#collab of the century holy shit

[carlyraejepsans]

dr bernard what are you doing in my dry aging steak videos

[zip-zoom]

NO WAY!!!!

[ugh-yoongi]

riding fakie | ksj

(or, the one where you think you’re getting a fake boyfriend, but you end up with a whole lot more.)

→ pairing: seokjin x f. reader → genre(s): enemies to lovers (lite), fake dating | humor, fluff, angst → rating: mature → warnings: based entirely on this edit i saw ages ago so good luck, swearing, reader is a trust fund kid with awful parents so classism and screwy family dynamics, a very brief but referenced two-night-stand with taehyung who has a foot fetish (canon) and is ultimately plot irrelevant, this is lite enemies to lovers so sometimes they are not very nice to each other, kissing. i think that’s it? this is mostly tame, all things considered, but i will revise if needed. → word count: 14.2k → written for: the catch of the century collab. thank you to @raplinesmoon​ / @joheunsaram​ / & @kithtaehyung​ for hosting and allowing me to participate! ♡ → thank yous: my holy trinity for keeping me inspired and accountable and letting me know when i don’t word good. @the-boy-meets-evil​ / @hot-soop​ / @effortandmore​. also my husband who actually skateboards and helped me to sound knowledgeable but will also never, ever see this. → a/n: [looking a whole lot like the dehydrated spongebob meme] hey, long time no see. this fic absolutely kicked my ass like nothing has ever kicked my ass before, but it’s finally done and here. i don’t think i’m super happy with how it turned out and i think it’s probably rushed, but i hope you all enjoy it regardless! now, if you need me i will be sobbing on the floor holding a locket with seokjin’s picture inside.

[THE THREAT]

The thing about privilege is—

Well, nothing. It’s just there, propped up in the corner, looming over every aspect of your life. And usually it’s fine. You want for nothing. People just hand things to you. But, just like the apple tree and Isaac Newton and the Law of Gravity—everything that goes up must come down. Nothing gold can stay. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You might have your name and your money and your status, but you also have your parents and your brother.

Your brother, who has somehow found someone to marry him and is planning a wedding.

Your parents, who are threatening to revoke your trust fund if you don’t attend. And bring a date.

“I don’t want to hear it,” your mother says, preemptively cutting off your protests. She’s always had a knack for dictatorship, and another one for doing so as she barks orders to the hired help in the background. “This wedding is very important for us as a family. Do you know how bad it’d look if you not only didn’t show up, but showed up alone? It won’t do.”

On your end of the line, sitting at some bougie outdoor café with an overpriced latte in hand, you roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t it look worse to cut off your only daughter and leave her destitute? God forbid, what if I have to get a job?”

An aggravated click of her tongue. “I don’t know where you got that smart mouth of yours, but it’s unbecoming. I’ve at least managed to talk your brother’s fiancee out of including you in the bridal party, so you could show a bit of gratitude instead of being a brat.”

(Impossible, you think. Your brother had taken all the suck-up genes and left nothing for you. Alternatively, you’d taken all the backbone, so it’s almost even.)

“Why don’t you ask the youngest Jeon boy? They’re coming anyway, and it would look good for your father if the two of you were seen together.”

You grimace. “Jeongguk? Absolutely not.”

Another click. “Fine, but don’t you dare even think about showing up with some—”

“Piece of shit loser,” you finish for her. Usually she’d scold you for swearing, but it’s apparently allowed in the name of shitting on the middle-class. “Yes, Mother, I get it. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare sully our good family name by associating with the poor.”

She doesn’t trust you, you can tell by the way she huffs and starts mumbling under her breath, but it’s clear she’s just as done with this conversation as you. “You have three months to figure it out.”

Privilege can go to hell.

[THE SEARCH]

Park Jimin is a lot of things.

He’s got money. He’s got hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers for no reason other than he’s hot. He’s got a closet full of in-season designer clothes, so he’d look stunning hanging off your arm in a tailored suit. He’s got charisma and charm and that innate ability to talk to anyone about all that boring shit you can’t stand.

Most importantly, he’s got a chip on his shoulder, too. He’s on your level.

Park Jimin is telling you no. “Sorry, I’ll be out of the country that weekend,” he says. He doesn’t look sorry. “One of those things I can’t skip. You know how it is.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re full of shit.”

Park Jimin’s got a laugh that rings like Tiffany crystal. “Maybe.”

Still, you’re not above begging. The list of acceptable arm candy candidates (which you’ve taken to calling The Armcandidates, because you also got all the humor genes) is rapidly dwindling, and although Jimin’s not bottom of the barrel, he’s close. “Jimin, please. Whatever you want, I just need this one favor.”

“Don’t barter with things you’re not willing to give up,” he chides, nothing but heat. Would you fuck Jimin to keep your trust fund? Pillowy lips, slutty little waist, thighs that could crush your head like a grape—you could definitely do worse, all things considered.

“Who says I’m not?”

Jimin would come dead last in a poker tournament, the way surprise flashes across his face. “Well, in that case, I’m actually sorry I’ll be out of the country that weekend.”

You groan, head dropping onto your folded arms. “Can’t believe I outed myself like that and you’re still turning me down.”

Laughter trails behind him as he disappears into his massive closet. “Have you asked Taehyungie? He loves weddings.”

“The last time I talked to Kim Taehyung, he jerked off on my feet and cried. I don’t think I could look him in the eye, let alone invite him to my brother’s wedding.”

Jimin snorts. “He’s actually quite lovely once you get past the foot stuff. Think about it.”

Regretfully, not only do you think about asking Taehyung, you actually go through with it.

One day you’re talking to Jimin and the next thing you know, you’re once again on your back in Kim Taehyung’s bed. No weird feet shit this time, you’d told him, and, well, here you are. Skin tacky from sweat, entire room stinking of sex. Kim Taehyung is weird as hell but he’s unreasonably hot, and you’d made it all of ten minutes in his presence before folding.

(The last time it’d been five, so you’re making progress. Surely that’s something to be proud of.)

“I actually came here for a reason,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. Beside you, Taehyung hums an acknowledgement. You try not to wonder if he’s staring at your toes and that’s why he’s breathing so hard. “I need to bring a date to my brother’s wedding or my parents are gonna cut me off.”

He whistles. “Damn, that’s cold. Fully?”

“That’s what they say.”

“And you’ve decided to ask me? I’m honored, angel.”

“I asked Jimin first, to be fair.”

Taehyung’s face falls comically. “I’m no longer honored,” he jokes. “Jiminie’s great at weddings. He said no?”

You shrug. Something about his rejection still stings. You’re trying not to take it personally. Or think about it too much. “Said he’s going to be out of the country that weekend. Told me to ask you because you quote-unquote ‘love weddings’.”

“He said that?” Taehyung asks, voice pitched higher, dopey look overtaking his features. “Wow, we’re so in sync.” Wistful, like he’s lovesick. “We really must be soulmates.”

You choke. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Uh, no. Is the wedding the weekend he’s going to Milan?”

That ‘no’ seems to be carrying a lot of weight. You eye him suspiciously. “Apparently.”

“Ah, I’ll be in Paris. I asked him to come with me and he told me no, too. Guess you know how it feels.”

You sit up, sheets clutched to your chest. “Seriously, what’s going on with you two?”

Taehyung heaves a long-suffering sigh. “How much time do you have?”

You roll your eyes. “About three minutes.”

“Next time, then. Sorry I can’t help with the wedding. You’ll find someone, though.”

Another day, another rejection. You tell Taehyung not to look at your feet as you get dressed to leave.

Jung Hoseok isn’t generationally wealthy, but he’s got enough money to be deemed respectable in the eyes of your parents.

He’s also got a 24 karat smile and a meticulously highlighted and underlined study guide for your upcoming exam, so he’s currently ranked number one on your Armcandidates list.

“Hobi, have I ever told you you’re my favorite person?”

He eyes you over the lid of his coffee cup. “A few times, yeah.”

“Jung Hoseok,” you singsong, “actual sunshine, number one human, best thing since sliced bre—”

“If you finish that sentence with some fire of my loins Lolita bullshit I’m leaving.”

You pout. “I need a favor.”

He tosses the study guide in your direction. “Just take it. I have another copy in my bag.”

“Not that,” you say, but you take it anyway. Hoseok���s study guides are a thing of legend: even if you don’t use it, you’ll be able to sell it to some idiot underclassman for a week’s worth of coffee. The bougie kind with whipped cream on top. “I need a date for my brother’s wedding.”

Now it’s his turn to choke. “And you’re asking me?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with asking you?”

He shrugs, suddenly antsy, like he’s too big for his skin. “I don’t know. Don’t you have, like, actual prospects? Every dude in our cohort wants to date you.”

“Because I’m hot and I have a shitload of money,” you retort, and Hoseok makes a face that says yeah, fair. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered than ask any of them. We’re friends, and I trust you. Additionally, your family’s rich enough to get my parents off my back and we’d look good together.”

“Ah, yes, that last point is very important.”

You scoff. “Of course it is, it’s my brother’s wedding. Do you know how many pictures I’m gonna be forced to take? Hundreds. Possibly thousands.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It will be, which is why I need a brother-in-arms. A confidante. A comrade.”

“Have you asked Jimin? He’s great at weddings.”

You nearly start shrieking. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“...Is that a yes?”

“Of course I asked Jimin. I asked Taehyung, too. They’re both going to be out of the country and are probably fucking, and that’s not particularly something I want to get in the middle of.” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “It could be serious,” you argue. “Like, Actual Feelings kind of stuff, and that shit gets messy.”

“Yeah, fair,” Hoseok concedes, out loud this time. “Plus Tae has that weird foot thing.”

“Exactly! So you get it.” Finally, a lead! “Will you come, then?” You flutter your eyelashes. “Pretty please, Hobi.”

“When is it?” As you rattle off the date, Hoseok digs through his bag for his phone. Then he pulls up his calendar and frowns. “Shit, no can do, either. My elective rotation starts that prior Monday.”

“Ew. What elective are you taking?”

Hoseok nearly blinds you as he smiles. “Reproductive endo and infertility.”

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit, that one you applied to ages ago? You got it?” He nods. “Oh my god, Hobi, that’s amazing!” You launch across the table to hug him. “I still hate you for bailing, but think of all the tiny raisins you’re gonna help bring into the world!” You wipe away a fake tear. “You’re a god amongst men, Jung Hoseok.”

He takes a bow. “Thank you, thank you. Speaking of which, how’s the volunteer gig in the ER treating you?”

“It’s fine.” You groan, put-upon, and sometimes Hoseok is so smiley and endearing that you feel guilty unloading all of your burdens on him, so you aren’t going to. Not unless he asks. Because he’s prone to dramatics and neuroticism but not like you are, and you know it can be a lot for someone not expecting it.

However—

“That’s good. Is that annoying guy you told me about still bothering you?”

Wrong question.

You cock an eyebrow. “This is the third time this week.”

In front of you, Kim Seokjin just grins, dried blood cracking on his plush lower lip. “Yep.”

“It’s Tuesday,” you deadpan. The grin grows wider, warping the purple-black bruise beneath his eye.

Because he’s arguably the most annoying person on earth, Seokjin just hums an acknowledgement, leaning further against the reception desk. “Well,” he says, voice interlaced with honey, “you’d have to take that up with the Babylonians, since they invented the modern calendar. Not much I can do about that.”

A pause. Then, “You’re really fucking annoying, do you know that?”

“It's a bit rude to insult someone seeking out your services, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, pushing your tongue into the fat of your cheek. “Not really. Not if it’s you.”

Surprisingly—or maybe not, considering everything seems to roll off his back—a laugh comes tumbling out of him. “Listen, I know it’s probably overwhelming to be blessed with the sight of this face not once, but three times in a week. I can understand and excuse your insensitivity, so I won’t report you this time, but—”

Ignoring him, you slam a clipboard onto the space between you. “You know the drill.”

“What if I’ve forgotten it?”

“Name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment.”

“You know my name, you know where I live, insurance hasn’t changed, and I’m just here to soak in your sparkling personality.”

With as murderous a stare as you can muster, you push the clipboard further in his direction. It hits something solid. Probably a rib, judging by Seokjin’s pained wheeze, but you don’t get paid enough to care. “Do you need a pen?”

“Why, so you can stab me with it?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He rolls his eyes. Thumbs through the intake forms and pretends to read them, even though the last time he had to sign one he’d just drawn a stick figure giving you the finger. “Have you ever spoken to anyone about your sociopathic tendencies? Might do you some good.”

With prolonged eye contact, you toss a pen in his direction. Hits him square between the eyes. “A million times,” you deadpan. This is where you’d blow a bubble and pop it if you were allowed to chew gum on the clock. “I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable case of bitchitis. It’s a very tragic burden to bear. Fill out the form.”

Seokjin huffs. Stays standing right in front of you as he does as you say, ignoring the line of people behind him that’s rapidly stacking up. Someone towards the back yells at him to get out of the way, but the protest dies immediately once he turns around and smiles. You think an elderly woman faints. She definitely bobbles, at the very least.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Seokjin says, handing the forms back with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. They’re free of doodled middle fingers, so you wave him off. “Have a great day,” he lobs over his shoulder. When you look down, he’s giving you the finger at waist-height.

“Have the day you deserve,” you fire back.

Your skin needles with anxiety for the rest of the day.

Seokjin comes into the emergency room again on Friday.

He’s got a large gash just above his eyebrow that’s gonna need stitches. You tell him as much as he fills out the same forms as the day before, and he tells you to tell him something he doesn’t know as he rolls his eyes and winces immediately.

“Here’s something you don’t seem to know: karma is real, and she also thinks you’re an asshole.”

You get the finger again for that one. Honestly, you can’t say you don’t deserve it.

“Kiss my ass.”

You pretend to pout. “Health hazard. Against hospital policy.”

Seokjin pauses. Seems to study you for a while, and then he’s cocking an eyebrow and asking, “What do you actually do here, anyway? Besides be a giant bitch.”

Wordlessly, you point at your name tag. There, right beneath your first and last name, lies the answer to Seokjin’s question. He squints. Winces again. “You’re a med student?”

Again, you point at your name tag.

“That means I can write a complaint.”

“Go ahead,” you retort. “My mother’s on the board of directors, and luckily for you she already knows I’m a giant bitch.”

Seokjin snorts, jaw dropping slightly. Just enough to draw attention to his mouth, which you’ve seen a hundred times for a hundred different injuries, but it looks especially sinful today. Maybe it’s just because he’s being mean to you, which is something you might need to explore with Taehyung in exchange for pictures of your feet.

“Ah, I should’ve known. You’ve got overwhelming nepo kid energy. Probably never had to work for anything a day in your life, huh? Probably a legacy to whatever shit-tier medical school was bribed into accepting you, too.”

Until now, you’d thought your banter with Seokjin was relatively harmless. Barbed, sure, and definitely effective. You’d throttle Seokjin if given the chance, and you know he’d do the same. But it’s never been outright cruel.

You try to look unfazed. Try to look like you don’t care about Seokjin and his words at all, because they’re nothing you haven’t heard before. Not like you’d asked to be born to your parents, so shit like this usually rolled off your back.

Now, though—

Your face must fall, just a little, because Seokjin immediately looks remorseful. Moves to say something, but you’re retrieving his clipboard and intake paperwork before he can stutter out an apology. “Thanks. They’ll call you back shortly.”

“Hey, I—“

“You can take a seat over there,” you interject, eyes locked on your computer screen. If you tear up, you can just blame it on eye strain.

You don’t see Seokjin for another two weeks.

And that’s… fine. His absence has given you some time to digest, some time to mull things over, decide if you’re actually upset or if you’d gone temporarily insane. It’d taken ten days, but you came to the conclusion that it’d just been a fleeting moment of sensitivity. People are mean to you all the time in the ER; if you took each insult or attack on your character to heart, you’d be in for a world of hurt.

So, yeah. You’d had a rough day and Seokjin saying you were a good-for-nothing nepot stung a little. That’s it.

Because you’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. You’ve managed to piss away an entire month without securing a date to the wedding, and now you’ve got time breathing down your neck. Two months, your mother’s shrill voice shrieks in your head, and it devolves into weeks and days and hours the longer you let yourself spiral. It’d seemed like so long before: you’d been so certain you’d have a date by the end of day one, and then the universe had to go and humble you. Cruel.

But the universe is also fair, because one day it’s been two weeks since you’ve seen Seokjin, and the next it’s a painfully slow Thursday afternoon and he strolls in with splinted fingers and a sheepish, weary expression.

“Uh, hi.”

You look up from your computer, taking in all the bruises and scars that dot his face but take nothing away from the beauty of it. “Sorry, exorcism hours ended at noon.”

Seokjin swallows, nostrils flaring. He looks like he wants to argue, just because he’s him and you’re you, but he acquiesces with a little nod. “Fair. I deserved that.”

“Here for the usual?” you ask, tone dry and neutral. When Seokjin doesn’t answer, you grab a clipboard and start your usual spiel—name, address, insurance information, reason for treatment—and then there’s a choked-off sound, not unlike a cat dying.

He looks pained when you dare a glance. Face contorted into a grimace, just like all the parents who bring in their constipated babies. “No, no,” he says. Sucks in a deep breath, and you nearly roll your eyes in exasperation. This guy’s acting like he’s about to give a speech at the goddamn United Nations. “I’m here to… apologize?”

You blink. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?” A pause. “Yeah, definitely telling you.”

“Okay.” Another pause. Seokjin fidgets, shifts his weight from one leg to the other, wipes probably-sweaty palms on his jeans, picks up every pen in the cup and drops it back in. “Well, the floor is yours.” More silence. His face seems to shift into reluctant acceptance. “Any day now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I was having a bad day and I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Okay.”

“I still think you’re really mean—”

“Sure, that’s fair.”

“—but I’d like to make it up to you. I think.”

“You sure are thinking a lot. Wanna give those brain cells a break?”

“Fuck you,” he replies automatically. “Here I am, trying to be nice—”

An idea strikes you then. Parts the hazy recesses of your mind like the Red Sea, and it feels like you’ve been struck by lightning. “How were you planning on making it up to me?”

Because he’s not wholly an idiot, Seokjin sends you a pointed look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You’re sure your smile looks straight out of a Creepypasta, but there’s an opportunity here, and you’d be a fool to let it slip through your fingers. “Because I just so happen to need a favor, and here you are, ready to dish one out.”

“I never said it was a favor.”

You pout. “But Seokjin,” you whine, “you were so mean.”

One of his eyes twitches. “Why does this feel like a crossroads deal?”

“I think the Grinch felt similar. Right before his heart grew three sizes and he saved Christmas.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you can almost see the scales tipping in his brain, weighing whether or not it’s a good idea to entertain you at all. Which is impressive, all things considered, because he doesn’t even know what you’ll ask for yet. He could be expecting something humiliating at his expense, or a monetary bribe—you’re pretty certain asking for a date will catch him fully off-guard.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing big,” you reply easily. Twirl your hair around your finger. Bat your eyelashes. “Just a little date.”

Seokjin sputters. “A what.”

“A date,” you repeat. “I just so happen to need a date to my brother’s wedding, and you just so happen to be overcome with guilt. It’s a win-win.”

“We don’t even like each other!”

You click your tongue. “Even better, because I don’t like my brother, either!”

“So this is… what? A game? Some kind of petty revenge? Bring the guy who looks like me to your brother’s wedding to rebel against your parents?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you answer, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. Seokjin doesn’t seem convinced. You sigh. “Look, you can say no. Or I can throw in something extra if it feels unfair—”

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to prepare a fucking offer sheet, Seokjin. What do you want?”

“Depends. What’s this all entail? Is it a one-time thing or do I have to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

You choke. “My boyf—” But then it hits you: your brother will hate this. Your parents will hate it even more. Without even needing to ask, it’s clear Seokjin isn’t from your world, and if they’re ready to disinherit you for showing up to your brother’s wedding alone, might as well commit to the bit. So you clear your throat and smile again. “And if I say yes?”

“It’ll cost more,” Seokjin deadpans.

You nod, feeling a little like you’re swindling this poor man. “Add it to my tab, boyfriend.”

[THE MEETING]

Finding a date was supposed to be the hard part. Turns out, it’s only the beginning.

Your parents are thrilled and a little stunned when you tell them you’ve secured a plus-one. (So is your brother, but you have better luck with him listening when you tell him to fuck off. It’s a little hard to say the same to your mother and father when they’re dangling a trust fund in front of you like a carrot.) And, in true upper echelon form, they grill you. For hours. Family name, family business, how you met, what their intentions are, blah blah blah. You feel a migraine coming on somewhere around question two.

Eventually, your mother says, “I don’t know about this,” and your father grunts in agreement. You don’t think he’s used full words in years. Not with you.

“What’s there to know?” you whine, nearly rolling your eyes. “I’m not marrying the guy. It’s just a date.”

Your mother flutters around the kitchen, pointedly not looking at you. It’s weird seeing her like this: almost like a real mother, almost like she’s going to say something comforting and serve you a plate of freshly-baked cookies instead of huffing and puffing at everything you say and treating you like a pariah. “Do you even know this young man?”

“Of course I know him.”

“Do I need to remind you that it’s bad etiquette to bring a first date to a wedding?”

There’s a pang of annoyance that you have to tamper down. “It’s not a first date.”

“Oh? You’ve been seeing him regularly?”

This time you do roll your eyes. “Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” your father says, not bothering to lower the newspaper in front of him.

“How did you—”

“Is this young man your boyfriend?”

You think about what Seokjin had said: It’ll cost more. Not, you couldn’t pay me eight billion dollars to pretend to date you. Not, no thanks I’d rather die. Just, it’ll cost more. So, as you sit in this opulent kitchen with your parents and some ungodly amount of Italian marble, you think there’s nothing you wouldn’t pay to make these people miserable. These people, who never saw you beyond a status symbol. That traditional nuclear family tucked behind the white picket fence. Two kids. Golden retriever. Pool boy. Family vacations to five-star resorts, only your parents smiling in the pictures before they abandoned you and your brother with the nanny.

So, no, Seokjin isn’t your boyfriend. Not really. But he’s willing to play the part and that’s good enough. “Yeah,” you answer, and one simple word stops your mother in her tracks and gets your father to finally abandon his stupid newspaper, and just this little bit of power feels nice.

“Oh,” comes your mother’s reply. She shares a look with your father.

Because the patriarchy is alive and well and he loves to play the arbiter, he says, “I think we should meet him.”

And, because you’re not an idiot, you say, “Don’t forget the rule was that I had to find a date, not that you had to approve them.”

With a huff, your father disappears again behind his newspaper.

You: i need another favor

Rapid Onset Migraine: how much

You: shouldn’t my boyfriend want to do nice things for me out of the kindness of his own heart

Rapid Onset Migraine: no

(“Shouldn’t you have him saved under his actual name? Maybe a little heart emoji?” Hoseok asks, looking over your shoulder. “Unless he has a degradation kink, I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that someone named Rapid Onset Migraine is actually your boyfriend.”

“Shut up, Hobi. It’s one of those things that are violently affectionate and ironically cute.” A pause. Then—“Do you think Thunderclap Headache is better?”

“No. No, I definitely do not.”)

You: you don’t even know what the favor is

Rapid Onset Migraine: don’t care

You: fine

You: i would like to formally demand your presence at dinner with my parents this thursday at 7

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m busy

You: i will literally venmo you rn to cancel your plans

Rapid Onset Migraine: i’m suddenly free. @jin-k92

Rapid Onset Migraine: five hundred dollars please

You: fuck off

You: $50. final offer. take it or leave it

Rapid Onset Migraine: leave it

You: sent. see you thursday!

  It’s Tuesday night and you’re fresh off your shift, headed to your car, looking forward to doing nothing but absorbing into your couch and maybe using that new bath bomb, when someone on a skateboard crashes into you.

You’re on your ass before you can process, stunned, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. A familiar face enters your line of sight, not looking all that apologetic. “Whoops.”

You groan. “Worst boyfriend ever,” you retort, sticking your hand in the air. “At least help me up.”

There’s absolutely no grace in the way Seokjin hauls you to your feet. Doesn’t bother to steady you when you bobble, either, and you have half a mind to give him the finger. Instead, you say, “Are you stalking me?” and delight in the split-second of panic that overtakes his features.

“No,” he eventually says, expression right back to neutral. “You’ve already agreed to date me. Why would I need to stalk you?”

“There’s at least seventeen different problems with that statement and I’m not going to touch any of them.” You take a second to look him over: no obvious injuries, still obnoxiously attractive. Hair a little longer than usual, rogue strands hanging loose and framing his face. No one should be allowed to look like this. He really, really gets on your nerves. “Why are you here, though? You look fine.”

“I am fine—”

“Uninjured,” you clarify, which earns you a scoff.

“I’m that, too,” he snarks, “but I came to find you to figure out the game plan.”

“Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I was already in the area,” he lies.

“Uh-huh.”

“And I thought I could con you into buying me dinner.”

“What’d you do with the fifty bucks I sent you the other day?”

Seokjin looks at you like you’re dumb. You’re really starting to wonder if you are. “I spent it.”

“On what?”

“Are you my accountant now?” he huffs.

“No, but you’re not my sugar baby, either. Buy your own dinner.”

He bats his lashes at you. “But honey…”

“Fuck off, Seokjin,” you say, stomping towards your car. Unsurprisingly, he’s right behind you, the wheels of his skateboard noisy as they glide along the concrete. “This is why you’re always needing stitches?” you ask, knowing he’s close enough to hear.

“Yep.” A louder noise; probably some kind of trick. You’re not going to dignify him by watching and being impressed.

During your second semester of college, Hoseok had gotten you into this horrible habit of parking far away. So you get your steps in, had been his reasoning, and it’s hard to say whether you’d given in to the 10,000 steps per day hysteria or just Hoseok’s convincing, evil little smile, but you still do it. And you’re really regretting it now, when you have to traipse through a half-mile of parking lot with the world’s most annoying person on your heels.

“Are you gonna take me to dinner, though?”

That’s how you wind up sitting across from him at a diner.

