#but damn i can proudly say i am never been as awful as people these days. it seems to be getting worse and worse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gukyi · 5 years ago

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the courtship chronicles | ksj

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

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

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

check out the post-script drabble here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, that was—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say.

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

He thinks it’s brilliant.

You think it’s ludicrous.

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

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

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

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

You frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

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

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

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

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

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

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

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

It is 4:19.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what his is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you say.

“Yes,” Seokjin says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everybody begins to clap.

Everybody, except Seokjin.

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

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

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

“You’re crying,” you point out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

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

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

So, Seokjin’s on his way.

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

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

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

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

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

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

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

“No,” you say dumbly.

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

“It’s been three days.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A realist and a dreamer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “When am I not?”

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A dirty, dirty play.

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

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

Perhaps one that confused you a little less.

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

At least, that’s what his mom thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says.

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

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

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder why.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But still, you persisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(So long as he’s with you.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Famous last words.

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

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

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

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

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

Why’s that? He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasn’t it always been like this?

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

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

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

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?”

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own.

They’re swirling in ink.

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you.

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air.

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips.

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him.

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever.

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether.

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry.

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run.

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life.

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon.

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is.

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you.

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself.

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out.

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you.

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do?

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him.

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity.

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe.

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up.

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along.

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be.

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be.

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse.

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder.

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity.

Well, look at him now.

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said.

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t.

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint.

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

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

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled.

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other.

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space.

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life.

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment.

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance.

“Long time no see,” you tell him.

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something.

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment.

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show.

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you.

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last.

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised.

It’s high time you were honest, too.

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be.

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

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jaedreaminn · 4 years ago

Text

Final Part

Characters: Taeyong, Ten, Mark, Jeno, Heachan.

Theme: Family bonding, humour, crack, fluff,angst, happy ending.

Parings: «mentioned» someone x Haechan, someone x Ten.

Words: 2.3k

~~~

"You're the first one here" Ten smiled at Jeno who had just walked into the bar.

"I've always been on time and you know that" Jeno smiled sliding into the booth, sitting next to Ten.

"God knows who you got that good habit from because no one in our family is on time unless it's absolutely necessary" Ten teased and Jeno's eyes disappeared into half moons. "And from what I remember you were always late to school."

"I wasn't late hyung I skipped school" Jeno deadpanned and Ten cringed, "Yea the Jeno delinquent phase was definitely.... interesting"

"Ahh I miss those times because atleast my friends-" "Can you even call those people friends?" Ten interrupted and Jeno glared at him, so he simply mouthed an apology and went back to sipping his water as Jeno continued to speak, "Atleast my friends then were scared of me so they never said anything. Now if I'm late I have to deal with an angry Renjun and his wrath is the scariest thing on this planet." Ten cringed silently at the mention of the smaller boy as he remembered experiencing Renjuns anger first hand and it wasn't pretty.

"Thank God for that though, otherwise I would be sitting here alone on my bachelor party"

"True that" Jeno said lifting his glass of water and clicking it with Tens glass.

"How boring, you guys are only drinking water" Donghyuck said as a form of greeting sliding into the booth, sitting on the other side of Ten.

"I'm waiting for everyone to arrive before ordering the food and drinks" Ten said rolling his eyes and then flicked Donghyucks arm, "And I wouldn't have to wait so long if you were on time"

"Ow!" Donghyuck whined rubbing his arm as Jeno chuckled.

"So how are things going for the two of you" Jeno asked eyes grinning mischievously as Donghyuck sighed and dreamy sigh, "Better, I think I want to make it official soon"

"About time!" came Taeyongs voice and all three of them looked up to see him walking towards the table.

"How did you even hear what Hyuck was saying from so far away" Jeno asked and Ten chuckled when Taeyongs face scrunched up in judgment as he took of his coat, "I raised you people, I just know"

"That doesn't make sense" Haechan frowned and Taeyong glared at him as he folded his coat and sat down.

"I've been raising you since I was thirteen I would be damned if you doubted my super hearing"

"Fine fine Whatever you say" Haechan lifted his hands up in surrender and Taeyong grinned scanning the table, "Where's Mark?"

"He isn't here yet" Ten said and Taeyong frowned.

"You're telling me these two have been here before Mark?" Taeyong asked pointing at the two youngest at the table earning protests from both.

"Yep" Ten said popping the 'p'.

"But dont worry he should be here soon" He added, reassuring Taeyong.

"Right, we're here to celebrate you getting married" Taeyong cheered changing the topic and Ten grinned like a fool in love.

"Yeah I can't believe the wedding is so close" He said smiling excitedly.

"About time you two have been engaged forever" Jeno scoffed but the smile on his face showed how happy he was for his brother.

"I know we're basically married" Ten chuckled as the others cheers'd to that.

"Ahhh sorry I'm late" Mark said rushing in sitting on the chair opposite Ten.

"What's with all the bags Markie?" Donghyuck asked curiously looking at the the five small paper bags in his hands.

"Well I remembered something from when all of us went camping and I thought now was a good time to do this" Mark said laughing nervously, "But I'm not sure if you guys would really like it now" he said handing everyone a bag.

Ten peeked inside and immediately smiled, "Oh wow I forgot that we wanted to do this" he said pulling out a cap with the words 'The Lee brothers' written in neat cursive.

"Oh yea we wanted matching caps for the five of us because we thought shirts were too tacky" Donghyuck chuckled holding onto his cap as of it was his greatest treasure, while smiling brightly.

"Wow we really love these Mark, can't believe we almost forgot about this" Taeyong chuckled looking at his cap with awe and then his eyes brightened "It even has my name on the back"

"Yea it does and I also almost forgot about this too" Mark smiled brightly as he saw his brothers looking at the caps with smiles on their faces.

"Our family isn't very normal is it?" Jeno smiled and the others nodded.

"To think we were this close to being eachothers worst enemies" Ten laughed and Taeyong frowned, still not able to joke about it.

"Yea that was crappy of me" Taeyong said looking down at his glass of water as he remebered how he treated Ten and Donghyuck.

"I can't believe you still beat yourself up over that hyung you were a kid! You were allowed to feel angry and be defensive and irrational" Donghyuck said grinning brightly and a small sad smile graced Taeyongs face because a smile from Hyuck was contagious, "And at the end of the day you came around and now we've got such a strong bond. And you did a lovely job as an older brother I mean look at how I turned out" Donghyuck smiled proudly.

"I thought we were making him feel better not worse. You turned out to be a pain in the ass" Jeno said with a playful smile on his face and Donghyuck pretended to be shot, looking at Jeno in betrayal as Jeno smirked proudly like an evil villan.

"We really need to seperate those two because Jeno has been catching on to Donghyucks dramatic attitude" Ten said watching the two youngest judgingly and Mark just drank (his water) to that.

"Please you're one to talk Ten" Taeyong scoffed rolling his eyes, "You're the one who taught that brat how to be dramatic"

"I object"

"Hyung that's not how it works" Mark sighed, smiling at Ten.

"Ahhh I agree with Taeyong, I am who I am because of Ten" Donghyuck chuckled and shifted away from Ten quickly as the other tried to hit him.

"Ya come here I'll show you dramatic" Ten yelled, trying to attack Haechan who was hiding behind Mark.

"You always hide behind Mark as if Mark would fight for you" Jeno rolled his eyes and Donghyuck stuck out his tongue.

"If I think any of you would attack Mark I wouldn't hide behind him cus he's a weak little baby but I know none of you guys would hurt a hair on Marks head so he's the safest to hide behind"

"He's not wrong" Taeyong shrugged.

"That and Donghyucks favourite is Mark" Ten complained and Donghyuck grinned nodding his head and Mark just sighed trying his best to order drinks for everyone with Donghyuck standing behind him and Ten ready to pounce in their direction at any moment.

"When did he even get so attached?" Jeno asked latching himself onto Tens arm. Ironic.

"Probably the first time Mark spoke during dinner without us having to ask him anything" Taeyong chuckled at the memory and everyone smiled.

"I was so amused that he was an actual person with feelings" Donghyuck perked up from behind Mark who glared at the boy and flicked him on the head.

"I'm not safe anywhere" Donghyuck whined running to Taeyong and dramatically falling onto his lap.

"I was just excited about a song I liked that day and I felt so concious the way all of you looked at me with big eyes" Mark said recalling the memory with a frown.

"Yea it was a quite dinner that day because Jeno and Hyuck were fighting at it got awkward to talk and suddenly out of the blue YOU, of all people spoke." Taeyong said smiling looking at the two youngest who just stuck their tongues out at eachother at the mention of their 'fight'

"Yeah I remember, they were fighting over something very stupid and they got so excited that Mark had spoken that they completely forgot about their fight" Ten chuckled whole heartedly joined by Taeyong and Mark.

"Now that I remember we left our fight half way I'm not talking to you anymore Jeno" Haechan said, puffing his chest and pouting.

"You're really high maintenance you know" Jeno said coking an eyebrow and Haechan just laughed at that statement, not denying it.

"Yeah you are. You once tried jumping out of the second floor window because someone told you you were to much of a coward to do so" Mark said with a frown, accusingly pointing his finger at their youngest. Jeno wasn't wrong, dealing with Donghyuck wasn't an easy task.

"Oh yea I remember Jeno couldn't stop Hyuck so he ran to Mark's classroom which was closest and then came all the way to the other building to get us" Taeyong said with a lopside smile.

"Ahhhh yess I remember you people scolding me so much and Jeno refused to speak to me the entire day at school and then cried when we got home" Donghyuck chuckled as Jeno blushed.

"I'm sorry I was scared that you were going to die!' Jeno yelled defensively and everyone laughed.

"Mark yelled at me so much and scared everyone in my class and then oh god when Taeyong and Ten walked in angry I almost shat my pants"

"Angry Taeyong is a scary Taeyong" Mark shuddered.

"Even your mother was scared of you angry and you were only thirteen back then" Ten smiled at Taeyong cheekily and the boy just sipped on his drink that arrived a while ago looking elsewhere.

"Well I was pissed that they kept dragging Hyuck into their petty arguments. God I hate that woman so much." Taeyong said, getting angry.

"I feel bad that I haven't invited them to the wedding because at the end of the day they took me in when my parents died but I just hate them so much" Ten frowned and Mark patted his brothers back.

"Dont worry we all hate them, they would have spoilt everyone's mood." Mark said and then scoffed, "Dad's finally given up on trying to persuade me to steal your business" Mark chuckled and Ten smiled at him.

"Yea now he's trying to persuade me." Jeno rolled his eyes and Ten chuckled.

"Like, as it is we have stability because of our shares now he's being greedy again? Didn't his greed ruin our lives enough" Mark said clutching onto his drink angrily.

"The only good thing that came out of his greed was Hyuck" Taeyong said hugging the youngest who just looked sullen.

"I wouldn't say good thing... their fights got worse because of me. I mean I don't blame Mrs. Lee for hating me" Haechan said eyes downcast.

"No don't make excuses for that woman" Jeno growled.

"But I'm the reason her marriage was compromised." Haechan frowned.

"She compromised her own marriage because she was an awful person no one wanted to spend the rest of their life with and she had no right to take it all out on you" Mark said angrily clutching onto his drink.

"No Mark you don't get it, it was only fair to hate me" Haechan said with a frown and Ten and Taeyong looked at eachother with worry, patting the yongers back.

"She had no right to hate you" Mark said getting angrier by the second and Jeno tried to calm his brother down. This always was a sensitive topic.

But Heachan nodded his head in disagreement, "I was born because her husband cheated on her"

"And I was born because she cheated on her husband" Mark yelled and everyone at the table looked at him wide eye'd.

"This is one hell of a bachelor party" Jeno said reaching for his drink, still shocked at what Mark had just said.

"Mark what are you saying..." Taeyong asked, placing a hand on Marks knee as Mark tried his best to avoid evryone gaze.

"I didn't know how to tell you guys but that's why dad stopped bothering me, because he recently found out I'm not his son" Mark said eyes downcast and then scoffed, "So now he's cut all ties with me"

"Oh I'm going to go punch that greedy old bastard" Jeno said with a growl to his tone and his fists clenched.

"Dont waste your time I don't care but it hurt how easy it was for him to drop me and now I hate my mother even more considering she knew about this since I was born but still fought with dad over him cheating and gave Hyuck crap for it" Mark frowned.

"Ugh this is so fucked up" Ten said taking a chug of his drink.

"I'm not a Lee" Mark sniffed, "I'm not your brother"

"Ahhh thats bs we're all brothers" Haechan said hugging Mark from behind.

"Yea and we've been through hell and back together" Ten grinned.

"And we'll always have eachothers backs and there's no easy way for you to get out of being our brother" Jeno said lightly punching Mark on his shoulder.

"I haven't raised you all my life for you to think I'm not your brother" Taeyong smiled and Mark chuckled slightly at that.

"Taeyong you're not their brother you're basically their mother" Ten said and everyone chuckled.

"Yea the constant nagging and the obsession with cleanliness and Febreze" Haechan said with a laugh and everyone chuckled.

"Yea so I don't know why you thought anything would change Mark" Jeno chuckled and Mark smiled.

"Yea we had messed up parents but luckily we have eachother" Taeyong said and Mark smiled.

"Yea we're definitely all Ten has" Haechan said wiping a fake tear, "No friends, just his brothers to have his bachelor party with"

"Okay now you're dead" Ten said chasing Donghyuck around the bar.

It resulted in them getting kicked out but they all laughed as they made their way to cafe moon, talking animatedly and happily.

The night was long and their futures prosperous.

~~~

The Lee Brother's- A mini series

Previous Part: Lee Donghyuck

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charliedawn · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine being a corrector (someone there to erase mistakes) and witness Iron Man's progress throughout his life to judge him on his final moment.

" And how many people will die from this impressive weapon ?"

You asked and Tony smiled widely at your question, as if he had impatiently expected it.

" Hundreds ! With only one big boom, all of America's enemies will be annihilated !"

Stop smiling, you dirtbag. You are selling this as if it was a party cake. You're going to sell a weapon of massive destruction to the US army that will exterminate hundreds of people in a few seconds with it and you can still look at me dead in the eyes with this repulsive self-absorbed smile..You thought and sighed before looking at the paper in your hand where was written in bold letters.

TONY STARK : SAVE/ERASE?

You looked at him and his stupid smile again, wondering if you should erase his existence. It was your job after all, to erase everything and everyone that may be nocive for the world, or that may end up being a problem..Mistakes could happen of course, but taking a life was always hard, no matter how you looked at it. Now, Tony Stark..He was a difficult case. He was an idiot, there was no doubt in your head about that..but, he also had potential..If given the right opportunity, he could even be great. You decided to take a step back and looked at his file. You could give him a bit of time..You had loads of time to watch him and his every move. You wanted a change. And would spare his life, for now. You stepped back into the shadows and disappeared as Tony Stark entered a nearby black car.

A few years later :

Why ?

Why did you save that idiot ? You ask yourself while watching him snap his fingers. Your wide eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. You had given this man so many choices and chances..All that for that. What a disappointment..! You sigh before walking towards the now floating soul of Tony Stark, still in his eye-catching red super suit. Typical. He finally notices you and eyes you up and down with an eyebrow raised.

" I thought angels would look a little bit more..feathery ? And less like one of my ex-associates.."

Oh boy..Here it is, the introduction part.

" Hello, Mr Stark. I am Y/N, your corrector, my job consists in making sure that your life hasn't been wasted or meaningless.."

He smiles proudly before answering in a pompous voice that daddy's rich boys usually took when asked the question.

" I didn't waste any of it ! That's for sure !"

You frown before writing something on the file, moron..He was a complete moron. But, you still had a job to do. You force yourself to stay polite and look back at the record in your hands.

" So, Mr Stark.."

" Please, call me Tony."

You ark an eyebrow, but don't linger on the subject and only look at the file in your hands even though you already knew what was written on it. You had to pretend, if only to make him realize how lying wouldn't help him.

" I see here that you don't believe in any particular religion..So, you will have the privilege to choose which god will supervise your transfer to the afterlife..Your judge, if you will ?"

He seems to think for a moment before having an idea and looking back at you with a wide grin.

" I know ! Can I try to go to the Valhalla ?"

You ark an eyebrow again at his surprising answer, but then remember that Thor was a friend of his during his life. He surely wanted to see a familiar face during the trial. Understandable. Maybe he wasn't such an idiot after all ?

You nod understandingly before looking back at the file again.

