the thoughtful expression is frayed by the way he's already fairly tipsy. Soonyoung and Wonwoo share a laugh as they wait for Mingyu, who eventually blurts out—

"What will my love life look like for the rest of the year?"

It's to be expected, considering the whole reason you're out tonight is because of Mingyu's failed romantics. Soonyoung goads him and Wonwoo snickers, but you take the question in stride. "Tell me when to stop," you say as you shuffle the deck.

Mingyu watches your hands with laser focus. After what feels like an eternity, he solemnly calls, "Stop."

A card peeks out of the spaces between your fingers. You place it face-down on the table before flipping it for everyone to see. Soonyoung leans over. Even Wonwoo can't hide his mild interest as he eyes the suit.

An upright Wheel of Fortune.

"A wheel always turns," you note to Mingyu, pointing out the imagery on the card. "It can mean that— despite being in a bad situation right now, that can easily change. Nothing, bad or good, is permanent."

There's not really much more that you can say. You weren't really in the business of taking card-reading seriously; if anything, you're treating it more like a party trick.

And it works, based on the way a smile breaks out on Mingyu's face, and the low whistle that Soonyoung lets out. Wonwoo, as you had anticipated, looks far from impressed.

"Me next, me next," Soonyoung chants, only to seemingly change his mind last minute as you go to reshuffle the deck.

Soonyoung turns to Wonwoo. "You next!"

Wonwoo takes another sip of his drink. His arms are casually crossed over his chest and there's an almost piercing glare behind his spectacles. All of you are a little too accustomed to his sharp eyes and his dry humor to be unnerved.

"I already had my fortune read," your boyfriend says.

"You can always have it read again," Mingyu whines. The whine is a telltale sign that he's heading to 'far gone' territory; your friend group knows better than to try and reel in a drunk Mingyu.

Soonyoung sing-songs, "We should ask about when the two of you are going to get marriiied."

The jabs about marriage aren't anything new. Having dated as long as you two have, you and Wonwoo are often subject to such questions from everyone around you— concerned family, impatient friends, nosy co-workers. You've both talked about it, of course, but in no certain terms.

With a laborious sigh, Wonwoo leans over Mingyu to pluck a card from your deck.

"Yah!" you complain mid-shuffle, swatting at his hand, but Wonwoo is already unceremoniously throwing the card face-up on to the table.

"Our marriage fortune," he announces, his tone edged with sarcasm.

The card features a woman sitting between two pillars— but, this time, it's reversed. You sift through your brain for what it means upside down.

"Upright, it means listening to your intuition," you offer.

None of the boys are any wiser about the fact that you're supposed to be spewing the reading for a reversed version.

"Wonwoo!" Soonyoung says excitedly. "Isn't your intuition saying that you should propose right now?"

A panicked Mingyu laments, "Wait, I'm not ready to be best man yet!"

Soonyoung seems to take serious offense at that. "Who said you're going to be Wonwoo's best man?" the boy demands. "I've known him longer!"

The two go on to bicker about the hypothetical ceremony and the groomsman line-up as you and Wonwoo stare on incredulously. After a moment, Wonwoo huffs out a laugh that only you catch. "Idiots," he grumbles fondly.

He finishes off the last of his drink. You're not sure if you've been lumped in to the half-insult, but you don't have the time to dwell on it.

Instead, you absentmindedly play with a corner of the reversed card as you contemplate calling it a night.

🃏 When it comes to the High Priestess reversed, it can mean that you are finding it difficult to listen to your intuition… Something has been telling you to follow your gut, but you may be ignoring the call. There is a lot of confusion around you, and your actions may feel contrary to what you know is right.

Here's how it gets you, weeks down the line.

On the surface, it looks like something small being blown out of the water. A date night postponed because of yet another friends who 'needs' him.

"We live together," Wonwoo sighs, running a hand through his hair. The argument takes place in your bedroom, where there's a chasm of space between you. You, sitting on the edge of your bed. Him, already standing by the door.

"We literally live together," he repeats. "We see each other every day."

"You barely even look at me nowadays," you snap, and despite the haze of your anger, you're lucid enough to wonder— where the hell did that come from?

Wonwoo's visible confusion mirrors your internal one.

"What—" he starts. What does that mean?, he probably planned to ask.

Instead, he grits out, "I'm looking at you right now."

And he is. Of course he is. It's a familiar expression; the set of his jaw, the spark in his eyes. He is trying and failing to keep his tone level, to not give in to the punches that you're throwing.

But when you love someone, you can be so cruel to them. Perhaps crueler than anyone else.

It goes both ways. Your mutual refusal to budge. Your tendency to let all the resentment build. And Wonwoo—

"You care more about being good than being good to me," you accuse him.

The frustration on Wonwoo's face only deepens. "Isn't that the same thing?" he asks.

"No, it isn't." Your voice is softer, now. More genuine in its ache. "There's a difference."

As if on cue, the muffled sound of his phone ringtone begins to blare from the living room.

You and Wonwoo regard each other in the low lighting of your bedroom. You, dry-eyed and hurt. Wonwoo, tightly wound and prideful.

The ringing of the phone ceases, only to start up again. Wonwoo makes his choice.