His cheeseburger is demolished in record time. Fries are halfway gone, too, by the time he asks what the plan is and seems genuinely shocked when you say there isn’t one.

“What do you mean there’s no plan?”

“There’s no plan,” you repeat, dipping your own fry into his ketchup just so he has to swat your hand away. “I mean, dinner is at seven, but that’s it.”

Seokjin looks confused, like you’ve tilted his world on its axis. “There’s gotta be a plan,” he argues. “There’s always a plan with you trust fund kids.”

Another dig, and you can tell by the way he avoids your gaze once he makes it. “There’s really no plan,” you say, ignoring the quip. There’s a reason you’ve got a fake boyfriend, and it’s not because your parents are benevolent and easy-going. “I don’t care what you tell my parents.”

“Now I know for sure you’re setting me up.”

You shrug. “Believe whatever you want.”

Seokjin studies you, clearly still unconvinced. “You’re telling me,” he begins, sticking the straw of his root beer float in his mouth, “that I can just walk in there and sabotage you? That I have carte blanche? That I can tell them you literally paid me to be there?” You shrug. There’s a disgusting slurping sound. You grimace.

“Well, I’m hoping you won’t, but I certainly can’t stop you.”

“You’re terrible at fake dating.”

A sigh escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t want to delve into twenty-plus years of parental trauma, especially not with this guy, but sometimes it can’t be helped. “Look, I don’t want to go to my brother’s wedding. I don’t like him, and I don’t like my parents. No one else wanted to fake date me”—you hold up your hand to kill the obvious comment before he makes it—“and, honestly, my parents are gonna hate you and that’s the entire reason I asked for your help. So, no, I don’t care what you tell them, because I don’t care if they approve. I’m sick of them making me jump through hoops just to be their kid.”

Unfazed, Seokjin breezily replies, “You obviously care enough to keep taking their money.”

“I consider my trust fund to be reparations.”

“That why you were so touchy about that nepotism comment?”

Nodding, you fidget with the hem of your scrub top, hands suddenly sweaty. “Well, it doesn’t feel great to have my accomplishments credited to my last name or whatever, but it’s not something I can stop anyone from assuming.”

“Are they?”

“It’d be naive to think they aren’t.”

“You got into med school, though,” Seokjin says, and you tamper down the flush that’s creeping in. You are not going to care about any man’s acknowledgement. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

“Can you tell my parents that?”

A laugh bellows out of him, and you’re horrified to learn it’s a terrible sound. Everyone in the diner turns to stare, and you’re flushed crimson and trying to duck under the table.

Still, you can’t help but smile. Your parents really are going to have a stroke.

To your delight, Seokjin is good at getting people to hate him. Like, really good—almost scarily so.

He’d shown up twenty minutes late, having ignored the dress code entirely, clad in a pair of ripped black jeans and a plain black t-shirt, arm tattoos and innumerable scars proudly on display. He hadn’t bothered to shake your father’s hand or introduce himself to your mother, just fell into the seat next to you, stage-whispered a, this place is a shithole huh, and stuck his nose in a menu. When the waiter came by, he ordered a bottle of wine older than the two of you combined and the most expensive entree on the menu.

Now, an hour in, your parents are teetering on the edge of a major cardiac event.

“So, Seokjin,” your father says, voice gritty and forced, “what do you do?”

Seokjin shoves a large piece of meat in his mouth, making sure to smack his lips. “What d’you mean?” he asks, the question garbled around the food.

“For a living.”

Scarily good, you think. Seokjin pretends to choke, pretends to look shocked and appalled. “I don’t work,” he answers, tone bang-on to the one your parents use when they’re being condescending. “My parents give me money, and I figured I’d date this one”—he flicks you in the temple—“until she becomes a doctor and can support me. Then we’ll get married.”

Your mother gasps. Your smile is involuntary.

Your father, on the other hand, knocks over his wine glass. Spills it all over the table, goes red in the face, and it’s the most distressed you’ve ever seen him, usually composed to a fault, immovable. “You’ll do no such thi—”

Seokjin fakes a yawn. “You ready, babe?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just stands, tosses his napkin on the table, and grabs your hand. The two of you are out of the restaurant before either of your parents can utter a word.

Feels like one of those movie moments, you think: the cool breeze in your hair, against your flushed cheeks, your hand in Seokjin’s, both of you not daring to breathe or make a sound until you’re safe outside, away from your parents and their gobsmacked expressions. And then you crack, just enough for laughter to spill out, and Seokjin snorts, another horrible sound, and before you know it, the two of you are collapsed against the side of the restaurant, tears in your eyes as the brick scrapes against your skin.

Maybe something shifts. Maybe the smile Seokjin sends you is genuine.

[THE RELATIONSHIP]

Much to your horror, fake relationships aren’t all that different from normal, authentic ones.

Which means two things: one, that your brother and his wife-to-be both received an earful from your parents about Seokjin and The Dinner, and two, you still have to compromise.

The first one wasn’t so bad. Your brother had called you and issued a vague threat, of course, because he’s never had a sense of humor about anything, but you hadn’t answered so it’d been easy to delete the voicemail and forget about it. And, luckily for him, your future sister-in-law was far more lax. Bring him, she’d texted. He sounds like a good time.

You’re not sure you’d describe Kim Seokjin as a good time, but you replied with a thumbs-up emoji regardless.

All of that had been fine. You’re well-versed in dealing with your family by now, so it’s easy to let their bullshit wash over you and down the drain like rainwater.

No, it’s the fake but has to look at least semi-real relationship that’s proving to be difficult.

Because you don’t like to compromise. You want to do what you want to do when you want to do it, and you don’t want to hear about it from anyone. But here you are, doing a quasi-photoshoot with Seokjin so he can “soft launch” you on his Instagram—which, honestly, is a little daunting. He has a lot of followers. Not surprising, considering the way he looks, but the thought of being perceived by hundreds of thousands of strangers makes you feel like you’re wearing your skin inside-out.

“Can you try looking less constipated?” he asks, tone dry as toast as he scrolls through the series of selfies the two of you just took.

You scoff. “First of all, I don’t look constipated.” Really, you don’t. “Second of all, why do you even need to do this? We only have to convince my parents, and you pissed them off so bad I’m not sure they’ll ever ask me to bring a date to anything ever again.”

“Because I have a competition next weekend that you’ll have to go to, and I don’t want anyone asking any questions.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“You’re not,” Seokjin retorts, all conviction. “If I had to clear my schedule for that dinner, you’re free for this.”

“What if I have a school thing?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. He’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him through his phone camera. It’s really not fair, the way his face is. “Do you?”

“No, but what if?”

He takes another picture and cackles, gleefully showing it to you. “See? You definitely look constipated.”

With a glare, you wrestle the phone out of his hand and aim it the way you want—the way you know looks good. And maybe you do a little pout, too; do that thing with your eyes that looks seductive and a little dirty. Not because you care about what Seokjin’s followers think, because you’re hot and you know it, but because you want him to suffer. Just a little bit. It’s illogical, the way you want him to look at this picture and feel… something. Half pride, half longing.

So, you angle and pout. Delight in the caught-out expression on Seokjin’s face this time, like it’s the first time he’s learning that you’re hot and that it troubles him a little. “Is that better?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

Seokjin doesn’t respond, just posts the picture to his Instagram story.

Skateboarding has never been your thing.

Your brother had gone through a phase, once. Spent all his allowance on the video games and collected CCS catalogs, spending imaginary money as he’d thumb through the pages and circle everything he wanted. Never bought a real board, though—just developed a superiority complex because he listened to the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 soundtrack one too many times and thought it was a legitimate substitute for actual pre-teen rebellion.

However, fake-dating Seokjin means you’re getting a crash course.

“What do these do?” you ask, holding up a set of wheels. There’s an alien holding a bong on them. They make you laugh.

Seokjin eyes you from across the shop and pointedly ignores your question. Instead, the disgruntled guy behind the register answers. “They’re wheels,” he says, tone clipped, which you answer with a surprised noise, like you’ve discovered something new.

“Wow, wheels,” you intone. “Cool.”

Done picking out new grip tape, or whatever the hell he’d said, Seokjin plucks the wheels from your hand and puts them back where you’d gotten them. “Fascinating invention, huh?”

The man behind the register smells like weed. Reeks of it, actually, and the stench is almost overbearing as you sidle up next to Seokjin at the counter. Yoongi, his name tag reads. You don’t think he looks like a Yoongi, because it kind of lends itself to a stoner character, but it also sounds kind of sweet, and the man in front of you looks like he could snap you like a twig and enjoy it.

Then—“Oh, you’re Instagram girl.”

You scowl. “I’m who.”

First, you’re reduced to nepotism and your family name; now it’s Instagram. There’s a huff halfway out of your mouth when Seokjin wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you against his side. You think he’d press a kiss to your temple if this was real. “My beautiful girlfriend,” he says, playfully hip-checking you. 

Yoongi looks between the two of you, then pushes the tape back in Seokjin’s direction. “You know you don’t have to pay for this shit, man.”

“Sure, but I can. I have a rich girlfriend now.”

He yelps when you step on his foot with the heel of your boot. “Aren’t you so lucky,” you grit out.

You don’t see the way his gaze softens, but Yoongi sure does.

Anticipation crackles in the air.

Feels like the day you’d sat for the MCAT—that brand of nervous, determined focus, bordering on excitement. Something that will really only go one of two ways with a million variables, and it’s a small relief to not be the one in the hot seat.

Hoseok had been there last time. Now, a man that’s seemingly all limbs plops down beside you, ungraceful and awkward.

“You’re Instagram girl,” he says, before sticking his hand out. “Hi, I’m Namjoon.”

Seems like Seokjin’s idea of a soft launch is anything but. Briefly, you wonder how many more people are going to forego your identity entirely in the name of Instagram, but it’s kind of nice, too—nice to be someone other than your parents’ daughter, your brother’s sister, your family name. There’s a long way to go before the patriarchy is smashed entirely, because it’s not so nice to be newly reduced to Seokjin’s girlfriend, but baby steps.

For now, it’s all right.

For now, there are far worse things you could be.

“Hi, Namjoon,” you finally reply, because he seems out of place and nice enough—nicer than Yoongi, at least. Definitely far less gruff and abrasive.

He chokes a little, like he’s surprised you responded to him. Not for the first time, it’s just sort of par for the course when you are who you are. “Oh, sorry,” he says, cheeks flushing under the guise of the relentless afternoon sun. “I just—recognized you? And couldn’t help myself? Which probably sounds really creepy, which was not my intent, it’s just—Jin doesn’t bring anyone to these things. Like, ever. So it was a little shocking! Kind of like meeting a celebrity? Even though I’ve never really done that, either. Oh! I met Greta Thunberg once. That was cool. It was, like, on accident, though? So…”

On and on he goes, bless him, because he just talks endlessly without expecting a response. You look around: the bleachers are starting to fill up, awestruck kids with humored parents, and you wonder what that’s like. To have an interest in something and have it nurtured, instead of having to live up to expectations you never wanted. Maybe you would’ve been a skateboarder, too. Maybe you would’ve shucked all those societal norms and did something you wanted, even though it doesn’t really matter now.

“Hey,” you say, stopping Namjoon’s latest spiel in its tracks, “do you come to these things often?”

Namjoon lights up like Christmas. People must not ask him about himself much. “Yeah! Well, sometimes? I’m in grad school, so I come when I have time. I thought it’d be a good idea to get two master’s degrees, so I finished my first one—in philosophy, before you ask, which was pretty stupid, because what am I gonna do with that, you know? But I guess it worked, because I had a full-blown existential crisis and decided to get a second one to put off the inevitable second existential crisis over what I was going to do with my life—”

“What was that one in?”

Namjoon startles again, and it’s almost hopelessly endearing. “Huh? Oh, Botany and Plant Pathology.”

You blink. “Plant pathology?”

“Yeah! It’s really interesting, because everything’s connected, right? Like, you can’t really fight climate change and food insecurity if you have all these diseased crops and forests, and I leaned pretty heavily into biological philosophy for my first degree, especially environmental ethics and conservation—”

“...And you come to skateboarding competitions for fun?”

His ears turn red; his cheeks and neck follow shortly thereafter. “I like physics, and skateboarding has a lot of physics.”

Just your luck. “Can you explain to me what’s going on, then?”

Namjoon does as you ask, and takes his job very seriously. He explains the rules and the implications, the rankings and what they mean for the future, who’s who and the major players. He explains tricks as they happen—how they got their names, who did them first, notable events. You remember your brother screaming at the TV the night Tony Hawk landed the 900 at the X Games, and Namjoon’s smile is so bright when you tell him about it.

“Yeah, that’s—that was so fucking cool, man. You know he was 31 when he did that? I think about that sometimes. There’s all this emphasis on aging, this juvenile notion that life peaks in your twenties, that you need to have it all figured out before you’re thirty: the job, the marriage, the house with the white picket fence, and it’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything at my age, and I just think: Tony Hawk landed the first 900 when he was 31 years old, and now 10 year olds are doing it. That’s fucking dope.”

He’s off on another tangent almost immediately, telling you about how he’d met Seokjin and how they became friends. You hear none of it. Seokjin comes in second place. You don’t remember much of the celebration, either.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been dunked in ice-cold water. Feels a bit like drowning.

You’re good at compartmentalizing.

You have to be, growing up in the family you did. Because Namjoon’s words had rattled you, sure, but you can’t linger on them. Lectures still need to be attended, hospital shifts still need to be worked, and it’d really hurt Hoseok’s feelings if you bailed on your study sessions, so you have to tuck away all those wayward thoughts for later.

Not until you’re alone, tucked into bed far too early for someone in their mid-20s, do you think about it.

Well, it’s less ‘thinking’ and more ‘ah, these are the existential crises Namjoon was talking about.’ Certainly not your first crisis, and it won’t be your last, but it’s still… unnerving. Being a doctor was something you’d always been rock-solid about. You hadn’t wanted to go into business like your father and brother, had no interest in kissing ass in the political sphere and wielding influence like your mother, but you’d been told all your life you had to do something. Something important, something impressive, something worth bragging about—because what were you worth if your parents couldn’t talk endlessly at fundraisers about how much better you were than everyone else?

You glance at the clock: almost two a.m. There’s only one person that’ll be awake at this hour, even though you shouldn’t. Seokjin has one job, and it isn’t talking you off the proverbial ledge in the middle of the night. Still—

You: you up?

Rapid Onset Migraine: this is happening a little fast don’t you think?

You: ??? huh

You: wait no

You: that’s NOT what i meant

Rapid Onset Migraine: yeah sure

Rapid Onset Migraine: well obviously i’m awake

Rapid Onset Migraine: you ok?

You: yeah, i’m sorry to bother you about this

You: i think i’m just having a bad time?

That’s that, you think, because minutes pass without a response. But then your phone’s vibrating, lighting up in your hand. Rapid Onset Migraine flashes across the screen, his contact photo set to a meme of Handsome Squidward just because you’d thought it was funny.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, “I needed to make a pot of coffee before I had this conversation.”

You hum. The comment doesn’t sting. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink coffee.”

“I don’t,” Seokjin answers. “Well, not usually. Only if I have an early flight or something.”

“Or need to talk through your fake girlfriend’s two a.m. existential crisis?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin laughs, and it’s almost enough of a balm. “But I’m friends with Namjoon, so I’m an expert in those by now. I keep weird hours, anyway, you know? I’m either skating or gaming, so he used to call me at, like, four in the morning because he’d read too much Kierkegaard or Beauvoir and was spiraling.” You hear him take a sip of coffee. He starts sputtering immediately. “Shit, that’s hot. Fuck, I think I burnt my tongue off.”

“Luckily you know a doctor.”

“I do,” he says, and his tone is warm. Almost proud? “Anyway, what’s going on? You read Being and Nothingness, too, or what?”

For a moment, you’re just quiet, trying to think of the words to say. You’re well aware of your privilege, make a conscious effort to not throw it around the way others might, so there’s a lot of guilt that comes with something like this. You know what people probably think: poor little rich girl, with her family money and their connections, it must be so hard to be her. It’s not, and you’re fine, but—

“Did you always want to skate professionally?” you ask, because you figure it’s safe. Doesn’t give it all away, even though Seokjin’s smart enough to read between the lines.

And, to your surprise, he plays along. Doesn’t call you out or press on the bruise, just says, “Hm, no, not really.”

“No?” you repeat, incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he confirms. “This is really embarrassing, but I wanted to get into software engineering or coding. Whatever would let me make video games.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?”

“Because it’s me?” Seokjin forces a laugh, pure self-deprecation. “That’s the kind of stuff people like Namjoon do. And that’s—it’s fine. I’m good at skateboarding and I get paid to do it. That’s the kind of thing kids dream about, right? Getting paid to travel around and skateboard all day?” He sighs, and it’s broken in a way that’s unsettling and familiar. A sound that could be coming from your own lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it and I’m thankful I get to do this as a job, it’s just not what I thought I’d be doing with my life.”

A brief silence, and then Seokjin’s talking again before you can reply, which you’re glad for. Everything feels off-center. “Is that what’s going on? School stress?”

“Maybe,” you admit, still a little breathless. “I’m just… struggling? I think? With knowing what’s actual desire and what’s just expectation.”

“Ah, I see. I don’t think I can really help with that beyond empathizing, but I’m sorry you’re going through it.” Then, like he’s telling you a secret, “If it helps at all, I think it takes a lot of courage to do this kind of introspection. It’s not easy, especially when you’re likely to find things you don’t want to.”

You can’t help but snort, but it’s gentle. Quiet, though still loud in the stillness of your bedroom. “Thanks,” you eventually reply. “Surprisingly comforting.”

“Yah, I’ll have you know I’m a very comforting person!”

“Of course you are.”

“Besides,” he says, and his tone takes on such conviction you’re sure you’ll believe whatever comes out of his mouth next with no hesitation, “it’s fine if you decide this isn’t what you wanna do. It’s never too late, or whatever, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a great doctor.”

“Or whatever,” you echo, smile creeping up on you. “That makes it sound so easy.”

“I guess it is.”

What’s it like to live like that, you wonder. Completely devoid of expectations, just going with the flow, doing what you want without crippling fear of the consequences. Must be nice, is your conclusion. Life doesn’t work like that for you, and you’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with that, so it’s fine. You’re on a path and maybe it’s not what you would’ve chosen had you had time to look at all the possibilities, but you’re on a path and it’s yours.

You want to say this to Seokjin. You want to thank him, both for the pep talk and the unfounded confidence, but your eyelids feel heavy and he’s just babbling now, something about the first time he landed a tre flip, and it’s soothing. Comforting.

Sleep takes you before you can think about it too hard—think about how Seokjin used to be nothing but a menace, the worst part of your day, and now he’s not.

You’re on another night shift, third in a row, and you’re the kind of exhausted that has you smelling colors.

Nothing makes sense. Your bones hurt. When you think about going home and finally going to bed it feels like when you’re starving and wait too long to eat and don’t feel hungry anymore. Then you finally do and it’s not satisfying, kind of makes your stomach hurt, and the cycle repeats.

Seokjin texts you to check in. After your two a.m. convo, you’re hyperaware of how much time you spend venting, so you assure him you’re fine. He drops off a coffee and some snacks, anyway. Just because he’s already up.

—

There are other hangouts. You don’t call them dates, because that word has implications and meaning and this is fake, but you have them nonetheless.

Overindulgent takeaway, equally expensive alcohol that has sat unopened in your apartment for far too long, shitty movies playing in the background, and Seokjin’s inability to stop talking. He sneakily lobs popcorn at you when he thinks you aren’t looking. This prompts an all-out war, and you both have tears streaming down your faces by the time Seokjin calls a truce.

Just days later, you spread out a gingham blanket in the park. Seokjin makes up bullshit constellations, gives them horrific names and backstories, and revels in the sound of your infectious laughter. When your head feels too heavy to hold up, you lay back in the grass and try to keep your heart in your chest when Seokjin does the same, slender fingers searching out yours in the dark.

You want so badly to kiss him. Want to crash your mouths together and kiss him breathless, but you don’t.

On your third hangout, you cover each other in silly temporary tattoos and take too many selfies. Seokjin snorts at how dumb he looks in the filters and asks you to send him some, immediately setting a particularly couple-y shot as your contact photo.

And if you get butterflies when he posts one to his Instagram story? Well, that’s your business.

—

Seokjin gets the dumb idea that he’s going to teach you to skate.

Which is not only dumb because it’s impossible, but because you’re sure your skeletal system is probably insured for millions of dollars, knowing your parents. You can’t do any of your clinical rotations with broken bones—instant dismissal—and Seokjin knows this, but he’s annoyingly persistent and assures you you’ll be fine, so you relent because you trust him, despite all odds.

Physically, you are fine. Seokjin holds onto your waist and doesn’t let you fall, which is about all you can ask for when it comes to unwanted skateboarding lessons. Emotionally, though? Not so much. You’ve been close to Seokjin before. Enough to feel his body heat; enough to get goosebumps; enough to nearly become delirious with your want to taste him.

Normally that’s fine. But now, as he uses one hand to hold your waist and the other to hold your own hand, you can’t think of a single logical explanation for depriving yourself of more of this. Because he’s steady and warm, and sometimes you teeter and he grips tighter, causing your mind to wander and think about things it shouldn’t. You’re only human, and Seokjin is an otherworldly brand of handsome, so you don’t beat yourself up over it.

Still. It ignites something, that’s for sure, and if it’s anything like Seokjin himself, it won’t be easy to extinguish.

—

It’s by complete accident that you meet Jeongguk.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. You’ve met him before, at some bougie function your parents dragged you to, but it was brief and forced and awkward. Jeongguk was weird back then. Still is, probably, judging from his entire… presence, now.

He’s dangling upside down from a tree branch when you meet him for the second time.

“Oh. Jeongguk. Hi?”

“Hi!” he says, smile brighter than the sun, and before you can ask him why he’s upside down in a tree there’s a massive camera in front of his face. “Are you here to see Jin?”

Here is a public sidewalk, but you don’t say that. Instead, you say, “I’m on my way home. Why are you in a tree?”

His response is nonverbal, just a finger point dead ahead of you. Some Brutalist architecture leftover from the ‘50s—a large set of stairs, public fountain, weird art sculpture, a small crowd. Doesn’t take long to learn what they’re there for: Seokjin grinds down the rail, lands perfectly, nearly skates into the street and gets whacked by a car. Everyone cheers.

Ah, that explains the camera, too. You vaguely recall your mother telling you the youngest Jeon went to school for filmmaking. She hadn’t sounded impressed. You wonder what she’d think if she knew he was your delinquent, skateboarder, fake boyfriend’s videographer. Probably something aneurysm-inducing.

“He’s so cool,” Jeongguk says, whimsical and dreamy in a way that sounds like he has framed photos of Seokjin on his walls. Maybe his picture in a heart frame, like that one meme. “You’re so lucky.” There’s definitely some jealousy there.

You raise an eyebrow. “You wanna date him instead?”

Jeongguk seems to mull it over. Doesn’t move from his spot in the tree, either, and you reckon he’s got another sixty seconds before you forcefully turn him right side up. “Nah. He seems really happy with you.”

“We’re not—” Together, your brain finishes, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. So you cough, hope Jeongguk hasn’t caught it, and say, “Yeah, we’re not doing too bad,” instead.

—

“I think you’re too far gone, personally.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. What does Hoseok know? Okay, he’s probably the smartest person you know, but that’s medicine. He hasn’t had a long-term partner in years, so yeah, what does Hoseok know.

“I am not,” you insist, because the majority of your time in this library has been spent defending the validity of your love life, not studying. “Hobi, look.” You sigh, snapping shut your notebook. A migraine is forming just thinking about the amount of reviewing you’re gonna have to do at home to make up for this. “Does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things? Life is fleeting and we’re all inconsequential, so I understand why you’re grilling me on this and not the MLE review book we paid for—”

He pulls a face. “It was fifty bucks! You’re acting like I’m out thousa—”

“Not the point!”

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Presses his fingers deep into his frontal sinus points. “I think it not being the point is the point, though? None of this was necessary. You could’ve just brought him to the wedding without having to pretend he’s your boyfriend.” You move to protest. He waves you off. “I know you wanted to get back at your parents. Your parents suck, so I get it, but don’t you think this is a little much?”

“How?”

Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to sigh. Put-upon, like he’s a beleaguered parent talking to a very idiotic child. “Uh, how about the fact that the two of you are going on actual dates, for one? And they’re definitely dates, so I don’t want to hear it. You took him to a Michelin star restaurant, quote-unquote, just because.”

“I was hungry!”

“Sure, okay, whatever you say.” He throws his hands up, clearly defeated, and it settles all wrong in your gut. Hoseok gets mad, sure, but never at you. Not even annoyed. “Have you given any thought at all, even considered just a teeny-tiny bit, that this might not be as fake as you think?”

“No,” you retort, petulant, because it is fake and you don’t need Hoseok to tell you that.

But Hoseok is smart, you know, so you were never going to get off easy. “I think you actually like him.”

“I know. You’ve said that a hundred times.”

“And I’ll say it a hundred and one, if I have to. Fuck, your head must be made of concrete.”

“Could be,” comes your breezy response. “Maybe that’s why my mother hates me.”

Hoseok chokes. Knocks his tea over and onto the MLE guide, which prompts a distressed shriek from him and a harsh shushing from the rest of the library.

So much for it only being fifty dollars.

—

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi does leave his skate shop, which comes as a shock for a man who has severe cavedweller vibes.

“Hey, Instagram,” he says, smelling like actual cologne and laundry detergent instead of a dispensary as he stands behind you in line.

Yoongi is clearly talking to you. You know he’s talking to you, but you still pause, fragile like a deer caught in headlights, and look over your shoulder as if he could be talking to anyone else. “Uh. Hi?”

He squints. “You are Instagram girl, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I thought so, but you looked at me like I was the one who’s stupid so I wasn’t sure.”

Did he just call you stupid? “Did you just call me stupid?”

Yoongi shrugs. “What’s good here?” he asks, changing the subject. He definitely called you stupid.

