#i got an email in the middle of typing this so i might have to go back and edit it for flow

[qrowscant]

i wanted a machine guts sweater/shirt so here are some color tests

[locamotivednp]

Nashville show thoughts!!

Again they are amazing live. Such great stage presence and charisma. I was so close to the stage it was almost too much?

The fire alarm: it was handled about as well something like that could be. The crowd was fine, a little nervous but calm and listening. Dan and Phil kept people from panicking. We were told to evacuate and then told to hold on (that’s why they were frozen on stage looking a bit silly) and then to continue evacuating. They got us back in quickly and smoothly. Don’t listen to people who weren’t there.

Spoilers under the cut

Conspiracies were toilet, false, tour bus, and wedding. the line about commitment was back for the wedding conspiracy (wasnt there for nyc). They did not listen to us about Vegas rip me.

Dan banned youtubers. He wrote erotica about cowboys and went to jail for tax fraud.

Phils favorite word was crusty lol. Phil helped old women cum and once again the person filling it out put it like six times. He had a secret collection of twinks.

The ramble was on horses. phil mentioned the story about knowing someone who cant have kids because they were kicked by a horse but Dan started the story and it was very cute. The talked about how horses were tall and scary and so were they. I think Dan crawled across the stage to demonstrate at one point??? they mentioned the calendar briefly

Dan called out the person behind me for filming as sister daniel. very scary

the person next to me had no idea what was happening it was really fun to witness.

[charliegyrth]

Three Roommates

Watch Them Feed Each Other...

This story is based on a recommendation by @nolantrojan.

***

I was the first to arrive in the dorms, so I chose the solo bed closest to the window. My two dormmates (Kirk and Braxton, according to the sign on the door) would have to share the bunkbed.

I’m an only child, so I’d never had to share space before. I was pretty nervous. For one thing, I was an introvert. Big time. I enjoyed hanging out with my closest friends, but when it came to meeting new people, I was super awkward.

For another thing, I was gay. I’d been out of the closet since junior high (though people had assumed I was gay pretty much since kindergarten). I wasn’t ashamed of it, of course, but I knew that some dormmates might have a problem.

When Kirk and Braxton arrived (together), my heart sank. I took one look at them and knew they were straight. Kirk had a buzz cut and lumbered when he walked. Braxton was a big, burly football-player type.

Both were quite handsome, though. (Especially Braxton. I loved big, manly bellies, and his was both of those things.)

“Yo! Roomie!” Kirk shouted like a total bro. He headed toward me and shoved his fist at me.

At first, I just stared at his knuckles. Then I realized he wanted me to give him a fist bump. I did (lamely).

“Nice to meet you!” Braxton said as he wheeled in both their suitcases.

“Yeah. Hi,” I muttered. I stared at my lap. (Terrible at eye contact.)

“You’re Trace, right? Or is it pronounced Trace-y?” Kirk asked. I couldn’t tell if that was a genuine question or if he was using a woman’s name to make fun of me.

“Trace.”

“Cool.” He turned to Braxton. “I get top bunk, man.”

“Says who?”

“Says me!” he shouted. “I don’t want your fat ass breaking the mattress and squashing me in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah?” Braxton said, charging forward and bumping his gut against Kirk. Clearly, they knew each other, and they seemed like frenemies.

Kirk shoved Braxton backward, forcing the bigger guy to stumble a few steps. Then Braxton grabbed Kirk by the shoulders and used all his weight to shove him onto the bottom bunk.

I looked away as the two of them got into a fight. Less than a minute after meeting them, and I already knew that I’d gotten the two worst roommates. They were just so bro-y. Were they gonna fight like this all the time? Worse, would they treat me like this if I did something to piss them off?

I pulled out my phone, looking for the RA’s email so I could request a transfer while Kirk and Braxton wrestled each other on the bed.

God. I hated my life.

But the wrestling noises died down, and when I looked back up, they were no longer fighting each other. Kirk was on top on Braxton, pinning him down and kissing him on the mouth.

Braxton pushed him back. “Dude! Not in front of the new guy.”

Kirk wiped his mouth. “Oh. Sorry.” Then he turned to me. “Sorry. We just get excited sometimes.”

“You two…” I stammered. “You’re…”

Braxton sat up and wrapped his thick arm around Kirk’s shoulder. “Boyfriends. Yeah. But we don’t wanna make you feel awkward.” He gave Kirk an affectionate yet annoyed glance. “Right, babe?”

Kirk shrugged. “We’ll behave ourselves.” He playfully jiggled Braxton’s belly.

In response, Braxton pushed him off the bed. “You’re the worst.”

“You are!”

Well, this was not what I expected.

Without saying anything, Kirk hurried into the bathroom, leaving me alone with his boyfriend.

“Seriously,” Braxton told me. “You don’t have to worry. We both know dorm etiquette. No fooling around when you’re in the room.”

“Cool,” I mumbled.

Braxton leaned forward, studying me. “You’re not upset, are you? I mean, having gay roommates?”

“No. I’m…”

Before I could say that I was gay too, he cut me off. “Thank frickin’ God.” Then he shouted toward the bathroom door. “Dude, he’s an ally!”

“Thank frickin’ God!” Kirk shouted from inside the bathroom.

An ally? Couldn’t they see that I was gay? I was wearing short-shorts and my suitcases were all Mattel pink.

Kirk strutted back in. He must’ve just washed his hands, because he was drying them on his jeans. “So. Trace. Tell us about yourself.”

I mentioned that I was an English lit major. That I was valedictorian at my high school. That I grew up in small-town Arizona. That I was single.

This was the perfect opportunity to come out to them, and yet I didn’t. I wasn’t sure why. I guess because I never really had to come out before. People just always knew.

Whatever. They’d figure it out eventually.

Then Kirk (the more talkative of the two) told me their story. They were both from Boston. They’d been dating since sophomore year of high school. They loved hockey (watching, not playing).

Overall, they seemed like pretty normal guys. I didn’t have anything in common with them, but I guess that didn’t matter.

There was one strange thing about our conversation, though. As Kirk was talking, he reached into his suitcase (decorated with Boston Bruins insignia) and fished out a packet of Oreos. Then, as he kept talking, he took out the cookies one by one and fed them to Braxton. Braxton ate each one without saying anything. It was the strangest thing, especially because neither of them acknowledged it.

Kind of cute, though. I wish I had a boyfriend who loved me enough to feed me sweets just for the hell of it.

Oh well.

***

I was alone in the dorms reading a novel for my Victorian literature class when the door flew open. Kirk and Braxton stumbled inside, both pawing at each other. Kirk had pulled up Braxton’s shirt halfway, revealing his pale, hairy belly.

They made it to the bottom bunk when they noticed that I was in the room. Kirk immediately let go of his boyfriend. Braxton's shirt dropped back down.

Braxton punched his arm. “Dude, you said he had class now.”

“I would’ve,” I chimed in. “But I changed my schedule yesterday. Didn’t like one of the professors. Sorry. I’ll… do the rest of my reading in the common room.” I stood up and started for the door.

“Naw, man,” Braxton said. “We can’t kick you out. It’s not fair to you.”

The three of us had been living together for two weeks now, and we hadn’t had a single problem. Once I got used to their more brash personalities, I really started to like them. In fact, I think their total confidence was really starting to rub off on me. Sure, there were some nights when I heard them messing around after they thought I was asleep, but that didn’t bother me.

Kirk looked over at his boyfriend, disappointed. “But babe. What about…?” He nodded toward a shopping bag in his hand. (I hadn’t noticed that before.)

“Later,” Braxton reassured him.

My interest was piqued. “What’s in the bag? If you don’t mind me asking.” (See what I mean about their confidence rubbing off on me? A few weeks ago, I would not have asked that question.)

Kirk looked at Braxton for permission. When Braxton nodded, he opened the bag and pulled out three packets of Oreos and a can of whipped cream.

“Just a snack,” Kirk said.

“Then why save it for later?” I asked. “Go ahead.”

They glanced at each other, both silently asking for permission. Braxton shrugged. Kirk grinned. And then they snuggled together on the bottom bunk (where they both usually slept) and Kirk opened the first box of Oreos.

I tried to focus on my book. I really did. But I couldn’t stop glancing over as Kirk slid Oreos into Braxton’s expectant mouth. At first, it felt like an affectionate display, just one guy spoiling his chubby boyfriend. But as they continued, things definitely got more erotic. Braxton started moaning. Kirk slid his hand in gentle circles across Braxton’s belly, sometimes pinching the fat at the bottom.

I stared at my book but my brain couldn’t process the words in front of me. I was genuinely confused by my roommates. Why were they turned on by Oreos?

And more importantly, why was I getting turned on, too? I wasn’t even looking at them, but I was still getting hard.

Eventually, the moaning stopped and I glanced over. They’d finished two packets of Oreos and Kirk was whispering something in his boyfriend’s ear.

Whatever he said made Braxton laugh. “Dude! No!”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask?” Kirk whispered back. Then, ignoring his boyfriend’s hesitance, he turned toward me. “Hey, Trace. Wanna join in?”

My heart pounded. “I… um, don’t like Oreos.”

“See?” Braxton whispered to Kirk.

Kirk held up the spray can. “Do you like whipped cream?”

“I guess.”

With a big smile on his face, Kirk gestured for me to come closer. I started to get out of my desk chair when I realized that my semi hard-on was visible through my pants. I lowered myself back down and scooted the chair toward them.

Too late, though. Kirk noticed the bulge and elbowed his boyfriend. “Told ya.” With my chair about a foot away from their bed, he handed me the whipped cream. “Try it.”

I was still confused, but I was curious, too. I popped off the cap and angled it toward my mouth.

“Woah! What are you doing?” Kirk said.

“I was just…” When I noticed Braxton’s open mouth, I realized my mistake. When he said “try it,” he didn’t want me to eat the cream. He wanted me to join in on feeding Braxton. The realization scared me a little. I was joining in on some sexual kink that I still didn’t understand. I guess I was open to it, though.

I pushed the can toward Braxton, but he stopped me. “Actually, if you’d prefer to have some yourself, we’d be okay with that, too. Right, Kirk?”

Kirk thought for a second, then smiled. “Why not? Could be fun.”

I thought that meant he wanted me to spray some of it into my mouth, but instead, he grabbed the can out of my hands and pressed the nozzle against my lips.

More warmth rushed to my dick. Why was this turning me on so much?!

Kirk held the back of my head and I started to suck. The cream filled my mouth and my cheeks bulged out. At first, I wasn’t ready to swallow. Then I did. He sprayed in more, and I swallowed that, too.

Then he pulled the can away from my face and handed it to Braxton.

Braxton leaned forward on the bed, his belly filling his lap, and he squirted more whipped cream in my mouth. “This is fun!” he told his boyfriend.

“Tell me about it,” Kirk replied as he pulled out the next packet of Oreos.

When Braxton pulled the can away, Kirk slid an Oreo between my lips. Then Braxton sprayed again. They went back and forth for a while, alternating so quickly that I was having trouble keeping up.

I’m not sure how long it lasted. (This whole experience could’ve been minutes or hours. I couldn’t tell.) But before the can was empty, Braxton stopped and said, “My turn again!”

He waited for me to take back the can, which I did. Then Kirk and I worked together to fill him up just like they’d done to me.

Somehow, my confusion at what we were doing only made everything hotter. Pretty soon, the cream was finished. The Oreos were gone. And the three of us just sat there, feeling a sense of achy satisfaction that reminded me of the first few minutes after sex.

“What did we just do?” I had to ask.

“Just a snack,” Kirk said. “We were about to head down to the cafeteria for our real lunch if you wanna join us?”

I looked at my phone. I had class in twenty minutes. I’d never skipped classes before. I opened my mouth to refuse, but instead, the word “okay” came out of my mouth.

Braxton kissed Kirk on the cheek, leaving a streak of whipped cream. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”

***

Kirk strutted into the dorm room with two grocery bags filled with god-knows-what. Probably more donuts because he knew how much I liked them.

“You are such a bad influence,” I said from my desk. “You know I have class soon.”

Braxton waddled into the room behind his boyfriend. “More for me then!”

“Dammit. Fine,” I gave in. “But this is the last time this week. I can’t miss any more lectures.” We knew that I wasn’t going to stick to that. I never did.

Three months into the semester, and I’d been to about half of my total classes. Maybe less. I was still keeping up with the assignments, but my work ethic had gone out the window, all because of our damn feeding sessions. They’d become an addiction. Our dorm room, covered with stains and filled with trash, was crime-scene evidence for how constant and messy those sessions were.

Kirk did all the shopping, and he seemed to be increasing the amount of snacks each time. At first, Braxton and I ate an equal amount. (Kirk never ate anything himself.) After a few weeks, though, I noticed that Braxton’s stomach had grown. I realized that if I kept going at his pace, I’d start gaining, too. I didn’t want that, so I pulled back a little, still stuffing myself but always stopping earlier than my fat roommate.

Outside of the dorms, the three of us started doing a lot of stuff together. We’d go to the movies, attend parties, and hit up the cafeteria (at least once a day). Even though I never joined in on the physical affection they showed each other (aside from giving Braxton occasional belly rubs), I really felt like we had become a throuple. I was always so much happier when at least one of them was around.

Kirk pulled our table to the middle of the room and unloaded today’s goodies. I was right about the donuts. He’d even gotten the ones with strawberry frosting! (I’d told him last week that those were my favorite.) He also had cinnamon rolls and (of course) cans of whipped cream.

I dutifully pulled my chair up to the table.

Braxton sat across from me, his belly pushing into the table. It had definitely grown in the last few weeks. Softened, too. It used to be more spherical, but it was seriously starting to droop.

“Who’s first?” Kirk asked grandly. He always asked that, and of course, he always chose his boyfriend. I didn’t mind.

But today, he turned to me and said, “You ready?”

I was both surprised and flattered. “Me first? Really?”

“You deserve it, bro,” Braxton said. “Kirk and I were talking this morning, and… Well, it’s been a fantasy for both of us to fatten up our straight college roommate. It’s kind of a dream come true.”

I gulped. Two things about that surprised me. The first was that they still thought I was straight. Yeah, I still hadn’t come out to them, but everything about me—from my clothes to my voice to my fashion sense—should’ve tipped them off.

And the other thing, the bigger thing, was that they thought they were fattening me up. No! I was still the same skinny guy. Braxton was getting fatter, not me.

“Guys, I’m not…”

“You’re not straight?” Kirk interrupted. “I knew it.” He turned to Braxton and held out his hand. “Pay up.”

Braxton grumbled as he pulled out his wallet and handed Kirk a five-dollar bill.

“You were betting on me?”

“Dude! It’s all good. We just have terrible gaydar. That’s all.” Kirk slapped his fat boyfriend on the back. “I mean, I thought this homo was straight right up until he went down on me at a debate tournament. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Braxton blushed. “Let’s just start eating.”

“Wait!” I said, even though Kirk had already raised a donut toward me. “I’m not trying to get fat. I just like the eating part.”

“Really?” Braxton said, squeezing the fat roll that had recently formed under his chest. “You’d like it.”

“No. I'm not... interested in that part. That’s why I’m not, you know, eating as much as you.”

Braxton and Kirk exchanged a long look between them. Then they both turned back toward me.

“Have you seen yourself lately?” Kirk asked.

“I…”

“Take off your shirt, man,” he encouraged.

Two months ago, I would’ve said no. I probably would’ve mumbled something and left the room. But I felt so close to my roommates now. Plus, I was confident that they were wrong. I might’ve gained a couple pounds, but I still fit into all my clothes.

I stood up and stripped off my shirt. “See? Still skinny.”

Braxton stared at my bare stomach. “Sorta. I think you’re skinny-fat now.”

Smiling, Kirk walked toward me. Without saying anything, he grabbed me by the waist and squeezed.

I gulped. For the first time, there was something to squeeze.

I looked down and saw his fingers gripping rolls of fat on my sides. Love handles.

Still not speaking, he grabbed the skin under my belly button and squeezed that, too. More fat.

They were right. These feeding sessions had coated me in fat. My overall shape hadn’t changed, but I’d gotten soft.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t realize…”

“Why?” Kirk said. His hands still played with my belly fat.

“Because I don’t wanna get fat. I like the way I look.”

Slowly, he slid his palms up my stomach before stopping at my chest. With his eyes locked on mine, he squeezed into my pecs. Except, they weren’t really pecs now. They were bulges of fat.

I trembled a little. That felt good.

“Why?” he asked again.

“Because I don’t want… I…”

He kissed me.

God.

Braxton must’ve gotten out of the chair, because he was suddenly behind me, his fingers tracing the slight creases just above my love handles. He kissed my neck.

“You can’t stop now,” Braxton whispered into my ear. His belly was pressed into my back. “Now that we know you’re not straight, imagine how much more fun we can have.”

Kirk pulled back. “And imagine how big we can make you.”

I didn’t say anything. I allowed them both to push me back into my chair. Kirk and Braxton joined me at the table.

These two were definitely a bad influence on me, but I couldn’t fight it anymore. I opened my mouth and waited for the first donut.

***

I was at my laptop, listening to my professor drone on about Charles Dickens again. Now that I’d switched to 100% online lessons, my classes were so much easier. I could set my own pace (more or less) and since I was in the comfort of our own apartment, I could graze on snacks as much as I wanted.

I reached into my potato chip bag for another handful, but all I got were crumbles on my fingers. I’d need Kirk to get me another bag.

Before I could ask him, I felt him surprise me from behind, kiss my cheek, and place a fresh bag in my lap. Somehow, he always knew.

“Thanks, babe.”

“Is the lecture almost over?” he asked.

“Forty more minutes.”

“Really? We can’t wait that long. Can’t you…”

“Ugh. Fine.” I made sure that my mic was on mute (it was) and pushed myself out of my chair. The lecture would continue without me. I’m sure I wasn’t missing much. I was going to graduate in a month, so it really didn’t matter if I missed one more lecture.

Kirk grabbed my hand and led me into our living room.

Braxton was waiting on the couch, shirtless as always. He smiled up at us, not at all surprised that Kirk had convinced me to skip out on another lecture.

He looked particularly handsome today. His latest cluster of stretchmarks had finally faded, leaving faint pink trails from his lower belly all the way up to his under-moob roll. Sure, his moobs had gotten a bit mismatched, with one angled more to the side, but with nipples as big as potatoes, how could anyone complain?

One day, I’d catch up to him. Probably not for a while, of course. 400+ was a pretty heft goal, but one day. I had the determination.

He patted the space next to him on the couch. “Ready?”

“Always,” I said as I flopped my fat ass onto the cushion. Kirk pushed the table closer to us. It was covered with platters of lasagna and spaghetti. No utensils, of course. Now that we lived off-campus, we could get as messy as we wanted, and of course Kirk wanted us to get really messy.

He took a second to glance back and forth at his two massive lovers, smiling at what we’d both become. “I love you,” he said, talking to us both. Equally.

Braxton grabbed the front of my shirt to help me strip it off. At his size, he couldn’t really angle his body toward me. I ended up pulling it off myself.

“Trace,” he said, “you’re beautiful.”

“I know.” Yeah, he outweighed me by 130 pounds, and he looked so much more massive than me, but we loved each other too much to compare. He was beautiful, and so was I.

“Alright, dudes!” Kirk said. “Dig in!”

Braxton scooped up a handful of lasagna while I went straight for the spaghetti, allowing tomato sauce to ooze down my chubby arm.

Kirk, still as slim as ever, climbed in next to me and started playing with my belly. That always kept me motivated.

And through the door into the other room, I could see my laptop. My professor’s face was still there, talking about something unimportant. I had better things to think about.

The End And please send me more suggestions!!! They're so much fun!

This story is included in my new ebook collection Three Times as Fat! Check it out.

[spacebaby1]

Rindou Haitani's Girlfriend

Ran might get himself a girl that matches his freak on napping for 11 hours, but Rindou will absolutely get the humorous girlfriend.

The first time he met you was in 🎀police station 🎀he was 12 and had just gotten arrested with his brother Ran, who was 13 then. You sat with the handcuffs on, kicking your feet looking around and being so calm it made him question how the hell were you so calm. You just turned 12, and it was a day before your birthday party. The moment you noticed the as the police officer let him and ran sit on one of the chairs opposite from you, you waved at him with a smile. The officer went to write the report, and you got up from your chair and walked to sit next to them. "Nice hair!" You told Ran, "That's not a wig, right?" Ran laughed, shaking his head, and Rin rolled his eyes at you. "Why are a kid like you doing here?" Rin asked, "Oh, I just wanted to know how handcuffs feel like that's why I busted the cops car window to get arrested." You said with a smile, "No shit, are you crazy?" Ran laughed. "Aren't you too little to be arrested?" Rin asked, and you shrugged, "I'm twelve, I'm actually twelve tomorrow and I'm having a birthday party, hey, wanna come to my birthday party?" You told Rin with a soft smile. He felt his cheeks burn, and then you turned to look at Ran, "if you want, I'll write you the address." Ran just laughed, "you're one crazy girl. Happy birthday, by the way." Rin sighed, "Happy birthday, whatever." You laughed, "Aww, thank you, I'm Y/n!" Ran turned his side to face you now because he thought you were interesting, "I'm Ran, and this is Rindou. My baby brother." You smiled in an aww. That was the last time Rin saw you.

Five years later; he saw you again. Rin had just gotten some serious job done and was heading back home, walking under the cold nights with snow all over the streets. His eyes on his phone screen; reading an email Ran sent him when someone sprinted past him. He didn't bother to look until he heard the footsteps stop, and someone called out his name, made him almost jump. "RINRIN?" He turned back ready to attack whoever called him with hands in front of him and his heart almost stopped when he saw a girl, no, he saw you waving as you ran towards him happily? You caught your breath as you stopped in front of him, titling your head to side, "it's me! Y/n! Remember me the girl from the police station? Oh, that's funny to say." He blinked a few times before speaking and looking at your clothes that were not warm at all. You were dressed in a white shirt and baggy jeans with a weird hat that looked too big for your head. "Yeah, I remember you. You weirdo, why are you dressed like that in the middle of December? Are you trying to die?" He asked, rolling his eyes as he took his heavy sweater off and threw it over you. Making you laugh as you removed the sweater from your head, revelling your smile that made his breath hitch. "I'm jogging trying to run a mile and trying to find out if I can define the cold." He sighed, taking his sweater from your hand and putting your hands in it, then the other, "Yeah, define the devil when you die from cold and get thrown in hell." You laughed at his words. You looked behind him, "Where's your brother? Does he still have his long hair? Wait, your hair kinda looks cool!" Rin rolled his eyes, "you still remember him too. You shouldn't be out at this time of night all alone. You don't know what type of people are out here." You shrugged, taking your phone out and snatched his from his hand, "I'll save my number in your phone, here call me so I can save yours." You handed him the phone and waited for him to call. He looked at him phone then back at you and called. Your face lights up when your phone rang, and you waved it at him with a giggle, "I'll see you soon. Bye bye" you said before walking the other way.