"I won't be coming home tonight," he says, his voice wretched. "Don't go looking for me."

With that, he takes his leave, slamming the bedroom door behind him. The force knocks over some of the things atop a nearby dresser— your set of cards, a stray lip gloss tube, the picture frame holding a photo from your first anniversary.

You don't pick them up just yet. You stay at the edge of your breath, holding your breath for so long that you feel your chest begin to burn, as you strain your ears for the sound of Wonwoo moving across your shared apartment.

His heavy footsteps get more distant. The lock on the front door clicks.

The chasm grows, and grows, and grows.

Only then do you go to assess the damage. The lip gloss tube has rolled too far under the bed; you resolve to figure that out in the morning. The picture frame remains miraculously intact.

(You don't notice this until much later, but there's the tiniest crack on an edge of the glass. A cobweb-like fracture that you will only see once you hold it up to the light.)

You go to gather up your deck of cards, and your eyes stray to the only one that has fallen face-up.

A lightning bolt striking a tower that's on fire.

🃏 The Tower represents change in the most radical and momentous sense… The old ways are no longer useful, and you must find another set of beliefs, values and processes to take their place.

WONU 🐈❤️ 1:43 AM You really didn't come find me

YOU 2:06 AM u told me not to.

WONU 🐈❤️ 2:19 AM Right

WONU 🐈❤️ 3:03 AM I think we need to talk.

YOU 3:33 AM yeah. we do.

It's quiet as you two pack up.

You're not ignoring each other, no. There are still a couple of amicable exchanges, like do you want to keep the blankets and I don't have space for any more of the succulents. Occasionally, you'll reminisce over some small thing.

The stubborn bathroom grout that had given you both grief. The burn mark in the kitchen from when Wonwoo had first attempted to cook.

"It's like we're looking through a museum," you say as you shove the last of your clothes in to your suitcase.

"A museum of our failed relationship," he muses thoughtlessly.

You wince and his expression softens imperceptibly, but he doesn't apologize. The silence stretches on for a little more.

A mutual decision, both of you had told all your friends. For the better.

You, moving back home for a bit. Wonwoo, opting to room with Mingyu again.

As you tape up the last of your cardboard boxes, you speak up. You're not looking at Wonwoo as you say, "It wasn't a failure. It just—"

Your words fail you. You only really want to communicate to him that your four-year relationship wasn't something that you had wanted to regret, that it's not, by any means, a dead loss.

It's a small grace that Wonwoo understands you, still. That, even now, he can hear what you don't, what you can't say.

"Yeah," he mumbles. He's already doing final checks to see if either of you had forgotten anything. "I know."

Some years ago, that might have been enough. To be known and to be loved.

But as you hoist a box up in to your arms, as you face Wonwoo who is looking at everything else but you, you realize that there is only so much that knowing can do. For you. For him. For anyone.

"I'm going to start loading things in to my car," you inform him.

"Right."

"You'll stay behind?"

He nods. "Going to give the keys back to the owner."

"Okay." Your voice is low, again. Like you're scared you'll drive Wonwoo away if you speak any louder. "Alright."

A beat.

And then Wonwoo finally looks straight at you.

There's nothing on his expression that gives away what he's feeling or thinking. He's always been the harder to figure out between the two of you. You spent years and years trying— trying to read him, trying to decipher every little thing.

You no longer feel that urge. It's a bit freeing, really.

"Take care," he says after a long pause.

"You, too."

Wonwoo doesn't call out your name as you walk away. That's not his style. In all the time you've known him, he's never been the type to beg, to grovel.

Wonwoo always knew when it was time to call something quits, when it was time to head home. You try to embody that as you walk past the front door, as you head down the hallway.

Before you round the corner, though, you glance over your shoulder.

Faintly, you can make out Wonwoo crouched over one of your boxes. The ghost of a smile tugs at your lips when you see him hold up and squint at a card.

A part of you wants to head back in, just to see what he's looking at. Just to see the last trick that the fates have up their sleeve.

Instead, you head for the elevators.

🃏 The Fool card is numbered 0, which is considered to be a number of infinite potential. Consider him a blank slate, for The Fool has yet to develop a clear personality. He is the symbol of innocence — his journey to come will shape his character yet.

Here's how it gets you, years and years later.

It starts with the hotel key card. When you press it to your designated room's door lock, the machinery lights up red and lets out a low beep. You try one, two more times, only to get the same results.

It starts with your free hand reaching for your cellphone. Your first thought is to call Soonyoung. He had made the arrangements, after all, being the pedantic groom-to-be that he was.

It starts with the door swinging open right before the call can go through.

Soonyoung picks up on the other line. "Have you met your roommate?" the bastard says in lieu of a greeting.

"I'm going to kill you," you say in to the receiver before promptly ending the call.

Wonwoo leans against the door frame, a half-smile on his face. His hair is shorter, now, but his glasses are still just a touch lopsided.

It starts there— the way he looks older and yet still very much like the last time you saw him. The way his expression is a lot less guarded and a lot more open. How you can tell there's a fondness that lingers; how your own heart, like a traitor, skips a beat at the sight of it.

It starts with Wonwoo half-jokingly saying, "Welcome home, babe."