“I—most things? I don’t know, I always just get a cold brew with oat milk.”

He grimaces. “Ew, gross. I’m gonna go grab a table. Grab me a medium iced americano.”

You order him a small, purely out of spite, and Yoongi doesn’t come to this coffee shop often enough to know the difference so he doesn’t even notice when you set it down in front of him. Takes all the satisfaction out of being petty. He must know. “Thanks,” he says, not looking up from his phone as he unwraps a straw and stabs his drink perfectly in the center.

“Sure. I’ll send you a Venmo request.”

“Oh, I don’t have Venmo.” He finally looks up. “Are you going to Jin’s thing?” All he receives in response is a blank stare. “The skate comp. Second qualifying round for the big championship event? Surely he’s told you about this.”

Let no man ever say you’re a bad liar. “Ah, yeah, of course! Med student brain. It’s all memorizing neural pathways and… stuff… and forgetting skate competitions.”

“Hm,” comes Yoongi’s response, and he quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t question you further.

(You bring it up to Seokjin later, expecting him to laugh it off, extend an invitation out of obligation. Instead, he laughs in a way that sounds fond. Says, “Yoongi beat me to it,” in a way that brings his scarlet red neck and ears to the forefront of your brain, and follows it up with, “I’d really love it if you came, but I understand how busy you must be right now,” that has your skin flushing all the same.

You’re loath to make promises, but sometimes they’re easy.)

Time is not on your side.

You barely make it to Seokjin’s second competition. Barely have your ass in the bleachers, hairline dotted with sweat and anxiety coursing through you, before he’s dropping into the bowl for his first run.

He’d mentioned it offhand. Told you it wasn’t a big deal if you couldn’t make it, because he knew how busy you were with school and that you needed to study because exam season was relentless, but he’d looked so relieved when you joked that it wasn’t so easy to get rid of you, that you’d be cheering him on from the first row. That being anywhere else just wasn’t an option.

And that had… taken you aback. Watching him skate is a good enough distraction for all those thoughts. You don’t have to dwell on the whys: why the thought of sitting in your apartment, nose stuck in a book instead of being here, had been so unconscionable. Instead, you’re able to focus on him, which is almost worse. Because the way he looks—wind pushing his hair back off his forehead as he skates around, calf muscles flexing every time he kicks, shirt fabric darkening under a light sheen of sweat, smiling at kids and the countless people he knows—is a little overwhelming. You’re winded for two reasons.

It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone do something they’re passionate about. Seokjin especially, but you’re biased. You want only good things for him.

His first run finishes. He chews on his bottom lip as the judges huddle together. Numbers flash on the scoreboard. Good—great, even. You know what the stakes are: score high enough and he’ll advance to the championship. More sponsors will fall in line. Someone will present him with one of those comically large checks that he’ll probably spend on god-knows-what at Yoongi’s shop.

More skaters follow. Highs and lows. Seokjin watches them all, enraptured, just as happy for their successes as his own. Someone bails out right next to him, arms out to break their fall, making a sound an arm should never make, and Seokjin’s there right away. He’s good.

Except the universe doesn’t always reward goodness. His second run starts off well: smooth as butter, impressively technical. Seokjin is fluid when he skates. Makes it look easy, like you could hop on a board and do it just as well. You watch him, but you almost like watching everyone else watch him more: the wide eyes, the whistles under their breath, the nods of approval. Seokjin’s got all of it, truly thrives on the admiration. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good.

You know it’s coming. That trick he’d told you about—the one he’s never been able to land during a competition. The one that’s gnawing away at him. He’s going to try it, and you’re holding your breath as he kickflips, grinds his board along the rail, does some kind of dismount that looks absurd and impossible to your untrained eye.

Then he’s on the ground.

He’s still for a second. Huffs in frustration. Back on his board before you can blink.

Seokjin’s not a child, but you know it stings. You’re overwhelmed by the urge to comfort him, the way he’s done for you countless times, but you shouldn’t so you don’t. The two of you don’t talk until after, and by then it might not matter.

It isn’t until he’s about to drop in for his final run that he scans the crowd. You want to believe the look on his face when he spots you is relief, but it’s painted over in a nanosecond. He smiles, smug but content, and then he’s shoving his helmet back on his head, clapping someone on the back, and he’s off.

Maybe the universe does reward goodness, because everything goes right this time.

Seokjin lines up to attempt the trick again, because if he’s going to go out it’s going to be on his terms. Completely unshakeable, the kind of attitude that gets plastered on those bullshit inspirational posters about falling down nine times and getting up ten, and you wonder, briefly, if it’s stupid. A good score would be enough to get him through, but he wants to do this.

And he does.

Everyone around you erupts as soon as the trick is landed. Seokjin calls the run early—just a handful of seconds left, anyway—and his fellow competitors are on him immediately. Someone picks him up in a bear hug and spins him around, and the joy on his face is so pure, so unbridled, that you almost cry.

But the wait is torturous. His second run had gone so poorly and those in the top spots had done so well that it’ll be close, even with a gazelle flip under his belt. Nothing is certain, and the way you can barely bring yourself to look at the scoreboard is proof enough. Seokjin is good, and you want only good things for him, and you can barely look at the scoreboard but you can’t look away, either—

The roar of the crowd is deafening.

A freeze-frame moment. All around you, there are fists in the air, shrill yells of Seokjin’s name, maybe a chant, nothing but chaos. You can hardly hear yourself think, but you can see just fine, and what you see is Seokjin’s gaze locked on yours. The corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. A flicker of hesitation before he’s gracefully shrugging everyone off of him and making his way over to you, and then it’s just reflex. Here, you know what to do.

You barely flinch when he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in.

Everything is soft. Feels a bit like floating.

Seokjinnie: do you wanna come over later?

Seokjinnie: i can either cook or get takeout, your choice

The apartment is small and you love it because he kisses you at the door. Seokjin has lips you want to memorize, so you kiss him again as he pulls away. The two of you kiss for a long time: throughout the “tour,” which is just the large studio space and the bathroom, all over the kitchen as he finishes cooking, until he exaggeratedly pulls out your chair, until you have to shove food in your face to keep your mouth off of him.

Seokjin has the kind of lips that leave you questioning if it’s really this easy.

Because Hoseok had been right: this isn’t fake for you anymore. Hasn’t been for a while, if you’re being honest, and maybe before this would’ve been a realization that scared you, but this doesn’t. Not when it’s Seokjin. So, yeah, maybe it is easy.

“Wait,” he says, chest heaving, gently pulling away from you. “Before I—wait, I have to talk to you about something.”

You just smile, hands still grazing over warm skin. “I think I already know.”

He stills. Takes a few seconds to reboot his brain before he’s smiling, laughing in a way that almost sounds unhinged. “God, yeah. Yeah, me too. But it’s—not that.”

“What, then?”

Immediately it’s clear this is not going to go well. Seokjin sighs, tilts his head back against the arm of the couch. His neck is gorgeous, littered with marks from you, but you gear up for a fight nonetheless. “The competition,” he says, as if that’s enough explanation. “The final round got pushed up.”

Your stomach drops. You know what’s coming, but you still ask, “To when?” because you’re a little bit masochistic. Because maybe you’re itching for the fight. Itching to say see, I told you so, I knew this was never going to work, because it’s always been fake. Itching to hurt, because you want what’s familiar when you hurt.

“Saturday.”

The day of your brother’s wedding. “Of course.” You snort; the universe loves a good dose of irony.

He sighs again. Looks so genuinely distressed that you find it hard to truly be upset. “I’m sorry. I just found out today.”

“It’s fine,” comes your instantly reply, auto-generated. Some silly, naive part of you refuses to spiral, stubbornly convinced you can salvage this. You’d found a date. That was the rule. You’ve done exactly what your parents asked of you, and you think with a rueful smile that they’ll probably be relieved when you show up alone.

But Seokjin’s not convinced. There’s still turmoil painted across his face—some silly, naive part of him clinging to something stubborn, too. “I’m going to ask you to be there.”

Yet another freeze-frame moment. The part in video games where it’s clear you have a very important choice to make, neon signs practically blinding, saying you better choose right, better not fuck it up. But you’re going to. You’re going to say no, and it’s going to hurt Seokjin, and you have about ten seconds to come to peace with that.

“I can’t.”

To his credit, Seokjin doesn’t look surprised, and you think that might be more painful. He’d expected nothing from you and you still let him down, so his snort is sardonic and derisive when he says, “Of course you can’t.”

And your tone is defensive and disbelieving when you retort, “What’s that supposed to mean? What exactly do you expect me to do here?”

“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to do anything, I’d foolishly hoped you’d say yes.”

Your jaw drops. Snaps shut when you swallow around the lump in your throat, because you’re not going to cry at not living up to another set of invisible expectations. “It’s my brother’s wedding, Seokjin. It’s not some small thing I can blow off.”

“Is that it?” he challenges, eyebrow quirked, expression bemused. “Or do you not want to lose your precious little trust fund?”

“Are you serious? Of course I don’t want to lose it, but I—”

“You don’t even like your brother,” he continues, giving you absolutely no reprieve. No chance to catch up, catch your breath. “You don’t even like your family, but I guess you like their money. Nothing was ever gonna be more important than that, huh?”

“That’s not fair, Seokjin.”

He hums; knows you’re right. Doesn’t try to get in anymore jabs, but he looks broken. “I don’t think this has been fake for either of us for a long time. It was stupid to think you’d go against your family on this, but I thought maybe, for me—”

“Again, that’s not fair.”

“I know it isn’t fair,” he shoots back. “I know that. I just…” He rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t skip this, and you’re not willing to skip yours, so I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“I can just go alone,” you say, because it seems simple. “I already did what they asked, so I can just go alone. It’s fine.”

“It’s not like that for me.”

You’re stunned into silence. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s irrational, but it’s… the principle. For me. I’m never going to match up, you know? I’m never going to be from your world. I can make all the money in the world doing what I do and I’ll still never come close. So I had this stupid thought in my head, like, if she comes then it’s real for her, too. It means something. If she’s there, we can figure it out.”

“And that’s the only way? It’s only real if I do this one thing? Doesn’t matter how we feel?” You laugh, exasperated, and you’re up and halfway to the door. “That’s bullshit, Seokjin. How am I supposed to live up to these expectations you’ve got of me if you never tell me what the fuck they are? You know, that’s—this is exactly what my family does, and you—you know that, what the fuck.”

“Hey, no—”

“I can’t belie—” Things go all glassy. Crystalline. You need to get out of here. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Wait—”

You press harshly into your eyes. You’re not going to cry over this. “Good luck, Seokjin.”

[THE CHOICE]

Things come full circle during another two a.m. crisis.

You’d stared at the ceiling. Scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Ignored Seokjin’s texts and thought about texting Hobi but decided it wouldn’t be fair and instead went cross-eyed watching some questionable late night paid program. Tried to disregard the crippling weight on your chest. Couldn’t. Thought about what Namjoon might do, because he seems well-versed in these sorts of crises, and looked up Sartre quotes on the internet. Got as far as one and quit, both because it hit too close to home and because all you can think about is your last two a.m. crisis.

Seokjin’s voice had been so soft. It wouldn’t have that same tenderness if you called him now and that stings, knowing you had a good thing, something velvet, and you let it go.

And still you think about Namjoon, about the ethics of conservation: when to preserve and when to let die. Does preservation ensure survival, or does it stave off the inevitable? It all gives you a headache, because nothing is guaranteed but that doesn’t mean you don’t try.

Jimin goes to Milan. Taehyung posts a selfie looking sad and beautiful on some balcony in Paris. You don’t want to be like them, doing some perpetual song and dance. Resisting an obvious thing.

Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” Groggy and confused. A voice you’ve heard a million times that still feels indistinguishable from a stranger’s.

“I can’t come to your wedding.”

A moment of silence, both literally and for your trust fund. “Uh, okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you rush out, because it feels important to say even if you don’t necessarily feel sorry. “I, uh—I am sorry, because I like your fiancée and I know this is probably a huge inconvenience considering your wedding is in a few hours, but I can’t—”

There’s some rustling. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to your brother in the middle of the night before. “It’s really fine.” He yawns. “This couldn’t wait ‘til the morning, though?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Why do you sound like you’re about to have a panic attack?”

A lightbulb moment: he doesn’t know. “I am. You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That Mom and Dad threatened to cut me off if I didn’t show up at your wedding with a date.”

More silence. Then, slowly, the trickle of laughter. Just a quiet snort at first, and you’re a little confused, wonder if you should be laughing too, if he’s laughing at you, and then it compounds until he’s nearly in hysterics. “Oh my god.” He’s almost shrieking. “Holy shit. That’s why you brought that guy to dinner, isn’t it? The one they hated?” It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound like this.

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking hilarious. Fair play.” You wonder why you’ve spent two-plus decades hating this man on the other end of the line. “Okay, then. Why can’t you make it?”

You talk until you’re hoarse: about the competition, the fake relationship that hasn’t been all that fake for weeks, about the trust fund and growing up under the weight of your family’s money and expectations and always coming in third behind societal ass-kissing and your brother. You’re not looking for an apology but you get one anyway. A heart-to-heart in a moment that’s not entirely built for one, because the sun is coming up and your brother is still getting married in a few hours even if you won’t be there to witness it.

“All right, I really gotta go, but listen: I’ll talk to them, okay? And I’m rooting for you. Maybe in a few weeks you and Seokjin can come over for dinner, if it all works out.”

“Yeah, sure.” You agree readily, and it’s nice to have someone that shares your name in your corner. “I’ll make sure he behaves.” Your smile drops, chest cracked in half. “If it works out.”

Your brother says goodnight and wishes you well. Hangs up, and the silence is deafening and consolatory. You think about the Sartre quote again: Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

Whatever happens, you think you’ll do just fine when it’s on your own terms.

Perhaps naively, you expected the day of your brother’s wedding—and subsequently Seokjin’s competition—to be gloomy. Of course, the weather is perfect. Mid-70s, light breeze, cloudless blue sky. When you’re wounded everything feels like an attack, so maybe before it would’ve felt like the universe was mocking you, saying look how beautiful and intact the world is when you’re falling apart, but you see something else.

You’d done a lot of thinking. Soul-searching and introspection and all those uncomfortable, vulnerable things you and Seokjin had talked about before, and you’ve made it to the other side, so a cloudless blue sky on a beautiful afternoon doesn’t feel like an attack. What you see is clarity being reflected back at you.

But it still takes a lot of courage. Instead of putting on a stunning, designer dress and painting on a smile to pacify your family and anyone else important enough to be granted entry, you’re pulling on normal clothes and normal shoes. It doesn’t matter if your hair and makeup are done. Everything feels wrong for a moment, like you’re forgetting something important, and you suppose that’s normal. This is arguably the biggest and most consequential decision you’ve made thus far in your life. No wonder you’re out of sorts.

Normally, this is where you’d compartmentalize. Tuck all that discomfort away for later: a problem for Future You. But that had been your go-to for years, and it did nothing but turn you into an emotionally constipated mess, so you’re done with that—trying to be done with that. Which is fine, because you don’t have a plan, not really, but sometimes it’s enough to simply show up, so that’s what you’re going to do.

Rejection is likely. You’re smart enough to know that, and you’re mature enough to accept it, if it comes down to it. But you don’t want Seokjin to feel rejected. Not again. That’s more important. So you’re going to show up, heart on your sleeve, and if he rejects you, fine, but you’re going to be there. And you’re going to cheer when he wins, even if your voice is drowned out.

Another packed event. It helps to feel anonymous when your sympathetic nervous system is working overtime like this. You’re trembling by the time you find a spot—a little out of the way, no room left on the bleachers. Seokjin probably won’t see you here, wouldn’t think to look, and it’s okay. You’re here for him but you’re here for yourself, too. Just to prove you can. Just to prove that you’re still human.

It all goes by in a blur. The skaters you don’t recognize, some you do. Scores that are both meaningful and meaningless until they aren’t. Seokjin’s name gets called and your stomach drops, but it’s okay. You see Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jeongguk, all nervous energy and bit fingernails and cautious smiles. They don’t see you, but it’s okay.

Two runs happen in a nanosecond. Seokjin holds steady in third. The guy sitting in first falls on his final run, and it’s best of three so you’re not breathing easy yet but your fingers start tingling with anticipation. The guy in second does well but nothing good enough to improve his score. Your phone’s blowing up in your pocket. Presumably your brother’s told your parents by now, and you can wait just a little longer to get cut off. What’s in front of you is more important, it is, and you know it when—

Call it divine intervention, but Seokjin looks up just as he’s about to drop into the bowl. Looks right at you, and the tingle spreads from your fingers all over. Another freeze-frame moment; the two of you are getting good at this.

He smiles. He wins.

Feels a bit like falling in love.

As always, thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

[helleboretks]

Start with the Sides: Wukong's Demise

Yo yo yo wassup! If you haven't noticed already, me and @justalilgiddybibs decided to do a spur of the moment fic collab series because why the fuck not I guess XD-

I never actually expected for it to get to this point but I have absolutely no regrets!!! Xey're really fun to talk to and I highly suggest checking out the blog made by hem!

Getting right into it, this is a Lee!Wukong, Lers!MK and Nezha SFW Tickle fic! If this is not your forte, no need to read! This is also a part II to Hah! Got 'Em!!!

Summary: After yesterday's antics, MK is left with a slight ler mood. Wrecking the resident Third Lotus Prince again would be cruel- but what about teaching him how to wreck others?

MK was bored. Really bored.

Nothing had really stirred his usual boundless amounts of energy; Mei wasn’t here to play a good round or twenty of Monkey Mech, and Redson was home brooding and inventing like he always did, so MK didn’t have immediate company to keep him active. It was starting to build up on him, especially after yesterday’s sugar rush-like energy.

Speaking of yesterday, the entire event had left him itching to do it again, constantly tapping and wiggling his fingers. Funny how that happens, but he doesn’t really have anyone he can just unleash it on. And even with Nezha here, the guy had only just found out what tickling was, he wasn’t going to go that far. He needed some other way to release all this energy…

 Wait a minute.

“Pssst- Hey Nezha!” The Lotus Prince looked up from his bowl of noodles he was just finishing, attention caught.

“Yes? What is it?” MK smiled as Nezha responded, already feeling a deviousness in his grin. “So uh, I was thinking about yesterday, and-”

“MK, I swear to the Buddha above himself-“

“No no no, I’m not gonna tickle you again, don’t worry!” MK laughed, finding it silly the way Nezha relaxed after having tensed so quickly in embarrassment at the recollections of yesterday.

“Actually, I was thinking…” MK glanced over at his mentor, Wukong, who seemed thoroughly lost in thought while fiddling with the chopsticks Tang had idly handed him. He seemed as if the world was completely empty save for whatever thoughts were manifesting in his head.

“Monkey King was the one who started it, right? So, how about I teach you the art of tickling people, and we use him for example?” Nezha looked at MK skeptically for a moment, then over at Wukong. A rare smile formed on his face, and it was at times like these that he remembered that Nezha too, had a mischievous streak, spanning many centuries longer than MK’s.

“You’re sure he’ll be okay with that?” He asked, still slightly hesitant.

Macaque, who overheard the conversation (having six ears is really helpful for eavesdropping, huh?), leaned in and whispered into Nezha’s ear, ignoring for the time being the fact that the poor prince tensed up at it.

“I’m gonna be honest for once, princey, but he really enjoys it. It’s basically his way of saying that he trusts you a lot. He was probably hoping to be tickled in return yesterday, but was kinda let down when he realized you didn’t have a clue what the fuck it is. You didn’t hear it from me though, in case he asks.”

Nezha chuckled lightly at Macaque’s slyness, and MK took a moment to shuffle through every memory he had of tickling the daylights out of the Monkey King before all of this. Sure, he didn’t get to tickle him nearly as much as Wukong would to him, but knowing that bit of information now…

MK had never felt so honored before.

“Alright then. MK, how do I do this?” Nezha easily relented.

“One second.” MK said, getting off his stool and walking over to Wukong, who didn’t seem to have the slightest idea what was going on, given how spaced out he was. MK snuck up beside him and, with little hesitance, promptly picked him up from under the arms. Wukong shrieked in surprise.

“AAHHHH!! Holy shit Mk-what the fuck?!”

“You’ll see soon enough, Monkey King! Hey Nezha, follow me!” The Lotus Prince cleaned up his bowl and chopsticks, setting them aside and handing them off to Pigsy, who almost smiled. It’s always nice to see another person who appreciates home-cooked meals. After the run-in with Speedy Panda…ugh.

Nezha followed the sound of Wukong’s struggling, and found the two upstairs in MK’s apartment on the floor beside the bed. The young hero had Wukong’s arms pinned under his knees, and at this point he had stopped struggling and laid on the floor, mumbling something about his hands going numb. MK paid no attention to it. “Alrighty then, Nezha! Your first lesson in how to tickle people and get the best reactions commences now!”

“SAY WHAT NOW?!” Wukong’s eyes shot wide open at the statement.

“Oh, you’ll live, Monkey King! Besides, you’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

“Sh-shut up, kid! Now you’re just lying!” Wukong whined. MK only giggled at the half-hearted denial from his mentor.

“Alright, alright, shut up now! LESSON ONE!!!” MK shouted dramatically over top Wukong’s whining. “You gotta know all the techniques and where someone’s super ticklish! So, word of advice, if you wanna find out if someone’s ticklish, always start with the sides!”

And then to demonstrate, MK immediately started pinching at Wukong’s sides, causing the poor Sage to yelp and flinch every which way away from the fingers, not like it helped given that Mk had him pinned down, but it was a…valiant effort. Sort of.

“The sides are like, the most commonly ticklish area for anybody and everybody, so it’s always a safe bet to start there first! Ya feel me?” Nezha snorted slightly at the choice of words, but nodded and resolutely ignored the giggled whining and complaining of one Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

“Cool, cool, cool-WUKONG QUITE MOVING YA LITTLE-” You can’t blame the Lotus Prince for jolting at the sudden raise in MK’s voice, although given how playful his tone was and the stupid grin on his face, he wasn’t taking any of this too seriously at all.

Meanwhile, Wukong himself was giggling up a storm, squirming like his immortal life depended on it as he kicked his feet and slapped his tail to the ground.

“Stohohop pihihinching me thehehen! Kihihihid!!” Wukong responded back.

“Nuh uh, I gotta teach Nezha about the techniques, man. Think of the techniques!!”

Oh yeah, now MK was doing this mostly to mess with him.

Not like Nezha’s complaining though…

“Okay! So you see how I’m pinching him, right?” MK asked, turning his head to Nezha and ever so confident that taking his eyes off Wukong won’t change a thing.

“Yes?” Nezha responded, scooting closer and watching the motions with rapt attention.

And no, he would not admit how that made his own cheeks flush, or how it made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“Is there anything special about it, MK?”

“Oh why yes there is, my dear Nezha.” Said ‘Dear Nezha’ gave him a questioning look. “You sound like one of those preachers from another religion-”

“SsshHHHshhhh shush shush shush, and let me speak my gospel-” MK wheezed in amusement, letting up on his hasty pinches and giving Wukong reprieve.

“So, you gotta make sure that you don’t pinch too hard, yeah? If you do, it’ll just hurt, and that’s not fun for anyone. So! You’ll wanna make sure that it’s quick and light, not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt.” He explained, going as far as to give a slow demonstration to what he was explaining.

Wukong’s breath hitched repeatedly as he bit down stray chuckles, burying his face into his shoulder, probably to silently deny just how embarrassing this must be for him.

“Oooh, I see, I see.” Nezha added verbally with a smile, a hint of pride welling up at noticing Wukong shrinking in on himself more at that.

“Would you like to give it a try?”

Nezha glanced up at MK, and simply smiled.

As MK moved his hands away, Wukong immediately renewed his struggling. “AH AH AH-WAIT! NO, I didn’t agree to this, this is non consensual!! HELP ME!!!” Wukong practically screamed, causing both Nezha and Mk to laugh at his embarrassed misery.

“No one’s here to save you, Monkey King! Now just be a good monkey and sit there so I can teach Nezha the wondrous ways of tickling.” MK spoke with faux somberness in his tone, patting the monkey on the head as Wukong wriggled around.

Now, Here’s the thing.

Nezha is reflexively fast. He has to be, he always has been. It’s what comes with being a guard.

Implementing that into a more harmless pinching motion was honestly pretty easy.

He did not, however, account for Wukong’s reaction.

The monkey let out a shriek at Nezha’s quick jabbing, his feet dragging frantically against the floor as he jolted and yelped at every quick little jab.

“My goodness, Nezha you’re quick with that shit, this is amazing actually hold on-” MK commented, and Nezha honestly couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped him if he wanted.

Because this was fun. Doing this quick little pinches up and down Wukong’s sides, watching him squirm like that so helplessly, giggling feverishly all throughout, it was funny to watch, and fun to do.

Yeah, he could absolutely see the appeal in it.

“Oh oh oh! Lemme show you something!” MK said, deciding not to stop Nezha from having his fun as he then went to skim his fingers along Wukong’s ribs, causing Wukong’s pitch to heighten and his laughter to grow louder.

“It’s funnier when you have more than one person involved in the tickling, but besides that, Wukong’s got some pretty sensitive ribs, so there’s this really funny game you can make out of it!” MK explained, catching Nezha’s attention as he started scritching all along Wukong’s ribs.

Wukong choked on a laugh, throwing his head back and shaking his head a few times as MK went on to explain and demonstrate. “So, we’re basically going to be ‘counting’ if he’s got all his ribs in place. Cause like, ya never know with this one right here-” The Monkie Kid said with a light roll of his eyes.

“Nezha, I’d humbly request you to tell me-how many ribs do we normally have?” MK asked, putting a dramatic tone into his voice that had Nezha scoffing. “Twenty four, MK. We have twenty four.” He answered dutifully.

“Well, are we sure that Wukong has all twenty four? I mean, for all we know, he could have lost some in all his battles or something! Oh, you poor, poor monkey, I’ll help you, don’t worry Monkey King!” MK wiped a fake tear just to emphasize, which only caused Wukong to hiccup with laughter.