Rin would lie if he said he didn't wait a whole day for you to call. He kept checking his phone every other minute. It's been a whole day now, and you still haven't called. Maybe you didn't care. It was around 12 at night when his phone rang. He picked it up without looking at the name, "RIN RIN!" He sat from where he was sleeping on the bed. "Y/n?" You laughed at his question, "Duh, who else would it be?" He tried to hide his stupid smile even if you weren't there to see it, "Why you calling me this late?" He tried to sound annoyed, but you laughed again. "I couldn't sleep, saw a really scary movie now I'm regretting life and I can't even get up to pee what if the lady with white dress attacks me in the bathroom?" He chuckled at your words rolling his eyes. "And you want me to do what?" He replied. "Stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep!" You replied excitement in your voice, and he felt his face burning; don't couple do these kinds of things? He thought. Nevertheless, he didn't mind staying on the call as you rambled about random things. He could hear you trying hard to stay awake by the time it was 3 in the morning so he decided to be the one talking as you just replied in a hum, he talked in a low voice until he heard you snoring softly on the other side of the call. He chuckled, "idiot. Sleep well." He whispered before putting his phone beside him still on the call.

When you decided to return his sweater, he "forgot" to tell Ran that you were coming honestly he kept asking Ran if he has to be somewhere so when you'll arrive you won't see Ran. Rin wasn't jealous. He's just Rin. Ran heard the bell rang and went to answer the door, "Yes?" He asked when he saw you; at first, he didn't recognise you until you smiled, throwing your hands open, "Ran!" His eyes widened, and he smiled, "Oh shit, it's my favourite prisoner! Come here. " He pulled you up in a hug, and you laughed, "Oh, look at you all grown up. How did you?-, wait, RIN? Y/N IS HERE!" Rin tried to act unbothered when he saw his brother wrap you in a hug, "I met Rin last week, and I came by to return his sweater." Ran looked at his brother, wiggling his brows as you walked behind Ran, Rin rolled his eyes, "she was jogging in a shirt and jeans, " Rin stated. You handed him the bag that had his sweater, and it smelled like you. "So Rin has been gatekeeping you from me? And look at you, you look so beautiful now. You've grown so much!" Ran said, holding your hands as he sat on the couch, and you were standing in front of him. He nodded with a smile, "Your hair changed. It's black here. Looks so cool." You said pointing at his hair, "thanks Gorgeous." You snorted at his compliment, "stawppp, you're making me blush." Ran pulled you to the couch beside him, "come sit with me. How have you been?wow, I can't believe you look so beautiful." Rin groaned, "you said that like a million times since she got here. It's been a minute." You laughed at the two brothers. Ran pinched your cheek, "No more jail, ha?" You shook your head freeing yourself from his grip. "No, sir." You said. Rin watched from where he stood at you talking with his brother. He wanted you to talk to him and sit this close to him.

You'd often run into each other on your way, and you'd always cling to Rin's arm, and he really didn't get bothered by it.

Late night calls were a regular thing. Rin would always wait for you to call him and ramble.

Until one night, you didn't call, nor has he seen you for two days in a row. He was working on a file when the bell ran at 1 am, he thoughts it's probably some random person that will go away ringing the bell on a rainy night but it ran again and he was ready to deal with whoever it was flinging the door open just when he was about to shout. Rin's heart dropped at the sight of you in tears, and you looked distressed as you hugged him crying. He's never seen you cry, and his mind went blank the moment he saw you crying and a small bruise on your lip immediately anger filled his eyes as he shut the door moving you in with him. "Who did this to you?" He asked, and you cried, "my boyfriend hit me." Let's just say that "boyfriend" now ex, apparently lost an arm the next day.

That night, Rin didn't let you leave his sight as he made you change into much comfortable pyjamas of his that looked way too big on you. He even dried your hair after the shower. You were tired, so he let you sleep in his bed, covering you with all his soft blankets as he went back to grab his laptop to work on a file. He sat beside the bed working when you moved in your sleep, brows frowned, he placed his hand on yours hushing you softly and You grabbed his hand in sleep pulling it closer to your heart. Rin's eyes widened, and he flustered, but he also knew you probably needed comfort after whatever you bo-ex did.

Rin didn't want you to leave him or the house when you can be here, safe. And you got used to his care that you just clung on him EVERYWHERE he went; he really didn't mind. It took you a few days to go back to your normal self, joking around and making Rin smile at your words, but it KILLED him every time he'd see that scar under your mouth. He wanted to KILL your ex, but you've long moved on.

You two didn't even make it official that you two liked each other it just happened. None of you asked the other if you'd date each other, but Rin would break anyone's hand if they even looked at you.

One day, you were liying on his lap on the couch watching TV, and you turned to look at him, "Are you my boyfriend?" You asked, making his face turn different shades of red, but he tried to look confident and looked down at you, "Yes?" That came out shaky. You nodded and went back to watching the TV only to get off his lap and cuddle his arm beside him; oh, you loved holding his arm and placing your face on his shoulder. You'd find different positions to sit near him, and each one never fails to surprise him. You got up and sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his middle part and snuggling into him or you'd sit upside down on the couch beside him to which he always grabs you and pulls you on his lap with your head on his chest. "Hushh, sit still. I'm trying to watch this." You'll always fall asleep in his arms he's just that comfortable to you.

You have to hug his arms every time you sleep. And he just stares at you with a smile, glad that he saw you that day in the police station.

He's only soft for you and does everything you want and deserve, which is not much because you barely ask him anything other than his skilled cooking.

You are dear to him.

[babyangelsky]

Okay. I had lunch, dripped barbecue sauce on my shirt, got the barbecue sauce out of my shirt, watered my plants, watered myself, and now I'm finally ready to put some thoughts down.

The thing most largely on my mind, apart from you know...everything?

The implosion had to happen this way.

And it had to happen this way because Sei and Kazuaki had already resolved not to end their relationships.

Complacency is a trap that's very hard to break out of. It almost tricks you into believing that change isn't worth it even if on some level you're aware that it's needed. Except in this case, the change has already happened. They agree to stay as they are so nothing will change and nothing will be destroyed, but it's been changing and that change has gone willfully unacknowledged.

Or it was going unacknowledged, I should say. But it can't anymore because Sei and Kazuaki both broke pattern.

I thought it was odd that Kaori made no mention of how her boyfriend took off in the middle of the night in the pouring rain and didn't come back. Their relationship is very broken but surely that would be a noteworthy occurrence.

Especially given the timing. He takes off moments after she rejected his attempt at intimacy and then just doesn't say anything? Just says she was bored and that's that?

Nope. That is not in fact, that. Kaori didn't say a word only because she never says a word. She exists in her relationship with blinders on. She likes everything about Kazuaki except that he's a man and won't question what that means or why that might be. She's content with the lack of intimacy, knows that Kazuaki isn't, and chooses to live with him asking her for sex instead of saying anything.

She's just as complacent as he is, albeit for different (possibly comphet) reasons, and since she's chosen not to think about it, it's been pretty chill for her.

Until Kazuaki broke pattern.

He didn't go back to his side of the room after her rejection like he always does. He went off-script. He left and didn't come back until the next day and that is a noteworthy occurrence.

So noteworthy, as a matter of fact, that she checked his phone after saying herself that she isn't the type of person to do that. And she didn't just check his phone, she left the house with it!

But not without first smashing the storm glass that Sei gave her on the floor, because in reading those emails, her blinders were torn off. There is no pretending anymore.

For her, or for Fujisawa.

He won't say anything either, but his face more than speaks for him. He knew Sei was lying him before Sei even made it out the door and he was not happy about it. Sei thinks Fujisawa is hiding something from him and I think he's right. What's more, I think that what Fujisawa is hiding is his displeasure and his jealousy.

Because after having seen this episode and the preview for next week's, there is not a doubt in my mind that Fujisawa is jealous. Not because he has romantic feelings for Sei, which I really don't believe he does, but because Sei is breaking pattern.

Everyone in this show is complacent. Everyone. But for Fujisawa in particular, I believe it's less about accepting the way things are and more about needing things to be a certain way. @respectthepetty went more into detail about that here.

And so far, the way he needs things to be IS the way they have been. Nothing has shaken the boat. The towels have all been white, there's been no TV, no parties, no flashy clothing, no one talking to Sei without going through him. Even Sei's attempts at connection and Fujisawa's repeated rejections are part of it because that's also happening the way it's supposed to.

But now the king of non-disruptive design is being disrupted. Sei is going places. He's talking to more people. He left the house in the middle of the night and lied about where he has going and Fujisawa has put himself in a position where he has to pretend to believe him. He has to pretend that nothing is happening.

Except that he can't, because now Kazuaki's phone call has utterly and completely destroyed any hope Fujisawa might've had to be able to bury his head in the sand and carry on as normal.

And he is not going to react well to having his control shaken.

When complacency is this profoundly seated, dragging everything out into the open and being forced to deal with it is the only way for an actual sustainable change to happen. You almost do have to be removed from choice because breaking pattern isn't enough.

You have to break EVERYTHING apart to such a degree and in such a manner that you cannot put it back together in the exact same way it was before.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 49!

oh, how time flies... i can't believe the end of the year is this close already! not a massive fan of that, not gonna lie, but i am a fan of all of these fics, so let's focus on that, shall we?

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

built a house in the middle of your chest | LongConvolutedSimiles | 5.3k | M

Five times Buck and Eddie touch platonically plus one time they realise it's not platonic at all. i do love a good platonic-to-not-platonic-touching type fic and this hit the spot so perfectly <3

carpe diem | writingcap/@gibuckaroo | 2.6k | GA

Eddie rests his head on Buck’s shoulder and he lets himself follow. eddie's love language might be physical touch but my love language is reading about physical touch <3 so good!!

everything is fine (everything is perfect) | Kwills91/@kwills91| 4.1k | GA

Buck gets sick and Eddie takes care of him. Then Eddie bares his soul and Buck takes care of him. Because that's what they do. because that's what they do!! i love how they take care of each other here, written so perfectly <3

hen wilson's four part guide to making your stupid friends date | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 25k | M

When Buck and Eddie aren't speaking, Hen decides to take matters into her own hands. outsider pov!! hen wilson!! buddie being idiots in love!! what else could a girl (me) want (nothing) <3

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) | Talls/@tallsinspace | 12.6k | E

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this. buck being so normal and rational and brave is my absolute favourite <3 love his inner dialogue here!

i don't swim and you're not in love | hattalove/@hattalove | 32.4k | T

eddie cooks, chris domesticates a slug, and buck tries to figure out why he hates his best friend's girlfriend. to everyone's immense shock and surprise, it goes badly. blanket rec for an author whose work i've really been loving this week <3 been making my way through hattalove's entire profile and having such a good time. this one in particular has such a delightful buck and such lovely buddie and all of the yearning!!

i have had enough of crime | lamardeuse/@lamardeuse | 8.1k | T

Josh's view of Eddie's journey in 8A and beyond through the gay Olympic sport of competitive brunching. this fic captures josh so so perfectly and the josh & eddie dynamic is just brilliant <3

i should be pushing daisies | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 5.5k | T

Eddie goes to Texas to fix things with Chris and Buck pines. pining buck <3 this is such a brilliant character study and i love it so very much!!

practice makes perfect | greenbergsays/@greenbergsays | 6.5k | E

When the subject of Buck 1.0 arises, Buck worries that the reminder will make Eddie rethink their relationship. Eddie reassures him. oh my this is such a perfect way of buck 1.0 coming up in buddie fics... genuinely unmatched i saw the ao3 email in my inbox and audibly gasped. so good!!

properly | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 3.9k | T

“’ve got it, Eds,” someone murmured close to his ear in a way that made him shiver, and oh, that was Buck’s voice. Eddie would know him anywhere. This time, his questioning noise sounded a little more like a hum. “‘ve got it,” Buck repeated, attempting to truly drive in the message. “Y’can sleep in.” this is the loveliest mutual pining/sharing a bed/misunderstandings fic ever <3 honestly everything this author writes is just incredible, i know i'm in good hands when i see her name pop up

somethings said (to turn you inside out) | taegyungie | 12.2k | E

Buck catches Eddie on Grindr and now he can't stop thinking about it. i need ALL of the buck and eddie on grindr fics honestly they always hit the spot <3 this is hot and perfect and so so good!!

the arms of the ocean | anatargmova/@anatargmova | 9.7k | T

after Christopher leaves with his grandparents, Buck notices just how much touch-starved Eddie is — and decides to fix it. listen okay we all know by now how much i love a fic about touch starvation. however what you might not know is that i especially love a fic about touch-starved eddie. and this one has exactly that, but is also buck POV, which is just incredibly well-written and so soft and lovely and feels like a hug <3

trade all my tomorrows | ipretendtobesane/@userbuddie | 74k | E

Buck’s the god of love and was cursed to never fall for anyone, Eddie’s just trying to explore his newfound queerness with someone he trusts, striking up a friends with benefits agreement is the perfect arrangement. this is hands down the most beautiful fic i've read in a long long time. it's so well-written, so fleshed-out, just so good! i'll be rereading this many many times, i just know it <3

[sthilarions]

Okay I’m never gonna write the fic that is written in my ideas file as “save a horse ride a cowboy/he thinks my tractor’s sexy”

I’m never gonna write it so it’s irrelevant that Edwin grows heritage crops and is at the cutting edge of small-scale organic farming techniques, he’s listed as a co-author on a dozen different papers, which he worked on while sitting perched in the raised bucket attachment of the aforementioned tractor

it’s not relevant that Charles kept coming by on his horse and interrupting him, standing up on the saddle to get his head roughly level with Edwin’s to ask him about what he was doing (and not at all to impress him obviously of course)

no reason to mention that Charles ended up as a co-author on a paper, the BA standing out in the list

or that Charles’s horse has gotten very used to being ground-tied next to Edwin’s tractor so his rider can hop up on the bucket next to some weird human

or that the next paper they co-author, Charles’s name has an MS, which didn’t even take him longer than two years to get even though he was doing it long-distance, which he says is because he had a lot of free time to work on stuff while out sitting by bob-wahr fences under beating sun making his eyes dance, and curled up in the back of his F-150 under the stars. it was probably easier for him than most people, he says, if asked, with a loose grin

And it definitely doesn’t matter that the next paper after that, he and Edwin have the same last name.

(The cowboy church* that Charles went to for social reasons refused to let them marry there, which they’d expected but Charles felt it was the right thing to do to ask anyway, but that was alright, because the pastor, Charlie, went rogue and agreed to officiate for them outside of the church, so they got married out on Edwin’s back 40, the ranch dogs and farm cats running around under the feet of the half dozen guests, the other weirdos in the area, and the fiddler played til dawn)

*Cowboy churches are a real thing, this is not a joke.

Another bit of relevant cultural context is that none of the cowboys I grew up with had four year degrees. That Charles starts out with a BA means that while he’s under-credentialed for an academic setting, he’s simultaneously already over-educated for his own cultural context, and probably spends a lot of time getting mockingly called “professor” by his ‘friends’ and remembering not to use overly fancy words and so forth.

Also he probably tries to avoid Zoom calls because having a noticeably rural accent around academics is Fraught, he checks his emails twice to make sure he hasn’t typed ‘y’all’

I am not writing this and I therefore do not know that Charles’s MS is from A&M, which is both the best university for his field and so virulently homophobic that I have a lot of acquaintances who had to drop out from there specifically because of that, and that the co-authored papers were on the topic of using animals for sustainable agriculture, like using Lacewings to manage aphids, and goats to manage invasive flora; Charles's knowledge of animal husbandry and Edwin's knowledge of sustainable agriculture meeting in the middle

If I were actually writing this as a fic, I’d mention things like the instability and draconian download caps of HughesNet that mean if Charles needs to download a big file like a recorded lecture he has to set an alarm for 3AM to download it during the unthrottled grace hour; the laptop running out of charge out in that truck bed, Charles using money he doesn’t have to buy a converter so he can charge it off the F-150

how he was doing homework under the stars not because it’s romantic but because if he gets out of the cab and parks on top of the tallest hill he might be able to get line of sight to a tower and hotspot off his phone (and worry about the bill later); about how he can only work for brief periods at a time during the day because the sun will make his laptop overheat, how he keeps an ice chest full of Nordic Ice in the back seat of the truck not just for water but so he can pop his laptop in there to cool it down; how he overclocks that shitty laptop making it run data analysis in R; how he rations his gas so he can turn on the AC once in a while and charge his laptop and still be able to drive home.

How Charles and Edwin started carpooling for the hour-long drive each way to the grocery store for the monthly stock of jugs of bottled water, that they need because the leaky water pipes they and their neighbors maintain themselves (because no government or corporate guy is gonna come out there) run under cow pastures and pesticide-laced fields and septic tanks and the tap water isn't safe even boiled, and they use the couple of hours in the truck to bounce ideas off each other, a laptop balanced on the truck's center console, pausing only to touch their hats when they pass another truck.

…but I’m not writing it, so.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

I'll Be Home for Christmas - Bob

Pairing: Bob / Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Some Crying and Slight Angst; No Physical Descriptions of Reader; Reader is a Teacher; Use of "You" but No Y/N

Summary: Bob promised you that he would be home for Christmas.

Master List

Dating a naval aviator wasn’t easy. Bob's schedule was erratic and never usually worked in their favor. He could be in one place one day and a completely different continent the next or out in the middle of the ocean. And it wasn’t easy to communicate with him when he was deployed. Emails and letters were about all you could usually manage. 

For Bob, you would do it all over again to keep him in your life. But that didn’t make the holiday season any easier. 

Bob, along with the other Daggers, had been deployed for the last six months. Somewhere in the Pacific, that was all that you knew. He told you that they would be docking today and so you waited outside the school where you worked, anxiously waiting for his call. The call about whether or not he would be home in time for Christmas or not. 

Fiddling with the necklace that he bought you for your one year anniversary nearly three years ago now, you sucked in a breath when your phone started to ring. The photo of you and Bob on the hike you took on his birthday last year.

“Bobby?” you called softly, answering the call. 

“Hi, honey,” he returned, his voice sounding clearer than it usually did on these types of calls. “How are you?”

“Better now that I’m talking to you,” you replied, smiling bashfully. “What about you?”

“Exhausted.”

“What time is it over there?”

“Pretty late.”

“Well, thanks for staying up to talk to me,” you stated, a bit concerned about Bob. He was uncharacteristically short with his sentences. “How’s Phoenix and the boys?” 

“We’re all good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Did you get the care package that I sent you?” you asked softly, fiddling with your necklace.

“Oh, yeah, I did, Honey. Thank you for sending it.” 

“Did you send a video over to Leslie? She was putting a movie together for the kids.” 

“Yeah, I did, Honey. She’s got it.” 

“Thank you for doing that. The kids will really appreciate it.” After a moment of silence on the other end of the line, you asked, “Are you okay, Bobby?”

“I’m fine,” Bob replied, his voice cracking a bit. 

“Bobby.”

“Honey, I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I'm not sure that I’ll make it home in time for Christmas,” Bob revealed, causing your heart to shatter in your chest. 

“It’s okay, Bobby. It’s not your fault. There’s always other holidays.”

“I’m so sorry, Honey. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just focus on coming home safely. Whenever that is.”

“I will. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. And I really miss you,” you replied, your voice breaking at the end. 

“I really miss you too. And I’m so sorry, Honey.”

“Stop apologizing, Bobby. Just come home safe and that’s good enough for me. I love you.”

“I love you too. Bye, Honey.”

“Bye, Bobby.”

Hanging up the phone, you sniffled and wiped your tears away. You let out a steadying breath, trying to calm yourself down, before grabbing your bags and heading inside the elementary school where you worked. 

It was the last day of school before Christmas Break and so, it was your class’s Christmas party. You got to school early to set up, but now you might need to use the time to gather yourself. Opening the cabinet, you smiled sadly at the photos of Bobby that you put up. Hanging up your coat, you wiped your tears away and quickly moved to start setting up. 

~~~~~

Meanwhile, just a few miles away from your school, Bob was holding his head in his hands, looking like he was going to be sick. The other Daggers were gathered around him, all having returned home just a short while earlier. 

“He’s this beat up about it?” Hangman sighed, leaning on the car. “All he did was a little lie.”

“It’s a wonder that you’re still single,” Phoenix replied dryly, shooting him a look. 

“I made her cry,” Bob whispered out quietly as Fanboy patted his back. 

“She’ll get through it, Bob. And you only had to lie to her for a couple hours,” Fanboy reasoned, motioning for the other Daggers to speak up. 

“She’ll forget all about it once she sees you,” Phoenix replied, looping her arm under Bob’s and pulling him to his feet. “Now,  come on, we’ve got some shit to do before the big reveal.”

~~~~~

“One, two, three, eyes on me!” you called, clapping on the numbers and then pointing at yourself. When you saw that all of the kids were looking at you, you added, “Alright, do you guys remember when we made those care boxes? For the service men and women?” 

Various kids shouted out that they did remember, causing you to nod and smile. Since you worked in a Navy town, many of the kids in your class had parents or other family members in the Navy. The care packages had been a personal project that you decided to bring to your class, since you knew that a lot of the kids would be in a similar position as you—wishing that someone that they loved so much came home for Christmas. 

“Alright, well, Ms. Sullivan put together a video of them opening the boxes that we put together. So, if everyone could sit in their seats quietly, we’ll start the movie.”

You dimmed the lights before the video started up and slowly sat in your seat, waiting for Bob’s video to pop up. Kids in your class would yell out when they saw their family member, which made your heart both swell and break at the same time. The video continued on until Bob’s familiar face appeared on the screen. 

“Hi, everyone,” he called, waving to your class. 

“It’s Mr. Bob!” one of your kiddos yelled out. 

“Yeah, it’s Mr. Bob,” you mumbled sadly before you paused, frowning slightly as you examined the video more closely. “Is that the cafeteria?”

“What?” Ms. Sullivan asked, trying to hide her smile. 

“That’s the cafeteria,” you stated, getting to your feet. 

Walking up to the screen, you scrutinized the image of your boyfriend as he pulled out the items from the box, including ones that you definitely didn’t put there. Confused, you turned to Ms. Sullivan when the door opened and the lights turned back on. 

Looking at the door, you spotted Bob standing there in his flight suit, beaming at you with such a loving smile that your knees wobbled. Choking out a sob, you sprinted over to your boyfriend, causing your kiddos to scream and cheer. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing tears of joy as he pulled you to his chest. 

“It’s Mr. Bob!”

“He came from the video!”

“What are you doing here?” you cried, fisting the back of his flight suit. “I thought that you couldn’t come home.”

“I’m sorry, Honey, but I lied. Can you forgive me?” Bob asked, rocking you back and forth. 

“Of course, I forgive you,” you choked out as Bob wiped your tears away. You snuck a chaste kiss before straightening up. “I love you so much, Bobby.”