" As it is procedure, I will ask you a few questions and you'll have to answer them as truthfully as possible, alright ?"

Tony agrees and you start with the first one on the list.

" Okay..So, did you ever experience love in your life ? Did you care about anyone, more than yourself that is ?"

He snorts at that last part before replying sarcastically.

" Nope. Never more than myself. Because I've been raised to look after number 1..However, I would say that Pepper and my girl will always be my first priorities.."

You nod before adding.

" And your father ?"

The question catches him off guard, but he quickly composes himself and seems to hesitate before replying.

" My father and I had a..a very complicated relationship..I admit having hated him for a long time, but now ? I only feel pity.."

You raise an eyebrow at his answer, knowing that he had also admired his father in his youth and felt a certain regret as to not have been able to save him and his mother..But you don't comment on that and only go to the next question.

" Do you think you died a better person than you were at the beginning of your life ?"

He smirks confidently at that question before answering ironically.

" Let me see..I've gone from weapon smuggler to superhero..So, yes. I think I changed. Greatly."

You bite you lip in order not to brutally state him the facts that he's killed more innocents as a superhero than as a weapon smuggler.

" Fine. And finally, are you satisfied with the life you've lived and do you think you deserve to go to the great beyond ?"

He laughs, as if it was some sort of joke and shakes his head before looking up at you.

" I saved the world, isn't that good enough ?"

This is the last straw. You close your book with force, which makes him jump a little as you look at him with your nose scrunched in obvious anger and eyebrows furrowed in clear disappointment.

" You, Tony Stark, are the most selfish blind stupidest man I've ever met ! You really think that all of this is funny ?! Are you really satisfied with the life you've lived or do you really have no idea of the chaos and misery you've created around you ?!"

His mouth is agape in astonishment at your sudden outburst and you decide to show him. You flick your fingers and you both find yourselves in front of a burning city that Tony recognizes as New York..the night when the chitauris attacked.

" I..I don't understand..Why show me this ?"

He asks as his eyes linger on the fire ans the people crying and screaming for help. You smile sadly at his own unawareness..

" Because, Tony, the damage you caused didn't stop when you stopped the bad guy. People died before, during, and after you've fought the bad guy. It takes time to rebuild a city, and human ressources that you seem to have overlooked because, what ? You've send them some money ?!"

Tony brawls his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white and suddenly turns towards you with determination in his eyes.

" I think I did okay !"

He argues, but you only snort mockingly.

" Okay ? OKAY ?! You died, you moron ! You died before you've had the chance to truly do good..The money you've accumulated during all those years ? You were going to give it all to the families of all those who died during all those attacks. You were going to have a child ! You were going to be a wonderful father ! And you gave it all away..The money will now be used by the Shield to create more weapons and destruction ! Your daughter will never grow up to be a hero, because you will not be here to inspire her..And Pepper will be forced to raise her all on her own ! You selfish bastard !"

You yell, not noticing how you get carried away, while pointing an accusative finger at him.

" You could have lived your life ! Happily Ever After ! But no, instead you had to die, leaving a child and your wife behind ! How does that sound, genius ? Does it sound like you did "okay" ?! Now, tell me, before I send you either back to Earth or up there. Tell me why I should let you live ? After you messed up the last chance I gave to you ?"

His breath hitches at your words and he looks at his hands, as if considering what he had done before looking up at you with, what you can only describe as, a feeling of loss.

" I did what I did to save my friends. As far as I know, I didn't waste my life, I saved lives. Those lives were as important as mine, who would I be if I hadn't saved them ?"

You roll your eyes at his hero speech before looking at your datapad. You were only a small gear in the mechanism of Earth's afterlife. You were supposed to bring souls to their final destination..However, there were always tricky situations, like Mr Tony Spark. He had been good, there was no doubt about that, but he had also been awful..Damn awful judging by his long list of infractions and lives sacrificed..You sigh before looking up at him in silent contemplation, wondering what you should do with this one..? Suddenly, an idea pops up in your mind and you smile before advancing towards him and extending your hand.

" How about you come and work for me as a way to get your redemption and reunite with your wife and child ? My work may be tedious, but you'll soon come to find that it had its perks..Of course, you'll still have to get the approval of god you chose..but I don't think he'll deny it. A few years as a corrector, and you'll be able to go to the other side, how does that sound ?"

He looks at your extended hand, and then at you before asking something that you had not thought about.

" Please, could you bring me to Asgard ? Just to say goodbye to an old friend ?"

You sigh loudly, of course he would want to see Thor..He would surely ask the god to save him, try to make him pass without any setbacks. But, who were you to deny a soul its last wish ? You flick your fingers and appear at Asgard. Obviously, you couldn't bring him to a place that didn't exist anymore and not right after his death, this is why you had decided to appear just before its destruction..When Loki was in charge..However, unlike what you had previously thought, Tony doesn't seem lost and walks towards the royal hall with alarming confidence. You tag along and soon find yourself in the throne room with Odin (aka Loki) staring at you with a hint of surprise, but still remaining in character.

" What are you doing here, mortals ?!"

He booms and you sigh, another brilliant idea, as always..Loki would surely report you to the High Council and it would be finished of your career. You try to say something, maybe something to keep you both from being shifted into nothingness..But Tony steps towards him and, to the greatest astonishment of Loki and you, embraces him.

" You've done good, son..You've done good.."

Suddenly, as if the both of them had had a silent conversation, Loki wraps his arms around Tony and starts crying against his shoulder.

" I can feel it..You're gone, aren't you ?"

He asks with grief in his voice and you are too shocked to answer..even Loki, the god of Mischief, the bad god as some would call him, was crying for this mere human..You didn't understand why ? Why would he tear up over his death ? A mortal that he hates..The notion was incomprehensible for you and Loki seems to notice and straightens up to look at you.

" I assume he chose Thor as a judge ? Unfortunately, my brother is out of Asgard at the moment.."

Before he could continue, Tony shakes his head negatively before looking back at you with a slight smile.

" No. I've chosen you, reindeer game."

Loki's eyes widen significantly and he repeats, visibly as dumbfounded as you are.

" M..Me ? But..But why ?"

You couldn't have asked it better, why did he choose him ?! Out of everyone else ?! You grab Tony and put on a wide fake smile for Loki.

" I'm sorry, but I must discuss with him for a moment. We'll be back soon, I promise."

You then proceed to drag Tony out of the throne room and, as soon as you are sure to be out of reach, lose your smile to look angrily at Tony.

" Are you mad ?! You could have chosen Thor and go on your merry way to Valhalla, Paradise or whatever..But nooooo, you had to choose the god that despises you the most !"

Tony doesn't seem that worried and only shrugs with a confident smile.

" I know..Loki is the first one to be chosen, ever. He wasn't the one that was supposed to be king, he always got left behind and never got any chance to prove that he could be better..Maybe, for once, he could be my first choice ?"

You open your eyes wide and want to face-palm yourself so hard..Damn heroes and their moral codes !

" It's not about his redemption ! It's about yours !"

He nods, keeping his wide smug smile and replies nonchalantly.

" I know..This is why I chose him. If even him can forgive me, then I'll know that I definitely deserve to go to..whatever is best after.."

You gape at his answer, but finally sigh in defeat. You couldn't make him reconsider, you know that..He was the most stubborn man that you had ever worked with..You drag him back inside and look up at Loki defiantly and warn him, to his utter astonishment.

" Okay, I know now that I can't change my client's mind..But, I can assure you that if you try to sabotage his only chance to go to the great beyond, I'll personally take care of your case when the time comes..Understood ?!"

Loki's eyes glance at Tony then at you, all malice out of his eyes as he nods in agreement.

" I may not be fond of the Avengers, but I know better than to mess with you people..You are not merely humans and even though we were on opposite sides, I still value the life of the human beside you, as a warrior and the worthy opponent that he is.."

" Aww..Love you too, Reindeer !"

You glare at Tony to shut him up as he only smiles smugly at you. Damn Stark..You extend your hand towards the king, aware of the procedure, he takes your arm and looks directly in your eyes.

" Do you promise to be impartial and to not speak of this trial to any living beings as long as you will inhabit the land of the living ?"

" I promise."

He answers solemnly and takes back his appearance, as he was supposed to judge as Loki, not Odin. He then looks at the coin that had appeared in his hand, either he would give it back to you with heads, and Tony's soul would be saved..or tails, and his soul would be lost forever. You take a big breath before beginning the trial.

" We will start with the beginning. Tony Stark is a selfish egocentric man who did spent most of his life searching for recognition, money and fame.."

Loki and Tony both open their eyes wide, not expecting you to be so hard from the start.

" Hum..Aren't you supposed to be my lawyer ? You're supposed to be on my side, remember ?"

Tony asks, a hint of worry in his voice, but you narrow your eyes at him and respond in all seriousness.

" I am not your lawyer, Mr Stark. I'm a corrector. I am supposed to tell the truth and not hide anything from the judge..Now, is any of the things I just said wrong ?"

He gulps loudly and lets out a defeated sigh, looking at the floor and shaking his head.

" No. You're right.."

Your expression softens, at least he had the decency to admit it..

" However, he has proven on multiple occasions that he was a particularly good man that inspired many that will do good in the future. And, became a very good father figure for Peter Parker that will accomplish great things in the future..I have seen a lot of men change in my career, for better or for worse..But none of them were as impressive as the one of Tony Stark that came from being only an average man to a hero that will inspire millions in the future.."

Tony's eyes widen as you start showing holograms of moments of his life in the air, showing every moment of his life to Loki. The god looks and listens attentively as he plays with the coin in his hand, toying with Tony's soul. However, he seems to take it seriously and looks at each moment with great interest. You are more than happy to answer every question he asks and add.

" I must confess that Tony Stark was and is an incredible man that devoted his life to helping others..even if sometimes he was lost or misguided..He always had the best intentions at heart..You, of all people, should know what the fear of failure feels like.."

You try to appeal to his own history for him to feel pity for Tony, but the god of Mischief knows when someone is trying to play with his feelings and only asks with a small tremor in his voice that sounds like a reproach.

" However, Tony never had any beliefs. His only god is money and that he spent on very trivial things..Plus, he had the audacity to think himself a god, Zeus above his friends that he also considered above anyone else..Why should he get to spend his life in bliss when all he ever did was to mock anyone around him and have very big illusions of grandeur !"

You bite your lower lip, you couldn't say that what he was saying is wrong..However..

" However, he never used his money for destruction, he always had the greater good in mind when using it. He also made sure that Peter Parker don't focus on money to accomplish his goals.."

Loki only laughs before searching for one of his memories and projecting it for everyone to see..It was the man. The man that had helped him build his first suit and that had died, even though Tony had promised to save him..

" You tell me about his accomplishments..but what about his failures ? He sacrificed that man. He made a promise and broke it. How are you going to justify that ?"

You clench your jaw in obvious frustration, knowing that Loki was provoking you. Even if he had no grudge against Tony, he still had the ego the size of the Empire State building and more..He wouldn't let go so easily. You glance at Tony that is looking at the short movie of his life with tears in his eyes..He had surely forgotten about him, or he hadn't ? You couldn't tell..

" That man tried to save Tony..It is not his fault if he died while doing so. He saved many like him afterwards and never asked for anything in return..He always thought that the security of his friends and family was above everything else."

Loki stands up at your reply in disagreement and grits his teeths before reaching for another memory.

" Are you sure about that ?"

You frown at his question before you see the moment he had invented Ultron..

" He created that knowledge monster and, even with the green man's warnings, didn't listen to what was safest..Now, do you think he really always had the purest intentions at heart ?"

He is one tough cookie, you'd give him that..You search in Tony's memories to get the vision he had when Wanda manipulated his mind and show his worse nightmare, the Avengers all dead.

" This, this is his worst nightmare. You have to admit that it is proof of the value of his comrades to his eyes..like Asgardians, he fought side by side with his friends and would have died for them..as he did."

However, Loki doesn't back down and finally yells in frustration.

" HE HELPED MY BROTHER TO PLOT MY DEMISE !"

You ark and eyebrow at that before replying, your arms crossed.

" Well..I don't see how's that of any relevance to him being a bad man.."

Flabbergasted by your words, he stares at you with tears in his eyes before sitting back down, visibly shocked at your answer. But, you know that he is thinking about it..You smile and look up at him to announce.

" This is why, I ask you to welcome Tony Stark to the great beyond, or at least let him work his way there !"

At your words, his eyes flash at you with a certain interest.

" Go on.."

Your smile widens. You know that Loki would not let Tony enter if he hadn't been trained before.

" Make him a corrector. Allow him to correct his mistakes and apologize to all those he wronged.."

Loki seems to consider it for a moment and, finally nods.

" I'll allow it, however, I'll also accept him in Valhalla directly.."

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his sudden act of mercy..but you quickly understand when he adds with a small smirk.

"..If Tony accepts to kneel in front of me."

You close your eyes, knowing already the reaction of Tony that doesn't waste any time voicing his disagreement.

" Dream on, goat head !"

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose and turning towards Tony that still had his mouth wide open, ready to protest. You want to intervene, but Loki does it for you as he suddenly stands up again and grits his teeths at Tony before ordering.

" Kneel ! Or you can say goodbye to your soul !"

You open your eyes wide in fear as he starts crackling the coin in his palm. You turn towards Tony that feels as if he was being crushed himself. You then look back at Loki before yelling at him.

" The trial is not over, your Highness ! You have no right..!"

He glares murderously at you before cutting you short by laughing maniacally.

" That's where you're wrong ! I have every right !"

You look between the two men with panic seizing your whole being before sighing and getting out a lasso. You use it to grab Loki's arm and yank him on the floor, letting go of the coin by the same occasion that starts rolling before stooping just in front of you. You take it in your hand and Loki looks up at you with his jaw clenched and eyes red with fury. However, you don't let yourself be intimidated and take him by the collar to drag him back to his throne.

" You'll regret this.."

He whispers in your ear and you only laugh at his threat before tying him up to the throne.

" There are many things that I fear in this world..But, prince Loki, you aren't one of them.."

You can feel him tense at your words, but still put back the coin in his hand with a small smile.

" Now..I know that my existence is a mistake and that your huge ego can't handle the fact that a mere woman is keeping you still..But, there is no reason for you to deny Tony his afterlife. You said it yourself, he was a worthy opponent and never wielded, even once. He is prideful, a recognition seeker and a liar..But he is also the Iron Man, the man of steel who defeated far more powerful beings than you..I didn't tell you how he died, but I think I should.."

You suddenly turn around and extend your arms to show two things..One is the day Tony died, and the other..when Loki did.

He looks at the images with wide eyes and, even after seeing it over and over, can't believe it..He had died. And Tony had avenged him. He almost laughs at his choice of word: avenge. He looks up at Tony with a new-found respect and Tony doesn't shy away from his gaze that he meets with determination. Loki then glances at the coin in his hand before throwing it at you..it lands on tails and you smile widely at Loki that nods in affirmation.

" I'll allow it..I'll allow him to enter by the doors of Valhalla to the other side. However, as agreed, Tony Stark will have to serve as a corrector for as long as it takes for him to understand the true repercussions of his mistakes, it means until I allow him to pass..Are we clear ?"

He looks down at you intently and you nod vehemently, happy to have saved his soul. Tony himself can't seem to believe it and looks shocked as he looks at you. You can't help but smile widely at him and he reciprocates. You then turn towards Loki and, to his surprise, bow down to him.

" Thank you, your Highness."

He then coughs loudly, making your head shoot up and realize that he was still..well, attached. You blush widely before clapping your hands and the magical lasso loosens to get back around your waist. Loki stares intensely at you and you feel cold sweat rolling down your back. You swiftly turn around to grab Tony and get out of the throne room, too afraid that he would ask for your name and report you to the High Council..When you're far enough, Tony suddenly takes you in his arms and twirls you around to your surprise.

" We did it ! I'll be able to see my wife and kid again ! Thank you so much !"

You can't help but giggle as he spins you around and when he finally puts you down, he frowns, his brain working full on as he seems to realize something.

" You helped me and were so angry at the fact that I had wasted my time..even though you now seem so happy that I made it..Who are you, really ?"

You let out a small sad smile as you look back at him with your eyes filled with tears. You should have known he would guess it eventually..

" I love you 3000.."

You finally mutter and his eyes widen as he understands and his own eyes prickle with tears as he gently runs his hand against your cheek.

" You're..?"

You nod and take a step back to smile at him through your tears.

" It was nice to meet you, dad."