“So I found one, y’know! And here’s two, and we got three over here-” Nezha himself flushed a great shade of red as he watched the way MK dug into Wukong’s ribs like no tomorrow, the theatrics he put up were almost as impressive as Macaque’s, because Wukong was really starting to laugh up a storm right now.

“NAHahAHaha! StAHAP- MK!! AHAHAHAHA, PLehEHEhease!” Wukong has already resorted to pleading, and they weren’t even ten minutes into this, barely even five.

Yeah, okay, MK was scarily good at this.

But also…Mei…

Nezha shivered to himself.

“Ooooh maaah gaaawd-Monkey King stop moving or else I can’t count all your ribs! It’s like you’re- AUDIBLE GASP!! ARE YOU HIDING SOMETHING FROM ME!?” MK yelled out, throwing his head back to give Wukong some serious side eye.

Wukong, for all he tried, shook his head hastily, his nose all scrunched up as his blush only deepened from what could practically be described as torture from his successor.

Maybe not actual torture, but it sure looked like it!

“I think you’re hiding something from me and I WILL GET IT!! AAAAAAAAAAH-” Now even Nezha couldn’t help but dissolve into laughter as Mk let out a battlecry- a battlecry of all things!- digging into Wukong’s ribs and making the monkey go ballistic with the ticklish sensation.

“KIHIHIHID!! FAHAHAHAHA- STAHA- STAHAHAHAP! I CAHAHAN’T-AAAAAHAHA-!” Wukong cried out desperately, and for a second, Nezha was worried that he really couldn’t take it.

But when he actually looked up at MK and Wukong, he took notice of something.

As much as MK was joking around beyond multiple extremes, he seemed to be..paying rapt attention to Wukong, as if there would be a sign of some sort that would tell him if… Wukong’s had enough.

‘Ah.’ Nezha thought. ‘They probably do have a sign.’

That attention to detail, that level of care despite this tomfoolery…it was sweet. He wouldn’t deny it. It was really sweet.

(No, he doesn’t want that kind of attention, though! I-it’s just a sweet thing to take note of, okay? He’s not- like, craving that or anything!)

“By the Gods, you might actually kill him.” Nezha couldn’t help but mutter, surprised and unsurprised that MK ended up hearing that despite Wukong’s frantically loud laughter.

“Oh my gods, can you kill an immortal by tickling? I mean like, you can die by it-”

“Excuse me?”

“But I never considered the possibility.”

MK finally slowed down his downright malicious ministrations, and Wukong practically choked on the air he greedily inhaled as he caught his breath. But now the boy was really thinking about it- like, hand to his chin in deep, otherworldly thought kind of thinking.

“Let’s not test that out now, MK. You’re teaching me, not trying to kill a god.” Nezha said with a light hearted chuckle.

“Yeheheah! Yeah-kid, plehehease no, don’t do thahat.” Wukong nodded fervently, clearly filled with nervousness as MK practically stared into his soul.

“...Nezha. I must bestow some very important information onto you.” MK muttered, clearly trying to make this sound very, very important and serious. And as much as Nezha would probably never be able to know if tickling could turn into that kind of serious, he at least knew that it perhaps was important.

So, for fun’s sake, he played along.

“Yes, MK? Whatever piece of information will you bestow upon me that requires such an important incline in your tone?” MK almost broke character, taking a minute not to laugh at the longer than necessary sentence.

“There are certain places on the body that are very sensitive, Nezha. Of course, that’s a given, the nerves in our bodies do flippity things to cause stimuli because biology says so.” MK says with a dismissive hand wave.

“But there are some parts of the body that are so sensitive that it’s actually a little concerning.” Nezha noticed from his peripheral the way Wukong practically froze with tension, coming to a conclusion very rapidly.

“Kid! Hey, nO! None of that!” Wukong complained, but Mk just playfully shoved his forehead and continued talking all business-like.

Nezha struggled so hard to take this seriously, but he nodded along just fine.

“These particular spots are what we like to call, Death Spots.” MK finally said, jolting a little as Wukong struggled underneath him. “MK! MK SHUT UP RIGHT NOW-!!”

“HUSH, MONKEY KING, I’M MAKING HISTORY HERE!!! LET ME WORK MY MAGIC!” MK shouted right back, before quickly jabbing Wukong in the hips, the sage letting out a stray squeal that quite frankly made Nezha himself chuckle a little bit.

“Now, let me tell you about Monkey King’s Death Spots-”

And let Nezha tell you the way MK yelped as he got kneed in the damn back.

Nezha himself jolted backwards as MK whipped his head over to Wukong in alarm, who had an expression that very clearly read ‘oh shit’ all over it.

There was a long, suffering silence.

“You did not just hit me.”

“MK- kid-”

“Monkey King. Wukong. Great Sage Equal to goddamn Heaven, tell me you did not just hit me.”

Nezha slid away. Just a bit. You know. To save himself.

“Kid please I’m sorry-”

“Lesson two, Nezha. Lesson two.” The Lotus Prince almost flinched himself at the maniacal grin on MK’s face. “And this one is specifically tailored to god damn, motherfuckin’ Wukong.”

“MK have mercy on me please-”

“If this bitch deserves it, show no fucking mercy.”

And then MK proceeded to strike two places at once.

Wukong let out the loudest damn scream that Nezha has ever heard-and probably will ever hear-out of his mouth in centuries as MK started nibbling away at his neck, and scribbling into his belly remorselessly.

Nezha himself yelped, face turning pink in pure second hand in embarrassment as Wukong screamed and shrieked and laughed like his life depended on it. The monkey thrashed, writhed and squirmed as much as he could, but MK held steadfast, nibbling and ‘nom nom nomming’ away at his neck and scribbling ceaselessly against his belly, on every goddamn side.

“KAHAHAHAHA- PLE- NAHAHAHAHA IHIHIHIHI CAHAHAHA- AAAAAAAAH!! FAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA-!” Wukong couldn’t make one lick of a sentence from all that attention, and it seemed to be driving him up the goddamn wall.

At some point, he was able to free one hand.

That, however, proved to be a mistake.

MK showed no mercy and began drilling into the underarm of his free hand, the sage knocking his head against the ground with just how fast he had flung it back. His legs were kicking furiously, his tail slapping on the ground with a quick thump thump thump like it didn’t know what else to do. And based on how much he was holding back the power he definitely had to throw off his mentee, both of them were clearly having fun.

And Nezha sat there, hands over his face yet peeking through the fingers to watch this… spectacle.

MK, to make matters worse, had the most deadpan expression he could muster, channeling the pure energy of ‘boredom’ into his act like this was another normal Tuesday afternoon.

Oh gods, that was just horrifying.

Horrifyingly funny, yeah, but horrifying nonetheless.

Wukong laughed and laughed until he started hiccuping, and then laughed even more. He barely even seemed to be getting any air, and even if he was immortal and technically didn’t need air, that flush of exertion was telling a whole different story and he seemed beside himself with a heavy case of mush brain.

The butterflies in Nezha’s stomach flapped tenfold and he involuntarily scrunched in on himself, watching with so much attention he very faintly recognizes he should probably not have. But he couldn’t help it! It was in his face, it was in his ears and it was in the way his shoulders hunched up, subconsciously protecting his own neck in the way Wukong most certainly couldn’t copy.

He doesn’t know how long that absolute torture must have gone on for, he doesn’t even know why MK has such freakishly insane lung capacity for this (he’d know from experience that the kid probably wouldn’t have stopped last time if Pigsy hadn’t told him to cut it out.), but finally at some point, Wukong’s laughter had gone on so long that he’d grown hoarse, and he tapped MK’s shoulder three times- like a sign.

MK let up- so that was the stop signal- and eased off Wukong as the poor monkey gasped for relief. Wukong curled in on himself once MK had rolled off of him, giggling nonsensically to himself as he seemed entirely out of this plane of existence alone.

So…Death Spots were really that bad, huh?

Oh Buddha, someone save him.

“See? Sometimes you just gotta show no mercy and give him shit for it.” MK shrugged with a grin, as if he hadn’t actually almost killed the Great Sage himself, via tickling.

Nezha stared in shock-and mild mortification-at this kid.

That… he didn’t even want to know how that must have felt.

“...fuck.” Was all Nezha could mutter.

“...fuck-” MK repeated, cutting himself off to let out a loud wheeze, laughing to himself as he sidled up next to Wukong.

“Monkey King, are you dead? Did you die? Did you lose your immortality-why are your pupils so big???” MK laughed even harder as Nezha took note that yes, Wukong’s pupils did in fact dilate hard.

“Wukong?” Nezha called out, holding in a laugh at how absolutely unresponsive the other was.

But his tail was wagging, so he’ll take that as a good sign.

“Told you he’d enjoy it-”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!”

MK and Nezha screamed in surprise at the new arrival, and Macaque, who had just entered the room, was smiling in amusement at Wukong like he personally won the lottery.

Now that he had the brain to control his body again, the ghost tickles that hadn’t yet registered now had started coming in, Wukong squirmed quite a bit, clearly still a bit tuckered out. MK patted his mentor on the head, and gently rubbed off the remaining phantom sensations. “Too far?” He asked.

“Wuh- Nah, y-you’re good, kihid.” Wukong assured him.

Nezha held back a squeal at how adorable Wukong looked after the heavy bout of ticklish fever- Because no he was not going to squeal at adorable monkey business he has not sunk that low yet- and then he turned to MK. “So, is everyone that ticklish?”

“Not everyone in the world per se, but if you’re thinking of everyone here? Yeah, I’d say pretty close.”

“I see…”

“So yeah, if you ever want to at least try getting revenge on Mei-”

Oh, oh yeah no, he knows a losing battle when he sees one.

MK, on the other hand…

“No, I’ve got a better idea.” 

Without further warning, He leapt clear over Wukong and instantly pinned MK to the cushiony mattress beside the monkey. “I would like to remind you of what you did to me yesterday- Don’t think you’re getting away scot-free just because you showed me how to destroy that little shit.”

“W-wahait, Nezha-” MK looked around for a means of escape, then called out to Wukong who, despite being absolutely demolished not even a minute ago, seemed to get back some coherence.

“Monkey King! Mohonkey King help me!” Nezha glanced over at Wukong to see what he would do, given his student was pretty much in danger. Wukong, of course, didn't seem to give a rat's ass about MK in that moment.

He proceeded to roll right off the bed, hitting the ground with a “Just like he said, Nezha. Start with the sides.”

Sometimes, Nezha forgets how petty that monkey can be.

Then again, he's not really complaining.

[gay-mooshrooms]

https://youtu.be/LxjFbzfsZBM?si=wDX4ni_wHqoqoLgt i have made such a brilliant discovery. this is genuinely heavenly i need the ghoulettes on this NOW 🙏🙏

OH I LOVE!!!!!!!

That would be the collab of the fucking century holy shit

My jaw DROPPED

[salsasolutions]

Collab of the century holy shit

Jay Eazy, Hatsune Miku Is Dieing To Make A Song With You

Tell Her I’m Down

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

WINTER WARMTH

__________________

Hi, everyone!! This is a part of the Citrus Dome Snowed In collab! I’m so thankful to be a part of this round and super grateful for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten and @tomurasprincess for letting me be on the masterlist! I’m so excited, but I’m not super proud of this one, so please feel free to give feedback.

Masterlist Here!

Go see everyone’s super awesome fics and art pieces they worked so hard on!!

ART BY @brttpaige on Twitter🖤 Go check out her artwork, she’s fantastic!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x reader

The local news station hailed it as “the storm of the century,” and they weren’t wrong. You’ve watched the snow pile up beyond the window, building from a light dusting on the grass to literal knee-high drifts. And it shows no sign of stopping.

The place you’re stranded is stocked up on groceries, you’d charged every electronic device to your name, and you’d cranked the thermostat as high as it would go until the inevitable happens —

The power goes out.

So now you’re stuck indoors, with only a certain someone for company. The same someone you’ve been pining after for ages. Snow stacks up higher and higher outside. As the cold seeps in, and you both drift closer, you realize this was somehow the one thing you hadn’t thought to prepare for…

The snow outside was pretty at first, but now with the doors and windows to your small cottage-type home half covered, it seemed almost oppressive. With the power outage, there was no television to drown out the quiet, only deafening silence and the movement of your new roommate, Sero Hanta.

It didn’t start this way, you hadn’t always obsessively paid attention to his mannerisms. At one point in time, he was just a hero working for the same agency you provided medical care for. You were just support staff, until a dumb villain thought you were “important” and kidnapped you, leaving the heroes you saw as coworkers to rescue you. After that, the agency wanted you to live in the adjacent apartments, but you refused. Magically, two days later, Sero Hanta approached you asking about your spare room under the guise of his lease running out. You thought it seemed a bit suspicious, particularly that this gorgeous man had “nowhere else to go”, meaning no significant other to take him in. Of course, you agreed, being a nice person and maybe bit naïve. He moved his stuff in, didn’t make much of a fuss, and mostly left you to your own devices. That is, until you noticed some... abnormalities. The lingering glances, the newly installed security cameras, the not-so-subtle ideas to spend time with you of having meals together or watching movies, making sure you’d eaten or slept... He cared too much. He was so perfect- gorgeous, tall, easygoing, had similar goals as a rescue hero, funny, and he cared. He cared for you, which made living with him so much harder. You found yourself enjoying nights with him, wanting to sit a little closer, wanting to impress him with new dishes to make for dinner, ditching your ex’s sweatpants for cute sleep shorts, relishing in fantasies of his protective nature and dominating stature with your hand between your thighs... You thought you were going to choke when he started walking around in only gray sweats or a towel after his shower. You tried your best to keep eye contact, not stick around too long, not encroach upon his comfort in his own house. You failed to notice the smirk on his face when you quickly excused yourself or when you turned away too fast after being caught staring.

Sero had originally taken this as an assignment, although he did have a bit of a crush on you from the times you’d patched him up after rough shifts. He thought of himself as your own personal hero, but that mindset soon turned into more than just an assignment. He was protective over you, and he found himself getting defensive if you even mentioned another guy. He had tried flirting within reason, just making dinners and watching movies, but he got cocky when he had walked past your door one night and heard your little whimpers. He decided to test his theory, wearing his sweats lower than he normally would and walking back to his room in a towel, and delighting in strolling past your room to hear your muffled moans and the vibrations of the toy you never used to use. You were getting desperate, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t boost his ego to hear his name through the walls. This, however, was NOT something he’d planned on.

Everything was fine, being stuck in the house together was nice, until the power went out. The heat somewhat remained in the house until night, when you curled up on the couch under every blanket you had and he layered on an extra hoodie and lounged next to you. He looked cold...

“H-Hey... Sero? Um... You look cold. Do you want a blanket?”

“Hmmm, but then wouldn’t you be cold too?” He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well... Maybe... But that’s okay! You need to be warm too!!” God, you’re so sweet.

“I mean... You could always come over here, we can be warm together!” He stretches out his arm and beckons you over, inviting you to curl up next to him. You shift over, spreading the blankets over your roommate and hiding your blushing face under the pile of softness, keeping at least 3 inches of space between you before he rests his arm behind your head.

“Thanks, y/n, this is uh... nice!” He hides his disappointment at your perceived rejection, going back to look at his phone.

After 20 minutes of scrolling, you can’t take it anymore. He smells so good, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I’M GONNA GO TO BED NOW. Uh, goodnight!” You basically shouted, too loud to be natural. You abruptly stood up before slightly shrinking from the frigid air. When did it get so cold in here?

“Hey, it’s really cold... We don’t really have a ton of blankets, and I’m worried you’re going to freeze, so maybe we could sleep in my room tonight? Just for, ya know... body heat?” He sounds nervous, like he expects you to freak out and reject him completely.

“Well... I-I guess that’s smart... You’re right. So... Let’s go?” Holy fuck, you are so nervous. You were originally escaping to your room like you normally do, too horny to continue hanging out with Sero and retain your sanity, but now you’re sleeping with him?! What the fuck are you thinking?!

He gathered the blankets and lead you into his room, holding the door for you before plopping down your nest of fabric. You stand awkwardly in the center of the room, waiting for something you have no idea what. Sero unceremoniously strips himself of his hoodies and sweats and climbs into bed, seemingly out of habit, before turning his attention to you and holding the blankets open.

“Are you coming?” He smirks, putting on a confused voice that doesn’t quite match the mischief in his eyes.

“I-...” FUCK, he’s beautiful. Lean muscles flexing with every movement, shaggy hair falling over his face, and holy... The tight black boxers are NOT helping the whole “too turned on to function” situation.

“Oh... Sorry, I read somewhere that skin-to-skin contact is better for warmth. You’d probably know better than me, I guess.” He grins, as though this entire thing is nonchalant and completely normal. “I can help you if you’d like~”

“Uh nope, yeah, you’re right!! I’ll uh just... Can you close your eyes?” You are panicking. Every insecurity you’ve ever had is coming to bite you in the ass. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how much space your body takes up, remembering everything those stupid bitches in high school said about you.

“Y/n, you’ve seen me in that skin tight hero suit and you’ve patched up most of my body. It’s totally fine! PLUS, you’re sleeping in my bed, am I gonna have to close my eyes the whole night??” He jokes, not knowing that your shyness isn’t rooted in principle, but fear. Upon seeing your face, his smile falters and he autocorrects, “You know, I think you’re beautiful, but if you want me to turn around, I promise I will.”

“No, it’s-it’s fine. It’s okay. Wait- did you just call me beautiful?” You try to cover your shocked expression as you take off your sweater and slide off your fuzzy pajama pants. Sero is thankful your head is stuck in your sweater as his jaw practically drops. Oh fuck, he’s screwed. His eyes follow your curves from your chest, down your sides, to the pouch of your tummy and the plump fullness of your thighs... If he thought he was having trouble focusing before, there’s no way there’s gonna be enough blood in his brain when you’re half naked next to him... Speaking of... Shit, he’s hard... Okay, it’s fine, just tuck it in your waistband like you did back in school...

You climb into bed as quickly as you can, still keeping a few inches between you and Sero until he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You squeak in surprise and he chuckles, “You can’t be warm unless you’re over here! C’mere.” He nestles his face into your hair and splays a hand across the curve of your lower back. Feeling very naked and very nervous, you shift in his hold and snuggle closer to the heat he gives off, but halt your motions when you feel him twitch against your thigh. Neither of you are breathing, praying the other didn’t notice the rock hard length pressed between your bodies. Somehow, in the time you spent essentially playing dead, you both fell asleep cuddled together.

Over the course of the night, you had shifted to straddle your leg over his torso and he had turned on his back with his hand resting on the space between your thigh and your butt. Sero was the first to stir from his slumber when he felt you move against him, a small whine escaping your parted lips as your hips rolled against his. Oh... OH... Is y/n-? oh fuck y/n is dreaming... and grinding on me... fuck, this shouldn’t feel so good... He tries his hardest to go back to sleep, but the feeling of your sleeping body brushing up against his cock keeps him wide awake. He was trying to stay perfectly still until he heard your tiny whisper “Hanta~”... His hips involuntarily thrust, drawing out the most sinful moan from your throat as the head of his dick added friction on your clit that woke you up. You start to move away, embarrassed and hoping to check that he’s still asleep, but Sero’s grip tightens around your thigh and presses you harder onto him.

“Good morning to you, too~... If you needed my help getting off, you could’ve just asked, babygirl~” The lust and sleep clouding his voiced, combined with the steady roll of his hips makes you whimper and tuck your face into his neck.

“Awww so shy~ You were moaning my name earlier. Why don’t we see how loud I can make you, princess?” He speaks lowly as he flips you onto your back, hovering over you.

“I- I... Please.” You breathe wrapping your legs around his waist and stare up at him, wiggling your hips and sliding your hands up his biceps.

“Can I- Can I kiss you? Are you sure you want this? I’ve had feelings for you since before I moved in and I just... I never want to hurt you.” Cupping your cheek and searching your face for any hesitation, Sero starts succumbing to his own insecurities. He never wants to hurt you, and he knows he isn’t the flashy hero some of his friends seem to be... He needs to hear you say it.

“Sero... Yes~. I want you, please kiss me... I feel the same way. Please~...” Upon hearing your confession, Sero slotted his lips against yours. The kiss was sweet, gentle. Breathing each other in felt so right, so natural, and you followed his lead when he slid his hold to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. His hand drifted down, following the curve of your breasts, tracing your sides and resting on the pouch of your tummy. Just as you were starting to feel self conscious, Sero groans and moves to kiss your neck, mumbling “You’re so beautiful, y/n. Fuck, so perfect. You feel so soft, I need you so bad~” The whimper he draws from you when he sucks a deep mark into the column of your throat is absolutely lewd, you can barely believe it came from you. He kisses his way down your body, leaving hickies along your skin and squeezing every inch he can get his hands on. You look down at him, his eyes dark with lust and admiration as he leaves opened mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, making you more needy than you thought possible. He strokes his thumb along your clothed slit and moans at your wetness.

“Fuck- you’re so wet for me, angel. I want to taste you, you’re so cute like this. Let’s take these off, yeah?” He looks to you and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, asking for permission and grinning like an idiot when you lift your hips to help him. Before you can say anything, he’s prying your legs open and diving in, moaning as he laps your slit and sucks your clit into his mouth. You run your fingers through his hair and grip him, pulling him into you and grinding against his face. His groans send vibrations straight to your core, pinning your hips with one arm and sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt.

“M-more!! Oh god, please Sero, just like that- I want more!” You moan so prettily for him, but he wants something more. He releases your clit with a pop and leans up, stilling his fingers inside you and wrapping his free hand around your neck. The pressure and dominance has you clenching around his fingers, and he takes notice.

“You either call me Hanta or Papi, nothing else. You understand? I want you to say my name when you cum.” He commands, and sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh you like that, huh?~ I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Why don’t you tell me what you want, baby?~”

Your brain goes hazy when he leans in and places little love bites on your neck and collarbones. “PAPI~! Yes, I love it! Please fuck me, I want to feel you, I need moreee~” You pant as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you unbearably empty.

“Oh baby, I’ll fill you up, don’t worry. But first, why don’t you suck my cock?~” He strips himself of his boxers and flips the two of you, pulling you on top of him. He’s so long, just thick enough to stretch you and reach every amazing spot inside of you. The sight of his hard length has you drooling, anticipating feeling the weight of him on your tongue. You give the head a few kitten licks, relishing in the way he groans and twitches in your hand. He laces his fingers at the base of your head and lets you set your own pace, wrapping your plush lips around him. Bobbing your head up and down, running your tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick and swirling it around the head- you love seeing his reactions. The way his breathing increases and his hips buck when you hollow your cheeks. He looks so pretty like this, you can’t help but rub your thighs together for some kind of friction. Luckily, he notices how desperate you’ve gotten and pulls you up to straddle him with one hand still on your hair and the other gripping your hip, calloused fingers digging in and massaging the fat there.

“As much as I want to cum in that perfect little mouth, I think my baby needs to be filled, yeah?” He fists his cock and strokes the head through your wetness, gathering your slick and making you involuntarily grind against him. “Beg for my cock, babygirl~, tell Papi what you want.” The smirk on his face is utterly sinful, teasing you and enjoying the fucked out expression on your beautiful face.

“PLEASE I want your cock, I wanna be full, just fuck me already!!! Please stop teasing me Hantaaa~” Just as you grind your hips down onto him, he thrusts into you, cutting off your pleading with a needy moan. “Ah~ fuck- so full, so full, oh my god! Yes Papi~!”

“Oh shit angel, fuck- you feel so good.” Hanta grabs your hips and helps you slowly fuck yourself on him, “Just like that, baby, just like that. Ride my fucking cock. Fuck- you’re so tight...”

The dirty talk pouring out of Hanta’s mouth, combined with the stretch of his hot length stirring up your insides, you find yourself embarrassingly close to climax already. Your first orgasm hits you like a train, completely knocking the air out of your lungs and causing you to collapse onto Hanta’s chest. He seizes the opportunity to flip the two of you, holding you underneath him and fucking you into the mattress.

“Ah ah ahhhhh~ Hantaaa~ I can’t! I can’t, I just came, it’s too much!!! oh FUCK Papi!!!” You feel the tears welling up in your eyes from the overstimulation and pleasure.

“Yes you can, babygirl. You’re taking me so well, you’re such a good girl. I know you love it, I can feel your pussy flutter around me. So honest, angel. You’re so perfect like this- fuck.” Hanta grips the back of your thighs and pushes your knees to the bed, hitting even deeper within you. The head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust and makes you scream out, nails digging into his back, and egging him on.

“Come on, mi amor, cum with me. I know you can, I can tell you’re so fucking close... Cum on my cock, that’s right. Cum for me.” His long fingers reach down and rub quick circles on your clit. He leans in to sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and your shoulder, sending you over the edge into your climax. Your vision goes white and you clamp down around him, cunt spasming as you squirt all over his thighs and abs.

“F-fuck!!! That’s so fucking hot~ I’m gonna- Ah~” He fills you to the brim with his sticky release, the warmth spreading through your core and coating your walls. Hanta releases your legs and lays on top of you, sweaty bodies pressed together until he comes down from his high.

“That was so amazing, angel. You were so good for me. Such a pretty baby, all mine...” He pulls back to kiss your temple and rolls over, petting your hair and lightly scratching your back.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me... I always want to be yours.” You giggle, bubbly at his claim on you and still buzzing from your high. You curl up into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. “Mine.”

“Mmhmm, all yours.” He breathes a chuckle and places a kiss to your hairline. “I’m glad I can warm you up, lovebug.” He smiles as your breathing evens out, falling asleep with you in his arms.

[shintorikhazumi]

“𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓪 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓪𝔂” *𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓵𝓮 *

So this started out as one of my most random-ass comments, and turned into an unofficial collab. And now. FRICKING. OFFICIAL. THANK YOU AND BLESS YOU @tanuki-pyon​ for being my partner in crime here lmao, and for the blessed, gorgeous ART.

It was over.