“I love you too, Honey. And I’m really relieved that you forgave me because otherwise this would be really awkward.”

“What are you . . .”

You held a hand to your mouth as Bob slowly got down onto one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket, causing your kiddos screams to reach new heights. Bob opened the box and you swore you almost fell to your knees. He looked at you with those big blueberry blue eyes, which were filled with so much love and devotion.

“Will you marry me, Honey?”

“Say ‘yes’!”

“You have to say ‘yes’!”

“Of course, I’ll marry you, Bobby,” you replied softly.

He stood up and you pulled him in for another chaste kiss that promised more when there weren’t thirty-five six-year-olds staring at you. He slid the ring onto your finger, where it would stay forever. Turning to your kiddos, you laughed and tried to wipe your tears away as they raced towards you guys. Bob squatted down again, accepting high fives and a few hugs, which only made you fall more in love with him. 

As if that was even possible. 

School was released shortly afterwards and after cleaning up the Christmas decorations and Bob hauling stuff out, the two of you walked out to your car. The Daggers told you that everyone would celebrate your engagement tomorrow, but tonight, it was just you and Bobby. 

“I told you that I’d be home for Christmas,” Bob replied, opening your door for you. 

“You did,” you agreed, pressing a less appropriate kiss to his lips. “And I think that the only time you’ve ever successfully lied to me.”

“And the last,” Bob promised, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Merry Christmas, Honey.”

“Merry Christmas, Bobby.”

[xxnghtclls]

Flickering Lights

Chapter 3 - Flickering Lights

Chapter 2 I Chapter 4

True Form Sukuna x Reader

NSFW I Explicit I Slow Burn

Infos and tags on Masterpost

Used music is linked in text.

-

clack clack clack clack

The harsh sound of your fingers hitting against your keyboard echoes through your office, as you’re finishing the last email for the day. You knew it was a lot to do, but didn’t expect it to be this much. Overtime is required. Even more, since the company moved to Shinjuku.

The sun has set for a while now. With tired eyes, you look at the empty desk that Itō-san left in front of you, before you peek at the corner of your monitor.

11:50 p.m. 

Your stomach drops, as the time makes you remember Kobayashi-san. A woman in her 50s, that has taught you so much, made you laugh and made your daily work so much more bearable, made this emptiness inside you feel a little less empty. For more than three years, she was almost like a mentor to you. You could tell her about your nightly adventures with Mio or the stupid guy you were texting with, sometimes even giving you advice. She had so much wit and intelligence, even stood up against Hirose-san, when he threw an unnecessary fit. She was very thorough with her own work, never allowed anything to slip through her fingers and always met deadlines, no matter how tight they were, working overtime on a regular basis. No matter how little time she had, she would always finish her tasks.

Thinking of her now makes you grow quiet inside.

Neon lights from the illuminated advertisements from outside the streets flicker and shine in the corner of your watering eye, making you blink and sniff, before you look out the window to your left. And you wonder, if that’s what she did as well on that night, six months ago. Looking out of your former office, seeing the city, the lights. Or if she was immersed in her work to wrap up the company’s move from Shinagawa to Shinjuku. If she was immersed in her emails, her lists. 

And you wish it wasn’t the latter.

You watch the streets, look at the people moving like ants below your feet. A look over your shoulder and you see Godzilla looking right back at you with red, piercing eyes.

What even is this life?

Four years ago, when you finally got the job at Hirose-san’s company, you never thought that one day, you’d have to work in Shinjuku. Six months of never-ending exposure to consumerism and crowds and masses of people. Godzilla’s gaze in your back, while listening to the constant typing and yapping from Itō-san. It slowly drives you insane.

You feel stuck. Wish for a change, wish to flee this place, your office, your life. 

Wish to not feel as empty, not as lonely.

Lonely in this city of millions. A longing deep in your heart and a wish to experience something real. To experience life itself. With every senses and your heart.  

Purpose. 

Maybe even love.

But you don’t know how.

“I hope Itō-san is having fun.” you whisper. 

A weight sinks on your heart and you blink, before you turn back to your computer. The light on your desk makes your eyes feel even heavier and before you finish your email, you put on your earphones. A ritual you almost do on every overtime night. To distract you. To give you energy.

.♫

How can you see into my eyes like open doors? 

Leading you down into my core

Where I've become so numb ...

The hairs on your body stand up, as the song crawls through your veins. You quietly start to sing along.

.♫

Without a soul, my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold 

Until you find it there and lead it back home ...

It gives you energy to finish this last email before the chorus hits, as you slam your middle finger on enter-

Send!

.♫

(Wake me up) wake me up inside (I can′t wake up), 

wake me up inside 

(Save me) call my name and save me from the dark

The song crawls into your core so deep and you turn the volume even louder, screaming the song inside your mind. Careful not to being too loud, since you would not want to risk someone, anyone who still might be here, to actually hear you singing. 

.♫

(Wake me up) bid my blood to run 

(I can't wake up) before I come undone 

(Save me) save me from the nothing I've become

Flickering lights from outside hit the corners of your eyes, as the bass pumps into your heart.

“Adios Bitchatchos. See you on Monday.” you hum to yourself, while you close all your remaining applications on your desktop, before you suddenly notice a glitch.

You frown.

Then another glitch. And another one.

The light on your desk starts to flicker as well. You grow nervous and squint your eyes in suspicion. Standing up, you lean forward to turn off the monitors, as the bass in your earphones increases and becomes unusual heavy.

Wrrrrmmmm!

Suddenly the ground vibrates and your knees give in. Your heart drops into your stomach, as you grab yourself onto the desk, as an energy pulls you down. Pulls you down to your knees and almost cuts the air off your lungs. You gasp and grow scared, as the ground starts to vibrate and jitter even harder. 

No! No No No!

Pens and papers start to fall off your table and the shelves, as the music still pounds into your ears, as you feel your vision blurring and glitching. Your heart is racing and the light on your desk suddenly shuts off completely, leaving you in total darkness. Panic spreads in your body and tears pool in your eyes.

Not like this!

The vibrations are sent through your whole body, your blood tingles in your veins, as your headphones suddenly send an incredibly loud beep to your ears, distorting the music beyond recognition.

“Fuck!” you yell in pain and yank the headphones off your head, just before a loud grunge noise echoes through the room, makes it vibrate even more, makes you press your hands over your ears. You see your monitor shutting on and off and on and off and glitching and blinking, as the distorting music in your headphones finally gives in and dies.

Zschhhh!

Suddenly a blue, glowing light crawls through your office like a lightning strike. You don’t believe your eyes, as dark matter appears, looking like cloudy grey dust and particles, before a gap starts to rip itself open into the air and space, right in front of the door.

What the fuck? 

A tall silhouette appears right inside the opening gap, four red eyes are glowing through the dark. 

Tap. 

Tap. Tap.

The silhouette steps into your office and you crawl beneath your desk. The vibrations grow harder, the energy heavier, as the gap seems to close back up, almost pulling you completely to the ground. You feel like you’re about to vomit from the force.

Whrroom!

And suddenly, it’s all silent. Quiet. 

Calm.

Your breath is stuck in your throat and your heart races. Still on your knees, you pull your hands off your ears and duck down, to watch from below the desks. Two feet, covered in black Tabi socks and ancient looking sandals, quietly walk past Itō-san’s desk, towards the windows. Flickering lights dance upon the ground and paint a shadow past their figure. 

Badum Badum Badum.

You feel your pulse pound against your throat, making you put your hand over your mouth to be as silent as possible, as you peek past the left side of your desk and see how they walk into your vision. 

A tall man, with a black Haori around his shoulders that reaches down below to his thighs, covering his arms and parts of his naked chest. He’s dressed in a white Hakama that’s sitting low on his waist. However, his appearance is unlike any other man you have seen before. He’s built like a tank. Pink hair, black, tribal-like lines tattooed on his face and neck, as well as black rings on his arms, wrists and chest. Below his chest seems to be another set of pectoral muscles. A slit in his skin spreads horizontally across his belly. 

You look up to his face and you see the four, red eyes more clear now. One eye is sitting below his normal left eye, while the other two are sunken in a bone-like mask that is covering the upper half of the right side of his face. 

Never have you ever seen someone looking like this. Despite his deformities, he doesn’t seem to be like those creatures you’re seeing. He seems more real, more alive in this reality and not just in your mind. And you can’t help to find him fascinating. Like a magnet, his aura pulls you in. It keeps pulling and pulling and your heart stumbles, making you wonder if it’s still fear or excitement-

Badum.

With a smug smirk growing on his lips, he steps in front of the huge window, looking down onto the streets.

“Keh Keh Keh.” he giggles quietly.

His voice…

A voice so devious, it almost makes you flinch.

And yet you’re in awe, the curiosity he strikes in you causes you to calm down. You watch him carefully, like a rare but dangerous animal, watch how the lights illuminate his face, his features, unsure if he’s seen you yet or knows that you’re here. Watch how his crimson eyes roam around and how his expression grows excited. 

“What a view.” he quietly smiles, causing his eyes to grow soft and wrinkly, before he taps against the window with his nail.

Tap. Tap.

The glass sounds firm.

He cocks his eyebrow and looks up, musters the frame and pouts his lips. His eyes slowly keep wandering, studying, before he spots Godzilla to his left. And he flinches, almost unnoticeable. You frown at him, not sure what’s happening-

Tap. Tap.

Another tap from his nail against the glass. Harder this time. Confusion takes over and you open your mouth-

“It’s shatterproof glass.” you blurt out.

Why did I say that?

He freezes and his left ear twitches, before he slowly moves his head to look down at you, seeing you still on all fours, peeking past your desk.

And your eyes meet.

Badum.

Silence.

He clenches his jaw, as his red orbs glow and pierce right at you, making you feel, as if a dark energy slowly reaches out to you. His glare so deep and intimidating, as if he’s looking right at your soul, as if your eyes are truly only a window to your mind.

And you’re about to pee your pants.

“It, uhm...” you clear your throat and point your trembling finger at the glass. “It won’t break... because it’s…you know… shatterproof.” you stumble quietly, before you crawl out from beneath your desk and grab your jacket, phone and dead headphones. “It... doesn’t shatter.”

He stays silent, so silent, as suddenly a second pair of arms reveal themselves from under his Haori and cross in front of his naked torso. And you can’t help but to stare in shock and confusion at his second pair of arms and flexing muscles. He rolls his eyes and turns his face back to the window, as he suddenly flicks the finger, that previously tapped against the glass.

BrrshhZschinnggg!

The glass of the window shatters into a million pieces and with an incredible force, like an invisible blade, the energy cuts through everything in it’s way, leaving a track of loud destruction and a deep crack in the floor and up the wall behind you. So close to you, that you even think you lost some hair. 

Bamm!

You feel the impact shatter in your bones and hear how loose documents fly through the room and pieces of debris fall on the carpet. The Stranger clicks his tongue.

“Is that so?” he mumbles in a deep, unimpressed voice, with his bottom left eye watching you. The sounds of the street are blowing through the broken window, as well as a soft breeze. Your heart stops, waiting for the alarm to go off-… but it doesn’t.

Yup, out we go.

Before he can do anything else, your body moves on its own. You twitch a forced smile at him, before you tipple your way out of the office. And with a racing heart you run to down the hallway, as the lights flicker above your head, fighting to get back on. But they don’t, leaving you in utter darkness. 

The elevator is probably down.

With a hitching breath, you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight, as you run to take the stairs. A black abyss is staring right at you, as you look down the staircase and you hesitate. After a second, you swallow and shake your head. And with a pounding heart and adrenaline in your veins, you take the first step. Then the second. 

Down, down, down.

Five stories, until you arrive at the dark entry hall. That man must’ve caused a total blackout in this building. 

With no air in your lungs and sweat in your armpits, you hurry to the front door, hoping that no other colleague is still here. You catch a look onto the still busy streets and see people walking, drinking. No one is looking. Everyone is busy, as usual, it seems.

Thank god.

You carefully slip through the front door, cross the street and quickly tipple past the corner of the cinema. You melt into the of mass of pedestrians, vanishing behind the faces, looking down to your feet, while you walk. To calm your panic and with trembling hands, you buy yourself a coke on the next vending machine. 

After chugging down half the bottle, you exhale sharply, before you slowly turn around, peeking past the cinema’s corner, seeing small pieces of shattered glass down on the sidewalk. You see that some people have gathered there by now, looking and debating, pointing their fingers at each other and up the building, and you hope, that no one has seen you left the building. Your eyes wander up to your office on the fifth floor. Lights and loud advertisements mirror themselves on the not-so-shatterproof glass of the remaining windows, leaving a black hole on the one that indeed shattered. But, you can’t see him.

He might be gone.

You raise your phone, open your camera and focus-

Snap.

-before you turn back behind the corner, while putting on your headphones, trying to connect the bluetooth.

Still dead.

You look back up to your office and your heart stumbles again. A cold breeze flies through your hair and fresh oxygen creeps up your nose, as the hint of a smile creeps onto the corner of your lips. Another light jitters in the corner of the street, making you notice another shadow in the corner of your eye. You shift your focus, only to see something slimy, with glistening skin, crawling on top of one of the neon lights, bit by bit. Then another, with a bigger head and six legs. Then another, below the window of your office. An insect of the size of a cat.

A… fly?

Drip.

Cold drops of water gently fall on the hood of your cap. The scent of rain crawls through the air, as you watch more and more creatures gather and crawl along the lamps and lights. You blink multiple times, before you hear a low snarl. Right behind you, coming closer and it scares you. And in the split of a second, you decide to make your way back to the train station.

The rain slowly tipples against your cap and you walk faster. Quiet, weird sounds of more and more unworldly creatures echo in your head, it was never like this before, they never came so close. You don’t dare to look up, as you keep walking and walking.

Faster. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Eyes on the ground, you cross your arms in front of your chest. The sounds of footsteps grow wetter, as they with the groans and clicking of the creatures.

Faster.

Meow!

The 3D cat calls you, but you keep walking. 

Pew. Pewpew. Pew. Pewpew.

The lights turn green just in time and you cross the street. A loud jingle and song drums through the speakers. Another advertisement. The sounds start to overwhelm you, even more than usual. You look up and see the station.

Almost there.

The rain starts crashing down and the wind grows colder, as you reach the stairs of the station just in time before getting soaked. Quickly, you pull out your phone to find your destination and follow the signs to Marunouchi Line, as if you’re being followed. 

Beep.

The barrier through the scanner opens.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Down another pair of stairs and you’re just in time for the last train that will bring you home. 

The doors close and you exhale deeply, as you sit down on one of the seats. Relieved. But still…confused. The train starts to move and you sit down, wiggling your leg nervously.

Who was that?

You nervously fiddle with the fabric of your jacket, before you distort your face in confusion.

How?

Your brain is exhausted. It has been for a while now. Looking around, you see how people are sleeping or immersed in their phones. Everyone is unbothered. The train is quiet.

And somehow it helps. Slowly, you calm down. 

Badum.

>< The next station is: Akasaka - Mitsuke ><

[thollandneedy]

The homecoming trick- Peter Parker

A/n: I took the inspo from a "Never been kissed" scene.

Warnings: Language

Summary: Peter comforts you after you get tricked by the popular guy from school.

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

Running footsteps could be heard from the empty corridor where Y/n was hurrying to find his best friend, Peter Parker. Looking quickly through the small rectangular windows of the classrooms, she finally found the room she was looking for, opening the door without worrying about the people in the class. The girl caused a bang, causing all the students sitting around the chemistry table to withdraw their attention from the teacher and turn to Y/n. 

“PETER PARKER. YOU DON'T KNOW WHO ASKED ME TO THE HOMECOMING DANCE!” Y/n almost shouts, causing the brunette to blush as he realizes that the prying eyes have turned their attention to him.

“Miss L/N!” The middle-aged teacher who was teaching the class calls out to the girl, who straightens her posture while biting her lower lip, realizing that she had made a mistake by shouting into the classroom.

“Sorry.” The girl says quietly. “Peter?”

The brunette stands up promptly, removing his transparent goggles and positioning them under the massive stone desk. Parker asks his teacher for silent permission, who only answers him by rolling her eyes and looking down. Leaving the room to find her best friend, the door closes behind the pair and Y/n is able to express her happiness without being judged for her outbursts. 

“Who asked you to the dance to make you act like that? Harry Styles?” Peter asks, drawing a laugh from the younger girl.

“You know I've emailed him several times, but he always ignores me.” Y/n replied, crossing her arms. “Cody Taylor” The girl breaks into a huge grin, jumping up and down with joy that almost causes Peter to overbalance and fall against the chain of blue lockers positioned on the walls of the little-trafficked corridors. 

“Ah... Cody”

Peter hated Cody Taylor, and he had a reason. It wasn't because he was popular, and therefore extremely popular, but because he didn't have a good feeling about the boy with the light brown eyes and wavy blond hair. Cody had a bad reputation with girls, and some might even say that he just uses girls to “get what he wants”, and then disappears off the map pretending that he never met the person he got involved with. Even so, he attracted rivers of girls who would even give their souls so that he could have a day with this Cody Taylor. 

“You don't seem excited.” Y/n tilts his head to the side, frowning as he realizes the frustration in Peter's voice.

“Y/n, I-” Peter tries to say, but is cut off by his best friend.

“I got a letter with his name on it, but I thought it was a bad prank. When I was going out for lunch, he called me over and said he'd had his eye on me for ages, but I'd never noticed him. So he asked me out at the last minute. Isn't that great?” The girl nods as she remembers the previous events with Cody, looking away and thinking back to the boy's voice calling her to the dance. 

Peter stays silent, pulling Y/n back to reality.

“I don't like Cody, Y/n. In fact, I've never liked him, and that's nothing new. You know about his fame.” Peter crosses his arms, looking down at his own feet. 

“Welllll, but you like me. Then you should be happy.” The girl tries to reverse the boy's thinking.

Let's put the cards on the table 

Y/n wasn't the type of girl that Cody Taylor was interested in. Whenever he showed up with a new girl, she was wearing short clothes and big necklines, even though the school didn't allow it. They were sexy women, who could attract a man by their body and their manipulative eyes, while their manner was petty and extremely needy of attention from other men who could fuck her with their eyes. Y/n was part of the book club on Wednesday afternoons; she had a limited group of friends; she always wore colorful socks with characters on them and she didn't like being the center of attention. 

For Peter, she was perfect

Y/n didn't let school influence her to be sexier or more mature than she needed to be, and that's what made her stand out among all the girls who once stayed with Cody.

But Peter would never admit that to her.

At least not when he was competing against the most desirable boy of the last year.

“And you accepted?” Peter asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Of course I did!” Y/n says excitedly.

“Well, then it's a deal.” Peter nods, continuing with his arms crossed. 

“What about you? Have you called Liz yet?” The girl puts one of her hands on the teenager's arm, who undoes his posture looking for the right words to lie.

Liz Allen had rejected Peter, and he had no one to go to the dance with except Y/n, who now had an unexpected date. However, it was no surprise that she would reject him, since he had never had a gallant enough track record to get a girl to agree to go to the dance with him. Once again, he was going to sell his ticket and feign a mysterious illness the day before the event.

“She said she already had a date, but if she didn't, she'd go with me.” Peter lies.

It was much nicer to say something like that, than to repeat: “Not even if you made a pig speak my full name and shit out a golden invitation, would I go to the prom with you.”

“I'm sorry, love.” The girl took pity on her best friend, then slowly approached him until she was around him in a loving embrace. “Tell me a color. Any color. I want you to choose what I'm going to wear to the ball. So that you can take part in it even a little bit.” The girl asks, drawing a silly laugh from the brunette.

“Y/n...” Peter tries to say, but is cut off by a hand that flies to his mouth, preventing him from saying anything.

“Just say it.” The girl asks insistently.

“Green. You look beautiful in green. Especially dark green, like that dress you wore to May's brunch last year.” Peter recalls the dress his best friend was wearing for his aunt's birthday.

That day, Peter was sure that Y/n wasn't just a friend. Parker sketched the girl's body with his eyes, making his heart beat faster than usual and his throat go dry as he noticed her toned legs. He had always known that he liked Y/n, but after a lot of research with his friend Google and his friend Buzzfeed quiz, what he felt could have been a lack of affection for the loss of his parents. For weeks he tried to deny his feelings, telling himself that he was lying to himself and that his friendship couldn't be ruined by a desire he didn't even know was mutual. 

“Do you remember me from that day?” Y/n shrugs at his friend's comment.

“I do. It was when you started to like wearing dresses more, and you bought this one after I told you it would look perfect on you.” Peter comments, causing the girl to smile without showing her teeth.

“Liz is an idiot not to go with you to the dance, you know that, don't you?” Y/n tries to cheer Peter up, causing the boy to smile sideways as he agrees with the girl in front of him who was wearing a gray sweatshirt and ripped jeans. 

“I like to believe so.” Peter looked away from the teacher who was calling to him through the window, asking him to return to class with only a reproachful look for spending too long outside the classroom. “I need to get back to class, but will you wait for me so I can take you home? My lesson finishes at 4pm.”

“Sure. I'll stay in the library.” The girl replies, and then Peter reaches out for the door handle. “Wait!”

“What?” Peter throws his head back, pretending to be annoyed by Y/n's presence.

“I love you, Peter. Cody will never take me away from you, as much as I'd like him to.” Y/n touches the student's strong muscle, making both their hearts race at the subtle but tender contact. 

They both blush, and Y/n quickly removes his hand and puts it in the pocket of his jeans. 

“I love you too, Y/n.” Peter smiles blushing, silently says goodbye to Y/n and enters the classroom again. 

(...)

The pink speaker was positioned on top of Y/n's bedspread, playing “Drunk in Love” at high volume. Y/n was sitting next to the speaker, hunched over so that she could reach the strap of her silver high-heeled shoes, which she would be wearing tonight. The week had passed quickly since the day Cody had asked her to the dance, even after Peter had sent her countless hints that she shouldn't go to the dance with a boy with such a reputation. As much as she knew it, her need for a teenage movie experience was greater than her rationality. Just as Parker tried his best to blur Y/n's mind of the unrealistic and sexual wonders that Cody could offer, she tried to take him to the dance as an extra chaperone. 

The sound of a knock on the door was heard, and Y/n stood up promptly, quickly turning down the music. Fixing her loose hair in a curling iron, the girl looks at herself in the dressing table mirror, searching for any lint that might be out of place. Her mother's voice says loudly:

“Ah, Peter! You look great.”

The door closes and she hears heavy footsteps coming towards her room. The brunette opens the door slowly, as if asking before entering, but without words. A part of his face is seen by Y/n, who laughs at the boy's action, saying:

“You can come in, Peter. I'm not without clothes.” The girl says, picking up her cell phone to locate the car in which Cody will pick her up in a few minutes.