He tries to hold back his tears before taking you in his arms.

" You've grown so much..How..How are you here ? You're not dead, are you ?!"

He asks worriedly, looking at you as if for the first time and you chuckle at his fatherly concern.

" No, Dad..I became a corrector because I wanted to meet you..Some are humans. I asked uncle Thor to make me one."

He nods, and then remembers that you have access to all of his memories..For the first time today, Tony Stark feels a pang of guilt in his chest.

" You must have felt ashamed of your old man, huh ?"

He asks and you smile kindly at him before answering him truthfully.

" I must admit that multiple times, I asked myself if it was good for the rest of humanity to let you live..that I wasn't being selfish in wanting to save you, but, at the end, I knew that you would become a great man..And, you did."

He smiles proudly at you before kissing your forehead lovingly.

" I'm sorry for not being there, sweetheart..I really am."

You shake your head and wipe your tears before answering him with a hopeful smile.

" It's okay..At least, I'll be able to spend time with you, until your final departure at least.."

He smiles at you, understanding now why you wanted him to become a corrector so bad and takes you in his arms again.

" That's my daughter. Scheming plans to spend time with the old man..Stark material, I tell you."

You can't help but snort at his comment while tightening your grip on him and finally closing your eyes in contempt.

" I love you 3000, dad.."

You feel his lips etch into a smile against your skin as he answers back.

" I love you 3000 too, kiddo.."

#fandoms #marvel #tony stark #iron man #loki laufeyson #the avengers

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imaginejamesandsirius · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, the prompt are open again, yeeeaah! First things first: thank you so much for running this blog and for all the work you invest in this, it's really appreciated! Okay, so the prompt: Snow white au? You can make any changes you like, but really Sirius just screams to be Snow White (ebony hair, pale skin etc.) Thank you!

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" the Queen asked. She looked forward to this every time she asked, sure in the knowledge that her enchanted mirror would show her reflection.

Only instead of answering, "You, My Queen," as it always had in the past, it said, "The prince of this kingdom, Sirius." The surface of the mirror rippled, then showed a vision of her husband's son.

Anger roiled in her like a forest fire-- sudden and all-consuming. "What?"

It shimmered away to be a reflection, but it didn't change the answer she had been given. "He is the fairest in the kingdom, as you asked."

She grit her teeth together, her reflection animalistic. "Not for long."

Sirius had run away from his tutor. His maid told him that it was rude, but he had run away from her plenty of times too. His father asked him not to, but his mother always smiled indulgently and said he could do whatever he desired.

It's not as though he was trying to be horrid. In fact, the idea of making any of them mad was the opposite of what he wished, but he wanted to find his own happiness. He would not find happiness-- or even contentment-- locked away in a room in the castle, practicing his letters.

Usually, he ran to the gardens. Today, he went to the forest outside the castle.

He didn't have designs to see the world, but he would quite like to see lands outside the castle walls. He'd only ever seen the forest from atop a tower, and it was certainly more fun to be down among the trees than looking at them from afar.

Sirius spent his time today chasing a rabbit. A useless endeavor, he was well aware, but it was fun to run through the forest with abandon. Unfortunately, he was chasing after it with such single-minded focus that he ran flat into another person as they rounded a tree, knocking both of them to the ground.

"Sorry," Sirius said, scrambling to his feet. He held out a hand to the other man, who took it to ease his way up. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"I can feel that quite evidently," he said with a laugh. He smiled at Sirius, bright and open.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head. He was looking at Sirius like he couldn't even think of pulling his gaze away. After a delayed moment, he let go of Sirius's hand. "My apologies," he said. "I am Prince James of the Potter kingdom, five leagues from here."

"I'm Prince Sirius of the White Kingdom. Hopefully not a single league from here, otherwise I'm horribly lost."

"Oh, you're Prince Sirius," James said, eyes going round.

"Erm, yes. Why? Not what you expected?"

"No, you're- you're exactly as people say."

Sirius frowned. That wasn’t an answer that made much sense. "What do people say?"

"That you're the most beautiful person they've ever seen," he replied. A light blush crawled up his cheeks, but he didn't look away in embarrassment.

"I thought the only person that said that was my mother," Sirius said honestly.

"Trust me when I say she is far from the only one. Your looks border on legendary these days."

"Great," Sirius said wryly. "I'll just write songs about my beauty, shall I?"

"Of course not. Someone else has already written them."

"Please tell me you're joking."

James shook his head, still smiling at Sirius.

"-and then you hold it like this," James said, helping Sirius position his hands properly along the instrument. He'd brought it along with him at Sirius's insistence the last time they'd seen each other in the woods.

"How do you know all this? We're both princes, and yet you seem to know so much more than I do."

James shrugged. "I’m sure it’s isolated to hands-on activities, such as this. God knows you go through more books than I ever will."

"I read books because they never wish for me to leave the castle." He tentatively plucked at one of the strings.

"Here," James said, proudly presenting Sirius with a bouquet. There were plenty of flowers in the forest, but these weren't native to either of their kingdoms. Sprigs of white fluff framed large red blossoms that were more beautiful than any rose he'd seen.

Sirius felt heat rise in his face as he accepted them. He hated that his skin was so light; his blush was surely visible to James. "Thank you." He brought them up to his nose and inhaled deeply. They were sweet, and so delightful that he wanted to bury his nose in them and never come back out. "These are wonderful. I take it they're from the greenhouse you were telling me about?"

“Indeed,” James said, then he started to explain what they were called and where they were from.

Sirius listened, entranced with the cadence of his voice and the passion with which he spoke.

Sirius put a hand on the back of James's neck and kissed him. He was horribly nervous; he'd never kissed anyone before. But he fancied James, and they'd been meeting in the forest in secret for almost a year now.

There was a small pause as James froze in surprise, but then he tilted his head and wrapped an arm around Sirius, kissing him back.

"Since we're going to be married," Sirius said, "I should be able to visit you soon. Properly."

James smiled, carefully pulling a strand of Sirius's hair out from where he'd tied it back. He rolled it around his finger, gently unwound it so he didn’t tug on his scalp, then tucked it behind Sirius's ear. The long wave of it curved against the hinge of his jaw then fell further, stopping along his chest. "Tired of our forest jaunts, then?"

"Let's just say that I look forward to being in a room with you. Besides," he added a second later, "you've only ever seen me dressed down like this. I always get sweaty walking out here."

James's expression warmed. "As much as I look forward to that too, You know I don't care, right? I'm here for you, not how pretty you can look."

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Sirius teased, leaning towards him.

"Of course not; I simply wanted to remind you that, even though you're the most beautiful person in the world, I would love you if you weren't."

"Duly noted, My Prince," Sirius said, giving him a quick kiss.

"I have a job for you," the Queen said, folding her hands in front of herself.

The hunter-- a generously innocuous title, considering the type of jobs he did-- ticked an eyebrow up. "Never worked for the royal family before."

"And as far as your friends are concerned, you still haven't. You are being paid for your discretion, as well as the job."

"I'm listening," he said.

"Prince Sirius will be going into the forest exactly an hour after lunch. You are to follow him, kill him, and then bring me his heart."

"Damn, you must hate your son an awful lot to not just poison him."

"That thing is not my son," she hissed. Hate burning in her eyes, she took out a fat coin pouch and heaved it onto the table. She pulled the tie off, and gold spilled across the dark wood. "Do we have a deal or not?"

Fenrir's eyes trained on the gold as soon as it became visible, and his gaze was still on it when he said, "Yes. Do I want to know what you're going to do with his heart?” Word was that the Queen was a witch, and the thought of her eating it was unappetizing, to say the least. “Wouldn't a ring or summat be plenty of identification of a job completed?"

"That's none of your concern," the Queen said imperiously. "I expect delivery tonight." Then she swept out of the room.

Fenrir rolled his eyes. Sodding royals. This is why he'd never worked for them before. But the pay was good-- more than he'd ever seen in one place-- and after tonight, he wouldn't have to see her again, and he was sure she was looking forward to that as much as he was.

The time she mentioned came around, and Fenrir was already in place. The prince walked into the forest, though he didn't look much like a prince at the moment. No jewelry adorned him, and while his clothes were made of expensive fabric, they were made for traveling through the woods, and he had a bag with him that had already seen plenty of use.

Something about this wasn't right. What reason would the Queen have for wanting to be rid of him? She'd called him a 'thing', but he didn't look monstrous to Fenrir-- and the hunter had seen monstrous. When he stepped out in front of his path, the prince startled, then smiled. "Hello there," the prince said.

Fenrir wasn't used to being greeted in a friendly manner. He didn't have the face for it. The prince didn't look at him like he was scary, though. The hunter wished he was scared. It would make this easier. "Hello," Fenrir replied automatically.

"Were you leaving or going further?" the prince asked innocently. It was absurd the way that none of the stories about the prince's beauty had been exaggerated. He was like a sculpture of ivory, expertly carved, and when he smiled, the hunter could swear that the sun shone brighter.

"Going further."

"Would you like to walk together?" he offered. "The journey gets boring on my own."

"Sure," Fenrir said, more of a grunt than a word.

All the prince did was smile again and say, "Great!" like he was truly happy for the hunter's company.

Fenrir let them get far enough into the forest that if the prince screamed or tried to run, there would be no one nearby. Then he grabbed his arm and stopped walking. "I admit, I'm here on business."

Even with the hunter holding onto him, the prince didn't look like he suspected a thing. "What kind of business? I don't think there are bears, or any of your usual fare in these woods."

"The Queen hired me. She wants you gone."

"She..." he trailed off, happy air crumpling. "Me? I'm your business today?"

The hunter nodded, jaw clenched. "You seem a decent sort," he said apologetically. "Maybe you should close your eyes, so it's easier for you."

"No, I-" he tugged ineffectually, trying to free his arm as tears filled his eyes "-I can't. James would be heart-broken. We're supposed to marry."

Fenrir had thought that news of the prince being betrothed would've reached his ears.

"Please," the prince pleaded, looking up at the hunter with large eyes. He stopped trying to free himself for the moment. "I'll leave. I won't return. You can tell my mother that you killed me as she asked, and she will never see me again."

Fenrir thought he had long since lost his sympathy. He wouldn't have made it this far with it intact.

He let his hand drop to the side, and he jerked his head towards the path they had been on. "If you return, I'll have to kill you."

"I won't," the prince said immediately. He wiped at his face. He knew that he should run until his lungs felt like they were going to burst, but with frantic hands, he reached into his bag and pulled out the knife. He'd never used it before, but James had said it wasn't safe for him to travel without it, so he'd carried it. He picked up a handful of hair and started hacking it away. He was too recognizable with his hair this long; he'd never seen someone walking the street with long hair, only nobles.

By the time he finished, there was a circle of thick, black hair around his feet, and the hunter hadn't moved-- he just stood there, watching him.

"Thank you for your kindness, sir." He left. Not running, but making a quick pace. He felt the hunter's eyes on him until he disappeared.

Fenrir didn't know what to think of him. The prince had cut off his hair-- beautiful, long locks of ebony-- as if it was nothing. No, he corrected a second later, not nothing. He'd cut it off because in the choice of life or death, he'd chosen life however he could get it. The kid had called him sir. The hunter sighed and turned to track down a deer. The hearts were similar enough that the Queen wouldn't be able to tell the difference, especially if he mussed it up a little.

Sirius threw himself into James's arms, crying.

James had no idea what was wrong, but he still hugged him and assured him that everything would turn out alright.

After Sirius explained, James said, "It’s alright. We'll get married so you can change your name, and you can stay with us. Your mother will never know where you are. No formal declarations were made, so no one will know."

Sirius gave a small nod. He'd wanted to move to live with James anyways, so this wasn't bad. They'd already decided to get married, so this wasn't a horrible outcome. It was a good one, in fact. It was the one he wanted. He knew that at the end of it, everything would be okay.

It was just hard to see it right now.

James brushed some of his tears away with soft fingers and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "She won't hurt you, I swear it."

"I thought she cared about me," Sirius choked out. She was the only one in the castle that had supported everything he wanted to do. Had it all been a lie? Or had she found her hatred of him recently? Perhaps it didn't matter. No matter how she felt about him or when it had started, he wouldn't see her again.

"Are you going to leave the castle at all while you're here?" James asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I thought you wanted to spread your wings a little."

Sirius combed his fingers through his hair self consciously. "I didn't know if it would be safe."

"I'd be happy to come with you," James offered. There was a genuine smile on his face, though Sirius had never seen him with any other kind.

"You're busy," Sirius hedged, even though he wanted to take James up on it in a flat second.

"I'm never too busy for you, my love. Come on," he said, holding out a hand. "It's a sunny day, and you will only make it brighter."

Sirius didn't hesitate to take his hand.

#prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #james potter #sirius black #fenrir greyback #filled #fusion #getting together #post hogwarts #siriuslystarbucks

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itsallmightbitch · 5 years ago

Text

Covert Ops For Dummies (Part 2)

I hope you’re all excited, because the skinny scarecrow man is back and is making panties drop all over the place.

Pairing: All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut and swearing. Par for the course with me, kids.

Word Count: 12211, give or take.

Summary: After your little tryst in the closet a week ago, Toshinori has been avoiding you. Hizashi is eager to make back some of the money he lost and you know just how he can help you.

*once again this gif isn’t mine but is oddly appropriate....

---------

It had been a week since the ‘incident’ in the closet and so far, Toshinori had been… well. If you were honest, you had no idea how he’d been.

He’d been avoiding you.

You weren’t really taking it to heart. At least, not anymore. The first night, yeah, you’d been stuck in your own head, wondering if maybe you’d done something wrong or if you’d been too forward. But the more you’d dwelt on it, the more you had started to realise that this was his thing to work through- not yours.

He could barely meet your eye across the room at the next teacher’s meeting and when he eventually did, his face had instantly bloomed red and he’d choked out some terrible excuse in order to run off early.

You might have been offended if you had thinner skin.

Thankfully, you guessed that it wasn’t your fault that he was acting the way he was. Despite all those little whispered things in the closet, the cold light of day had made him panic. Years of hating himself for being what he saw as weak, his failing health and self-loathing when he was what you’d affectionately dubbed as ‘Small’ Might… that wasn’t going to go away because he’d fingered you in a closet and you’d told him he was still pretty.

It had been silly of you to even consider it.

The long process of getting home after the event had given his brain time to work and time to freak out. Getting past those reporters, the police, the very thankful parents- all of whom wanted to stop him, talk to him, shake his hand.

You just knew that during that, he’d somehow come to the conclusion that what had happened between you was simply you feeling sorry for him and that any affection or attraction you’d shown him was the result of pity.

Pfft, as if.

For God’s sake, you felt sorry for Hizashi after he’d been wrangled out of his money but you weren’t planning on visiting that closet again any time soon.

Like a gentleman, he’d walked you to your car afterwards but even before you’d registered the cogs turning in that big ol’ brain of his, he was making his excuses and blasting off like he was Team fucking Rocket.

So much for dragging him back to your place. You’d watched him go, your mind a jumbled mess of want, hurt and longing.

All of those feelings had ultimately led you here, doing something that you wouldn’t normally ever consider doing. Although, you’d never really considered getting it on in a closet of a strange house before either so…

After you’d given him a brief outline of your plan, and he’d stopped laughing at you, Hizashi had been all too eager to make back some of the money he’d lost to Aizawa. It didn’t take much convincing for him to bend the rules a little. You’d sent him off on his merry way with a few Out of Bounds signs and instructions to get Toshinori up to his office by any means necessary.

His office was nice, you decided as you waited patiently on the couch.

He had an adorable amount of All Might paraphernalia littered around and an American flag was pinned proudly on the wall- next to several framed photos of him shaking hands with other celebrities. But that was nothing compared to his desk.

It made you feel all warm inside, just looking over the few personal photos that were framed there.

A photo of him and young Midoryia, looking very proud of themselves at a beach. He and David Shield, arms slung over each others shoulders and sporting those carefree smiles that youth brought on their faces. A picture of a very stern faced Nighteye that made you mildly uncomfortable as it seemed to judge you through the glass.

Quit judging, you thought. He needs to relax and this is a fucking great way to do it.

You moved on from that one quite quickly.

At the end of the row was that damned faculty photograph that Principal Nezu had made you all participate in.

The one where you’d purposely shoved yourself against Toshinori’s side despite the photographer’s insistence that the shorter of you were to stand in the front. When you’d protested, Toshinori had done something you hadn’t expected him to do, given his disposition for being a wallflower around you.