The Grand Triskellion incident had been resolved, and all was back to normal- dare Akko say things had actually become even better than they were.

The world had been restored to peace, and it was all thanks to Akko.

Akko and her friends.

Akko and the new nine.

Akko and... Diana.

Diana...

"Oh, Dear Beatrix" A blush formed on her features, hot against the cool night air. Akko covered her face with her hands, squealing into them, screaming, and murmuring incoherent sounds. "She was so gorgeous."

Falling onto her back, she lay on that grassy hill, a ways away from the dorms. Yes, she'd snuck out again. But really, couldn't they let her go just this once? She was completely burnt out in all aspects, and watching the stars had always given her a sense of calm and recharge. It was as if their shines transferred their boundless energies to the tired Akko, and she'd be ready for another day.

Tonight, however, she had another goal in mind. A different reason for her rendezvous with the twinkling heavenly bodies.

"I have to stay awake. I need to see it..."

The shooting star, Verum... it was so rare to see it, entering earth's orbit only every century. However, it had been rumored to grant any wish you desired. And that was Akko's goal. To see that star... and maybe... wish upon it.

"Is it unfair?" She suddenly thought. To be wishing upon the magical powers of a celestial being to make Diana... l-love... her. Would this be against the other girl's will? Was this similar to casting the love-love spell on someone? Should Akko actually-

"SHIT!"

Caught unaware, Akko had only seen a glimpse of the tail-end of that marvelous, rare star. And it was gone forever, leaving her indecisive self with a wasted opportunity.

She could have at least wished to get better at magic. At least!

"Well, there goes that. I stayed up all night for nothing." She frowned, sitting back up.

Breathing in the fresh air, she looked at the stars, beautiful and bright. Gorgeous in their light, shining all through the night.

"Ah, damn. Dear Beatrix..." Somehow she had gotten into the habit of expressing her emotions using her crush's ancestor's name. Weird. It actually sounded like she was praying to her. Heh... Might as well?

With that odd idea in mind, Akko filled her lungs with enough air before screaming at the heavens (if only to feel a little better after the flop).

"GREAT BEATRIX, GIVE ME A SIGN!"

The wind howled past her ears, suddenly picking up. Akko didn't seem to notice. She only had one mission to carry out, one question in mind. And she was going to fucking crush this task, and make a fool out of herself only for the stars to see. That was one good thing.

With enough power in her tiny frame, she yelled-

"IS DIANA GAY?!"

And the air was suddenly still, the night so eerily quiet.

So was Akko and her entire being. All that yelling sapped away her last remaining energy and motivations to even move tonight. Maybe sleeping on a hill wasn't so bad-

"What. The. Actual. FUCK."

She gaped at the sky, the twinkling stars. The shining letters.

"Ha...ha... haha... hahaha.... HAHAHA?!"

She was in hysterics. She was... was she losing her goddamn mind?!

Rubbing her eyes, her crooked grin dropped into a dumbfounded gaping of the mouth. It was still there. Bright. Shining. Bright and Shining.

"Holy shit." She whispered, sweat trickling down her cheek. "Damn, Beatrix. Are you listening in on me? That's.... kinda creepy..." She exclaimed to no one present.

She continued staring at the sky and the letters that didn't seem to want to fade any time soon. She hoped no one else saw it, at least. She didn't want to accidentally out the girl of her dreams against her will.

But... she couldn't help but read that truth out loud. The truth Beatrix oh-so-kindly provided for her, apparently.

"...Diana is Gay".

[irwinkitten]

black cat magic | l.h

notes: look i am alive! things have been hellish but i got this out for the writers collab event that @maluminspace and @h0tsos created! since i had to bow out for the last one, i was determined to do this one and had an idea inspired by this comic strip. despite life being particularly shitty, i still enjoyed this idea. also not using my old tag list because effort to find it all and go through, so my apologies. warnings: none? just injured kitty who gets some love. word count: 2k prompt:  Person A finds an injured black cat, and takes it home to take care of it, not knowing the cat is actually a shapeshifter

donate to my ko-fi?  

-

There was a legend from days of old, when warlocks and witches ruled in tandem with the fae and shapeshifters. ‘Should you want to meet your match, then try to befriend, or trap, or catch, the black feline that lives where the grey door is told, to be a secret gateway for jewels and gold. But do not fool the cat with thieves or you shall pay with your misery.’ It was a legend that no one ever learned if it was true, but the house with the grey door was never sold, never had any kind of people live there in the years. 

Many attempted to rob it and those who had tried suffered in life with struggles which left them with nothing but misery. Most ignored the black cat with startling blue eyes as it watched the world go by. But not you.

The first day you greeted it, you were slow, knowing better than to trust any kind of animal that could bite or claw you. 

It purred once your fingers threaded through its fur, content to let you stay there and pet it. 

“Aren’t you a handsome kitty?” You crooned, scratching under the cat’s chin. As it tilted it’s head up, you glanced underneath it to read the tag on it’s collar.

‘Luke’

“Luke, huh? Are your owners in or do you just roam freely?” Not expecting an answer from the cat, you chuckled when he meowed back at you before hopping off the wall and heading to the door.

“See you soon, I’ve got to get back to work.” You weren’t sure why you were reassuring the cat, but you headed back home, with your thoughts drifting to the black cat that had startling blue eyes.

On one of the sunnier days, you chose to bring one of your books with you and you’d found a small hill beside the house that had tall ivy plants hugging the walls. Atop of the hill was a tree that gave you good shade to hide from the heat of the day and as you sat down and studied, it wasn’t much longer until you had a visitor in the form of a black cat.

“Hi there Luke.” You greeted the cat as he came up for fuss. It made you chuckle how he settled himself in your lap, content to sleep whilst you read on, occasionally biting your hand gently when your eyes grew sore.

“You must have a sixth sense or something.” You murmured after tucking the book away, switching to one for pleasure instead. 

This time, he maneuvered himself under your hand so that your fingers were running through his belly fur, purring non stop, making you chuckle.

“Maybe I should bring some toys with me for you to play with. You’re more likely to turn my hand into a scratching post should I pet your belly for too long.” You laughed at your own joke, but he simply meowed in return and stayed sprawled across your lap on his back.

Ignoring all instincts that told you to stop petting him, you carried on, surprised at the lack of teeth or claws, and when you next looked up from your book, you found him fast asleep under your ministrations.

“Weird cat.” Was the soft murmur from you as you carried on reading until it started getting dark and you had to make your way back home.

You found yourself returning until the day you found him on the side of the road, the pitiful whines breaking your heart as you realised he’d been run over.

“Oh my poor boy.” You whispered, carefully scooping him up. He seemed to know you were there to help him, claws digging into your shirt as you cradled him. “Let's get you to the vet and make sure that they can help you. If you’re still fighting to hold on, they’re not gonna give up on you.” 

The journey to the vets was harsh with his painful meows ringing through your soul. But he behaved as the vet helped him, biting the technician only once when they caught him unawares. 

You’d been right in your assumption, however. They weren’t willing to put him down because there was still the chance he would survive. So you made the decision to nurse him back to health.

The first few nights were tiring. They warned you it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was also the most rewarding watching as he snuggled down into the bedding on the first night.

It was weeks of falling in love with the cat, knowing that it wasn’t yours. Despite the owners not seemingly answering, there had been a letter in your post, with money to cover costs and a small thanks of taking care whilst the owner was currently away. 

You had wondered how they’d found out, but in the small town, news travelled fast and more often than not, everyone knew everyone, so someone had to have informed the owner.

When he was allowed to walk again, you found yourself with a small black shadow, almost like he wasn’t willing to leave you alone. And this didn’t bother you, but it didn’t help with the heartbreak that you had, knowing you couldn’t keep the furball of joy that was changing your life.

After six months, he simply vanished one evening and you wondered if he’d made his way back home and part of you felt your chest ache, but you knew you couldn’t keep him. He wasn’t yours and you had to remind yourself that constantly as you carried on about your evening and settled into bed.

That was the first night you’d had a strange dream, a man with golden curls and bright blue eyes sat with you under a familiar tree as he talked about an old tale that you’d heard from your great grandparents when you were a small child.

“The lore is as old as the town itself. I wanted to find someone worthy to share everything with.” That pulled your attention, even in your dream state.

“You wanted to? Then wouldn’t that make you like, well over two centuries old?” He laughed and you wondered if it was real or not because it sounded beautiful.

“Three and a half actually. Time has no essence when you’re immortal though.” His lips were curved up into a smile as he shifted so that his head rested in his lap.

The dream felt familiar as you threaded your fingers through this stranger's golden locks.

“But you look so young...” You trailed off in confusion.

“Benefits. I could choose to grow old, but I want to be with someone who I love. Maybe then I’ll grow old. But I’ve waited for so long now, I shouldn’t be bothered waiting any longer.” 

You hesitated.

“What’s your name?” This made him chuckle as he turned onto his back, his eyes holding yours as your fingers slowly stopped.

“Luke.” And then you noticed the familiarity of his bright blue eyes.

You woke up with a gasp, glancing at the clock as you did so. The numbers read three am, and without even thinking, you wrapped yourself in your jacket, barely remembering to collect your house keys before stumbling along the streets towards the old house that had sat there for centuries.

The lights were on when you reached the home and you felt uneasy for a second before pushing open the gate. Before you could knock on the door, you heard the meow.

“Luke.” Your voice was quiet as you turned, studying the cat who was sitting underneath a window. You watched as he stood on all fours, turning tail to head around the corner of the house, and in the dark, you could see his bright blue eyes shine against the lights of the house and without thinking, you took a step forward, only to be stopped by the door opening.

Your heart left your chest as the very same man from your dream opened the door, a kind smile on his lips as you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“A spot of tea, perhaps?” His voice was exactly as it had been in your dream, and it had jolted you back into reality as the wind picked up and you shivered. “And maybe an extra blanket?” He sounded amused as he stepped back to let you in, and you felt your skin tingle.

“So you were telling the truth in my dream?” He smiled.

“Lets get your coat off and get some tea for you, love.” You didn’t hesitate to follow, part of your mind concerned, but a larger portion thinking you’d follow him anywhere if he asked.

You both sat in silence whilst he was making the tea and you couldn’t help but stare at him. He was exactly the same in your dream. Part of you wondered if this was real.

“Are you really a cat?” Finally came the question as he set the tea in front  of you and you looked away in embarrassment when he laughed.

“Not the first question I expected, but I expected it.” His answer was encouraging as you glanced at him and watched as his entire body began to shrink and then suddenly Luke, the very black cat that had slept in your bed, sat on the table in front of you.

He shifted back and you felt your body slump as your eyes rolled backwards and he lunged forwards to keep you upright.

When you next woke, the scenery was different. You were in a lounge of sorts, the still hot tea, resting on the coffee table.

“That was a lot of you to take at once, I’ll admit. Are you feeling better now?” Luke crouched in front of you and you didn’t stop yourself as you reached out, your fingers touching his face.

His skin felt real and you watched as his eyes fell shut at your touch, a noise of content escaping him.

“Holy shit this is actually happening.” You finally whispered and he smiled, letting your hand drop from his face. 

That was when you noticed that you had a warm blanket thrown over you and the comfort that it offered was reminiscent of the nights that Luke the cat had spent curled up with you on the harder days.

“It’s a lot to take in, but I’ve got all the time in the world for you.” His smile was reassuring and you took in a deep breath.

“Reckon I can sleep with Luke the human?” You finally asked and he grinned.

“I think I can do that.” 

You could feel the couch shift underneath you and you realised that the back was moving so that it lay flat. Glancing at Luke in surprise, he looked unconcerned as pillows zoomed down the stairs, followed by a heavier quilt and then the couch cushions seemed to meld together and turn soft.

“Magic. Right. I’ll probably have more questions in the morning, but I certainly need more sleep.” You muttered and Luke laughed as he climbed under the covers with you, his arms pulling you against him and suddenly everything felt better, for just a moment.

“Everything that is mine is yours should you so wish it. My things, my home, my heart.” He whispered as you cuddled closer and although it felt like a lot, you also knew in your heart that you weren’t going to let him go.

“I’m happy with just the last one. The rest are bonuses.” You sleepily murmured before succumbing to your dreams once more. 

“And that’s why everything I have will be yours, love.” Luke whispered quietly before he too, followed off in the land of dreams.

When you woke the following morning, you knew in your heart that you weren’t to be parted from Luke. So when one day the house suddenly vanished from sight, those that grew up with the lore, silently toasted to the one who had won the sorcerers heart. 

-

@sexgodashton, @loveroflrh, @maluminspace, @h0tsos, @cashtonsangel, @mermaidcashton, @malumsmermaid, @5-secondsofcolor, @devilatmydoor, @lashtonswildflower, @karajaynetoday, @calpops, @rosecolouredash, @goth5sos, @cakesunflower, @calmlftv, @spicycal, @talkfastromance4, @wildflowergrae, @wildmichaelflower, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles, @superbloomirwin, @superbloomed-c, @ashtonlrwin, @colormekaykay, @thecurlsofgod, @treatallwithkindness, @kiwijulia​

[twokinkybeans]

Pale Rose - Lion Whisperer AU Chapter 2 [Starker]

Chapter 2: Mister Six AM. Peter groans as he turns around in his bed to slap the alarm. The sun is already shining through the curtains and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Peter cracks his back and sighs, slowly raising his hand again to grab his phone. He unplugs it from the charger and frowns when he sees a wall of notifications. He puts in his code and opens his email first. He gasps when he reads his daily donation update. Their donation goal of 100k dollars was met. And kicked out of the park by another 560k. The number of separate donations has him lose his breath. How did so many people find this fundraiser? Peter opens the next email. YouTube contacted him to… Congratulate him? Peter’s eyes go wide when he sees the number in the email and he immediately switches apps to check his YouTube account. How many subscribers did he have yesterday? Around 700k? 

“Holy shit…” he mumbles. 1.8 million subscribers . Peter jolts to sit upright in his bed, his bare chest uncovered from the thin sheet as he scrolls through the countless new comments he has. He pants, not believing what is happening. He’s pretty sure he can’t even read all of them anymore at this point. On his most recent video, the most liked comment sparks his interest. Who else is here because of Tony Stark?

“Oh, no, he didn’t.” Peter switches apps again and opens his Instagram. He stares at another wall of notifications and opts to just turn them off for people who aren’t mutuals. He’s about to hit the search bar to find Tony Stark’s Instagram in the list of people he follows, but with his notification wall compressed to just mutuals, one shines through.

Tony Stark now follows you. They’re mutuals now. Peter immediately hits his account and stares at the latest post. It’s a candid of Peter with Adi and Nedda. Tony didn’t have a phone with him, though, or a camera. How could he have taken this picture? Peter’s breath is stuck in his throat as he scrolls down to the caption, almost afraid of what he might read. Meet Peter Parker. A bright sun, that rivals the one up in the sky, who also happens to work with cats. Big cats. Wakanda’s Sanctuary, almost 300k square feet of land, is the home of lions and other animals that are native to Africa. There, Peter takes care of the animals that are endangered because of human interference. Animals that can no longer be released into the wild; that were saved from horrible private zoos or who fell victim to poachers. I was blessed with both a terrible sunburn and a generous conversation with Peter, in which he told me about his goals to raise money in order to fight poaching and to raise awareness for climate change. I do encourage all of you to watch at least one of his videos, just to get to know him and his feline friends a little better and to give him that small bit of ad revenue to help him achieve his goals. The world would be a better place if we were all a little bit more like Peter Parker. Peter stares at his screen, his cheeks flushed red at the endless stream of compliments. Peter reads over the last line again and again and again and again. Tony’s post got him this increase in subscribers. Tony’s post got him all of those donations. This was all because of Tony. Peter tears his eyes away from the phone to look at the small card on his bedside table. Matte black. No name. Just a phone number. Tony’s phone number. Maybe doing a collab with the billionaire philanthropist isn’t such a bad idea after all... - Peter assesses himself in the mirror. He’s never been this nervous for a video before. Or, ever at all, really. Tony Stark immediately agreed to being present for the move. Even on the phone, the man had been incredibly charming. Peter ruffles his hair in an attempt to make it look good, while sucking at his teeth. He swears quietly, knowing spending time with the lions will mess his do up again anyways. Peter opts to not think too much about it and covers himself head to toe in sunscreen, as he does every morning. He takes one last glance in the mirror before grabbing his baseball cap and putting on his walking shoes. When Peter opens the front door of his apartment at The Sanctuary he gulps and immediately walks back in to throw the door shut with a loud bang. Tony was already there. Right outside his small, messy room. Peter saw him well enough to have the image of Tony’s outfit stuck in front of his eyes. Camo shorts, brown walking shoes and a green shirt. His brown tinted pilot sunglasses hide his eyes mysteriously and fuck. He looks hot. Peter takes a deep breath in through his nose and closes his eyes, trying to calm his nerves. “Here we go…” he whispers to nobody but himself and when he opens the door again, he yelps, refraining from throwing it shut straight away again. Tony’s right in front of him, hand raised to knock on Peter’s door. The older man cocks his head and smiles. “Morning, Rose,” Tony quips. Peter swallows his breath and chokes when he hears the nickname. “You rushed back in, so I figured I’d come say hi.” “Yeah!” Peter exclaims, laughing sheepishly. “I- eh… I saw you didn’t bring a cap. I was gonna grab you one.” He presses his lips together in a smile. Yes. Good excuse. “A… cap?” “Yeah, a cap.” Peter doesn’t know what to say next and awkwardly stares at Tony’s features. “Should I have brought a cap, then?” Peter jolts when Tony speaks again and he points at his own head. “You get sunburnt at the top of your head quickly out there and I’m guessing you don’t want to put sunscreen on your scalp, so…” Peter swiftly takes off his own hat and pushes it onto Tony’s head. The man is startled by the gesture, but doesn’t protest. Peter stares at the man wide-eyed when he realizes what he just did. “-Ah,” he stutters. “Sorry about that, I should’ve asked, shit-” “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Tony laughs. “I get it, okay? When we first met I was just the random dude you see in the news occasionally and now I completely flipped your life with one post you didn’t want me to make.” Peter stands frozen in place, staring at Tony and pretends that that is exactly the reason why he’s so flustered. “I’m sorry for not asking permission. That’s on me. But- please- don’t feel like you have to do anything for me, okay? You don’t get the title of philanthropist by asking for things in return.” Peter takes a step back and looks at his feet with a frown. Tony clears his throat. “So, what are you gonna use for your head?” Peter looks up so he can stare at Tony again. Tony gestures towards Peter’s hair by nodding. “You just pressed your cap on me. Thank you for letting me borrow it, by the way, but don’t you need the protection as well?” “Right!” Peter exclaims, turning to fall on his knees and crawl under the bed to get a small box. He takes out an old, slightly more worn cap and waves it in front of his own face. “That’ll do.” - “Good morning everybody,” Peter smiles at the GoPro in his hand. “It is currently 7am, we got a busy day ahead of us: we’re going to be switching enclosures for two prides and if that goes smoothly, we’ll hopefully be taking Adi, Nedda and Beru for a walk this afternoon.” Peter looks down at his feet for a second and then back up into the lens with a wide grin. “Now, you must be wondering why I say ‘we��� for the walk, as that’s a thing I do without the volunteers of The Sanctuary, but I actually have a very special guest with me today!” Peter turns around quickly, whipping the camera with him until Tony enters the shot behind him. The man smirks and cocks an eyebrow. “Hello, there.” Peter feels Tony’s hot breath in his neck and has to stay focussed on the camera so as to not to lose his composure. A lot of people are gonna watch this video, simply because Tony Stark is in it, so he has to sell this right. For the lions. At least, that’s what Peter tells himself. “Tony Stark!” “Me!” Tony raises his hands above his head and they both pull a face, resulting in the both of them bursting out with laughter. “So,” Peter says, angling his camera correctly again. “A lot of you peeps have been asking me to make a video from the perspective of someone visiting The Sanctuary as opposed to just me with the GoPro attached to my arm, so I figured I could take this opportunity to see how well you handle a camera, Mr. Stark.” Peter presents the GoPro to Tony who looks at Peter’s fingers for a second. He really doesn’t like to be handed things, but every molecule inside his body is screaming at him to touch the boy, so he does something he rarely allows. With a grin, he takes the camera out of Peter’s hands, lingering a little longer than necessary and turns it until he’s no longer in shot. Instead, Peter’s all the viewer is able to see now. “Hey!” Peter exclaims. “You’re in this vid too!” “Yes, but you are infinitely more interesting to look at.”  Peter scratches the back of his head and looks down, trying to hide his blush behind the worn cap. Tony clears his throat. “You doing your work, kid.” Saved it , Tony hopes. “Don’t think anybody goes to the Sanctuary Channel to watch my face.” “Well-” Peter exclaims, standing upright again with his lips pressed on top of each other. “I was also thinking that this video will be the one most people get introduced to my channel with because- well… You’re in it.” Peter nods, holding his chin with his thumb and index finger. “So, yeah, you can ask me anything that comes to mind. Doesn’t matter if I’ve touched on it before in other vids.” “Well, then, Mr. Parker-” “Peter,” the young man interrupts him. “Feel so old when people call me that.” “Sheesh, kid, you’re what, 22? Just a few days ago you were talking to me about retirement- we’re in the 21st century, people live ‘til 85 at least.” Peter laughs and boy, does Tony love making him laugh. “For the record,” Peter chuckles. “I’m 23. So that’s way older than 22.” Tony snorts. “And my workfield isn’t exactly without danger, Mr. Stark.” “Ha!” Tony exclaims. “Way to make me feel old, kid.” “But-” “If I’m not allowed to call you mister than you’re not calling me that either. Tony, kid. Call me Tony.” Peter hides his face behind his hands. “I’m gonna have to spend a whole day editing this vid, don’t I?” “Probably.” - “Alright!” Peter says excitedly as he hops into the truck. He slowly drives over the Sanctuary grounds.  “Your timing is actually quite ironic, since we’re moving the Avengers today.” “The- oh?” Tony pretends he wasn’t already aware of this. He’s seen the videos of this particular pride. He knows what’s coming. He puts the camera diagonally and Peter chuckles, trying to steer with one hand while flailing slightly with his other to make Tony hold the camera straight again. “A group of four males. Banner, Thor, Rogers and-” Peter cocks one eyebrow with a smirk. “Stark.” “You named a lion after me?” Tony feigns his surprise with a wide smile and Peter scoffs a laugh. “These boys joined The Sanctuary as cubs about four years ago. Were all part of a circus.” Tony snorts and has to stop himself from losing his composure. “That’s not far off from the real thing,” he jokes. Peter presses his lips on top of each other in a grin. “Trust me, Mr- Tony.” Peter gently hits the brake and they slow down. “It’s quite scary.” “Says the kid who works with lions for a living.” “And hyenas,” Peter adds quickly. “And leopards.” “No black panthers?” “That’s the leopards,” Peter chuckles. “Leopards that are melanistic are commonly known as black panthers. But they’re still leopards, really.” Peter shrugs nonchalantly. Tony sniffs once. He’s getting schooled by a boy less than half his age. But he enjoys it. Somehow. Most of the volunteers were already waiting for Peter at the enclosure. There’s a large truck with a cage on top and a lot more commotion than Tony expected. “If you told me there’d be this many people I’d have prepped a speech,” Tony quips. Peter sighs dramatically and gets out of the truck. Tony follows swiftly and stares at how Peter speaks Xhosa with the other volunteers. It looks funny, almost, seeing a white boy speak the language so easily- fluently. After a minute, Tony grows bored, so he turns the camera to face him and pulls a few funny faces at it. When he realizes this video is going to be seen by a lot of people, he brings the GoPro closer to his face and whispers. “That was for your eyes only, Mr. Parker,” he grins.  “Tony?” The older man looks up from the lens when Peter calls out for him and subconsciously, Tony smiles wide at the mention of his name. “You ready for the good part?” Peter shuffles past a few of the volunteers towards the gate and Tony makes his way over to fencing. “Oh, I am very curious, kid.”  It’s not long before Peter’s by himself in the enclosure, the gate closed behind him. He casually strolls around, calling out the names of each pride member. Tony can’t help himself and inches closer to the fence.  “So, these lions are four years old?” “Nearing five, yeah. They were only a couple months old when we found them. Sure made a wreck of my house when I raised them,” Peter laughs. “Pro-tip-” He raises one hand and only now Tony notices Peter’s holding a small chunk of meat in it. “-if you ever raise lion cubs; two at the same time tops. Not three. Never four. Four will make you so sleep deprived you think you have five cubs on your bed.” The boy chuckles at his own comment. “That was an interesting night…” Tony shakes his head with a wide grin. “I can imagine.” Peter suddenly cocks his head- listening. He turns and spots the first lion slowly making his way towards him. “M- Tony,” Peter says, looking back at the billionaire for a second. “Meet Rogers.” “Already have,” Tony groans, which makes Peter laugh. His focus immediately shifts to the lion and he squats, preparing himself for the imminent cuddles. He tosses the meat from his hand directly into the lion’s mouth. “Rogers is the most fragile of the pride. He was severely malnourished when he came here and though he bounced back, the joints in his back legs are not great. M’gonna have to help him get into the truck.” Tony listens carefully. Peter’s voice is sweet and soft. The white lion huffs friendly and presses himself against Peter, who pushes back against him with his head. When Peter opens his eyes, he nods at another lion approaching in the distance. “That’s Banner. He’s curious, but incredibly shy. Also the smallest of this pride. If none of you were here he’d come say hi, but the volunteers make him nervous, so he’ll probably keep an eye on us from over there.” Peter nods in the general direction of where the lion is and Tony turns the camera to get a shot of Banner. Not much later, a gigantic white lion approaches. He holds his head high and has a big mane. When he gets closer, Rogers immediately pulls back and lays down next to Peter. The big white lion claims Peter’s space and attention and the boy laughs as he pets him. “Thor’s the biggest- OOF!” The lion drops his weight on top of Peter, whose smile doesn’t falter. “Also the heaviest,” he adds. The lion huffs once, almost as if he’s protesting against Peter’s comments. “And the loudest.” Peter scratches Thor under his chin and the lion automatically opens his mouth right next to Peter’s face. His head could fit in there twice. At least. And the teeth are absolutely gigantic. The sight has shivers run down Tony’s spine. This is normal . This is Peter’s life. He knows what he’s doing, the boy does this every day. Tony bites the inside of his cheek. Lions. These animals are lions . Yet they act like house cats around him. Thor gets up again and without any incentive, he jumps into the truck. “He knows what’s up,” Tony laughs as he turns to the truck to take a shot of Thor from close by. He’s startled by a low rumble coming from Thor’s throat. “Is that purring?” he asks nervously. Peter stands up again, patting some dirt from the back of his shorts. “Lions don’t purr, that’s a growl. You better take a step back Mr- Tony.” Tony would make an offhand comment on how even though Peter corrects himself, he still ends up calling him mister, if not for the lion’s growls increasing in volume. He takes a hasty step back and Peter tosses another chunk of meat into the truck for Thor to eat. “The only big cats that purr are cheetahs and cougars.” “Now, that’s a fun fact. Good to know,” Tony says sheepishly, trying to hide his nerves.  Tony frowns when Peter gets onto his knees in front of the truck.  “What are you doing?” “Helping Rogers.” “You’re gonna let that gigantic beast step on you?” “Better than lifting him,” Peter quips back. He turns his head and whistles. “Rogie- Rogie, boy, come on!” Peter’s voice is high as he coos at the lion. Tony presses his lips on top of each other to stifle a laugh. Rogie, boy. He should remember that one for the real Steve. Rogers responds like a trained dog, but skips Peter completely by putting his front legs against the truck. He hops, but can’t actually get in. “Buddy, your balls are in my face, could you please get up?” Peter pats Rogers’ thigh before quickly placing his hand down again to brace himself. With great difficulty, the lion places one foot on Peter’s shoulder, not pressing his full weight down on the boy. It was enough of a step to help him get in, though. Peter stands up straight again with a triumphant look on his face. He tosses another chunk of meat into the truck and Steve takes it gladly. Thor had already laid down again, not too bothered anymore. Peter cocks his head at Banner, who’s still a bit away, but has decided to come a little closer when he noticed Thor and Steve entering the truck. Peter smiles kindly and squats, presenting a chunk of meat to the shy lion. Tony is absolutely enthralled by Peter’s control. The boy seems relaxed but if you look closely you can see how in tune he is with everything. How he keeps an eye on his surroundings. Banner creeps closer and when he’s next to Peter, it’s obvious how small he actually is. His mane is also way shorter than that of the other two. Tony stares wide-eyed at how Peter handfeeds Bruce the piece of meat. Handfeeds . “Not scared you’re gonna lose a hand?” “Nah,” Peter replies quietly. “Occupational hazard. And I trust my lions more than I trust humans, to be fair.” “Ouch,” Tony says to make light of the situation, trying to hide how that comment actually kind of stung. Peter chuckles, combing Banner’s short mane with his fingers. “We met three days ago, m- Tony.” “Does it really take you that much effort not to call me mister?” Tony laughs, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. “I was raised with manners.” He grins at Tony and tosses the next piece of meat into the truck. Banner doesn’t hesitate anymore and jumps into the truck as well. “It physically hurts me not to call you mister.” “Sure, kid.” Tony zooms in on Peter’s face. “Well then, if I get to call you Parker you have permission to call me Mr. Stark.” “Deal!” Peter exclaims immediately. The boy’s smile is so bright Tony is pretty sure he’d be blinded by it if he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. After another minute, the lions in the truck are getting a little restless. Peter sighs audibly and turns to face the enclosure. “You can guess who’s fashionably late.” Peter glances at Tony behind him. “As per usual.” “Time management is not my strong suit! And I was early this morning,” Tony laughs. Peter places his hands on his hips, guiding Tony’s eyes to look at the boy’s pert butt. He quickly looks back up at the back of Peter’s head. Now’s not the time for filthy thoughts… Maybe later. “Staaark!” Peter belts. “Here, boy!” Peter makes a couple of those funny noises he made when Tony first met him. “Why do you do all that? Those… Uwus?” “Wha- the noises?” Peter snorts. “Can’t believe Tony Stark just said uwu.” “Hey-” the older man protests. “You said it first! And I am hip with the youngsters.” “You know what? I suddenly don’t feel so old anymore,” Peter says with a grin.  “You, Parker, are a meanie.” Tony points accusingly and Peter laughs. “Ouchies, that huwt my feewings.”  “Just explain the noise, please-” Tony lets out an overdramatic exasperated sigh, indicating to Peter that he’s not actually annoyed. Entertained, would be the right word. Peter nods with a smile and turns back to face the enclosure so he can make the sound once more. “The huffing is actually me mimicking the sound of a mama-lion,” Peter laughs. “It’s comforting to them.” “See, you could’ve just said that straight away.” Peter shrugs nonchalantly, but before he can reply with another quick-witted comment, they all spot the dark mane emerging from the bushes. Stark really does take his time, slowly placing each paw in front of the other, as if he’s on a catwalk. Tony chuckles at his own thought. Catwalk . Stark stares at Peter as he crosses the distance between them and Peter preps himself by sitting down already. “Stark’s the most affectionate of the four,” Peter says as the lion presses into him. The force with which Stark rubs his face against Peter’s has the boy laugh and push back. “Next to Adi and Nedda, he probably likes me the most out of all the lions here.” He pats Stark’s back. “He’s also the most handsome of all the male lions in The Sanctuary. Hands down.” “Isn’t that subjective?” Tony asks quickly, pretending the indirect praise isn’t making him tingle. Peter shrugs before he buries his face in the dark mane for a second. “For lion standards, this is a pretty boy. Stark’s also the most sexually engaged.” Tony freezes up at how casually Peter talks about this. He wonders if Peter is actually indirectly talking about him. Not about the lion he’s petting. “That is, if we would breed here.” “You don’t?” “I don’t breed captive lions. The ones that we have in The Sanctuary are saved from situations that make them unable to be released back into the wild again. We spay every female to prevent them from reproducing.” “Why not the males?” “Spaying both is a lot of hassle for something that’s not necessary. If we were to neuter the males they would still be affected by the females’ cycles. That’s why we spay the females, who are unaffected by the males." “Ah, that makes sense.” Peter studies the near-black mane on Stark. “Should probably take these boys out for a walk tomorrow. Lower their testosterone a bit.” Peter looks up at Tony and gestures at Stark’s head of hair. “There were a couple of wild lionesses right outside The Sanctuary about a week ago. Stark must’ve picked up on them and their cycle ‘cause he’s a little sexually frustrated right now. As is evident by the dark colour of his mane.” Tony licks his lips. This isn’t happening. This isn’t actually happening. He shifts where he stands, hoping his shorts hide his own growing sexual frustration. Peter smiles wide and gets Stark’s attention by presenting a chunk of meat in front of the lion’s face. He tosses it into the truck and before the others in there can get to it, Stark has jumped in. Peter carefully closes the cage on top of the truck and nods at Tony, who still hasn’t said anything in an attempt to hide how flustered he is right now. “Let’s go!”