As soon as her eyes wandered away from the cell phone screen, her stomach seemed to drop like when she was on a roller coaster. There was Peter, wearing a black tuxedo and a green striped tie to match Y/n's dress, which covered her breasts with a corset decorated with flowers in the same dark shade, while the skirt descended between several layers of silk fabric. The girl gave a slow smile, moving towards the boy who seemed at a loss for words at the sight of Y/n dressed like a princess.

“Yeah, Parker... You don't look half bad.” The girl approached him, placing one of her hands on his tie and stroking the fabric with her fingertips.

“You look great.” Peter smiles, making Y/n look away in a nervous smile. “If I hadn't agreed to go, I would never have seen you like this. Apart from the many photos I know you'll be taking to post on Instagram later,” he comments.

“You look really great, Peter.” Y/n says again in a sweet voice. “I've never seen you like this before.”

“Do you like it? When I become rich, I'll make a point of only wearing a tuxedo to please you.” Peter tries to charm him, only to receive a low chuckle.

The weather seems to be getting hotter than usual, as if something is descending into the air and making it hotter, even though it's not summer to feel such heat. The sound of a loud horn interrupts the gazes fixed on each other, causing the couple to move away quickly and Y/n to run for the front door, while Peter grabs the bag hanging from the chair on the girl's dressing table, then rushes after the girl. 

The black car stops in Y/n's driveway, and then Cody Taylor gets out of the car. Peter grimaces as he notices the visible ego of the boy, who didn't seem to care about the brunette's opinion. Cody adjusts his light gray blazer, allowing room for the car door to swing open, hinting that Y/n could say goodbye to get into the vehicle. The blond smiles without showing his teeth, and before Y/n can do anything, the boy stops her from speaking:

“Sorry I'm late. I had to stop by the market to pick up a few things.” Cody says with a satisfied smile.

Two more girls and a man come out of the vehicle. They're all dressed as if they were in a gang looking for a victim to torment. Y/n frowns in doubt, turning his head away when he notices that there are more people than expected. Those girls and that boy were part of the little group that hung out with Cody in the corridors and threw huge parties for the children, whom they thought were enough to sit with him. Peter put his hand on Y/n's shoulder, realizing that something was wrong.

“I thought we were going alone.” Y/n says, causing Cody's girls to laugh quietly.

“We? No, Y/n. There is no we.” Taylor gets into the car again, as the boy in the red tie pulls his cell phone out of his pocket to record, while the girls pull out open egg cartons from behind their hands, which turned out to be used as weapons against the girl in the green dress. 

The eggshells broke easily against Peter's chest, who stepped in front of Y/n to protect her from the thrown eggs, but his chest burned when he realized that only he was being soiled by the yellowish yolks. Y/n positioned herself next to Peter, feeling the hard shell break on her chest and her newly rented dress. Thinking it was over, the same boy who had recorded the scene pulled out a packet of wheat flour from behind him, which was thrown at the couple standing in front of the entrance to Y/n's house. As soon as the box was empty, Cody's friends got into the car, the door slamming shut quickly and the sound of screeching tires screeching against the asphalt as they decided to flee their cowardly act. 

Peter looked at Y/n, dirty with eggs and wheat flour. Her eyes shone and her mascara ran down in the shape of a black drop. The girl took a deep breath, straightening her hair and removing the small white pieces from her dress. 

“You were right.” Y/n mutters quietly, taking a deep breath to stop herself from bursting into embarrassed tears in front of Peter. “Cody is pathetic.” His jaw clenches.

“Y/n...” Peter put one of his hands on Y/n's dirty cheek, pulling her into a warm embrace.

The crying was low, but Peter could hear the sound of her heart breaking into pieces. The boy ran his hand through his best friend's hair, trying to make sure that their bodies made as much contact as possible through a gesture of care. Peter looked at the horizon, still able to see Cody's car driving away. As much as he thought about chasing after it to get revenge, Y/n needed someone right now. The girl's chest heaved as she coughed between loud cries of pain. 

“Let's go in.” Peter said into her ear, kissing her forehead afterwards. 

“I don't want my mother to see me like this.” She said through heavy tears.

“Let's go around the back then. Up the tree that leads to your bedroom window.” Peter holds her hand gently, trying to guide her somewhere that isn't soiled with the remains of her shame. 

(...)

Y/n lay with her head on Peter's outstretched arm, who lay behind her stroking her hair. The brunette replayed the scene several times in his mind, planning future revenge in whatever form, but one thing was certain, Cody Taylor would regret it. Over the younger woman's shoulder, the brunette could see that she was watching several stories of her friends at the party with drinks in their hands. Y/n wasn't going to admit that she felt pathetic for being carried away by her silly desires to go to the dance with a popular guy. On the other hand, she didn't feel sad about the situation itself, but about having embarrassed herself and probably becoming a walking meme when the video was leaked. The smell of shampoo was present in both of their wet hair, but even the clear smell couldn't cover up the egg smell.

“Watching videos of them won't help, darling.” Peter said in a low voice, causing Y/n to snort low.

The light from the television shone against the faces of the teenagers lying on Y/n's bed. Fortunately, Y/n's parents thought they had already gone to the dance and left the house alone a few minutes after Peter and his best friend went up to the girl's room. Everything was dark, but the heavy atmosphere between the two was clear. Y/n put her cell phone face down and tried to focus on the Star Wars episode on television. Peter's tuxedo and Y/n's dress were placed in a large bag in front of Y/n's bed so that they wouldn't forget to take it out to wash during the week. After much insistence, Peter had finally persuaded her to watch the third one in an attempt to distract her with the thousand and one facts he told her about the movie for more than half an hour. 

The girl in the cherry-print pyjamas turns to Peter after picking up the remote control and turning off the television. Y/n stares at him with watery eyes, and allows her head to rest in the passage between his shoulder and neck, as if it were a place of safety. Peter hugged her, closing his eyes and thinking of what he could say to cheer up his friend in some way. His head was screaming for him to be able to confess the way he felt, exposing that he would never put her through anything like this if he were hers. 

“I feel terrible.” Y/n proclaimed.

“At least we have enough eggs to make an eggnog.” Peter says comically, failing to get a smile out of Y/n. 

“I'm not sad. But it's like I've been exposed. My innermost and most genuine feelings have been trampled on and pushed aside as if I'm not human enough to feel anything.” Y/n cringes. “Have you ever felt that?”

Peter denies silently

“It sucks.” Y/n says at last.

Silence

“Too bad you couldn't take a picture in the dress.” Peter says quietly, remembering the many times during the week that his friend had commented on the many beautiful photos she would take when she arrived at the ball.

“I did, but you hadn't arrived yet so we could take one together.” Y/n says, feeling her knees touch his.

Silence

“Cody's just another rich piece of shit who got into school because his dad is friends with the principal and he wants to get into an Ivy on a sports scholarship. He's dumber than a door, so don't think he won't end up falling after all this. It will take time, but it will happen. And it's going to be beautiful.” Peter says as if there's poison in his words. 

“I'm dumber than a door. I shouldn't have let my illusion cross the line.” Y/n says, moving a little away from the brunette who was staring at her, deep into her eyes. “You have beautiful eyes. They've always reminded me of those little chocolate balls in cookies.”

“I think that's hunger.” Peter laughs quietly. “Are you okay? I mean, fuck. I'm sorry. Of course, you're not okay.” The brunette in the gray shirt and striped pants closes his eyes tightly, placing one of his hands on his forehead as he says it.

“It's okay, Peter.” Y/n's voice was soft, but faint because of the involuntary tears that ran down her makeup-free skin. “We're still in the first year. Worse things will probably happen.” The girl shrugged, even though her spirit was still sick with shame. 

Peter nodded, looking away for a few seconds and carefully picking up the words he was going to say to his weakened friend.

“How well are you coping?”

“You taught me. That day at May's brunch. When my aunt died and I just told you at the end of the day, and you told me that I would never be strong enough to cope with everything in life, so if one day I was about to break down, let me remember that everything can be fixed. My aunt wouldn't come back from the dead, but I know she wouldn't want to see me in a bad way.” Y/n comments. “I know I'm in a bad way, but if I think I'm going to be okay, I'll heal faster. Positive psychology, huh?”

Parker smiles without showing his teeth, silently agreeing. A warm feeling embraces his chest, making the air less heavy than it was. The sound of the wind beating against the window and the leaves of the trees rustling against each other was what made the silence soothing. For a moment, everything felt like a peaceful sea, where the moon was present and commanded the slow waves. They both felt connected to each other, but the commotion wasn't usual, but a line of various emotions that curled into a tangle of desires. Their breaths seemed to be merging slowly, and neither side intended to move away. 

“I got jealous.” Y/n confessed quietly. “When you asked Liz to the dance instead of me that week before Cody asked me.”

“What?” Peter makes a confused face, not understanding why she would be jealous of him, sitting back against the pillows of Y/n's bed.

“Last year we went together, and then Liz joined the school. You only talked about her, so I got busy obsessing over someone else too so it would hurt less that I wanted to go out with you, but you were immersed in the Liz Allen world.” The girl sat down next to Peter, allowing their shoulders to touch briefly as they spoke to each other.

“Shut up,” Peter replied, disbelieving what he was hearing. ”Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“Maybe because you spent hours talking about how beautiful her skirt looked on her body, or how you'd sell your collection of Legos to get a sexy compliment from her.” Y/n recalls Peter's words.

“Okay! I exaggerated about the legos, but all that was platonic.” Peter defends himself. “I didn't want to call you because I didn't want to seem weird, especially because...” The dark-haired man tries to say, but loses his words in the middle, noticing that he was about to say something considered his personal secret.

His face reddens, and even if he tried to tell Y/n so that she would forget what he was about to say, she wouldn't. The pyjama-clad girl sat down in front of Peter, crossing her feet and projecting her posture forward in an attempt to listen carefully to what he had to say. Peter nodded, looking at nothing and turning his attention to the girl in front of him, who was staring at him expectantly.

“I like you too, Peter.” Y/n proclaimed before the brunette could say anything.

His eyes sparkle, and his mouth goes dry.

“D-do you?”

“I do. Do you?” Y/n asked fearfully, thinking that perhaps she had misunderstood the teenager's signals.

“I do”

“Why did you talk about Liz then?” Y/n bites her lower lip as she asks.

“Why didn't you ever give me any signs that you liked me back? You always hugged me and kissed me, but I never felt it was anything more than friendship, also because you do it with all your friends. You don't show it when you like someone, apart from when you said it about Cody Shitty. You're an enigma, and that's very attractive. Apart from the fact that you're the person I trust most in the world, even though you have terrible taste in socks.” Peter confesses, playing with his fingers as he says it.

“Peter...” Y/n touches his striped pants-covered leg, sliding his hand up the inside of his thigh.

Parker's chest juts forward, gently grasping the back of Y/n's neck as he moves in for a kiss. Their moist lips complete each other, pulling their bodies together as if they were magnets lost long ago after failing to connect with each other. Y/n's breasts are pressed against Parker's strong chest, at the same moment that the girl climbs onto the boy's lap, releasing the weight of the feeling she was carrying with her to deposit it in synchronous movements with his lap. The brunette placed one of his hands on the girl's waist, guiding her sloppy movements as the kiss continued to escalate.

Their tongues wore each other out, seeming as if they had known each other for ages. The fit was perfect, and the movement of their mouths had the same hot desire for more. Their chests shared the same heart rate because of the excitement. Their movements became faster, and their clothes seemed to jump from their bodies to the floor without even touching them. In the midst of kisses down their necks, the sound of a key banging against the front door was heard, causing the couple to move away in fright.

“My parents are back”

“At least they don't know we're here.” Peter says low with his body paralyzed on top of Y/n.

“Y/n and Peter. Can you come down here please?” Y/n's mother's voice echoes loudly.

“How the fuck does she know we're here?” Peter says in desperation.

“Sixth sense. All mothers have them. You may be Spider-Man, but she knows a lot more than you do.” Y/n gets up quickly, looking for her blouse lying on the floor.

“How do you know I’m...” Peter puts on his rolled-up gray shirt

“Peter. You don't know how to hide secrets.” Y/n laughs, opening the door next to Peter and closing it behind him. 

[paperdice]

Hi is it possible to have toshinori yagi (all might) x male reader. The reader is a famous doctor who walks with a cane (following an accident). They are married and it's a secret, only a few people know (izuku doesn't know) but a journalist surprises them together and publishes it on the Internet. I'll let you imagine how the fans, Izulu and others will react (sorry if there are spelling mistakes, English is not my mother tongue.

𝐓𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐘𝐚𝐠𝐢 (𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭) 𝐱 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭)

"I will change your name and keep it a secret, cause I love you and you love me."

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆You had quite the title that you lived up to, the infamous doctor that helped develop the study of quirks, finding ways to enhance both others and your own quirk for the greater good. A well respected doctor that whenever mentioned on any platform, it was always about either a great discovery or a great stepping stone for the future.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Your own quirk was a healing type, a very rare and special ability that you used to use to help others all the time. But due to an accident, for whatever reason, and you can't tell if your age also takes place in this your quirk has been having some difficulty activating. You had already been working on the study of increasing others quirks, hence this accident encouraged you to focus on the study more.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆You weren't seen often outside of work, if you were out cause of some sort of announcement or you were just on the sidelines to observe whatever you needed for research. So when people do meet you in person they always compliment yourself and your work, or sometimes people praise you for helping them due to your older works. You can only imagine how devastated the public was to hear of your incident, it was big for a good while.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆But behind this rather reserved hardworking doctor, there lived a years long hidden secret. The love life between you and Toshinori Yagi, the symbol of peace. The two of you have been happily married for a long duration, carefully hidden under the rug from everyone aside from a few important people in your lives. You both didn't know if there'd be a time to share this to the public anyways, the question was shrugged off.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Years ago, in the years of both all mights prime and your own, a villain attacked the area you were in. To this age you vaguely remember what happened that day, what you remember is your future husband paying you a visit in the hospital. All might himself was sitting next to your hospital bed for whatever reason, come to find out you were in a coma for about five months.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Apparently all might asked the doctors to please send a future email of your predicted awakening, if there was any sign of you waking up that is. You already had visits from family but all might?? Well truth be told he felt guilty for 'allowing' you to be so severely injured while he was saving the day. His head looming in disbelief that you had been under his protection and he failed you, a rather important figure in history too! man he messed up, he thought..

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆The relationship was so endearing, you balanced each other out perfectly. Always looking out for one another mentally, physically and emotionally even if being separated for work reasons in a rather long period. The simple things with such earnest thought, Toshi messaging you if you got to work/home safely or him randomly dming you "are you okay?" in the middle of the day. Then freaking out if you take hours to reply.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆All the time you bring work papers home and having to look over them, or just sit in whatever spot you pick and type into computer for some time. If Toshi's home and having his own relaxation in the comfort of the shared home, he'll look over where you're working, just to take in the sight of you being busy. He loves this sight especially, your focused face double checking the pages. Toshi stares so lovingly at you everytime for years on end that you've grown used to it.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆What you've also grown used to is him accidentally falling asleep while admiring you, you try and catch his eyes getting heavier before he knocks out, so you can encourage him to rest. Toshi smiles and quietly chuckles each time you tell him that, agreeing that your probably right but he rather spend the little time he has with you. His dearest husband, how could he leave at this sight of him?

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Stress is common with you two, the cause always being work. So stress checks are too common, if one notices the other is a bit more impatient or anxious than usual they always step in. Though, after so many years spent together it seems like Toshi still isn't all that confident on what is the right thing to do for you. Confident or not, his efforts are always appreciated.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Dates are often, normally after overworking the whole week causing the many separations. It can get tough trying to have a date outside so you two gotta get creative with the plans. That's why it's extra special, talking about your weeks and sharing sincere words after holding them back to save it for this very moment. Funny how even at the ages y'all held now, you can still feel weakly in love.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆After working on loads of research on increasing quirks, overtime you felt a guilt dragging you in the mud. You wanted this for the future heroes, for yourself to activate your healing quirk and go out to help again. But to also help Toshi, you see how at times he just wants to go out to aid the civilians or UA students. If you can just help him maintain even just a little of what he has left of his quirk, that'd make you both happy.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆But not much luck lately, you found yourself in a repeated cycle to find answers. Through this cycle guilt found itself attaching to you, all week you were just thinking of helping your husband, determination was turning into desperation. Clearly distracted from your work recently, Toshi thought to pay you a visit at your work place with some snacks and his winning smile.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆This wasn't a huge deal at your work place for him to just show up for you, after all,, your research can help him with his past injury. This was just him checking up on progress that's all, nobody makes a deal of it.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆He finds your work space and asks if you could go outside instead, get some fresh air and have a quick chat, leaving the snacks behind. Now you were standing in the back where nobody could see you two alone. Toshi gets straight to the point after the "how you been" and "hows work", he asks what's been stressing you out so badly.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Seeing you this wrecked happened rarely, he's concerned. After some poking and reassuring words you spilled, softening his heart in the process. "it's okay, you don't need to worry about that. I just can't help myself when I see an opportunity where I could've- swooped in and saved the day.." Toshi sighs, now holding your left hand, it's bare and alone.. having abandoned the wedding ring at home. His thumb rubs on your ring finger as he continues "I've passed down one for all, even if you did help me it wouldn't go as far as you think. Because I don't have my quirk anymore."

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆The truth was.. He was right. And you knew that. It just didn't sit well with your heart, "I love you for trying and thinking of me.. really, I do.." his other hand was now rummaging through his pocket, "ever since you laid out your heart for me, I just- how could I have been so lucky?." he pulls out something in his pocket, but he's still hiding it with his hand.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆"I'm grateful that I married you, secret or not, I'm happy it was you I fell for." confessing his love, he pulled your hand up to his face and kissed your ring finger, the item he pulled out was none other than your wedding ring. Toshi ever so gently puts it on your finger, staring at you with what you sworn you saw was heart eyes. Little did you both know, this sweet moment was going to uncover the hidden secret that was lonesome from the public eyes.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆About a day later an article was published from a trusted journalist, "Symbol of Peace All might and Infamous Doctor y/n's Hidden Marriage" ...What.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆It was spread like wild fire all over the internet, what made it worse, there was solid proof right there. Toshi holding your hand, kissing it and placing the ring. With another hidden shot of the shared kiss before heading back to work. Worldwide. you couldn't even go to work that day, neither of you could.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Not because of hate no, just questions about the relationship and how long y'all been together ect ect. There was a mixed of reactions, the people who didn't approve two men dating (homophobia), the group who didn't care and supported, then there was the all might simps left heartbroken that he was taken all along. Fortunately the support was higher than the hate, because why care?

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆If you two seemly have been married and kept this secret for an assuming while, why bother hating? You two were happy, there were even theories out that suggested you two had to hide it due to fear of homophobia. All might- Toshinori, has saved so many people and inspired others worldwide, the least they can do is support his love life, it's not like he can control his heart.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Young Midoriya messaged Toshi with panicking texts, asking the same questions everyone else did, asking why he didn't trust to tell him but it's okay that he didn't and how he's happy for him.

It was a lot.., Toshi was all slumped and apologetic to you about not being careful and "stupid" enough to take you out and do that rather than being in closed doors.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆That's when he felt like he had a good idea of telling the public everything, to make a video. Which you knew it wasn't going to work, you saw how badly he wanted to get it over with that he forgot how awkward he can get on camera plus it would be so cringe. You let him discover this on his own, dozens of restarts later he came to the same conclusion.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆You patted his back with a smile, "how about we do it in person? A conference so we can answer all the questions."

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆So that's what you both decided on, Toshi was understandably, a bit nervous. Just for the worries to be washed away with rather respectful asks, very few had made you both uncomfortable but never extreme. It was a relief to see how many people had accepted it so quickly, support on the internet with cute fanart of you two, people saying how you were both lucky catches for one another.

in the end, it was all okay.

How convenient would you say it is to be needing more information on teenagers quirks that the principal from UA invited you over to observe the hero course students train.

where your husband worked at.

You stood outside the school building, it's rather intimidating height staring down at you. "Hello! I'm down here!" A voiced called, and your already familiar with it. Looking down seeing none other than principal nezu, he's so small and he was waving at you with a smile.

"I'm glad you could you make it, I thought I'd help you with your analysis regarding to better understanding the youths quirks." Nezu's smile never left and his little eyes was just adorable.

You smiled back to the principal, "Could you kindly tell me how will you be aiding me? Am I seeing the students training up close?" Questioning what he meant by his words within his invitation. "Right now they're training in our gym gamma, I'll lead you the way and tell you the details!"--

-Walking in you saw Eraserhead, Ectoplasm and your husband. But currently Eraserhead and Toshi had their backs towards you, it didn't seem like they were waiting for you. Weird..

"Have you two already forgotten who was paying a visit today?" Nezu called them out from behind, his voice perked up their ears as they both turned towards you. Aizawas face was slightly confused but his face relaxed after, meanwhile Toshi's face lit up.

Aizawa questioned Nezu, "Oh, it was today?. Thought it was next week." He rubbed the back of his neck. "W-what, I wasn't told any of this, you were planning on visiting?" It was so cute how flustered he was to see you, you could tell he was holding back excitement. everyone could

While both you and nezu were explaining things, some students noticed you.

"Ouu is All mights boothang came and visited him? So cute!" Mina teased from afar, she was loud enough that a good chuck of the other students heard and looked over.

"Awh, that's sweet, All Might's one lucky guy huh." Jiro smiled looking straight at Toshi. He didn't know what to say, so you had to speak for him, "A visit is part of why I'm here, I just need to gather up some info from you kids quirks then I'm out"

After Aizawa told them not to get distracted, you were then told by nezu to watch the students close one by one and get whatever you needed. So you did, but not before asking to step aside with Toshi first.

Sure you could speak to him after the examination or at home, but you had to cram this into schedule and you knew you'd be staying at work a bit later tonight. So why not chat a bit now?

The whole time as you two spoke you heard all kinds of wingman type of hyping up in the background from the students, some of them at least.

It was getting to Toshi since his face was all pink and he was starting to stumble on words a bit. That went on like that, for the entire time you were there. It was very sweet you can't lie, some asked about the relationship, a handful mentioned about your research and few didn't say anything. And one asked about where you got the sick cane Kaminari.

By the end of it all you did gain some things that you needed but now you also gained a bunch of mini wingmans by your side.

"You know, if we were exposed a bit sooner, I think I'd invite them to our wedding."

"Seriously.."

Ahhh I really hope you like it, sorry for the wait I really wanted to nail this one! It was fun writing the ideas and story build, come back and roll again if you're thinking of another request!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

hi, can we please get a blurb for Roll the Initiative where Joe is pining for the reader during their 10 years of friendship/Joe realises he's falling for his friend. Thank you ❤

Hi, thanks for this! I love this fic so much so I'm glad to see that others want to see the before!

Am tempted to hold a blurb weekend just for this little universe (and maybe sub!joe) so def let me know your thoughts.

Without further ado!