He’d bent down, his big hands around your waist and suddenly, he was lifting you with ease. Up, up, until he sat you on his shoulder. You’d been an ecstatic mess, a stupid smile on your face and your usually uncooperative wings spread out above the other teachers.

All Might had struck his usual pose, flexing his muscles and grinning- except one of his hands was on your hip, holding you steady the whole time and the sensation of his fingers pressing into you had stayed with you for days.

Thus, the official faculty photograph had been born. The one that all the papers were forced to publish, seeing as you’d all refused to have another one taken.

He could be bold with you when he wanted to be and days like that proved it.

The memory of that day was one of your favourites. Seeing that confidence, how pleased he was with himself over making you smile. It was like catching a glimpse into the past.

You eyed the big, comfortable looking couch in the corner.

That definitely looked sturdy enough-

You didn’t get to finish your train of thought because the door opened suddenly and All Might was shoved inside, Hizashi hot on his heels. He was mid-sentence as he walked in, laughing over something Hizashi was saying and he didn’t even notice you.

“Well, if it’s that urgent Mic, I suppose I can spare a few minutes!”

“Trust me. You’ll be thanking me for weeks to come.”

“Thanking you? Thanking you for-”

His eyes settled on you when he finally focused his attention on the room and his voice caught in his throat, long enough for Hizashi to belt out a raucous laugh. He slapped a hand against All Might’s broad back and then turned his beaming grin to you.

“One Number One Hero, delivered as promised,” he waggled his eyebrows. “You kids have fu-un!”

It was a good thing you hadn’t gone with your original plan of greeting him in lingerie.

Before you could even think about reprimanding Mic, he was gone, leaving behind nothing more than a smoke trail and Toshinori looking for a means of escape. You made sure he knew that it wasn’t going to happen, quickly positioning yourself between him and the doorway. Despite his unlimited strength, you knew that he wouldn’t barge you out of the way just to save face.

Like you’d said before. He was too much of a gentleman.

“You. Sit. Now,” you pointed at the couch, using your best angry voice and you swear that you saw him swallow hard, eyes trained on the carpet as he followed your instructions and seated himself on the plush cushions.

“I um, didn’t think you were working today,” he muttered, rubbing one hand over the back of his neck and fidgeting with a button of his suit with his other. Another part of your absolutely diabolical plan. You’d purposely left your car at home that morning, so he wouldn’t see it in the parking lot.

“Well here I am,” you said shortly. “It looks like cornering you seems to be the only way I’m going to get you to talk, so... yeah. Talk. Why have you been avoiding me this week? I was starting to think I had the plague.”

Both true and untrue. You knew why, deep down.

“I haven’t been avoiding you-” he spluttered.

You inwardly rolled your eyes in exasperation. While it was nice of him to try and spare your feelings, he was an absolutely awful liar when he wasn’t prepared.

“Liar.”

He winced like you’d struck him and you softened your tone, realising you’d have to approach this differently. You couldn’t just wrangle the answers out of him like you could with other people. Sometimes you wondered what he’d been like, back in the days of his youth when he was saving people with a smile and that villain hadn’t yet darkened his door.

Had he been confident about his body? Had wild romances and broken a slew of hearts on the way?

Maybe.

But… even then, he didn’t seem the type to do things like that. He was a man married to his work, with too much empathy for others to go around breaking hearts. That’s why you knew full well that him avoiding you hadn’t been to intentionally hurt you. Looking at him now in his muscular form, still almost too embarrassed to look you in the eye- you wondered if anyone had ever told him that just being him was enough.

You wanted to climb into his lap and show him it was enough. He was enough.

On the other hand, he kind of deserved to sweat after the week you’d had. Anxious, confused and unbelievably horny. A barrage of almost hourly daydreams, most of which involved his hands in some way, shape or form.

Your marking scheme had gone straight to Hell- especially after you’d set your students an essay about a hero who had inspired them. Half of the papers had been about All Might and you’d thrown A’s left, right and fucking centre at them.

Even the terrible ones.

The nights held no reprieve either.

There hadn’t been one that had gone by where you didn’t wake up, breathing hard and sweating like you’d just run twenty blocks in the midday sun. It was exhausting. It was like your body was always on edge, longing for another touch, another look.

The constant nervous tension was getting to you and your concentration had suffered for it.

All because Toshinori Yagi had fucking fantastic hands and was withholding access to them.

You had to shake yourself to bring reality rushing back.

“So… what? You just get me off once and then run for it? Is that how it is, Toshinori? Did it really mean that little to you?” you asked inspite of yourself. You hadn’t actually meant to say those things.

You hadn’t even realised that you were this upset about it. So much for not taking it personally. His head shot up, eyes wide with surprise when what you’d said finally registered.

“You could have just told me. You didn’t need to- I dunno. Spare my feelings,” you said, quietly.

“What!? No! Tha- That’s not it at all!” he yelped, standing from the couch with surprising speed.

“Then what is it? Did you not enjoy yourself?” you said and rested a hand in the centre of his chest. His whole body tightened under your palm, like every muscle was being electrocuted just because you were touching him. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching the red rising up along his neck like he was going to start blowing steam from his ears.

“Of course I enjoyed it,” he said at last and to your surprise, his voice didn’t shake once. His hand did though, when he brought it up to cover yours. “Every second of being with you like- like that,” he said and swallowed hard. You tilted your head to the side, eyes searching his face. “Things were just a little overwhelming, especially after Eraserhead finding us. I don’t deal with things like that well.”

That was an understatement. You gave him an understanding half smile. It had been embarrassing for both of you.

You had studiously avoided Shouta for the better part of three days and it only just dawned on you that Toshinori had probably done the same. Not that Shouta seemed to care much about the whole thing beyond getting his money.

He hadn’t mentioned it again.

“Look, Toshi, I get it okay? Heh, at least I think I do-” you tried, sighing when the words refused to come. Maybe it was because of the low, dull throb between your legs or maybe it was because he looked so damn good in that suit but you were distracted. “But I’d prefer it if you talked to me about it instead of hoping it’ll just go away.”

“I didn’t want it to-” he started, but then stopped himself. “I thought things would be alright between us if I just stayed away. A dumb plan, admittedly,” he flashed you a sheepish smile and squeezed your hand in his.

“Listen,” you said slowly, “Could you maybe, you know, shrink down please?”

He shot you a bemused look and you could guess it was the same as the look he’d given you back in the coat closet the first time you’d asked. It wasn’t something that many people asked him to do often.

“What? Why?” he asked, clearly caught off guard. Good. That gave you a higher chance of actually getting him to do as you asked. It felt like you needed to prove a point. That you were interested in Toshinori too- not just All Might. “I still have a few hours to go…”

“Does it make you uncomfortable? You don’t have to,” you acquiesced, although reluctantly. You knew there was a line for him but... as much as you wanted him to be comfortable with you, you didn’t want to have sex with him now if he was in his muscular form. It would entirely defeat the purpose of you being here.

“No, no, it’s alright,” he said after a beat and to your relief he did as you asked. The room quickly filled with smoke.

He didn’t actually lose much height on you, you noticed, once you had wafted the smoke away and he’d recovered from his coughing fit. Straightening up from where he’d been bent at the waist, you thumbed a line across his bottom lip absently, wiping away blood.

“Sorry,” he grunted, scrubbing his hand over his face to make sure there was nothing left. It had sounded painful and you knew it happened often.

“Are you okay?” you asked, searching his face. Your hand still lay on his chest, thumbing absentminded circles against his shirt and he met your gaze with those vivid, strikingly blue eyes that always took the words out of your mouth. Your stomach swooped in your gut and a low, excited throb pulsed between your thighs.

The longing ache from earlier worsened.

“M’fine,” he said softly, not looking at you any more but at the blood on your hand instead. A forced, incredulous laugh made it’s way out of his mouth and it instantly set you on edge. That was not the way he usually laughed. “So kid. Is this better? Am I any easier on the eyes?” he asked and the questions were tinged with a bitterness you’d never heard from him before.

You didn’t like it at all and the question got your back up almost immediately.

“Yeah, actually it is,” you answered defensively, eyes narrowing as though daring him to argue with you.

He laughed that not right laugh again and it was like ice.

“Is that right? Well. Take a good look,” he said and stepped back, arms splayed wide. The suit that would have usually been stretched across his broad chest, hung on him now. His expression was far from the usual happy go lucky Toshinori that you’d fallen for. He really was full of so much self-loathing that it astonished you. The number one hero, Symbol of Peace and saviour of Japan- hated himself. Really hated- and that twisted your stomach painfully.

“Is this really what you want in your bed at night?”

Your face dropped, expression full of pain. But not for you. For him- because he really did believe that he wasn’t good enough in this form. That he was somehow lesser.

He must have seen the hurt in your eyes because his expression softened all of a sudden and his arms dropped back to his sides. He looked away, ashamed of his outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, exhaling tiredly. “I shouldn’t be taking my insecurities out on you. It’s not your fault. I guess this isn’t what you expected after everything, huh?”

You had been silent for a few moments but that question needed an answer.

“Yeah.”

He looked up at you, confused.

“Yeah?” he parroted.

“I want you in my bed every fucking night,” you said breathlessly and without giving him any more time to over think, you yanked him forward by his tie. He crashed into you and before he could say anything you were kissing him hard, tangling your fingers in the soft hairs at the base of his neck.

He only flailed a little bit much to your amusement and eventually his fingers wrapped over your shoulders, finding purchase.

You only pulled back an inch or so to breathe before crowding him, not giving him a single moment more to be down on himself, or to cast doubt on your very obvious intentions. You wouldn’t hear another bad word about himself come out of his mouth.

The back of his legs hit the couch and he stumbled, landing with a little ‘oomph’ and the adorably dazed expression that you’d kissed onto his face.

You wasted no time and straddled his thighs, one arm braced on the back of the couch beside his head and the other blissfully free to roam across his chest.

“You’d never break a promise to a fan, would you Toshi?” you murmured, purposely being vague. He looked confused, his head cocking to the side as he managed to focus on your words instead of the fact that you were in his lap.

“I made you a promise?”

“A million orgasms? Remember? I do. It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” you admitted, fingers toying with the knot of his tie. Idly undoing it and then his shirt collar, you ducked your head and trailed a line of kisses across his throat.

It was true. Every moment, every spare second of every day, that promise had taken up your thoughts- as well as all the ways he could fulfil it. With his hands, his mouth, his cock. You had been a woman possessed.

Toshi’s hands were almost burning as he slid them up along your back and a delicious shiver raced along your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly and you stopped your assault on his neck, lazily bringing your face up to his. His expression was earnest prompting you to press another kiss to his lips, sweet this time instead of hungry. You knew from his tone that he was being honest, serious. “I’m sorry for- for avoiding you like a coward. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t want you. I did. I do. I just-” he paused, head falling back while his hands came to rest on your hips. “I dunno. I don’t know what to say to you, sweetheart. You could do so much better.”

“Bullshit,” you said sharply, trying and failing to stop your voice from sounding angry. How could he ever think that? After all the things he’d done? The sacrifices he’d made for others while he kept the world safe? And always, always with a smile.

“You’re a good man Toshinori. If everyone could be a little more like you, then the world would be a fucking awesome place to live.”

“Thank you but that’s not what I meant. I do appreciate it though,” he said, smiling at you as his hand came up to cup your cheek and he swept a thumb over your cheekbone. “I dunno if you’ve noticed but I’m old kid. Past my prime. You’re…” he trailed off with an almost disbelieving laugh, his eyes roaming over you from where you were seated in his lap, up to your face and back again.

You flushed under his appreciative gaze, well aware of what he was thinking of when he looked at you like that.

“Younger,” he managed at last. “Gorgeous. Sexy. A million other things. I-”

He stopped himself, meeting your wide eyed look with an honest one of his own. You had been rendered speechless, the caress of his eyes like he was running his hands over you. He’d never opened up this much and you were drinking it all in- thinking of ways to tell him he was wrong and all the while trying not to preen under his compliments.

“I’m terrified.”

Not what you’d been expecting. You blinked stupidly at him for a moment before those unused gears in your head finally began to be useful again.

“Terrified? Of what?” you asked, confused as all Hell. “Of wanting me? You can’t really think that it’s so out there. Age differences don’t matter to me-”

“No, not that. Look,” he said, his blush adorably bright as he tackled your questions. You shut up for a moment at last, letting him talk. “I haven’t had someone look at me the way you did last week in- in years.”

His eyes darted down to his side and you followed his gaze- well aware that he meant since before he’d been injured. Before he’d almost died, was the silent addition and you felt an uncomfortable unease when you thought about him not being here any more.

You distracted yourself, focusing on the sound of his voice instead and enjoying the soft vibrations you could feel through his shirt.

“Definitely not when I’m like this. Although, All Might stills gets plenty of attention,” he said with a roll of his eyes, obviously fed up with it all. “I can safely say, no-one has ever shoved my hand down their pants and let me touch them like you did. Not when I look the way I do now.”

While you were immensely proud of your own confidence the week before, you still couldn’t quite grasp what he was trying to tell you. Shifting in his lap, you leaned into the hand that hadn’t left your cheek.

He gave you a pointed look and suddenly, it clicked.

“Wait... you’re telling me that you’ve never had sex in this form. Ever,” you deadpanned, disbelief evident in your voice. It was almost unthinkable, to you anyway. But the way he looked at you was proof enough that he wasn’t pulling your leg.

A wave of cold washed over you as it slowly dawned on you that the first action this big, lovable sweetheart had gotten since he’d been hospitalised had been a quick fumble in the dark with your angry ass.

The least romantic thing that could ever have happened in the history of fucking humanity- and yeah, you knew that was dramatic but what the fuck!? All of this, with the added bonus of one of his co-workers eavesdropping not ten feet down the hall.

Shit.

If you’d have known then… then, you would at least have burned a fucking candle or something. Put up a little mood lighting! Or at least checked to see if anyone was listening.

The knowledge that he probably didn’t even mind your advances and poor planning made you feel even worse. He’d just gone along with it.

“I did try, you know?” he said uncomfortably after a drawn out moment of you silently freaking out. You reluctantly came back to the room and sucked in a breath, attempting to not look too panicked. This did not sound like it was about to have a happy ending. “After psyching myself up for days I actually got up the courage to go out to a bar like this. I even approached a few women but-” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

“Did it um… go well?” you asked and he laughed, but it was humourless. The same kind of laugh from earlier that had chilled you. He softened though, noticing the look on your face.

“No, kid. It didn’t go well.”

“Oh,” you replied, voice small.

“I’ve never had a woman look at me like she was, I don’t know. Repulsed, before,” he threw the word out like it meant nothing but fuck, it felt like he’d hit you. The air vanishing from your lungs in an instant. He just tossed words like that around and had no idea how much they affected you. “It’d always been so easy for me but after that night… I just never wanted to feel like I did again. So I didn’t try.”

When he finally looked up at you, he almost jumped, the emotions written clearly on your face.

You weren’t gonna cry. You were not going to cry. Fuck. Too late.

Scrubbing at the corners of your eyes, you sniffed hard and turned your head away from his startled expression. You couldn’t look at him, sitting there, so sweet and earnest and lovable. You couldn’t think about it, about him going home alone that night and wondering what was wrong with him.

Thinking he wasn’t good enough as he was.

It was too painful.

“Shit! Are you alright!?” he choked in alarm, ducking his head around until you were forced to look him in the eye. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Swallowing back your stupid tears, you nodded and wiped your arm across your face.

“Those people were fucking morons,” you managed savagely after a moment of silently collecting yourself. That was one of the nicer words that came to mind. You didn’t want to say what you actually thought because you didn’t want to start on a vulgar rant that could last for, easy, an hour.

His smile brightened your mood though.

“Huh, well,” he laughed all soft and embarrassed like, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “It’s nice of you to say so- but even if I had gotten further than asking for their numbers... I don’t think it could have gone anywhere. My confidence was just shot. This…” he gripped his side softly, eyes darting down.

He trailed off, not finishing his sentence but you got the gist of what he wanted to say.

That scar that haunted him both mentally and physically was hard to forget about. The constant elephant in the room, whether between you and him or him and his career. You couldn’t do anything about that second one but, at least you had a little bit of power over the first.

Ignoring your whirling emotions for a moment, you managed to calm yourself enough to talk properly.

“Hey, look at me, big guy.”

You used the nickname you used when he was All Might. Big guy. He always smiled when you called him that- and not that well practised hero smile either. A real smile. The one that made your heart skip a beat.