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More: Next Chapter (yet to be posted) Masterpost (yet to be made)

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Taglist: @professional-benaddict​ @tonystarkweneedyou​

[kaceyrps]

Since I think I might finally have some more time, I’d love to start some new plots under the cut are a few I really want rn, but I’m always open to plotting something else out. If you like anything, just hum or hit the heart!

Plots

can someone pls give me a ‘you left 3 yrs ago in the middle of the night with not even a goodbye letter and now you’re on my door step w a kid that looks exactly like me’ plot pls

I really want to do a 1x1 where Muse A and Muse B, met at a bar one night and ended up having a deep conversation that culminated in a make-out session. Muse A promised to call Muse B, but never did and Muse B didn’t have Muse A’s phone number. A couple of months passed with Muse B thinking about their night with Muse A - not being able to find that connection with someone else. Then Muse B finally meets Muse A again, only to find Muse A is dating their best friend. Despite both parties trying to push aside their feelings after meeting again, things get complicated. (They could either decide to keep things friendly or it would lead to a relationship, depending on how the rp goes).

we absolutely hate each other but we’re the romantic leads so i guess we have to make this work

i’m the stage manager and you’re the self-absorbed diva, so naturally we despise each other

i’m the understudy for your character’s love interest and since he’s not here today you asked me to help you run the kissing scene and i’m really attracted to you

A plot based on cutting edge

consider this: classic “one of the boys” girl who hangs out with the frat bros accidentally falling in love with an elle woods-esque sorority girl that she meets at a party??? muse a comes from a family w like a million older brothers so ofc she makes a beeline for the frats when she gets to college bc she feels most comfortable around boys. the only thing is, she dreads their mixers with the sorority girls bc she hates the “prissy glitter bitches” and wants to vomit whenever she sees lilly pulitzer lmao. so when muse b comes up to her at one of these mixers and introduces herself, muse a is like lol ok w/e. but to her surprise, muse b is actually like…. interesting and smart and yes definitely ridiculous but she’s still shocked that she actually has a personality. and when muse b keeps seeking her out at the mixers, muse a suddenly finds herself more and more flustered as she realizes that she has a GIANT ASS CRUSH on this girl. honestly pls just give me cute college girls in love with frat bros cheering for them in a non-gross manner

give me a couple that met through youtube ( maybe one of them mentioned the other on their channel, through mutual friends, at an event/meet-up ? how they actually connected is up to you ! oh – and they could have polar opposite channels or similar channels ! ) who started off as friends doing trendy collab videos, but everyone fell in love with their dynamic and pointed out how natural their chemistry was or how one looked at the other and vice versa ––- the little things ! what the viewers didn’t know was that muse a was crushing hard on muse b and muse b was crushing equally hard on muse a, but obviously neither one of them were going to risk ruining their great friendship. soon enough, the two spilled their woes and became an item, however they kept it a secret for a few months. finally, after much debate they decided to go public and their subscribers went wild some saying ‘they knew all along’ or ‘they’re so happy’ while others said it ’wouldn’t last’ or ‘they’re doing it for the views’. fast forward to a few years later: now they’re living together in ( california, england, anywhere ! ), documenting their daily shenanigans for their shared vlogging channel, attending events, and keeping their separate channels fresh and exciting with occasional or frequent collabs ! 

13 going on 30 plot where they were really close when they were younger, and then they both went there separate ways. and then they meet up later on, and they just start spending a lot of time together and start becoming best friends and then they slowly start to fall in love with each other (✿◠‿◠) liKE PLEASE I NEED THIS!!

wild child: muse a is sent to a horrific private boarding school. no phone, no laptop. it’s like being back in the 17th century. muse a is a wild child, always has been, and they refused to be disciplined. they need a way out of this school and fast- and no better solution comes then muse b.. the principals child that comes to visit on weekends and is loved by all, and extremely good looking. the plan is easy, get muse b’s attention, make them fall for muse a and get caught by the principal and get out of this school. but then those pesky real feelings start to get in the way, and what started as a way to leave, has started to turn into a reason to stay.

the duff: muse a has never been conventionally attractive, and that has never bothered them before. until one day at a party when muse b asks muse a where their friends are. when muse a states it’s not their job to disclose information on their friends, muse b calls them something they’ll never forget. duff. designated. ugly. fat. friend. a mean word, sure, but then slowly… muse a starts to see it. their friends are incredible, good looking, everybody knows them. and muse a is a no one. forced to be paired together in a school assignment together, muse a can’t stand muse b and their cocky, arrogant attitude. muse b continues to call muse a ‘duffy’, thinking it’s funny and gets on their nerves. in a moment of blind anger- muse a finds themselves slamming muse b into a wall. and then proceeding to angrily make out with them. kissing turns into removal of clothes, and before they know it muse a and muse b have slept together. muse a swears it will never happen again, and muse b loves taunting muse a. but they just tick each other off in the wrong way, and end up having angry, hot, rushed sex more and more. it’s just physical anger relief for muse a, but muse b starts to genuinely fall for muse a. when they reveal it though- muse a blows up and demands to know why anybody would want to be with the duff, let alone muse b. suddenly, muse b realises the nickname was more then just a joke and a way to get under muse a’s skin and that they’ve really truly hurt the one person they love.

muse a and muse b had lived in the same town their entire lives. on the first day of kindergarten, they sat across from each other on the bus and muse b offered muse a one of his animal crackers. from then on, they were attached at the hip. they remained inseparable through elementary school, and by the time middle school came around, muse a found puberty working in her favor. muse a was outgoing, funny, and beautiful, and everyone wanted to be her friend. muse b, on the other hand, was awkward and shy, and the only attention he got was negative. despite their differences, muse a and muse b remained close friends, and muse a often found herself having to defend muse b against the bullying. in the middle of 8th grade, muse b disappeared from school and moved halfway across the country with his family. muse a tried to stay in touch, but it seemed like every time she reached out to him, she was brushed off. eventually the two lost connection and moved on.fast forward to high school. muse a finds herself caught up in the wrong crowd, and after a string of pregnancy rumors, she loses most of her close friends and becomes virtually invisible. muse a pours herself into her love of poetry and writing to try and entertain her loneliness. that is, until she walks into school to find an extremely attractive boy leaned up against her locker. muse b is back, and despite all of his new found attention from girls, he only has eyes for muse a.

i need a plot where muse a and muse b recently broke up and then muse a gets in some kind of accident and suffers temporary amnesia and forGETS they were ever broken up and its SO awkward for muse b but hes still in love with muse a and too afraid to tell the truth so he’s just waiting for muse a to remember and !!! fake relationships ! secrets ! pining ! fluff ! angst ! everything goodb y e

someone give me a “i’m the legacy of the prim and proper stereotypical sorority on campus and i’m expected to rush, live, and breathe it throughout my time here and it’s the night before rush and i got invited to this party at the rival, party girl sorority and that girl over there is really pretty and keeps smiling at me and now her mouth is on mine and i’m a little more than drunk and in bed with her and i wake up the next morning and she’s gone, i don’t even know her name. and now it’s rush night and - holy shit…there she is, and she’s the president of the rival, party girl sorority.” plot,,1!!!!!!!

Muse A just had their heart broken and decided to shy away from relationships, so their friends dragged them out for a night to get them out of the house. Enter muse B. Someone who spends the night flirting with muse A, but gets nowhere. Muse B gives muse A their number, saying if they change their mind to call. Muse A, after some prompting from friends, calls muse B and they go out on a date – one they both enjoy. But just as muse A comes around to the idea of a new relationship, muse B finds out that muse A’s ex, is muse B’s sibling. Muse A and muse B had the perfect marriage. They were happy, just bought their first house and had a baby. Until muse B tragically died – or at least that’s what muse A thought. Muse B had witnessed a crime, and had to be put in witness protection. Not wanting to risk the life of muse A and their child, muse B let them believe that they were dead. When the trial is finally over with, and the threat is locked away, muse B is left to go back to their old life but has no idea how to tell muse A about what happened.

Muse A is seen as the town’s rebel and isn’t exactly well known for following the rules. Muse B is the new principle’s child, and wanting to get back at their parent for moving them without asking, muse B decides they want to date muse A. It’s just unfortunate timing, since muse A decided to try and clean up their act - something muse B is determined not to let happen.

Things I want plots based on

The candy jar

Disney’s zombies

Lizzie McGuire

Descendants 

Hocus Pocus

Chrismas Inheritance 

Prince & Me

Charmed 

Gilmore Girls

Harry Potter

Secret Circle 

Parent Trap

10 things I hate about you

Drive me crazy

Ships I’d like

Peter Parker/MJ

Fitzsimmons 

Mumu ideas

summer camp counselors: between the ages of 18 ad 21, volunteers from colleges around the country (BONUS: around the entire world) flock here to guide children through the summer of their lives, coincidentally also making this the best summer of their own lives.

co-ed college dorms:  Simply a group of students living in one building, trying to get along and figure themselves out in the process.

tour: There’s a band on the rise to fame and they’ve brought along two opening acts and entire crew that helps make the entire process that much smoother. Heads will clash, too many personalities together for too many months on end.

sleepy beach town: Every summer there are quite a few families that spend their summers unwinding in a town far from home. There are families that have become quite close due to the three months spent out of every month in this small town. There are also those families that are spending their first year here. This could test friendships and even relationships that have already developed.

kids of famous people: over the years, it’s been no secret that the celebrities we’ve known to love and care for from afar have grown to have families of their own. Now, it’s their children’s turn to make something of their lives. Do they follow in their parents footsteps or do they do something entirely different? Are they snotty self absorbed or do they give back every chance they get? There are millions of possibilities.

apartment complex: A bunch of diverse people all living in one building together. There’s this small family type bond between them but they still aren’t afraid to start crap when it’s necessary. At the end of the day, they will always have each others back when it’s needed

gossip girl: it’s been 25 years since Dam Humphry came out as Gossip Girl. There have been plenty of fakes trying to capture the things he’d been able to for all those years but no one could ever live up to the greatness that was the true Gossip Girl. Until now. There’s a new gossip site online that’s got their eye on everything happening around the New York elite. Rumors spread that Dan’s back in the game after all these years but there’s someone greater wreaking havoc on these young adults lives. (Could be the kids of the former group and their friends or an entirely different crew of elite)

[yehet-me-up]

Ablaze

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader (female)

Word Count: 10,674

Genre: Soulmate AU, Professor/College AU, Smut

Rating: (M) for language and explicit sex

Summary: They called you “Ice Queen” all throughout elementary school. Even now, as a graduate student, the nickname still stings. As if your inability to feel heat means you’re cold-hearted too. You decide to pursue a degree in Biochemistry, desperate to figure out the reason why you are the way you are. 

Mark Tuan, everyone’s favorite hotshot professor, can pass his hand through an open flame due to a similar inability. Until the day you walk into his class, that is.

↳ Oneshot as part of The Inevitability of You collab with @kpop-wetdreams and @mak-baes 💜

A light breeze blows across campus, rustling the leaves above you, making you huddle further into your coat. Mid-September and the weather is still warm and sunny. Or you guess it must be, considering how many students are sitting together, studying or talking on blankets spread out on the quad’s lawn.

You guess it must be warm, because you’ve never felt warmth in your life. It’s not to say you’re freezing cold all the time; if you fill the bathtub with hot water you can almost feel… something. A flicker of the sensation your sister and parents have tried to describe time and time again. 

Cold, now that’s something you can feel. Snow, ice, the freezing rain that falls in the evenings here in the late winter – those you are intimately familiar with.

You hold out your hand as you walk across campus, watching the light fall on your skin in patterns. Frowning at the lack of sensation, you clench your fist and stick your hands back in your pockets. When it’s warm like this you just feel… an absence. A void where you know something should be, like a phantom limb; the aching sensation of nothing.

A buzzing in your pocket draws your attention and you pull your phone out to a message from your friend Kelly.

[Kelly 1:15pm] running a little late because of who I am as a person [Kelly 1:15pm] save me a seat???

You smirk to yourself. She’s likely running a little late because of her boyfriend, Adam. But boyfriend seems like too small of a word to convey their relationship. He’s her soulmate. They’re in the lucky 3-5% of the population that’s found their biologically fated match.

You had watched in amazement as Kelly’s ability to taste sweetness had come to life just after winter break, one afternoon in the cafeteria during your junior year of high school. 

You were sitting next to her, chatting with some of your other friends, when suddenly she dropped the cookie she was eating. She’d turned to you with wide eyes, reflexively bringing her hand to her lips in awe.

“What is it, Kel?” you’d asked, concerned.

“I – it’s – I think I can taste this…” she’d said, staring at it with such concentration it could have been a bomb about to go off. She’d licked her lips and sat up in her seat, whipping her head around.

You’d both turned to look at the other kids in the cafeteria. You saw him instantly - a new boy was standing at the cashier, paying for his food. He picked up his tray and lifted his eyes, sweeping the room to find a spot to sit. Kelly, in her usual exuberance, had stood up and waved him over.

He furrowed his brow, turning to look behind him for a moment, thinking she was waving to someone else. Once he realized she was motioning to him he’d given her a cute smile and come over, taking the spot across from Kelly and introducing himself.

“So – what’s your deficiency?” she’d asked the moment he said his name, staring him down.

“God, Kelly. No one uses that word any more. It’s not PC. My mom says we’re supposed to use ‘inability.’” Laura had said with a condescending tone.

“Whatever,” Kelly had said, waving Laura off. “What’s your inability, then, new boy?”

He’d stuttered, clearly unaccustomed to discussing something so sensitive in such a bold way. “Oh – umm, well I can’t taste salty things,” Adam had said in a low voice.

“Laura, give me some of your chips,” Kelly had said, snatching the bag and handing it across the table to Adam. “She always buys these super salty chips, can you taste them?” she’d demanded.

Adam had looked at her like she was crazy, but with a shake of his head he’d shrugged and popped one in his mouth. He had chewed thoughtfully for a moment before his eyes had gone wide and he started nodding furiously.

“Holy shit,” he’d whispered loudly. “Wait – how did you know?”

She’d grinned mischievously at him, holding his gaze as she picks up her discarded cookie and takes another bite.

“Well new boy, until today I couldn’t taste sweetness. I guess that means we’re soulmates, huh?” she’d said matter-of-factly.

They’d been inseparable from that day on. They were one of only six other confirmed matches in your high school, they’d had the test done just before graduation. It was something new the government was working on, a blood test to confirm the presence of a matching chemical, supposedly only released between soulmates.

[Y/N 1:17pm] god I’d say get a room but I have a feeling you’re just coming from one [Kelly 1:17pm] ha freaking ha [Y/N 1:18pm] *sigh* fineee I’ll save you a seat [Kelly 1:18pm] you’re the best [Kelly 1:19pm] when you find your soul mate I’ll cover for you too ;)

You smirk as you click the phone off, sliding it back into your pocket. The steps to the science building are packing with students flooding out of classes, excitedly heading out into the sunshine. You’re delighted to be doing the opposite – to be heading into your first two hour lecture for The Science of Soul Mates.

Kelly is taking the class for fun, you’re required to do 20 credits of upper level seminars for your Biochemistry Master’s degree. This course is newly offered by Professor Mark Tuan. It’s open to any student on campus, so even Kelly, an MFA student in creative writing wanted to sign up. The interest in the class was apparently through the roof and you’d both only gotten seats because you have priority registration as graduate students.

You pull open the heavy doors and head up to the second floor to the lecture hall. The room is just starting to fill up and about half of the hundred or so seats are filled. You head to your preferred spot near the back of the small auditorium, finding a space in the middle of the row and setting your bag next to you to save Kelly’s seat.

She rushes in five minutes before the class is supposed to start. You smother a smile as she sits down with a sigh. She turns to look at you and notices your barely contained laughter.

“What?” she demands as she pulls her laptop out from her bag.

You lean over and fix the strands of hair that had fallen into her face. “You had sex hair, Kels,” you laugh.

She groans. “Oh my god, I’m going to kill Adam. He was supposed to make sure I looked presentable.”

“Well I’d say he failed spectacularly at that,” you say with a wry smile as you make a new Google doc on your Drive, getting ready to take notes. “I am so excited for this class, you don’t even know.”

“You’re such a nerd, why do I hang out with you?” Kelly asks with a laugh.

“Because you love me. And how are you not freaking out? His research is groundbreaking, I’m dying to hear what he’s found,” you say. 

Ever since you decided to pursue Biochemistry as a profession you’ve been hearing his name, reading his published articles. You’ve been anxiously waiting for a chance to talk to him about your theories.

“Yeah, I hear he’s some genius prodigy. Adam says the University president was thrilled that he agreed to teach here, said that it was ‘the get of the century.’ He got his doctorate at what, twenty four?” she says, amazed.

“Twenty three, he’s been doing research this last year,” you reply automatically. “I just hope that everyone isn’t just signing up for this class because he’s supposedly gorgeous,” you say with a frown, looking around at the overwhelming number of female students in the class.

“Supposedly? You mean you haven’t seen him around campus this week?” Kelly asks, raising a brow at you. You shake your head. “Well girl, you are in for a treat. He’s better than gorgeous – he’s hot as fuck,” she says with a knowing grin. 

You open your mouth to chastise her but she cuts you off. “Yes, I know he has a heat inability, but hey, it’s true. I think I’d burn myself just touching him,” she says dramatically, shaking her hand and wincing as if she was in pain.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your computer, a wave of guilt washing over you. His inability to feel heat has made him a legend - every interview and feature article loves to use a pun about it. 

Yours on the other hand had made you a pariah. You’d made the decision to lie about it after sixth grade, so Kelly had no idea what your true weakness was.

Ever since Ben Mezrich had called you “Ice Queen” in the cafeteria and poured scalding hot, or so you’d been told, soup down your back you’d decided it was better to keep the truth to yourself. You forced your parents to let you go to a public school for high school and had started telling everyone that you couldn’t taste bitterness – it was laughably easy to fake.

In the decades since humanity had noticed these sensory deprivations evolving, myths had started to form. Can’t see certain colors? You must be narrow-minded. Can’t feel cold? Must be a hothead. Can’t feel heat? Well, then you must not have a heart. Even all these years later you still feel a shudder of fear and shame at the nasty names and rumors that had spread about you.

You see a movement in the front of class and look up to see a man walk into class. He sets his bag on the table and looks around at the now packed auditorium, an easy smile on his handsome face. You look over at Kelly and she’s dramatically raising her eyebrows at you. She’s right – he’s gorgeous.

His messy blonde hair falls into his eyes and his face is classically handsome in an almost painful way. He wears a thick grey coat similar to yours. Kelly always makes fun of you for your warm clothes and you dodge her questions as casually as you can. You always brush her off, saying that you just run cold.

The buzzing of discussion quiets down as he moves around to the front of the class, leaning casually back against the desk and looking up into the room.

“Hello and welcome, everyone. I assume you know who I am, but I’ll introduce myself in case any of you wandered in here by accident,” he says in a conversational tone. A ripple of laughter goes through the crowd. This is supposedly his first class, but he acts like he’s been doing this for years.