The Pining/ A Roll for Initiative Blurb

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

_______________________

The lecture hall is bright, a stark contrast to how Joe actually feels. 

His bout with food poisoning flat lined him starting Sunday night. He’d missed the Monday lectures entirely. The moment he stood up after a rather fitful sleep, collecting only a mere three or four hours total, the room spun again and he barely made it to his trash can so it could hold all his liquidated innards. And the worst of it is that if it wasn’t coming out of one end, it was coming out of the other. 

The janitor responsible for the building merely sighed after passing Joe sitting on the floor in front of the stalls and handed over extra paper towels and toilet paper. “Feel better soon, kid.”

Tuesday morning, he didn’t feel hot or have a rocky stomach. Though considering he’d been not holding much down, keeping his eyes open used too much effort. After a call to his mother, and a fifteen minute struggle to just get crackers down, Tuesday afternoon turned the tides, enough to show up to practice even if his coach benched him for all of it.

Joe wouldn’t say he feels stellar. Well enough now, with more solid foods in him. But he still feels tired, a hazy edge to his concentration that if Joe let's take over will pull him immediately into sleep. 

An email to his professors had yielded prompt replies about his absence for Monday and curt directions that the powerpoints had been uploaded so he should be able to review those easily enough to catch up. Except for Art History, where he is now, taking the steps down the stadium seating to the middle of the room. 

The professor for Art History is eccentric, which is to be expected given the subject. The slides are bare--just pictures and a few dates. The lecture notes have sporadic and sparse information. Everything necessary to passing the course is only mentioned in lecture. The textbook is a good start, but there’s a thousand times more information from one little brain at the head of the class and it does leave Joe a little worried. If he wants to keep his head above water and pass this class to stay on the team, he’s going to need notes. 

Notes that Joe is sure you’re going to have. 

The two of you haven’t talked much, mostly ‘excuse me’s’ to slide into and out of the row as necessary and about needing to borrow a spare pen or pencil, an exchange of names. Though, Joe’s probably noticing a bit much, he realizes when he can immediately spot the braids--which are new--and a bright purple--also new. 

He carries on, whispering though he doesn’t need to, “Sorry.”

“Long time, no see, stranger,” you quip. 

Joe huffs a tiny laugh and then slips down into the seat to your left. “Not that long.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

And so far, this is the most you two have talked. Not that Joe would’ve thought that you noticed whether or not he was in class or not. But you seemingly have a more extroverted nature, jumping in conversation with the two girls in front of you once before class started. Maybe you see more than he even sees. 

“Random question,” Joe starts, pulling out the notebook for the course.

“Shoot,” you return. 

“Could I get the notes from Monday’s class from you? I got sick over the weekend and this is the only class that the powerpoints aren’t helpful for.”

“Oh, sure! But I have to warn you that my handwriting is atrocious. And the notes are color coordinated, so that might be a little weird. It just helps me better that way. But if you write down your email, once I finish typing them up, I can send them your way.”

And Joe almost says no need to worry, his own handwriting is even worse, but your notes are spread out, blues, greens, pinks, and black ink decorating the page. “Holy shit,” he laughs. “Never thought I’d see rainbow highlighters again.” He almost wants to say it’s neurotic. The kind of system you have that could make a man go blind, but he doesn’t get the chance. 

“Either you want the notes or you don’t.”

“Good point.” Even if it’s an additional delay, the thing Joe won’t do is risk his grade. He takes the pen you extend and the scrap corner of a page and scratches down his email. “I appreciate it. A ton.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you laugh. “But I’m happy to help.”

And it’s only supposed to stop at notes, that’s what Joe tells himself. But he grins at the email that comes later that night, stirring right up against the midnight hours: Joe, here’s a Word doc with the notes. I had to take a magnifying glass to my own notes--just for you--not because I couldn’t read it. Hope these help. 

There’s heading and subheadings when Joe opens the document. A significant lack of color coordination, but he lets that slide. Thanks for this. These are better notes than I could’ve ever taken. How do you feel about the midterm in a couple weeks? I could probably use half your brain, if I’m honest. 

Your reply is damn near immediate, as if you still are lingering on the thread just as Joe replied. I never thought art would make me shake in my boots. I know you’re on the football team, so I don’t mean to impose, but I can rent out my brain during study sessions whenever it works for you.

It’s just supposed to be notes, and study sessions for Art History so that he survives and you survive too. But you’re cool to be around. You make him laugh with just a look and it’s easy. So Joe goes with, takes up offers to hang out at the library when he can, asks about your life in the lull between class starting. There’s a trickle of emails in between scheduling study sessions that turn into text messages. Text messages about being late to the library room or about class of course. But there’s something there, something under the surface that nearly threatens to bubble when you text, much too late at night, Hey, Joe, I don’t think I can make it to the study session tomorrow. Sorry about such late notice. 

That pang of worry hits his chest hard and fast. Feels like it should be a warning but Joe doesn’t stop to process it. Joe just replies, You alright? No worries about the session. I think I’ll survive the Renaissance on my own. 

Nothing you need to worry about. Thanks for understanding. 

But Joe’s going to worry. He keeps his place, however even with the worry. He doesn’t push it until he sees you the next week, on a Monday, settled as always on the outer edge of the row. “You know how to give a man a heart attack. You good?” Joe asks, squeezing past you again. 

“Yeah. Roommate needed me. It’s not my place to talk about, but I just wanted to be there for her.”

“I understand. I hope she’s okay.

“Thanks. She’s better now.”

“Cool.”

Joe should really stop qualifying the relationship with you. Should stop trying to put it in a box, because even as he passes by you in the dining halls, you and your friends exiting and him and the team entering, seeing you around is a nice bright spot in his day. Art History becomes Intro to Psych becomes sitting in the lounge of dorm buildings, surrounded by too much paper, too many books, too many notebooks. 

“I could go for those sour candies,” you mutter, flipping the page in your statistics book. 

“The watermelon ones?” Joe questions. 

“Yeah,” you draw out the word. 

That’s all it takes for Joe to rummage into his backpack. He’d been out with a few of the guys yesterday and they stopped at a little convenience store not too far from the campus. He unearths the bag of candy--a bright yellow color buried in the notebooks--and tosses it over to you. “Those are the right ones, right?”

“So you can pay attention,” you snort. “Thanks.”

And all that--the little passing glances, the text messages, the hour long phone calls-- comes to a head in his last year, your third. Joe listens to the crackle of your breathing over the phone. You’re headed back to campus and he’s already returned--early, much too early. “That sucks, but you should do what’ll be good for you. If OSU’s not doing you right, then go where you think they might.”

It’s encouragement. Joe knows that, but it sounds too unfocused. Though you were listening to his gripes about not getting enough time to play on the field, about how no one seems to be taking him seriously enough as a quarterback, there’s a dip in your tone that Joe can spot anywhere. 

“Spit it out.”

“No, we’re talking about you. I am listening to you talk about your problems.” There’s another crackle, the sniffle of something and Joe pushes up off his too small twin bed. 

“Well I’m done talking,” Joe returns. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s stupid shit.”

“I don’t care if it’s stupid shit. Talk to me.”

“I can’t Joe. Not right now. I’m driving and talk to me. About anything. I don’t care. I just need the distraction.”

The dials are all clicking into place. How you need a distraction, how the sniffle might’ve been the start of tears. “Is it about the girl you were seeing? You haven’t talked about her much since earlier this summer, now that I think about it.”

“You know, Joe, for a guy you pay more attention than I would’ve thought.”

It’s not a no, so he knows he’s on the right track. Another call comes in through the line and Joe looks to see who it is, his own girlfriend that he was supposed to call half an hour ago, but he doesn’t hang up on you. Just lets the other call ring and ring before it finally disappears. Joe should feel something, should hang up with you and call her. But he doesn’t. There’s a pang, something like a tiny bit of relief now that the call’s gone mixed with the ache for you. 

“Forget about her,” Joe offers. “Whatever she did to hurt you doesn’t matter now. Because soon you’ll be back on campus and then we’ll get to hang out again--like old times. And it’ll be fun. We can have fun.”

“So much fun on study dates,” you laugh. It’s shaky, but it’s a laugh. One that shouldn’t make his chest flutter and when it does, Joe notices. Takes stock of the fact that he swears his cheeks are a little warm too. “You in your finance bro courses and me over here learning about the intestinal tract and medical coding.”

“Exactly like that. And our shared class. Like we have every semester.” Because Joe needs  them though. Needs you, he realizes. Even if you don’t need him. And when he started needing those classes, when he started craving you, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know, but what he does know, now, is that he’s in way too deep. 

Joe is in way too fucking deep. And he hadn’t even realized it. 

“I still can’t believe you signed up for African American Religions with me. Like we could’ve taken like underwater basket weaving or some shit.”

“You made it sound interesting.”

“Whatever you say, Joe. Look, I’m going to make a pit stop at this McDonalds to bawl my eyes out and then get something to drink. Can I-can I call you back?”

Joe wants to tell you to stay on. Wants to say that you shouldn’t even be worried about someone else because you’re so much better than that. But he doesn’t. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t want to drive to wherever you are. He shouldn’t want to wipe the tears from your cheek. Shouldn’t want to sit on whatever bathroom floor you sit just to hold your hand. 

But he does, he really fucking does. “You can always call me back. Anytime.”

What Joe should do is call his girlfriend back, apologize for missing the promised time and her followed up call, find some sort of believable excuse, ask her about her friends, a kind of gossip that Joe was barely keeping up with, the kind of pattern he can already see now waiting to boil over if he doesn’t get his act together. 

What Joe wants is to find you. He wants to be there for you, but he’s not sure if you want him the same way. And that’s okay--his life is football, a fact that even he can recognize, the thing he’d been chasing after for years. The thing that was going to be his ticket out. He just don’t want to leave you though. 

With a hand scrubbed over his face, Joe dials his girlfriend back, listens to the ring once, then twice. “I was starting to think you forgot about me,” she laughs, a kind of tease that felt like it was growing closer and closer to reality. 

“Sorry about that. Mom called, wanted to check up on me.”

“I know how she can get. But you could’ve texted me that she called.”

There’s an awkward silence. Because Joe knows he’s lying. Knows he is right through his fucking teeth. He was praying she’d fall for it, buy into the small little white lie. Because his mother did call, twenty minutes before you did. He’d ask his mom then, if he could call her back to take your call. And there should be shame--there should be something burning his insides. But there’s only worry, about you, about you bawling your eyes out in that McDonald’s parking lot. 

 “I’ll text you next time something comes up. Sorry again,” Joe promises. Another fucking lie. 

The lies catch up to him, right in the middle of midterms, outside of the library, where he can see you inside through the giant glass windows. “It’s just football,” he hisses, promising more empty words. Because it’s also you. 

“I find that a little hard to believe Joe. Don’t lie to me.”

But he’s already lying. Has been for months now. If only she’d told him that he shouldn’t be lying--the kind of continued verb--that he might start feeling guilt. “It is just football. I’m sitting on my ass over here after I play well in practice, I’m putting the reps in and no one seems to care. I’m going to transfer and I can’t fuck that up.”

“So, if it were football or me, you’re picking football?”

Joe peeks back into the glass, spotting you as you return to the shared table. There’s two paper cups in your hand, undoubtedly from the small coffee shop attached to the library. You set one down next to his books and then settle back down into your seat. You catch him watching, crossing your eyes at him before turning back to your books. 

“I’m sorry,” Joe answers, still watching you through the glass. “It’s football.”

“You’re unbelievable, Joe! I was there after you won games and lost games too. Two years, Joe! You’re going to throw away two years just for some game? I’m more important than some sport.”

The tirade’s just begun but Joe doesn’t really care about that, just watches the work of your rainbow highlighters. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again when there’s a break between the shouts. 

When he ducks back inside, thankful for the blast of the heat, he finds his cup still steaming. “I did light on the vanilla, since you have a figure to maintain.” The tease falls easily from your lips before you even look up at Joe. 

Though, given the years together, maybe you don’t need to look up to see if it’s him. You just know. It’s more likely that you assumed it was him. But his chest warms at the thought that he’s just seen--purely and so simply. The first sip of the drink, ordered to perfection he might add, warms his insides, makes the flutter he’d sort of felt blossom and grow, that is until you ask, “How’d the call go?”

And Joe doesn’t want to talk about that, but he can’t stop himself. Not around you. “I was honest about the portal transfer. Didn’t go well.”

“You deserve to be seen, Joe. I’m sorry she doesn’t see it that way. Maybe she’ll come around.”

Joe shakes his head. Because he knows that’s not all. “I think it was sort of over before the semester really started. I just didn’t want to hurt her.”

“So football was just the easier scapegoat? I’m disappointed, Joseph.”

“Oh,” he groans, pressing the palm of his hand into his chest. “God, kick a man while he’s down after a breakup? That’s cruel. My government name.”

The flick of the pen cap misses him by only an inch. “I’m being serious. If your heart wasn’t in the relationship, you should’ve just said that. Now, the girl’s going to be traumatized by football for the rest of her life.”

“You don’t know that,” Joe returns, picking the cap up off the floor. 

“I don’t. But I do know I’m right about being honest with her.”

Joe knows he should’ve been honest. But he can’t. Because it’s you and though the two of you have exchanged those glances, been each other’s solace in times when it felt too vulnerable to let anyone else in, Joe’s never had an in with you, never been able to take the leap. Because what if it all fell through? What if this is just how you’re friends with people? He doesn’t want to risk that. 

He’d rather have this than nothing. He tosses the cap back and you catch it, in a clasps between your hands. “You’d make a terrible quarterback you know? Aim was awful.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not the one transferring, now am I? Because there’s one guy I know who is a deadly QB and he’s going to be honest next time. Right?”

Joe nods. “Absolutely.”

The distance is said to make the heart grow fonder and Joe’s fucked. When he checks his box and sees a slip about a package too ready for pick up at the window, and when he sees the giant box, and when he sees it’s from you, his heart is so utterly fond and he’s fucked. 

Here’s to QB1. Get ready for spicy food and humidity. A survival guide, if you will. And in the basket, that was in the box, are bottles of hot sauce, old school maps and a Triple AAA trip book for Louisiana, photographs of you to back in Ohio, letters from his parents and brother, a letter from you, stuffed with his favorite snacks, and the shredded tissue paper, plastic wrapping to keep bottles from breaking and leaking and Joe knows he’s not getting off this ride. 

“Is that from your girl?” Ja’Marr wastes little time after his knock to peel open the door that’s cracked open just a hair, held for a light breeze by an old shoe. 

“They’re just a friend,” Joe corrects, even if it feels bad to say, even if he does want more. 

“I don’t think friends do handwritten letters much anymore,” he probes, pointing to the letter on top from you. “But what the hell do I know?”

You do. Because you’re that kind of person. “We’re friends,” Joe states, firm and with a bit of an ache that cracks his voice. 

“Don’t sound like you want to be friends. But we’ve got a party to hit, so you can do your sad boy hours and feelings later and I promise to listen to all of ‘em.”

Joe’s done this before, attempts at burying you in other girls, and knows that it won’t fill the ache entirely. But it’s what he has, so he pushes away from his desk, places the letter onto his bed and follows Ja’Marr out. Because it’s just what he has, and a little bit is better than nothing when it comes to you. He’s honest, like he promised, with the girls that keep looking for more from him, that he can’t deliver on it. Joe’s not afraid to be their good time. He just can’t be their long term. Knows his heart wouldn’t be in it. 

The distance helps in some ways. Joe is solely focused on football. He doesn’t worry or fret about much else, just keeps focusing one game at a time, one practice at a time. It doesn’t ache as much, as it once did to be this far from home, this far from you. You’re always there in the back of his head, when he wins, when he’s tired, there’s always the soft calm of your voice, You deserve to be seen. Joe knows you mean about football, about a deserving and deadly quarterback. But part of him thinks, hopes one day, that it means more than that too. 

You’re always just one phone call away. The stolen moments, even with Ja’Marr sliding in through the background, your laughter bubbling remind Joe that you’re not too far. Just far enough away that sometimes it hurts more than it should. 

 “I think he’s getting bored, I can see him snooping,” you quip. 

Joe turns, spotting Ja’Marr cracking open the shoe box Joe saved to put all your letters and photos in. “Get out of that, man! Oh my god.”

“You’ve been on the phone for like half an hour. A man’s just bound to get curious what you keep in this shoebox. Ain’t no shoes in them. I can tell.”

“None of your business that’s what,” Joe laughs, clamping the top on it closed again. 

“Are you ever going to come down and visit?” Ja’Marr questions. “I think he misses you.”

Joe whips back around in the direction of Ja’Marr, eyes narrowed and jaw stern. “Quit it,” he warns lowly.

“I miss Joe too,” you answer. “Maybe if I can swing the spare cash, I’ll come down. Things are tight after my root canal.”

I miss Joe too. The sweetest sounding Joe’s heard in a while that manages to cut the hot store he was leveling at Ja’Marr into disbelief. There’s no way he heard that right. “You miss me?” Joe questions, facing the camera again. It’s such a dumbfounded question, one that Joe should’ve been aware of the answer too, and yet here he is still shocked, still surprised. 

“Of course I miss you.” You return it like it’s obvious, like Joe should know this. “But you’re out there, working to achieve your dreams and I think that’s more important. I’m always rooting for you.”

If there were any further go, Joe is sure that’s the moment he’d fall deeper into the hole. That somehow, someway, the most simple of sentiments have sealed his fate. Of course I miss you. He waits though, waits for you to make some remark about that’s just what friends do, miss each other, root for each other. It doesn’t come. Instead it stays like that, like it’s so fucking obvious. Like it’s not potentially earth shattering if Joe were to ever let himself fully let go. 

The relationship with you hasn’t always been obvious. It always has been easy. It’s just so fucking easy that maybe it should be obvious. Because after he’s drafted, you’re the first person he calls after the camera’s have left, after his parents have hugged him. You’re the first voice that he wants to hear. In the background the deep voice echoes, almost threatening the frayed edges of Joe’s reality. You’re not here, not next to him in Athens. 

Football’s always been the scapegoat, the thing Joe’s kept his hawk-eyed gaze on, because it’s his ticket out. It’d take him away and that’s the thing that’s easier to face. That he’d have no other choice because there’s football, not fear. But fear’s bubbling in the background, the deep voice that Joe knows isn’t his or your dad’s or any family member. 

Joe swears, with the phone pressed impossibly close to his ear, he hears something else, something deeper when you said, “You did it, Joe. I am so incredibly proud of you. I hope you’re proud of yourself. You’re truly amazing to witness.”

He wants it to mean more. That’s what Joe realizes when he’s in bed later that night, Joe really fucking wants those words to mean more. 

The true beauty is you. The true star dazzling presence is yours. When he finally settles into your hometown and doesn’t run into you, he keeps waiting, keeps thinking it’s going to happen, because Cincinnati has you written all over. You are in the city in a way that Joe never thought a person could be. You are in the sidewalks, in the breeze that blows, in the stop lights that pause him, in the sips of his coffee from his favorite places because he wonders if by chance you’ve been here too.

It’s always been you. The person Joe thinks would fit into his life so effortlessly. You that he's had to keep tucked away from himself, hide away the thoughts because the timing's never been good. He's always been a little too scared to make a move.

“Welcome to Cincy, Joe.” 

Perfect fucking you in front of him. Joe laughs, like somehow his own desires might’ve conjured you up, some figment of his imagination. But he knows it’s not. Because he has the text messages to prove it.  When he asked if the two of you could chat in person, he was halfway expecting you to have plans, telling him you couldn’t make it. But you answered with ease, ‘Of course. I’ve been waiting on you.’ 

The hug is long, longer than Joe would like to admit but fuck, he’s forgotten what it’s like. Forgot how you rock into your hugs. How you squeeze tight. How it feels so fucking right. And Joe knows he shouldn’t. He’ll get himself back in check. Promises he will, but he soothes a hand over your back, taking in the warmth of you against his cheek. 

“Let me get a good look at you,” you hum, pulling away first. Your eyes dance over him but Joe’s not worried about that, just thinks how much you’ve grown into your features now. How you feel more settled and more mature next to him, even in the scrubs. 

He’d wanted to give you time to change, but you insisted that wouldn’t matter, that it didn’t matter. And he shouldn’t, though the thought creeps up, that you do make the scrubs look enticing. Joe tosses that aside and focuses on the fact that you’re real, in front of him. He’s back next to you. 

“How does it feel?” The question is soft as you ask it. The two of you settled now under the awning of the sidewalk seating. The summer’s thick heat makes the early fall evenings cool. 

“Better than that I’ve seen you. It’s been what? Five years now since I’ve last seen you?”

You shrug, noncommittal. “Give or take. I’m still the same.”

“Dentist office, right?”

“Yeah, need a cleaning? I know the schedule.”

“When I do, I know who to call.”

Later, after the two of you have parted ways, Joe lies in bed, wondering when he’d gotten this deep into the whole. If he was digging himself deeper and deeper in until he had no other course of action but to see it through. Right now is a bad time still. You’re dating someone, but Joe’s not sure if he wants to find out what life would have to look like without you in it. 

What if he’s still reading this all wrong? 

[heartseungs-archive]

going below zero | l.dh

genre ❄ coworker au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst pairings ❄ attorney!donghyuck x attorney!reader word count ❄  10.2k synopsis ❄ Considering how much Haechan makes it his personal mission to antagonize you at work, it seems like a rather cruel twist of fate that the both of you have been side by side since middle school, the only consolation being that his office is a different floor from yours. But if there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with him might just be the opposite, and it’ll take a family ski holiday to find out. warnings ❄ mentions of alcohol info ❄ merry christmas everyone!!! i hope you enjoy this small present and hava a very warm holiday wherever you are  <3 (it's currently below freezing in seoul and I'm typing this barely half-alive in my hotel room at 1.50am after returning from gocheok sky dome)

You enjoy your job. Mostly.

Besides the long hours, gruelling paperwork, inefficient district judiciary, and shitty coffee, of course. It’s all bearable, especially if you think about the multiple zero digits in your annual salary and the occasional bonus. And of course, you’ve developed a certain fondness for your office, which gives you a lovely view of the palaces and Seoul’s skyline.

“Y/N. Your coffee.” Karina passes you one of two mugs, specifically the one with daisies on it. Everyone working on your floor has made a deliberate effort to get distinct coffee mugs out of disdain for sharing, and you’re all the more grateful for it, especially on days like this. You take a tentative sip, and barely prevent yourself from spitting it out.

Maybe the burnt espresso will be the tipping point for your resignation after all.

“I still can’t believe the tenth floor shares their cups communally. Renjun would flay us if we tried suggesting it,” Karina mutters. She’s dressed in a form-fitting suit today, blouse slightly untucked. It’s been two years since she joined as a paralegal, and you’ll miss having her careful eye to look over your documents. Still, if there’s anyone deserving of becoming an associate, it’s her.