Now was no different. The corners of his mouth rose slowly and then he was gracing you with a soft, gorgeous grin that lit up the fucking room.

You almost forgot what you were going to say. His eyes tentatively met yours and the words came back to you, despite how heavy your tongue felt in your mouth.

“Toshinori, I know this is hard for you, okay?” you said, swallowing back all the words and emotions that threatened to pour out of you and picking your words carefully instead. “I know you’ve had bad experiences in the past and it might be difficult to trust me... but you’ve known me long enough now to know that I don’t fuck around with things like this. I would never hurt you like that.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he replied lowly, and his forehead fell against yours.

While he didn’t look entirely convinced, his body did relax somewhat between your legs and he actually tilted forward to kiss you- which sent a little thrill along your spine. You were happy to accept it.

It became heated quickly, the palm of one of his hands pressing between your shoulders to bring your body closer to his. You arched your back, your stomach and breasts plastered to his front by the time you tore your mouth away to breathe.

The hard line of his cock pressed up between your legs, giving you a good idea that his body’s needs were far outpacing his reluctant thoughts.

“You make me so fucking hot, Toshi,” you muttered and he captured your mouth again in another searing kiss, his free hand carding fingers through your hair. It was soothing and you found the tension you’d been holding in your shoulders all day, easing.

“You sure you’re not trying to kill me?” he replied when he pulled back, his voice hoarse and needy at the same time. You bucked playfully in his lap and tugged at his open shirt collar, bringing his face close to yours.

“Like I would kill you before I’ve seen you naked,” you pointed out, as though it was obvious.

Despite the entire conversation up until now and the fact that you were sitting in his lap and raring to get this party started- he still flashed you an uneasy smile at the mere mention of him getting undressed.

Thankfully, you were more than prepared for this eventuality. You had put a little bit of thought into this other than, ambush him in his office and ride him on the couch.

Although, you got an A for the plan so far.

“Hey, look at me,” you soothed reassuringly, lifting his chin with your finger. He did, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Don’t sweat the small stuff. We’ll do this one step at a time and you can stop me whenever you want. I won’t be upset, okay?”

He nodded, looking at you with fucking hearts in his eyes. You knew your expression was much the same so you could hardly tease him about it.

“I’ll even go first to ah- make you more comfortable,” you shot him a wink, smoothing your hand over his cheek. You knew how self conscious he was but you weren’t about to let that spoil his good time. If he was more comfortable being fully clothed and you being naked, then so fucking be it.

Besides, the thought made you kind of hot. It was like being called to the principal’s office for being naughty-

Oh. Wow. There was a fantasy that was just waiting to be explored. There was time for all of those things later though. Right now, this was about him.

Your offer of getting naked didn’t seem to rid him of his nervous tension though. If anything it made it worse. You slid out of his lap all the same, subtly surveying him.

A gut wrenching rush of heat and wetness spread between your legs when you did.

All he was doing was sitting there and he was managing to turn you into a needy, aroused mess.

Granted, he was very, very attractive to you right now- even if he might not think so.

He was reclined back, his cheeks pink and his hair a mess from where you’d been gripping handfuls of it. His lips were well kissed and his chest was rising and falling rapidly- tie hanging loose around his neck. His legs, all long and lean were falling open and the hard outline of his cock was straining against the fabric, ready to be free.

Honestly, it was a miracle that you could stand up at all, let alone be moderately sexy while you stripped for him. But by the time you were naked- your panties thrown over your shoulder to land on his desk- he was as equally fucking ruined as you were.

He’d clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles white and his teeth gritted like he longed to reach out and touch you but wouldn’t do so without permission.

Feeling oddly confident despite the difference in dress, you stepped between his legs and waited as he trailed his eyes up and over you.

“You can touch me, ya know,” you reminded him after a moment. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and slowly- oh so fucking slowly- he reached out a hand and rested it lightly on your stomach. His hand was big and his palm hot when he splayed his fingers out and they brushed the undersides of your breasts.

It was no wonder you’d been a little sore the day after your excursion in the closet. His fingers were long and there had been many times that you’d become hyperfixated on them before now.

“Is this better?” you asked, voice husky and hopefully sexy.

He glanced up at you face, giving you a nervous laugh.

“You’re beautiful,” he said reverently, his gaze wandering in a heated path from your head to your feet- lingering on your breasts and then on the apex of your thighs.

His hand slid to your hip and with a strength that belied his skinny frame, he tugged you back into his lap. You laughed as you stumbled into his embrace but it quickly morphed into a moan when his mouth closed over your nipple.

His other hand came up to cup your breast, his thumb sweeping a wide circle over the peak and you could do nothing but whimper like an idiot in heat as he lavished attention on you. The sweet pull of his lips, the sharp nip of his teeth and then the soothing stroke with the flat of his tongue had your head swimming while long fingers worked you diligently.

You could feel your arousal threatening to drip along the inside of your thigh, sticky and hot and you wanted him to feel it too.

On the other hand though, you didn’t particularly want to ruin his suit pants. You’d already made him come in his hero outfit and the dry cleaning for that material was probably expensive as fuck. It was only that vague thought in the back of your head that made brought you back to reality and tug on his hair to get his attention.

He glanced up at you with a hum of questioning.

Leaving one last longing kiss between your breasts, he reluctantly pulled away and let you attach your lips to his again. He was deceptively good with his tongue, you thought suddenly. You could hardly wait for him to eat you out.The thought made your thighs quiver in anticipation and it wasn’t abated when his hands slid along the back of them and then up, covering your ass.

His fingertips dug into the soft flesh, pulling you closer.

The slow build of confidence you were seeing was addictive. You wanted him to show you just what you’d been missing these past few months. You wanted him to make you scream like you had in that closet and the mere thought of his fingers sliding into your aching pussy made your head light.

He might not have done anything like this in a few years, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a few tricks up his sleeve either.

His mouth dipped to your throat and that son of a bitch knew how high you wore your shirts because he stopped just below an invisible line and promptly sucked a dark mark into your skin. Your pussy clenched around nothing longingly and you fisted your hand in his shirt, unable to even protest.

The thought of being marked by him was simply too arousing.

“Toshi,” you admonished playfully, pressing a kiss to the side of his head so he knew you weren’t actually mad. He gave a coy laugh, humming against your skin and you felt him smile rather than saw it.

“Sorry kid,” he rumbled, fingers squeezing your hips now instead of your ass. You kind of missed the grip he’d had on you, keeping you close to his eagerly straining cock. Fuck, you wanted to take him inside you as soon as possible. “I got a little carried away.”

“You know, you’re going to have to stop calling me kid eventually. Otherwise this might get weird,” you pointed out, trailing your gaze over his flushed face. He gave you a lopsided, sheepish smile and the tips of his ears went pink.

“Force of habit. You are younger than me, you know.”

You tutted and rolled your eyes but your half smile gave you away.

“Come on, Toshi. You act like you’re ancient sometimes. Live a little, old man.”

He laughed. A genuine, full laugh that had you not knowing whether to cry, kiss him or just ride him until you were both exhausted. Then to your surprise, he wrapped you up in his arms with a playful growl and kissed you.

Oh yeah, number three was definitely winning.

Even though you were naked and he wasn’t, you didn’t feel the kind of reluctant embarrassment you might have felt with anyone else. Toshi was the last person who would ever judge you and knowing that bolstered your confidence enough to tug his face up to yours.

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Wanna know a secret?” you asked, noticing the moment his eyes became entranced by your mouth. He made to move forward- almost not hearing your question- but your hand on his chest made him stop.

“Huh? You have a secret?” he said and when your smile turned wolfish, his grip tightened where it was already digging into your waist. If it was nerves you weren’t sure but you said nothing about it.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this all week. Sneaking into your office and fucking you.”

“Oh?”

He might have aimed for nonchalant but he missed by a mile, his voice cracking a little when he swallowed. You watched his Adam’s apple bob and heard the sharp little inhale of breath that hitched in his throat. Your tongue swept over your bottom lip now, keeping his attention on your mouth.

“Do you remember that day in the teacher’s lounge?”

The day he’d stood like an awkwardly adorable beanpole in the corner while the principal talked, looking everywhere but at you and then had split before you could even talk to him. He shot you a very apologetic look when he remembered his behaviour but you shut him up before he could say anything about it- your finger trailing across his lips lightly.

“The whole time, I was thinking about sucking your cock.” He choked out a noise but you hushed him, not quite finished with your story yet. “Just, getting on my knees and taking you into my mouth... Honestly, I was super unprofessional.”

A giddy little thrill ran through your body at admitting your little secret fantasy.

To your surprise, he didn’t pop a blood vessel like you thought he would. Instead, his eyes darkened and slowly, tentatively, he drew the finger that you were tracing over his lips into his mouth. A fresh wave of arousal washed over you at the unexpected, but welcome, turn of events.

With your other hand, you slowly began to undo the buttons on the front of his shirt.

Even though his eyes were trained intently on your face, he didn’t protest or ask you to stop- much to your relief. He released your finger with a soft, wet pop and in a bit of a daze, you made quick work of his tie.

Instead of throwing it to one side, you circled it around your neck and let the soft, smooth material fall between your breasts. His eyes followed it and you were glad to give him something else to focus on other than the slow exposure of his chest and stomach.

“Does it suit me?” you asked, the tip of your tongue pressing against a sharp canine and your expression scandalous.

He snorted, unable to stop himself from laughing at your ridiculous expressions.

“It’s never looked better, that’s for sure,” he said, his hands sweeping up along your sides to press your breasts together around the soft line of the tie. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered, half to himself and half out loud. Then his whole face went beet red when he realised that you had heard him- like you would be mad at him for saying it.

On the contrary, a rush of affection filled you to the point that you simply had to lean into him and nuzzle a sweet kiss to his mouth. You butted your forehead against his gently, your noses touching.

Jesus, just how blue were his eyes?

Button by button, his shirt fell open between you and by the time you were finished looking at him like he was offering you the moon, you could see the barest glimpse of the dark pink, shiny skin peeking out from one side.

You made sure that you didn’t let your gaze linger for a moment more than necessary.

Instead, you focused on everything else that you could see.

You found yourself pleasantly surprised. For a man as skinny as he was- his body was mostly lean, solid muscle. While you could just make out his ribs, the rest of him was nicely built. You trailed a hand along the newly exposed skin, all tan and warm under your touch. You followed a path down between his pectoral muscles and across the still faintly defined six pack that he was sporting.

When the muscles twitched under your hand, you threw a playful glance at him.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” you said accusingly, a throaty chuckle slipping out when he looked confused. Exhilaration mixed with adrenaline was making you giddy and before he could say anything remotely bad about himself, you swooped forward and kissed him- pressing your naked form against him and rolling your body into his embrace.

You wanted him, needed to feel him everywhere. You couldn’t get close enough.

His arm came up across your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades as he held you firmly to his body.

After a moment of slow, lazy kisses, you coaxed his tongue into your mouth to encourage him to him take the lead. Sure, showering him with compliments and telling him how much you were enjoying yourself was all well and good- but there wouldn’t be anything better for his confidence than letting him take control of the whole thing.

Besides, you were happy to have him set the pace if it meant he was relaxed with you.

“I want you on top of me,” you murmured and you gasped when his mouth suddenly dipped to the hollow of your throat. His tongue laved a line from there, across your collarbone to where he bit down lightly on your shoulder. “Toshi?”

Saying his name seemed to finally awaken something in him because you were suddenly scooped up into his embrace and a second later, you found yourself looking up at the ceiling- encased in the lush cushions you’d been admiring earlier.

They really were as comfortable as you’d thought they’d be.

You were quickly distracted from you admiration of the furniture by a hard body slotting between your open thighs. He loomed over you, one big hand planted firmly in the cushions beside your head and the other suddenly cupping a handful of your breast.

It was quickly becoming apparent that Toshinori was a breast man.

He palmed each one softly, expertly and your nipples pebbled under the ministrations. He cocked his head, eyes fixed on your tits like he wasn’t planning on leaving them alone any time soon.

He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it gently a few times before moving to the other to give it the same attention.

You were breathing heavily by the time his fingers slid away from your nipples to the forgotten tie that rested in the valley of your breasts. Well. You’d forgotten about it while he was lavishing attention on you. Clearly he hadn’t.

While he watched your expression, he deftly tied a knot to secure it around your neck.

Hnng.

You went utterly boneless, especially after he gave it a playful tug and it slid ever so slightly tighter around your throat. Sparks ignited in your stomach and flitted down between your thighs, tingling and tightening muscles in their wake.

Well, that had been unexpected.

You wanted him to do it again but lacked the diction to actually tell him and a low, eager whine escaped instead of words. He shot you a pleased smile and then sat back onto his knees, his shirt now hanging open to reveal his stomach.

This time, you made sure that he knew where you were looking as your heated gaze sank downwards, lower and lower- drinking him in.

The difference in dress must have finally gotten to him, especially the way he was staring at you and suddenly he was undressing, agonisingly slowly with his eyes on yours- and all you could do was lie there, a soaking mess of wordless wonder.

He took his time with it and even though you knew it was partly because of his insecurities, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was subconsciously teasing you. You certainly felt teased with every new inch of skin revealed.

His rumpled suit jacket was thrown over the back of the couch carelessly and then he was finally shrugging out of his too big shirt- only sparing a quick, curious glance at your face as he did. His cheeks were still bright pink but he said nothing- letting his actions speak volumes.

He paused only once when he finally reached his belt buckle but you fixed him with a dark, heated look that spurred him to continue.

Never had you been so aroused by watching a man strip before.

Long, clever fingers slowly undid the buckle and the memory of those same fingers driving you to orgasm had your hips bucking involuntarily. His movements slowed as he looked away from what he was doing to your face.

What a sight he made, you thought idly. Kneeling over you, his pants splaying open at the top and tented under the heaviness of his erection. He followed your gaze, coming to rest where you were looking and then, to your surprise, he palmed a hand over the outline of his cock- almost as though he was showing off.

You swallowed hard, making a noise of impatience.

His lips quirked noticeably and he went back to work, tugging off his shoes and socks and then going back to his trousers.

Finally, he was naked. You sat up, reaching for him to bring him back to you, missing the heat of him on top of you. He followed you, nudging your thighs apart to kneel between them.

His cock was thick, bobbing softly under it’s own weight and he gripped the base, stroking a slow line up along the shaft and then back again. A silvery bead of pre-cum leaked from the tip as he pulled his foreskin back, dripping down bit by bit until it threatened to fall.

You desperately wanted to catch it on your tongue, take him into your mouth- but this moment was his now. Your control had been handed over.

His scar took up a solid chunk of his torso,splashed across what was once smooth, unblemished skin. The wound had clearly been deep- and yeah, you didn’t really know all the details of how he’d gotten it but you could guess that it had been an agonising experience. It didn’t bear thinking about.

The fact that he was here, that he was alive and warm above you was a testament to how amazing he really was. To have gone through all of that and survived it,come out fighting on the other side… He was astounding.

“You with me, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice smooth and sweet, hovering hesitantly above you with his cock in one hand and the other gripping your thigh. You met his gaze solidly, a salacious grin splitting your face.

“I’m right here,” you said softly, shimmying closer and bringing your knees up snugly against his hips. That was an invitation if there ever was one.

“We can still stop if you want to-” he said, trailing off. You were both naked, inches away from each other and he was still trying to give you one last out. One last opportunity to change your mind.

Like you would.

He released his hold on your thigh, his hand cupping across his side and his eyes searching your face, the worry in them palpable. Was this suddenly too much? Were you coming to your senses at last?

Clearly slipping into deep thought had made you look reluctant to continue- in his eyes at least.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, your voice playful but laced with an underlying seriousness. “Toshinori, I’ve been getting myself off all week because of you. You don’t think I deserve a little something for all my suffering?” you asked quietly, before dipping your hand between your legs to rub a slow circle around your clit.

It was a delightful feeling, pleasure igniting as you settled into the familiar touch- only made all the more intense knowing that he could see you doing it. He watched, breath bated and his shoulders tensed as you touched yourself- strokes lazy and unhurried.

Nipping your lip, you tilted your hips upwards to give him a better view. Your thighs fell apart and you slipped your fingers lower, finding slick wetness and pressing inside.

A gasp clawed up your throat without you even thinking and you sank two fingers in, practised and confident in your own expertise.

To your delight, he forgot all of his insecurities for a moment. Long, nimble fingers folded around his cock and he began to stroke himself- all while intensely watching you masturbate for him. His thick moan split the air and it was like music to your ears.