“I’m Mark Tuan, but I’ll fail you automatically if you try to call me Mr. Tuan,” he says gamely. “Please, it’s Mark. And while I’ll be doing a lot of talking and presenting in this class, I really want it to be a discussion. The concept of a biological soulmate is just now being seriously studied, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re in this together.”

He folds his arms across his chest, his coat falling open. You can’t help but notice how strong and lean his body looks in the grey sweater and dark jeans he wears. “Now, I suppose the first question in this sort of class is – have any of you met your soulmate?”

Everyone looks around, whispering excitedly. Kelly raises her hand, confident as always, unconcerned that she has a hundred people looking at her. Two other girls raise their hands as well, toward the front of the room.

“Excellent, would you mind telling us about it?” he asks, pointing to the first girl, a hungry look in his eyes. “How you met, what your inabilities are, if you’ve had the official test? Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

She goes on to detail how she and her partner met last year at a party. The next girl goes, saying that she met her soul mate at a soccer tournament out of state. Kelly goes last, sharing her story, a sweet smile coming to her lips as she finishes and you know she’s thinking about Adam and the happy years they’ve had together so far.

Several of the girls in the class are looking starry-eyed, wistful smiles on their lips as they treat these three stories as confirmation of the fairy tales they’ve been told about soulmates all their lives. You roll your eyes, drawing Mark’s attention. He quirks and eyebrow up at you and you quickly look down at your laptop, pretending like you are typing.

“Fantastic, thanks so much for sharing. We’re right on par with the rest of the world,” he says, pacing back and forth in front of the class as he speaks. “As far as recent studies can tell, approximately three to five percent of the population has found their soulmate, and of that about half have had the government supplied blood test to confirm it.”

“But beyond that – there are so many unanswered questions,” he turns to look up into the stands, his gaze lands on you. 

You fidget as he gives you a lopsided smile, his eyes holding yours for a long second before moving on. Your coat suddenly feels too heavy. You slip it off your shoulders and shrug out of it as he continues.

“So. What do we know for sure? As far as we can tell everyone has just one soulmate. There have been a few reports of people finding a second, but none have been confirmed using the test. The chemical that’s secreted into the blood stream, affectionately known by us in the field as Cupid X, rises in proximity to one’s soul mate, accompanied by a scientifically verifiable reversal of one’s inability.”

“Over the past year I’ve been working with confirmed soulmate couples, testing how this reversal is affected by prolonged proximity as opposed to separation. We’ve been able to pinpoint the distance at about a hundred feet. Further than that and it seems like there’s no effect.”

“It’s maddening, isn’t it? To think that you could pass within a football field’s length of your soulmate, somewhere out in the world – but completely miss them? Fate sure can be a bitch sometimes, can’t she?” he asks with a smirk.

“Anyways, back to the science, since that is why you’re here. I’m working with the University to set up more research with their funding, but the question remains – where do we go next? There’s so many paths we could go down,” he says, his eyes lighting up as they sweep the room. You unconsciously push the sleeves of your sweater up your arms as you lean forward, fascinated.

“For example - is there anyone in the world with two or more inabilities? Does everyone just have one? How does love come into play – does the emotional connection heighten the physical bond? What about the millions of couples who’ve fallen in love but aren’t soulmates? And is this merely a helpful hint from nature, or does this evolution in our genetics signify a larger change?”

He brings his arms out in front of him, gesturing emphatically. “But that’s why this science is so fascinating – there’s still so much that we don’t know. It’s only been in the last twenty or so years that the concept has even been on humanity’s radar; and only in the last ten or so that it’s been seriously studied.” 

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Sorry – I tend to get carried away. It looks like class is just about up, but before I assign you the reading allow me a demonstration,” he says, turning to pull something out of his bag on the desk.

“How many of you discovered your inability before you could speak?” he asks, pulling out a lighter.

A small handful of people raise their hands in assent. “Research shows that the vast majority of people, over seventy-five perfect, discover which sense is affected in elementary school, between the ages of five and eight,” he says, holding up the lighter with a smirk.

“I discovered mine quite early, in the days before parents began obsessively running tests on newborns. When I was three years old I knocked a candle off the table. It fell on me, on my pants, lighting them instantly. My parents screamed, throwing me into the shower and turning on the water, trying to limit how bad the burns would be. But there wasn’t a mark on me. They said I didn’t even scream,” he says, trailing off as his eyes focus on the lighter in his hand.

With a cocky grin he flicks the lighter on. A small flame appears and he runs his hand through the flame, slowly, with the confidence of some who’s done it a thousand times. But when his hand brushes the top of the flame he gasps, hissing in pain, clutching his hand to his chest reflexively and dropping the lighter.

He stares at his hand in shock and fear. The red spot forming on the wide part of his palm near his pinky finger is visible even from your seat in the back. The class starts murmuring in confusion and speculation.

A sensation on your forehead draws your attention, an unusual itching feeling. You draw your finger across the skin there, trying to relieve it. When you pull your hand back you notice a drop of moisture on your finger. Your eyes go wide in realization – staring between the drop of sweat and Mark who’s still reeling in confusion up at the front.

You whip your head around to look at your coat, down at your exposed forearms from your rolled up sweater. The synapses in your brain finally connect these disparate facts, the realization slamming into you like a freight train.

“Oh shit,” you whisper to yourself.

“What’s that?” Kelly asks, leaning over to you, her gaze still drawn to Mark at the front of the class.

“Nothing, I think I’m getting sick, that’s all,” you say in what you hope is a casual tone of voice.

A moment later, Mark composes himself. “I promise I didn’t do that just for dramatic effect,” he starts, valiantly trying to contain his surprise but obviously still reeling. “I guess I’ve come to the right place. It seems like I might just be in that three to five percent after all…” he say softly, trailing off. He turns the wrist on his non-burned hand, looking at his watch.

“Anyways, class is almost up and I’ve got to go and find some burn cream it looks like,” he says with a laugh. “Read the first three chapters in your text and complete the attached prompt on page seventy-nine for our next class,” he finishes. 

Everyone starts grabbing backpacks, shuffling papers, and standing, moving toward the door.

“I’ve got to meet up with my study group, see you later Kels?” you lie, avoiding her eyes, desperate to get out of the room.

She gives you a surprised look, but nods after a beat. You forcefully shove your laptop into your bag and pick up your coat in a rush. Standing abruptly, you move down the aisle and start down the steps, hugging the wall as you try to stay far away from Mark on your way out the door.

Once you reach the front of the building you push open the doors and step into the sunlight, holding your hands out in front of you. You stare in awe as you feel a sensation on the skin of your palms… something new, something wholly unexpected. Your eyes go misty and you tilt your head up to look at the sun, still visible high on the horizon.

“Huh. So this is heat,” you say softly to yourself. Tears spill down your cheeks, hastened by the swirling emotions inside of you – excitement, fear, relief, confusion, anger. With a shake of your head you dash down the steps toward your apartment.  

Even after the last student leaves class, he still stands there, brow furrowed, staring at the bright red burn on his hand. He’s done that little parlor trick for years. In high school to impress his friends, in college to impress girls. The wound still stings, but he can’t make himself move.

Suddenly his rational mind kicks into gear – studies haven’t yet found how long one needs to be in the presence of their soulmate for the inability to fade, or how quickly the effect fades after exposure. It could have been someone in line ahead of him at Starbucks while he was catching up with a friend that morning. It could have been a visiting lecturer he passed in the halls. He doesn’t know how long he has.

Abruptly he turns, picking up the lighter and shoving it in his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he runs from the room. He sprints across campus, his bag smacking into his hip with every step. He distantly notices that he feels something on his skin where it’s exposed to the setting sun. But he’s never been the type to bemoan the fact that he couldn’t enjoy the sun on days at the beach with his friends growing up.

Nor has he cared about missing out on hot chocolate, sitting in front of a fire on a cold winter night, or if he’s honest – the heat that was supposed to come from being with a lover. But there’s always been one fantasy of his that he desperately hopes he can fulfill before the effect fades.

He dashes up the steps to his apartment, throws open the door and kicks it shut behind him. He tears off his bag and kicks off his shoes as he moves to the bathroom. He rips the curtain back, twists the knob all the way to the left and turns the flow of water on. 

Steam fills the small room as he frantically pulls off his clothes – the mist in the air had always been an object before, something inanimate that barely deserved notice.

But as he inhales he knows that steam, that heat, is a living thing. It presses against his naked skin, envelops him in what he can finally recognize as warmth. Like a word in a foreign language, just out of reach beyond comprehension that he’s suddenly learned the meaning to. He tentatively reaches his hand under the spray, practically trembling in hope.

Relief rushes through him. A fierce surge of joy – it’s hot. He lets out a choked noise and steps in. He winces at the scalding temperature, but he couldn’t care less. He ducks his head under the flow of water, laughing in delight as the it runs down his face, his back. He stays there for countless minutes, lost in the pleasure.

When he finally pulls back he sits down on the floor of the shower, letting the water run over him. He holds his hands out in front of him, staring intently as the drops spill between his spread fingers.

His logical mind works first, as it always has. Who is his soulmate? Where did he meet you? How can he find you again? Does he even want to? Of course I do, he thinks with a shake of his head. 

How wonderfully unexpected that he, one of the leading experts in the world on the biochemistry of soulmates, had an experience like this of his own. He feels like he’s just discovered a new species, a new element, a new planet.

Then comes the longing; possibilities explode in his mind. The word soulmate has always been clinical – a fanciful description for a biological concept. But now he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to share his life with someone who was fated to be his. He wonders what it would be like to belong to someone, to have them be made for him and vice versa.

His attention returns to the water. The sensation is fading. The water is still hot, if the steam surrounding him is any indication, but he can no longer feel it. With a shake of his head he heaves himself off the floor and turns off the water. He grabs a towel and as he dries off he starts to formulate a plan.

Over the next days and weeks he keeps a log, he starts experimenting, recording.

He thinks back to everything he did that day and tries to recreate it. He visits that same Starbucks every morning for a week; lingering, waiting. But no dice. 

He follows the same pattern he took to class the same day of the week, staring up at the red brick buildings covered in ivy, wondering who you could be with a whistful smile. He wonders if he’s being silly; if the chance meeting was literally a once in a lifetime occurance.

But the sensation returns, over and over. At night he writes pages of notes, describing the rise and fall of heat - how quickly it comes on, how strong it is, how long it lasts. 

Two weeks into the quarter and he’s narrowed it down – it’s got to be someone in his class. The sense doesn’t come on at all during the other five days of the week.

The day of the seventh session of class he doesn’t leave his apartment except to go to science building. He wakes up at the crack of dawn and rushes over to his lab on the fifth level of the building, staying in his office until it’s time to go to class.

He carries a hot pack with him, the kind that stays warm for hours, tucked in his coat pocket. As the students file in he greets them with a nod of his head, his hand anxiously holding the pack in his pocket. The sense flares to life abruptly, unexpectedly and he grins broadly in triumph.

One hundred students, he thinks, scanning every face as they unpack backpacks, talk with each other. Three already have soulmates, he thinks, and unless he’s a statistical anomaly it’s unlikely that he’s matched with someone who’s already found theirs.

Thirty one are male students. There are plenty of documented cases of same sex soulmates being found, but he has a theory that a person’s sexuality comes into play. He’s almost positive that the attraction will be matched between partners, and as he’s straight, he’s confident that his partner will be female.

So that leaves sixty six. Sixty six possibilities. As he looks from face to face he meets a lot of eager faces, coy smiles trying to catch his eye. Game on, he thinks, his mind already filling with ideas on how he can narrow it down.

For the next several weeks you manage to avoid Mark Tuan outside of class. You wait in the women’s room before it starts, always giving Kelly some excuse of why you keep coming in right at the last second. The second class ends you push your way out the door, some excuse on your lips. 

After your initial emotional reaction, you’ve decided on anger. How dare this man be your soulmate? If you had told anyone about this, Kelly for instance, you would have described this turn of events as ‘highly inconvenient.’ How are you supposed to ask him your questions, tell him your theories now?

Fed up after you turn down her third offer this week to hang out, Kelly barges into your apartment and drags you out of your unintentional isolation to go to a party with her and Adam. 

As the night goes on you relax. You drink awful rum and cokes, laugh at Adam’s endearingly bad jokes, and talk with Kelly about the other classes she’s taking for her MFA. For a few hours you forget all about Mark Tuan.

“Holy shit - Ice Queen? Is that you?” a male voice calls off to your right abruptly.

Turning your head you see a tall, burly man making his way through the crowd do you. “Oh fuck,” you say out loud and Kelly swivels her head in his direction.

Ben Mezrich. Even here, at college - on the other side of the state - you can’t escape him. He’s broader, his hair buzz cut short. Mark’s words on the first day of class come back to you. Fate, you bitch, you think sarcastically, your lips twisting into a savage smile.

He finally reaches you, putting his hand on your shoulder, either not realizing how intrusive the motion is or not caring in his drunken state. “What are you doing here?” he slurs.

“I go to school here, Ben,” you say flatly. “What about you?”

“Oh, I work here. My girlfriend got me a job at her dad’s bank downtown. So, are you still a frigid bitch?” he asks, sloppily waggling his eyebrows up and down as he brazenly check you out.

Your forced smile drops, your eyes turning hard as you stare him down. He gets bored after a moment, as if your silence renders you invisible to him, and with a shrug he turns around and blunders back through the crowd to his friends.

Kelly puts a hand on your arm, turning you to face her. “Y/N, what was that all about?” she says, not unkindly, with an inquisitive raise of her brow. “Why was that asshole calling you ‘ice queen’?”

You sigh and take a large sip of your drink. “Kels, you know how I always said I can’t taste bitterness?” She nods. “Well, that’s kind of... a lie. Guys like Ben used to pick on me growing up; all those myths about heat deficiency meaning you’re a ‘cold robot’ got to them.”

You tell her the story of the awful day with the soup. “I just wanted to be someone else for a while, so I lied. I’m sorry,” you say when it’s over, staring down into your cup.

She clicks her tongue and you look up cautiously. “God, you think I care about that? Inabilities are totally your private business, I’d never hold it against you for not telling me,” she says, giving you a warm smile and squeezing your arm.

“But holy shit, was that why you ran out of class that day? Why you’ve been avoiding people like the plague? Did your sense come back? Is Mark fucking Tuan your soulmate?” she yells, her excitement bubbling over.

You sigh dramatically and down the rest of your drink. “I think he might be,” you say noncommittally, looking anywhere but her face.

“Wait wait wait. Why haven’t you told him?” she demands, her eyes wide with excitement.

You open your mouth to speak, but snap it shut. What can you say? That you’re afraid, that you’re pissed off, that you’re confused – all of your life plans thrown out of whack?

“Ugh, I was so focused coming into this degree. When I found out he’d be a professor, it was everything I wanted. Kick ass in his class, win a spot on his research team, spend my days working on this fascinating science,” you say. “But this recent development makes things… challenging.”

She gives you a teasing smirk. “I’ve never known you to be one to turn down a challenge,” she says, clinking her empty cup to yours.

You shake your head in amusement, a wry smile coming to your lips.

You decide to get creative. After class one day you just email him instead. You send him your latest theory about the soulmate bond developing out of an ideal combination of genes for procreation, asking his thoughts.

He responds an hour later with some articles he’s found on the offspring of confirmed soulmates, noting their higher intelligence ratings. You counter with a study that found no noticeable difference in the intelligence, physical abilities, or attractiveness of the children of soulmates.

You end up emailing back and forth for hours, late into the night. His mind is fascinating, the way he pushes you to consider other ideas, the disparate sources he draws from. He’s incredibly well read, curious, and open-minded – he doesn’t ever turn down your ideas, he considers them thoroughly, fairly.

Against your better judgment, you like him even more. You roll your neck, standing to grab a cup of tea. As you stir, your mind wanders to how he looked today.

The connection, the rise in heat, is instant, for both of you it seems. You come to class bundled up but now you’ve come to expect the rush of heat and take off your layers as soon as you sit down. 

He does the same. Today he’d come to class and pulled off his coat, revealing narrow fitting slacks and a tight, deep blue button-up shirt. He looked so good you almost broke your pen in half in a rush of frustration and desire.

You shake your head to yourself as you walk back to your spot. This soulmate thing is entertaining at least, you think. You fold your leg up underneath you on the couch, taking a sip as you wait for his reply. The message comes through a moment later.

Why don’t you stay after class tomorrow and we can discuss this further?

“Shit,” you say to yourself.

“Just do it,” Kelly stage whispers in your ear the next day while you both wait on the stairs for people to file out in front of you.

“No,” you reply with a swift shake of your head. You’ve already decided not to talk to him, leaving his email unanswered. Besides, there are tons of people in this class, there’s no way he can know which one you are, you tell yourself.

A tightness comes to your chest as you stand there, willing the students in front of you to move faster. You tap your foot nervously. The secret you carry, that you’re his soulmate, feels like it’s clawing at your throat. As if it’s going to burst from your lips if you don’t keep your focus every second you’re around him. 

Finally, the line starts moving.

Kelly pauses by the door, rummaging in her purse, people flowing out the door around you two. “Hey babe, can you hold this for a sec?” she asks, holding her coffee thermos out.

“Sure,” you say, your eyes darting back and forth anxiously between her and where Mark is putting papers back in his briefcase. You reach out and distractedly take her metal travel mug.

“Ahh,” you hiss loudly, wincing in surprise as your bare palm touches the hot metal of the container. You barely manage to avoid dropping it, bringing your other hand up to clasp it as well.

Your eyes meet with Mark’s as he looks up in alarm at your noise of alarm. You close your eyes tightly for a moment, then open them to look at Kelly in disapproval. She’s abandoned the pretense of taking something out of her bag and has folded her arms, giving you a smug look of satisfaction.

“Oh, sorry about that Y/N. I keep forgetting,” she says dramatically with feigned casualness.

You tear your gaze away from Mark and stare daggers at her. You thrust the thermos at her, grabbing her arm in yours and steering her toward the door. Panic rises in you, you hope that he didn’t notice. But damn him, he’s too quick and observant for his own good.

“Wait – you have a heat deficiency, too?” he calls from behind you and you reluctantly turn around.

“Well she did,” Kelly says slowly with a smirk. “Until the beginning of your class.” She winks at you and pushes out the door.

It closes with a soft thud, leaving you and Mark alone in the room together. You regard each other, keeping your distance. He looks you up and down appreciatively, as if he can’t believe you’re real.

“It’s been you this whole time?” he says, incredulous, looking you up and down. “Wait, you’re not the Y/N that was messaging me last night too, are you?”

You nod slowly. “Wow, beautiful and intelligent too, I think I won the soulmate lottery,” he says with a wide, lazy grin.

You scoff. “Just because I’m your soulmate doesn’t mean I’m automatically going to sleep with you,” you deadpan, feeling feisty at being reminded of the fact that you’re supposedly fated to be together. “You don’t have to try to charm me.”

He bursts out laughing, bending over at his waist. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. Against your better judgment, you finally accept that you like him. He doesn’t have to know that, though, you think.

“And devastatingly sassy, too. I love you already,” he says as he straightens up, his face still alight with amusement. “This is so surreal. Do you want to go get a drink?”

You let out a laugh and shrug. “Sure, why not?”

“So, about your latest theory – where did you find your source, that article about the different ethnic groups study?” he asks, walking over to hold the door open for you.

You pick up the thread of the conversation, grateful that he doesn’t push you to talk about a potential relationship, or whatever it would be between you two. He chooses a restaurant down the street and you both order burgers and beer, bouncing ideas back and forth at a rapid pace.

He’s even more charming and articulate in person, you think as you take a sip, watching him as he relates his colleague’s idea about the differences and similarities in chemical reaction between soulmates and confirmed non-soulmates that are in love.

He’s even more attractive up close, you think with a sigh. You wonder if it’s like this for other people, for those non-soulmates who love each other. If they’re drawn to each other this viscerally. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The closest thing you can relate it to is the studies you’ve read about addiction. That the more you ingest something – sugar, caffeine, heroin – the more that you crave it.

You’re suddenly afraid of needing him, of wanting something that intensely. 

You take a huge sip of your drink. The feelings rising in you for him, both physical and emotional, feel ominous, terrifying. Like a tsunami that you can feel in your bones is coming, but that you yet spot on the horizon.

“So, have you had sex before? How was it for you?” he asks curiously. You look up abruptly, startled out of your thoughts by his question.

There’s a devilish look in his eyes that tells you he’s acutely aware of the line between academic and personal that he’s just crossed. You hesitate, hovering on the line, wondering if you should step across it with him. After a beat you decide to just go for it.

“Yes, with my boyfriend in college. It was… fine. I guess. Like it was physically pleasurable, but more like – a relaxing massage. Or that feeling of when you go over the top of a roller coaster, and you plummet down.”

He’s watching you curiously, toying the rim of his bottle against his lips. “But I’ve heard from Kelly that being with her soulmate, it’s… umm, more intense? In comparison. That’s what she says anyway,” you finish in a rush, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’ve had similar experiences. I wonder how it would be between the two of us,” he says thoughtfully.

Your jaw drops, a flush coming to your cheeks. You press your hands against them, not used to the feeling of blood pumping there. As always, denial and anger are the safest places to land.

“Well, that’s not going to happen any time soon,” you say firmly and he laughs.

“I was just proposing an experiment. Out of scientific curiosity, of course,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, right,” you say sarcastically, picking up your burger to take another bite.

[Y/N 7:02pm] YOU ARE SUCH A BITCH OMFG [Y/N 7:02pm] why would you do that to me??? [Kelly 7:03pm] god knows you were never going to do anything about it [Kelly 7:03pm] how did it go??? it’s been like [Kelly 7:03pm] over THREE HOURS [Kelly 7:03pm] what did you guys do?? [Y/N 7:04pm] we just grabbed drinks together [Y/N 7:04pm] and we talked [Kelly 7:04pm] and??? 👀 [Y/N 7:05pm] okay fine he hit on me [Y/N 7:05pm] but he also offered me an internship with his research team [Y/N 7:05pm] so like [Y/N 7:05pm] i’d say i broke even [Kelly 7:06pm] omfg [Kelly 7:06pm] YOU’RE WELCOMEEEEE [Y/N 7:07pm] okay but i still hate you [Kelly 7:07pm] whatever [Kelly 7:07pm] just remember that i have dibs on being maid of honor at your wedding 😘 [Y/N 7:08pm] i hate you so much

You manage to resist for two weeks. 

Fourteen days is as long as you can manage before your burning curiosity finally breaks you. Fourteen days of getting lost in the way his mouth carefully forms each word as he speaks. Fourteen days of biting your lip, turning away when he meets your eye in class, or during a meeting in the lab. 

Two weeks, that felt like they lasted a millennia.

It started your first day at the lab, his official ‘welcome’ handshake when you met the team lingering just a second too long – his gaze holding yours a beat longer than necessary. 

Next, it escalated to small touches. A brush of your waist as he reached for the next stack of interviews. His arm grazing yours as he leaned over you to grab a new set of slides for the next sample. His knee touching yours under the table repeatedly whenever you grab lunch or dinner together.

It’s the way he looks when you catch him staring at you, a hunger in his eyes that makes your skin feel too tight. You’re sure you must look the same, as you sneak in glances at him while his back is turned.

His infuriating smile tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing; testing you, testing himself. Pushing you both until you’re strung so tight you feel like he could breathe on you and you’d fall apart.

Tonight is another late night, everyone else went home hours ago. You’re bouncing from foot to foot, trying to keep your focus as you enter more data into the spreadsheets. He moves to the microscope next to you, his hand trailing across your lower back as he moves, leaving a trail of fire even through the layer of your shirt.

You sigh pointedly, but his hand remains. It was never like this, with the men before him. You never lost your focus, never wanted any of them so badly you could taste it. Your need for him threatens to drag you under, to bury you with the weight of its intensity.

“Mark,” you say firmly, closing your eyes briefly, steeling yourself against the heat building in you at his touch. He looks up from his microscope, raising his eyebrows in attention, his hand frozen in place low on your back.

“Hmm?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Did you need something?”

“You know damn well what I need,” you grit out between your teeth, dropping your eyes to stare meaningfully at his hand on you.

“Yes. I do. Because I need it too,” he says in a low voice, deliberately misunderstanding you. He stands up fully, moving his body in front of yours.

He rests his hands on the counter on either side of you, his face inches from yours. This close you can’t hide your feelings for him; you know your desperate want is broadcast across your face. His smug smile fades, melts away into something softer, sweeter.

“But if you don’t want me, I’ll drop it. I just – I’ve never felt like this before. Physically. Emotionally. It’s like I can only breathe when I’m touching you, and every second I spend away from you is a shallow breath,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s fascinating really, reading about this, and now experiencing it,” he says with a soft laugh. “I always thought they were exaggerating the pull. But now I think they might have been underselling it.”

You let out a shaky breath, furrowing your brow as you scan his face. Has it really only been a few weeks since you saw him for the first time? It feels like you’ve been wanting him, craving him, for decades. Your heart rate kicks up as you realize you can feel his body heat in the narrow space between you.

He lifts a hand, bringing it to cup your jaw. His thumb traces a lazy trail across your cheek, his eyes following the motion in awe. You know what he’s feeling. There’s something magnetic between you, it’s overwhelming - the way that your connection feels destined, fated.

“Is it always like this?” you wonder aloud softly. “Between soulmates. In your interviews, have you ever found a pair that doesn’t feel this…. chemistry?” Your lips twist into a wry grin. His eyes flare in awareness as he processes what you’re saying, arousal pooling between your legs at the intensity that comes to his gaze.

“I mean, maybe we should put it to the test. For science,” you continue, tentatively bringing your hands up to rest on his hips. Without intending to, your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, your body automatically moving to pull him closer before your mind catches up.

His other hand leaves the counter, coming to rest along the curve of your waist, fitting perfectly as if it belongs there. He leans forward carefully, pressing his body flush against yours. You both inhale sharply at the contact. It makes you wonder how you ever lived with the absence of him against you, now that you know what it feels like to have him here in front of you, wanting you.