“It’s what happens when you have a floor that’s ninety-per cent men. Especially with people like him.” Your voice narrows to a sharp point, and Karina already knows who you’re talking about.

“I still don’t know what’s up with the both of you,” she muses, and you shrug. “It’s a long story. One that I’ll tell if I’m drunk and tired. Unfortunately, it’s currently-” you steal a glance at your watch, “-nine-thirty on a Monday morning, so wrong time.”

She gives a nod of acceptance, grimacing at the harrowed expression on your face. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be outside.”

“Wait. Karina,” you call out, and the girl halts, arching an eyebrow at you. “Where’s the case that we were working on last week? The medical negligence one.”

There’s a nervous expression on her face when she takes in your words, and you don’t have a good feeling about what she’s going to say next.

“Karina. What is it.”

She smiles sheepishly, and that’s when you really start getting scared.

“Haechan…said he could take over because you were busy with your current ones and Mr Kim agreed. It happened when you were on leave last Friday. I thought he emailed you.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Karina tries to flash a smile, but it comes out more like a pained cringe as she watches you close your eyes, and then take a deep inhale. You’re deathly quiet, and it’s slightly terrifying. “I’ll be back,” you force out, and she turns, alarmed, as you stride out of the office.

“Where are you going?”

You don’t answer.

Haechan gives it approximately five minutes before you reach his office. It takes three minutes for you to take the lift up, and it’s about twenty metres from the lobby to his personal office.

If you’re particularly enraged, however, your pace might be a little faster, so he accounts for that too.

“Three…two…” he counts down to himself, before the sharp knocks come.

“One.” The last word leaves his mouth with a note of finality, before you’re standing in front of him, eyes alight with indignation. It’s one of his favourite expressions on you. “Lee Haechan!” You shout, and he jumps a little at the loudness of your voice.

“You know, if you’re going to come in before I even allow it, you might as well not bother knocking,” he comments, turning his chair to face you.

“If you hadn’t taken my case, I wouldn’t even need to be here. Medical negligence isn’t even your specialty. Go back to whatever you’re doing in real estate.” You wave a cursory hand in the general direction of his desk to emphasise your point.

“But I think it’s interesting. And Mr Kim said he wants the lawyers at his firm to be versatile.” Haechan looks at you innocently as he says it, but the slight upward tug at the corner of his mouth betrays his real intentions.

If this was anyone else, you might have believed them. But Haechan never genuinely wants to help you, not unless he gets something out of it. Sometimes, he just wants to get on your nerves. It’s like some sort of twisted stress relief therapy for him, finding new ways to torment you.

“Look.” You run a hand through your hair, as if it’ll do something to calm your emotions. “Why are you doing this? Just leave me alone and we can live our perfectly happy lives. Doesn’t that sound good?”

For a second, he looks to be deep in thought, genuinely considering your suggestion. Until a smirk creeps up onto his face, and you mentally sink to your feet in dread.

“But that wouldn’t be any fun,” he says while gazing at you innocently, lips settling into a soft pout, and you feel a sharp tick of annoyance.

You’re going to kill him one day. You’re sure of it.

“So, are you drunk and tired enough yet to tell us what your deal with Haechan is? I’m curious, and so is Ningning.” You narrow your eyes at the two girls sitting opposite you, identical stone-faced expressions resting on their faces. “Was that your entire scheme by dragging me out on a Saturday night?”

Karina grins. “Maybe.”

You look to Seulgi for support, but she only shrugs. “I kind of want to know too.”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” You ask, and Ningning shakes her head, pouring another shot of soju for you to down. You take it gratefully, relishing the cold burn as the alcohol makes its way into your system. Where do you start?

“I’ve known Lee Haechan since high school, if you have to know.” There’s a soft murmur of surprise from Karina at that piece of information, but you ignore it and continue.

“We’ve been competing over everything since we were teenagers. Think student council presidency, valedictorian, and best speaker at debate club sessions. When we got to university, it was the dean’s list and travel scholarships.”

Seulgi hums in thought. “And now that you’re both in the same company, it was the promotion to associate.” You nod. She’s quick to catch on, but you’re not finished.

“It wouldn’t be that bad if he was just a competitor. But of course, with my shitty luck, that man just so happens to be the devil’s incarnate,” you mutter venomously, and Ningning raises her hand. “But I think he’s got a good sense of humor.”

When no one responds, she coughs awkwardly. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely wrong, of course. Haechan’s funny in the way an internet video is, when you see someone getting pranked and laugh at them for not figuring it out sooner. However, it’s a bit harder to find joy in it when you’re on the receiving end.

“Have you considered…being friends? Maybe he’s just trying to get closer to you,” Seulgi suggests, and you shake your head vehemently. Her statement is a bizarre one in itself. If Haechan wanted to make amends, there were hundreds of better, other ways that he could have gone about it, instead of making you want to tear your hair out at every turn.

“Not happening. We’re way past that now,” you decide, and she looks at you doubtfully, as if she wants to say something. Before she can open her mouth, however, Ningning sits up in alarm, temporarily sober as she looks directly at you.

“I overheard Mr Kim saying he was looking to promote one of our senior associates to a partner next year. But doesn’t that mean….”

You stiffen at her words, the grip on your cup growing impossibly tighter. There’s a mental list of the senior associates in your firm that you quickly run through, but they’re all eliminated for various reasons here and there, until you’re left with two options.

You grit your teeth.

“Oh dear,” Karina mutters as she looks at your expression, as if already aware of what’s about to happen. Seulgi instinctively reaches a hand out to comfort you, but you barely register it.

Compared to the trivialities of freshman year, this is vastly different. Being a partner at the firm means a stake in the company, a concrete role and title that will cement your position. It’s every associate’s dream, and something that you’ve wanted since you first walked through the shiny glass doors of your office building. You’ll be damned if Haechan takes it away from you now, when your dreams are so close in reach.

There’s nothing much you can do now, however, besides crossing your fingers and waiting. You’re not sure if anyone’s keeping a tally of the cases that you or Haechan have won so far, but if there is, it’s likely neck-and-neck. Still, you hope your clean record and stellar performance count for something, even if you lack the natural charisma that he’s brimming with.

If you’re lucky enough, Mr Kim might select you for the diversity representation, just to even out the gender statistics in the company’s annual report. It’s not a fair or honourable way to win, but it’s a win nonetheless.

“On the bright side, there’s only a week until our Christmas break. You won’t need to see Haechan in office at all for a month at least.”

Seulgi’s good at saying the right things in the right situations, and you feel a sigh of relief escape you at the thought of being free of his presence for a good amount of time.

Until you realise she’s dead wrong.

At your guttural groan, Ningning looks over in alarm. “Are you sick? You should have listened to me when I told you not to drink so much alcohol-” She’s cut off by Karina placing a gentle hand on her arm, and waiting for you to respond. “Y/N, is there something wrong?”

It’s a few too many moments before your head comes back up, hair dishevelled and expression pale. “Remember when I said Haechan and I went to the same high school?” It’s a rhetorical question. Of course they remember. You swallow thickly, gaze roaming over the three girls in front of you as they patiently wait for you to continue.

“I may have forgotten to mention that our parents have been best friends for the past two decades.”

There was one clear memory of Haechan that you had from your childhood, and it involved crying. A lot of it. You had an irrational fear of sunflowers and subsequently bees, perhaps because there were always swarms of that exact insect around them.

It only took two days of Haechan finding out about this before he snuck sunflower seeds into your lunchbox, and told you that eating them would cause said flower to grow in you. Your teacher had found tears streaming down your cheeks once the bell rang, and Haechan ran off to tell everyone about how easily you had believed him, how gullible you seemed.

The relationship between the both of you never quite seemed to repair properly after that incident, even as your parents made hopeless attempts to make the two of you playmates.

You would have assumed that the animosity between both of you would mellow out once you turned older. After all, it was nothing but a foolish stunt pulled by a mischievous child.

Yet, the awkwardness devolved into competition and mutual dislike, especially when you realised that the both of you were constantly fighting for the same opportunities. And then he became wittier, always saying the right comments to make anger creep up the back of your neck.

Your parents might have saved a lot of effort if they knew the state of things between the both of you now.

“Well, isn’t someone looking cheerful today.” The familiar cadence of his voice grates at your ears. Haechan had been an avid member of the choir in his younger years, and you can still recall him winning district singing competitions. You would enjoy his voice more if it was disembodied and separate from the man himself.

“I rather walk than sit in your car,” you retort, but you know you’re lying through your teeth. Even then, he won’t abandon you, considering how his mother was very firm about the both of you showing up together and giving her regular updates. You wouldn’t put it beyond Mrs Lee to facetime the both of you at any time, just to check.

Haechan’s car is comfortable, and it seems to be the one thing he splurges on, besides his apartment in downtown Seoul. The leather seats are plush behind your back, and there’s a faint lavender smell that lingers inside. You’re not sure why you can recall those exact bits of information, considering you can’t remember the last time he drove you somewhere. Two years ago, he still had an old Toyota Camry, and the both of you would usually just take the train.

There were a few good things about the pandemic, and one of them was getting to work from home. The second was that you didn’t have these yearly trips back with Haechan, established as a tradition after the both of you relocated to Seoul for university.

Still, you’ll endure it, if it means getting home to spend Christmas with your family. The holiday has always evoked a sense of homesickness in you, and it’s likely due to the amount of effort your parents put into celebrating it. They weren’t religious, but they made sure there was always plenty of presents and hot chocolate.

It was fun, even if you were sent over every Christmas morning as an eight-year-old to wish the Lees a merry Christmas and endure Haechan’s teasing.

“I can’t believe you still listen to Michael Jackson.” The song that plays through the speakers is something you haven’t heard in years, but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“It’s good music. I’m not sure why you dislike him so much.”

“I would enjoy his music a lot more if you hadn’t blasted it at two in the morning during finals season,” you say bitterly, and Haechan lets out a low chuckle. The both of you are stuck in traffic, and the silence that settles in the car is painfully awkward. You and Haechan don’t have much to say to each other, besides sharp words, and you’re starting to regret it a little.

You can feel Haechan’s eyes on you when he turns his head, fingers drumming on the wheel. However, you refuse to afford him the pleasure of meeting his gaze, your eyes resolutely fixed on the car in front of you.

His throat bobs slightly, nervously. “Look, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and I rather it not be in silence. Let’s just pretend the company doesn’t exist. Truce?” He asks, and you try not to make the relief too obvious on your face. At your nod, Haechan breaks out into a brilliant smile, one that makes his features irk you less.

He should smile more instead of that smirk that he has all the time, you think. You would prefer it more.

“Now, what song do you want to queue? I’ll let you have music rights for the next three hours.”

The house looks exactly as you remember. Even then, the colours are brighter, more saturated in your eyes, tinted with the unmistakable nostalgia of childhood. You step carefully onto the robin’s egg-blue porch, luggage behind you as you ring the doorbell.

It’s like both your and Haechan’s movements are in sync, likely looking identical from the back.

You had forgotten to mention to the three girls that the two of you happened to be next-door neighbours as well.

There’s the pitter-patter of footsteps against wood before the door flies open, and your mother is in front of you and hugging you tightly. She feels so much smaller than you, so different from the imposing figure of your childhood. There’s weathered lines across her face, but the brightness in her eyes is still identical to your memories.

You smile. “Hey, mom.”

“Look who’s here,” the low timbre of your father’s voice rings out before you see him, and your smile grows inexplicably wider. “How was the trip here? Haechan drove safely, didn’t he? I should buy something for them later. Gas is expensive these days, you know.”

“He was going to make the trip anyways. Besides, doesn’t it save more gas if we travel together?” You question, and your mother rolls her eyes. “I forgot about that mouth of yours. It’s only become worse since you’ve become a lawyer,” she sighs out, but her eyes are full of mirth.

Your luggage is deposited in your room by your father before you can even offer to help, and you realise that your family hasn’t made any effort to redecorate the empty space, instead leaving everything as it is. Some of your vinyls still sit on the shelf, along with photographs and trophies from different competitions. If you dig hard enough, you might be able to find your old clothes as well.

“Oh, Y/N, don’t unpack yet. Help me bring this over to the Lees,” she hands you a cooler bag, and you peer inside to find banchan neatly packed into tupperware and freshly-baked cookies. “Don’t you want to deliver these yourself?” you ask hopefully, but immediately sink back down when she shakes her head. “It’ll be good for Mr and Mrs Lee to see you. Now go.”

It’s a small consolation of sorts that Mrs Lee is the one opening the door when you knock, and Haechan is nowhere to be found.

“I feel like I say this every time I see you, but you’ve grown so much.” The warm smile on her face elicits one from you too, and you wonder why the apple fell so far from the tree. As you go past the hallway, you can’t help but feel like you’re transported back to childhood. The house is as familiar to you as your own, even if most of your time here was spent bickering with him.

Once you reach the kitchen, you unpack the lunchboxes, tiptoeing to reach the fridge drawer. “I think these are good to be refrigerated for two weeks. Where should I put it?”

“Anywhere on the top shelf is fine. Do you want coffee?”

A latte isn’t usually your drink of choice, but you’re grateful for any caffeine hit after the long ride. Along the way, you had decided to take a nap, and Haechan had woken you up by blasting a song in your ear at full volume.

“Mom, did you see my winter coat- Oh, it’s you,” Haechan says when he steps into the kitchen, and you muster a polite smile on your face. Mrs Lee frowns slightly. “That’s no way to speak to our guest. And it’s on the uppermost shelf of your cabinet. Why don’t you walk Y/N out?”

“It’s fine, Mrs Lee, I live right opposite-”

“Sure,” Haechan cuts in nonchalantly, and you widen your eyes at him, a silent question. He deliberately ignores your heavy gaze and loops his arm in yours. “Well, come on. Let’s go.”

“Why are you looking for your winter coat? It’s not that cold yet,” you ask curiously, and Haechan halts in his steps, a puzzled expression on his face.

You’re shifting uncomfortably now, tense as Haechan continues staring at you. “What?”

Until the confusion on his face fades to a certain sort of mischief, and he leans down until his face is inches away from yours. You step back abruptly, putting some distance between the both of you, but the smug smile doesn’t leave Haechan’s face.

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“We’re going to a ski resort. You and me.”

There’s a light in Haechan’s eyes as he says it, one that seems to spell death and doom. You’re too stunned to speak, everything tuned out save for his face in front of yours.

At least now you know why your mother stopped you from unpacking your luggage.

There’s something about the airport that makes you feel like you’re dreaming. It’s the hallways that seem to stretch on endlessly, and the way you lose track of time save for the numbers displayed in bright red on the large digital clock.

It’s one of your favourite places in the world. Planes, however, not so much. The dry air, cramped seats, loud noises, and the fact that you’re tens of thousands of feet above solid ground serve no purpose other than making you uneasy. Even though the improvement in Haechan’s and your salaries mean that your families can escape sitting in economy, you still can’t ignore the fact that the only thing saving you from falling to your death is a hunk of floating metal.

“Any drinks for you?” The air stewardess in front of you is bright-eyed, absent of the anxiety swirling in your stomach. “Just apple juice, please,” you mumble, setting the cup down in the holder in front of you. You probably won’t drink it anyways.

When takeoff begins, you try your best to ignore the rumbling of the plane, instead choosing to lean back and close your eyes. The sooner you fall asleep, the better.

Until the plane jerks violently, and your eyelids fling open. You can faintly hear the pilot apologising for the upcoming turbulence, but it barely registers, fading into background noise in favour of your thundering heartbeat. It seems sleep will be far out of reach today.

“Hey, you okay?”

You’re tempted to ignore Haechan, but he doesn’t sound teasing, instead genuinely concerned. You’re quite sure your face is twenty different shades of pale, but having him see you like this brings a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you force out, and wonder if you can request to change seats. 

It’s been a long time since you last got on a plane, and when you were young, you would be sandwiched between your parents. You’re wishing now that you had insisted on sitting with one of them, but it was obvious that this was some sort of double-date arrangement between your families, with you and Haechan as collateral.

You’re an adult, Y/N. Pull yourself together.

Your knuckles are bone-white from how hard you’re gripping the armrest, and Haechan, perceptive as ever, quickly figures out what’s wrong. “You’re scared of flying, aren’t you?”

You screw your eyes shut, exhaling shakily. “Shut up, Lee. I can’t do this right now.” He falls silent, and you think he might have temporarily retreated from teasing you for the moment.

The feeling of someone’s hand over yours quickly catches your attention, however, and you’re temporarily pulled away from your fear to look down, bewildered. “I used to have a younger cousin who was scared of flying.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

You hate to admit it, but the warmth of his hands provides a welcome respite from your unease. When the plane jolts again, your grip tightens momentarily, and you expect Haechan to have some sort of teasing quip at how easily you jump. Contrary to your expectations, he simply smooths his thumb over your hand, a calming, repetitive motion that makes it easier for you to breathe.

Even when the seatbelt sign flickers off, Haechan doesn’t make any motion to move away. “Feeling better?” He asks, and you nod slowly. There’s a grin on his face at your response, one that is surprisingly genuine.

It takes a few seconds of Haechan staring at you before you cough awkwardly, immediately extricating your palm. It makes you feel slightly foolish, realising that he must have wanted you to let go of your own accord so he wouldn’t feel bad. He almost looks disappointed, but you’re convinced the fear has induced a hallucination of sorts.

You’re feeling fine now, or at least that’s what you think.

Until hours later, when the pilot announces descent, and your heart rate picks back up. Haechan doesn’t wait for you to ask this time, immediately slotting his fingers between yours.

“Thank you. You don’t have to do this,” you say thickly, strangely grateful for the man sitting next to you. Despite his endless teasing, he seems to know how to help at the right times. Maybe Ningning’s right, that he’s not all that bad. You suppose you’ve demonized the boy to an extent, driven by years of childish retorts.

In reality, you don’t hate him as much as you make it out to be. There’s just a feeling of walking on eggshells at his presence, a certain way that Haechan makes you feel off-kilter from never being able to predict what his next actions will be.

“You know, if you just wanted to hold my hand, you could have said so.” Haechan’s words make your cheeks burn, and you whip your head to the side to stare the boy down.

“I take it back. You’re the most infuriating person I know.” His forehead wrinkles slightly at that, and you realise he had not been privy to your previous thoughts. “Take what back?” He asks, and you ignore him. The apple juice is conveniently placed in front of you, and you gulp heavily from it. Anything to avoid telling Haechan what exactly you were thinking.

He moves closer, and you choke slightly at his proximity. At this distance, you can see your wide-eyed expression reflected clearly in his eyes. He scrunches his eyebrows in thought, and you can’t help but think he looks almost…adorable. Until you give yourself a violent kick mentally.

“You said that you wanted to take it back…you don’t think I’m infuriating?” There’s a hopeful glint in his eyes, one that makes your heart stumble at an unfamiliar pace. “Perhaps….even endearing?” He muses, unable to hide his smirk now. You’re lost for words, cheeks painted scarlet as you stare at the boy.

The buzzing of the overhead intercom jolts you out of whatever trance Haechan has put you in, the clicking of seatbelts filtering into your ears. You shove him away lightly, enough to put much-needed distance between the both of you but not enough to wound him. A breath escapes Haechan as he falls back into his seat ungracefully, but his eyes remain fixed on your figure as you hurriedly get up to take your overhead bag.

Until you tiptoe, fingers scrabbling at empty space, and decide that whatever higher powers up there must really have it out for you. The familiar black duffel bag is just out of reach, likely having shifted backwards during the course of the flight. You’re prepared to admit defeat and ask your father to help, when there’s the feeling of someone’s back against yours, warm and solid. You jerk your head around in alarm, only to see Haechan easily grabbing the bag and holding it in front of you.

He’s too close. Much too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” you demand, but it comes out more as a high-pitched stutter, betraying your nerves. “You seemed to need some help. You know, I didn’t realise how short you were without your heels,” he comments, and you’re left unable to reply, too distracted by the way he’s still pressed close to you. It suddenly feels difficult to get enough oxygen, and your heart is going a mile a minute. There’s an exhale of relief that escapes when he finally moves away to make way for another passenger.

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow you even as you stride quickly down the aisle to join your parents, and a flush creeps at the back of your neck.

This holiday is going to drive you mad.

“So, how’s the trip going? With Y/N, no less,” Renjun asks, unable to hide his grin. Haechan hums in thought, settling on a pillow as he decides on a response. “Not bad. We’re making progress.”

“Progress as in…she’s less interested in homicide and more towards assault?” Haechan genuinely considers it for a second, before he nods in assent. The look on Renjun’s face is a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.

“Lee Haechan, you’re hopeless.” He sits up indignantly at that statement, glaring at Renjun even through the grainy screen. “Honestly, I’ll be surprised if Y/N even reciprocates your feelings. For a successful attorney, you sure are an idiot.”

The lack of faith is disappointing to Haechan, but no matter. Getting you to like him back has been at the top of his wishlist since junior year, and he’s not about to give up now.

The memory of you walking into the club room with your school blouse neatly tucked in and hair tied back still remains fresh in Haechan’s mind. You had been a model student, but not in a way that felt too overbearing. Maybe sometimes you would frown at his bright Converse shoes, or loose tie. But they technically weren’t against school rules, so Haechan continued to tiptoe the fine line between dress code and responsibility as vice-president of Student Council.

Originally, the boy was happy enough to be the chairperson of the debate club, until Jaemin, his labmate, had very cleverly pointed out that the both of you would get to head the annual prom together.

And so he decided to campaign, effectively providing one of the most stressful experiences of your high school years.

Those were some of the best memories of his final year, sitting in the classroom with you and ironing out details for hours. It was obviously something that you were passionate about, giving up so many sleepless nights just to research the exact decorations.

It was one of the things he liked most about you, that spark in your gaze when you saw something you liked, or fixed your mind on something. On occasion, it would appear when he teased you, though it was often accompanied by anger. Still, he craved it. Haechan liked having your eyes on him, even if they were narrowed with exasperation.

And when finals had ended, the invisible heavy burden on your shoulders had seemed to lift, and you laughed easier, smiled more. Even when he pestered you, there would only be an indulgent smile on your face. Prom was barely a week away, and he thought that would be it. That he would ask you to be his date, and maybe, finally you’d see him in a new light, beyond the boy who always seemed to be competing with you.

And then you disappeared from school without any information whatsoever, right up until the day itself. He had even asked Ryujin, the secretary of student council. Everyone was clueless.

The next time Haechan saw you was in the university lecture hall, and his shoulders had sunk in relief at the sight of your face.

Now, seven years later, Haechan was still playing a game of catch-and-toss for your heart, but he didn’t mind.

The boy had been feigning an expression of nonchalance when he offered his hand to you in the plane, but when you didn’t pull away, Haechan was quite convinced that his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

He’s not sure if you’ll let him hold your hand again, but a man can dream. The doorbell rings then, jolting Haechan out of his thoughts. “Give me a second, Jun,” he mutters as he sets the phone down, slippers thudding softly against the carpeted floor.