It was very arousing, watching him jerk off over you. Because of you.

“Please Toshi,” you said, breathlessly. “I need you.”

His answer was a filthy, eager groan and without any more thoughts of stopping or worry about what he looked like, he moved forward and pressed the tip of his cock between the swollen lips of your pussy. You jolted, inhaling a sharp, stilted gasp of pleasure at the sudden touch.

“Please,” you chanted softly. “Please, please, please-”

“Fuck,” was his choked response, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your wetness and bumping against your clit. He did it again, then again and you quickly realised that he was watching the expressions on your face intently. Once more, to draw another groan out of you and then he was pressing inside- pushing you apart and filling you inch by inch.

Your thighs trembled around his waist and your head pressed into the couch below when your back arched.

“Oh, Toshi!” you cried, pleasure racing through you. You were suddenly thankful that you didn’t have to worry about making too much noise. There was nothing holding you back here.

He was stretching you far more than you’d thought he would and it very quickly toed the line between pleasure and pain. The adage that skinny guys have big dicks was definitely holding true because damn-

It was almost too much but then he made a noise of absolute bliss and buried his face against your neck, teeth scraping your skin in a playful bite and you relaxed- just enough to feel comfortable taking him in further.

His breath was scorching and you could feel the silent tension building in his arms- in the hand that was holding your hip up from the couch. He carried on inspite of it, sliding himself into you even further, deeper, making you crazy.

He watched your face the whole time, drinking in your expressions.

Eventually, he bottomed out and his pubic bone pressed against you, signalling that he was as deep as he could go.

Your head span in delight. Toshinori, the man you’d been yearning for for months was currently balls deep in you- his breath catching in his throat and his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to bruise.

The mere thought was enough to make you clench around him and his hips jerked reflexively. Red flushed across his cheeks as he fought with himself not to do it again.

You stroked a gentle line down his back, fingertips dancing over his vertebrae one by one. As you went lower, you were constantly interrupted by the smooth skin of multiple scars and you wondered briefly just how many he had.

But then he grunted softly into your ear and brought your attention back to the here and now.

A shiver ran through him and you felt it- from your fingers to your pussy.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice uneven as you tried not to shift your hips too much. Every movement, every sharp breath he took, ground him hard against your clit and you were beginning to throb with the unreleased tension.

You didn’t want to come too soon. You wanted this to last for as long as it could.

“Y-yeah… It’s just-” he said as steadily as he could, nuzzling his nose across your cheek as he semi-avoided answering your question. “S’been a while sweetheart. I don’t want to, um-”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. Ah, you hadn’t even thought of that.

Hadn’t he made it perfectly clear that he hadn’t seen any action in a while? It would make sense that he would be a little over sensitive the first time. The thought of him losing control came unbidden and you couldn’t deny that it turned you on. Warmth and something else- something foreign rose in your chest and you cupped his cheek, tugging him down for a lazy, unhurried kiss.

“Take as long as you need to, baby,” you said, squeezing softly around him and he choked out an embarrassed, almost nervous laugh.

Whether it was over your not-so-accidental slip of the tongue or the current situation, you didn’t know. Probably a little of both.

But if he got to call you ‘sweetheart’ and make you all pathetic and needy, then you could return the favour you decided.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said, his breath catching when you hitched your legs higher again over his hips. You grinned up at him, circling your arms around his neck and stroking your fingers through his hair.

“Believe me, Toshi. I’m far from uncomfortable… I like having you inside me,” you murmured, peppering little kisses down, from his bottom lip to his chin, and then to his sharp jawline. He slid his hand up along your side, sighing almost contentedly against your hair. “Feel so full. So good,” you continued, nipping at him teasingly.

“Y-yeah?” he said.

“Fuck yes Toshinori,” you sighed a pleased, longing sound and rose your hips a little to make sure he was as deep as possible.

Having him resting inside you, all hot and hard was doing things to your head. Your inner muscles flitted and spasmed around him, relishing the stretch and while you could hardly wait for him to move- simply having this, being with him like this… it was so much more than you’d ever dreamed about.

Far better than your wild fantasies of destructive fucking and hot rendezvous. Those were great, yeah and you had no doubt that you would get him there eventually… but this…

Oh. This.

It was real and he was here in your arms, looking at you with an expression akin to adoration. Giving him the confidence he deserved to have was more than you could have asked for. He nuzzled you again, stroking your hair away from your face and then pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You giggled, a noise that you would never have made in a thousand years in public. But it made him grin, all big and happy and then he moved his hips and your world went quiet- soft and hot and spinning all at the same time.

It was just the two of you, here in this office- in this little bubble that reminded you of the week before. His forehead was pressed against yours and his fingers were roaming across your skin with an impassioned eagerness- thumbing over your nipples and then sliding between your bodies to rub circles against your clit.

His hips snapped suddenly against yours and it drove him home inside you. You arched up, pressing your slick stomach against his. You could feel the rough texture of his scar against you and when you opened your mouth to suck in a shaky breath, he found it with his and stopped you in your tracks.

He found a good rhythm fairly quickly, breathy sighs escaping him with every roll of his body into yours.

It had already been a warm day and was even warmer in the office, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

Your hands found purchase wherever they could and eventually, one drifted up along his injured side without you even thinking. He didn’t stop his thrusts but they did slow, his steady rhythm faltering a little bit. You realised what you were doing and your eyes found his, arm suddenly tense. You didn’t want to move your hand- wanted to feel all of him, every part.

You never wanted him to feel repulsive again. Ever.

However, Toshi said nothing.

Instead, his eyes bore into yours with a deep, bone shattering intensity. Fuck that was hot. He didn’t take his gaze away from yours for a second and it was like you were in a trance as he reeled back slowly- oh so fucking slowly- before slamming back into you.

The sudden force of the thrust rattled your brain and it also tore a frantic, strangled sound from your throat.

Pleasure rocketed through your body and when he did it again, you knew to expect it and rolled with him, timing it so you met him halfway. He grunted, his jaw going slack and his eyes squeezing shut as he concentrated on the pleasure he was taking from your body.

Your name fell from his lips and hit you like warm summer rain on your skin. You answered with a cry and a garbled mess of pleading- begging him to take you harder, take you faster, love you, fuck you- please, please-

“Baby, please,” you sobbed as he switched to shallow, half halting thrusts. He barely pulled out at all with every stroke and it seemed as though he suddenly wanted to be as close to you as possible.

You only just managed to register what happened next.

Warmth engulfed the hand that you’d kept on his ruined side and you eventually managed to break through the haze of pleasure in a moment of lucidity, glancing down.

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest, then regained it’s pace and thundered hard against your rib cage.

Toshi’s big hand covered yours, pressing your palm against the one thing that made him the most vulnerable. It was an incredible show of trust from him and you lunged upwards with your free hand, pulling him into a frenzied, hot kiss- almost letting out a sob into his mouth.

He moaned and your tongue met his, replying with a choked, needy groan of your own.

“Perfect, you’re perfect baby-” you said hurriedly, feeling the winding, throbbing tension in your groin building to a release.

His hips stuttered as you spoke and you knew that as much as he was trying to hold back his climax, he wasn’t going to last much longer. You wanted to see him come. Wanted to see the desperate, sweet pleasure in his expression that you’d caused him.

As though he’d read your mind, he glanced down between you to the sight of him sliding in and out of you, then back to your face.

“You haven’t-” he choked, clearly realising what you were trying to do. You squeezed hard around his cock again and his next sentence cut off midway with an almost agonised moan. “Fuck, you, you haven’t come yet.”

“I will,” you murmured reassuringly, already nearing the peak. You needed to see him. “I will, I promise. I wanna see you come Toshi,” you pleaded, one hand stroking his side gently and the other tangled in his hair to keep his face close to yours. He looked like he was going to argue some more but you kissed him hard, all tongue and teeth and his whine was music to your ears.

His pace turned frantic as he did as you wanted, chasing his orgasm with a fury.

His hips slapped against your ass and you could feel your arousal dripping out of you, covering you both and making every thrust sound slick and wet. Obscene noises filled the little office and the heat drove you both onwards- a writhing mess on the couch.

He tensed suddenly and a long line of expletives mixed with your name, turned the air blue.

Toshi came hard and the look of sweet ecstasy on his face was glorious.

His body shuddered, throwing his hips forward in small, shaky movements as he came inside you. Wet warmth spread between your legs and that, coupled with the grinding against your clit was enough to send you where you wanted to go.

Your orgasm rose in easy, pulsing waves like water breaking on the rocks and he kept up the soft circles on your clit all the while- guiding you through it. Your inner muscles fluttered around him and he huffed out a laboured breath, his arm shaking under the weight of keeping him upright.

As your orgasm slowly receded, you relaxed backwards and released a breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Cheeks red and hair a mess, Toshi stared at you the whole time- his expression gravitating between satisfaction and disbelief.

“You okay?” you asked, knowing full well that he was hovering between both yes and no. Now that the haze of lust was gently dispersing, the fact that he was naked and very much exposed to you was probably creeping back up on him. “Hey, look at me Toshinori.”

When he did as you asked and his eyes met yours, you flashed him a sly grin and tugged him down to lay on you. His arm gave out and he landed on you with a startled noise. Laughter bubbled out of you at his surprised expression but it quickly turned to one of fond affection instead, when he realised that neither of you were freaking out.

He wasn’t as heavy as you’d thought he would be and his body fit nicely against yours.

You could feel come dribbling out of you and down to the couch below, his softening cock still very much inside you. Neither of you had the energy to do anything about it though which, hey, was a real shame because this couch should honestly be in a fucking hall of fame somewhere. At least, in your opinion.

Presenting it to said museum might pose a bit of a problem.

After a long moment, filled with gentle touches and kisses, he finally spoke, rising up on his elbows to come face to face with you.

“Hey.”

You were pretty sure you looked like a mess- having just been royally fucked on a couch in the middle of the summer heat. But the way he looked at you made you feel like a movie star or some shit. His eyes sparkled with something unspoken but pleasant and you couldn’t stop the giddy smile that broke across your face.

“Hi,” you managed to say at last, stroking his hair away from his forehead. “So um… are you gonna thank Hizashi after this? Because you probably should.”

His laugh was loud, energetic and happy. He laughed like he used to and it drew all sorts of emotions that you’d been holding back to the surface. You blinked hard, feeling tears forming in the corners of your eyes when you did. Damn, stupid emotions, you thought bluntly.

So you buried your face into his neck before he could see your tears. You didn’t want him thinking that he’d done something wrong and you didn’t want to explain why you were crying like an asshole after really great sex.

“I’ll send him a card,” he chuckled, hugging you close to him and that just made the tears come harder than before- but you curled closer and discreetly wiped your eyes. His hand swept up along your side and you both lay quietly for a moment, you collecting yourself and him basking in the blissful afterglow.

It took you a minute to get your emotions in check but you did eventually and soon, it was becoming far too warm laying underneath him. As reluctant as you were to move, you nudged him and he took the hint- slipping out of you at last and rolling to the side.

You shifted, pillowing your head on your arm. It was, thankfully, an easy task being face to face with him while you were both horizontal. He grinned, mirroring your pose and for a few moments you both lay like that- his free hand tracing lazy circles against the softness of your stomach.

In the warmth of the room and the heat from his body, it would have been easy to drift into a dozy sleep but you resisted the pull of exhaustion.

Instead, you trailed a finger across his scar, finally taking the time to look at it properly. He tensed more out of habit than anything else, but said nothing to stop you as you explored. You were almost fascinated by the pattern it made. Like a sunflower burned into his skin.

“I would punch them,” you said finally, looking back to his face and finding his expression light and almost pleased.

His eyebrow quirked in curiosity, a half smile forming on his lips.

“Punch them? Who?”

“The person who did that to you. I would punch them. So fucking hard,” you said firmly, with a conviction you didn’t know you possessed. His expression softened and his gaze dipped to your lips as though he wanted to kiss you. Then, he remembered that he was technically allowed to kiss you and so he did, dipping forward to find your lips- languid and hot.

“No need to, kid,” he said when he pulled away. “I already did.” Pride tinged his voice when said that. “Besides. I would never let him get close enough to you to punch. Never.”

He gave you a stern look but it didn’t hold much weight seeing as his hair was sticking up in every direction and you were both still very naked. It was difficult to pull off serious when you were naked. True facts. Sliding your thigh between his legs, you watched his expression change from serious to amused when you waggled your eyebrows at him.

“Heh, you liiiiike me,” you singsonged childishly and he snorted, rolling his eyes as though he could deny it. “C’mon Toshi,” you jabbed him lightly in his uninjured side and he jerked, choking out a laugh. He was ticklish it seemed. “Admit it. You wanna kiiiiiss me-”

You were abruptly and very rudely, in your opinion, cut off when he did just that. But you were both smiling too hard for it to be a proper kiss- simply giggling and laughing against each others mouths.

Your teasing had clearly lightened his mood even more and honestly, if you could make him look like this every day for the rest of your lives, you’d happily do it. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he’d like that too.

You hummed a pleased sound, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he said. He didn’t elaborate which part he was talking about, but you didn’t mind.

Either one was good for you.

#all might x reader #all might #bnha #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori yagi #BNHAFF

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hankwritten · 4 years ago

Text

Keep in a Cool Dry Place

Demoman/Soldier, 3k

A couple of old, past their prime mercs live out their days, but at least they’re slowly breaking down together.

Oftentimes, Jane would go out onto the deck to find Tavish fixed in place, chin tilted skywards, soaking up the stars for all they were worth. He could be like that, sometimes for hours, eye glossy against the Milky Way as he stood so still he could make a statue proud.

“You’re up awful late,” he said to Jane, unmoving. Probably had realized Jane had been watching for a while now.

“Could say the same to you,” Jane said, pulling himself into a deck chair with a great cascade of air from his smoker’s lungs, the grunt of an old man he always thought was an exaggerated affectation until it started happening to him.

“I don’t get up at five in the morning,” Tavish reminded him.

“You could. Good for the health, Tavish.”

“I don’t think anything’s good for the health these days. Just bad, and slightly worse.” He drummed his fingers on the deck’s railing. “C’mere, look at this.”

“I can see the damn stars just fine from here,” Jane sniffed.

Tavish broke from his surveying to shoot a grin Jane’s way, features cut sharp in the porch light. “Come on you old fart, get over here.”

Jane grumbled, pushing out of the chair with more effort than he would have liked to admit. He made his way to Tavish, joining him at the railing, their shoulders brushing just briefly until Tavish swung an arm around Jane’s waist.

His voice took on a fading quality all of the sudden, as though far away winds were dragging him skyward. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

Jane watched him. In the past few years his good eye had grown white in the center, a fuzzy film growing out from the pupil that would one day take the whole cornea. It was irreversible, Tavish had explained, years of buildup from stromnium or strotenium or something like that, Jane could never remember. Tavish wasn’t surprised, had told Jane that he was shocked he’d still had the thing this long, but that didn’t mean there was no mourning within the man. It was just different than how most people would have gone about it.

“Sure is,” Jane said. “Real beautiful.”

“Aye. And you ‘n me, we’re not seeing the half of it. Those telescopes, the ones the size of whole buildings, all they have is a bunch of different magnifying glasses and yet when they put ‘em all together you can see whole galaxies that weren’t there before. Same sky, just some folks can see it, some folks can’t.”

“You can still see it,” Jane reminded him, a gentle bump to the shoulder.

“For now,” Tavish agreed. He turned, smiling with just the corner of his mouth, a testament that was gone before Jane could fully appreciate how much he loved the small, sad ways he chose to be happy. A hand came up to brush the side of Jane’s cheek. “I just keep thinking about how one of these days will be the last day I see you.”

Their foreheads came together. Jane’s hand rose to cover the one across his cheek, thumb rubbing the small band of gold on Tavish’s finger. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe this; despite the decades, despite the promises made on cold desert nights, despite watching the grey hairs spring in Tavish’s beard and knowing the same was happening to him, it was still hard to fathom that someone had chosen to spend the rest of their life with him. Even though the years with Tavish came close to outnumbering the years without, that time in Jane’s life of infinite loneliness, of stubborn self sufficiency, made him question how he was ever lucky enough that someone had hung on their sense and decided he was worth it.

Jane pulled Tavish closer. “Yeah. Well. If you’re going to keep a last image of me in your head, I really wish it was back when I was still handsome.”