His closeness seems to heighten not just your ability to feel heat, but your other senses as well. This close, you breathe in the faint hint of his musky cologne. This close, colors seem richer; the red of his lips, the deep brown of his eyes. This close, you can almost taste him, and you lick your lips at the thought.

He groans, a low gravelly sound in this throat, as he follows the motion of your tongue. He moves his hand, tilting your head up toward him. Your lips part unconsciously in anticipation. 

“For science, huh?” he says, grinning.

You nod, smirking at him, straightening your back and moving your mouth close to his. “We are scientists, after all. I’d say it’s our duty.”

“Absolutely,” he breathes against your lips. He brings his mouth against yours, enveloping you in his arms. Your lips land slightly off center, mirroring how you feel, thrown out of yourself at the intensity of feeling. As he presses against you, sliding his lips along yours gently, you feel as if your world has been knocked sideways.

He pulls back and a moan leaves you at the absence, feeling bereft without his lips on yours. You lift your hands to his neck, pulling him fiercely against you, slanting your lips against his. He groans into your mouth, pressing you into the counter with his hips.

The hand on your back flexes, brushing up the fabric of your shirt and sliding along your bare skin. He swallows the whine that leaves your throat and you can feel him hardening against your thigh. The sudden rush of desire that rises in your core leaves you breathless.

As he works his mouth against yours his hand slides around to the front, brushing along your waist. You cling to him desperately, feeling unmoored as you drown in want, holding onto him as the only solid thing you can find. When his fingers graze the underside of your breast you open your mouth in surprise.

He smirks against you, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, pressing it along yours as his thumb finds your sensitive nipple over the fabric of your bra. You grip his shirt in your hands, fisting the material, trying to keep yourself together. He pulls back again, breathing heavily.

“Do you want to go all the way with this?” he asks, his hips rocking into yours, his erection brushing against your sensitive core.

You bite your lip, trying to find a rational reason to say no and finding none. You release your lip with a gasp, grinding your hips against him in response. “Yes, god yes,” you breathe.

He smirks against you, pulling your lower lip into his mouth as his hands drop to work on his belt. Now that you’ve given in fully to your desire for him, you can’t contain it. You undress each other in a flurry of clothes and lips and hands, ending up naked, pressed against each other, leaning on the counter.

He dips his hand between your legs and you gasp as he trails a finger through your folds. He grins, finding you wet and ready. A possessive gleam comes to his eyes as he slides a finger into you, watching as you close your eyes with a sigh. He crooks his finger, rubbing against that sensitive spot on your inner walls and you tilt your head up to give him a challenging stare.

He laughs and bends down to recapture your lips. After a minute he’s so hard it hurts. Unable to wait any longer, he grips your thigh, pulling your leg over his hip and positioning himself at the entrance.

Suddenly he shakes his head with a laugh. “Jesus, what was I thinking. Hang on, I have a condom somewhere,” he says and sets your leg down.

You turn, leaning against the counter on your elbows, grinning as you watch him run around the lab in the nude. “It’s nice to know you’re as affected as I am,” you say with a laugh. “I can’t think straight when you’re around.”

He laughs, glancing over at you with a grin as he digs in a drawer. “You know, I was a very organized person before you came into my life.”

“I know what you mean,” you laugh, a warmth rushing through your body that has nothing to do with lust, and all to do with another four letter l word.

He disappears into his office and emerges triumphant, holding up a condom. He rips open the package and sheathes himself. His hot gaze runs up and down your body, considering.

“You know, I think I’m going to need both my hands with you,” he says with a wicked grin. Looking around he sees a folding chair in the corner, its back against the wall. He sits down and motions you over, crooking his finger at you with a wink. “Come here.”

You walk over, spreading your legs on either side of him. His hands run up your thighs, coming to grip the flesh of your ass. You reach a hand down to grab him, positioning him against you. 

As you ease down you can’t help the moan that escapes you. Needy whines leave you as his cock stretches you out. A warmth builds in you as you slide down onto him that blows away anything you’ve felt before.

He groans, his hands gripping your thighs as you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. After a beat, he starts moving. Rocking his hips, he moves within you, pushing and pulling your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. 

You press your heels into the floor, tilting back to rest your hands against his legs for purchase. You swirl your hips, circling around him as he slides you back and forth on his cock. The friction is so delicious you smother a scream.

He drops his head to the wall with a thud, watching you through hooded eyes. “Has it ever felt like this for you?” he asks, his voice straining.

You laugh. “Ever the scientist. No, god. It’s never been this good before.”

A sheen of sweat comes to his brow and you grin, knowing that your skin is just as flushed. You shake your head, your mouth falling open as he snaps his hips up, driving himself into you suddenly. You hold yourself there, above him, as he thrusts into you deeply.

“Fuck, it’s too much,” you say between desperate breaths. “I feel like I’m being burned alive,” you pant, throwing your head back.

He bends back, opening up space so he can reach between you. In a rush he brings a hand to your clit, his thumb stroking you in frantic circles. His lips find the delicate joining of your neck and shoulder and he licks along it. His breath ghosts along your skin, his muffled groans turning you on more than you thought was possible.

Gently he bites down, barely pressing his teeth against your skin. But along with his bucking hips and the motion of his hand, it’s enough to send you over the edge. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you come, clinging to him as the pleasure bursts forth - more intense than you’ve ever felt, with the accompanying explosion of warmth in your core.

After a beat he sits up, wrapping an arm low across back and one across your shoulders. He rocks into you at a rapid pace, chasing his own completion. The movement pulls at your sensitive core, the aftershocks of your own orgasm making you gasp against him. He lets out a strangled moan, panting against your skin as he comes. Even after he stills he keeps his tight hold on you, not wanting to let you go just yet.

You rest your forehead against his shoulder, turning so you face his neck, inhaling his scent. You sit there in each others arms, a messy tangle of limbs and hair and lips, until your breathing finally slows. His hand runs a lazy path up and down your back as he holds you to him, the other cupping your neck as you rest against him. A growing cramp in your hip eventually forces you to sit up and readjust.

“Want to head to my place and do this again?” he asks, his eyes alight with happiness, holding your head in both of his hands.

“God, yes,” you say with a giddy laugh, leaning forward to kiss him again.

You wake in his bed, in his arms, and you think back to last night. He’d made love to you again,; softer, slower the second time. His weight on top of you, steady and grounding, as he thrust into you. His mouth against your neck, trailing hot open mouthed kisses against the skin there. Endearments and praise had spilled from his lips as you found your completion together in the darkness.

You blink, still in disbelief that it had really happened - it felt like a dream. But his body, molded to yours under the sheets, reassures you that it was real.

In movies this is the end, this is where you fall headfirst in love. An easy slide, and that’s it – happily ever after. But instead you feel off-kilter, as if you can’t firmly grasp the threads of your life. The warmth of his body, of the bed, is lulling you into a life you’re not sure you can handle.

In the morning light, things suddenly seem… messy. The carefully laid out life you’ve built for yourself feels like it’s crumbling. Fear and panic rise in you and all at once want to leave. You want to run, now. 

You slide out of his arms gently, making sure not to wake him. In the dim light you dress and grab your things, heading out into the cold streets. You shiver and burrow closer into your coat, the cold air mocking you and your cowardice.

You manage not to see him for days, holing up in your apartment. He emails you, multiple times, wanting to know where you went, what’s wrong. But you leave them unanswered, unable to find the words to articulate the complex swirl of emotions and thoughts in your mind. Unsure how to reconcile the seemingly opposite desires in your heart – for him, and for peace, order; for a life where you belong only to yourself.

Now that it’s late fall the temperature has dropped. You can see your breath as you venture out to quickly grab groceries. The cool air, the lack of warmth, taunts you. But you resist, upset again that nature has forced this on you. This bond, this intensity, that you never asked for. 

You miss him everywhere. Your bed feels empty, the water in the shower has returned to it’s bland sensation. The accompanying rush of heat you’d become used to whenever you think of his hands, his lips, has vanished. 

His absence is almost more painful than his presence, but you stubbornly cling to the hope that you might be able to function without him.

You call out sick from your internship on Friday, thankfully getting another person on the phone and not Mark. You skip his class the following Tuesday. You ask Kelly to get you the homework and share her notes with you. She does, because she loves you. But she also knows that something is wrong the moment you ask her.

She knocks on your door later that night. “I know you’re in there, Y/N. You’d better open up or I’m going to break this door down,” she says with as much sternness as she can muster.

You crack open the door, giving her a sheepish smile as she strides into the apartment. “What’s going on with you?” she demands, folding her arms.

You shut the door with a sigh, turning to rest your back against it. “We slept together,” you blurt out.

Her jaw drops. “Oh my god, you finally gave in,” she says excitedly. “How was it? Tell me everything! I can’t fucking believe you didn’t call me like, the second after you came,” she says and you laugh out loud.

“It was incredible. I’ve never felt like that, ever. It was like I was being consumed by a wildfire. Like my very blood was going to burn,” you say, desperately willing your body to recall the sensations. You sigh in frustration when you realize you can’t.

She raises her eyebrows, holding out her hands. “So? What’s the problem? I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Kels, I can’t do this – it’s – it’s too much. Everything about this is just too much for me,” you say, bringing your thumb to your lips, chewing on the skin nervously. “Do you think it’s because of the soulmate bond… or is it because I lo-” you snap your mouth closed as if you could stifle your feelings.

“Wait – what did you just say,” she presses, a predatory look coming to her eye. She points her finger at you and you know you’re screwed. “You were about to say you love him, weren’t you?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Maybe?” you admit weakly. With a groan you drop your hands. “But how do I handle this, Kels? The way he was looking at me that night, it was so open and trusting. What do I do with that kind of power over someone? And I’ve been a wreck since I met him too. How do I cope with the fact that he has so much influence over me, it’s infuriating,” you say dejectedly.

She grins, coming over to run her hands up and down your arms soothingly. “Babe, that’s love. It’s absolutely fucking terrifying. But it’s so worth it, too. You have to give him a chance, even if you’re afraid of trusting him – trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you. And if you give it a shot, I think it’ll be better than you can imagine. But if it all goes to hell, I’ll be here for you then too,” she finishes softly, holding your gaze as you feel your eyes go misty.

You let out a shaky breath. “I can try. But what if I hurt him? What if –” you start but she claps her hand over your mouth.

She tilts her head, giving you a gentle but stern look. “You can’t know what’s going to happen in the future. But you have to at least try, okay?”

After a beat you nod and she cautiously lowers her hand. “I think you have somewhere to be, don’t you?”

“You’re right,” you say, a nervous excitement building in your stomach as you think about what you’re going to have to do.

“That’s my girl,” she says. “Now where’s that black skirt I’ve always wanted to see you in?” she says excitedly as she rushes over to your closet. You laugh and wrap your arms around yourself, smiling to yourself.

The lab is quiet, as it always is this late at night. He’s at his computer when you walk in and he turns to look at you, his eyes widening as he drinks you in. He stands up in a rush, coming over to you, stopping a few paces away, hesitating.

“It’s only been a few days, but it feels like an eternity since I saw you last,” he says with a laugh. “How do people handle this?” he muses, waving a hand between the two of you.

You grin and shrug. “I don’t know. I handled it by freaking out and running away, so I’m probably not the best person to ask,” you say, carefully watching his reaction.

He gives you a lopsided smile, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Ah. Is that what was going on? I was worried I’d pushed you too far. If you didn’t come to class on Thursday I was going to send out a search party,” he says with a smirk. “Or, more accurately, I was going to ask your friend where you were.”

You rock forward on your heels nervously. “So you still... want me, even after I left?” you ask softly.

He takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s inches away. His hands come to your waist, as if he can’t bear to wait another second to touch you. 

“Y/N, it’s going to take more than that to drive me away,” he says earnestly. “I was freaked out too. It’s a lot to handle, everything we feel. But I’m willing to try and figure it out with you, if you still want me, too.”

You let out a laugh, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “‘If I want you too’? Do you really not know how much I want you? How much I think about you? You turned my world upside down and I have to focus all the time just to think about anything but you,” you say, smiling up at him.

He bites his lip as his mouth twists into a lopsided grin. “Well, you did leave me in bed all alone…” he says teasingly.

Your jaw drops in indignation and you scoff. “I guess I’ll just have to find some way to make it up to you, then,” you say seductively.

He bends down, his lips hovering over yours. “Mmm, I look forward to it,” he says with a wink.

You lean up on your toes, sealing your lips over his, pulling yourself against him. His hands wrap securely around your waist, holding you tight. He smiles against your lips, and you feverishly hope that he never lets you go.

[rwnjun]

bias tag!

I was tagged by @ji-hye-han ,, thank you love uwu

List ten biases, and then answer the questions!

EXO’s resident puppy, vocalist of the century and small child the body of a 26 year old man: Byun Baekhyun

The Boyz’s angel, mom and the man with the sweetest vocals: Jacob Bae

(G)I-DLE’s amazing, charismatic and lovely rap star leader: Jeon Soyeon

GOT7 loves this absolute sunshine, this baby boy just as much as I do: Choi Youngjae

gugudan’s hot, goofy rapper sweetheart (and another one of my scorpio weaknesses): Liu Xiening

Monsta X’s power vocalist, and resident bully (and bullying victim): Yoo Kihyun

NCT’s seemingly sweet but actually ruthless (but still soft), underrated vocalist: Huang Renjun

Red Velvet’s hot, socially aware leader with the stage presence of a goddess: Bae Joohyun

SEVENTEEN’s asshole mom and devil with the face (and the vocals) of an angel: Yoon Jeonghan

Stray Kids’ dancing gem, the sweetest vocalist and the wildest savage on earth: Lee Minho

between 1 and 4 who would you rather kiss?

baekhyun or youngjae … listen youngjae is my child and while baek might be too, i’d probably kiss him if i had to lol

between 2 and 7 who would be your best friend?

ok jacob reminds me so much of my real best friend but … renjun and i are so alike we would either be best friends until the end of our days or kill each other on the spot. i’m going with renjun

between 5 and 10 who has a better voice?

on a whim i’m going with minho because … his rap in hellevator kills me every time and his part is n/s? superior. but then his vocals are so sweet and i love him omg. i’m so sorry xiening baby you’re amazing too

between 1 and 8 who is the funniest?

ok it’s definitely baekhyun there isn’t even any discourse. joohyun is amazing and sweet and has her funny moments but i love her mostly because she’s so … elegant, amazing, adorable. baekhyun is a pure crackhead

between 6 and 9 who would you date?

ok first of all i wanna say that i have a hard time imagining myself in romantic relationships with idols in GENERAL because i just wanna be friends with them?? but between kihyun and jeonghan HOLY SHIT i hate I HATE them both. they can take my fist to their perfect faces (jeonghan hmu tho )

between 9 and 10 who would you collab with?

i let minho win the other category so lemme do a collab with jeonghan. both their voices are higher pitched than mine anyways it doesn’t matter LMAO

between 4 and 8 who is the best dancer?

youngjae is so cute when he dances :((( i love my baby but i’m going with joohyun because of that STAGE PRESENCE lady SHEESH she really wants me dead

between 3 and 5 who would you like to marry?

read: question about dating. but i guess it would be my dorky love, xiening

between 2 and 3 who has the best smile?

JACOB. PERIOD. he looks so soft … so squishy when he smiles (soyeon’s world star smirk kills me tho)

between 6 and 8 who would you rather go on a vacation with?

i think kihyun and i would just … kill each other so lemme take my girlie joohyun on a trip

most of my friends/mutuals have already done this lmao so if you wanna do this just say that i tagged you

[baronvontribble]

I read a ton of fantasy growing up, but for some reason I never read much sci-fi (despite loving science). Later in life it always seemed too overwhelming to get into a new genera when I had no point of reference to judge quality before dropping the money/time on a book. But reading some of your FO fics and later your original drabbles reminded me that I still wanted to get into sci-fi more. So my question is, do you have a list of recommendations of good sci-fi books?

Anne McCaffrey and Isaac Asimov are two fairly nonthreatening scifi writers that I like to recommend to people who are new to the genre. I also handed my wife a lot of off-the-beaten-path Ray Bradbury if that helps, but anyone who’s read Fahrenheit 451 in school might be biased against him because they read it in school and he’s also fairly wordy and metaphorical in his style so don’t try to skim-read his books.

Specific recs are as follows:

The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula LeGuin: Miserable gut-shot ending, but I get the feeling that the author was forced to do it and didn’t like it either. Otherwise, it’s a great example of early queer scifi. Also a great example of her writing style in general if you like it. Weird, isn’t it? That’s just how she is. It’s wonderful. Also a great read if you start feeling bad about your writing style being too unprofessional, because holy fuck is her writing unprofessional. She’s like scifi’s kooky vodka aunt.

The Positronic Man, by Isaac Asimov and Robert Silverberg: This is the more definitive version as compared to the original short-ish story, The Bicentennial Man. It’s very well fleshed-out and absolutely nothing like the movie, so if the movie soured you on the story, put it out of your brain. About the only similarities are some of the names. Andrew isn’t even white. Great story and a great introduction to the author.

Crystal Singer, by Anne McCaffrey: This book has so much sex in it. I went back on a reread and was floored by how much sex there was. Like, I read this when I was ten?? Holy fuck. Anyway, good book. Especially if you’ve got a music background like me. This is some of the cleanest integration of music into a story that I’ve seen in a long time, which seems to be a theme of this author’s other works too, such as…

The Ship Who Sang, by Anne McCaffrey: No sex, but it’s essentially a series of short stories in the life of a disabled person in a “shell” who flies a ship. Big inspiration for me right here, and it gets crazier when you realize that she wrote this about half a century before Vocaloid was invented. Also there’s an entire religion developed around the works of Bob Dylan? This later became a series which included collabs by other authors, much like many of her works tend to do.

I, Robot, by Isaac Asimov: Again, series of short stories. This time they’re interconnected by a framing device of a young man having an interview with an old woman who was the best/first robopsychologist in the world. All the stories are gripping and engaging with elements of humor and wit. And then if you haven’t gotten your fill of this guy writing robots yet, you’ve got…

The Caves of Steel, The Naked Sun, The Robots of Dawn, and Robots and Empire by Isaac Asimov: Read in order. Fourth book will make you cry. Daneel is a precious cinnamon roll and Elijah is a potato. I’ve literally seen this series recommended on queer book lists because the two main characters get that close. Elijah says “because I love him” at one point. Go hug your robot, Elijah. I think he loves you too.

Prelude to Foundation, by Isaac Asimov: I always recommend this one to cap off the last four if I can, and you’ll see why when you read it. Don’t read it until after you’ve read the last four though. Trust me. It’s necessary. This is the one in my stories where Harkness gets annoyed enough with the twist to throw the book at his human’s head because it made him feel an emotion. Seldon’s ever so slightly a dipshit, but I think that’s meant to separate him from both who he becomes in the Foundation series as well as to separate him from Elijah as a character. This is a great intro to the Foundation series if you get into that, but that’s deep sociological storytelling and it ain’t got robots in it, so it’s not on this list.

Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?, by Phillip K. Dick: Good if you like unsettling, but fair warning: negative portrayal of robots to an extent. They’re played as somewhat immoral. Keep that in mind while reading. This is the book that Blade Runner was very loosely based on. At least there’s no deeply uncomfortable sexual assault scene in it. Also: animal cruelty CW. I’m just saying. It’s a fucked up book and Dick was a fucked up man. Only included because it’s a “classic” in the robot subgenre.

I Sing The Body Electric, by Ray Bradbury: Series of wacky short stories. I included excerpts in one of my fics. The titular story is, however, one of the best robot stories ever written. Worth it for that alone. If you like the wacky stories enough, read more Bradbury when you’re done. Yes, he’s always like that. He’s from Chicago.

And finally, Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley: Scifi’s cool mom. She reads books too. And references them. It’s nothing like what you think it is. Good read.

I’m not gonna recommend the usual Classic Shit ‘cause it’s boring and sexist and you’ve probably already had it recommended to you. This is just how I like to introduce the genre to people: with friendly, easy authors who have good characters and unique styles. Arthur C. Clarke and Robert Heinlein are fun and all, but they’re kind of hardcore sciencey for a beginner, so don’t let anyone bully you for not being into them if you don’t wanna be into them.

Have fun, kiddo.

[wannabevampire]

YESSS IM OBSESSED THIS IS SO GOOD!!

literally can’t even begin to express how happy i am that i mentioned my knife kink because HOLY SHIT

yes. allie has so many notifications. but they are all so yummy!! ☺️☺️

we’re writing this. collab of the century tbh!!

xoxo,

ALLIE QBDJWJWBSI👹

May I offer this tiny Druig knife kink snippet that I’ve written so far…

-

Druig breaks the kiss as he looks down between your bodies, observing as he lightly swirls the tip of the blade across your skin. You follow his gaze, enamoured by his movements as he lightly scratches your flesh, applying just the right about of pressure. Enough to sting and leave a mark, but not enough to actually cut you.

He trails the knife lower down, grazing it over the curves of your hip bones. You buck your hips in anticipation. He kisses the skin of your lower belly, just above where he’s playing with the knife on your flesh. You feel his other hand hook into the band of your panties. He flashes you the devil’s grin before he pulls your panties taught, cutting through them with the knife. You gasp as he yanks the ruined fabric from under you, tossing the material aside.

-

What do you guys think? I may or may not (I definitely have) written a whole lot more than this as well🙈👀

Lmao poor Allie is going to have so many notifications when she gets back😂

@wannabevampire @eviewritessometimes @druigsluvbot

[sequoiann]

❧ x.mh | assassin!au

pairing; seventeen the8 x reader

genre; bulletpointed, assassin!minghao, fluff

collab with; @kpop–fics

tags; @lunarjihoon

a weapon specialist 

and a deadly one! 

always had the best weapons in the market ready 

“minghao im gonna need a new sniper” 

“got just the thing” 

and minghao whips out something else

something big and ultra bulky but not too heavy but big

that,,, is definitely ,,, not a sniper ,,,,,

but he just shrugs 

he obviously knew what he was doing 

“you’re gonna need that for later!”

in contrast to you 

you were also an assassin who was specialized in weaponry 

but,,, 

not even close to minghao’s level 

so 

every time your teammates ask for new backup guns 

for you it’s like 

okay let’s see,,, 

“here ya go”

you’d give the exact same thing they already have

just

a newer one

a more polished one

lolol

“y/n...”

“shush and use that it’ll work”

yeah you had a short fuse 

so the guns kinda suited you 

you could just instantly kill your enemies without thought

bc if u had a knife

ha ha ha ha

every centimeter of your victim’s body would be severed and separated

bc that’s how aggressive you’d get when threatened

anyways 

one day 

you were just browsing through the black market 

which was like just a place under an alley

cause 

where else were you gonna get new equipment??? 

so 

you were looking at this expensive deep blue holster 

and you were honestly kinda intrigued 

like oOOoo that’s a pretty color

and this,,, 

random guy,,, 

whom you recognized as xu minghao bc everyone around talks about him alot ,,,,,

just strides up to the damn salesperson as you were about to pay lmao

and goes 

“no matter what she’s paying you for that, i’ll pay you double” 

and you’re just ????? wha ???????

yeah you were very, very, very irritated 

it’s not often you find something you like 

you were pretty picky 

“i’m sorry but go find your own shit or something honey”

“no i really really need this” 

“SO DO I”

“WELL I NEED IT EVEN MORE”

“BITCH I WAS HERE FIRST” 

nd he’s shocked 

?????

you speak back to me??? 

you??? you lowly kid ??? to mE???? 

YA IMMA

oh damn that’s new 

so a few seconds pass with him just looking astounded

and his jaw hanging slightly open 

and afterwards he snaps out of it

“how much were you going to pay for it?” 

he lowered his tone so much lmao

that’s better 

have some damn manners young man 

“whatever, it’s fine, have it” 

you didn’t know why but now that he’s being nice, you didn’t find the need to play push and pull

“really? but it’s the latest model! don’t you want it?” 

and now you’re confused 

like 

just a minute ago he was throwing his all in this game? 

bro what happened 

im giving it up to you what the heck just take it you were about to murder me for it five seconds ago

“didn’t you really want it?” 

and he just,,, 

nods 

s l o w l y

you rolled your eyes

“well have it then” 

and his eyes 

get this low-key crescent shape 

nd shine more than the sky at evenin

,,,

hOLY SHIT THAT’S CUTE

this is a revolutionary moment bc you never

i repeat never

found guys cute

i mean majority of the people u killed were guys

bc men are bad !!!

okay but you knew not all of them were

and after that evening 

you keep bumping into minghao there

and you used that holster incident against him over e v er y t h in g

“what’s up dude” 

“the sky” 

“LEAVE”

“did you just yell at me?” “i gave up the holster for you?”

and minghao just goes speechless

“what, do u want me to buy a shop for you?”

“i mean, my team and i would be more than glad.”

and he just scoffs in disbelief like what the heck

and,,, 

it’s just a small rivalry you guys created 

every time one of you wants to buy something on your little shopping days 

the other one bids more

and it goes up to a few thousand dollars

and sometimes u two just end up staring each other down

but technically he’s taller than u so he wins in the physical aspect

and in the end the seller just “do you two even have so much money on you?”

& you two just turns to the seller and then stares him down for interrupting your conversation

everyone knows you and minghao are pretty high up the food web so don’t fuk around kids

honestly 

it’s a dumb way to buy weapons 

like all u needa do is just take it and give the money and gO

but it’s fun for you guys lolololololol

so what’s the harm?

biggest reveal of the century

and because you’re always away for so nowadays

all your other teammates think you’re dating

minghao’s team thinks he’s dating too

bc both of you suddenly developed random chuckling fits 

literally

you two would be in the middle of your own missions and then start giggling to yourself bc you guys recalled a conversation between you two at the black market

and your teammates are sometimes jumpy and you sudd just giggle to yourself

they were this close to slapping you with their gun

“did you find yourself a boyfriend?” 

“where are you spending all those hours?”

“i bet it’s not just looking at weapons” 

same questions are thrown @ minghao from his team

and minghao shrugs 

like always 

but softly goes 

“maybe i did”