When he flings the door open, the last person he’s expecting to see is the one that’s been taking up his thoughts.

You’re swamped in an oversize hoodie and leggings, hair dishevelled and reading glasses balanced on the tip of your nose. It’s obvious you’ve woken up recently, and he steals a glance at the clock before focusing back on you.

You look different. But a good different.

“Weren’t you going down with them to the village?” He asks, and you smile sheepishly. “Overslept.”

The ski resort the both of you were in was located high up in the mountains, and there was a shuttle bus going down to the winter village twice a day. Your parents had suggested going down for dinner, but Haechan had work to clear up and decided to stay back.

It seems fate has a funny way of leaving the two of you together, Haechan thinks as he looks at you, still slightly drowsy. “Wanna go get dinner?” There’s an involuntary grumble of your stomach at his words, and Haechan chuckles slightly. He presses the end call button without a second thought, before grabbing his leather jacket.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He tries to hold back his smile when he feels your footsteps behind his.

The first thing you realise is that the restaurant is full of couples. You’ve only seen one family so far, the rest of the patrons seating in tables of two. You chalk it down to pure coincidence, even as the waiter hands you a menu that’s awfully thin.

“I’m Jisung, and I’ll be your server for today. Our menu is a four-course set with seasonal ingredients designed for couples. Let me know whenever you’re ready to order.” The boy standing in front of your table looks awfully young to be working at a fine-dining establishment, but his voice is level as he arranges the silverware.

You suck in a nervous breath when you notice that the price isn’t even printed on the menu. It means that it’s expensive, and you’re not sure you want to know how much. You’re not one to splurge unnecessarily. “The food better be good,” you mumble, not noticing the way Haechan smiles softly at your comment.

“I’ll cover the bill,” he suggests, and at the resistance in your eyes, Haechan waves a dismissing hand. “I picked it anyways.” You don’t protest further.

Despite the steep price, you can’t help but admire the high ceilings of the restaurant, black marble walls offset by tasteful streaks of gold.

“Y/N.” At the mention of your name, your attention is pulled back to the man sitting opposite you. In the warm glow of the candlelight, his features are rounder, more delicate, and his hair somehow darker. It leaves you breathless, and you’re not sure if it’s the atmosphere around you, or the way that you’ve been feeling stranger and stranger around Haechan lately. Your eyes flit momentarily to the rings adorning his fingers, the ones that you’re used to seeing every day.

If there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with Haechan might just be the opposite. Having to interact in close proximity daily for the past two weeks has made him more tolerable somehow, an acquaintance rather than a nemesis. He seems to have lightened up on the taunts as well, instead replacing them with sarcastic quips that aren’t directed at you and that elicit a laugh more often than not.

It reminds you of senior year, when the both of you had been working so closely for the student council. Haechan had been your partner and your equal then, his competition more of a motivation than a threat. But university had been a rat race with thousands of other brilliant minds that sought to outdo and outlearn, so individualistic that the both of you never did quite talk about the almost-friendship that had formed.

“I assume you know about Mr Kim’s intentions to promote one of us to partner next year,” you start, unsure of what else to say. It’s been something that presses at the back of your mind, even as you go for hot chocolate runs with Haechan and sit in the lounge room together to clear last-minute emails. “I hope you know that I’m not intending to give up.”

Haechan smiles. “I wouldn't expect anything less.”

“But…” you trail off slightly, and he leans forward, eyes curious. You decide just to bite the bullet, not leaving any room to reconsider.

“I think you’re good at what you do. And I think it would be easier for us to work together in the future if we weren’t constantly at each other’s necks.” Your voice gradually gets softer as you continue, but Haechan hears every word. He notices you worrying your lip and the faint set of your eyebrows, and realises that you’re nervous. It’s no secret that he finds certain habits of yours endearing, but this expression on you might be one of his favourites.

“Well, height-wise, you’re still at my neck.”

“You-”

“Kidding. So we’re friends now?” He has to bite back a laugh at your glare. You’re still so easy to rile up. “We can be anything you want to be,” you say nonchalantly.

Haechan knows that you don’t mean that literally, but he thinks about the possibilities anyways.

He wants to say more when Jisung appears, a bottle of red wine grasped in his hands. You look up from your bowl, confused. “Oh, we didn’t order red wine.”

At your protest, however, the boy smiles. “It’s on the house. Are the both of you celebrating anything? An anniversary or a birthday perhaps,” he suggests, and you shake your head. “We’re not…we’re not a couple.” You’re unsure why you stumble over your words, but Haechan seems to find it amusing from the way he’s coughing politely into his napkin.

Jisung blinks awkwardly, and you blink back. “Apologies for assuming. Enjoy your dinner,” he replies after a moment too long, rushing off after filling both of your glasses.

“I think we scared him off,” you say guiltily, and Haechan snickers. “He’ll be fine. To be fair, this is a dinner set for couples.”

“But we look nothing like a couple,” you interject, and there’s a flash of doubt that crosses Haechan’s face, before he quickly schools it into nothing. He takes a large gulp of the wine, before grinning at you.

“Of course. I’m too good-looking.”

It’s a blatant lie, of course. Haechan thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, even when you had your thick-rimmed glasses in second grade and the most obnoxious blue braces. He’ll never have the courage to admit that, however, and Haechan’s starting to fear that his feelings are going to go unspoken forever.

This time, you manage to not oversleep.

The alarm goes off two hours before dinner, reminding you that it’s time to get ready. Your presents are already prepared at the corner of the bed and neatly wrapped, even though you know that your parents aren’t the kind to require excessive formality, and neither are Mr and Mrs Lee. You’re not sure about Haechan, if he’s remembered to prepare gifts. When you asked him at breakfast, he had evaded the question, which meant that he either had something prepared or was too embarrassed to admit that he had forgotten.

You’ve been waiting to wear this dress for a long time, a blush pink satin that’s pretty but comfortable enough for you to move around in. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the luxury of taking your time to get ready, considering you’re always cutting it close to sneak in extra sleep before work.

Despite your early preparations, however, the clock seems to tick much too fast. You’re tugging on your heels when there’s a sharp knock at the door. “Coming!” you shout, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before you pull the handle open.

“Oh, wow. You look…nice,” you say absentmindedly, only realising the words are too far gone to take back when a glimmer of satisfaction shows up on Haechan’s face. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him wearing a suit- attorneys practically live in a blazer and slacks, after all- but this one is all-black, the top two buttons of his blouse unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones. It makes his features even sharper, fabric contrasted against his warm, honey-toned skin.

You try not to think about how it’s the same exact material as your dress, and that people- namely your parents, would have assumed the both of you planned it beforehand.

Haechan’s appraising gaze makes warmth creep up your neck, and you shift from foot to foot, waiting for him to say something. Anything. “You clean up pretty well too. Ready for dinner?”

The both of you are friends, Y/N. Friends can compliment each other, you assure yourself, even as your pulse flutters uncontrollably at his words. He offers an arm out to you like a perfect gentleman, and you exhale shakily through your nose.

This dinner may be more difficult that you expect.

The both of you are guided to your table by a different waiter this time, Jisung nowhere in sight. Thankfully, there’s a much wider menu to choose from now, and your parents are splitting, offering a respite to Haechan’s wallet.

“Oh, I wanted to pass you your present first,” you say, retrieving the gift and placing it in front of Haechan. There’s excitement bubbling in your chest as you watch him arch an eyebrow curiously. “Open it,” you encourage, and he lifts up the cover, a surprised laugh escaping him.

“Where did you get this?” He asks, and you crinkle your forehead slightly. “I ordered it online, and I was scared it wouldn’t get delivered in time because of the snowstorm. Take it as a present from one vinyl collector to another.” Haechan breaks out into a brilliant grin at your words, one that illuminates his entire face. The corners of his mouth quirk up, however, when he places a velvet box on the table.

“You actually remembered to get a present? From your reaction at breakfast today, I thought…”

“You think too lowly of me,” he complains, poking his tongue into his cheek. Your eyes are bright, however, as you take the box from him, only realising that it’s velvet once you smooth your fingers over it. “This isn’t something scary, is it?” You question doubtfully, and he shrugs.

“You gave me fake insects half a decade ago, so forgive me if I’m not entirely trusting-” you fall silent when the box clicks open, revealing a pearl choker that you immediately recognize.

“Haechan, this-”

He barely reacts to your wide-mouthed shock. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.” The wish is sincere, and the way he says it makes your heart stretch just a little wider.

You can’t believe he remembers.

For prom, you had suggested a vintage 1980s theme, and Haechan had seen the Vivienne Westwood necklace sitting in your online cart along with the decorations. You never did purchase it because of the hefty price tag, and it was gradually forgotten.

Seeing the three rows of pearls in front of you now, however, brings on a wave of nostalgia.

“You should try it on. It matches nicely with your dress.” he offers, and you pick up the necklace from where it’s resting, hands shaking slightly as you close the clasp around your neck. “How does it look?” you ask, swallowing nervously as you focus back on Haechan, who has an unreadable expression on his face.

“Beautiful,” he mutters softly, but his eyes don’t dart down to your neck at all. You want to think that he’s lying. However, the way his eyes remain transfixed on your face as he says it has your pulse fluttering wildly.

There’s a lump in your throat as you fiddle with the necklace, feeling the cold of the pearls against your skin.

“I wanted to give it to you on the night of prom,” Haechan says then, a silent question in his eyes. The implication behind his words is heavy, considering that all you remember having with Haechan in senior year was a rivalry-turned-tentative-friendship by necessity.

Instead of the anger you expect it to provoke, the idea of him being the one fills you with a  certain nerve-wracking thrill, like the kind you get just before a rollercoaster drops.

“I wanted to go, you know. But something happened with my family, and I-”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re still here now, aren’t we?”

His question isn’t one that you need to reply to, because you know the answer.

Haechan is one of the people you know best in this world, besides your family. He thinks you’re a little too uptight sometimes, but you find him too aloof. That you’re not particularly extroverted, preferring to stick to a close circle of friends, while Haechan can talk to almost anyone and everyone. Until you forced yourself to make it to parties and meetings in order to beat him out in garnering votes from the student body. And then gradually, it became easier.

He’s always pushed you out of your comfort zone effortlessly, and you hate to admit it, but you wouldn’t have done this much if he hadn’t been right in step behind you.

In the end, the both of you boiled down to one similarity- pure ambition, the kind that pushed you to endure long hours and sleepless nights in order to get what you wanted.

Currently, the both of you are teetering on the edge of an invisible precipice, steps away from tumbling into wildly unfamiliar territory. And what terrifies you the most is that you don’t particularly seem to mind the idea of falling. Haechan has always been able to provoke reactions so easily from you, split-second impulsivities that make you lose control of your emotions.

You and him are not polar opposites, as much as you would like to think. Haechan just covers his with a veneer of casual confidence, while you would rather not be in the spotlight unless necessary.

“Haechan, if-” you start, and the look in his eyes when he hears you speak is so hopeful, so full of anticipation that it causes you to stop abruptly. He’s beautiful, you think. The slant of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw- it’s no secret that Haechan is attractive by most conventional standards, but it’s the first time he’s rendering you speechless. You’ve never really been able to truly look at him, too focused on the imminent threat that his presence seemed to signify.

And now that it’s gone, you’re genuinely seeing Haechan for what he is. Your equal, and someone you’re hopelessly attracted to, for good reason.

Until the jolt of a chair yanks you out of whatever trance-like state you’re in, and you whip your head around to see Haechan’s father, along with the rest of your families.

“Sorry for the wait. What were you young people talking about?” He asks, and your mind blanks for a second.

How are you supposed to tell him that you think you might have feelings for his son, after fighting tooth-and-nail with him all these years?

You make eye contact with Haechan then, and there’s a silent promise in his gaze. The both of you will talk about whatever it is between you eventually. For now, you’re here to celebrate with the people you love most in the world.

Lee Haechan included, you suppose.

Hangovers are not a good look on Haechan.

At least, that’s his first thought when he wakes up, head heavy and throat dry. But he’s an adult now, and that means taking responsibility for his not-so-sober decisions.

By the time he takes a cold shower and brushes his teeth, it feels like some semblance of life has returned to him, and he uses the thought of breakfast as motivation to get dressed and head down. It’s a petty sort of consolation that everyone else will probably be feeling worse than him, you included.

He makes a direct beeline for the hot food, piling a plate with bacon and eggs. And then he reaches the drink section, pausing for a second. “What did she say she liked again?” he mutters, staring at the juices with two cups in hand.

When he reaches the table, there are soft ‘good mornings’ from everyone, and Haechan takes the seat opposite yours, smiling brightly. “Here. I wasn’t sure which one you might want, so I got both,” he says, setting the drinks down in front of you. One’s a cappuccino, and the other cranberry juice.

You blink tiredly, looking up at him in mild surprise. “Thank you,” you mumble softly, before returning to your food.

He frowns. Haechan’s seen you hungover before, and it’s usually not like this. And he’s quite sure you didn’t drink as much as him, considering you weren’t the hugest fan of alcohol. It would be wiser for Haechan to leave you alone to rest- after all, you did say thank you, so surely nothing’s wrong.

However, he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t get to the bottom of things.

“Are you feeling unwell? There’s hangover medicine in my luggage, I can pass you some-”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“How about ramen? We can make some later,” he prompts, watching your expression carefully. You shake your head, and Haechan tries not to look too shocked.

“But it’s ramen,” he continues, expectation evident in his gaze. Haechan knows you. You would never turn down an offer of your favourite food.

“I’ll pass this time,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably in your chair. He falls silent, watching as you pick at the rest of your food.

When you stand up, the sound of the chair scraping seems a little bit too sharp. “I’ll head back first. I forgot about something,” you explain, turning on your heel. Haechan’s eyes dart to the untouched drinks, before they meet your mother’s gaze. He wipes the corner of his mouth hastily with the napkin, before rising as well. “I’ll go find Y/N,” he declares.

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t too crowded at this time, and he spots you just in time. When Haechan skids to a stop in front of you, your hands are around your jacket, pulling it tight around you.

“Hey,” he greets, breathless. You look taken aback, and Haechan runs a hand through his hair, pausing to collect his thoughts. “Are you…I might just be stupid, but are you okay? You seemed a little off at breakfast,” he points out, watching as the emotions on your face change from shock to doubt to…hurt?

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” You ask, a tremor in your voice as you peer at the boy.

Haechan frantically scans through his memories, heart dropping when it comes up empty. He was talking to his father about football, and then your mother brought up memories from when the both of you were in elementary, causing everyone at the table to laugh.

Anything that happened after the fourth cocktail was a blur.

He pulls himself out of his thoughts to focus on you, shaking his head. Haechan’s eyes are wide as he stares at you. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he mutters, watching as you nibble on your lip nervously, before sighing. “Come with me,” you instruct, before grabbing Haechan’s wrist and dragging him to a quieter part of the lobby.

You’re standing in front of him, fiddling with your fingers, and Haechan can tell you’re thinking of what to say. “If I did something stupid, you can tell me,” he assures, and the glance you give him is disbelieving. However, the dark clouds in your expression have cleared a little.

“No, it wasn’t stupid, I just have no idea if it was some sort of joke or if you meant it-” you trail off, looking distraught. Haechan becomes alert at the mention of that, his heartbeat picking up slightly. “Y/N, what did I say?”

You’re never one to beat about the bush, and the way you keep hesitating has him nervous.

“You said you liked me,” you finally answer, and Haechan’s world stops.

The memories flood back into his brain a few moments too late. Your parents choosing to rest early, Haechan saying he wanted to stay on a little more-

Oh God.

“It’s three am, Donghyuck. You’re going to wake everyone up,” you scolded, but there was a grin on your face. He had been singing some ridiculous rendition of a carol at top volume, causing you to look away, embarrassed. The staff working the graveyard shift had barely even batted an eye at his antics.

“Huh. You’ve never called me Donghyuck before,” Haechan noticed, blinking slowly. The alcohol was really getting to his brain now, making it foggy. It’s nice, having you call him a name that’s solely reserved for close friends and family. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” you say, looking caught.

“Of course you can. We’re close.” Haechan tries not to coo when he sees your cheeks warm slightly, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze, instead focusing on getting to the correct hotel room.

Just as you pull out the keycard, you feel someone come up right next to you, and you look up in alarm. “Is something wrong?” Haechan shakes his head, leaning down towards you. He’s not sure whether you’re one for physical affection, but he can’t help himself when he pinches your cheeks gently.

“Hae- Donghyuck, what are you doing?” You’re confused at his sudden movements, but you don’t pull away, even as he comes closer. Haechan blinks slowly, your face swimming in and out of his vision.

“You’re adorable, you know that? Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. But you’re also mean to me sometimes,” Haechan whines out, and you’re equal parts flustered and amused by him. “You- you really need to get to bed,” you say once you’ve collected your thoughts, pushing him in the direction of his room.

He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, but there are words fighting to escape, and Haechan rather not think about the consequences when he has you in front of him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. You look pretty like this, and you’ve never let him get this close to you before.

It makes him brave.

Which is why he presses his feet into the carpet to prevent himself from moving, turning around sharply to face you again. He’s determined now, looking at you with a certain sharpness in his eyes that makes your pulse unsteady.

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. I’ve liked you for eight years, and I thought you would figure it out by now, or at least look my way, but-” he hiccups slightly, “you haven’t. Is it because I’m annoying?”

Haechan doesn’t remember what your answer was to that question because he might have fallen asleep on his feet then, and quite frankly, he’s terrified to find out.

“Oh.”

The statement makes it obvious that he remembers everything now, and your eyes widen in incredulity. “Is that all you have to say?” you ask, and Haechan feels like he’s at a crossroads.

Renjun would definitely laugh at him for this.

But Renjun would also tell him to be honest, considering the secret is already out. It’ll be awkward no matter what he does.

Haechan might as well give it a shot. He was too scared in senior year, but he’s less fearful now.

“I wasn’t joking,” he starts, swallowing nervously before looking at you.

“I liked you in junior year, so much that I joined the student council for you. And since then, I’ve just been waiting, and waiting, but I’m not sure how much longer I can go-”

Haechan gets cut off when the collar of his hoodie is jerked forward, allowing him to finally meet your height. There’s a look of exasperation on your face, and Haechan’s not entirely sure what that means in the context of him confessing his feelings. Maybe you’ve decided you’ve had enough of him, and you’re going to leave his dead body to be found once the snow melts.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

There’s relief that fills him at the lack of murderous intent in your voice, but he doesn't get a chance to respond before you’re tiptoeing and closing the distance between the both of you.

It takes Haechan a few moments too long to register that you’re kissing him before he reciprocates in equal measure. He feels like his heart might burst from the way you’re holding onto him, as if the both of you are the only ones existing at this moment.

When you finally let go of his hoodie, the plain disappointment on Haechan’s face causes you to let out a giggle.

He shakes his head slightly in an attempt to clear it, before looking at you. “Can we do that again?” His question earns him a swat on the back, but you don’t resist when Haechan loops his arms around your waist.

It’s only his second time kissing you, but Haechan’s quite sure there aren’t many feelings that can compare to this.

He might just get hooked on it.

“I can’t believe the holiday’s over,” you sigh, sinking into the armchair. Your luggage is next to you, Haechan looking down with a bemused expression on his face. “Doesn’t this happen every year? Just wait another three hundred and sixty-five days.”

From where you’re seated, you’re not able to reach Haechan’s waist, so you settle for hitting him on the thigh. He looks at you indignantly, but whatever retort he has dies on his tongue when your father calls for the both of you to get into the car.

It’s only when the both of you are comfortably seated at the very back, that Haechan leans over, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’re not going to get scared on the plane again, are you?” He asks, and you narrow your eyes.

As much as he jokes about it, Haechan was also the one who offered his hand to you on the flight here. “Whatever,” you mutter. “Just hold my hand now.”

You don’t give Haechan time to interject before you intertwine his fingers with yours, missing the way a blush settles at the back of his neck. He forgets that you’re occasionally imbued with bursts of confidence, allowing you to act in ways that have his heart thundering in his chest.

When he finally looks over again, you’re leaning against the side, appreciating the scenery that drifts by. A smile makes its way onto his face subconsciously, and Haechan’s grip on your hand grows imperceptibly tighter.

You’re the best Christmas present he could have asked for.

[peppymintdreams]

isaac and pickle get into a fight, pickle starts crying and breaking down in the middle of it, isaac comforts them and and they make-up in the end PLEASEPLEASE im literally begging im on my knees

Of course my child

Broken Promises

Isaac Rhoades x pickle

Isaac was buried in paperwork, his eyes glued to his computer screen, fingers tapping furiously against the keys. The room was dimly lit by the blue glow of his desk lamp, casting long shadows on the walls. Across the room, Pickle sat on the couch, watching him with growing frustration.

“You promised,” Pickle’s voice finally broke the silence, cutting through the tension that had been building for days.

Isaac didn’t look up, too absorbed in whatever document he was typing. “What?”

“You promised you’d take a break tonight. You’ve been working non-stop for weeks.” Pickle’s voice wavered, but they tried to stay calm. This conversation had happened too many times before, and Pickle was tired of the same excuses.

Isaac sighed, still not taking his eyes off the screen. “I know, I know, but this is important. I just need to finish this report.”

Pickle’s chest tightened, their hands curling into fists as they fought to keep their cool. “It’s always one more report. One more email. One more late night.”

Isaac paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but he didn’t respond.

Pickle stood up, their frustration boiling over. “You said you’d take a break, Isaac! You promised we’d spend time together tonight. But here you are, working again, like always.” Their voice shook now, the pent-up hurt and disappointment spilling out.

Isaac rubbed his temple, finally glancing over at them. “I’m sorry, okay? But I can’t just drop everything because you want me to. This is my job. You know how much pressure I’m under.”

Pickle’s heart sank at his dismissive tone. They weren’t asking for much, just a few hours of his time. “I’m not asking you to drop everything. I’m asking you to keep your promise, to us,” they said softly, their voice trembling with emotion. “We never see each other anymore.”

Isaac sighed again, louder this time, as if Pickle’s words were an inconvenience. “You don’t get it, Pickle. I have deadlines. Responsibilities. I can’t just—”

“Of course, I don’t get it!” Pickle interrupted, tears stinging their eyes. “How could I? You never talk to me anymore. You’re so caught up in your work that it’s like I don’t even exist!”

The room fell into a tense silence. Isaac blinked at them, caught off guard by the raw emotion in their voice. Pickle rarely got this upset, but when they did, it was like a dam breaking.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Pickle whispered, their voice breaking. “I can’t keep feeling like I’m second to your job, like I don’t matter.”

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. He hadn’t realized how deep the hurt had gone. Pickle’s hands were shaking now, and before Isaac could say anything, they sank onto the couch, burying their face in their hands.

“I’m sorry,” Pickle mumbled, their voice muffled by their hands. “I just— I just want you back. I miss you, Isaac.”