Tavish laughed, swaying them both slightly in the unusually still air. Normally winds rattled the badlands, stirring up loose sand and seething through plants too hardy to notice. It felt like, for once, the world had chosen to be kind this night, just for them.

“You get handsomer every day Jane,” Tavish said, and hidden behind the words were each day I love you more. “I just…miss.”

“Miss how things used to be?”

“More than that. I’ve got the ‘ole yearning, I suppose, the eater of men.” Tavish chewed his words, looking up at the sky again. “I miss places. I miss how everything used to feel, even if it wasn’t terribly good.”

“Not talking about going back to your home planet, are you?” Jane joked, jerking his thumb at the now witnessed stars.

“No,” Tavish snorted. “Not exactly. But I…” He trailed off.

Now it was Jane’s turn to bring his hands to the sides of Tavish’s face, his own ring warm from where he’d been cradling it inside his fist. “What is it, Tav? You can tell me.”

Tavish looked not at the stars nor the horizon, but the ground, kicking the wooden deck neither of them had ever gotten around to re-staining. “I feel…I feel the hills always calling out to me. Like there’s something in my bones that just wants to rest, to go back where it’s green, to where it isn’t so bloody dry. Every time we visit I think ‘is this the last time I’ll ever see it? The very last time? Am I going to be too old or too tired the next time around, and never feel like I’m home again?’”

Jane watched the worry lines in Tavish’s forehead. “You want to go back to Scotland.”

“I dunno. Just the more my eye goes the more I…I dunno.”

They hung in silence for a while longer, just breathing. Jane hadn’t felt the need to wear his helmet for a long time, not at home, not at this mansion that was their private oasis from the rest of the world. Were money made their problems—if not vanish—then kept far back beyond the fence where they never had to think about them unless they ventured beyond. Where, even with BLU’s protection no longer keeping the various chapters of local and federal law enforcement trying to wrangle some comeuppance out of the soldier for sins past, he still had a place of refuge.

“Let’s go,” Jane said.

Tavish looked away. “I don’t mean for a visit Jane, I mean…”

“I know,” Jane insisted. Tavish’s milky eye fixed him with disbelief. “You want to go home. I get it. We should go.”

Tavish stared at him, still uncomprehending. “Jane you know that would mean…”

“I know,” Jane repeated.

A warm, subtle smile filled Tavish’s face, and neither of them had to say any more. Tavish drew Jane in closer, and the two of them rocked in the wind that had just picked up again.

***

“Jane,” Tavish frowned as he examined the box Jane had dropped thunderously at the bottom of the stairs, “do you really need to bring all of these?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to make you get rid of your treasured possessions,” Jane pointed out, depositing a second box filled entirely with Guns & Haircuts net to the first.

“We’re not going to have space for these,” Tavish retorted. “It’s going to be a tiny little thing, remember? They don’t build mansions in Ullapool.”

Moving had left the New Mexico mansion barren and faded where pictures had hung on the wall since Tavish had first moved in. Now they were all gone, sold off as their attempts to downsize left only what was necessary and a few DeGroot family heirlooms.

It twisted something in Jane to see their home of three decades slowly dismantled into carpet scuffs and cardboard boxes. This had been his dwelling longer than any other, a turning point from when the Gravel Wars had folded in on themselves and left Jane with an odd freedom he had no idea if he was allowed to act on. Even before that, when Tavish’s mother had still been alive and the halls were filled with her vigor, this place was safe haven for Jane, where he’d come to meet with his forbidden friend and get wasted in his living room.

Now it was mostly empty. Ready for the last goodbyes.

“These are important,” Jane declared of the boxes.

“You haven’t read them in ages,” Tavish pointed out.

“So? They are valuable. Scout sold his whole Bonk! Boy collection for a fortune, and I’ve got twice as many as that little squirt does!” Jane cleared his throat suddenly. “Did.”

It was hard to remember sometimes. He thought his old teammates would want nothing to do with him after the end, but to his surprise they actually kept in contact better than when they’d actually worked together. Maybe owing to the fact he now had an actual address they could send letters to.

Neither Spy nor Sniper had ever actually retired, and over time the tepid, passably courteous correspondences with Sniper had stopped a few years after Spy disappeared entirely. Jane assumed something similar had happened to them both. Occupational hazard.

Engie had complications with his diabetes. The remaining team had shown up for the funeral, except for Pyro, who everyone politely wouldn’t mention, even when Jane asked.

The one person Jane hadn’t expected to outlive was Scout. Scout didn’t write, but he could talk anyone’s ear off, and when coming home from the second funeral in as many years it hit Jane hard that he’d never hear the kitchen phone ringing off its holder again, practically trembling as the other line was just dying to tell him about whatever exactly Scout was so wound up about today.

Tavish noticed Jane’s slipup, and kindly ignored it. Nearly ten years, and Jane still found himself forgetting. “That’s because they were comics,” Tavish explained. “They were collectors items. The only person collecting Guns & Haircuts is you.”

“And don’t I know it!”

Tavish sighed. “Are you even planning on selling them, or are you just going to do the same thing you’ve done with them here and leave them in a big box to gather dust?”

“Of course I’m going to leave them in a big box!” Jane huffed proudly. “What other purpose is there in life other than to gather material objects and then have them accumulate in piles in your living room? You do not see me complaining about the giant, wall mounted family crest, do you?”

Tavish rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed as an old argument became even older. “Ach, fine. I suppose we’ll fine the space.” When he opened his eye, he saw the third giant box Jane was hauling out for the movers. “Jane! We don’t need to be taking that.”

“Yes we do, sonny!” Jane said, slapping a hand on the trumpet of the old record player he hadn’t been able to properly fit in the box. “I do not trust those cassette tapes! The snakes that live in them always try to come out and strangle me!”

“We’ve got some CDs now-” Tavish tried.

“Even worse!” Jane declared. “Australian mind control devices!”

Tavish could see he wasn’t winning, which was just fine by Jane. The magazines were one thing, but the record player he wasn’t leaving without.

“Well,” Tavish said, looking around their house, stripped bare. “I suppose that’s everything.”

Jane couldn’t find a reason to object. He glanced around, looking for one last missing detail, one more reason to stall, but found none. Gently, he took Tavish’s hand and squeezed. “Everything we need.”

***

Scotland was even wetter than the last time they’d visited.

Mud, the most distantly remembered and ancient of substances, clung to Jane’s pant leg all the way up to the knee as they made their way down hundred-year old paths someone really should’ve figured out how to weather-proof by now. But, where Jane was grumbling, Tavish looked about as happy as a clam in water. (Or, Jane supposed was more fitting, a pig in mud.)

“Aha! Look, there it is,” Tavish said, tugging on Jane’s arm and pointing at the glimpse of water creeping around the bend. “Still there.”

“I don’t think they would have up and moved a whole lake while you were gone,” Jane mumbled, but Tavish didn’t seem to hear as he moved with surprising speed down the hill. It was times like this Jane actually envied the cane.

When he finally caught up, Tavish was breathing in the thick air, his chest rising and then collapsing with a satisfied sigh. “Used to play down here as lad. Sometimes there’s a beach, far as the eye can see.”

“Thought you were done with sand,” Jane said, stomping up next to him on damp boots.

Tavish just breamed broadly at him, drinking in the sweep of the land and the crash of the lake. Jane could remember the stories, ones from Tavish’s childhood much better than his own, told and retold so many times that he could flip open the memories like a scrapbook and find exactly where every place in Ullapool fit. An old pub, a crumbling church. The house where the DeGroots used to live, the field where Merasmus’s castle had once briefly towered. So vivid were they, they superimposed themselves over Jane’s (admittedly more insubstantial) memories until he felt he had lived here himself.

“…Gettin’ dark, Tav,” Jane pointed out.

Tavish frowned, and squinted at the horizon. “Aye, I suppose it is.”

“Think the movers are done?” Jane didn’t approve of hiring other people to life heavy things when lifting heavy things had once been one of Jane’s favorite pastimes, but Tavish convinced him that if he threw out his back again, it’d be a lot harder to get him to a doctor.

“Probably,” Tavish nodded. “Let’s go see.”

“Do you think they dropped my magazines?”

“I’m sure they’re fine, love.”

They made the long, much more slippery journey back to their new home. It overlooked Ullapool and the coast, but was nevertheless removed enough that Jane could revel in the privacy he had grown used to. Privacy was not on Tavish’s mind when they’d walked through town that first time, however, as he’d greeted nearly everyone who came their way. It had shocked Jane how many people knew him, or at least recognized the DeGroot name, and greeted Tavish as familiarly as they would have had he been gone for only a few weeks rather than years.

It was good, to see Tavish like this. Even now, as they climbed slowly back up the hill, Jane watched him out the corner of his eye, smiling at the look of serenity that hadn’t been on his husband’s face so naturally in years.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Tavish said lovingly as they crossed the threshold of their new home.

That it was. Jane had worried he had grown soft living in luxury, that his years of being rich and retied would make him forgot that he’d once loved his little apartment, had cherished the security its simplicity had given him. But now that he was back inside four walls, surrounded by the items that had come to mean things beyond their purpose, a swell of pleasant familiarity welled up in him. The curtains blocked out the last of the fading light through soft yellow. There was a fireplace (modern and gas powered) but one ready to fill the house with a warm glow.

Tavish made the motions to begin unpacking, but Jane’s pretense of rooting though the boxes had a different goal in mind. Preoccupied, Tavish didn’t turn around until Jane finally slipped the record into place.

Perking, Tavish looked over his shoulder to see Jane offering his hand as the music bubbled slowly to life. “Been a long time since we danced,” Jane said.

Tavish’s smile fit well in this homey, quiet room. He took Jane’s hand, and let Jane pull him up off his knees until they were chest to chest, resting his chin on Jane’s shoulder.

“Too long,” he agreed.

They began sway rhythmlessly to music in the middle of the tiny living room, caring little where they put their feet as long as it wasn’t one top of one another. Jane loved the record player, needed it more these days, as it was one of the only things that made the horrid, incessant ringing in his ears quiet for just a short while. Leaving the fan on at night might help him get to sleep, but the was no denying the scratching notes out of the player were a world more enjoyable.

It was piano piece, one he’d heard Tavish play now and again. There was no space for a grand piano here in this little cottage on the hill, but maybe they could get a smaller one, and Tavish could try teaching him again. Like he’d promised so long ago.

So many promises that’d slipped through the cracks, both to each other and themselves. Things they simply couldn’t do anymore. Ever since the scare with Jane’s lung cancer, they had tried to do better, had realized what they had built meant something and they couldn’t go piddling away with their complacent recklessness. Jane had quit smoking, Tavish had quit drinking as part of the deal.

But still, there were other things, other mistakes that had compounded over the years. Jane always kept thinking he should have been over it by now, that for how many gentle touches Tavish had placed against him, he should forget the violence those same hands had once brought him. The times they’d shoved a sword into Jane’s gut. The bombs from nowhere. The individual atrocities. It was duller now, the years had been good enough to do that, but if Tavish’s memories were anything like Jane’s, he understood why the ex-demoman sometimes woke screaming in the middle of the night, needing to be reminded—soothed, assured, sometimes begged—that the Jane beside him wasn’t the monster from his dreams.

That was the real tragedy of the War. Officially, all they had been paid to do was kill each other—the horrors they chose to inflict on one another had been their own doing, their own wills brought to fruition. RED had never asked Tavish to shove Jane’s shovel down its owner's throat, laughing vengefully all the while. Jane was sure he’d done equally as cruel things to Tavish during those hell times, but had trouble recalling exactly what. It’s much easier to remember the sins committed against you, than those you have unleashed yourself.

Those hands, those bloodstained, gentle, perfect hands, rubbed circles and Jane’s back, and he sighed. He’d listened to this record enough to know it was getting to the end of this side, but he found he didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep standing here, swaying with the man he loved in their home in the mountains, remembering that they had earned this.

“I cherish these moments we spend together,” he said resolutely into Tavish’s chest.

“Every one of them,” Tavish agreed.

Eventually they would lay down, rest their old bones in their new bed, but for now they held each other in the slowly encroaching night, the sound of rain playing its first patter on the roof.

#tf2 fanfiction #demosolly #boots n bombs

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cali-holland · 5 years ago

Text

Interview Trouble, Part Two- Tom Holland Mini Series

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: With your relationship now public, you and Tom do interviews together.

Word Count: 1900

Part One

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

A/N: Didn’t intend on doing a part two, but I couldn’t help myself!

~~~

“Hi, everyone, I am Y/N Y/L/N.” You smiled at the camera.

“And I’m Tom Holland.” Tom said with a wave.

“And we’re here to answer some questions while playing with puppies.” You explained, as prompted. Tom immediately started to try to play with as many puppies as he could. Meanwhile, you just casually played with the one nearest you. Your relationship had been public for a year now, and, with Tom’s new movie coinciding with you releasing new music, your managers set up couple’s interviews for the two of you to do together.

“How did you two meet?” The interviewer asked, off camera.

“We met,” Tom started, looking at you with a smile, “At this pub in London about two years ago. I had been a fan of Y/N’s music for a while, so when I saw her I just had to go say hi.”

“Correction. He tripped and fell on his way over to me so I had to help him up.” You teased and he pouted.

“What can I say? I was already falling for you.” He laughed, “But it’s true. I was whipped.”

“I’m whipped too.” You leaned over to give him a peck on the lips.

“You live together now. Would you two ever adopt a dog?” The interviewer spoke up. As if on cue, a small black puppy flopped down into your lap and started to fall asleep.

“Aw, I feel chosen.” You smiled, softly petting the dog. You turned your attention back to the camera to answer the question. “We haven’t really thought about it, have we?” You looked over at Tom.

“We haven’t, no.” He laughed, “I love that you have to look at me to make sure we haven’t talked about getting a dog.”

“Maybe I just want to look at you.” You joked, playfully rolling your eyes at your boyfriend.

“We should get a dog, though. When we go home next, we’ll get a dog, just for you Buzzfeed.” Tom said, continuing to play the puppies crawling over his lap.

“What’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for each other?” The interviewer continued.

“Oh God,” You let out a small sigh as you started to think about what you’d consider to be the most romantic thing.

“Oh God? Am I really not that romantic?” Tom questioned, feigning offense.

“No, no.” You laughed.

“Did you see her reaction? Just ‘oh God, he never does anything romantic’.” He teased.

“I didn’t say that.” You playfully hit his arm. “I need to think about it.”

“I say, the most romantic thing you’ve done is- remember when we first started dating and you were over at my place?”

“Oh, this.” You smiled fondly. Tom turned to the camera to continue explaining.

“We’d only been dating for about a month, and I got really sick when Y/N was at my house. I had food poisoning so I couldn’t stomach anything, but she stayed with me and made me soup when I could eat again.”

“That’s such an odd thing for you to consider the most romantic thing I’ve ever done for you.” You teased. “You were like ‘most romantic thing? She saw me puke but she stayed’. Peak of romance right there.”

“It’s true, though. I really thought ‘she’s seen me vomit, she’s going to break up with me’, but you stayed. You’ve done a lot of romantic things, but that was the first one that I was like ‘I’m in love with this girl’.” He said, a small blush in his cheeks because, yes, he did just embarrassingly admit to the world that him being so sick was ‘the peak of romance’.

“Aw, babe.” You smiled, leaning over and kissing him. “I think the most romantic thing you’ve done for me was when we were in Atlanta, just before my tour while you were filming Avengers. You had the day off and we went to this small boutique, and I saw this cute wolf figurine.” You held up with your hands about the size of it, not bigger than your own hand. “I didn’t buy it that day, but when you surprised me on tour like a month later, you gave me that because you’d gone back and gotten it for me.”

“I like that you both went for small gestures, when we’ve all seen the Bali pictures.” The interviewer joked, referring back to when Tom surprised you with a trip to Bali. Not only was the trip a surprise holiday, but he also had candles and rose petals put throughout the hotel room.

“Oh, no, that’s up there.” You laughed. The small puppy on your lap let out a whine, calling for attention.

“We’re definitely adopting a dog.” Tom said and you nodded in agreement.

And a couple weeks later, when you both returned to England, you had adopted not one, but two puppies.

~~~

Back in England, you two still had more interviews to do. This time, though, you two were doing it through Facebook live. Instead of having an interviewer ask questions, you two read off a cue card, asking each other questions to see who knew the other better.

“Which of your movies is my favorite?” You asked Tom, once the cameras started to roll.

“Far From Home.” He said, smugly, already knowing he got the right answer. “What’s my favorite song of yours?”

“A Thousand Years.” You replied, immediately knowing his answer. It was the first song you had written about him, and he went weak anytime he heard it. “What’s my go-to drink?”

“I might not know this.” Tom laughed, nervously. “I like beer, but yours is tequila, right?”

“Two years and you still question if I like tequila.” You teased. “But that’s right.”

“Who was my childhood celebrity crush? Damn, that’s easy.” He shook his head, “Unfair.”

“Is it Jennifer Aniston?” You asked, and he nodded, “I guessed that one.”

“Oh sure.”

“Who would I love to collab with?”

“Ed Sheeran.” Tom replied quickly.

“You know me so well.”

“What’s my all-time favorite movie?” Tom read the card, laughing, “Wait, I don’t even know this one.”

“Does Dodgeball count? We’ve watched it like a million times together.” You joked.

“Yeah, it counts.” He nodded, approvingly.

“Last question. What’s my ring size?”

“Wait, I know this.” Tom paused, thinking about it. “I just talked to your sister about this the other day.”

“You what?” Your eyes went wide at his comment. He laughed, awkwardly remembering the interview was live.

“She was talking about how she has a ring that she wants to get rid of, she was going to give it to you.” He explained, maintaining his cool. The blush on his face told you another story; you could tell he was lying. He may be an actor, but he could never lie to you, no matter how much he wanted to.

The interview’s director cut the livestream there, and everyone left you and Tom on the couch to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So you asked my sister about my ring size.” You said, smiling hopefully at Tom.

“Yeah,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to spoil it. God, I’m so bad at keeping secrets.”

“I love that you suck at keeping secrets. It’s adorable and it’s so completely you.” You placed a hand on his arm, rubbing it softly. Tom fished into his pant pockets and pulled out the small red box.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but I don’t really care because I just want to be with you.” Tom shifted off the couch and onto one knee.

“You don’t have to do this now. I can wait.” You reassured him, knowing that you couldn’t convince him to change anyway. Not that you wanted to wait- your answer would still be the same no matter when or how he asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you more than I can explain. Everyday that I spend with you, I fall more in love, and I want to spend everyday with you for the rest of my life. I’m already the luckiest and happiest man on earth because I have you, but will you make me even luckier and happier and marry me?” Tom asked, popping open the box to present a beautiful, small diamond ring to you.

“I love you so much- yes!” You hadn’t even finished your own sentence before Tom was already slipping the ring onto your finger. Both of you knew exactly what you’d say, and it made you love him even more. He sat back on the couch next to you, so that you could kiss your fiance properly.

~~~

“Please welcome the talented, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, Tom Holland!” Jimmy Kimmel announced as the curtain opened to reveal Tom. Tom walked out onto the stage, waving at the audience, and shaking hands with Jimmy. He saw you in the crowd and blew you a cheeky kiss before sitting down in his spot.

“So, it’s been a year since you’ve last been on the show. How has life been?” Jimmy asked.

“It’s been good, just lots of work. I spent a good portion of last year just working on different sets. I got some exciting stuff coming soon.” Tom replied happily.

“You also,” Jimmy paused as he got out a picture of Tom’s post on Instagram. It was of you two kissing while you held up your left hand; the classic proposal photo. “got engaged recently?”

“Yeah, I did.” His cheeks went red as his eyes found yours in the crowd.

“Congratulations. Can we bring Y/N up here?” The host asked and the audience cheered when you stood from your seat. Jimmy greeted you with a hug and you kissed Tom as you sat down next to him on the couch. “Let’s see the ring.”

“There we go.” Tom said proudly as you showed off your left hand to Jimmy, the audience, and the cameras.

“Did we get a good close up of it?” You joked.

“It’s so shiny, it’s hard to take a good picture.” Tom laughed. You casually rested your left hand on his leg and he covered your hand with his own.

“I heard a rumor that, Tom, you actually spoiled the surprise.” Jimmy said, “How did- how did you do that?”

“So we were doing a livestream interview, and I had been very secretive about proposing-“ Tom started.

“You were not secretive.” You teased. “You told everyone except for me.”

“That’s generally how proposals work.” Jimmy laughed.

“No, I’m talking about how fans knew he was going to propose. He would tell people in the grocery store, that kind of everyone.”

“I was excited and trying not to tell you.” Tom said, “It’s hard not being able to tell the person I tell everything to about something so exciting.”

“But anyway,” you continued the story, “He said during the livestream he’d just asked my sister for my ring size, and then he proposed when the cameras stopped rolling.”

“How sweet.” Jimmy commented.

“The cat was already out of the bag. It’s not like I could go back.” Tom joked.

“You two also just adopted a couple dogs, right?” Jimmy asked, pulling out another picture of you and Tom with your two rescue staffordshire puppies. The audience let out a series of awes at the photograph.

“So Hugo’s the fawn colored one and Marley’s the white one.” Tom stated.

“What kind of breed are they again?”

“They’re both English Staffordshire bull terriers. Tom’s got one named Tessa and she’s such a sweetheart. But we did an interview with puppies for Buzzfeed and decided we needed to get a dog.” You explained.

“And then we couldn’t choose just one so we got two.” Tom laughed.

“They’re our babies.” You joked, feeling Tom’s finger brush over the ring on your left hand which made you smile.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland series

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moonflowerlesbians · 4 years ago

Note

Or #22 for Dani & Jamie please !

Many apologies for this taking a hot minute. I started it to help with writers block and then it gave me more. Whoops. Also included here, prompt #35 from another anon.

This probably isn’t what you had in mind, but not to worry, angst is coming in another prompt.

You can also read this and my other prompt-fills here.

~~~

Drunk Jamie is a sight to behold.

It’s a rare and beautiful thing that Dani is sure to treasure on the infrequent occasions Jamie allows herself to fall and trusts Dani enough to catch her. To see Jamie inebriated is sacred, or, at least, Dani thinks so. Because she is the only one who’s seen Jamie drunk, face flushed and carefree laughter spilling from her lips. She’s vulnerable here, alcohol having eroded the rings of fearsome walls she’s built around her life, trusting Dani to protect her from any threats. She’s softer, more relaxed.

It’s a good look on her, Dani thinks.

They’re in the back room of The Leafling, reclining, legs propped up, on the ratty sofa they found at the second-hand store not three weeks prior. The shop is quiet, the doors locked and the lights shut off. The plants sit in baskets and pots and displays placed perfectly to suit their needs. Empty drink trays decorate the countertop, a problem for tomorrow.

“You did it.” Dani stares at the ceiling, her heart warm. Jamie’s back is pressed comfortably against her front, and Dani twirls a strand of brown hair between her fingers as crickets chirp outside. The world is at peace.

“We did,” Jamie hums. “We bloody did it. Business owners, the both of us.” She barks a laugh and nuzzles her head into Dani’s collarbone.

They’d just concluded a soft opening party for the shop. Small business owners and potential clients had wandered racks of Jamie’s precious plantlings as the woman herself flitted nervously on the outskirts to avoid the shower of compliments. Dani had done most of the talking, offering up hors d’oeuvres and baked goods. As it turned out, despite her hot drink deficiency, she’s a rather decent baker.

“Oh, these are just lovely!” Mrs. Windham from the bookstore down the way, had said, gushing over a bouquet of hydrangeas.

“All Jamie,” Dani had proclaimed proudly.

“Well, she has quite the gift.”

“Doesn’t she?” Jamie had met her eye from across the room, sipping on her second -- or third -- glass of champagne, and offered a small smile.

Dani doesn’t begrudge her the drinks. Jamie has never been much of a people person, and who is Dani to judge if alcohol makes socialising just a bit less nerve-wracking? Besides, a buzzed Jamie is quite endearing, if Dani’s being honest.

This is the part where Dani shines, in any case. Making connections comes naturally to her, or, at least, more naturally than it does for Jamie. Being a teacher, she had to be good at it. She always had a knack for cracking the toughest students, much to the bewilderment of her colleagues.

Half the time, the kid was just lonely. Needed someone to talk to. Dani could relate.

It’s a skill that’s served her well in life and in her relationships.

Jamie stirs, and Dani wrinkles her nose, spluttering as brunette curls invade her mouth.

“Hey, easy there-” she finds herself silenced by a bruising kiss. “Um,” she blinks up at Jamie, who’s looking down at her with a dopey smile, “hello?”

“Why’re you dressed like that?” Jamie drawls.

Dani surveys her outfit, though her investigation lacks scope on account of her incredibly attractive girlfriend straddling her lap. “Um. Does that mean it looks good, or should I change?”

Jamie avoids the question. “I’m rather fond of you, you know.” Her breath smells of cheap champagne.

“It’d be kind of awkward if you weren’t. We’re in pretty deep, you know,” Dani mimics, and Jamie’s faces scrunches in disapproval.

“That was bad. That was bloody awful, Poppins.” Jamie rolls off her to lean against the opposite arm of the chair, and Dani finds herself missing the weight. It’s nice feeling safe enough to have someone so close that even inches of separation are a loss.

“You never answered the question.”

Jamie hums. “You never answered mine.”

“You’re cocky when you’ve been drinking, you know that?”

“And you’re right beautiful all the time.”

Dani pauses mid-retort, her mouth open slightly. Jamie stares at her from across the couch, that damn cheeky smirk on her face.

“Quite alright there, Poppins?” Her voice is just above a whisper, sultry and mischievous. Leaning in, “Look a little flushed.”

“I...you…”

Jamie studies her fingernails. “Out with it, darling. Haven’t got all night.”

“I...I’m fond of you, too.” Dani manages. “Even when you’re lying.”

Jamie feigns outrage, hand coming up to clasp her chest. “Never lied a day in my life. ‘Specially not to my favorite person in the bleedin’ world, who also happens to be the most lovely woman I ever laid eyes on.” She runs her hands up Dani’s calves.

Dani scoffs, gently shoving her off. “‘Never lied’ my backside, but I’ll let it slide just this once, and only because you’re knackered.”

“Am not,” Jamie replies petulantly, then promptly yawns. She freezes. Dani raises an eyebrow. “Christ, betrayed by my own fucking body. Knew I never liked you,” she says to her stomach for no discernable reason. “Gone and ruined my whole plan.”

“Your plan?”

“Meant to woo you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dani laughs, “that was your attempt at being sexy?”

“Oi,” Jamie pouts, “thought I was doing a marvelous job, thank you very much. You’d’ve been properly smitten. Irresistible, I am.”

“Yes, right, of course,” Dani coughs, “consider me thoroughly wooed.”

“Aha! See that, ladies and gents? That’s how it’s done.” She gestures around the empty back room to her invisible audience, which Dani assumes is giving a standing ovation. She joins in, her solo bout of applause echoing too loudly in the space.

“Hey, Casanova. This plan of yours have an endgame?”

Jamie cuts her sweeping bow short. “‘Course. Can’t rile you up with nowhere to go. No fun in that.”

“And your goal was…” Dani prompts, sensing a trend. “To flirt me into bed with you?”

“Forgive me for wanting to romance my business partner to celebrate our smashing success.”

“Business partner, huh? Not sure how the laws work back in England, but here in the States, we have rules against sexual activity in the workplace.”

“Best get out of the workplace then, yeah?” Jamie’s eyes are dark.

“Yeah,” Dani breathes. She has half a mind to pin Jamie to the couch then and there. Not to go any further than, perhaps, a heated make out session. Not with Jamie in this state. But before the thought can fully evolve, Jamie’s face splits into another massive yawn.

Dani sighs affectionately and gets to her feet. “C’mon,” she says, holding out her hand for Jamie to take, “let’s go home.”

Jamie stands, a little shaky at first, but she’s stable as Dani gathers their things. Side by side, they walk the few blocks to their apartment. The night air is cool against Dani’s face, and the chill sobers Jamie enough that her promiscuity seems to settle. By the time they unlock the front door, she’s blinking sleepily at Dani, who guides her into the bathroom and starts the shower.

It’s odd to see Jamie like this, Dani thinks. She’s soft, pliant beneath Dani’s steady hands undressing her. The pensive silence is common enough, but this feels gentle, more open, somehow. The intimacy is of a kind Dani never imagined she would experience, and neither, she assumed, had Jamie. It speaks to the immense chasms they’ve breached on bridges of trust. That they are able to concede control of their bodies with a blanket confidence that they are safe. They are safe, and they are protected.

It’s a bond Dani treasures, and one she hopes will last a lifetime. Two, if she has anything to say about it.

Jamie steps into the shower with a washcloth, and Dani sets about laying a folded pair of flannel pants and an old t-shirt on the bed. When she returns, Jamie wears a towel and an adoring expression. Dani tilts her head, confused.

“Meant what I said earlier. About you being beautiful.” She is deliberately earnest.

It’s difficult to feel beautiful when your body doesn’t feel like your own. When you prepare to look in the mirror each morning and wonder if you’ll recognize yourself. When the face that’s stared back at you your whole life has changed, and a brown eye is a reminder that you aren’t in control. Dani is learning, though. Slowly.

And she knows Jamie wouldn’t lie, especially drunk Jamie. She lacks the capacity to be anything but adorably honest, despite her admirable attempts at seduction.

Unable to put her thoughts into words, Dani cups Jamie’s jaw, brushing away droplets that trickle from damp curls, and kisses her sweetly.

“To bed with you,” Dani says, shooing her into the next room. Jamie manages to steal three more kisses along the way. She tastes of the mint toothpaste she’d used in the shower. “Come on now, PJs are on the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She thinks she hears Jamie murmur, and Dani can’t contain her eye roll. The situation isn’t unlike the bedtime antics of a child, and the mental picture of her grown partner in footie pajamas evokes a chuckle. She tucks that image away for later.

Helping the shirt over Jamie’s head from behind, Dani presses a fleeting kiss to the scar on her shoulder, a silent observance of the vulnerability they’ve cultivated. Jamie had never hidden her burn, choosing instead to spin her tale of woe before the story came up organically. Much, much later, curled in darkness beneath motel sheets, she had whispered her insecurity and given voice to the resulting shame around feeling self-conscious at all.

Dani makes sure to pay special attention to the area during all subsequent explorations, noting each ridge and pockmark like a cartographer charting new terrain.

She peels back a corner of their duvet, allowing Jamie to climb in.

Jamie clings onto her arm, pulling her in as well. “Please don’t leave me,” she frowns.

“I don’t want to go, but, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m still wearing my party outfit.”

“Hard not to notice when you’ve been teasing me with it all evening,” Jamie sighs, a little sad, a little longing.

Dani swats her playfully. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right there.”

“Can’t properly get to sleep without you, now can I?” Jamie grumbles, but rolls over nonetheless.

Evidently, she can.

By the time Dani slips into sleep clothes and finishes brushing her teeth, Jamie’s breathing has evened out. Dani tucks herself in beside her and drapes an arm across Jamie’s hips.

They’ve built this life together, the two of them. They’ve got an apartment and a small business and more plants than they know what to do with. They’ve got postcards stuck to the fridge and a rickety heater and several throw pillows that Jamie claims to hate but cuddles with when Dani isn’t looking. And, sure, the back left stove burner only works half the time, and maybe the lock on the front door seems to hate Dani’s key in particular, but this is their home, and theirs alone.

Not a foster home, not the O’Mara’s, not the Wingraves’.

Theirs.

Dani revels in the thrill of it all. She’s still scared out of her wits, certainly, but, Dani has found, it’s infinitely more difficult to be scared when the person you love most in the world sleeps soundly beside you on sheets you chose together.

She takes in this feeling, savors this comfort for when the clouds next block the sun.

Whatever comes next, she is not alone.

#my painkillers wore off and so did my ability to write apparently #oh well #I hope you like this!#the haunting of bly manor #dani clayton #jamie #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #haunting of bly manor #Bly Manor fanfic #fic #writing #my writing #prompt fill #damie #damie fanfic #fanfic #the haunting of Bly Manor fanfic #bly manor

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needtherapy · 4 years ago

Text

Huaisang’s Hit List

or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my cursed dick

Technically Huaisang never slept with Wen Chao, just...spent a few minutes extricating himself from what turned out to be that awful murder-tortoise cave adventure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Wen Chao wasn’t on The List. The List was the problem. Is the problem.

Remember that Top Cultivator’s list? You know the one, the one where the Twin Jades were the two most eligible cultivators and Wei Wuxian was ranked higher than Jiang Cheng?

Yeah, that was Huaisang’s fault. But no one regrets it more than he does.

Except maybe all the dead people.