Isaac felt a knot tighten in his chest as he watched them break down, the weight of his broken promises settling over him like a heavy cloak. He could see now how much he’d been neglecting them, how his constant work had driven a wedge between them.

Slowly, Isaac stood and crossed the room, sitting beside Pickle. Gently, he placed a hand on their back, feeling the way they trembled beneath his touch. “Hey…,” he murmured, his voice soft now, filled with regret. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting you.”

Pickle didn’t lift their head, their sobs shaking their small frame. Isaac’s heart clenched as he pulled them into his arms, wrapping them tightly in a comforting embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into their hair. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Pickle’s sobs quieted as they leaned into Isaac, clinging to his shirt as if he might disappear. “I just feel so alone,” they admitted in a shaky breath. “I know your work is important, but I need you too.”

Isaac held them closer, guilt coursing through him. “You’re right. I’ve been working too much. I just get so caught up in everything, and I didn’t see how much I was neglecting you. But I promise I’ll do better. I’m here now.”

Pickle sniffled, wiping their eyes with the back of their hand. “You always say that, but nothing ever changes. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Isaac felt the weight of their words, and it hit him how many times he had made that same promise. He had let them down, again and again. “I mean it this time,” he said softly. “I’ll make time for us. I don’t want to lose you, Pickle. You’re more important to me than anything else, I swear.”

Pickle looked up at him, their eyes still wet with tears, but there was a flicker of hope there too. “You mean it?”

Isaac nodded, his voice steady. “I do. I’ll take that break, I’ll make time for us starting now.”

Pickle searched his face, as if trying to believe him, before nodding slowly. “Okay… but I need you to actually do it, Isaac. Not just say it.”

Isaac gently brushed a tear from their cheek, his expression soft. “I will. I promise.”

For a long moment, they stayed there in the quiet, holding each other as the tension began to dissolve. Isaac rested his chin on Pickle’s head, feeling their breathing slowly steady as they calmed down in his arms.

“I missed you too,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

Pickle closed their eyes, leaning into his warmth. “Just… don’t forget about me again, okay?”

Isaac pressed a kiss to their forehead, pulling them closer. “I won’t. I promise.”

And this time, Isaac vowed to keep that promise.

[hxzbinwrites]

Lovestruck Fool Pt 3

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Cliché Mishaps

(Lovestruck Part 3)

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Vox being embarrassing, jokes about suicide, mentions of sexual harassment (only mentioned! nothing happens nor a flashback scene dont worry!),

11:30pm

"What should I say, oh God, what should I say??" Vox muttered to himself. His right, clawed hand gripping the top of his head, whilst his left was gripping his phone equally as tight.

His breathing was as erratic as his heartbeat, as he anxiously paced around his bedroom. His heels were clicking against the cold, hardwood floor. His pants were still on from the workday, but his shirt was completely discarded onto the messy bed in the middle of the room.

After he received the gift from (Y/n), he frantically took the note, and the gift box and nearly sprinted to his room. He nearly knocked Velvette, one of the two associates he shares the organization of Overlords he founded called "The Vee's". He'd have to apologize later. He quickly locked the door and punched her number into his phone, and nearly 3 hours later here we are.

"Hey Baby-"

delete delete delete

"Hey Sweetheart-"

delete delete delete

"What's up (Y/n)? I think I'm in love with you and you're in love with me too-"

DELETE DELETE DELETE

"Ughhh" Vox groaned, flopping down dramatically onto his bed. "This is so stupid. I'm a genius, tech CEO, and Overlord, I should be able to have women begging to get a corny text from me. So why the hell am I so paranoid about this?"

He sat there and stared at the ceiling, before making the spontaneous decision to just say fuck it and texted her just whatever popped into his digital brain.

Vox: Hey (Y/n), I got your gift and your note, thank you. No employee has ever done anything like that for me before. I have some spare time to help with your little predicament.

Vox immediately regretted sending that. He must he be so harsh and arrogant sounding. “Spare time?”, he’d just spent the last three hours dwelling over what to send to this woman.

(Y/n): Thank you sir. Do you have any ideas on what this could mean?

Vox: Well, what exactly is this feeling like? You said it was "this strangely warm feeling in my chest and my face, I feel clammy around you". Can you elaborate?

Vox wanted to face palm re-reading his texts, why is he addressing her so formally? This is a message, something to be shared between close friends, not a damn email!

(Y/n): I'm not entirely sure how to describe it. The closest emotion to it is anxiety, the whole nervousness in your stomach kind of emotion, but not anxiety itself. Is that an okay description?

Vox stared stunned at the message, some part of him almost doubted the note she had left practically confessing her feelings, but now he was completely sure of her feelings for him. Now, how was he going to explain this to her....that was the real issue.

Vox: Take what I'm about to say very seriously.

(Y/n): Okay...?

Vox sighed and typed out the message. He closed his digital eyes before sending it.

Vox: I think you might be experiencing a crush.

Vox quickly turned off his phone and started pacing around his room once more, nervously awaiting her response. A risky text has never felt this serious before. Sure, Val and him had sent some scandalous things back and forth, but this felt more intimate somehow.

Vox felt like an idiot, a lovestruck fool, a naïve man. An Overlord of Hell should not be feeling this way. He went through middle school when he was alive, there was no need to try and relive the awkward moments within it now.

Vox halted in his pacing, as he heard his phone buzz. He slowly lifted up his phone to see (Y/n)'s contact name on the front. He quickly threw it back on his bed, too nervous to even open it.

He sighed, taking off his shoes and pants, replacing them with his sleep pants and a pair of slippers. His chest was still bare, but it was a lot more comfortable than a button up shirt, seeing as he could not wear a normal t-shirt with his abnormally large, screened head.

Vox wasted another ten minuets before picking his phone back up. His heart sunk as he read the message.

(Y/n): I sincerely apologize sir. This is completely unacceptable and unprofessional. I understand if I am to be fired over this.

————

11:55 pm

(Y/n) paced around her room, her pajama's coziness giving no comfort to her situation. She looked like an idiot now! How stupid she felt as this moment could only be comparable to Vox's own doubts, as she felt actual anxiety creep within her.

She was done for, not only was her job on the line, but at Voxtech the employees are conned into signing their souls away to Vox when hired. He was an Overlord of Hell, CEO, her boss as well as the owner of her soul! Now genuine curiosity was going to look like sexual harassment.

Great. Excellent. Her soul was most likely going to be torn apart tomorrow. From now until 8:30am, she should live her life to the fullest because theres no turning back now.

What's even worse is the fact that Vox has left her message on delivered for 11, now 12, minutes at this point.

Unlike her counterpart, (Y/n) was holding her phone the entire time, looking down at the screen of bubbled messages. She nearly dropped the device when the faint text turned from Delivered to Read.

Maybe her message got through to him mentally, and he can find the kindness in his heart to spare mercy on her.

Yeah right, he's an Overlord. Hell, he's not nice whatsoever, nor is he willing to spare lives. Vox has been in his fair share of Turf Wars, and has no regard for the souls he owns, seeing as he gives some of his lowest earners to Valentino to kill fairly regularly.

Her heart sped up as her phone vibrated, showing Vox had finally responded.

Vox: Don't apologize. Don't quit your job either. You will not be fired. Do you really think I could replace you? No. You're far too valuable

(Y/n) let out a sigh of relief, but had to maintain her composure as she kept re-reading the last portion of the message. "He just means valuable to the company, an asset, he's not flirting with you!" She muttered, lightly slapping her hands against her face to calm herself down.

————

12:00am

Vox screamed into his pillow. What the hell was he thinking?! She was just worried about being unprofessional, and here he is, THE BOSS, throwing a flirtatious comment at her value.

Vox really wished he had a hold of some Angelic Steel right now, so he could kill himself and not regenerate.

He glanced at his phone, seeing she had read the message, and groaned again. Vox picked up his phone and threw it across his bed, where it landed on the top right corner of the screen, pressing the FaceCall button.

His eyes widened as he scrambled to grab his phone. He sudden motion made his device fall off the bed, where he leaned over quickly to grab it.

Before he could mash the red button to end the ringing, she picked up the phone. There she was, in her pajamas with her hair a little frizzy from the day the both of them had just worked. Her cheeks were a little flushed as she stared at him through the screen.

"U-Uh, Hi." Vox stupidly said. Angelic Steel was going on the top of his purchase list when he awoke in the morning, though now he doubted he was going to get any sleep at all.

"Hi Vox" She softly said. Oh yeah, no sleep for him tonight,"Why did you call me? Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah, I uh, actually didn't mean to call you. My phone slipped and landed on the button"

"Okay.." She said, not buying it.

Vox took notice of how much more relaxed she was in this state, not at work just talking to him, late at night. Vox's ego definitely did not need to be fed, but in moments like these with her, and when he's acting like a fool, maybe that's not a terrible thing.

"Sorry Sugar" He said, rubbing the back of his bare neck,"didn't mean to keep you up."

"Its okay Vox" (Y/n) replied,"it's better than me going to sleep worried if I were to have my life tomorrow or not."

"Your life?" Vox said, his eyes narrowing,"You didn't think I would kill you? Did you?"

(Y/n)'s face flushed, as she looked away from his knowing gaze piercing through the screen. "Well, we all know what happens to the lowest earners..."

"Well you're not a low earner, I told you, you're too valuable to lose (Y/n)."

Her face flushed, and she showed a small smile, making Vox's screen flush in return. Both of these stubborn fools were sitting here, late at night, blushing over each other.

Vox's camera moved down a little, something he took no notice of, but (Y/n)'s eyes widened at the realization he didn't have a shirt on.

If Heaven had any mercy on a Sinner, this was it. Not only will she still have her job, and more importantly her life, but she got to see her hot boss shirtless. Damn, he's fine.

"Excuse me?" Vox said, his eyes widening to the same amount her's was

"W-What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" Vox said, his voice shaking a little from embarrassment,"You just called me fine!"

(Y/n)'s face fell, all of the colors that had dusted her cheeks were gone. "I-Im so sorry sir! I did not mean to say that out loud!"

"You were still thinking it!" Vox said, "damn it woman you really did need my help in the emotions department."

"Okay okay, I do" She said, "I'm sorry, I know you don't feel the same way..but can you at least help me navigate this...?"

Vox stared at the screen. How dense was this woman?! How the hell didn't she know of his raging crush on her?! Whatever, he was going to play dumb until he saw fit.

"Sure, only if we keep this under wraps from the rest of the Ring. I don't want the press flocking you like they do me...well...even more than they already do. I know how annoying it gets, especially handling my PR. You know more than anyone how scandalous this will look. That fucker Alastor would have a field day with my name!"

"Alright." She replied,"So? Where do we start on this?"

"We'll start tomorrow" Vox replied,"Theres no use of saying anything more in this sleep deprived state of yours. Before you argue against that, you can't tell me that this is your usual self, letting things slip like that."

"You're right." (Y/n) sighed," I'll make sure to keep my composure, especially for tomorrow at work and whatever you have planned after that."

"Sounds good. Goodnight Sugar"

"Goodnight Vox".

Vox ended the call, and flopped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He gripped the sides of his screen, his blue cheeks now a purple from blushing.

Not only did he look like a fool, but she called him "fine". Not only that, he's wormed in his way into teaching her how to feel love, more specifically for him!

Vox groaned, what has he gotten himself in to?

————

8:30am

(Y/n) made her way to her desk. She opened the side door effortlessly and slid into her chair. She logged onto her computer and clocked in. She sighed seeing Vox's timestamps, seeing as he clocked in at 5:30 rather than a normal time.

There was no way 5 hours is an adequate amount of sleep. He might be a machine with a human soul, but his body surely can't handle that little amount of rest. Evidence of that is the amount of caffeine he puts into his body each day.

She frowned, before catching herself. Why did she care? He was a grown ass man, he could make poor decisions for himself. Why was she worried for him all of a sudden?

Whatever, another question for another late night session she supposed as she began to type up his schedule for the day.

There were no unusual meetings for the day, seeing as Velvette was the only one who had scheduled one.

That train of thought was cut short when her work phone rang. (Y/n) promptly answered it.

"Hello this is VoxTech, this is (Y/n) speaking. How may I help you?"

"Ah hello dear (Y/n)!" A static-like voice sang to her,"I am begrudgingly having to use this frivolous telephone cable technology to contact your boss! Ha! I must book a meeting with him at once!"

(Y/n) recognized that accent and that tone, but had to remain professional regardless

"Alright sir, what name shall that be under and what time slot do you want?"

"The name is Alastor! I thought you would've recognized my voice from my coveted radio show!"

"No sir, I don't know who you are" She said, knowing that would bruise his large ego.

Vox came from around the corner, hearing static pour from the phone as he walked. His initial thought was to just casually pass by her, just to see her before she handed him his daily report, but curiosity got the better of him. He leaned against the right wall in the hallway behind her desk.

"Okay 2 o'clock? Oh! I'm sorry sir! It looks like you're banned from Voxtech! You will not be able to place a meeting with Mr. Vox."

Vox smirked. He could hear a slight smile in her voice. Damn, he liked her even more now. She was fucking toying with the Radio Demon. He strode over to her desk, leaning against the counter as he smirked.

(Y/n) blushed, and turned on the speaker phone for him to hear Alastor.

"Banned? I am an Overlord in Hell! I must have a meeting with this Vox character. It is of utmost importance!"

"Im sorry sir but you won't be allowed to book a meeting or step foot onto the grounds of VoxTech. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Hmm, let me speak to that box head through this device"

"No can do sir" (Y/n) lied, holding a finger up to Vox,"He's in an extremely important Overlord meeting right now. Wait, aren't you an Overlord? My, you can just talk to him at your meeting!"

Alastor was furious, not only was he unable to go to VoxTech to get dirt on Vox for his radio show, but now there's apparently an Overlord meeting he was not invited to. He hung up the phone and teleported his way back to the Hazbin Hotel.

(Y/n) and Vox heard the line cut and bursted out laughing, their smiles copying one another. Vox felt like he was on cloud nine, not only did he get to see her smile in its full glory, but he is now witnessing her laughter.

From someone who was emotionless at the very beginning of their encounters, for years, these past few days have been nothing short of a major change. Vox was very welcome to change, especially this one.

Their laughter died out, and they stared into each other's eyes for a moment too long. If they weren't at work, where anyone could walk past and see them, they would surely kiss with how close they were leaning into each other.

"I wonder how his lips feel" (Y/n) pondered as she looked at his digital mouth that was slightly agape, matching her own.

Vox's eyes eventually tore away from hers, as he brought his fist up to his mouth and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Ah, well, I um... just get that report done! Good work on chasing that fucker off." Vox commented, before scurrying away to go hide back in his own office.

————

9:50am

Vox had busied himself with his work to distract his mind. It was ten minutes until (Y/n) would be here with the daily report. Hopefully he didn't make a fool of himself again.

For a TV host, as well as the man who owned everything media related, he surely should've known how to avoid such a cliché moment like that! I mean really, the man leaning over the receptionists desk as they make a prank! It's an exact copy of one of his shows VoxTech produces!

Whatever, that was nothing. It meant nothing. Her smile. Her laugher. The kiss they almost shared-

Okay maybe it meant something, but it shouldn't have.

This should have no effect on him whatsoever, it wouldn't if it was anyone else. But her? He might as well bet against himself, because time after time he will continue to make a fool of himself in front of her.

The thoughts spiraling in his head just made him more motivated to work himself into exhaustion, where he didn't have the energy to even conjure these thoughts.

He typed away vigorously, his sharp nails clacking against the keys as he was drafting a new drone product for his gullible costumers. He was finishing up some of the final code before he sent it off to his tech team to build the beta version of it, test it, and then they'll get it approved by him before sending it off to some of his factories in the other Rings.

While he himself as a Sinner could not traverse rings, his Imp employees could, therefore he owns factories in the Wrath Ring for them to work in and ship back to Pride.

Before he could type the last string of code, his elevator floor rose, to meet the guest who wishes to enter his office, before descending once more, revealing (Y/n), holding the same boring envelope with his daily report.

"Here you go sir" She said, handing him the file. "Your only meeting is with Velvette today at 12:30."

"Excellent, thank you Sugar" Vox replied, taking the file.

"Sir, why do you call me Sugar?" She asked, "you started calling me that when I slipped up and said I..."

(Y/n) flushed at the memory of calling him model worthy, before learning her throat and going back to an emotionless state.

"Anyways, you started calling me Sugar. Why?"

Vox was caught off guard. He didn't even realize he was still calling her Sugar in the first place. Initially, it was to egg a reaction out of her. Now? He was searching for an excuse.

"I don't really know" He finally answered,"Do you want me to stop calling you Sugar...?"

Now (Y/n) was caught by surprise, her voice catching in her throat. She paused for a moment, and attempted to recollect herself in a calm, confident manner. However it seems these past few days, after she witnessed her boss's tough exterior dissolve when he spilled his coffee, that manner she was used to maintaining was no longer obtainable in his presence.

"No..." She said, coming out way softer than she had intended.

Vox rose from his chair without thinking, and walked right in front of her, towering over her. (Y/n) wasn't short by any means, but it is hard to come face to face with a demon who reaches 7 feet.

His chest was rising and falling with tension. The only thing that could be heard in the room was their synchronized breathing, heartbeats, and Vox's fans kicking on due to the heat rising to his face.

He leaned in slowly, and (Y/n) leaned up. Their eyes drooped as they slowly inched closer and closer to one another's face. Vox could feel her shaky breath on his screen, making his face flush a darker purple.

They were so close, (Y/n)'s nose nearly touched his flat screen.

Vox closed his eyes and leaned in, as did she. As they got closer together, their lips touched ever so slightly when Vox's face began to vibrate, as he was getting a call from Valentino.

They tore apart from each other quickly, as Vox threw the call on the screen with his electronic powers. He turned to apologize to (Y/n) but she was already back on the elevator, her hands hiding her face.

Valentino was whining about something but Vox couldn't care less, he was so conflicted. He felt awful for the call interrupting him...but at the same time he was ecstatic. They nearly kissed, it was so close. So terribly close. If it wasn't for Valentino's mindless chatter on the phone, he would have already lost it on his innocent monitors surrounding him.

This day was going to take forever after that.

————

5:30pm

It was closing time for VoxTech employees, usually (Y/n) put in loads of overtime, but today she just needed to get home.

Her face never returned to normal after their close encounter, either adorning a blush, a goofy grin, or both. It was humiliating. She was stone cold, she had the toughest exterior anyone had ever known. Yet this man who's shown her his soft side, rather goofy side, has immediately torn down these barriers. It joyed and pissed her off to no end.

She quickly clocked out and began her trek back to her apartment. Vee employees lived close to the tower, the closest of them being Valentino's employees, who he liked to keep extremely close.

Vox was a lot more lenient on where his employees lived. He could care less as long as they show up on time and work to their full potential, that's all that matters to him.

Yet even with that disregard, high earning employees got a special apartment complex to live in. (Y/n) has always had the same one, even with job shifts, layoffs, hires, and fires, it has always been number 513.

It was always good to see that 513, whether it was a good or bad day, especially if it was bad, that dingy little 513 haphazardly imprinted into her doorframe would always be the most welcome sight in Hell to her.

She stepped inside before closing the door and slumping against it, burying her face in her knees. She let out an embarrassed scream as she recalled her two almost kisses with her boss today, one was just tension but the other? That must be the payback from that divine intervention (Y/n) thought of earlier.

She picked herself up and went through her regular routine, dinner, shower, pajamas, and before she was about to cozy up for a movie, her phone dinged. Odd, she doesn't really have any friends who contact her that regularly.

Her face flushed up when she realized it wasn't an old friend, rather it had to of been Vox himself.

(Y/n) composed herself before picking up her phone, seeing a notification from Vox

Vox: Hey Sugar we need to talk about earlier

She gulped as she replied

(Y/n): What about?

She wanted to face palm herself for asking that stupid of a question, but didn't want to get her hand sticky from her skin care routine that was still setting in

Vox: Don't play dumb with me (Y/n). I felt your lips with my own today, you and I both felt that.

(Y/n): I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I really wasn't thinking when it happened

Vox: That's the problem, it didn't. You're my employee, I own your soul! I shouldn't feel this way about you but I do! I think you understand what I mean.

(Y/n): I do understand Vox. I shouldn't feel this way towards my boss, but I do. I don't understand why or how, I have never felt this way before in my life! On Earth or in Hell!

Vox: Sugar trust me. We will learn to navigate this.

————

6:45pm

Vox stared at his phone, smiling as he finally confessed his feelings. That was a lot harder than it needed to be, he had been storming something up since their kiss was interrupted. He was still at his damn office! He couldn't bring himself to turn around and face the elevator once more after the interruption from Valentino. Even throughout his meeting with Velvette, all he could think about was (Y/n).

He smirked as (Y/n) replied to his message

(Y/n): I do Vox. I trust you.

Vox: Good. I think we should keep this a secret between us for now, but I do wish to continue whatever this is we have going on.

(Y/n): Me too

Vox: Then that settles it. It looks like this will be your first step in the emotional love counseling you requested. Tomorrow, 7:00pm, you and I will be going on a date.

————

Word Count: 4,184

Taglist

@burningfishkidlamp @koji-akeme @callmechito @neito327 @chocolat3pudding @yellowsubiesdance @viviannagiorgini @annnagennnie @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @go-to-nerdytrashishere @aces148 @clowncollegealum @nebusokuxp @thedarkkitten @caniseethefourthsword @bigbodycity @aconfusedwonderland

[thirdofdxcember]

ok so theres this one girl ive been friends with since middle school and her parents are crazy strict right and also homophobic and she has a gf so thats not good if they found out right. but one day she just stopped showing up to school. i think i heard a rumor that she was planning to "run away" whatever that means with her girlfriend but she didnt show up to school the day that was supposed to happen and then no ones seen her since. shes even dropped out of her classes. this was like a few months ago we were all like uhm what the fuck shes not replying to her texts or anything, the cars are gone from her house but the dogs are still barking but because her parents are insane nobody wants to knock on the door bc it also might get her in more trouble. also her brother is still going to school but none of us know him. we were like did they send her to some strict private school or something idk. and just now i got a text from her inviting me to her birthday party this weekend. im freaking out. it felt very forced like the way she was typing isnt the way she normally types- "Hi [my name], i am having a small birthday party this sunday on the 13th at 3:45-7:45. I sent u an email for an invitation just in case you didnt see it. Are you able to come?" one of my other friends also got the invite and she replied along the lines of omg how are you its been so long. but the rest of us are afraid to mention the elephant in the room because of her parents being literally insane right. so uhhhh. i have to go. i may be late because i have something that day but i know i WILL go to that party mainly to make sure she is okay because what the fuck. im scared to reply tho because im like i know her parents are gonna see it so im gonna be all formal back because idk what is happening. we're all worried but we're also so glad she's okay.